19 February 2008

I had a pretty good weekend, all things considered.

I had to buy a new microwave and found a very nice one on sale.

I got all my shopping done early, and the rest of the weekend was spent reading-can't beat that.

The horrid weather passed over quickly and in my little corner of tin shackdom, at least, with no damage. Hail did hit the window for a brief harrowing period, and tornado warnings were posted all over the state. I hate the tin shack at moments like that.

Mozart lay down on the floor right under my feet, and I got the notion I should figure out where to go just in case. Gonzo was upset, uneasy at the way Uncle Molzart was acting. Mozart and I don't care for crashy-boomies.

It reminded me of living in SouthEast Alabama, of Ivan, and Dennis, and Katrina.

I hate being reminded of Ivan.

OK, the knowledge that Crusty's Gulf Breeze McMansion was rendered a scattered pile of splinters (his place was right behind the Gulf Breeze K-Mart) did kinda give me a realllllllly brief moment of satisfaction-knowing he got $90400.00 from disaster aid pissed me off completely, though. My tax dollars at work supporting, never mind.

It's a new year, and I'm trying very hard to be positive.

I miss my son, and my grandson. I worry about them both all of the time. All. The. Time.


A few years ago, while Fox and I were still talking, he told me I should get the PlayStation because it is 'future-proof' and frankly, yesterday I ruefully learned he was right on the money. Blu-Ray will be taking over, and the PlayStation is the best thing to own if ya wanna get the most from yer Blu-Ray discs.

When I figured that out, I was a little weepy. I miss that young man so damn much!

09 February 2008

Gator died one year ago tonight, at 2111 hours. This past year has been one of changes-I've moved house, although not far as I can see Gator's grave from my driveway.

Two cats have moved into the house. (What would Gator think of that?!)

He was a constant, daily presence for nearly thirteen years. Not one day has gone by since he died that I've not thought about him, missed him, hated the way his last years were.

He hung on to see Fox.

Fox never came.

03 February 2008

OK, things have been rather rough the past few months, which is really saying something considering.

First, BOO HOO ya brats that are bent 'bout Mom and Dad, and Grannie too, knowing how to read yer sophmoric FaceBook and MySpace pages.

Get over it! OMGsh, yer like so totally '90's with yer louzy 'tudes, and frankly, I don't give a damn if yer like, not OK with it, OK?

Your problem is that we're better than you are at it. Get over it stoopids, we invented it. Jeez, wot a bunch of whiners! And eeuw, like, nobobdy likes whiners, not really.

'Nuff said. NO! WAIT! I wanna know-who let the brats in anyway?

A dear late and greatly lamented friend had it right when she said most children should be placed in stasis once they learn to walk and not be let out until they are at least 37, married with a bitchy spouse, two brats, a mini-van payment, and a fat mortgage of their own, and OH YEAH, have finally sucked it up enough to realize how great Ma and or Pa really are after all.

Some ass, lemme see, oh yeah, that idiot teacher who taught our kids they can't respect anyone else until they respect themselves.

Man, I am not really a violent person, but I wanted to bitch-slap that stupid teacher the day she rattled that crap off to me in front of my highly impressionable son, who promptly, along with 99.9% of his wretched school mates, took that as a license to be, well, brats.

I stood there staring at this blond little ejit thinking, take him. I won't be able to get a thing out of him now.

I love Fox, but Lord, what a trial he was. OK, life was not perfect, far from it, but that loony teacher and the ones that followed compounded the problem.

Now these arrogant without reason, worthless, mostly, brats think we old people should get the hell outta their very special and rarefied way.

Um, nope. When they can prove to me that they really are smarter than me, I will gladly share air space. But not 'till then. And I will not ever get out of their way-not even! Why should I? Not when I am willing to learn from them and not willing to put up with immaturity that grants them 'permission' to roll their jaded eyes.

I mean, come on, they can't even count change without a TI at their fingertips, and how in the name of all that is holy did they miss that becoming a Borg is like totally wrong-it's just wrong!


Oh thank-you God I do not work Retail, I'd be in jail for beating the crap out of some rude little 20-30 something who really does think he or she does not have to follow standard business rules.

I think what really ticks me off is that we adults are going to have to clean-up after these little pukes. I do not buy into this being my generation's fault, but I do know that I will have to clean-up the mess.

"Oh, well, you know, like everyone is doing it, so why should I be different, I mean, you know, it's like resistance really is futile, and being heroic only gets you, you know, dead."

I have to go to work tomorrow, and listen to children prattle on while they are killing the business we all work in-the signs are there and even the idiots of my age group that work there can see it; we are all quietly brushing up our resumes, and making contact with people we know who might know of a decent job that will at least keep a tin shack around us.

When Fox was little, I had run out of cash, and he could not understand why I did not just ATM us more.

That mentality is what got us into trouble-that gimme it NOW thing these brats will no doubt use as an excuse when the pendulum swings, and they are on budgets, having dragged us down into the pit with them, damn dammit!

"Well, you shouldn't have given us so much!"


I didn't buy into that then, and I don't now-Fox hated me because I told him if he didn't do his chores, he didn't get his allowance. Yeah, he got presents at birthdays and holidays, but he also had to develop a work ethic, and although he hates me for it, he has a rather good work ethic, and I'm the one that gave it to him.

Life as we know it is about to change severely. I'm not too sure I'll be able to find a job that pays what I'm making now-which trust me is not much, and barely keeps the tin shack around my bones, and I don't do a whole lot that doesn't have "frugal" in front of it-I may have to turn off Basic Cable; I'm already driving the least expensive car to maintain with really good gas mileage, and I only drive it to and from work in a straight line-grocery and Wal-Mart are the only places I go and those stores are right turns off my drive into the car park-no little road trips for me.

I guess I should be glad my job was cut, and the company I work for was 'kind' enough to move me to a different spot that I absolutely hate but is at least not a job where I need to stretch the clothing budget trying to come up with office wear. But I loved what I was doing, I was doing it rather well, and Blondie is trashing over nine months of work that I was proud of.

Yup, Blondie is doing my job. She thinks she did something getting what took me a day to do correctly done in two hours-except the vendors are pissed, the shipments are not coming in, and we are about to take yet another beating because of it.

And yes, it was a 30 something that made the choice that sent me into a different room, and left Blondie sitting on my work.

So reading at CNN.com that our children think we are just like totally gross for knowing how to find their stupid little brag pages, and defrag a computer, and GASP, have gmail just completely pissed me off.

Grrrr! 'Cuz I know the brats will show up at the door with their hands out when their credit fueled spending spree finally ends, and I'm not letting mine in until I know I don't have to worry about 'tude!