Saturday, 28 June 2008

Leigh Nash- Need To Be Next To You

A Painter's Nightmare

My friend, Loretta, has been bugging me to paint her bathroom. So this past Tuesday, we decided, would be the day. I had a gallon of Martha Stewart's 'Cabbage' sitting around, which I thought would be cool and bright.


"Yeah, it's more like cucumber."

"Sounds gassy."

" It's perfect for your little bathroom there. Nice and cool. Airy."

" Alright, G, I trust you."

" I have everything I need, so just leave it to me."

" OK, I'll call you on Monday."

" Great."

I feel honored that Loretta wants me to help decorate her home. Picking out colors, textures, drapes, hunting for the right accessory or furniture, that which best reflects the personality and tastes of the occupant. That's my thing. Sure I've never had any schooling in interior design. Seems like you look at enough magazines and check out enough showrooms, you just get a feel for what works. Besides that, I possess a certain enthusiasm, confidence, and a willingness and do it all it for free. In fact, I've found that people who have experienced my work first hand, still don't mind my trying to get in there to lend a hand. Generally.

One time I enthusiastically convinced Ang to allow me to paint the front door at her parent's home where she was living at the time. Her parents were down in Florida at their other place and were due back in a few days. I had envisioned a nice dark cranberry color with a new brass handle and kick plate. Anyway, something went terribly wrong. I now know that the door should have been primed and that I probably tried to add a second coat before the first was completely dried . Oh, it was just nightmarish. All bumpy and streaked with clumps of paint coming off with each roll on.

Angie was like, "OK STOP."

"What... It's gonna look good. I just have to....uh"

I already knew that most of my mess ups come out alright in the end. I just didn't know what I was doing. Many of my problems in life come from trying to do what should be left to a profession or at least a more learned person, but ever since I watched my Dad putting up those rustic brown panels in the living room, the one's with the black tape between them...ever since I saw his labor of love with the simulated bricks, stone, stucco and whatever else medium Mom could find besides paint and wall paper, ever since the styrofoam 'Beam' went up, I too have had an appetite for doing it myself.

" It just needs to dry, Ang."

"It's horrible! My mother sees that, she's gonna freak."

"Maybe we should just strip it all off and start over."

I'm sure she held back.

Well it wasn't the right color anyway. More of a magenta. Long story short, I ran and got some stripping stuff and took the paint off. It left behind a residue of magenta but had to dry before I could paint it again. I would be back. Had to work the next day, I guess.

" It can't wait. My parents are due back soon."

She wound up getting some nice white or some kind of off white, I don't remember, and painting it right. Phew.

Anyway, Loretta had no idea about these things in my past. Besides, you'd think by now I know what I'm doing.

So. The Cabbage Paint. I couldn't find it. Looked everywhere at my parent's house. Nowhere. I grabbed my other supplies, and drove to Lowe's to pick up a gallon of something else. So many colors to choose from.

I guess she's just going to have to trust me with... Lime Meringue. That was my first mistake. Loretta wasn't home when I got there, but the door was open, so I went in and got started. I taped off the edges, took down the fixtures, and started to cut in with the Lime M. Somehow, this color just didn't look the same as it did at the store. It had a glow in the dark hue. Didn't contrast nicely with the white molding. I took it back to Lowe's and had the guy add some pigment, to make it a nice soft cottage green. Perfect.

I ran back to Loretta's and cut in again. Satisfied with the improvement, I painted over her mottled maroon. It was some kind of fuax paint job she had going in there with a color which reminded me of 'redrum', from 'The Shining'. I was thrilled to be the one get rid of it. Unfortunately, the new color wasn't looking right. I really should have brought the paint samples over for Loretta to decide, I am thinking. This is not good. Reminds me of Crest Toothpaste. With some convincing it could pass for beachy looking, and she can accessorize with a 'sea and sand' theme. Loretta had returned home and was fixing to do a BBQ for her husbands birthday. I had no idea it was Pete's BD. I sure hope he's happy with what I've done here. I don't know. The first coat was hardly covering the redrum. I was getting nervous. Her friend Kristen showed up with her 3 week old baby boy, Axel. It was thought that I would be finished by then and we could all enjoy the afternoon out by the pool. Loretta called me out of the bathroom. As I moved the chair I was standing on, the back scratched the wall. Took off a couple of inches of paint. A couple of layers spanning a few inches. Down to the 'pink' beneath everything. I pulled at the paint and to my horror, two layers of paint came off like a latex balloon. A facial mask, revealing that old pink wall from the 1990s. That must have been her Victorian phase. Instead of leaving it alone, and spackling the edges, I just couldn't help from pulling at it. The paint lifted off like a facial peel. Like Elmer's Glue dried on your hands. I opened up a hole the size of window in my paint job. Looked scarey. Like some abandoned house. Shabby chic would have been a stretch. I had to settle my nerves to keep from running screaming out of there. Ok, P won't be home for awhile. I have time. This can be fixed.

I quietly shut the door behind me and walked pokerfaced into the kitchen.

" How's it going? Can I see it?" asked L, moving toward the bathroom?

" No, Retts, I'm not done. You have to wait." I insisted, blocking her way. "It's gonna be nice. You'll see."

She went along with me and we popped open some cold beer and munched on chips while she made up handburgers and chicken. The baby was adorable though I did not touch him, only his big toe. My stomach was not feeling well.

"So when exactly is P due home?"

"In a couple of hours."

" Then I better get back to that bathroom."

" Ok, but come on out when you're done. Don't take forever!"

The girls went out to tbe pool, while I went back to the nightmare. I quickly discovered that the walls were still too tacky to paint and needed time to dry. It was getting humid. The A/C was not on. What to do...what to do....

I finally decided it was time to tell L about this mess. I called out the window. She came into the house. I warned her before letting her in. She took one look and handled it all with a straight face and a few words of concern.

I quickly told her exactly how I planned to remedy the situation. "OK, G, I trust you."

She went back out and in a few moments later, I had another vision.

I sealed up the paint can and and went back outside.

"When all else fails, go neutral". She and Kristen agreed that I should go with a warm flat 'Nutmeg'. " Nutmeg... Yes! Flat~ Yes!" they chimed. I found her 17 year old son, Matthew, and asked where the nearest hardware store was. Around the corner.

Matt has that quiet strength I need in these kind of situations. He agreed to come with. One of the 9 year old twins, Brett, came along as well. The skies looked dark in the north, and it felt like rain. We got to the hardware store and I discovered they sold my old favorite. Benjamin Moore! I decided on a nice warm 'Pittstown Buff' in an Enamel Flat. Flat but scrubbable. Meanwhile to add to the stress, the man at the counter told me that I should have primed first. "You can't paint latex over enamel without priming. Furthermore it was too humid to paint. And if it rains? Forget it. You can't paint in the rain."

" Furthermore", and without blinking, he told me, "I'd have to wait days for the mess back at Loretta's to 'cure'".

Baloney. Thanks, but I need this done today. I can't have her Cuban husband coming home to THIS! I asked the boys to pray that it would all work out. Brett immediately speaks up.

" Dear Lord Jesus. PLEASE tell Mother Nature not to make it rain."

We got back and I found that Kristin had left. Something about not wanting to be there when Pete got home. I figured she must have witnessed the nightmare. I touched the paint, and found it to be completely dry. The edges around the mess I had spackled before leaving, were also dry.

I sanded the spackle. The Benjamin Moore went on smooth and easy. One coat pretty Imuch covered everything. It was a pure joy to see my nightmare become a dream. Pittstown Buff was looking good! Benjamin Moore was the BEST ever. It never rained and before long, I was rounding that last corner. Just as I was finishing up, I heard Cuban Pete come in the door. I quickly shut the bathroom door. Have to clean up his floor first.

Finally I called him to the bathroom.

"Happy Birthday, Pete."

"Wow! It's beautiful!" He loved it. No. He really loved it. So glad the red was gone. The beige contrasted beautifully with his elegant white window molding. It looked every bit Martha.

What a relief. At Loretta's absolute insistance, she and I ran out to Kohls to find the perfect sea blue accessories ( hand towel, rug, candle holders and a ceramic turtle for the floor) for that perfect sea and sand effect.

" Wow. It's just beautiful, G."

" Thanks, Rett. I'll have to come back to do the ceiling."

"No rush, G."

Thursday, 26 June 2008

faster than...what?

Honestly. Toileting people is the least favorite element of my job. I have a list of people who need to be assisted in some degree in the bathroom, and on any given day, just before or after lunch, that's were you'll find me. Eventually I will have an aide to assist with these things but in the meantime, I've gotten into a certain routine wherein I can get a person down on the bowl, and changed into fresh pull ups, without taking both pant legs off. 2 minutes. Maybe 4 if it's involved. I don't aim to break any records but I don't feature having to be in there any longer than necessary. Dignity is of utmost importance. Get 'em in, get 'em out.

Anyway, this one fella reminds me of old Ted Danson. He's an attractive, tall and lanky Irishman, with the shock of white hair, blue eyes and glasses who was stricken with bouts of incontinence. He's very cool and funny, but quite debilitated functionally, due to Alzhiemer's disease. I have his routine down to a science, in fact today, I may have set a new record with him. I don't tend to make too much small talk in there, however this guy is funny and I always get a kick out of his clever responses which sound more like pick up lines to me.

"You seem really dry, Mr. ___. After this I'm going to get you a nice tall drink of water."

" I'd rather have a nice short one." Makin' eyes at me. He asked me why, if I think he's so funny, he's not getting anywhere."

" I don't date the members here. Against our policy. Besides I don't date marrieds or spoken-fors either. Don't relish gettin' beat up." He's quite spoken for.

So Mr.__, today is my Aunt A's birthday. What do you get a 91 year old lady for her birthday? Any ideas?"

" A 90 year old man."

" Good one."

With that the belt was back on and buckled.

"There you go. Let's go."

"You're faster than the hammers of hell."

That one cracked me up. I've never heard that before. The hammers of hell. I asked him if it would be OK to post that remark anonymously. He agreed. I asked him if he wanted me to create a fictitious name, he said " O'Brian."

I suppose he was thinking Conan?

The Origin of "Hammers of Hell" remains somewhat obscure, but can be traced at least back to the early 1900s. The term appears to relate to the ringing of bells, commonly done with a "hammer" or "clapper." A 1911 first novel (The Trail of Ninety-Eight, relating to the Alaskan Gold Rush) by poet Robert Service mentiones "the flying hammers of hell were pounding..."
Not too long after this, in 1920, Sinclair Lewis (Mainstreet) mentioned "Hell's Bells" in a passage. From these sources, the terms seem to have taken hold in English dialects as ways of describing problems, or being under great pressure.
Other related terms like the "Clappers of Hell" can also be found in later literature.

Sunday, 22 June 2008

Bird Collection

So I started a porcelain and bone china bird collection.
I have one so far. Found a bunch in a local antique store which I am considering.This oughta be exciting!

Woodpeckers are nice.

I wonder what the chances are of seeing a Warbler in these parts?

A 'Great Tit'? Adam named the birds, right? Probably inspired by Eve. What the heck? I have to do some research. Probably a place near Lancaster, know, they've got all sort of sexually suggestive named towns. Never mind. Oh, wait. The Great Tit lives in Asia and Europe and doesn't migrate. Just as well. I wonder these birds really look like...and if they are smart too?

This is a true story. It happened recently. My sister had a bird fly into her home and then smack into her living room window. She picked him up. He was dying in the palm of her hand. She put him on a table and held his little limp body, his little head dropped to the side and his eyes closed. She wasn't sure but it was looking grim.

Then she prayed for the bird.
"Little bird, it is written. 'You shall live and you shall not die"

I have no idea why some people are prayed for and die. I don't get it. I just lost a friend to disease in January and she was a believer and we spoke life over her ALL Of the time. Still, it is written that life and death are in the power of the tongue'. I am sure that negative things spoken over and over to a person can lead to a breakdown in the immune system and lead to illness. No matter what the source of the problem, whether external or internal, both, we are instructed to speak life and not death to people and animals. Death is coming inevitably. But maybe not today! Maybe we can intercede for the sick. We are instructed to do so for a reason.

My sister applied this simple word to the little bird. You shall LIVE and you will NOT DIE in Jesus name." She propped his head up between her thumbs and straightened him out a bit. Maybe he was just knocked out and his neck wasn't broken. Maybe it was his little airway which needed to be opened. She just prayed and watched. The bird's eyes opened, he coughed a little cough and started to move it's wings. Maybe he didn't cough. I made that up. She said he started to move his wings and become more alert. She took him to the door and he flew away.

you think you OWN me?

Of course dogs want to be comfortble and, if they are smart, will find the most comfortable spot in the house. Unless they have one of those very comfortable doggy beds, and sometimes inspite of the fact, it's not unusual for them to choose the master's couch or bed. In many homes this is unacceptable. No dogs on the couch or bed. That's the rule, and the dog learns quickly, if the consequences are swift and consistant. So they say. I had a little cocker spaniel, Bailey, who knew and observed the rule. She was 7 when I got her, and though at first I would not allow her on the bed, eventually I broke down. She'd back up into the living room and get a running start, like a gymnast, before the jump. Still, I didn't like the idea of her sitting on my couch. Pretty soon she undertstood that rule and would curl up on the rug or on pillows wherever I happened to be. She liked nearness. She also liked my couch but seemed to be good with the rule. Or maybe not. Before long I discovered that she was on the couch all the time. The moment I would leave, she would see me off at the window and probably head right for her favorite chair. I would come home and she'd be at the door. There would be that warm circular indentation in the cushion. And I would look at her and say, "You were on the couch, weren't you?" She'd just look at me... and then down at the floor. " I told you, Bailey, stay off the couch. Look, here's your bed." She'd feign interest in the pillow and and blanket, or just walk away and hide for a while in the bedroom. Busted. I loved her but I didn't want to reward her. After a while I gave up the battle for my couch and just threw a bunch of blankets on it which could be thrown into the wash every week. It always amused me that she would only do the couch sitting thing when I wasn't home. I guess there was no correction when I wasn't there and she was lonely. The couch was a comfort. A safe warm place to be until I returned. A pseudo master. Second in command with never a harsh word. I suppose she associated me with authority and rules, and love. And the couch with love. I'm sure it held the odors of home anyway. Security and comfort and familiarty trump obedience and a place on the floor. Besides. She was working too...watching the house. I suppose the couch was a perk. One of her own unspoken rules for me. " If I'm gonna have to stay here ALONE, all day, I'm going to be needing that couch. And the bed. No questions please".

Still I alway wondered.

If they are thinking anything.

"What were you thinking?"

"Nothing. Why?"

Why do some dogs even think they can get away with sitting on the couch until you get home and then, when they hear you coming jump off and pretend they've been obedient? I guess they really think we're that stupid. Or are they being passive-aggressive? " You think you're in charge- I'll show you who has the run of this house when you're gone." Does any thought other than immediate gratification go into play when they are getting ready to hit the couch or bed? Is there any consideration to the fact that certain surfaces are ILLEGAL or do they make concessions for when Mom or Dad is out of the house? Or, is it that dogs can only be trained to do the right thing when you are around? Do they lose all memory of obedience when you shut the door? Once the threat of punishment is out of range,is everything in the house .which is accessible, fair game? I wonder. If you were to rig up some kind of negative response, or put crinkly plastic on the chair, would the dog would try to pull it off? If they could get into the fridge, when you were out...would they? And when you came home, would they run into another room and act as if they've been sleeping the whole time, and leave a huge mess behind? I suppose they would.
So many questions and I don't even have a dog.

Change subject. I think I will ask my landlord to put a washer and dryer hookup where the sink in the bathroom was. There is plenty of room. The toilet and tub could stay. It would be great if he agrees to that. Perfect.

Saturday, 21 June 2008

A Bright Red Wetsuit?! What was he thinking?

simple amusement anyone?

For when you have nothing to do but dream of places you'll never see. Or maybe not.

Some places don't have the birds-eye view. Maybe just the aerial. Still. It's like being able to fly all over the entire world. The ENTIRE WORLD. If you go to Google Street View, people have actually downloaded their photos of points of interest. Some of it is shocking, such as the area which was devastated by the Tsunami a few years ago. You can get within 30 yards of a flaming volcano. Places you've never even heard of. You can just mouse on over and drop in for a look-see.

I was all excited about my latest discovery ( Google Street View) and was telling my 8 year old nephew who looks up and yawns, " Yeah, we already know about that." Didn't seem the least bit interested. My brother told me about Birdseye view and then mentioned the NASA site. He said that you can actually put in your own location and find out exactly when the space station will be flying over your head. He said it's going at 17 thousand something miles an hour and crosses the sky in a matter of minutes, doing loops.

Regrets, I've had a few.

If you knew you could zero in on any place in the entire world. get a visual,you would wouldn't you, at least 'til the novelty wore off... right?

I found myself checking out Microsoft 'Birdseye View' it's like the Google 'Street View'. only better. You type in any address you want in the WORLD, seriously, and within seconds you're given a 'birdseye' snapshot of the place (within 30 or so yards). Right. So who doesn't want to do that? Where do I wanna go? Who's house do I wanna see? bout the ex? It's been around 15 years. Why not?
I couldn't help myself. I got his most recent address from the white pages and went ahead and put the data into the 'birds eye view'. Within seconds, I'm hovering over his home. Well, not exactly. More like someplace in the deep woods of Vermont, off the main road, before the house was built. Apparently, he's built another home out in the sticks. My first thought was, " Thank God I don't have to live in the middle of nowhere with that man." I am sure he'd share the sentiment. Honestly. It feels as if it never happened, that chapter. But it did. It was a foolish phase. Part of my real life education. A process of making mistakes and moving on. Feeling bad and getting over it. With baggage. Ugh.

Anyway, I am positive that my curiosity about his current life would have creeped out. I don't think curiosity makes me a stalker, though it kind of creeps ME out which is why I'm writing about it. Trying to shake it off. Fact is, I am more likely to use the information to avoid ever running into him.

I have had near misses with the man before. Once when I was getting boxes at a liquor store in Colorado, he walked into the store as I was putting boxes into the car. I had an emotional meltdown in the car. He had divorced me via mail and married number 2. I was shocked, as the last time I had seen him we were married. I let him go, and went to a quiet place to drink myself numb. It was sad. Then, a couple of years later, in 1993, I discovered he was divorcing her, and went out of my way to find him. Bad decision.

Around 2000, on my one and only Carribean cruise, I was walking up these narrow steps to some upper deck and passed a man I was sure was my ex. It felt like his presence. He had sunglasses on and a baseball cap. Did I say anything? Lord, NO. I ignored him. Wasn't even sure it was him, but I felt very vulnerable. Anyway, I knew that he had married a 3rd time and had at least one child. Here I was sitting on the same deck as a guy I THOUGHT was the ex, as he sat sunning himself about 8 recliners over, with his wife. It was upsetting. In all probability it was not him but in my mind's heart, it was HIM, or so I thought. It seemed so much LIKE HIM. I was trying to get a passenger list to find was all just too weird. Never got a list, and it probably wasn't him, but I was sure it was at the time. It felt like him. Cold and distant, just the way a stranger is supposed to be. Just recently, I saw his mug on the internet. Again, I was curious. Ugh. That's it. I'm done. I don't care anymore. I have my closure. Done. A stalker no more. Done.

Friday, 20 June 2008

my lamina

God broke the mold

The carpenter, Joe, dropped by yesterday to check out the bathroom. The leaky one with the mold in the cabinet? I asked him about the roof. He said the gutters were full of debris and dumping water on the flat roof which had caused the leak but that the roof is good. I had noticed that there was no leakage after this past rain which was good.

He saw the mold in the cabinet, and then asked if he could get a look in the one under the sink. I pulled my stuff out and right away he saw something I had not been aware of. More black mold up high and close to the affected cabinet. Dry chalky patches. He rubbed it, and told me that the mold was dead. Dry means dead. He said. Dead Mold. Well what's it doing there and what killed it? Too dry to survive. Needs moisture. Must have been from the original leak in the ceiling a couple of years ago. Could it be from the recent leak? Hmm...unlikely, since it was dead. No living toxic mold? Are you SURE? I don't like the looks of that mold. How do I KNOW for sure that nothing is happening in that wall? Or in the ceiling?

"Look, we love you, Gina. Chris wants you to stay."

" Ok, so how bout then I'll just move into his house, and he can live here?"

" Seriously, just tell me what do we have to do to keep you in this apartment?"

" You have to make it safe. I don't care if it's dead. What's going on in that wall? or in the ceiling? I just want the black mold gone. That's all. I have been coughing and having a headache lately."

" You really shouldn't read that stuff. You know who puts that stuff out? Mold Remediating companies. They freak everyone out so you buy their expensive services and products."

" It's valid information. Look." I pulled out all of my information on the dangers of black mold and told him that I was serious. I had already started looking at other places.

" OK. I'll show you how the ceiling has no wall board, these are just treated cedar boards, nailed 1 inch from the studs. No insulation touching it. It's floating. That's why it moves. It's not rotting wall board I assure you of that." (Taking the collar off the ceiling light to expose the other side of the ceiling).
"The cabinets and wall I will rip out and replace. Anything we have to do to keep you here."

" OK. I don't want to move out. I just want to feel safe from mold. Eventually I will have to buy a place but I will stop looking for other rentals."

" Great."

So he comes back after work and tapes off the doorway with clear plastic. He rips the entire cabinet and wall board off and sprays some kind of mold killer/blocker on everything. It smelled like bleach. I was doubly paranoid about the mold spores and the bleach but felt better when he gave me his report. After about 2 hours, he is done.

"Well. I've got good news and bad news...The good news is that I'm done. The bad news is that I did it for nothing. There's no mold in there. It's bone dry."

Hmm...I went in. As he had said, Joe had removed the cabinets, the sink, the wallboard. He had torn out all of the insulation. I saw the 260 year old original bead board siding which looked black because it was wet. As it dried,it was fine. At least what I could see of it. I think when it's time to buy, I'm going to have to find a newer place. He said the insulation which had been put there years earlier was bone dry but black on the paper, from an old leak in the ceiling. After the leak was repaired, without moisture, the mold could not survive long and died after coming through the wall.
I was just glad it was all out of there.

" I feel better already."

" Now can you at least admit that your symptoms are psychosomatic?"

" Probably seasonal allergies. All of the live mold outside."

Joe told me about the restaurant ( Our House Tavern) next door being 260 years old. Some guy being hung outside of it. A salt shaker flying through the air between the cooks. Creaking steps and stuff like that. I asked him what he thought about this house, being built in the 1700s... He said he didn't sense anything though he had been up here when it was really beat up and dark. At night. He and I both get the creeps from my storage area. GET OUT. I sense kids were sent there for punishment. 'It's just a room' as my friend used to say. I blessed the house months ago, and chased away anything evil in the name of Jesus. I guess that took care of the mold too. Moooooooooold.

Frank Smeal

There once was a man named Frank Smeal
lived his life with incredible zeal
you never quite knew
just what next he would do
and the things that he did were unreal.

The man was a brilliant young soul
who made it his personal goal
to give what he could
for the sake of the good
less the rest that the government stole.

Now that last line wasn't right, but it fit and he would have gotten a chuckle over it. I could go on about this extraordinary man, Mr. Smeal, who I had the opportunity to get to know over the last 3 years of his life. As one of his nurses, I was touched by his courage and will to live well through a very difficult illness. The man was an inspiration to me, and, without a doubt, countless others. He will never be forgotten. I once asked him what he would get if he crossed a rose with Mrs. Smeal. He answered quickly. " A kiss."

Tuesday, 17 June 2008

an angel in the office

I was in my office, trying to get some work done, when I felt a light touch on my upper back. I was so focused on my typing that I had not noticed anyone come into the room. I turned around and was staring up into the smiling face of a middle aged Indian man with Downs Syndrome. He stood there with that sweet smile, continuing with the light circular motion between my shoulders and up near my neck. It was completely innocent. His attention was on the words I was typing out.

"Hey H, how are you doing today?"

" I am good, thank you."

:) H is more than good, he's an angelic being. Always has his hair perfectly parted and combed, and his shirt pressed and buttoned to the neck with an argyle sweater vest over it. Neat as a pin. Very consciencious. Never a harsh word or action out of him, I suspect H has always been a 'special' guy. An overflowing bottomless pit of pure Love.

Nurse Rached requires the utmost of professionalism and those who know me know that will go to great lengths to preserve the sanctitiy of 'the line' in my nurse-patient relationships.

I don't encourage a lot of hugging and certainly not kissing around here, though we see our share of it, especially from the ladies of the coffee clotch,
and our everloving H. At the same time we want people to know that we care for them. I don't want to treat H as if his natural inclinations toward affection are wrong. At this moment, I was appreciative of the TLC. Been alittle stressed lately and H just has a special touch. I realized that my nephew Dan who also has the DS is pretty good with shoulder massage as well. Amazing. The kind of thing people usually have to go to school for.

"Thanks, H." I didn't want to encourage him too much either. Always aware of that line.

H smiled and backed off alittle, and then told me that I need to sit up straighter, better for my posture. H demonstrated how I should sit with my shoulders back, and then gently pulled my shoulders back. " Like this." Immediately I felt better.

"Thanks H! I really needed that adjustment".

With that he smiled again and made his way out of the room...and not a moment too soon...

not yet

forgot to add square footage to my list.
i could fit my right foot into that cottage comfortably. shoebox. cute but very very tiny. seriouisly, i can't believe he could ever get 1200 for that place.

I paid my rent. will have to discuss the mold issue with the landlord, since I already told his secretary that this may be my last month.

Monday, 16 June 2008


The rent is due. I need to get away from the mold. I'm allergic. Isn't everyone?

Wrote down every little desire I could think of and turned to God with it. Lord. This is it. It's not much. Just this, that, and the other thing.
Punched in APP Classifieds. Found one. Exactly what I am thinking of. Hoping for.

Called the guy. Sounds like a nice place. Nice area, Cottage, No stairs. 6 years old. End of street, Front Porch, New Kitchen, W/D, DW, Yard, Lawn, Little dog ok. Possible rent to own in a year.

Headed over there now.

All-Around Good Guy

I remember watching the news after 9-11, and Tim Russert coming on. Just his presense gave me a sense of calm in the storm. Comfort. The way my Dad made me feel when there was serious lightning and thunder. One of those 'it's not alright now, but it will be' kind of reassurances.

His voice. His smile. Those sublte fatherly qualities. I can just imagine how he was as a dad. " Did you break that window, Son?" Non-threatening. Earnest and direct. Just wants the simple and honest truth.

For obvious reasons, the man always reminded me of Randy Quaid. 'Cousin Eddie'.
I wonder if he ever got that? Sure, he and Quaid could pass for brothers, but more than that, it was Russert's natural and down-home, kick your shoes off, get them tired dogs up on the coffee table, open a can of Schlitz, and 'tell it like it is' approach that made 'Meet The Press' feel more like porch chats with Cousin Tim. Sort of. Well...not quite. Probably more that way at home.

An all around good guy. One of the finest things you can say about a man. Everything I've read and heard about the man describes him as personable. Respectable. The video clip memorials were just heartbreaking. Likeable, easy going, intelligent, Tim Russert. Spiritually, he knew in his heart and mind that Jesus was Lord. I believe He is with God right now. Too soon. Questioning.

Sunday, 15 June 2008

Rockin' the Best Buy

i played this song (easy level) on 'Guitar Hero' for the first time, today, at Best Buy. I think it was the most fun I have had since...since I don't know when. Since I baked the double layer Uke for Chris' Bday. No, wait. It was more fun than riding a virtual roller coaster.It's actually thrilling. I'm easily amused to begin with, but this...this is pure excitment. And a challange. Competitive, sort of like the old Pinball machines only a hundred times better. You wanna say, "I'm feelin it!" but you know that would be way too corny to say and embarrass yourself and everyone around you. Specially being old. You know. If I had a child, he would see me approaching the Guitar Hero and be like " Mom, please. Don't!" Then he would run and hide. Seriously. Both my brother and sister's kids have this game and I never realized how FUN it was!

I recommend Guitar Hero for all ages. Across the board. So much fun. I know you can hook up the Wii to it but they have the Playstation 3 which has the Blue Ray which can play Guitar Hero AND DVDs in ultra HD. It's about 400 bucks plus the 150 for the Guitar Hero AND the second guitar, since you HAVE to be able to play it with a friend. Not really but just in case. I mean, you can compete against yourself. I was the high scorer today when I realized that they probably purposely put low scores in there to get you all pumped up. This 10 year old kid comes over and plays the expert level with all 5 fingers going. His mom told me that he won the contest in his town. Blew my high scores away. Oh well, I'm an old lady. Besides. It was my first shot. I couldn't find the Wii for Dad, but got him the handy tools to attach and the Tiger Woods game for when they come in again. He's gonna love it. Not as much as the Guitar Hero, but he's not into rockin' out. It's Barbershop Harmony Hero for Dad. My Hero.
I liked this song so I picked up the CD. I didn't see any parental warnings on it..

Hey...Happy Father's Day to all the Dads!

Friday, 13 June 2008

Thanks Dad :)

"You're gonna get paint all over yourself and everything, I can see it coming." - Dad

Those menacing words. All the more aggravating when it actually happens. I love to paint rooms. The whole process energizes me. Picking out colors, gathering supplies, preparing surfaces and then just doing it. I am a painter at heart. It's all I want to do. Before and Afters. Trouble is... I paint not only walls but clothes, hands, arms, face. Everything. The paint gets ALL over the brushes, the paint can, the floor...everything. It's just a mess and no matter how I try to overcome this tendency, no matter which precautions are taken to eliminate the unwanted splashes and spills, it's just inevitable. Something is going to happen. Even when I am not actually engaged in the process of painting 'something' has happened. Transporting paint for example. This should be uncomplicated. You make sure the can is closed tightly. Still, somehow, I don't know, but somehow it manages to work itself open. While driving with paint in my trunk, I take a turn and a can comes open. Every car I have ever owned has a paint all over the inside of the trunk. Last summer, while cleaning the trunk, I accidentally spilled a quart of white paint on the street in front of my parent's house. I've toppled ladders with paint trays perched on them, forgotten to watch where I am walking, stepped in and knocked over paint cans. I've leaned into walls with wet paint. Ruined clothes. Gone to work the next day with paint in my hair and fingernails. Or I drop the can and it opens. Earlier this year, I fumbled while unlocking the front door, in the dark. As the door opened, I dropped the bag with the can, in the dark. Lemmee just get the light here. All over the floor, the wall. Son of's seeping down the hall. Ruined my front door rug. Ruined my good Kenneth Cole leather bag from Kenny T. Oh no. Not my only real leather bag. WAAAaaaahaha.....I dropped everything and ran to the sink, dumped everything out and scrubbed it senseless. Hung it up to dry. Ruined. After 4 months I've finally let it go. Goodbye Kenny. Me and paint collide, but give me a brush and I'm into it.

My plan yesterday was to finish up the painting the stairs at my folks house, before moving on to bedroom wall in the 'guest room', where I had previously spackled. One final coat of paint and I'm finished. The guest room. When we kids were growing up, this was the room you got if you were picked to have your own. It wasn't as if you had to earn it, it just worked out that way. I know E had her time in the room. The baby brother had the room which freed up my other brother to have his room as well. Not sure about L. I never had the opportunity and could care less about having a room of my own. I think that was because I got along pretty well with both sisters. We would talk for hours into the night, until we fell asleep which was nice. Sometimes our talking would turn to laughing, suddenly interrupted by his whispered but firm " Shaddup!....Get to sleep!"

Off the topic. I love the comfort of sisterly conversation. No need for isolation. When we were younger, my mother would come in and tuck us in, and give us the little sign of the cross on our foreheads. Sometimes she'd come in and remind us of our many blessings, driving it home with powerful imagery. " There are children who have to sleep on the ground tonight, without dinner. Cold and crying." She always reminded us to pray for the poor and thank God for everything we have. That's Mom, always instilling a sense of gratitude for the littlest things. "In jail, you have to sleep on a board and all they give you to eat is bread and water. Nothing on it." I don't remember the context of the jail talk but at least you got to eat in prison. Some people in the world are starving. Poor starving children. Without a blanket. Mom needed for us to realize that not everybody lived a comfortable life, that there was plenty of pain and suffering beyond our little world, and that we ought to be grateful for our family and parents who loved and cared for us. Being grateful would undo the guilt of knowing I had it better. And when we got a little older and eager to make a run for it, we might consider there were also people in the world who would kill us for nothing.

That one troubled me. What was to be gained by killing a person for nothing? Why would anyone cause harm to another person? Especially a stranger who had done them no wrong? I was thinking that maybe this crazy person was taking his orders from someone else. But why? She'd just say that some people in the world were crazy and would do anything for no reason at all. Just be grateful that we are safe and loved, fed, clothed, and warm. And try not to stir up trouble with strangers. Pray for protection. As for my own room? Who wants to sleep alone? Besides. I already had it ALL, just not having to go to bed hungry, in a cold cave without a blanket or pillow. Thank God for my pillow! And who needs a canopy bed when you've got a perfectly sturdy trundle? We'd wrap up the bedtime chats with the prayer.'and if I die before I wake...I pray the Lord my soul to take. No wonder I would get up in the middle of the night to check the doors and make sure there wasn't any loose paper under the furnace.

My mom encouraged creativity and bought us neon paints and posters to tape up but holes were highly discouraged. Elena dated a boy named Charlie (married), and painted his name, which was also a perfume at the time, on her closet doors and desk. Some time in the 70s I painted a Godspell Jesus on the wall in the closet with white paint. I certainly loved Jesus back in the 70s. Played that record all the time and memorized every word. Just painted over him the other day. Bye Jesus. When the paint dried he was still bleeding through. I just love that Jesus (sigh)...

SO. Just some final sanding here and a second coat of paint. Half an hour tops. Dad was home alone while Mom was off to hear some naturalist speak on 'Hormones in the Aging Woman'. I was going to get this done before her return.

I hadn't even opened the can yet. This time, I will prove him wrong. And I did. Up until it was time to pull up the blue tape from the edges of steps. Next thing I know, it's in a big ball sticking to my hands and the ends are stuck to my orange tee shirt. Rats. The man just has to be right. He's down there guessing the Jeopardy Answers.

" I heard this guy had a stroke. He had his arm in a sling for a while. He's okay now."

"Who, Alex Trivec? Alex Trivec had a stroke?"

"Yeah.... I guess it was time."


"Time for something to happen."

"Things don't HAVE to happen, do they? Geez. Couldn't you just live healthy and not have anything happen?

" Things happen. He's cutting back a little."

"Well I guess he should. Does he still have that mustache? Oh shizzle...paint on my...sheesh"

" Trivec. You think he's French?"

"Sounds like it, Dad. He could be." Maybe Canadian, on second thought. I'll have to look him up.

" You're done, right? You should be done by now. Take a break, Geen."
Spoken as I spotted an indentation in the freshly painted wall. Drats. Must have sanded off of the dam spackle. Can't wait. Respackled over tacky paint. Not good. Everything I do I have to do over again. Nothing goes on right the first time. Sixth grade. I remember making a cave for a science fair project. My siblings helped me. Chicken wire and plaster on a heavy piece of plywood painted brown. It was hideous. I started it in school and the kids were LAUGHING at me, Cracking up...
I heard 'em, the Dumbasses.
"Look at that thing she's making there", laughing hysterically, both in front of and behind my back.
"Oh, Don't you worry," I said, "this is gonna come out nice.... and it's gonna probably win something".
Maybe I just ignored them and 'kept on keeping on'( Jan Brady style), silently fuming while piling on the wet strips of newspaper. They'll see. I could tell my teacher felt sorry for me, and was struggling to keep a straight face.
"Be quiet boys. It's looking promising, Gina."
I will NEVER forget how she turned around right after saying that. God bless her. Imagine if she busted out laughing with the rest of them?
"Just wait, Mrs. P. Wait 'til tomorrow. They have no idea what I am gonna do here."
"Are you sure you can get that done by tomorrow?" It was a late start but I work well under pressure.
" Yes. I'm bringing it home." (praying my sister E and brother V could work a miracle on it. Dear God of difficult to impossible science projects, I need help. Thanks.
"Jerks. You'll see."
" You wish, Morrone." ...

Side story:I will never forget Dominick A telling me how 'I wished I could run'. Then he told me that I can't run 'for beans', and then he turns to Eddie P. isn't that right Eddie? Oh...I see. Eddie knew otherwise but he agreed. 'you wish you could run'. One time, he told me that I was the type to commit suicide. What a sick thing to tell a girl. I remember the shock of hearing those words and looking at him incredulously. I rebuke that in the name of Jesus. " Ew. That's a disgusting thing to say to me. How can you even say that to me? YOU DON'T ME AT ALL! " I had a crush on him right up until then. Dumbass. 6th grade boys can be so nasty. It was a difficult year for me. The lice epidemic, the sudden shag hair cut. The panic attacks. The elephant bell plaid pants and sweater vests. The over sized costume necklaces. The dance. that Craparo girl with her perfect hair and snickering whispers and thick eyebrows. The training bra. The only highlight was my cave, and the Medieval fair ( I designed a candle dipping booth that they laughed at too until it was done and was a smash). It didn't help with Angie being in Mr. Jecks class. The French horn failure. The spilling of the blue leather dye. Getting screamed at. Not being able to do get the Halloween bulletin board done while the other kids went out for recess. Ugh....a bad year indeed.

Back to the cave: Mom picked me up and helped me carry it out of the building. They're just jealous, she said. We got some tempera paints. My sisters and brothers helped me carry it into the garage. We made all kinds of colored stalagmites and stalactites (out of Playdough) and stuck a mirror inside like an underground pool of water, and an orange light, from one of those candles in the window. By the time we were done, that cave looked every bit like the Batcave. A replica of Luray Caverns. A rocky/grassy hill from 3 sides, back and top...and a really cool cavern you'd almost want to shrink yourself down to explore. It got an honorable mention. More importantly it set the tone for my entire life experience. I'm sloppy but I'm good. And I work hard. Honorable mention.

"Take a break, Bean. You're working too hard. Get some sleep."

"Sleep? It's daylight and at least 90 degrees in here! Please. Just lemmee finish this and get home."

" No one is going to notice."

"I'll notice."

" No one sees it, no one sleeps in there. No one cares."

" I see it. I'm almost done"( struggling to get the second layer of spackle to stick to wet paint and trying not to curse too much). Son of a...I'm just gonna leave it and come back next week.

" So how'd you like that dinner?"

Dad had taken Mom and I out earlier this afternoon to the recently refurbished 'Harpoon Willies' on the Manasquan River. That, after paying the balance on my car loan. I still can't believe they did that. Shocked. They've been talking about that. I show up and he grabs his checkbook and says " Come on. We're going to your bank."

"Why are you doing this?" I am so grateful but at the same time, feel funny taking so much from them. Cause we love you and don't want you paying the interest. It's not the first time. My parents saved my house from foreclosure when those lying thieves gutted it. They paid a good builder to come in and fix the mess. They allowed me to take that summer off from work to help finish the project until the house sold. The closing went down just as I started this new job. The timing was perfect. Everyone was paid back but I always felt that they really should have gotten more. Mom and Dad kept me out of the loony bin when the pressure was on and I was about to take a job on the parkway as a welcome girl for 7 dollars an hour. Looking back I can see how broken I must have felt at the time. They stepped in. No daughter of theirs was going to be welcoming people into the pit stop. " You'll lose your mind" my Mother said. Hope was never lost.

"Yeah, Dad. Best fish tacos I ever had. Thanks, Dad. How'd you like that place?"

" Pretty good, but they have to fix that window. Are you done yet?"

"Yeah, I'm done. for now. Have to come back to finish it. Thanks for the car, Dad. You and Mom are the BEST. Now I don't have to think about it, and can put the money toward retirement. It's a load off my mind. I'm going home. Love you. XOX"

"Love you too, Bean. Get some rest.":)

Thursday, 12 June 2008

So Long, Frank Lloyd Wright- Simon & Garfunkel

A perfect example of words and music getting in the way. These guys must have been friends with Mr.FLW, and just HAD to express it. Maybe not. Maybe I will write a special song in memory of Mr FPS.

Wednesday, 11 June 2008

Tuesday, 10 June 2008

black mold, Texas tea

Lazily pushing my cart down the aisles at Shoprite, I paused in front of a magazine rack, and stood there perusing Home Improvement periodicals. An issue of " Before and After", a pictoral home improvement guide for do- it-yourself-ers caught my eye. I am addicted to HGTV. I love home improvement programs, and especially the ones which give the viewer detailed images of the changes made in the original structure, exterior and interior. Anything labeled 'before and after' will grab my attention. Flipping through, I came upon a full page shot of a wall infected with a considerable amount of black mold. Apparently the room required gutting and replacement of studs and insulation and sheet rock. I read that true black mold ( there are molds which appear black which are not the really dangerous type), must be removed from the household completely and can not be wiped out with moldicides, like Clorox. Black mold may or may not have an odor and can grow wherever moisture comes into contact with certain types of building materials, but not tile... I couldn't help but wonder again at the true condition of my leaky little bathroom.

As soon as I got back home, and halfway through unloading the car, I had to run to the bathroom.

Directly across from the bowl, is one of three cabinets. Our of curiosity, I pulled the stacks of magazines to get a better veiw of the back wall.

Black mold. The back of the cabinet had become infected from the wall behind it, which is evidently covered in wainscoating, since the lines of mold were equally spaced, identical to the wainscoating on the other walls. Otherwise I may have considered moisture from the A/C. I don't use that room to shower so it's not like it's getting steamed up. I believe the owner is aware of the problem, as he had mentioned that they were having problems with the roof. There's really no telling what kind of expense he will run into once he starts tearing the roof off. I won't be there.

I sprayed the affected areas down and decided to notify the owner and make plans to relocate.

Spoke to the couple in Allenhurst. Hope to hear from him soon.

Monday, 9 June 2008

Just Ask Clyde Mumma

This article was from July, 2004. A comparison between Bush and Kerry's ideas on reducing gas prices.

(CBS) CBS News continues a month-long series titled "What Does It Mean To You?" focused on where the presidential candidates stand on major issues and how a vote for one or the other candidate might affect average people's lives.

In this report, CBS News Correspondent Jim Axelrod looks at an issue of vital concern to millions of Americans: ever-soaring gasoline prices.

Pump prices have been sky-high for months, so it's not exactly news that Americans are unhappy with what they are paying for a gallon of gas these days.

Gasoline has gone up three cents in the past two weeks to a nationwide average of $1.93 per gallon -- 27 percent increase in the past year.

"There's no question about it, gasoline prices are high," says Clyde Mumma, a service station owner.

But what might surprise you, reports CBS News Correspondent Jim Axelrod, is the that the people who make a living selling gas -- independent service station owners like Mumma -- are not also not exactly pumped up about the price spike.

To those who think Mumma's service station has turned into a goldmine, he says, "They can have the keys if they want it!"

Since OPEC and Big Oil set the prices, Mumma says it's OPEC and Big Oil that make the profits -- not him.

"People think, they see $1.50 up there [that] I'm making $1.50. It doesn't work that way," he says.

In reality, Mumma earns five, maybe six cents per gallon regardless of the price. But no matter what the cost, Mumma's customers aren't happy and they don't unload on OPEC. They vent their frustrations at high prices to him.

"I'm the guy that they see when they come to fill up their gas, so guess who gets the mouthful," he says.

Griping about what it costs to fill your tank has become so common, it's almost become an American tradition. But during an election year, politicians are forced to actually address all those complaints.

Both candidates agree something needs to be done, they just don't agree on what, reports Axelrod.

When gas was at its very highest in June, Sen. John Kerry advocated using the strategic oil reserve.

President George W. Bush says that reserve is to be used only in the event of a national emergency.

Mr. Bush wants to drill in the Alaskan National Wildlife Reserve, and he's sent this plan to Congress, but he says, "They won't take action. Congress needs to pass the energy plan.

Clyde Mumma supports Mr. Bush's plan.

"I think Bush is right and that we do have to go and drill in Alaska," he says. "It's in our backyard. We can become self-dependent.

But candidate Kerry says absolutely not.

"There is no way possible for our nation to drill its way out of this predicament," he says.

Kerry has voted against Alaskan drilling. His opposition is not only environmental, he says there's not enough oil there to solve anything. Instead, Kerry wants to look for alternative fuel sources and give tax credits to those buying fuel hybrid vehicles.

All Clyde Mumma knows for sure is that someone's got to do something, because he's also pretty sure we haven't seen the last of the price hikes.

Smalltown Poets- Every Reason

Friday, 6 June 2008

bone fishing

looking for rhyme and for reason in everything stupid
casting my line out of season, and waiting for cupid
I stood on the dock looking straight back at you
you said, "turn around Stupid, you caught something blue
and it's pulling your line and it's gonna get free"
so I turned around quickly and what did I see?

It was...

Marlin? in a fresh water lake?
It was Farlen. He was wearing a fake
Was it Charlie
the Chicken
he's always finger lickin'
it was Talbot, the hal'but
and looking just like Albut,
it was Lout, the Trout
his fin was sticking out
Hark, it's Mark,
that old fresh water shark
or Bass the ass
don't take none of his sass.
a blue fish
a blow fish
I can't say that I
know fish.
just the ones on the menu
at my favorite venue...

talapia sloppia? couldn't be hoppia
fluke is the duke when it's served with a cuke
white fish is light fish, and better than night fish
orange isn't roughy, he thinks he is a toughy

i much prefer him battered,or better, broiled and fluffy.

Looking for rhyme and for reason in everything stupid.
Casting my line out of season and waiting for Cupid.

muzzled love

they wandered down the path alone
and hand in hand she longed to own
a place inside his cautious heart
but never told him from the start

the pieces of that puzzle fit
but never did they speak of it
and waiting on the words to say
in time her hair was feathered gray.

but who'd have known and who'd have guessed
they had their time together
they spent their days and both were blessed
in clear and stormy weather

And all this time you'd think she'd know
since everything he did, did show
and almost sure, she'd never ask
and left him to that silly task

the years flew by and they grew old
and still no word of love was told
and in the end he held her hand
and knew somehow she'd understand

they spent their days and both were blessed
in clear and stormy weather
with three small words, she breathed her last
and left him there, together.

jeff beck- because we've ended as lovers

Thursday, 5 June 2008


even if nothing goes as dreamed and hoped for, I'll still be happy. I will.

strange thing happened today.
dressed in denim, turquoise layered tees and a tallow sweater. Tallow, a mix of tan and yellow. Would sallow then be a mix of salmon and yellow? Anyway, I called it my sea and sand look.

As I was getting dressed, I was considering the various issues with my apt. I am not looking for perfection, you see, but the night before, while it rained in my bathroom, a shelf I had hung on 2 nails came crashing to the floor, and with it, 2 large glass bottles of bubble bath and bath cream (liquid cream soap), which I had not wanted to open because they were much prettier in the bottle than in the bath. I don't go for Vanilla Mint. It reminds me of the tobacco my Dad used to stuff into his pipe, Not something I fancied soaking in. Now it was permeating the air, the puddle of slime spreading out on the tile with chunks of glass everywhere. The one bottle had hit the back edge of the tub and dumped it's contents within, which was nice being able to flush it all down the drain.

But the whole incident was annoying. Surely I was to blame for having hung that shelf with 2 little nails, but with the streak of water down that one wall, it probably had something to do with moisture. It was double the frustration, because not only had I lost my pretty bottles, but there was this stinking tobacco smelling mess to deal with. Like some old men's room. As I cleaned it up later this afternoon, I realized that the glass had shattered into smitherines. SMITHERINES. Minuscule shards which would catch my eye from every angle. Dangerous shrapnel. Just when I thought I had gotten it all, there would be a glint of light teasing me from places I could not reach very well. Unlikely anyone would ever come in contact with but annoying just the same. So now, the floor is so clean now that you could eat off of it, but you can't because of the glass fragments. Not that you would want to anyway.

As for the roof, my landlord, a pleasant man who bears a striking resemblance to Tom Bosley, was up here several weeks ago. He mentioned that they had had problems with the roof and that it probably needed to be replaced. Something about finding the time to do it. Haven't heard anything. I am sure he will get to it one of these days. Months. Years. He seems to be a very busy man. His carpenter also mentioned the time thing. I will probably mention it to him again. It's not like a huge thing... on the other hand, we've had an awful lot of rain.

There are these pine boards, something like a sauna, which hide the true condition of the ceiling and I am now quite concerned regarding mold. Mold has no odor but can cause serious medical issues. You can acutally have mold in the studs which doesn't manifest onto the sheet rock. This house was built in the mid 1700a. There's got to be something going on under those boards. Something hazardous.

A good reason to consider moving elsewhere. Not that I WANT to leave the farmlands. I love rural areas! Still..wouldn't it be nice, I was thinking, if I could relocate to another small town? A house. Ground floor. Near the beach. A dog. A yard. A garden. Washer and Dryer. A garbage can. (have to put it in my car now and drive it to a dumpster). Hmm...

I would really like to move to Allenhurst, a quaint little town near the beach. I now realize what I need in an apt. First floor. Laundry and Garbage pick up. No leaks. I was daydreaming about my ideal home, imaging how it would be. I could see it all in my mind. Suddenly it occurred to me that I could actually do this. Maybe I would start checking the Asbury Park Press for rentals. That's it. I'm gettin' a life. Not that I don't have one or anything...

Dropped over to the Hallmark store to pick up something for the Boss' Birthday. Got her a Sun and sand Yankee candle ( Ode de Ban de Solei) and a 'sun and sea' cheese cutting set for her beach house parties. Just what she needed. Right?

I get to my office. We are sitting there enjoying our lunch when out of the blue, my boss suddenly tells me about a couple she just met who own one of these big old houses in Allenhurst, and have a tenant moving out soon. The whole downstairs will soon be available. The owners are elderly couple living upstairs. As long as there are 2 separate entrances and they are respectful of my privacy, I could do that. I will do it. I hope.

but...and sometimes I feel guilty for saying it, considering all of the homeless and starving people in the world, but the desire of my heart would be one of those cute little bungalows with no elderly couple owners living on the same premises. Hey, didn't i just sell one of those? Whatever, however, I'll be happy no matter what.

Tuesday, 3 June 2008

Monday, 2 June 2008

just for the fun-nel cake

I just realized something this morning. I was talking about what I did this weekend with girls here at work. They went to the beach. The one saw John Eddie at the Stone Pony. Hmm...I cleaned house and bagged up old clothes, laundry and garbage. I got out. I shopped at Lowes for supplies and hanging plants. Painted at my parents house. Went back to Lowes with mom to get crown moulding and back to her house to spackle over the holes i made in my Dad's walls, and then home. Talked to Mike who seemed to being having more fun than me. Watched TV. Slept. NOTE: Must move bed back. Have not been the same since I been waking up facing West. Best wake up feet facing East. Feng Shue.

Sunday- Drove by my new church...not sure I want to go there. Kept driving. Visited Doll, watched end of Little Rascals with her. Left at 4. Paid bills, and shopped at CVS for more stuff, and Burlington for new clothes. I hate clothes shopping. The lighting and mirrors in the try on rooms at Burlington reflect cellulite like nothing (chiller font) I've seen in any mirror on Earth. I have no idea what happened there. I work out and everything. It's just a shocking thing. I see the front and instead of just believing it's localized to the area above my knee, I HAVE TO turn around. It was just for a peek. What the... Oh man. One glimpse. Scarred for life. Don't think I'll be getting naked with anyone in the near future. Not wearing shorts either. Too vain. Not in this condition. One more thing. I don't judge other women with this problem but I have a hard time with it myself. Back to Sunday. Cleaned and organized my apt. So responsible. Not a lot of fun. Most just taking care of stuff. I was thinking about my weekends. Something is missing. I think I need to plan some fun for the next several months. Enough of the home improvements. Trying to live a more structured and serious life, proving something to myself. OK that's done. Now, what I really NEED is to just let go and live alittle. Let loose the change! I work with a guy, Jason, who is the head clown in the electric light parade at Great Adventure. He is actually in nursing school during the year, but this guy is one of a kind. No really. Jason wears a black costume that is lit up from head to foot. And a hat with the same lighting. He runs around telling people about the parade just before it starts up. The electric light parade is very similiar to Disney's production. The thing is set to a musical score written by the guy who wrote the one for Disney. I've never seen it but it's supposedly a BIG thing at GA. Costly as I understand. Anyway, Jason does his juggling stuff which is entertaining, and is also into fire breathing. Fire extinguishing. He also does this thing with balls of fire on chains. Very interesting guy. Anyway, He's also the one to calm down Doll when she's flipping out here. And she can flip out like no other 5' 102# woman. I'm like, "take your medicine Doll. Take it (like Spanky) Swallow it..swallow it...and don't argue with me. Take it." It's just appalling. I guess it's just because i know her and that she will usually listen to the person who seems to be in control. I mean, I'm not screaming at her. Just direct. As if I am talking to a child sometimes. Don't give me no backtalk. But Jason... Jason is very sweet to these people. He comes over, puts his arm around her and tells her that her husband ( who brings her over here for a break) loves her VERY VERY MUCH and then he says things like " and he says, he would never leave you wants you to eat this lunch here, and he's coming back very shortly to get you, because he LOVES you soooo much. You mean EVERYTHING to him." He just has a special way with people, that Jason. Incredible patience. Anyway. Time to go home and find something fun to do with the rest of the day.

Sunday, 1 June 2008

that i would be good

That I would be good even if I did nothing
that I would be good even if I got the thumbs down
that I would be good if I got and stayed sick
that I would be good even if I gained ten pounds

that I would be fine even if I went bankrupt
that I would be good if I lost my hair and my youth
that I would be great if I was no longer queen
that I would be grand if I was not all knowing

that I would be loved even when I numb myself
that I would be good even when I am overwhelmed
that I would be loved even when I was fuming
that I would be good even if I was clingy

that I would be good even if I lost sanity
that I would be good
whether with or without you

Rihanna- Take A Bow