Bratfink's Xanga

On the Horns of a Dilemma

Tue, 10 Nov 2009 04:02:56 GMT

~On the Horns of a Dilemma~

This is not the post I had written to post here. Oh, that post is still here, only you guys can't see it because I've not decided whether or not I'm going to let it go public.

You see, I started thinking about things The Boy and I have had to do without and I thought I would work a post around that. I mean, it's not like you think about PAPER TOWELS being a luxury item, but when every cent of cash is precious, you don't spend it on paper towels. You learn to do without.

And there's nothing wrong with that. I think most of us are spoiled to death anyway.

The Boy and I haven't had teevee in at least six months, and probably longer. We've survived.

The thing is, the post that started out so funny at first moved into a whole other subject, because one thing led to another and I digressed time and time again.

I hate it when I do that.

So, I'm trying again.

I missed having paper towels. Paper towels are really handy for a LOT of things. For draining oily stuff like bacon. For wiping up coffee that spills when the cats jump on your desk. For wiping hands and face when eating messy stuff.

Another thing we did without was Brillo pads. Brillo pads make washing pots and pans MUCH easier.

But The Boy got a six pack of really nice paper towels on sale a couple weeks ago. He put a roll by him and gave me a roll. I had a whole roll of paper towels all to myself. I cannot even convey to you how it made me feel RICH and even DECADENT.

But I've lived without paper towels for so long that I'm loathe to use them at all. Can you believe that? They are so special I don't want to use them, because if I use them then they'll run out.

Here's the thing. I do use them, I just am not throwing them away. I didn't realize it until the other night.

I woke up with a hurting elbow. I must have slept funny or something. By late that night it was still hurting pretty badly so The Boy suggested I put some really nifty stuff on it I got from KP. It smells like licorice, and trust me when I say that you don't want to get this stuff into any open sore or your eyes. To this end, The Boy said "Be sure to put your elbow on something."

So, I look at my desk, see all these paper towels on my desk, but I grab a new one and fold it just so for my elbow.

I was being real real careful not to touch my eyes and when I thought I MIGHT have some of this stuff on my hands, I 'washed' my hands with rubbing alcohol. All was well.

A few hours later I realize my sinuses are killing me, and I think about the gentle heating of this stuff, and I get this bright idea to put some of this on my nose and cheeks.

Which I do.

And it took me all of TWO MINUTES TO DIE.

I couldn't even open my eyes because the fumes from this stuff were hovering there and the burning was incredible.

THIS WAS NOT THE BRIGHTEST THING I'VE DONE IN MY LIFE. [Alcohol may or may not have been involved.]

With my eyes tightly closed I felt around for the box of tissues that I know are somewhere and I find them. I pull out two or three, fold them in some sort of way, and then I feel for my bottle of rubbing alcohol and drench the tissues and I start washing this shit off my face. After every wipe I turned the tissues to a new unused spot and added more alcohol and did it again.

It worked.

Now I remember why I don't use this stuff as often as I could. I get into trouble when I use it, and now I had ONE MORE FREAKEN PAPER TOWEL on my desk. Used, no less.

When I got up this morning I had to throw out ALL the used paper towels on my desk because somewhere among them was the one with the stuff on it from my elbow, and I didn't want to accidentally grab that and use it for something else, like maybe sneezing or wiping my eyes.

I can't believe the room I now have on my desk. I can't believe I was 'saving' used paper towels. This just boggles my mind.

I told The Boy about what I did and he said, "And how did that work out for you?" I told him I couldn't get that shit wiped off my face fast enough, but I'd never do it again, for sure.

He said, "You idiot. That's what the Vicks is for."

NOW he tells me.

Actually, I knew that, but if we have some in the house, I have no idea where it is. I'm sure he could locate some in a flash.

The thing is, I've turned a new leaf and I'm going to start throwing out the paper towels once I use them. Just toss them right into the trash and there will be no more Mt. Papermore on my desk, just getting bigger and bigger.

Anyway, The Boy went outside for something and found a bag of stuff on the front porch. He drags it in and I started going through it, and I realize The Aunt sent this stuff over. Because she knows we have been doing without certain items and she's apparently trying to fill those spaces. Still.

We got more toothbrushes and toothpaste. We got some more AquaNet, although we still have the last cans of it she sent this way because WE DON'T USE HAIRSPRAY. I asked The Boy, just to be sure and he assured me he doesn't use it and never has.

There are many bottles of partially used lotions. There are used tubes of first aid creams of all sorts. There are deodorants [VERY welcome] and tanning lotions.

Now I have to go through this stuff and throw most of it out. [If it wasn't for Kitty living on the freezer I'd put all these items on there and take a picture because you surely would not believe it.] And I need to do that tonight because it's trash day tomorrow and they will take it away.

There are dusting powers. There are band-aids. There is dental floss. Three different kinds, and they all look unused. There are the most awful smelling perfumes. There is a bottle of Stetson. There are shower gels. There is a half a bottle of Head and Shoulders. There are leaking bottles I throw right into the trash.

And she sent over a couple of raggedy towels, but hey, I'm not bitching. Towels are good. In the towel bag were five washcloths, and they aren't raggedy. But even if they were, they would still work in the kitchen.

One of the towels has a Winnie-the-Pooh face on it and says "Emily". I told The Boy, "Look, Emily! You have a personalized towel now!" He gave me The Look.

I crack me up.

I was going to throw the hairspray out, then I remembered that you can use it to [supposedly] kill flies in mid-air. I've got to try that shit; it sounds like fun.

And I'm pretty sure you can still light it on fire, and God knows you never know when you are going to need a flame thrower. [Just for that reason alone is why I would never put it on MY HEAD OF HAIR.]

I can see I've dragged this drivel on long enough, and so I'm going to set it for lift-off for you early risers.

Tomorrow I may post about Why I No Longer Love IMs.

You won't want to miss it.
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He's a Sensitive Sort of Guy

Mon, 09 Nov 2009 04:02:00 GMT

~He's a Sensitive Sort of Guy~

The Boy doesn't like fighting/arguing with his mother. No, really. It upsets him a LOT. I've seen this before; he gets all angry and stomps around for a few days. Then, the adrenaline wears off and he gets depressed because he doesn't like fighting/arguing with his mother.

It disturbs his sleep, too.

The Mental Health Center called The Boy back, much to his surprise [but not mine]. They told him that they don't do appointments like he requested. He said they said they would meet with him and with his mother separately. He said that isn't what he wants, so they gave him a phone number for a church that has a 'relationships ministry' and although Mr. Pagan isn't thrilled about it being church affiliated, he IS willing to give it a go.

So, he will call them sometime soon.

I suggested it wouldn't hurt him to maybe see a shrink a time or two. I said, "It might help you to accept your mother just the way she is. I do, you know. But then, she's not my mother."

He and I discussed all this screaming shit going on in The Cave. I told him about Boobs running into the bedroom and meowing in my face with his big saucer eyes, and suggested that perhaps he should consider the fact that screaming and yelling is not really an adult way to handle any situation, especially when it goes on for days and days.

I also mentioned that it's quite stressful to ME. But not in a way that you would think. In fact, it took me a while to figure out why I freaked out when this screaming and yelling was going on.

Back when I was 11, 12, 13 years old, my mother would get drunk and go into blackouts. During these blackouts she would haul me out of my bed by my long hair and beat the shit out of me over imagined slights. This is why I ended up in a foster home.

There was much screaming and yelling during these beatings. So, I'm suffering some sort of PTSD thing even though I can say that really and truly I've left all that shit behind me many, many years ago. I made a conscious decision when I turned 18 that all that shit was behind me and I was now an adult and I wasn't going to be hauling around any emotional baggage like that. And I didn't even read a book to come to this decision!

To me, screaming and yelling like The Boy and his mother do says Person Out of Control to me. Because that is what my mother was. And a Person Out of Control is someone who can hurt someone else. That is no way to settle any kind of argument or disagreement.

So, no, I am NOT enjoying any of this crap going on here. Oh, I had my moment when The Boy realized his mother didn't like me, but hell, I've waited for YEARS for him to realize that, so I had to enjoy it when it came.

The Boy said to me, "My mother isn't happy if she doesn't have five thousand dollars in her checking account." Some years back she took out a home equity loan on The Cave for $25,000 because she felt her cash reserves were low. She doesn't seem to 'get' the fact that it meant that she added over $25,000 of debt to her life. So, she gets THAT shit paid off, then she bought the freaken duplex that gave her nothing but headaches because she thought The Brother would live in one side of it and The Boy, the other. Not once did she consider that the brothers didn't WANT to live that close to each other, and neither wanted to live so far out of town.

She ended up 'selling' that to The Stepdad's son, and he's making payments to The Mother every month for that. Now we come to find out she's taken out ANOTHER home equity loan of $25,000 but apparently that money is already gone. The Boy told her, "I have news for you, Mother. Many, many people get along quite well without five thousand dollars in their checking accounts. If their bills are paid and they have food, they are happy."

Do you want to know what she said? "I CAN'T LIVE THAT WAY!"

I KNOW!

And yet, with all her worries about spending and having money, the woman shops all the damn time. In nice weather, of course, it's rummaging. In winter, it's the sales in the stores. It's like she has some mental block that prevents her from realizing that if she stopped buying tons of shit she would have more money!

I also remembered something The Boy told me. His mother once told him that he should move in with her "to save money". Oh, you can imagine The Boy's reaction. Even I laughed. She really has no clue about the way The Boy lives. If he can't walk around naked when he wants to, he's not happy. I frequently remind him, "Dude, I'm NOT your mother. You are an adult; if you want to cruise for porn, go for it."

For all I know, somewhere in the dark recesses of her mind she probably believes that if it wasn't for me, The Boy would go live with her. I'm sure she can't believe that an adult male might not want to live with his mother. After all, when George [The Aunt's son] tried to move out The Aunt and The Mother double-teamed him and he is still living with his mother and he doesn't have much of a life, either. [The Brother certainly didn't have one.]

I don't know. Maybe to The Mother and The Aunt all kids are supposed to live with their mothers until they get married, no matter when that is. Since I never knew their mother [she died before I moved here] I don't know if that's something they learned from her. I know she was very close to The Boy and she used to come over here pretty much every day and clean his house for him, and probably cook, too, while he was off to work. She lived three blocks away.

You know, I love my fambly, but I don't want them up my ass EVERY FREAKEN DAY. I want a chance to miss them, if you know what I mean.

Or maybe it's just me.

Who knows. My fambly was fucked up too, but we all seemed to have turned out OK despite all the dysfunctionalism. [Well, most of us anyway. OK, some of us.]

But, this too, shall pass, I'm sure. The Boy and The Mother will come to some sort of place where they can have a relationship of some sort again. This is what The Boy wants. She IS his mother, and as my sister said, no matter what kind of mother you have, you love her anyway.
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Crazy MoFo Stories

Sun, 08 Nov 2009 04:01:39 GMT

~Crazy MoFo Stories~

#1

The other day [before this happened: ] The Boy logged on to his 'Cops and Robbers' and he started playing and battling The Forces of Good. [I recognized the Sounds of Battle.] Before long I hear him cussing over at his desk and a loud "GODDAMMIT!"

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"I can't believe we have to pay RENT on the space our lairs are on. They turned my transporters off for non-payment of rent."

"Ah," I said. "So, basically, you are the same person over there that you are in Real Life."

He tried to hide his smile. "Yeah, kind of."

"Well, pay your damned rent. Sheesh."

"It's not like I don't have the money. It's just that I have to go across town to do it."

"Oh for God's sake. You DESERVE to have them turned off, you Lazy Bastard."

His evil villain had to take the subway to get back to the battle.

#2

Wednesday he went to let Hootie out and Kitty made a break for it, and made it. When The Boy came back in from seeing if perhaps Kitty was close by, Smiggy got out. I told him, "Stop worrying! They know this is where the food is. They will all come home."

He let Boobs out for a while to eat some grass, then closed the door, leaving even Boobs out there. But he kept looking out the front door, and I was freezing my ass off in here. That pissed me off and he gave me Boobs' nummie robe to keep my legs warm.

He kept saying shit like, "I should go look for them!"

I told him, "You'll see. They will ALL come home. Even Smiggy."

At one point he got up to pee and I hear someone banging at the front door. He got out of the bathroom, went to answer the door, and lo and behold, it was Smiggy. He pointed at the cat in shock as he sauntered into the house and I said, "I told you so."

Before long, Boobs came in, then finally, Kitty came home. He had visited his old house again. But it doesn't take long to realize this house is where the food and the warm is at.

I've told The Boy over and over again that all these cats know where the food is and this is where they will come back to and to stop freaking out when they 'escape'.

But I doubt this is something he will remember, because I think he likes freaking out.

#3

The Lord God Lightning Bolt is one of over a thousand gods on the planet. I was informed of this late Thursday night.

The Lord God Lightning Bolt is the 2nd evilest god on the planet. The Boy was informed of this by T-bone late Thursday night.

The fact that there is someone even EVILER than he is, is pissing off The Boy to no end.

He wants to be THE MOST EVIL LORD GOD LIGHTNING BOLT on this stupid planet that has over a thousand gods.

"I'M THE 2ND EVILEST GOD, HONEY!" he tells me.

"So basically you try harder, right?"

He gave me The Look.

"Aren't you PROUD of me?" he asks.

"Oh, very."

Silence for a while, then I say, "This means your new goal is to SMITE SMITE SMITE and become the Number One Evil God, right?"

"But of course!"

Well, it keeps him out of my hair, and I can live with that.
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Maybe I'll Make ALL the Titles SSDD

Sat, 07 Nov 2009 04:02:00 GMT

~Maybe I'll Make ALL the Titles SSDD~

I was rudely awakened Friday morning when Boobs blasted into the bedroom and jumped on the bed and MEOWED in my face. His eyes were as big as saucers. It only took me a second to realize why the cat was upset. It was the SCREAMING from the living room.

Yeah, The Boy and The Mother are still at it after three days. Still the same shit being said, no progress being made, no opinions being changed, no one admitting they are 'wrong'.

I think that's when this 'thing' will be over for The Boy. When The Mother admits she is wrong. For her, it's when The Boy admits he is wrong.

One of the two brought up the subject of "seeing a psychiatrist". The Boy said he would make an appointment if SHE would go, too. To this end he just got off the phone from leaving a message at the Mental Health Center because he wants to know the cost of something like that.

I don't know why The Boy thinks that a shrink will listen to them and then say, "Oh, you are right and she is wrong," or vice versa. In my [limited] experience with shrinks they don't tell you what to do, they GUIDE you to find the answers within yourself.

Personally, I think The Mother is so fucked up in the head that she will never listen to ANYONE. She is convinced she has all the [right] answers and can fix anyone's life and yet she is unable to see how fucked up her own life is, and has been, for a long time. All HER problems she attributes to everyone else. If only The Boy would listen to her [blah blah blah] then she would be happy. But because he won't, her life sucks.

So, because she isn't making any headway with The Boy and his insistence on saying that if he were to die he would leave me his house and ALL HIS STUFF, she said today that she's thinking about suicide.

I mentioned this to Bratsis , who only said, "He should be so lucky."

No shit.

But this is how she is. She is NOT contemplating suicide; it's just another one of her ways to attempt to manipulate The Boy. Apparently yesterday she said something along the lines of she KNOWS he doesn't 'like' her ever since her last cancer surgery.

Where the fuck did THAT come from?

This is the guy who slept ON THE FLOOR next to her bed so that if she fell out of it, she would fall on HIM. Remember, she fell out of bed once and ended up with a bloody nose. He was not comfortable on the floor, but to him it was preferable to his mother falling and hurting herself again.

This is the guy who gave her shots in her stomach because she couldn't do it. This is the guy who took her almost every damned day to get her port flushed. This is the guy who would try and come here to play his 'Cops and Robbers' for a couple hours only to be called back to her side because she didn't like the fact that he had her car. When he took his own vehicle, then she would call him because she needed him for something.

The woman was a raving lunatic, and still is.

Personally, I don't know how ANYONE could love this woman, and God knows I've tried. Not tried to love her--I just don't care about her that much--but I've certainly treated her only with respect, and that is not because she has earned it, it's because of my love for The Boy.

I've never seen her being anything that you would describe as 'warm and caring'. She has a condescending attitude that was VERY apparent last Christmas when she changed the channel on the teevee at The Aunt's house, unmindful that someone was watching something on it.

Even watching her hand out the gifts she brought to people; she actually THREW them at people, I kid you the fuck not.

Remember she 'gave' The Boy [and I, hahahaha] a George Foreman grill last Christmas? Well, we checked it out and decided we liked the one I bought better. But it was a nice Foreman grill, and The Boy decided to give it to T-bone and Spouse as a gift, and they loved it because they didn't have one at all.

Well, THREE MONTHS or so after Christmas The Mother called here and said, "If you aren't using that grill, I want it back."

I KNOW!

She does this shit all the time.

The Boy tells her, "Your 'gifts' are never 'gifts'. They are more like 'loans' in case you want them back for some goddamned reason!"

She was highly upset that The Boy had given the grill away, even though, as a gift to him, he was legally able to do whatever he wanted to do with it.

She can't or won't see this. She never has.

If she buys you a stupid gift and you don't use it, you are being ungrateful. She can't see that the gift was something totally stupid, and it was something she probably got at a rummage sale or the clearance table at WallyMart.

I can't even count the number of stupid gifts I've gotten from her over the years when even The Boy would say, "What the fuck was she thinking?"

I always just shrugged and thanked her and either threw the item out or gave it to someone.

It's been a running joke for years that if she was pissed [or MORE pissed than usual] at me, none of my Christmas clothes fit me. Some of them I was able to pass on to other people; some just got thrown out or sent to AmVets. The Boy has NEVER admitted that she does these things on purpose, even though I get plenty of clothes from her that fit PERFECTLY.

Maybe he's seeing things a bit differently now. Now that he has told her that I have said for YEARS that she doesn't like me and now he believes it, too.

I don't think people like The Mother will, or even can, change. They are so sick and so sure that they are right that no one, not even The Lord himself, could convince her otherwise.

What an ego that woman has. Unfuckingbelieveable.

So, this trip to a shrink is going to be interesting to hear about. I doubt The Boy will be satisfied either, but we shall see. Perhaps they need a mediator or arbitrator; do they get involved in family 'fights'?

I just know that I am getting REALLY sick of all the screaming and yelling.

The cats are, too.
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This Changes Everything

Fri, 06 Nov 2009 04:02:38 GMT

~This Changes Everything~

I don't know if I can convey to you how much this fight between The Boy and The Mother has changed our lives. Or I should say WILL be changing our lives.

There will no longer be any Holiday Dinners with The Weirds. This alone is going to take a LOT of stress out of my life although I will admit that I tried to keep a sense of humor about me during these outings.

The Boy said he'll still have to go because he can't see involving his aunt in this entire 'thing'. He said he told his mother that he won't take me to the dinners so as not to "subject" me to her "evilness".

And there is still screaming going on about how The Mother is "a cold-hearted bitch" because if something happened to The Boy she would "toss me out on the street" without a backward glance.

I'm tired of listening to all this shit. Really. Nothing is ever 'resolved' and it won't ever be. All they do is scream the same shit at each other over and over and over again.

I told The Boy, "You aren't going to CHANGE her, you know. It won't ever happen. You are beating your head against a wall."

He said T-bone basically said the same thing. [But of course. Great Minds Think Alike.]

The thing is, if he fills out something called a 'Deed of Beneficiary' and puts my name on it, there's not a damned thing she could do about me having the house. And this is what is driving her absolutely BATSHIT CRAZY. She can't stand the thought that something "she worked so hard for" would go to "a stranger". Her words, according to The Boy.

Do you remember I told you a week or so ago about how a handyman she uses a lot is now homeless because the lady he took care of for years up and died and didn't put his name on the house?

The Mother kept telling The Boy what a shame it was; how terrible of the woman not to put his name on her house after he took care of her.

Well, The Boy threw that into her face somewhere along the line during this whole debacle and told her it was the same thing. "He lived with her for TEN YEARS. [Brat] and I have been together FOR ELEVEN! If [the handyman] deserved the house after ten years with [the woman], don't you think [Brat] deserves the same consideration?" [I gave him big points for this argument.]

He said to her, "You don't understand how [Brat] saved us when you were in the hospital having the surgery the last time. I was going CRAZY worrying about my animals and trying to take care of [The Brother] and knowing I would have to take care of YOU, too, when you came home. If it wasn't for [Brat] you would not have had me to take care of you!"

[I try to remain humble. ]

Of course, she's never understood how I've supported The Boy all these years in one way or another.

It all boils down to money. She spent over SEVEN THOUSAND DOLLARS trying to save her mutt and now the property taxes are due and SHE DOESN'T HAVE THE READY CASH.

The Boy said to me, "As much as I despise [The Stepdad], IF my mother died and I inherited that house, I wouldn't be so cruel as to throw him out onto the street! For God's sake, I can't live in THREE HOUSES, and neither can she!"

So, The Boy and I have been talking for a couple days. We are going to work very hard to cut all monetary ties to The Mother--for ANY reason--and this alone is going to drive her nuts, because she won't have any say-so over anything The Boy does.

I've been trying to do this for years, but The Boy was always of the mind that if she wanted to pay the property taxes and house insurance, he would let her. Now he's realizing that she's always demanded her pound of flesh for anything she has ever done for him, because she is throwing it all up in his face the last couple days.

We sat down with pencil and paper and we figured out that this is really doable, and The Boy is pleased as hell. We still aren't going to be eating out a lot, but we'll be able to do it every once in a while. We can't remember the last time WE went out to dinner. [We've gone out with others, of course. But not with just each other.] Going out to dinner makes The Boy feel RICH.

The other thing that he's been screaming at her about are her "gifts". She always has strings attached to her "gifts" so he tells her they are NOT "gifts". He's right.

After The Brother died, she gave The Boy the small HD teevee that matched the one she gave The Boy. When she found out we were using them as computer monitors [that *I* was] she demanded its return so she could use it [meaning I wasn't using it].

I went back to my dying monitor, until he brought home this HUGE and HEAVY monitor. I told him there was no way my desk would hold that--it's just pressboard--so he took the monitor and I'm back to the HD teevee.

I've told him repeatedly over the years that he tells her way too much about what goes on in this house. He should have told her we watched one in bed and she would have been OK with that. But she doesn't have to know what we are making for dinner or any other goddamned thing that happens over here.

She needs to start living her own life.

The Boy is still without a voice. When it starts coming back, the bitch The Mother calls again and the screaming starts and then he's back to a squeak.

At any rate, tonight I made the stupid deep-fried chicken and onion rings that he loves so much. I had to get the chicken breasts cooked because I'll be damned if I'll let them go bad.

OH OH OH! This cracked me up so I have to share it. I went to lie down and when I got up The Boy said, "My mother called. She wanted to know if she could put a turkey in our freezer. I told her I didn't have the room. We actually have the room, but she can go to hell."

I KNOW!

She hates me, but boy, she loves my freezer!

Yeah, she's a real piece of work.
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Same Shit, Different Day, [Act 2704]

Thu, 05 Nov 2009 16:03:00 GMT

~Same Shit, Different Day, [Act 2704]~

This 'fighting' thing between The Boy and The Mother is ridiculous. When I say they SCREAM at each other, I am not kidding nor am I exaggerating. He's pretty much screamed his voice out, and that's making his job very hard.

When he realized he was losing his voice he told his mother he didn't want to talk to her until Friday. Well, SHE stewed all night too, and called him as he was driving to work. Somehow, he got his EAR cut and when he came home Wednesday night he put his bloody cell phone in front of me and told me, "I have no idea how the hell this happened!" I cleaned the phone with some tissues and rubbing alcohol, and put it on the charger since it was dead.

Later, I had him come over by me so I could clean up his ear somewhat. He said, "It will get cleaned when I take a bath."

I told him, "Dude, if that's not going to be TONIGHT then the blood has to be wiped away because you are going to gross people out."

There's a cut inside a fold of his ear. That can't have been caused by the cell phone, so I have no idea what the hell he did to himself. "IS A PUZZLEMENT!"

He wasn't hungry when he came home from work, and I wasn't going to go to the trouble of making a huge dinner for myself. I had taken chicken breasts out and if he had been hungry, I would have made them for us. But since he wasn't eating, I didn't feel the need for anything spectacular. So, I just cut some potatoes into slices and threw them in the cauldron. Later, he ate a handful of them, although I had mine toasty hot with a bit of Ranch dressing. It served.

It reminded me of my eating habits when he goes to Indy. I rarely go nuts with meals unless I've gotten some of the Genuine Fake Crab meat for myself, which I don't eat while he's in the house because all he does is bitch about the smell of it. If I go 'nuts', I'll fry up a pork steak or chop and nuke a potato to go with it. Being able to do this sort of thing when The Boy is home is a bonus.

So, it was a QUIET night at The Cave on Wednesday, because he's not saying much, to save his voice. I kind of missed his evil cackling while playing at being THE LORD GOD ALMIGHTY, SMITER OF ALL AND SUNDRY. But he may not have been playing that at all, since it sounded like all he was doing was typing over there.

Wednesday, during the day, the house phone rang twice. I hesitated before answering it because MY first thought was, What if it's The Mother? What if it's The Aunt? I don't put ANYTHING past The Mother when it comes to promoting her agenda. She's used The Aunt in this regard before. That was long before this blog even began.

The Brother was a HUGE Aerosmith fan. He got on The Online [probably on AOHell] and found a fan group for Aerosmith and among its many members, he met a gal who lived, if I remember right, in Boston or thereabouts. They became friends, and then thought that perhaps they could meet and see if there was some kind of attraction in Real Life, too. Thusly, The Brother and The Gal made arrangements that The Gal would come out here to Cave City to meet.

It was Hate at First Sight, but between The Mother and The Gal. The meeting degenerated to ACTUAL FISTICUFFS and the police were called. I shit you not.

The Boy and I took The Brother and The Gal out to dinner one of the nights that she was here. We had a good time and I liked The Gal. She had some problems, of course, stemming from her childhood, and I told her, "We all had sucky upbringings, for God's sake. Get over it and grow up and move along with your life."

This pissed off The Brother but The Gal said, "No, she's made more sense in five minutes than my therapists have in years."

Anyway, a day or so later, The Aunt calls me. She never even met The Gal, and she's trying to tell me what a bad person she is. I rarely lose my temper--no, really--but I did this time, because I KNEW The Mother had put her up to this. I told The Aunt I had met The Gal and I liked her and I thought it was a good thing that The Brother had someone in HIS life for a change, instead of just The Mother, who of course was living with him by that time.

I hung up on The Aunt. [I'm sure she was angry with her sister over that shit.] But don't call me and try and tell me how I should feel about someone! I don't deal well with that crap! I'm able to make up my own mind about things.

Yeah, it didn't work out for The Brother and The Gal, for many reasons, but mainly The Mother. She complains that she's going to die without grandchildren, and she is. She will never see [or believe] that she is to blame for that. But considering the fact that I think she's mentally ill [and has been for a LONG time] perhaps it's best her genes die out anyway. As they say, The Gene Pool Could Use a Little Chlorine.

But OMFG! To get into ACTUAL FISTICUFFS with someone? The only way *I* would raise a hand to someone is in self-defense, and even then, as a last resort. I was raised to believe that Civilized People didn't do that sort of thing. And they certainly didn't do it outside where the neighbors might see and call the police. It's just not done.

The Boy and The Mother have had their go-arounds, too, mind you. Twice, that I can remember. Once he was so full of scratches from The Mother that I probably would have slapped her if I had seen her. Another time The Boy got angry and tore down her Christmas tree and threw her coffee at the ceiling. She was pissed that she had to repaint the ceiling and called off Christmas for that year. Later she changed her mind, but I didn't partake of Christmas with The Weirds that year because I told The Boy, "I am NOT playing these games with your mother. Fuck her!"

"What am I going to tell them?"

"Whatever the fuck you want to tell them. I don't give a shit."

He told them I was sick. I guess it wasn't THAT far from the truth; I was sick of the bullshit.

So, really and truly, it IS the Same Shit, Different Day.

Lucky me, I just mainly get to sit back and watch it all unfold. Again.

I know there's probably stuff The Boy isn't telling because he wants to "spare my feelings". Like finding out his mother doesn't like me? I'm laughing. The joke's on him. I knew. I know. I just don't give a shit.

My life hasn't changed one iota for 'hearing' about it from The Boy, and I know he's not happy.

He's a very unhappy guy right now, and I feel horrible for him about it.
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Cyberly Speaking

Thu, 05 Nov 2009 04:02:00 GMT

~Cyberly Speaking~

I had a surreal experience Tuesday night. In it are lessons for us all, so I decided I was going to share it here.

I went to Pogo and played some MonoSlots, thinking that maybe KP would be up and about and able to join us for a bit. Since I've ranked out in MonoSlots I don't enjoy the game as much as I used to, so I go in there mainly to joke around with people. A bunch of us meet in the same room when we play.

Now, I've been around The Online for a while. I started on AOHell where I quickly discovered that people are frequently not what they seem to be. I developed my own little online 'persona', as did a lot of other people. This was fine, because really, I wasn't planning on meeting most of these people.

But a couple weeks ago in MonoSlots this one gal was really freaking out because she had a phone message from [supposedly] the FBI and she was worried about it. After listening to her I told her, "Don't worry. The FBI doesn't work that way. They just show up on your doorstep. They don't 'warn' you that you 'might' be in trouble."

I couldn't calm her down. Finally, she gave me this phone number of the FBI that was left for her and I called it. It was the FBI media line. I told her that. I explained what it was. I told her someone was fucking with her and that she should call the FBI and inform them and maybe THEY could track down this person, who she suspected was her son-in-law, who is married to her daughter, who is presently in prison.

Now, I'm going to tell you that when I find out that someone has a relative in prison, this kind of puts me on alert. I don't care who the relative is. In my vast life experience I've determined that when people have relatives who are in prison [or frequently sent to jail] these are generally people I avoid getting close to.

Why?

Because I've discovered that our lifestyles are usually VASTLY different. I've discovered that our world views are VASTLY different. In short, these are not the type of people I have as friends because THEY ARE TROUBLE, and I find life itself brings enough trouble to my life without having people whose lifestyles INVITE trouble.

Maybe it's just me.

So, we get the FBI thing 'handled', and the gal did end up calling the FBI about this thing and they took over from there, and all was 'well'. But this gal was having so much 'stress' in her life that she wanted to get away and go spend some time with her boyfriend at his house. Thusly, she was looking for someone to house-sit for her since she has a couple dogs. For some reason boarding the animals wasn't an option.

At this point in time another of the regulars in the room starts whispering to me in chat. I don't know why she won't just pull me into a private chat, but she starts telling me stuff about the other gal; innocuous things like "she really needs to get away for awhile" and "her son-in-law is a real jerk" and I'm just being polite but I'm wondering why the hell she's telling ME this shit.

The lady gets an old man who is her neighbor to come and house-sit. He plays on her Pogo account and he even comes into MonoSlots to play with 'The Gang' and we know it's him and not her because he doesn't chat. No big deal.

The lady comes home, professes herself all rested and life goes on. Over the weekend we were playing MonoSlots and she's telling us that the housesitter AND ANOTHER neighbor were at her house getting drunk while she played on the computer. After a while all the craziness just got to be too much to handle and I left.

Tuesday night I went to MonoSlots, hoping, as I said, that maybe KP would make it in there. [She didn't.] But the lady with the FBI troubles showed up, and the whispering lady.

Not too long after I'm in there the whispering lady starts up again and tells me that the housesitter left the other gal's dogs out all night while she was gone. I wasn't surprised; he probably got drunk and passed out. Meanwhile, she's telling me more shit I don't care about and everyone is leaving, and finally the FBI lady says she's going to bed but the housesitter dude is going to be playing on her computer so it won't be her in MonoSlots.

The whispering lady had computer troubles and when she was gone on a BRB I left, too. This left the housesitter playing MonoSlots alone in that room.

I went to play Makeover Madness and I didn't get through one complete game before the whispering lady came into the room I was in.

Now, I'm going to tell you that this is the sort of thing I don't care for. I don't mind playing MonoSlots with people I've sort of gotten to know, and although they are on my Friend's List, they are not my friends, if you understand the distinction.

So Whisper Lady comes in and she starts telling me that the FBI lady has her cell phone number and won't stop calling her and using up her minutes even though she asked her not to call that number during the day. I advise her to have Verizon block it.

Then she goes on to tell me more shit about the FBI lady than I care to hear. I finally asked her if she had ever met this woman.

WL: no
me: then why do you even give a shit?
me: is she someone you would invite to your house?
WL: no
me: then why are you cluttering YOUR MIND with HER SHIT?

I went on to tell her [actually I was hoping that I was REMINDING her] that people are rarely who they seem to be on The Online. I told her that she had enough problems in her life [she has some real health concerns] and she didn't need to carry around someone else's problems along with her own.

"Play MonoSlots, have a few laughs, then let it go," I repeatedly told her. "Let the woman worry about her own shit. It's a shame she's so stupid, but hey, it's her life. If her idea of fun is to let some neighbors come over and get drunk at her house while she plays games on Pogo, well, that's her choice. She's fun to play MonoSlots with but to me she's nothing but trash and lives a life I want nothing to do with. I suggest you do the same."

Well, I really don't think that's the response that Whisper Lady was wanting; I think she wanted to tell me more bullshit, but if there's anything I am NOT into, it's gossiping about someone I don't know and don't give a shit about anyway.

Since I was being uncooperative and unreceptive, this woman starts telling me about the problems in HER life, and I realize she's carrying a really big burden over the death of her sister [who died in March of '08.] She says to me, about the FBI lady, "She just needs someone to listen to her."

I said, "That's what family and friends are for," hoping she might take the hint. I can be all sympathetic and stuff, but maybe this woman needs some grief counseling. Since I don't know her, I have no way to tell.

Finally, Naked Sara IMs me and gives me the out I need to get away from Whisper Lady.

Here's your lesson for today: There are real nut cases on The Online. Some of them have real problems, like nut cases in their family. Sometimes nuttiness spreads itself around. Do NOT get involved with nut cases.

Do not give out your phone number to anyone. You may find yourself with a New Best Friend who will feel it's OK to call you at all hours of the day or night because "That's what friends do."

Here's a clue: If they want your phone number because they need someone to talk to, that itself tells you that this person probably has no friends. If they have no friends, there's probably a really good reason why.

What? You don't want to be RUDE? Why do you give a damn? It's not like this person is someone you actually KNOW. Again, you don't know this person, why do you give a shit? Let them go find someone else to bother.

People can say anything on The Online, and of course, there are a lot of people who are themselves on The Online, but never forget that there are a lot of crazies out there, too. Your home should be a safe haven where you can turn off your computer and leave everybody and everything out there and enjoy your life.

Don't let anyone take that away from you. Keep your private information private.

That is all.
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Nose Apple Baking

Wed, 04 Nov 2009 16:01:00 GMT

~Nose Apple Baking~

OK. I finally got off my duff and did something with the soaking and reconstituted dried apples that had the consistency of noses [as The Boy said].

First, I'll tell you what I did, then I'll tell you what I would change if making the exact same thing. Which I won't ever do, because The Boy won't buy those apples again.

OK, I soaked the sliced apples for three or four days in apple cider. They must have soaked up almost a cup and a half of liquid, if not more. I put them in a zip lock bag at the end of the first day and added more cider and pressed all the air out of the package and put them in the fridge.

I sprayed my handy dandy round aluminum pie pan [that had somethings frozen in it when we bought it; I reuse these things until they die] with non-stick spray, then drained the excess cider from the apple slices. [I was pleased that the zip lock baggie made this VERY easy to do!] I threw the apples in the sprayed pan and sprinkled cinnamon all over them. [This was the point where I was going to add raisins, but I forgot and added them right before I put it in the oven. I don't think it matters either way.] I was going to sprinkle some sugar on them but remembered that I had some cinnamon sugar already made, so just used that. It worked out fine and didn't taste like there was too much cinnamon.

The mix I made was this:

1 cup of milk [we use whole, but I don't think it matters]
2 eggs
1/2 heaping cup of Bisquick mix
1 teaspoon of vanilla

I beat the hell out of it with a whisk then slowly poured it over the apples. This is the point where I said, "Oh shit! I forgot the raisins!" I just dropped them one by one over the top of the thing, and it was fine.

I baked this concoction at 400° F for about 30 minutes. Here's what it looked like:

The apples ended up having a slight crunch to them, believe it or not. The 'crust' part turned out to have an almost custard-type taste to it. Quite nice!

I should have diced up the apples, though.

Here's the thing. That crust mixture is so damned good that I told my sister I'd make that plain and then cut it up and serve it as dessert. Put any kind of canned pie fruits over it, a dollop of whipped cream or ice cream and you have custom desserts.

The Boy loved it. He couldn't believe it was made from the nose apples that he hated so much. He said that he'd like it with 'normal' apples. I told him, "If I made this with 'normal' apples I would cook the apples with REAL butter first, and probably add cinnamon and sugar at that point, too."

So, there you have it. It was a success.

And by success I mean The Boy ate it and liked it.

Not that I cared, really. It was just a bonus.
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THIS, My Children, is How You Handle Wicked Bitches

Wed, 04 Nov 2009 04:02:00 GMT

~THIS, My Children, is How You Handle Wicked Bitches~

I've been called a lot of things in my life, and I must say, now that I am [*cough*] years old, being called things doesn't bother me anymore. This is one of the nice things about getting older. You get more comfortable in your skin and with who you are. It's a Take Me As I Am Or Not At All sort of thing. Because I am way too fucking old to be kissing anyone's ass FOR ANYTHING.

For YEARS I have lived with the knowledge that The Mother doesn't like me at all. Not one stinking bit. I have not lost any sleep over this.

The Boy would try and tell me, "Oh, she likes you," but I would roll my eyes and know that HE IS BLIND. Women know things. Women ESPECIALLY know things about other women that men will NEVER realize. You women reading this are all nodding your heads because You Know What I Mean. We see the women coming on to our men and THE MEN ARE BLIND TO THIS. "Oh, she's just friendly," they say. But we know.

When I got my disability approved, almost the first words out of The Mother's mouth to The Boy was, "Good. Now you can pay your own property taxes."

I had a bad feeling about this. A really bad feeling. You know why? Because for YEARS I worked full-time AND NOT ONCE did The Mother ever say, "Pay your own property taxes." This was always something she handled for whatever reasons of her own.

ALWAYS.

So, of course my radar went off.

I spend a goodly part of the night awake and alone, and I may be playing games on Pogo, but I'm usually thinking about stuff. And my mind kept coming back to this tax thing.

The other day I said to The Boy, "DO NOT under ANY circumstances, tell your mother the amount of back pay I am getting. It's none of her goddamn business." [I have no idea EXACTLY how much I'm getting, but I can make a good estimate.]

I may have been too late. I think he may have "mentioned it in passing."

The Mother spent over SEVEN THOUSAND DOLLARS on trying to save her mutt. This was something she told The Boy not to tell me. OOPS! Whatever. It wasn't my mutt OR my money. I don't give a shit what she does with either.

Meanwhile, I'm waiting for the other shoe to fall, because I KNOW IT WILL.

And today it did.

I hate it when I'm right.

The day started out pretty sucky for The Boy. The Mother started in IMMEDIATELY about the fucking leaves and The Boy couldn't get a mower at The Cave going but found out she has an electric one over there and still she wanted him to haul one from HERE to THERE. The Boy would have pulled all his hair out if it wasn't for the fact that it's still too hard to grasp being so short. Why load a mower with sharp blades into a truck and risk getting hurt when you don't have to? I don't understand that shit either.

So, he goes over there and gets it done and in a short time he's home. I was amazed. I told him, "I'm going to go lie down for a bit," and I go.

And just as I'm falling asleep, I hear it.

The sound of SCREAMING and YELLING from the living room.

Please believe me when I say that I could spend DAYS on this post just recounting parts of conversations alone. But I'm not going to do that. I'm going to cut to the chase and hit the high points.

First off, when The Brother died in June of '08, The Boy told me that if he died before me [and if I was still living here] he was going to leave me The Cave. I started laughing and laughing and I said, "AS IF!"

"As if, what?"

"As if your mother wouldn't kick my ass out before you were even COLD!"

"She wouldn't do that."

I just shook my head. Men just don't get it.

Today, The Mother said to him, "I don't think [Brat] should get ONE OF MY HOUSES if something should happen to you."

The Boy's answer was something along the lines of this: "OMFG, for years she has been telling me that if something were to happen to me that you would throw her out. I told her you weren't that cruel. Now I see that she is right! You are a heartless bitch!"

But wait! There's MORE. Oh, yes there is.

She says, "Well, now that you have all this money...."

And there it is.

The Boy said, "It's not MY money! It's not MY money! It's not MY money!"

I plan on having a few grand to get a decent used car. I can upgrade my freezer. I can get some new shoes, which I desperately need. And slippers. I'm not buying a new coffeepot. I'm not buying a ton of clothes, either. I might get a couple DVDs I'm missing [Die Hard 4; the last Harry Potter.] I may go out and treat myself to a Red Lobster dinner. But I'm NOT taking a cruise. I'm not planning a trip. I'm not buying a new computer. I'm not getting a bigger and better HD teevee.

My needs are few, thank God.

But The Mother sees opportunity here, The Boy tells me. He says it's like she's plotting ways to get her hands on the money, and if she can't do that [she can't] she can make me spend it in ways that will benefit her. [Taxes and house insurance. SO FAR.]

The Boy is up in arms. You have no idea what a mess he is right now. He said, "I'm so sorry I even told her you were getting back pay."

I told him, "She knows about back pay. Your brother got some when HE went on disability. You didn't tell her anything she didn't already know."

But the thing that's bothering him the MOST is this: He now knows his mother hates me.

I told him, "I understand your shock, but you must realize THIS IS NOT NEWS TO ME. I've told you this for YEARS and you refused to see it. If you dare to die before her, I'll be out of here faster than a fart in the wind. Trust me on this one. And I already knew that shit, too. Anything 'nice' she has done for me was only done BECAUSE OF YOU. And I knew this, and I'm OK with that. As I said, I've known this FOR ELEVEN YEARS NOW."

I'm not taking it personally. After all, I know if it was any other woman, she would be the exact same way.

But here's the lesson: Many, many years ago, while I was still in high school, I dated this very nice boy. Let's call him 'Max'. Max' dad had died, and he had an older sister, and the minute she could, she up and moved to London, England. She couldn't take another moment of her mother.

Anyway, some days Max and I would get out of school and we'd go to his house and watch teevee. Some days his mother would walk in, find us doing nothing but watching teevee, and she would start ranting and raving about the "whores" that her son was dating.

She knew damned well I was the only person he was dating.

And oh, how I wanted to rant back at her. But my foster mom had told me, "The minute you bad mouth his mother, he's out of your life, Kiddo." So, I kept my mouth shut. Because there will come a time when he has to make a decision, and when he does, Mom becomes the #2 and you are #1.

This happened here today.

I've yelled at The Mother precisely ONCE. I don't plan on doing it again, because really, I don't have to. And now, thanks to the fight they had today, she knows that I know about the way she feels about me. She may have suspected before, but NOW SHE KNOWS. She knows that The Boy screamed aloud about her 'kicking' me out of here if something were to happen to him. She knows.

And she is not going to be a very happy person, let me tell you.

The Boy says he's going to go see a lawyer and make a will leaving me this house. I told him, "Don't bother. Let her kick me out. My only worries are whatever cats are left alive."

But to him, it's important. "This has been your home as much as mine for eleven years now. There's no reason why you should have to leave."

Um, maybe just to get out of the same town that SHE lives in?

So, he's apologizing all over the place today, and I keep telling him, "Hey, it's news to you but not to me," and he keeps saying, "STOP SAYING THAT!"

He hates it when I'm right. Especially after I've been patient all these years just waiting for the right moment when I can say, "I TOLD YOU SO."

And I haven't even touched upon the fact that The Mother is afraid that The Boy is going to spend some of the life insurance money ON ME after she dies and he inherits it.

Oh yeah, THAT shit came up too.

Ain't she a piece of work?

Don't worry about me, folks. I'M FINE. It's The Boy who has had the major shock to his system today.

I'm just sitting here with a shit-eating grin on my face because I'm sure The Mother is sitting across town wondering how she can back-pedal this thing about me not staying in this house should something happen to The Boy.

He said, "She was always worried about what would happen to my brother when she died. Then he dies, and she doesn't have that worry anymore, and it's like she is throwing all this shit on ME now!"

I said, "I've told you for years that she's The Drama Queen. She thrives on it and creates it when there is none. It gives her life meaning and probably gives her the will to live, to boot."

"Yeah, she's a Drama Queen, for sure," he replied.

Duh. Men just don't see things that we women see.

I told my sister today, "I feel like Dennis Quaid in 'Independence Day'. "Good God! I've been sayin' it. I've been sayin' it for ten damn years. Ain't I been sayin' it? Yeah, I've been sayin' it.""

So, there's my recipe for handling Bitches from Hell.

Have patience.

Their day is coming.
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No Baking Day

Tue, 03 Nov 2009 04:01:00 GMT

~No Baking Day~

I didn't bake today for two reasons. The first is that it was way too hot in here to turn the oven on. The second was that I was trying to get a migraine, and since I was smelling [of all things] CHICKEN SOUP, the last thing I wanted to do was add more odors to my life.

The Boy has two of those plug-in air fresheners going here. One is in the bathroom, and now I've found one in the kitchen. Where I sit the aromas all meet and let me tell you, they don't get along.

And as long as we are on the subject [although we really aren't] I knocked The Boy's teeth out.

I KNOW!

Let me tell you how this came about.

He got this handy dandy little plastic thingie from his dentist to put his plate into to clean it. It looks like this: http://www.crossprotection.com.sg/wp-content/uploads/2009/02/denture-box-l.jpg They gave him a pink one, although it's more mauve, actually.

He buys those drop-in tablets that fizz a bit to clean his plate, and he's really good at cleaning his plate. The thing he ISN'T good about cleaning is the denture box. I swear that guy hates to wash ANYTHING that resembles a dish. Apparently this thing resembles a dish because he has instructed me to "please wash this whenever you wash dishes."

Today I noticed he had a plastic cup half-filled with his denture cleaning stuff and his holder sitting on the little shelf in the kitchen, empty and dirty.

People, trust me when I say that to clean this thing by hand takes ALL OF THIRTY SECONDS. But still, he won't do it.

I took pity on him for some reason, and I washed the damned thing today. I put it on the kitchen sink window sill next to the plastic glass full of the liquid cleaner. When he got home from work I said, "Your tooth fairy box is in the kitchen window. I cleaned it."

He gave me The Look, then just went into the kitchen to see what the hell I was talking about.

Now normally [hah! There I go using that word again!] when The Boy has his Tooth Fairy Box [as *I* like to call it] filled and his plate in it, it's on one of the little shelves by the sink. But for some damned reason, he put his teeth in the box and poured his stuff in there then LEFT THE BOX ON THE WINDOW SILL.

Which is where they were when I knocked them out.

I don't know what he was thinking. That window sill isn't big enough to hold that thing. Then again, he doesn't think, so what am *I* thinking? [You know what I mean?]

I was grateful there wasn't much of a fall so that the plate didn't break or chip. Mercy! We don't need any disasters befalling us right now, thankyouverymuch!

Speaking of disasters [oh, how one thing so often leads to another] The Stepdad fell Sunday night sometime and didn't call anyone. The Boy has no idea why he didn't, all he said to me is "My mother is going to have to spend the nights there now."

I don't feel sorry for her. There are many many reasons why I don't, but the main one is that the man should be in a nursing home. He shits himself and she goes over and cleans him up. To my way of thinking, if he's shitting himself, even on a semi-regular basis, he needs way more help than she can provide.

But that's just me.

The Boy says as much as he hates it [HATES IT!] he is going to have to mow/mulch the leaves on The Mother's lawn tomorrow or else "she's going to do it herself, and she shouldn't be doing that," he told me.

Tonight The Boy is over there at his desk smiting again. In the beginning he would be nice to a person here and there, now it's pretty much Smite, Smite, Smite, take that you little sucker. "MY VOLITION BE DONE!" he says over there while cackling.

He says his goal is to become very, very evil so he can conjure up Undead Creatures. Well, it's good to have goals, I guess, even if you are an Evil God-thing.

My goal is to set this for lift-off, then go cruise some blogs, then maybe play some games.

Oh yeah. It's good to have goals.
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