I Think I Already Packed My Ruby Slippers.

I don't know how many of y'all are still reading my blog since I've not been posting so regularly, but I am today. I'm also Captain Obvious today.

Anyway, today is the big move. I've had to hire some movers to come over and move the rest of my stuff. I was only able to move a little bit. My trick leg kept going out on me climbing up the stairs. Plus, I was only able to take what I can fit into my car, which is not really that much. I was going through a full tank of gas like every two days going back and forth from the house to my apt. Ridiculous. So, the movers are coming at 12 noon. I've never used these movers before, so I don't know how punctual they are. I kind of hope they are a couple of hours late, because I still have my entire room to pack up and my bathroom. I managed to get a lot done yesterday. I worked on packing and even made two trips to my apt. in 12 hours.

I went to bed this morning at like 1am. I set my alarm for 5am. I woke up at 4:30am. I did some packing 'till about 6:30am and then I just couldn't stand it anymore, so I had to go back to bed. You know, no matter how hard I try to push it, my body just doesn't work the way it used to when I was in my twenties. I feel like it should, because, in my head, I don't feel 36. Dammit. Still, I managed to get a lot done yesterday, especially for having to deal with my back and my trick leg. I'm proud of myself for that. At the end of the day, though, I felt like a cripple. My back felt all twisted up. I think I was even walking kind of crazy-kind of bent over to one side, with one shoulder high and one shoulder low. Imagine that with a profound limp and you've got a picture of what I was going through yesterday. Freakin' hunchback-that's me. Oh yeah, can't believe I almost forgot to add the cursing. There were copious amounts of every curse word you could possibly imagine issuing from my mouth.

I called this one guy that does handiwork for me and dad sometimes, last night, to ask him if he would come and take my beloved hand-carved, banana-leaved ceiling fans down and put them up again in my new place. He said that he would have to charge bw 75 and 100 dollars to do it. Thank you NO. I have already spent around 1500 just to get into this apt., plus all the deposits to get the utilities turned on. Man, I feel like people think I'm a money tree-just shake me and money will fall like apples. May I never have kids.

I did, however, get a job. It's an extremely shitty job, but it's a job and I need a job. It's raising money over the phone for the Special Olympics. Yay. I get to be cursed out by people I don't know. Hopefully, it will be somewhat better than it was the other times I've done it. I'm older now and significantly more bitter, sarcastic and snarky, not to mention, more likely to say exactly what I'm thinking at the drop of a pin than I ever have been. I guess it's age. I think the older you get, the less you care about what people think of you. So, I think I'll start Monday. I'll find out tomorrow. I'll try to be polite, I promise. I can't guarantee anything though.

I just can't wait to get all of my shit moved into the new place. That way, I can take my time unpacking. I feel like I've been in this huge rush ever since I put the deposit down on my apt. Granted, I tried to move everything except the furniture for two weeks and only managed to get one closet of clothes, some shoes, two bags of my childhood stuffed animals (I can't part with them.), most of my kitchen dishes, all of my linens, some candles (I have enough candles to burn my house down. I think I'll put them in the fireplace for now since I don't have any wood to burn a fire. I actually have a wood burning fireplace at my apt.. Pretty cool. Yes?)

I still think my dad is in shock that I'm actually moving. For the past two days, he's asked me, "Are you still moving?". I'm convinced that he's convinced that I won't be able to make it on my own. I must admit that I'm quite scared and anxious about that myself, given my record of emotional downward spirals. But, you know, I had those before when I was living on my own and they came with all their punchinthestomach power and I got through them somehow (God). My mom and my aunt told me that ever since I've moved in with dad that I haven't been able to deal with my emotional ups and downs at all i.e. the cutting incidents, staying in the house for weeks on end and the not being able to bathe thing or to brush my teeth thing (Yes, it's gross. I know, but there it is.).

I'm going to end my very verbose morning now and finish my coffee. I have to finish the packing (see: the Dunkin' Donuts guy-makethedonutsmakethedonutsmakethedonuts). God, I'm so freakin' tired.

When I get all unpacked, I'll take pics of the new place, just because I'm vain and because I know you guys are nosey like me and want to see it.

Pan-Dimensional Hoochie-Coochie

I feel:: drained from the crying jag I had last night, but generally alright



When y'all pour your coffee and doctor it up with creamer and such (I like a little coffee with my creamer and Splenda), do y'all taste it with a spoon before you actually take a drink? I do this for two reasons:
#1 I want to taste it to make sure it's acceptable for me to walk off with. I don't want to have to get all the way to my room, get comfortable and then realize that the coffee in my cup tastes like shit. I don't know about y'all, but I have to be gentle with myself in the mornings because I tend to be rather cranky.(I personally don't know how anyone can wake up in the morning and be singing "Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious". Besides being supremely irritating, it's just my opinion that being asleep is much more preferrable than being awake. Again, my perceptions could be distorted, but I can't ever remember thinking any other way.) I don't want to have to leave my comfortable position, go back to the kitchen and play chemistry set with my cup of coffee.
#2 The reason for taking a little bit of the coffee in the spoon to taste is because I don't want to wind up with 3rd degree burns on my tongue. I'd like to keep my taste buds-thankyouverymuch.

So, in the process this morning of doctoring my coffee and performing the requisite tasting with the spoon and just as I was in the action of bringing said spoon to my mouth, a gnat unceremoniously landed right in the spoon-in my coffee. Yes, I was grossed out and for a split second thought about mentioning to my dad again about his odd habits of keeping only certain doors and windows open during the heat of the day while the air conditioner is working itself to an early death being set consistently on 72/73. But, I decided not to because I could just imagine that he would say something like the gnat had mentally transported itself from another dimension to land right in my coffee spoon (because gnats create themselves, remember?)

You know, it gives me a certain amount of satisfaction/relief to know that I'm not the most fucked up person in my family.


Speaking of fucked up: In Spanish class the other day we were supposed to think of a story about our families to tell to the rest of the class. I thought to myself,"Ummm...which one do I tell? And which one will freak people out the least?" So, I wound up telling the class the story about my father's mother and how she worked in a traveling circus as a "hoochie-coochie" dancer, got pregnant at 16 in 1929 by a man who was at least twice her age (he was loaded) whom she met at one of her shows. He followed her and the circus for a long while and they had a torrid love affair. At least until Mr. I'mtooloadedtoknowwhattodowithallmymoney found out that she was pregnant. He disappeared. That is until after my dad was born and was about 3 years old. He came down here with his whole family and all his lawyers in tow and tried to get custody of my father. They evidently threw money around like it did grow on trees and even tried to bribe the judge presiding over their custody trial. Of course, you know, that didn't fly out here in Nowhere-ville. The judge told Mr. Loaded and his loaded family to get the hell out of Arkansas or he would have all of them arrested for bribery. So, they left and that was the last and only time my dad ever saw his father.

Pretty sad story, right? Well, according to my Spanish class it wasn't as sad as it was scandalous because when several of them asked me what a "hoochie-coochie" dancer was and I told them that my grandmother had basically been a stripper in a traveling circus-you would have thought I had just popped into a Missionary Baptist Church wearing red booty shorts, topless, complete with a set of horns and a tail.(Incidentally, the first time I went to a Missionary Baptist Church, I was wearing a red miniskirt and 4-inch red heels and I sat right in the front pew. I'm sure there were many conversations during and after service about how I was definitely on the short track to Hell. What can I say? The apple doesn't fall far from the tree-I had just gotten out of the stripper business myself. I thought the clothing was appropriate. Oh well.) There was a moment of silence and then I felt the communal intake of breath and then heard the beginnings of nervous laughter, which only got louder. I sat in my chair alternately being embarrassed and angry, but the more I thought about it, the more angry I became. So, in a burst of Idon'tkonwwhatpossessedme, I blurted out, "Well, I could have told you one of the stories about how my mother's father used to force me to give him blow jobs when I was 5. Do y'all think that's a better story?"

At that moment, I heard the professor say, "Class dismissed."

Yes, I am not the most fucked up person in my family and evidently not in my Spanish class either. So yay me.

Gnats Are A Universe Unto Themselves Apparently (or I Have Fairies In My Kitchen)

I feel:: amused... now




I live with my Dad (who is 76) and we have a gnat problem. (Me= bugphobic) So, I was thinking about ways to solve it for a few days and one morning just after I woke up, I found Dad sitting in his usual place, the recliner, doing his usual thing, the crossword puzzle out of that day's paper. So, I stopped to talk to him for a minute about our gnat problem.

Let me just say first a little about my dad's habits regarding the opening and closing of windows and doors. We keep the air conditioner set on 72 or 73 degrees all the time, yet my dad will open his bedroom window wide enough for a grown person to climb out of it, open the kitchen window over the sink, open the back door in the morning (that's the side of the house that gets all of the sun pretty much all day until about 4pm or so, then it hits the front of the house) and slide up the glass window that is over the window screen on the storm door that we have which leads out into the back yard. So, just to set the record straight- every day, all day, while the air conditioner is running my dad has three windows open on the side of the house that gets most of the heat.

Let me just ask y'all this: When you were growing up, did you ever hear your parents say things like, "Shut the door! We are not trying to air condition the entire neighborhood!" or "You can either come in or out! You're letting the bugs in!" or "Shut the door! You weren't raised in barn!" I heard all of these in my childhood and many more. As many as my parents' imaginations could come up with. Add to this that when Dad and I first moved into this house, he nagged me forever like a mosquito in my ear about getting curtains for the windows so that the house wouldn't be so hot in the summer and not so cold in the winter (He wanted the really thick kind of curtains. The kind that, when you close them, you're ushered into a kind of eerie darkness during the day and at night, utter darkness.). Even after I got the curtains and hung them all, (I did it without a drill. I had to hand screw the anchors and screws into the walls. Only when I was on the last set of curtains and I was so frustrated that my hands were shaking nearly uncontrollably did I hear Dad say, "Hey, do you want to use my drill?" Sometimes, I think he gets a perverse amusement out of seeing me completely and utterly frustrated.) he was still complaining about the fact that the kitchen window and the window on the back door had no curtains. He bitched about that for at least the first 6 months we lived here.

Keeping in mind all of the previously said, here is the nearly word-for-word conversation I had with my dad a couple of days ago about our gnat problem:

Me: "Hey Dad, I was thinking about how to fix our gnat problem."
Him: (Looks up from his crossword unexpectantly) "Oh, really?"
Me: (proceeding with caution) "I've been noticing that you always open the kitchen window and the window on the back door every day and keep them open all day. I was thinking that if they were closed, we wouldn't have this gnat problem."
Him: (Going back to his crossword and not looking at me.) "That doesn't have anything to do with our gnat problem."
Me:(trying unsuccessfully not to be a bit sarcastic) "So, where do you suppose they come from?"
Him: "Gnats don't come from anywhere. They create themselves."
Me: (Standing in front of his recliner in utter disbelief,stuttering,eyebrows once again disappearing into hairline,looking at Dad like he's fallen completely off his rocker, while trying very hard not to laugh): "Y..You..re..(clearing throat) really, really believe that?"
Him: (Looking up again from his crossword,over the top of his trifocal glasses, in all seriousness.) "Yes."
Me: (releasing a very long,very theatrical sigh complete with my patented defeated-looking sagging of shoulders) "Ooookaay, then."

At this point, all I could do was walk away into the kitchen to start making coffee and take my morning meds in hopes that the combination of Prozac, Klonopin and caffeine would somehow wake me from this surreal conversation I had just had. A few minutes later and while I was staring absently at the coffee maker wishing that the coffee was already done, I hear Dad yell from his recliner, "I have to have fresh air!" So, I yell back nonchalantly, "Then go outside."

This is by far the weirdest conversation I have ever had with my Dad. This surpasses even the one when he was doped up in the ER, having broken the large bone in his thigh due to a drunken fall, when he told me that my grandmother (his mother) had run off to join the circus to become a "hoochie coochie" dancer when she was 17, leaving my dad with her parents to raise. Pain meds are quite the soothsaying drug.

Is it just me, or do y'all have weird-ass conversations with your parents like that?

Just to show y'all I'm not crazy.
Linkage:
University of Kentucky Entomology