A Fun and Busy Weekend

Most of my weekends are pretty lazy. Sleep in, lay around in my robe half the day. Maybe do a project or two around the house. Not this weekend.

Friday, we had a small dinner party. (Five of us total). I made beef torsh (beef marinated in pomegranite and onion juice with walnuts ground to a dust) and a nice salad (my own homemade shallot vinaigrette over greens, goat cheese, and pancetta. Yum!) and Darling whipped up an amaretto cake and cherries jubilee. Oh, and the wine. Let’s not forget the wine. Four bottles. That’s an entire bottle each for those of us who were drinking wine. Saturday morning started with a headache. Yes it did.

Once a month, we get together with about six or seven other couples for a game night. We usually play Bunco and Left-Right-Center. More wine was consumed, but not by me. My liver needed a rest. I parlayed my sobriety into winning the pot in Left-Right-Center.

The weather all weekend was phenomenal. Mid-seventies and sunny. Also known as, the perfect temperature. Hotter than that is uncomfortable, cooler is no fun either. I want to live somewhere that is 70 degrees year round. On Sunday, I took the convertible out for some furniture consignment shopping.  As usual, did not find a thing, but was very tempted by a huge painting that was marked down to only $300. Luckily, it would not fit in the car, or I may have bought it.

Sunday night, we went to the local Junior Leagues annual Oscar party. It’s a huge fundraiser with tons of food and booze, live and silent auctions, and people dressed in…well, I guess it’s their finest, but that thought makes me weep for a few of the people I saw. Worst dressed at this party had to go to a woman who was wrapped in some sort of silk thing that looked like she had pinned her drapes around herself. Poor thing could barely walk. Runner up was a gal in floor to chin pink ruffles who looked like she had stolen Sue Ellen’s prom dress from the set of Dallas.

Not five minutes after arriving, we were standing close to one of the food stations, me with a full chocolatini in hand, when one of the waiters ran into me. My drink went flying. All down my side, and completely all over this poor woman in a tan sleeveless number. All over her top, all down her arm, all inside her outfit. She probably had to go home and change, and if not, at least spent the rest of the night gooey. So embarassing.

There was a photo booth, complete with props. Four or five drinks into the evening, that was a blast. Witness:

Then came the live auction. They auction off wonderful vacations, commissioned portraits, fine jewelry. And, this year, a dog. Yes, a dog. Valued, supposedly, at $1200 the cute little guy was a cocka-labra-doodle. In other words, a mutt. Since when is a mutt worth $1200? My opinion is that the excitement of an auction often leads people to pay more for an item than they might normally. Such was the case when one of my friends raised her plackard when bidding for the mutt hit $1000. Luckily, she did not win it.

And, P.S., despite drinking several times over the weekend, an action that might normally result in my chain smoking, I am now nine days smoke-free.

Mama And The Insurance Adjuster

After sitting on the trash can all day, Mama finally met with her insurance adjuster yesterday to discuss the claim related to the recent break in at Casa de Crazy.

“They sent me a damn adjuster that wuddent any olderan you.”

“I’m 33!”

“Yeah, well. He pissed me plum off! Plum off! Kenny had to sit me down at one point. He pissed me off something about your sister I don’t even remember what it was about.”

I can guess the young whippersnapper told her that my dead sister’s half empty bottles of shampoo, no doubt taken by the thieves, weren’t worth reporting.

“And the first thing out of his mouth, I completely disagree with! Said this place was livable.”

“Well, mom, why don’t you think it is?”

“Ya cain’t even walk through here!”

“That’s no different than  before, is it?”

*Cackles laughing* “Yer so funny. You always did make me laugh.”

Let me show you something, puppies. Last summer I contacted TLC, the TV network, to see if I could get Mama on “Hoarders.” They didn’t think she was extreme enough (lawd help someone more extreme), but part of the application naturally dictated that I send in pictures of her house. These were taken well before this burglary:

This is the Dining Area

This is the Master Bedroom

 Get the picture? All eight rooms look just like that. You can’t even get into the master bath, any of the walk-in closets, or one of the bedrooms AT ALL. You can’t shut ANY of the interior doors because there is stuff piled up on the floors to the point that the doors won’t swing. How on Earth would the homeowner even know what was missing from this place, let alone some poor insurance adjuster?

“He dudn’t know who he’s dealin’ with! I am a disabled single woman.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I cain’t even walk through there!!”

“OK, so what’s the next step?”

“I gotta fill out all this paperwork, and find a fax machine to get it to him. List ever-thing they took! I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Well, you don’t have anything else to do. It won’t take that long.”

“Alright honey, I just wanted to letcha know what he said. I have a feelin’ this is gonna be an uphill battle. But, I’m tougher’n he is! He don’t know who he’s dealin’ with!”

Bless that poor man’s heart. I hope Allstate promotes him.

The Case for Biblical Marriage

Well, this certainly explains a lot.

Mama’s Life Is a Constant Drama!

My coffee had not even had time to kick in this morning when Mama called in an absolute frenzy. You’ll recall that a few weeks ago her home was burglarized–well today, Kenny had taken her there on his way to work so she could wait for the insurance adjuster to arrive.

“This place looks like a tornado has gone through it! A tornado!”

I doubt it looks any different than usual. It has been years since there has even been a place to sit in  her hoarding hovel.

“I figure there’s $20,000 worth of stuff gone from here! That ain’t even countin’ the new door and the refrigerator. You know they pried the back off the refrigerator?? Somebody said it was to get at copper in the coils. And they stole all the meat outta the freezer and my fruit cocktail. They musta gotten hungry tearin this place apart.”

When I asked mama a week or so ago what all these thieves had taken, she couldn’t be more specific than “All my joo-rey! Lots of collectibles. All these Benson and Hedges cards they put out–one for each state, had little facts on ‘em that interested me. A whole set of those is worth something!” So, five pieces of costume jewelry and 50 old cigarette packs? And the fruit cocktail. Let’s not forget the fruit cocktail. Part of me hopes the insurance adjuster sees right through her madness. Another part wants her to get enough money to move her modular mansion off of the seven acres she’s lived on for 30 years and into a place where she might actually make friends. At the very least, I truly hope they pay someone to come in and clean up the “tornado” although I realize full well that it is the result of her and not the work of vandals. We shall see. If her collection of cigarette packs is worth 20 grand, we need to up our homeowner’s coverage to a few million.

“Cassie’s dead.” Now, to a normal person this might have been the first thing to bring up. Cassie was our neighbor when I was growing up. Her life mirrors moms in many ways…a string of unhealthy relationships with losers, a lifetime of manipulating one government program or another, vague “disabilities” that have prevented her from ever holding gainful employment.  They’ve each lost a child in recent years (Cassie’s oldest child suffered from CP and passed a few years back) And, certainly not least, a penchant for eating pharmaceuticals as if they were M and Ms.

“Dead? From what?”  I knew the answer before she told me.

“OD’d. I cain’t believe she did that. I was just reading from the Inspirational Bible she gave me in 2003 yesterday. She knew me bout better than anyone.”

“Wow, that’s hard to believe. I’m sorry.”

“Ever-body’s dying. Dub (mama’s ex husband), Frank (another of mom’s exes), Scott (yet another), John (another of our neighbors), and now Cassie.”

“Well most of those people died because they lived very unhealthy and dangerous lives.”  

“I know it. I’m so glad I’m off these drugs!” I suspected as much because she has been oddly coherent lately, but she had not told me this.

“You are? Since when?”

“Four weeks, since I got outta the hospital. No valium. No pain medicine, nothing but my high blood pressure pills. That coulda been me. I don’t know how many times I’d wake up in the middle of the night and reach into my purse and just take whatever I could find in the dark.”

Actually, I probably do know, since those wee-hour doses often resulted in phone messages filled with singing, slurred babbling, and wailing.

“Well, I’m really glad you are off of them. I think you’ll feel better without them actually.”

“And I think I’m on Kenny’s nerves.”

Imagine that.

“He got drunk as a skunk last night. He’s got a drinking problem.”

Again, imagine that.

“And he knew I was pissed off this morning too. He dropped me off and they was someone in a government car out there where Pauline’s  house used to be smokin’ a crack pipe! Broad daylight in a government car. He can’t be too annoyed. He’ll get paid for lettin’ me live there. I got loss of use on that policy that’ll pay him some rent til they get this place back. It looks like a tornado went through here!”

“I hope you get it cleaned up.“

“I’m sitting here on the trash can cause ain’t no place to sit. Adjuster won’t be here til late this afternoon, I’m gonna go stir crazy! Cain’t drive nowhere cause I got a flat tire.” I assume this is the same flat tire she needed my help with weeks ago, and I can further assume she did not take my advice to put air in it, pump it full of Fix a Flat, or roll a half mile to a service station to have it plugged. “I aint supposed to touch anything til they get here.” Is she missing the fact that there has been nowhere to sit in that house in years??

“But feels good to be at my house where I can use my phone anytime I want. I’m about tired of Kenny too. His dick don’t work.”

“TMI.”

“Well, it don’t. It’s his problem, not mine. Aint a man alive I cant turn on.”

“These things happen with age.”

“He’s my age!”

“Oh. Well he looks much older.”

“I told him put some preparation H on those wrinkles. I think his dick don’t work cause he has a drinking problem.”

“Could be. Could be from his smoking. Certain health issues.” I was not interested in pursuing the topic of Kenny’s flaccid penis any longer. But she was.

“Well get on your computer and give me a print out of the reasons. Cause I can’t put up with a dick that won’t work. It’ll get hard when we’re dancin’ but get to the bedroom and it’s floppy as a spaghetti noodle.”

“Ugh. Jesus. I don’t want to know. Get him some Viagra.”

“He takes it! Won’t even stay hard long enough to give him a blowjob.”

“I just threw up in my mouth a little.”

“They’s a stomach bug going around up here.” Yeah, that isn’t why.

“I just caint believe Cassie did that. You know Robert’s dyin’ too. He’s in the hospital on his deathbed, cancer all through him. Your Granny’s a mess.” Robert is my grandmother’s longtime hairdresser–a flamboyant old gay man who does old lady “QTip” hairdo’s out of the front bedroom of his ancient trailer house. “I think he had AIDS cause it started in his lymph nodes.”

“Does that indicate that?” I honestly have no clue.

“It can. Oh, praise the Lord. They didn’t get your bronze baby shoes!” What sort of mad thieves were these that would steal fruit cocktail but leave without taking the pair of baby shoes mom had dipped in bronze and turned into bookends? Depraved minds, clearly!

“They didn’t get my angels. But I cain’t find those limited edition Nascar Micro Machines, they’ve got those. Probably worth something now.” And, by gum, she’s right! A quick look on eBay and some of those puppies are going for over ten whole dollars!

Monday Morning Mish-Mash

1. Well, I only got about half of my “to do” list done this weekend. I felt “off” on Friday and Saturday, just didn’t have a whole lot of energy. Part of the reason is because I haven’t been sleeping well. I’m often bothered by “Restless legs”–I hate even admitting that because it’s one of those conditions you see advertised on TV, and my general feeling is that most of those are “fad diseases” invented by drug companies. But I can be dead dog tired and can’t get to sleep because I am tossing and turning with this annoying feeling that my legs need to stretch. Several years back, I took Requip to combat the problem, and it was only minimally effective, so I stopped. Anyone out there have suggestions?

2. In other news of my body I am trying once again to give up smoking. I was somewhat successful with Chantix a couple of years ago, but fell off the wagon. The second try with Chantix wasn’t nearly as successful, not sure why but it just didn’t seem to work like it did the first go around. So this time, I’m trying THE PATCH. 36  hours smoke free as of this writing, and haven’t really had much of a desire for one. The one thing I can say negative about the patch is that it itches like hell.

3. Of the things I DID get done this weekend, I can cross off hanging drapes in the study (pic above) and refinishing a pair of tables. (If you want to see those, head over to the design blog at Southgate Residential–which all of you interested in home and garden issues are doubtless following ree-lig-us-lee!) Every time I start a crafty project, I curse myself for thinking I am handy. But, in the end, they usually turn out well. And while I did not get the garage cleaned out, I DID (with much cursing and a cut thumb) assemble the shop vac that was a late Christmas gift from my crazy mama and her beau of the moment, Kenny. Let me go off on a tangent for a moment. This shop vac was new in the box and mostly plastic and metal. The only exception being a nylon bag that holds the accessories. Now, I’m not sure how long the vac sat in Kenny’s mobile mansion, but both he and mom smoke like freight trains. As I assembled the thing, I noticed right away that the box reeked of smoke. I hurriedly got it back into the garage. But I kept smelling it, and the nylon bag was completely impregnated with the stuff. To the point that I could still smell it hours later. That’s a lot of damn smoking to get inside a sealed box and cling to the one piece of fabric inside.

4. Several weeks back, I was the lucky winner of one of The Girl From The Ghetto’s book giveaways. I was particularly thrilled to win this one because it’s a book by Jessie Sholl called “Dirty Secret: A Daughter Comes Clean About Her Mother’s Compulsive Hoarding.  Well I finally got around to starting it, and WOW, it’s like I’m reading my mom’s life story.

Spring Cleaning

The first signs of spring have shown their faces in my little corner of the world. There were glimmers a few weeks ago as temperatures passed 60 and the sun shone brightly. Darling thought I was crazy when I took our convertible to be detailed and drove around all weekend with the top down (and the heat on high, mind you), but I, for one, am glad to put winter behind us.

This coming weekend is the first we are expected to have with sustained temperatures in the low 70′s. No chance of rain. And this THRILLS me. I can handwash my own car without losing the feeling in my fingers. I can tackle our terribly disorganized garage. We wrapped up all of our remodeling projects and moved the furniture in just as fall set in, which means we have to squeeze our cars in and then do a contortionists dance around paint cans, leftover building materials, and “junk” that needs to find a home just to get in the house. I look forward to being able to open all the windows and air the house out. There’s a very narrow window of time here when windows can be opened. Early spring, before the pollen starts to fall so heavy that everything is covered in a half inch of yellow dust, and late fall when the temperatures are cool enough to forego air conditioning but not quite so cool as to require heat.

There’s a host of other small outdoor projects I need to do–clean up our back patio, empty some pots filled with dead plants and bad potting soil, fix a gutter extension near the sunroom. These chores might normally sound like a  boring list of “have to do’s” but the fact that I can actually get outside and do them makes them things I am looking forward to.

So, what’s on your spring cleaning list?

Make Your Wishes Known

Three years ago today, my younger sister was involved in a serious car accident. Longtime readers know the details, but the short version is that we spent four days on a roller coaster of emotion as she lay in a coma suffering from traumatic brain injuries. She was 26 and had likely never given a single thought to her own mortality. When the doctors told us that there was no brain activity, we were left with the painful decision of whether or not to disconnect her from life support. I’ve no doubt that we made the right choice–the one she would have wanted and the only one that was morally conscionable. Her mom and dad, though, will always question if they did what was right and what she would have wanted.  So I urge each of you today to give the issue some thought. Institute a living will, talk to your spouses, your children, your parents. Make your wishes known.

And for the record, if a machine is all that’s keeping me alive, unplug it. “Living” in a vegetative state isn’t living at all. And then cremate what’s left…the expense of even a basic funeral with casket, embalming, etc. is something that would be a burden to even financially comfortable families…whatever is cheapest is fine with me, and the idea of people parading past my airbrushed corpse is, frankly, nauseating.

A Little Mid-Week Mish Mash

1.Listen, puppies, the blog well is a bit dry lately. My crazy mama, far as I know, is laid up at either the hospital (for some non-mental health issues), or at Lot 51, Traylor Parke–where the only phone service once her gubment provided 250 minutes have been exhausted is by way of Kenny’s cell phone. Since Kenny is a hardworking man, his cell phone is out of her hands about 12 hours a day, and consequently she has not been giving me my daily dose of crazy. For this, I give thanks, because frankly she has worn my patience down to the nubs lately.

2.But while I haven’t had much to say here at the Vinyl Village, I do have a whole host of home and garden related topics in the works over at Southgate Residential. So, click on over there and take a look at my bargain finds, houses the size of a boutique hotel, and whatever other design related tidbits tickle my fancy.

3. The one bit of excitement is that I am finally, after three decades here in the You-nited States, leaving the country. Darling and I will be sailing off to the Grand Caymans, Roatan, and a few other islands whose names escape me month after next. This meant that I had to apply for a passport, a prospect I did not relish because my experience with government agencies has always been less than pleasant. Imagine my shock and joy at being in and out of the post office in ten minutes, having been assisted (and relieved of $150) by the friendliest government employee I’ve ever encountered. She must have been new.

Has Captain Steubing Retired Yet?

This is Genius!

As if I needed another reason to love San Francisco…I stumbled across this today while doing my daily shopping on Gilt. (If you love good stuff and a bargain, you need to CLICK HERE and sign up). Anyhoo, San Francisco is now home to The House of Air. An indoor trampoline park! If this isn’t screaming to my inner child, I don’t know what is. Trampoline dodgeball! Trampoline fitness! Trampoline basketball! They even do birthday parties, and you bet your sweet bippy that I’d be turning 34 there if it weren’t all the way across the  country.

When I was a teenager, Sister girl and I had a trampoline (naturally it was in the front damn yard because Mama had no sense that such things belonged in the back). Many an hour was spent doing backflips, kneedrops, and all sorts of other things that would send me into traction if I were to try them today. (Actually, I have tried these things recently because my godchildren have a trampoline, and about fifteen minutes spent bouncing on it will leave me feeling like I’ve compressed every disk in my back.) The very first time I got drunk, I decided it was a swell idea to hit the trampoline for some Rum and Coke fueled gymnastics. Surprisingly, this did not end with me spilling the contents of my stomach, but that’s neither here nor there.

The next time I’m in the Bay City, this is going at the top of my to-do list.