Crazy Weekend and/or Love in Slow Lanes

Spring is springing 'round here. I requested of "H" that the ample crop of rising weeds be poisoned. However, neighbor has not given permission for weed poison yet, although all the nurseries in the area say, "It's time." Instead, "H" is chopping up the palms. I like palms in their natural state, and also the privacy that the natural state of bush-i-ness gives us from the street. The not-so-subtle message I'm receiving is "I'm (and Neighbor) are in control here, now shut-up about weeds and go do your share of trimming."

So, today I will go to the weed poison store and do it myself as the Little Red Hen in the nursery rhyme said.

So, I bit my lips to keep silent and went to - the bushes in the back. Done, except I couldn't pick up the limbs because of the bend over, pickup business. I'm thinking of inventing a compost machine that takes ground up stuff from the garbage disposal, and also sucks all the mucky, junky stuff from the winter yards and incorporates it, then spews it to the flower beds for fertilizer and mulch. Anyone want to invest?

Church Flirts:
He gets up and goes to early church. I get up and get the boy and myself off to church late, so the boy can have at least one "stay up" night a week. "H" is either ashamed of me, or has someone that attends the early service that he likes to flirt with. I suspect it is the thin gal I met when he did take me with him once in the third row of choir that has a thatch of long, bushy white hair that looks witchy, but she obviously thinks its cool.

I took "J" to church with me. She looked stunning - she's super skinny now, had on spikey red heels, a black pencil skirt, and a red blouse with a black thin waist tie - matched her red bangs and black hair. A nice looking older man sitting in front of us turned around during greeting time, lit up like he was looking at a Christmas Tree and gave daughter many compliments on her red bangs and her height. (She said, "No, he said my hair was so bright.)

Trading Women:
She and I had a terrific giggle about the old(er) men who are nuts about her hair and tattoos, including Dr. Charming (age 55 - no that's not REALLY old at all, but older than her by nearly two decades) who she does not see anymore because after a two year separation from his estranged wife, he went back to estranged wife. After estranged wife found out someone else wanted him, she dumped her much younger live-in-lover and decided she wanted Dr. Charming back. But Dr. Charming comes up to hospital to tell "J" hello, "I still love you darling, yada yada..." and finds out how she's doing. Any guys out there care to take a stab at explaining that one? Or maybe "J" is just a great marriage counselor. I told her in the future, I don't care how long they haven't lived with the "X to be," RUN if they can't show the divorce paper - RUN far, RUN fast.

After taking inventory she has noticed that doctors sometimes have many wives. They just keep trading in. Of course they have to stay gone at work longer and longer to pay all the alimony and child support as they continue to trade down to younger and younger wives.

Nursing life:
She had one 70 year old patient who said she wore too much makeup and critiqued her down to her socks, and when she did the intake and asked if he had any tattoos - he said that if one were tattooed, one would go to hell. Well, she quit thinking he was a darling little old man at that point. Then, a week later she came home gagging, showed me the newspaper - the old fart had been picked up for exposing his limp ol' thang to children. Three different times. And tattoos are a sin? Anyway, she thought perhaps it would be good for all nurses to run a criminal background check on these very old, very demented scruffy patients that come on to them, and if they are perverts, they could give them a really fantastic catheter job. Whoooooahaahahahah.

Nurses have it rough - here they have twelve hour shifts and are often called in to work one or two extra shifts a week. Just yesterday, a nurse fell asleep driving home from her last night shift, ran across the median and was killed in a head-on collision.

Why would He trade?
Yesterday at the ball park I visited with a lady - had a wonderful time - yacking up a storm. Her husband is usually there for their grandson, but she said he took off to have intestinal bypass surgery. I thought he was an awful grouch, I would smile and say hi, and he would look away and move to another seating area. Now, I'm not a forward woman, I haven't flirted since 1979, well, practically, so he surely couldn't have mistaken, "Hi" for a flirt.

His wife and I chatted on, she said he has lots of money, is an engineer. Figure now after meeting her, he's just a silent guy and can't get a word in edgewise! Or, he's afraid, very afraid. Her friends told her that when his weight was off, he would trade her for two twenties. I looked at her - she was attractive and lively - and I said, "What on earth for?" She said she let them know that just in case they had something in mind, that she had a very good lawyer and she didn't think the two twenties would have a very good time with a homeless man. Anyway it sounds as if they enjoy each other and their life, so why do people have to throw in those monkey wrenches?

Next, I go to check my email, and get two emails from Dr. Lovely - now why is he sending me studies of methods to restore "Libido" to males and studies of prostate treatment? Don't have one, don't want one - prostate that is! Detailed studies. A short note about the availability of a book he wrote on restoring male libido. "Hey, Doc., what happened to the emails of 365 Health Strategies?" Then I doubt my course I've plotted to get my health back....If I grow a prostate, I'll demand my money back.

Ahhhh, "H" just came in to actually speak more than two words - he is discussing my anniversary present - he's going to get me hurricane shutters. With his 401K money. "Why?" I ask, sitting in here in my baggy clothing, dreaming of an Alaskan Cruise to see the Northern Lights. But actually would chose the practical road of taking it out and putting it under a mattress since the stock market is loosing most of it anyway. Really, shouldn't thirty-five years be celebrated with something REALLY special? So, the answer to that is: Weeeeeeeeeeellllllll, its really hard to put plywood up. Ok, I got it. He doesn't like to carry the plywood out and clip it to the windows once every three to seven years in the event of a hurricane warning. Then he tells me that he can get a government grant for half of it and I can have the grant to pay my on my car. (Besides, Neighbor suggested it.) Maybe that part would be the anniversary present, except after thirty-five years, does he think he's fooling me? I remember the tax return that he said was mine last year to pay off my bills, the tax return of which I never did see. I will never see that car money - he talked me into co-mingling our car insurance to "save" money - it came out of my account, (how slow am I?) and has he paid me back...nooooooo. Hey, how about an above ground swimming pool - any grants for that out there?

Next full moon I'm going to sneak over and sew Neighbor's lips shut so he can no longer speak. OR, "H" could borrow enough from the 401K to put up a 12 foot fence?

Then I ask him where all the paint, sandpaper, etc., that I purchased to do the trim around the front door and the door is? It disappeared after a couple of weeks of me working on the door. Ya, I'm slow. It wasn't where I put it in the garage so I could return to the job. Well, for an answer, he let me know all I have to do is take off the door and spray paint it. Neighbor said that is how to do it.

I look at him like he's crazy, "Well, with my back, that's not an option for me is it?" He turns around and walks off. Come to think of it, a younger woman would be nice to have around, maybe she could work like a man like I used to and would be more easily fooled....I would even cook for her. Heck, if she got out and worked a job as well and paid the auto insurance, I would even iron her shirts. Maybe the polygamists have something going there. Although the grandkids are my heart, after 46 years of raising kids, not counting my little sister - add another five to that, it would be kinda nice to not have to while I still got a couple of years left in life where I could do some things. So any ad for a co-wife would stipulate..."must be unable to bear children."

The boy's "dad" has been calling me up cussing me out because he can't come over and spend the evenings here every night and all day on weekends. I finally had to hang up on him, it seems to me to be reasonable not to allow him to upset me. He has been given hours he can visit, but no, he wants to be in control. It really is not up to me to provide him a home life.

He has to have supervised visitation - and I don't want to babysit a 40 year old all weekend and week nights. And I'm "so rude" - I don't always answer immediately when he calls. The nut case thinks its his right to spend all the time he wants here (we have air conditioning and cable TV) and the child won't thrive if he adheres to some visitation schedule. Is that why the poor kid was two years behind in school because of "dad" taking over my (at least 1/2 mine) house while I was gone? (They PROMISED me his visitation would be supervised, but lied...this is why I'm here - the child deserves a fighting chance.) Remember the mouse poop and smell in my study and the garage because he was breeding mice for the snake in my house while I was away.....? (I didn't mind the snake - it was the mice that stunk so badly.)

He says he's a perfect parent, yet he messes with the poor child's mind. He promised he would be at baseball practice, but never showed up - it crushed the boy - he kept looking for him. Then he told the boy it was my fault because he tried to call me. My phone keeps record of missed calls, there were no calls. I had the phone on me, it did not ring.

If he were the perfect parent he claimed to be he would stay out of jail, and act 40 instead of 4. He embarrassed the poor kid to pieces - he climbed the tall chain fence at the ball park and was rattling it, saying "Hey, boy, hey boy, can I have your autograph?" "S" was cringing. When I told him not to embarrass the boy, then he sets up a situation to make it look like its my fault he chooses not to come to practice.

He wants to play with action figures rather than help S with homework or his responsibilities. He says its not fair if the boy has a set bedtime. Which is really none of his business when its on my watch (babysitting). He comes over and opens candy, toys, etc. and throws the trash (& his dirty socks have stayed on my porch until I've finally thrown them away) in my floor and gets angry when I tell him to pick them up. Anyway, its all about control and I know that - but its almost like having a stalker - you don't ask for this, so why do you have to deal with it?

Dear Lord, I am supposed to learn something for sure from all this - could I have it in text-book form please? And a written test? It was kind of a rough weekend to be truthful. But hey, Dr. Lovely's regime has relieved the anxiety and I'm off prozac - if I am anxiety free after all this, then Dr. Lovely is one notch down from God as far as I'm concerned.

Well, there is meant to be some humor in this on the challenges of just livin'. If you've made it this far through this post, thanks for listening. The cat's said they were just tired of me. Just livin'.