I returned home from work last night to learn that James Hatfield, aka Papa Het, the lead singer for Metallica has returned to rehab. This breaks my heart to no end. There is no exaggeration when I tell you that I spent the night and most of this morning in prayer and some "hard" talks with God.
I don't know how the hell I missed Metallica in the eighties. It's not like I didn't have the same big hair as these guys had. But, somehow, Duran Duran managed to overshadow them in my world. I guess all I heard was "heavy metal" and assumed the worst. Little did I know.
My first introduction to the band was Whisky In The Jar. I couldn't get enough of that song. I made several visits with our main IT guy about downloading it and of course not getting in trouble... thanks Napster.
Years went by and I paid no more attention to the group until about a year or so ago (if that long). I can't tell you what got my attention, but since then not a day has gone by that I haven't listened to Metallica or thought about James. Oddball things happen in my life. Little things that most people wouldn't think anything of. But, one day while I was shopping off my Goodwill Outlet addiction, I found myself sorting through a bin full of bullshit CDs. As I rounded the corner of the bin, I found myself thinking, "what's the likelihood of finding a Metallica cd?" Well, no shit. I kid you not... I moved a disc and there underneath it was Garage. In perfect condition. That was the best $80 ever spent at an outlet. It possibly even somewhat cured my GW addiction. That CD has been in my car stereo since that day.
I also can't really tell you what introduced me to S&M, but I was completely sold. For the first time in years, I purchased a brand spanking new CD straight from the Metallica site. It too has been in my cd player since. I remember the first time I listened to it as I drove highway 17 to work that day. Euphoria? Maybe. My five disc stereo carries only three discs now. All Metallica.
And it's not all about the music and the band.
It's mostly become all about Papa Het. Something about him got the wheels in my brain rolling more than usual. The more I saw the man, the more I read up on him, the more I read "in between the lines".
At the risk of sounding cheesy, or sappy. The man is simply, beautiful.
True grit.
TRUE GRIT.
I have so much respect for him and his wife. No disrespect to the other members of Metallica, but James and his wife have been married since 1997. I not only love him, but I love her just as much. It can't possibly have been easy for this lady to not only have stood beside James throughout all those years, but to have kicked him out of their home 20 years ago. God bless those two. I couldn't think of anything I'd love more than to spend some time with them. Well, I would love more to see him come out of rehab stronger than he's ever been. And I do believe that despite all of his vices, he is strong.
I'm praying hard for you, James, and for your family. You are stronger than your addictions. But, God is stronger. And He is with you.
Sunday, September 29, 2019
Monday, December 5, 2016
Whoomp, there it is...
My first listing on Poshmark.
https://poshmark.com/listing/Authentic-Louis-Vuitton-Ursula-5838c2c7d14d7b5fbc04dbef
Help her escape captivity. Ursula has been sitting in her dust bag on top of my armoire for almost a year now without any love and affection by me. Kind of sounds like my poor husband. Please help her. And when you help her, you help me... an impoverished breast cancer victim with more handbags than Imelda Marcos has in shoes.
You see, I've never been a big fan of Louis Vuitton handbags. I have a good bit of admiration for Mr. Vuitton, himself, though. The man knew his business and knew how to cater to the wealthy.
But, I'm a handbag addict. Ursula came to me one night while I was surfing bags on eBay. It was during an Ambien moment that I fell in love with her feminine appeal. But most of all, it was the handles that got me. Because so many handbags are equipped with handles and straps that suck. Big bags deserve to have big sturdy handles, just like this Ursula.
And you know what Ursula deserves? A new home, just in time for the holidays.
https://poshmark.com/listing/Authentic-Louis-Vuitton-Ursula-5838c2c7d14d7b5fbc04dbef
Help her escape captivity. Ursula has been sitting in her dust bag on top of my armoire for almost a year now without any love and affection by me. Kind of sounds like my poor husband. Please help her. And when you help her, you help me... an impoverished breast cancer victim with more handbags than Imelda Marcos has in shoes.
You see, I've never been a big fan of Louis Vuitton handbags. I have a good bit of admiration for Mr. Vuitton, himself, though. The man knew his business and knew how to cater to the wealthy.
But, I'm a handbag addict. Ursula came to me one night while I was surfing bags on eBay. It was during an Ambien moment that I fell in love with her feminine appeal. But most of all, it was the handles that got me. Because so many handbags are equipped with handles and straps that suck. Big bags deserve to have big sturdy handles, just like this Ursula.
And you know what Ursula deserves? A new home, just in time for the holidays.
Saturday, November 5, 2016
Mt Unpleasant... Yankee Go Home
I'm angry and I'm cajun.
I'm a Coonass. A southerner. I like my southern food. I love my cajun food. So when I first moved to the Town of Mt Unpleasant, one of the first things I noticed was that there was not one Popeye's Fried Chicken to be found. THAT should have been a huge red flag for me. Little did I realize all that I left behind when I left Acadiana. Crawfish (boiled, fried), crawfish lasagna, Deano's Marie Leveaux or the Cajun Executioner, boudin, boudin balls, cracklin, Zea's, Don's Seafood Hut, Chris's Poboys, Old Tyme Grocery, Southside Bakery, Keller's Bakery, Poupart's Bakery (I've seen only ONE bakery store open since I've been here), real king cake, Meche's donuts, Ground Pati, Riverside Inn (best crab cakes and crabmeat imperial), Savoie's sausage, cajun and zydeco music, Festival International as well as about 100 food festivals, CJ Clements, Bobbie Novasad, Jay Walker, Rob Perillo, John Morgan, Jake Delhomme, Gravity Alley (God forbid there be any race tracks of any kind in this upitty town).
Forget buying liquor on a Sunday. And forget the convenience of being able to buy it at the grocery store. Forget drive thru, or drive up liquor stores. You have to purchase it from an ABC liquor store. And they close at 7:00 p.m. Thank God the pharmacy is open until 10:00 p.m.
See, a coonass likes their food as much as they like their alcohol. We don't eat fancy, hoity toity crap or organic foods like those damn yankees from the north. We like our gumbo, our crawfish étouffée, our shrimp creole, our red beans and rice... which is why I'm so pissed right now.
I went to one of our local Harris Teeter grocery stores this morning to do a little shopping. I have plans to make red beans and rice tomorrow. I looked. And I looked. And I looked again. And I looked again. I gave up. Surely I must be losing my mind in addition to my eyesight and got in line to checkout. But, it was nagging at me and I'm hardheaded. So, I got out of line and looked, again. And again. And then, I put the male testosterones aside, pulled up my granny panties and asked an employee where would I find the dried red beans.
"We no longer sell dried red beans."
And that's when the blood pressure began to rise and the headache came. I'm going to have to find another store to shop at? Seriously? You don't sell dried red beans? What's next? Milk?
Is there anyone with money coming out of their ass who might want to fund me to open up a cajun/creole restaurant/grocery store? Anyone???
It's only a matter of time before I open up a can of whoop ass in the aisle of a grocery store. Watch your heads and your little ones, 'cause the cans of beans will be flying. Those yankees have invaded the south and are ruining the food, clogging up the streets, and building apartment complexes (aka future ghetos of Mt Pleasant) at an alarming rate.
It's time to pull the pineapples from the poster bed and send them home.
And I'm cranking up the stereo until someone calls the police.
Yankees go home. Please.
I'm a Coonass. A southerner. I like my southern food. I love my cajun food. So when I first moved to the Town of Mt Unpleasant, one of the first things I noticed was that there was not one Popeye's Fried Chicken to be found. THAT should have been a huge red flag for me. Little did I realize all that I left behind when I left Acadiana. Crawfish (boiled, fried), crawfish lasagna, Deano's Marie Leveaux or the Cajun Executioner, boudin, boudin balls, cracklin, Zea's, Don's Seafood Hut, Chris's Poboys, Old Tyme Grocery, Southside Bakery, Keller's Bakery, Poupart's Bakery (I've seen only ONE bakery store open since I've been here), real king cake, Meche's donuts, Ground Pati, Riverside Inn (best crab cakes and crabmeat imperial), Savoie's sausage, cajun and zydeco music, Festival International as well as about 100 food festivals, CJ Clements, Bobbie Novasad, Jay Walker, Rob Perillo, John Morgan, Jake Delhomme, Gravity Alley (God forbid there be any race tracks of any kind in this upitty town).
Forget buying liquor on a Sunday. And forget the convenience of being able to buy it at the grocery store. Forget drive thru, or drive up liquor stores. You have to purchase it from an ABC liquor store. And they close at 7:00 p.m. Thank God the pharmacy is open until 10:00 p.m.
See, a coonass likes their food as much as they like their alcohol. We don't eat fancy, hoity toity crap or organic foods like those damn yankees from the north. We like our gumbo, our crawfish étouffée, our shrimp creole, our red beans and rice... which is why I'm so pissed right now.
I went to one of our local Harris Teeter grocery stores this morning to do a little shopping. I have plans to make red beans and rice tomorrow. I looked. And I looked. And I looked again. And I looked again. I gave up. Surely I must be losing my mind in addition to my eyesight and got in line to checkout. But, it was nagging at me and I'm hardheaded. So, I got out of line and looked, again. And again. And then, I put the male testosterones aside, pulled up my granny panties and asked an employee where would I find the dried red beans.
"We no longer sell dried red beans."
And that's when the blood pressure began to rise and the headache came. I'm going to have to find another store to shop at? Seriously? You don't sell dried red beans? What's next? Milk?
Is there anyone with money coming out of their ass who might want to fund me to open up a cajun/creole restaurant/grocery store? Anyone???
It's only a matter of time before I open up a can of whoop ass in the aisle of a grocery store. Watch your heads and your little ones, 'cause the cans of beans will be flying. Those yankees have invaded the south and are ruining the food, clogging up the streets, and building apartment complexes (aka future ghetos of Mt Pleasant) at an alarming rate.
It's time to pull the pineapples from the poster bed and send them home.
And I'm cranking up the stereo until someone calls the police.
Yankees go home. Please.
Tuesday, October 25, 2016
Bill Murray
I think one of the worst things about blogging is coming up with a damn post title. Most of the time, I'm here just to rant and ramble on about things that are of no importance to anyone except myself.
As like most mornings, I sit here at the kitchen table wasting valuable time surfing news sites, Facebook and eBay. All while the cat lies on the bookshelf soaking up the rays of the sun. She's an old gal at nearly 17 years of age. But she still looks good. And more importantly to her, she still runs the place. She's usually on the table with me trying to get to my laptop in order to enjoy the warmth it generates. And I think we all know that it's the literal warmth it generates and not the huggy feely warmth of the internet.
Today, I'd like to focus on the hazards of selling on eBay. As a member of a Facebook group who focuses on buying and reselling, I am constantly running across posts from a seller who is afraid of negative feedback. Today's post concerned an item that the seller purchased at a "charity" thrift store. You know, the kind that receives donations and then sells those donations in their store? Well, the seller is new to the game of thrifting and resale. She recently sold a pair of boots for more than she paid for. Shocking, isn't it? As if all those who sell on eBay are selling only to break even and not to actually profit.
The problem is that the seller forgot to remove the sales tag and now the buyer not only knows what the seller paid for the item, but is complaining that the seller has sold a donated item. And guess what? The buyer wants a refund as a result of the item not being as described. Seriously?
Sadly, the majority of posters are advising her to accept a refund. That it's just good customer service to do so. I disagree. Vehemently. Why? Because, in my opinion, many buyers these days have become monsters. Thanks to some big name retail stores who offer extremely generous return policies, customers have not only come to expect the same from everyone else, many have abused it. So much so, that I noticed one of those big retail stores have now tightened up their return policy.
There's nothing wrong with a legitimate return request. If the item was in fact not as described (i.e. described as blue when the item is actually red) then, of course, process a refund for the buyer. But, if you've done your job of accurately describing the item, and you have clearly stated in your listing that you do not offer returns, then you should back up your no return policy. Otherwise, you become a doormat, someone who will do anything to please a customer who may still bad mouth you in the end.
And for the record, I buy significantly more than I sell on eBay. My husband can vouch for it. As a buyer, I concern myself less with the feedback rating of a seller and more with the reason for bad feedback. I've learned that the majority of bad feedback is the result of a new seller who made minor screw ups while learning the ropes. I've also learned that some buyers fail to read descriptions or view photos of the item before bidding or purchasing. One that sticks in my mind was the buyer who purchased a handbag without straps or handles. The listing clearly stated that the bag did not have purse straps, yet the buyer left negative feedback anyway... because the bag didn't have straps.
So, what does Bill Murray have to do with today's post? Absolutely nothing. I just needed a post title.
As like most mornings, I sit here at the kitchen table wasting valuable time surfing news sites, Facebook and eBay. All while the cat lies on the bookshelf soaking up the rays of the sun. She's an old gal at nearly 17 years of age. But she still looks good. And more importantly to her, she still runs the place. She's usually on the table with me trying to get to my laptop in order to enjoy the warmth it generates. And I think we all know that it's the literal warmth it generates and not the huggy feely warmth of the internet.
Today, I'd like to focus on the hazards of selling on eBay. As a member of a Facebook group who focuses on buying and reselling, I am constantly running across posts from a seller who is afraid of negative feedback. Today's post concerned an item that the seller purchased at a "charity" thrift store. You know, the kind that receives donations and then sells those donations in their store? Well, the seller is new to the game of thrifting and resale. She recently sold a pair of boots for more than she paid for. Shocking, isn't it? As if all those who sell on eBay are selling only to break even and not to actually profit.
The problem is that the seller forgot to remove the sales tag and now the buyer not only knows what the seller paid for the item, but is complaining that the seller has sold a donated item. And guess what? The buyer wants a refund as a result of the item not being as described. Seriously?
Sadly, the majority of posters are advising her to accept a refund. That it's just good customer service to do so. I disagree. Vehemently. Why? Because, in my opinion, many buyers these days have become monsters. Thanks to some big name retail stores who offer extremely generous return policies, customers have not only come to expect the same from everyone else, many have abused it. So much so, that I noticed one of those big retail stores have now tightened up their return policy.
There's nothing wrong with a legitimate return request. If the item was in fact not as described (i.e. described as blue when the item is actually red) then, of course, process a refund for the buyer. But, if you've done your job of accurately describing the item, and you have clearly stated in your listing that you do not offer returns, then you should back up your no return policy. Otherwise, you become a doormat, someone who will do anything to please a customer who may still bad mouth you in the end.
And for the record, I buy significantly more than I sell on eBay. My husband can vouch for it. As a buyer, I concern myself less with the feedback rating of a seller and more with the reason for bad feedback. I've learned that the majority of bad feedback is the result of a new seller who made minor screw ups while learning the ropes. I've also learned that some buyers fail to read descriptions or view photos of the item before bidding or purchasing. One that sticks in my mind was the buyer who purchased a handbag without straps or handles. The listing clearly stated that the bag did not have purse straps, yet the buyer left negative feedback anyway... because the bag didn't have straps.
So, what does Bill Murray have to do with today's post? Absolutely nothing. I just needed a post title.
Sunday, October 4, 2015
Piss and Vinegar
I may have found some piss and vinegar today.
"The father of the Roseburg, Oregon, shooter said he doesn't know where his son got his weapons, and he declined to comment much on his son's mental state, but he was quick to say what he thought was to blame in the deadly college attack: Guns."
http://www.cnn.com/2015/10/04/us/oregon-shooting-father-gun-control/index.html
Let's look at this from a different scenario. Suppose this dude plugged in a hairdryer and tossed it into the bathtub his mother was in. but he was quick to say what he thought was to blame in the deadly attack: hairdryers.
So, let's not blame the son or his mental state. Let's blame the hairdryer.
I'm pushing 50. I grew up with and live in an environment where it's the norm to own guns. For hunting, protection, sport, collecting, etc. Not once, in my 50 years have I known anyone killed by a gun. Though I have known people killed by drunk drivers.
I have credit card debt. Should I blame the credit cards?
Saturday, October 3, 2015
Wow
It's been two years since I last posted to this blog.
I have to say, since I began blogging, I have noticed a considerable drop in the amount of "pink" during Breast Cancer Awareness month. Maybe some people are finally getting it, that cancer is not something to celebrate. Hopefully, more and more people are speaking out about it and confronting people and businesses who continue to throw pink in our face every October.
Cancer is not limited to just one month of the year. It's a 24 hour, 7 days a week, 365 days a year stamp in our heads.
I sit here at my kitchen table, glaring out the window at a swollen pond wondering if the neighborhood Nazis have had the two alligators executed yet. It's not much of a day for me to blog anything about breast cancer or pink ribbons. It's a day of nonstop rain and flooding. It's a day I should have enjoyed sleeping in late. Something I've always enjoyed on a rainy morning. However, the alarm clock of slamming doors kept me awake and has now made me cranky. Oh wait, sorry about that. I'm always cranky.
This might give you an idea of how I felt when I got out of bed this morning.
It amazes me that when I find myself full of piss and vinegar, on fire and ready to blog, I can't seem to remember my password for this. Or it's late at night while I'm on the iPad. I'm old fashioned. I like a keyboard.
So, maybe as Pinktober moves along I will find some motivation, a little piss and vinegar and hit the keyboards.
In the meantime, since I can't get this song out of my head, I will gladly stick it in yours.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ak7vXSd7hcQ&list=RDak7vXSd7hcQ
Later gator.
I have to say, since I began blogging, I have noticed a considerable drop in the amount of "pink" during Breast Cancer Awareness month. Maybe some people are finally getting it, that cancer is not something to celebrate. Hopefully, more and more people are speaking out about it and confronting people and businesses who continue to throw pink in our face every October.
Cancer is not limited to just one month of the year. It's a 24 hour, 7 days a week, 365 days a year stamp in our heads.
I sit here at my kitchen table, glaring out the window at a swollen pond wondering if the neighborhood Nazis have had the two alligators executed yet. It's not much of a day for me to blog anything about breast cancer or pink ribbons. It's a day of nonstop rain and flooding. It's a day I should have enjoyed sleeping in late. Something I've always enjoyed on a rainy morning. However, the alarm clock of slamming doors kept me awake and has now made me cranky. Oh wait, sorry about that. I'm always cranky.
This might give you an idea of how I felt when I got out of bed this morning.
Current MoodCurrent mood:
Posted by 103.5 KTU on Wednesday, September 23, 2015
It amazes me that when I find myself full of piss and vinegar, on fire and ready to blog, I can't seem to remember my password for this. Or it's late at night while I'm on the iPad. I'm old fashioned. I like a keyboard.
So, maybe as Pinktober moves along I will find some motivation, a little piss and vinegar and hit the keyboards.
In the meantime, since I can't get this song out of my head, I will gladly stick it in yours.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ak7vXSd7hcQ&list=RDak7vXSd7hcQ
Later gator.
Friday, October 11, 2013
Freaked Out Friday at Five
Sigh.
As I write this, my mother-in-law is lying in the hospital waiting to be moved into Hospice care tomorrow.
Things come about so quickly sometimes.
She had been diagnosed with breast cancer about two years ago. All of the usual activities of a cancer diagnosis took place. A mastectomy, some lymph nodes removed, radiation and a few pills to pop every day. Doctor follow-ups, etc.
But last week she was admitted to the hospital. Her hip had been bothering her for quite some time and had only gotten worse.
We may never see a final report of all that she had. We knew the doctors had found several lumps in her plumbing. Or at least that's what we were told. Then it became only two very large lumps. It was reported that she had cervical cancer and possibly cancer in her uterus. Maybe in her bones. And then to top it all off, only 10% left of her liver.
Needless to say, after learning this afternoon of the Hospice move, I grabbed a pill of my own.
I have no clue what condition either of my parents are in these days. My parents went through an ugly divorce more than 20 years ago while I was in my twenties. Dad had a way of burning his bridges. Mom disowned me just around the time I got married in February 2010.
Life can be such a beautiful thing. But it can also be a heavy burden on one's mind when there is so much disfunction in a family and the addition of cancer and the oncoming death of a loved one.
It's Friday. I'm freaked out.
Yes, cancer does suck.
As I write this, my mother-in-law is lying in the hospital waiting to be moved into Hospice care tomorrow.
Things come about so quickly sometimes.
She had been diagnosed with breast cancer about two years ago. All of the usual activities of a cancer diagnosis took place. A mastectomy, some lymph nodes removed, radiation and a few pills to pop every day. Doctor follow-ups, etc.
But last week she was admitted to the hospital. Her hip had been bothering her for quite some time and had only gotten worse.
We may never see a final report of all that she had. We knew the doctors had found several lumps in her plumbing. Or at least that's what we were told. Then it became only two very large lumps. It was reported that she had cervical cancer and possibly cancer in her uterus. Maybe in her bones. And then to top it all off, only 10% left of her liver.
Needless to say, after learning this afternoon of the Hospice move, I grabbed a pill of my own.
I have no clue what condition either of my parents are in these days. My parents went through an ugly divorce more than 20 years ago while I was in my twenties. Dad had a way of burning his bridges. Mom disowned me just around the time I got married in February 2010.
Life can be such a beautiful thing. But it can also be a heavy burden on one's mind when there is so much disfunction in a family and the addition of cancer and the oncoming death of a loved one.
It's Friday. I'm freaked out.
Yes, cancer does suck.
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
Fuck You, Cancer
On the first Saturday of October, I broke down and did something I've never done. I went platinum. And pink. I have dark hair.
Did I do it for breast cancer awareness?
Fuck no.
I spend all year with awareness. After all, I have only one breast now, thanks to cancer.
Nope, I did it because I wanted to. The hospital I volunteer at has a policy against unnatural hair colors, etc. But they do have a little leniency in October.
So, I took advantage of their leniency and had my hair bleached out and added some great pink color for shits and giggles.
I figured, if everyone else can have fun this month why can't I???
So back to cancer.
About this time last week my mother in law got admitted to the hospital. She had previously been diagnosed with breast cancer about two years ago. But today, she lies in a terminal state...it's cancer. Cervical cancer they think.
It's things like this that get me bent out of shape with Pinktober. Where are all the parties and tulip gardens for other cancer victims? Sure, there is some teeny tiney appreciation I have for all the "advances" in breast cancer treatment. But, what if I had been diagnosed with brain cancer? Or cancer of the bladder or cervix? Where is the outpouring of support for those diagnosed with other cancers who deserve just as much attention as breast cancer?
Oh, nevermind. I said breast.
Fuck you, breast cancer.
Did I do it for breast cancer awareness?
Fuck no.
I spend all year with awareness. After all, I have only one breast now, thanks to cancer.
Nope, I did it because I wanted to. The hospital I volunteer at has a policy against unnatural hair colors, etc. But they do have a little leniency in October.
So, I took advantage of their leniency and had my hair bleached out and added some great pink color for shits and giggles.
I figured, if everyone else can have fun this month why can't I???
So back to cancer.
About this time last week my mother in law got admitted to the hospital. She had previously been diagnosed with breast cancer about two years ago. But today, she lies in a terminal state...it's cancer. Cervical cancer they think.
It's things like this that get me bent out of shape with Pinktober. Where are all the parties and tulip gardens for other cancer victims? Sure, there is some teeny tiney appreciation I have for all the "advances" in breast cancer treatment. But, what if I had been diagnosed with brain cancer? Or cancer of the bladder or cervix? Where is the outpouring of support for those diagnosed with other cancers who deserve just as much attention as breast cancer?
Oh, nevermind. I said breast.
Fuck you, breast cancer.
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Wandering Wednesday
I'm back!
And more disorganized, distracted and dysfunctional than ever.
Welcome to Wandering Wednesday. A blog post of my scatterbrain thoughts of today.
Wow! I just realized that it's been almost a year since I last posted here.
I haven't been around The Pink Birdie in quite awhile, other than to "secure" a bunch of blogger titles for my purse obsession. My original plan was to use a different handbag every week and write about it and the bags I obssess over. I'm a purse junkie. I may have well over a hundred bags with no place to carry them to and nothing to fill them with. They're mostly impractical fantasy bags. The oversized Brahmin bags that I'm afraid to use because I don't want to mess them up. The large Michael Kors Gansevoort totes that I thought were practical for me. As you can see, I didn't get very far with my plan.
It's that way with most everything in our home. Especially with me.
There seems to be a contagious and incurable disease running rampant in our house. Attention Deficit Disorder. It can ruin a day, a week, a month... and even years. That "just a minute, I need to check my ebay account" turns into a couple of hours searching newly listed and ending soon handbags. I need to email so and so, but let me just see what's going on on Facebook first. Oh crap, I need to load the dishwasher... Squirrel!!!
See? I started off with the intention of
Is that a bug on the bedspread? Shit, OCD doesn't pair well with ADD either. With a husband, three kids, three cats and now a 65 pound puppy in the mixture, I've been known to roll the lint roller across the bed several times in one night. That dust bunny? It's been examined under the magnifying glass. More than once.
I need a chill pill.
Tomorrow, it's back to posting about Pinktober fest.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to take an Ambien and do just a little more purse browsing.
And more disorganized, distracted and dysfunctional than ever.
Welcome to Wandering Wednesday. A blog post of my scatterbrain thoughts of today.
Wow! I just realized that it's been almost a year since I last posted here.
I haven't been around The Pink Birdie in quite awhile, other than to "secure" a bunch of blogger titles for my purse obsession. My original plan was to use a different handbag every week and write about it and the bags I obssess over. I'm a purse junkie. I may have well over a hundred bags with no place to carry them to and nothing to fill them with. They're mostly impractical fantasy bags. The oversized Brahmin bags that I'm afraid to use because I don't want to mess them up. The large Michael Kors Gansevoort totes that I thought were practical for me. As you can see, I didn't get very far with my plan.
It's that way with most everything in our home. Especially with me.
There seems to be a contagious and incurable disease running rampant in our house. Attention Deficit Disorder. It can ruin a day, a week, a month... and even years. That "just a minute, I need to check my ebay account" turns into a couple of hours searching newly listed and ending soon handbags. I need to email so and so, but let me just see what's going on on Facebook first. Oh crap, I need to load the dishwasher... Squirrel!!!
See? I started off with the intention of
Is that a bug on the bedspread? Shit, OCD doesn't pair well with ADD either. With a husband, three kids, three cats and now a 65 pound puppy in the mixture, I've been known to roll the lint roller across the bed several times in one night. That dust bunny? It's been examined under the magnifying glass. More than once.
I need a chill pill.
Tomorrow, it's back to posting about Pinktober fest.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to take an Ambien and do just a little more purse browsing.
Monday, November 26, 2012
Cancer, Anxiety and Some Harassing, Stalking Neighbors
At what point in the history of this great country had it become okay for people to think that they can control their neighbors yards in order to please themselves?
As if I haven't had enough stress and anxiety with the blow of breast cancer, the loss of my left breast, the frustration of ill-filling clothes, the anxiety and never ending thought of a recurrence, my mother disowning me and telling me that my cancer was God's punishment, marriage to a widower with three young children, I now have...
Pond piranha.
Our lovely neighbor, bless her heart, who resides across the pond from us has taking a liking to harassing us. All of this because she finds our BACK yard unsightly.
About 2 or 3 years ago, at the height of my cancer stress, some "concerned" neighbor felt the need to contact the Town and report us as having had a nuisance in front yard, about 15 feet from the road. It was a large trunk of the remains of a deceased, very old Willow tree. Fine. God forbid we have a dead tree in our yard next to the pond. We spent the day with it chained to the truck cutting it and pulling it out.
Interestingly enough, we replaced the tree with another willow tree which has since died.
Then, the following spring, we let the kids take the kayak into the pond taking turns. Next think I know, I looked out the back window to find a police officer speaking with my husband. Again, a nice neighbor of ours called the police to report that they were "concerned" (yes, that was the word used) about children in a boat, in the pond (a two foot deep pond) without life vests on. Seriously? Even the officer looked at us like it was one of the nuttiest calls he has had to respond. Officer informed us that there wasn't anything he could do about it, as there was nothing illegal going on.
In the meantime, a portion of our pond wall grew tired and began collapsing. Estimates my husband received ranged from anything from $10,000 - $40,000. Money which we do not have for repairs or replacement.
My dear husband took it upon himself to salvage as much as he could of the wall and that portion of our yard by layering stones to keep the yard from washing out.
Apparently, our lovely, bless her heart, female across the pond was totally unhappy with this. As my husband worked in knee deep sludge laying out stones, she felt the need to begin taking pictures. Hubby took a break, we sat in our yard enjoying a beer, when the paparazzi pushed her way closer and began taking pictures of us as we sat peacefully in our yard. When we realized she was photographing us, we smiled and waved to her.
Whoa!! She went ballistic. She yelled profanities at us, shot us the middle finger, and stormed off. Apparently, what was being done did not meet her approval. It was something she just couldn't handle looking at. They contacted the HOA, who has no control over it. There is no requirement to have a retaining wall. Said HOA contacted the Town to report a "structure" violation. This also went no where as two people from the Town felt this was not their concern so long as the wall was not a hazard and not impeding drainage.
Ok. So, we figured, done deal.
Not. It was reported again to the HOA, who amusingly enough, reported the neighbor by name and address in the neighborhood newsletter and that he was requesting help from the HOA with a neighbor's unsightly yard. (um, BACK YARD).
Approximately two weeks later, said female neighbor was witnessed in the yard of a neighbor behind us, shooting her camera at us, our home, the back of our garage (which by the way she is unable to see from her home) as well as other photos.
A week after that, we receive, probably the most unprofessional letter from an attorney notifying us of the pain his client is experiencing from the sight of our yard. My goodness, the photos enclosed were taken with a zoom lens. Now, really, does she spend the day viewing our yard through magnified lenses?
Most amusing to me was the "complaint" about our shrubs against our screened porch. My guess is that this annoys her and limits her ability to view our activities on our porch with her binoculars and telephoto lens.
I'm not cutting this down, nor am I trimming it. It is in our BACK yard, against the back of our porch providing shade and privacy.
I just don't know how much of this I can take before having a nervous breakdown. I feel that my privacy has been violated. I no longer open my shades in the kitchen for fear that I am being watched. I can no longer enjoy my back yard on a nice sunny day without the stress and fear that she will step out and begin screaming and yelling at me and taking pictures. After all, if she will drive around the block and enter another neighbors yard to take pictures of things she can't even see from her yard.... how far will she take this?
More pills.
How much can a stressed out breast cancer patient take from an abusive neighbor?
BTW, here is the "unsightly" yard with the stones removed and a couple of asparagus ferns for, well, I don't know, just because I love asparagus ferns and I think they look good draping over the wall.
As if I haven't had enough stress and anxiety with the blow of breast cancer, the loss of my left breast, the frustration of ill-filling clothes, the anxiety and never ending thought of a recurrence, my mother disowning me and telling me that my cancer was God's punishment, marriage to a widower with three young children, I now have...
Pond piranha.
Our lovely neighbor, bless her heart, who resides across the pond from us has taking a liking to harassing us. All of this because she finds our BACK yard unsightly.
About 2 or 3 years ago, at the height of my cancer stress, some "concerned" neighbor felt the need to contact the Town and report us as having had a nuisance in front yard, about 15 feet from the road. It was a large trunk of the remains of a deceased, very old Willow tree. Fine. God forbid we have a dead tree in our yard next to the pond. We spent the day with it chained to the truck cutting it and pulling it out.
Interestingly enough, we replaced the tree with another willow tree which has since died.
Then, the following spring, we let the kids take the kayak into the pond taking turns. Next think I know, I looked out the back window to find a police officer speaking with my husband. Again, a nice neighbor of ours called the police to report that they were "concerned" (yes, that was the word used) about children in a boat, in the pond (a two foot deep pond) without life vests on. Seriously? Even the officer looked at us like it was one of the nuttiest calls he has had to respond. Officer informed us that there wasn't anything he could do about it, as there was nothing illegal going on.
In the meantime, a portion of our pond wall grew tired and began collapsing. Estimates my husband received ranged from anything from $10,000 - $40,000. Money which we do not have for repairs or replacement.
My dear husband took it upon himself to salvage as much as he could of the wall and that portion of our yard by layering stones to keep the yard from washing out.
Apparently, our lovely, bless her heart, female across the pond was totally unhappy with this. As my husband worked in knee deep sludge laying out stones, she felt the need to begin taking pictures. Hubby took a break, we sat in our yard enjoying a beer, when the paparazzi pushed her way closer and began taking pictures of us as we sat peacefully in our yard. When we realized she was photographing us, we smiled and waved to her.
Whoa!! She went ballistic. She yelled profanities at us, shot us the middle finger, and stormed off. Apparently, what was being done did not meet her approval. It was something she just couldn't handle looking at. They contacted the HOA, who has no control over it. There is no requirement to have a retaining wall. Said HOA contacted the Town to report a "structure" violation. This also went no where as two people from the Town felt this was not their concern so long as the wall was not a hazard and not impeding drainage.
Ok. So, we figured, done deal.
Not. It was reported again to the HOA, who amusingly enough, reported the neighbor by name and address in the neighborhood newsletter and that he was requesting help from the HOA with a neighbor's unsightly yard. (um, BACK YARD).
Approximately two weeks later, said female neighbor was witnessed in the yard of a neighbor behind us, shooting her camera at us, our home, the back of our garage (which by the way she is unable to see from her home) as well as other photos.
A week after that, we receive, probably the most unprofessional letter from an attorney notifying us of the pain his client is experiencing from the sight of our yard. My goodness, the photos enclosed were taken with a zoom lens. Now, really, does she spend the day viewing our yard through magnified lenses?
Most amusing to me was the "complaint" about our shrubs against our screened porch. My guess is that this annoys her and limits her ability to view our activities on our porch with her binoculars and telephoto lens.
I'm not cutting this down, nor am I trimming it. It is in our BACK yard, against the back of our porch providing shade and privacy.
I just don't know how much of this I can take before having a nervous breakdown. I feel that my privacy has been violated. I no longer open my shades in the kitchen for fear that I am being watched. I can no longer enjoy my back yard on a nice sunny day without the stress and fear that she will step out and begin screaming and yelling at me and taking pictures. After all, if she will drive around the block and enter another neighbors yard to take pictures of things she can't even see from her yard.... how far will she take this?
More pills.
How much can a stressed out breast cancer patient take from an abusive neighbor?
BTW, here is the "unsightly" yard with the stones removed and a couple of asparagus ferns for, well, I don't know, just because I love asparagus ferns and I think they look good draping over the wall.
Monday, July 30, 2012
Ambien food festival
I thought it might be a good night, turning in early. Took my shower, dried my hair. Took the usual nightly meds. I did just what the package advised. I took my Ambien on an empty stomach.
I dont recall it stating that I was to keep an empty stomach afterwards . So, after several trips to fridge for an early midnight snack, I managed to consume at least 3 maybe four cheese sticks, 3 or 4 pepperoni stix and two chocolate covered graham crackers. I still have a glass of cold milk next to my bed. I think the food cravings have subsided some. Now I just need to settle in and patiently wait for more acid reflux to make a mark on me tonight.
I dont recall it stating that I was to keep an empty stomach afterwards . So, after several trips to fridge for an early midnight snack, I managed to consume at least 3 maybe four cheese sticks, 3 or 4 pepperoni stix and two chocolate covered graham crackers. I still have a glass of cold milk next to my bed. I think the food cravings have subsided some. Now I just need to settle in and patiently wait for more acid reflux to make a mark on me tonight.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Peace and Justice
Useless piece of crap gets indicted for two murders
On a night that I should be rejoicing, I find myself with anger. Anger that Lisa Pate and likely Mickey Shunick died at the hands of another. How many more?
I should be celebrating that thisuseless piece of crap male has been indicted for the murder of these two young women.
I'm not.
I find myself unable to wish that he burn in hell. Unable to rejoice at someone receiving a death penalty. Yet, I don't want life in prison for him.
None of these "options" seem to be right.
None of these "options" will bring back these two women or any of the thousands of women in this country who were murdered.
It would be fair, I think, todouse him with jet fuel, light him on fire, and extinguish the fire just before the useless piece of crap croaks so that he really suffers inflict on him the same amount of fear and pain he put his victims through.
To be fair would be to make him suffer the same pain and anguish he inflicted on the families and friends of his victims.
But then I would be assuming someone like that is actually human.
RIP
Lisa Pate
Charlotte Murray Pace
Gina Wilson
Pam Kinamore
Randi Merrier
Geralyn Desoto
Carrie Lynn Yoder
Trineisha Dene Colomb
FIND MICKEY NOW!
On a night that I should be rejoicing, I find myself with anger. Anger that Lisa Pate and likely Mickey Shunick died at the hands of another. How many more?
I should be celebrating that this
I'm not.
I find myself unable to wish that he burn in hell. Unable to rejoice at someone receiving a death penalty. Yet, I don't want life in prison for him.
None of these "options" seem to be right.
None of these "options" will bring back these two women or any of the thousands of women in this country who were murdered.
It would be fair, I think, to
To be fair would be to make him suffer the same pain and anguish he inflicted on the families and friends of his victims.
But then I would be assuming someone like that is actually human.
RIP
Lisa Pate
Charlotte Murray Pace
Gina Wilson
Pam Kinamore
Randi Merrier
Geralyn Desoto
Carrie Lynn Yoder
Trineisha Dene Colomb
FIND MICKEY NOW!
Monday, July 16, 2012
Midnight Munchies with my buddy, Ambien
Well, crap. Here I am awake at 2:00 in the morning typing like sissy fingers on the iPad. This typing screen is a crock of shit.
Anyway, I've taken my usual nightly load of Ambien and one Lorazapam to get me kick started in that thing called sleep, slumber, whatever. I've noticed lately, and I call it the power of suggestion, that I'm now developing Munchies after my nightly cocktail. I have only become aware of it after another "survivor" told me she got hungry every time she popped an Ambien.
Out of bed and swerving through the house like Bill Murray driving a golf cart in a foreign country with a dozen or so occupants, I come crashing into the kitchen filling up a glass of dark chocolate baking chips and a glass full of lemon-limeade. With a straw of course because I just brushed my teeth.
So, I've been all caught up in the Shunick case, practically glued to the laptop, cellphone, and that glorified iPhone, also known as an iPad.
I'm not invested in the case. I don't think i know her family and friends. I do suspect that I have worked for people who know her family from kids attending the same schools and a few people I know in the horse show/riding who's kids rode with her. I know where her family lives, because I know half a dozen people who either live in the same neighborhood or within walking distance.
But I have a stronge interest in the case. I lived in Lafayette for all of my life. I only left from there about 4 or 5 years ago. But I was there during the Derrick Todd Lee murders. It seemed a bit chaotic, not knowing if he were black or white. Profilers generally label serial killers as white males. But DTL was not white. We weren't sure (or at the very least, I WASN'T SURE,) who or what to be aware of.
I could associate myself with something of these women whom he victimized so brutally. But the one who most left a hole in my heart was Trineisha Dene Colomb. A young woman taken right from the grave of her mother who had not long passed away. This brutal beast, for a lack of better words, added insult to injury to her father, Sterling Colomb. Wounded by the lost of his wife and now only to have his daugher taken by this SOB.
My heart is with Mr. Sterling tonight. May he be in peace.
My hope is for closure for the Shunick family.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Friday, June 22, 2012
The Breast Burka
I couldn't help but rejoice at this article, yet at the same time feel her pain. Having gone through a mastectomy and a failed reconstruction, I know that feeling of trying to wear certain clothes. Even a simple sports bra digs into me. Swimsuits have been a challenge.
http://www.abcactionnews.com/dpp/news/national/female-cancer-survivor-jodi-jaecks-can-swim-topless-in-seattle-public-pool
How true it is that had she walked into the public pool as a man, no one would have questioned her.
Why should she, or anyone else in her situation, have to hide herself?
We live in a society where breasts are everywhere. Cleavage. Women hardly cover themselves up in public. Even in the house of God there are young and middle age women baring as much skin as they can legally get away with.
Why on earth should this woman be required to cover up?
http://www.abcactionnews.com/dpp/news/national/female-cancer-survivor-jodi-jaecks-can-swim-topless-in-seattle-public-pool
How true it is that had she walked into the public pool as a man, no one would have questioned her.
Why should she, or anyone else in her situation, have to hide herself?
We live in a society where breasts are everywhere. Cleavage. Women hardly cover themselves up in public. Even in the house of God there are young and middle age women baring as much skin as they can legally get away with.
Why on earth should this woman be required to cover up?
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Worriers in Pink
Anxiety and depression seem to go hand in hand these days. They're like two hyper active little girls holding hands running through a field of weeds. Taking turns pulling the other down.
I had been doing pretty well lately. At least with the anxiety. That all fell apart yesterday afternoon after scrolling through my Facebook news feed. Curiosity got me. A high school friend posted well wishes on one of her friends photo. I recognized the brace she had on and knew it had to be cancer related. And, as usual, one click led to another and I learned that this lady had been previously diagnosed with breast cancer and that it had metastasized into her spine.
But it didn't all fall apart until a few hours later as I sat in church with my family. All the burdens of life just rushed at me. Sunday afternoon. Father's Day.
I haven't seen my dad in maybe almost 20 years. "No, not now. Not in church. Don't start crying now after 20 years of not seeing him. Just think, pizza. Yeah, that's it. Pizza, with extra cheese and lots of green olives."
And then, of course, I couldn't think of my dad without thinking of my mother who disowned me more than 2 years ago and told me that my cancer was God's punishment. No, not anger. Guilt, sadness, anxiety, "Thou shalt honor thy mother and thy father". Crap.
And then the anxiety and the worry lead me to even more anxiety and worry. Will all of this greif cause me another cancer? Will the worry of another cancer drive me right into another?
I think of Ford's Warriors in Pink, a local foundation called Warriors 4 Warriors, and all kinds of other things about being a warrior because I've "survived" breast cancer. I'm not a warrior.
I am a worrier.
A worrier in pink hell.
I had been doing pretty well lately. At least with the anxiety. That all fell apart yesterday afternoon after scrolling through my Facebook news feed. Curiosity got me. A high school friend posted well wishes on one of her friends photo. I recognized the brace she had on and knew it had to be cancer related. And, as usual, one click led to another and I learned that this lady had been previously diagnosed with breast cancer and that it had metastasized into her spine.
But it didn't all fall apart until a few hours later as I sat in church with my family. All the burdens of life just rushed at me. Sunday afternoon. Father's Day.
I haven't seen my dad in maybe almost 20 years. "No, not now. Not in church. Don't start crying now after 20 years of not seeing him. Just think, pizza. Yeah, that's it. Pizza, with extra cheese and lots of green olives."
And then, of course, I couldn't think of my dad without thinking of my mother who disowned me more than 2 years ago and told me that my cancer was God's punishment. No, not anger. Guilt, sadness, anxiety, "Thou shalt honor thy mother and thy father". Crap.
And then the anxiety and the worry lead me to even more anxiety and worry. Will all of this greif cause me another cancer? Will the worry of another cancer drive me right into another?
I think of Ford's Warriors in Pink, a local foundation called Warriors 4 Warriors, and all kinds of other things about being a warrior because I've "survived" breast cancer. I'm not a warrior.
I am a worrier.
A worrier in pink hell.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Welcome to My Garden
So, you say you've been eye-balling that cute little Lilly Pulitzer dress? The one that mocks you every time you walk into the department store? You know, the one that screams out, boobies!?
Oh, you haven't? Um, me neither.
But anyway, who says you have to sacrifice the clothes you like just because you have one breast? I didn't. It wasn't the lack of a breast that stopped me from buying it. Even though the temptation remains to go back and whip out the charge card, I just don't think I can do it. Not for $188. Add on top of that another $88 for the shrug or whatever that piece of knit fabric is called. It's tempting. If for nothing else but for the shock value of it. It's just too bad I didn't come across it before the Komen Survivor's Tea last month.
If I weren't so damn lazy I'd make foobs with flowers. Not out of a flower-printed fabric, but a foob that would work like that styrofoam base florists use in arrangements. And I'd make some nice soft fabric flowers that could be arranged properly in the empty cup. No, make that the empty flower pot sitting on my chest.
Oh, you haven't? Um, me neither.
But anyway, who says you have to sacrifice the clothes you like just because you have one breast? I didn't. It wasn't the lack of a breast that stopped me from buying it. Even though the temptation remains to go back and whip out the charge card, I just don't think I can do it. Not for $188. Add on top of that another $88 for the shrug or whatever that piece of knit fabric is called. It's tempting. If for nothing else but for the shock value of it. It's just too bad I didn't come across it before the Komen Survivor's Tea last month.
If I weren't so damn lazy I'd make foobs with flowers. Not out of a flower-printed fabric, but a foob that would work like that styrofoam base florists use in arrangements. And I'd make some nice soft fabric flowers that could be arranged properly in the empty cup. No, make that the empty flower pot sitting on my chest.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Pink
Pink ribbons may annoy the crap out of me, but what annoys me more are neighbors who expect yards to look like perfection. Those retired old farts with a ton of time on their hands. Free time to ride around reporting their neighbors whose yards just arent pretty. Makes me wonder how they feel about imperfect people with missing limbs and missing breasts.
I hate the association of pink with breast cancer. It's a fun color. So, I think I will cheer up the cranky neighbors with a splash or two of pink. Pink lawn furniture. Pink flamingo (just one, maybe two). Heck, I may even cover the trampoline in pink. Pink garage? Hhhmmmmm. I wonder if I can paint the pond wall pink.
Cancer. I really love the way it brings out the asshole in me.:p
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Walmart - What a Pain in the Ass
Has anyone heard Walmart use the phrase "falling prices" lately? Me either.
In fact, the local Walmart stores seem to be more full of shit than falling prices. Nearly every visit has resulted in being overcharged on an item.
Last week, they had a display of Coke in their main aisle with a sign advertising it for $6.48. Around the corner closer to the soda aisle, the same Coke was displayed as $5.98. I checked the bar codes.
I could go on and on and on and on about their inconsistency in pricing. It's gotten to the point that I've begun taking pictures of some of the things in my cart and the shelf price before I get to the register. I know it's anal, but I know something wont ring up correctly. It happened with the citronella candles, the bottle of car wash detergent, the package of ginger ale, the box of Valentine candy.
Two days ago, I purchased two packages of girls underwear. Both the same size. They rang up for $8.47 each. Today I went in to return the unopened packages and purchase different ones. I ended up buying one package in the same size as the first trip and one package of a different size. All in all, they were the same brand, same style, etc. Today, those packages were each $8.97. A 50 cent increase within two days. Okay, maybe I got them in the middle of a price change. Prices change, I know.
Maybe, I should just give up shopping at Walmart for Lent.
In fact, the local Walmart stores seem to be more full of shit than falling prices. Nearly every visit has resulted in being overcharged on an item.
Last week, they had a display of Coke in their main aisle with a sign advertising it for $6.48. Around the corner closer to the soda aisle, the same Coke was displayed as $5.98. I checked the bar codes.
I could go on and on and on and on about their inconsistency in pricing. It's gotten to the point that I've begun taking pictures of some of the things in my cart and the shelf price before I get to the register. I know it's anal, but I know something wont ring up correctly. It happened with the citronella candles, the bottle of car wash detergent, the package of ginger ale, the box of Valentine candy.
Two days ago, I purchased two packages of girls underwear. Both the same size. They rang up for $8.47 each. Today I went in to return the unopened packages and purchase different ones. I ended up buying one package in the same size as the first trip and one package of a different size. All in all, they were the same brand, same style, etc. Today, those packages were each $8.97. A 50 cent increase within two days. Okay, maybe I got them in the middle of a price change. Prices change, I know.
Maybe, I should just give up shopping at Walmart for Lent.
Friday, February 24, 2012
Dude, seriously??
Can't blog right now. Too busy laughing.
http://www.katc.com/news/three-arrested-in-intracoastal-seafood-check-cashing-scheme/
http://www.katc.com/news/three-arrested-in-intracoastal-seafood-check-cashing-scheme/
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)