House of Zathras

A few nights ago I was in line at Walmart behind two other women. As the first rather largish woman was finishing checking out, a whole pack of kids came up. The woman started berating her kids, asking them where they had been. The oldest, a girl of about 12 (just a guess, as the kids, like their mama, were all rather plump), explained that she had fallen down.

“What????!!!!” screeched the mama. “I done tol’ you that if you fall down, you don’ get back up. You just lay there and holler!!!!! Nex’ time, you just lay on that flo’.”

No questions if the girl was okay or what else happened. Apparently you just lay on the floor, carrying on, and try to take advantage of the situation.

It made me so sad…

I rarely ‘not’ finish a book. It has to be pretty bad for me to put it down and walk away from it. I only threw away one book that I can recall.

I would like to throw away one I just (partially) read, except that it’s from the library. Then I’d have to pay for the frikken thing, and I’m not about to do that.

The storyline is about a pandemic bird-flu and a family’s efforts to survive. Basic enough apocalyptic stuff, right?

Except this author was a total ditz. I think she’s from the big city and has no clue about life in suburbia.

One of her characters is an art teacher. Who when the fire alarm goes off, takes the time to find out who the line leader is, lets them slowly line up, and gets outside leaving a child behind. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. Then runs back in going all the way around to the front to get back in. And then she’s praised as a heroine for rescuing the child she left behind!!!!

This same teacher left in the middle of the school day to go to the post office. Yeah, right. I’d LOVE a teaching job where I had enough of a break to be able to do that…aside from the fact you usually can’t leave campus during class hours. But maybe this author lives in the big city where a post office can be very close by…although this story was set in suburbia, meaning a drive to most places. Then when this character gets back from the post office, the office is empty because everyone is in a meeting in the cafeteria. Again, total bullshit. Someone is ALWAYS in the office, or at the very least the front door and office door is locked.

At this assembly, it is announced to the whole school about the Health Department closing the school indefinitely (because of the bird flu). Again, this is not the way a serious matter is handled. Something that important isn’t announced blandly to elementary school kids. (We didn’t even tell our students about 9-11 the day it happened. When there are hurricanes heading our way, automated calls go to the parents and notes are sent home.)

And then what pissed me off enough to close the book was when the woman asked if she liked teaching, and she said to the affect of ‘it’s okay, but it wasn’t doing‘. Fuck you.

The book sat there a day after that. And then I picked it up again, deciding the author just simply didn’t research with actual teachers, and just assumed she knew more than she did. She did appear to have good research about the spread of the flu, so I would try again.

I read a few more chapters. The flu has spread, there are shortages of food and water. But somehow internet and electricity and water are all working just perfectly! What I couldn’t figure out was why the family was so intent on buying bottled water. When the outbreak started happening, the water supply was still fine…start storing up water at home. Nope, they couldn’t do that.

Then a serious winter storm hit with about two feet of snow and the power went out. So they started cooking their meat so it wouldn’t spoil. SERIOUSLY???? You have tons of snow outside, and you couldn’t keep packing the freezer with that? Or hell, even store it outside in the sub-freezing temperatures?

I was done with the book at that point. I hoped they all died in the epidemic so their genes of stupidity wouldn’t be passed on. But dammit, I peeked at the end and the stupid bitch was still alive.

Thank God I didn’t pay for this inanity. Total stupidity. I can’t wait to get this book out of my house and back to the library. That kind of stupidity can be catching, and I don’t want it spreading here at the HoZ. We have enough of our own without adding to it.

So…do you finish a book even if it’s stupid?

…I don’t want anything to do with them. From the same guy who brought you ‘Cows & Cows & Cows’ over at LeeAnn’s.

Crazy…that one word sums up this past week. Crazy fun and crazy scary all at the same time.

And I can’t talk about it yet because of contractual obligations (see four posts back.)

But there’s been some Middle-Aged Mama Squealing going on on top of PN’s. Aii-yi-yi.

I just read an article about the gangs in Chicago wearing certain sports clothing to show gang affiliation.

I kind of laughed. No wonder there’s so much violence in Chicago if the powers-that-be are just now figuring this out! This gang identification has been going on for years and years. Back when I first started teaching in Houston, teachers had to go through ‘gang awareness’ training. This sports-associated clothing was one of the aspects we were taught…the one I remember in particular was for the basketball team at University of Nevada at Las Vegas…UNLV. It was for a black gang, and it stood for ‘Us N…… Love Violence’.

Maybe the person conducting this study was young and has no concept of what happened before he was born…and wanting everyone else to be amazed with ‘his’ discovery. If it’s not on Facebook, then it’s not relevant unless he says it’s relevant.

I don’t know…but I’m just glad I no longer live in a big city. I don’t want to be at risk for wearing my favorite team’s baseball cap…

‘Cause I started out with a Monday, even though it’s Tuesday.

You see, I was just sitting here minding my own business, when I heard this terrible rumbling sound outside. I ran to the front window, peeked through the blinds, and saw…the garbage truck. I then ran to the side window, peeked down through the blinds, and sure enough, in its regular spot, was the garbage can. Which should have been at the street. SOMEBODY who promised to take out the garbage last night…didn’t. And since that somebody was at the church at the moment, I couldn’t yell at him to get the garbage to the street.

I had time…we live on a dead-end street, so the garbage truck is backed down the road and begins pick-up there. So I rushed out, in the pouring rain, barefoot, to grab the can to roll it to the street. And oh, did I mention I was barefoot? And that the end of the drive is a rough mix of gravel and dirt? So yeah…I was having fun…NOT! Then I dashed back up the drive to grab a couple of other items that had been cleaned out from the shed. The garbage truck was there by then, and since I was drenched already, I waited to be able to take the emptied can back. The garbage guy gave me a weird look as he wheeled the can back to me. I guess too many people don’t stand in the rain waiting for a stupid garbage can.

Monday shouldn’t be allowed to take a holiday.

BR and I went to the grocery store (where the Goob used to work) to pick up a few things. It’s an interesting place…quite a redneck persona. BUT it a VAST wine section (picked up Teresa’s chocolate wine as well as our favorite plum wine). And it has a good array of international items, including Jewish foods and candles. As I was looking at those candles, I started giggling. BR looked at me as if I had lost my mind. I stopped giggling long enough to reveal my thoughts…is it kosher to buy those kinds of things at the Piggly Wiggly…or as it is affectionately known, “The Pig”?

Inquiring minds want to know…because it just doesn’t seem right to me…

Okay…this is one of those female posts. Probably of no interest to men, but they’re welcome to read if they want. They’ve been warned. But there might be women who might want to know about it, especially the long term effects. Another warning…may be too graphic for delicate stomachs. TMI, and that kind of stuff, but if you’re thinking about this procedure, you need/want to know.

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PoopKat is acting like she’s in heat. Meowing loudly, rubbing on everything, rolling over and looking ever-so-cute whenever you come within five feet of her.

But the damn thing’s been fixed. Why is she acting like this? And if you pet her and stop too soon for her liking, she turns and bares her teeth at you. Even nipping you. That’s when I throw her ass out of the house.

Right now, she’s finished her breakfast and doing that crazy meowing thing…when I called her name, she ran to the pet gate (we don’t let them past the laundry room), and rubbed against it and rolled over, looking backwards up at me.

These animals are driving me crazy…

I’ve seen some odd things in my time. This weekend added to my list. Went to see Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream…done in an 80s style. Instead of being set in Athens, Greece, it was set in Athens, Georgia. Ronald Reagan’s picture graced the courtroom wall. Eighties background music (many of the lines were sung to popular 80s songs)…costumes were 80s-type clothing. My daughter helped with the play, and picked out the character Hermia’s costume referring to my ’83 Prom Dress. I really enjoyed it. But…it was weird. Shakespeare probably spun in his grave.

So…what odd thing have you seen recently?

Scene: The Who-Mommy’s House, specifically the bathroom which can be entered from either a bedroom or a storage area.

Characters: Mrs. Who and her Who-Mommy

Who-Mommy (rattling the door opposite the one Mrs. Who has just entered):    Do you think you can lift something for me?

Mrs. Who: Can I finish going pee first?

Who-Mommy (exasperation fills her voice):   I just need to know if you can try to lift something for me!

Mrs. Who (Loud):   Yes!   (mumbling): Are you going to stand outside the door until I’m done?

Who-Mommy: What?????

Mrs. Who (louder):   Are. You. Standing. There. Until. I. Come. Out?????

Who-Mommy (loudest):   Justgetoutherewhenyou’redone!!!!!

Mrs. Who:    Flush!!!

Mrs. Who exits the bathroom into the storage room where the Who-Mommy is standing, tapping her foot. Next to her, near a deep-freeze that has been defrosted, is a good-sized box in a large white garbage bag.

Who-Mommy (pointing to the box):   Do you think you can lift that and take it to the trash?

Mrs. Who (lifting the bag):   Yes, I can do it. What is it, anyway?

Who-Mommy: It’s a box of MREs from Hurricane Ivan five years ago. It’s been in the bottom of our freezer since then and I want it gone!

Mrs. Who: Mom! There’s nothing wrong with them then! MREs are made to last awhile, and if they’ve been in the freezer the whole time they’re fine! Y’all can eat them.

Who-Mommy: I don’t want to eat them. I want them gone. Just take them out!

Mrs. Who: Then I’ll take them!

Who-Mommy: Just get them out of my house now!

The Who-Mommy leads the bag-carrying Mrs. Who through the house, opening the front door and proceeding to the trash can where she opens the lid. Who-Mommy turns to Mrs. Who, expecting her to put the box into the trash can. She stares piercingly at Mrs. Who as she turns not towards the trash can, but towards her truck.

Who-Mommy: WHAT are you DOING?

Mrs. Who: I told you, there’s nothing wrong with these. If you don’t want them, I do. Buck can use them at encampments.

Who-Mommy: Well, don’t come crying to me if you all get sick from eating them.

Mrs. Who: Don’t worry, Nurse Ratched, we won’t turn to you.

Who-Mommy: Slams trash can lid and goes back into the house.

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That’s my mom…she gets an idea in her head, and she can’t stand to deviate from it. None of the conversation above is exaggerated. In many ways she’s very rigid…she’s a very sweet lady, but you can also tell she was an only, late-in-life pampered child of two doting parents. The Who-Mommy has her own brand of logic that can drive the rest of her family crazy. We love her, but she can get so exasperated when we don’t follow her line of reasoning. And then we’re exasperated trying to explain why her idea wouldn’t work. The lady can do the New York Times crossword puzzle, but couldn’t read a map to save her life.  I think I’ve mentioned at the HoZ before that when I was five, I was helping her find the way from Brunswick, GA to Pensacola, FL.    Plus, she only makes right-hand turns.  That could seriously hinder interpreting a map.  Life is a one-way street for her, I guess.

As I stepped down from my truck the wind whipped my hair around my face. It also brought the sounds of the American flag fluttering heavily in the stiff breeze and the poignant sound of a mourning dove.

The sorrow ripped at me before I even walked around my vehicle. A young family stood around a heavily-decorated grave…windchimes, windmills, small solar-powered glass globes… They glanced back at me, and I looked down, not wanting to project my sorrow upon theirs. Three young children wandered around their parents. I stayed by my truck, pressed back by the tears that were building.

At last they leave, glancing in my direction. I barely noticed, as I walked towards my painful goal…only two sites away from theirs. I heard the family’s truck start and leave, but by that point I was on my knees at the edge of the weathered marker, staring at the birthdate…today’s date, minus 29 years . The tears are flowing freely, and the weight of choked-back sobs is burrowing deep in my chest. I picture his body down below me…and I can’t stand it. I know it’s just a shell, but it’s my brother and I love him so much…I know it’s not ‘him’, but dammit…he was buried wearing his favorite clothes, and I know it’s all down there, under the weight of the ground.

He was only four and a-half. It was 25 years ago. 25 frikken years, and the sorrow can still rip at my heart and take the breath from my lungs. God, how I miss my little brother.

Robby had the sweetness and character of an angel. His heart condition gave him an almost ethereal essence…the only thought that brought any kind of comfort was that he wouldn’t suffer any of the crap of growing up. Always innocent, always precious, always beautiful.

I finally was able to stand and take a picture of the marker. Then I heard the sound of a bird overhead, close to the small magnolia tree that casts a late-afternoon shadow on Robby’s grave. I see a mourning dove soar to the top of the nearby flagpole. I watch it for a moment, and then it soars off, making a complete circle high in the air, with me at the center. It lands back on the top of the flagpole and bobs it head in my direction.

I had to smile. Maybe it was a message from Robby. I need to look up…he’s not down there. He’s free. I’m the one bound by earthly chains of sorrow. I need to look up and away from that burden.

I still miss him. God, how I miss him. I kneel once more, place my finger to my lips and then place it on his name on the headstone. I love you, Robby.

(His grave is just to the lower right of center, two away from the magnolia tree. Behind the magnolia tree is the site the family was visiting…notice all the paraphernalia around the plaque…their son was only two…)


(The messenger dove, reminding me to always look up….)

Okay…before you watch this, just understand it has BAD language. NSFW, small children, or pets. And it was made by some French dudes, with their stereotypical snobbery about Americans.

But…I always suspected the Mr. Clean thing…and Ronald McDonald??? I TOLD you clowns are evil!
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Just how many emails should one have? I have one for work, one for home, one for my blog, one for Facebook, and at least four others that I use for ‘anonymous’ commenting and/or using to comment on newspaper-type articles. And the other day, while going through some paperwork, I found another one I had forgotten about.

People used to be sent to the funny-farm for having that many identities.

It’s not the world I grew up in. I was thinking this morning that my kids have never experienced a full-service gas station. Or had the passion of waiting for Saturday morning to watch the cartoons (which I had to miss the three years I was in non-parochial school, because it meant I had to go to CCD on Saturday morning). Or being able to be gone in the neighborhood all day and no one had to worry. Or having to wait until Christmas to see ‘Rudolph’ and ‘Frosty’ and the like.

My grandparents would not recognize this world. And often, I simply don’t want to recognize it. Eight friggin’ emails. Why?

Dreaming about hordes of invading zombies one night…and then nukes going off in New Jersey another night.

Maybe I should drink more before I go to sleep.

Totally unrelated to my previous post. But I’ve become aware of a possible ethics violation, and I have to report it. It could make things really ugly and uncomfortable at work.

But if I don’t take action, it could come back on me, and I’m not going to let that happen.

I need an enviro-suit…and soon.

VW cracked me up…in the previous post she commented that I needed to list all my blog friends as family and insist they be added to the wedding guest list (oops, almost typed ‘weeding’…Freudian slip, lol?)

Y’all are invited if you want. Hell, the girl has no family that we know of (she was in foster care for most of her teen years), and Goob’s other family are the Utah shitheads (hey, shithead is considered a ‘real’ word!!! No squiggly line under it!). So guess who would be putting on this wedding if it should happen…which means we’ll probably have it at the local Wal-Mart.

Plus, both of them are under legal drinking age. Which means no booze at the reception. Hell, we have enough troubles in our lives without being arrested for supplying minors with alcohol!

BUT!!! AFTER the reception, I’ll definitely need some kind of high-octane recovery. So if y’all want to join us for an after reception-reception, for anyone of LEGAL drinking age…let’s meet at some nice bar and drink to these wayward youth. May they overcome any obstacles (and God knows they’ll have plenty) and be happy with each other, and not dump munchkins on our doorstep. (Although God knows I’d rather than bring innocent children to us than on those shitheads in Utah. I’ve already told the girl via a FB message that if they ever turn to Utah because the evil grandmother there will promise them a house and a car then we are done with them. Finit. That the price to pay for that is their very souls and I won’t be a part of that in any way, shape, or form.)

I’m shaking my head at the whole thing. The girl, (bless her heart), is messaging me saying she wants to have a faith practice but that Goob is claiming agnosticism and what should she do. I told her that she needs to talk to him because she definitely knows him better than we do now. And I’m pissed at myself for being suspicious of her…that she doesn’t really want the religious aspect but is trying to get on my good side. And I’m not going to get in the middle of their relationship. Whatever I reply to her, I’ve told her I’m sending a copy to Goob also. And does she really want to be married to a man ten-foot tall and bulletproof boy who claims he would rather be molested again and profess to be proud of it than admit that maybe he did something wrong in the week before he left for Korea, and tell his Dad he’s sorry. Because that’s where things stand right now.

I would so love to feel happiness for them. But if Goob won’t admit he made a mistake now, will he ever apologize to her when he’s done something wrong?

God bless them both. They’re going to need it.

Seems Pvt. Goob is getting married. In August.

How did we find out?

On Facebook. A comment that I caught in passing.

*sigh*

Warning: Brief instance of adult language.

Our school district’s web-site was hacked today. By folks claiming to be Turkish Muslims.

When I saw the site come up, I wanted to yell out, “Durka Durka Mohammend Jihad!!”

But the kids would have looked at me funny.

So…was this the threat that Iran promised for today? Taking down our educational system one web site at a time? More power to them. God (not Allah) knows our whole educational system needs a revamp anyway. They could be doing us a favor.

Joe: One of the terrorists is trying to tell us something.
[looks through binoculars]
Gary Johnston: [waving the distress signal towards Joe and Chris] It’s me! It’s me!
Joe: Looks like he’s saying, “Kiss me! Kiss me!”
Chris: Smart-ass motherfucker!
[fires missile at terrorist jeep]

Don’t have much to write about. I get caught up in Farmville on FB, and it’s starting to tick me off. How can I allow something so inane take up so much of my invaluable and minuscule spare time like that?

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We’re looking at getting another ‘family’ car. We have two drivers coming up soon. A friend of mine is selling an older model Mercedes that we’re thinking of getting. I just don’t want them in my SUV. I love my SUV. I don’t want anything to happen to it. The Mercedes is 20 years old but sounds to be in good shape…we’ll see.

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How much rain can we handle? And it could be changing to snow by week’s end. Damn Al Gore.

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And how much longer before people realize the educational system is heading towards Urinetown because of texting and having the internet on one’s cell phone? Parents aren’t interacting with their young kids because of these devices. Thank about the last time you were in public seeing parents with young kids. Were they interacting with their kids, or were they pushing the stroller while yakking on the cell phone? Kids aren’t developing the language patterns and skills they need, and will be far behind when they get to school. At my school in particular, the speech referrals in kindergarten are up 3x from last year.

Of course, it will be the teachers’ faults when the kids can’t learn.

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Wondering what will happen Thursday…Iran has threatened something big. I fear for Israel, because Obama is an imbecilic amateur.

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Is it Friday yet?

It can suck. There’s nobody who can run the Netflix DVD out to the mailbox when you don’t want to get dressed to go out there.

And nobody to get up at 6:00 AM to let the animals out and feed them.

*sigh*

How do you say TGIF?

Now, how do you say it without kids for the whole weekend? 

Which is the worst battle:

Getting into a sport bra? Or getting out of it?

Because tonight I heard a promo for an ‘ABC Family’ show…and the premise involved a girl who was upset because her new coach was a man with whom her mother had had an affair.

How the hell is that a ‘family show’????? Screwing around and abusing your wedding vows is subject matter for family entertainment?

Gahhh. Our culture is going to hell in a handbasket.

Rush Limbaugh is apparently doing better. Heard on the news today that whatever happened to him wasn’t a heart attack.

I know what happened to him. He was walking in the hallway at his Hawaiian hotel, and thought he came upon Medusa. Wouldn’t that give you serious palpitations? Actually it was just Nancy Pelosi, sans makeup on her vacation. Limbaugh is fortunate that it wasn’t worse. It could have been Helen Thomas. With or without makeup.

see more deMotivational Posters

How short is she?

Well she’s so short, that when she stood on the bathroom counter to get to the mildew around the air vent (because humidity is a constant bitch in this section of the Gulf Coast), her head still didn’t touch the ceiling.

Yeah, that short.

I have internet again. Yay. And the thing I missed the most about it? Weather updates. We’ve had some hellacious weather…almost non-stop rain and cold, miserable weather. I missed being able to jump on the net to see what was going on. Having to wait for the local news just doesn’t work for me. I’d always get distracted, and leave the room before the weather comes on, and then have no idea of what I needed to wear the next day.

Now…I want to thank Pam for her graciousness in allowing BR’s comments in this post. I haven’t written great details about what’s going on, because BR is a very private person. Tonight was the first time I had a chance to ‘catch up’ on blog reading, and I saw BR’s comments. Thank you Pam, and thank you for those who commented towards BR. Y’all are good folk.

My heart aches for BR. I understand where he’s coming from and why he’s feeling like he does. I feel helpless. But the day of his most recent blow-up…I felt like I reached a wall. That morning I had gotten up early to take Buck to the Wreaths Across America event at Barrancas National Cemetery. As I had mentioned above, the weather here for the past week has been suck-ass crazy, especially for this time of year on the Gulf Coast. But Buck’s Young Marines group placed wreaths in the cold, driving rain. He participated in the formal ceremony. And I got soaking wet too. I tried huddling in the back of the tent with the other parents, but the cold rain poured off the top, down my back, running off my jacket and soaking the bottom half of my jeans. (I can’t imagine how the YM kids felt as they laid wreaths…at least there was a warm bus for them to hop on from time to time.) There was a short break where I ran to my mom’s (since my own home is a good distance away) to dry my pants before the formal ceremony. On the way to my mom’s I called home, to see if BR was getting up to come see the ceremony.

No. He wasn’t. He missed Buck laying the wreath at his granddad’s (BR’s dad) grave. He missed Buck being part of the formal ceremony where he gave a wreath to a real ‘Rosie the Riveter’ from WWII. I got soaked, and had to stand for hours in the cold and sometimes driving rain…BR stayed home in bed. I take Buck to most of his Saturday morning YM meetings…and BR sleeps in.

I think both BR and I have reached our limits. We’re both wrapped up in what we’re experiencing, and can see each other through the glass darkly…but can’t step beyond that. I do love him. But right now I don’t have the energy to jump over the wall that separates us. I’m just so tired.

I used to love Christmas. Now…now I don’t know. I’m trying to think awfully hard about the real meaning of Christmas. I’ve told Princess No and Buck that it would be a very small Christmas this year…and they seem to understand. In fact, Princess No told me she hoped BR would get some stuff for Buck, since she would go to her dad’s later and get stuff there. But that ties into the materialism that BR hates so much about Christmas. So…it will be simple. And it will be okay. One way or another, it will be a Christmas to remember.

Now, if I can just find the receipt for the warranty for the washing machine. Right now, I’d settle for having clean underwear for Christmas.

Nope. No internet at home. Yet.

And the washing machine won’t work. Can’t find the paperwork for the warranty, and the place from which we bought the extended warranty said they only keep those records for about 8 months. However, if I know the date on which is was bought and have the credit card number…they can look it up, or else the credit card company can. And then they can track down the warranty.

Only problem…the credit card is with BR. Who is not at home right now. Who is actually staying at the house he inherited from his Mom.

Yeah. Sad times. I haven’t even cried about it yet. Although I’m about to right now, and since I’m in the library, it would be kind of embarrassing.

One day at a time, right?

Y’all have probably heard about Tiger Woods’ accident…leaving his home around 2:25 AM, he ran into a hydrant and a neighbor’s tree. It was reported that his wife had to use a golf club to break through the back window to get to him.

I hope he isn’t seriously hurt. And it’s hard for me to picture someone as focused as Mr. Woods being so drunk or stoned to have such a serious accident at a low speed.

But leaving at 2:25 in the morning? Your wife standing over you with a golf club? Dude, that must have been some fight. WTH did you say to her that she is so pissed as to chase you off? Inquiring minds want to know.

**************UPDATE**************

I knew it!!!!