Wednesday, April 08, 2020

Quarantined Day #8

Hey how's everyone out there today? If anyone is sick, I hope you have a speedy recovery and the ones who are well or well enough and maybe are getting a little stir crazy...just go outside for awhile and soak up some sun,unless it's raining and then Cecil says stay inside and play a game of Trivia Pursuit while drinking a few simply divine cocktails. He prefers the ones with umbrellas and fruit garnishes. That'll soothe the savage beast for sure. For some odd reason a Pina Colada or a Bushwacker sounds more than simply divine to me right now. Add this to Murphy's Laws. I don't have a drop of alcohol in my house. Always a day late and a dollar short! Or is that a stitch in time saves nine? Or the early bird catches the worm? Hell, I don't know. [insert laughter here]

Do liquor stores deliver? They probably do in places like NYC and LA, but I live on the Redneck Riviera. They do things a little differently here. Maybe I can find someone with some moonshine. OMG! That made even me shake my head. Hey liquor store, I need 3 or 4 gallons of cheap rum and oh yeah, some large boxes of jell-o. I don't care what color it is as long as it isn't that blue toilet bowl cleaner looking stuff. Speaking of toilet bowls, a friend of mine from Bridgeport, Connecticut says people are tipping delivery people with rolls of toilet paper up there. I guess toilet paper around there is like gold now. Isn't that crazy? I want to dress up and go out trick or treating for toilet paper, but I can't decide what to dress up as. Any suggestions? Maybe someone will give me a Bushwacker. Oh, that sounds kind of nasty, doesn't it?

Now getting back to Trivia Pursuit...It's always good for a few laughs or some incredible arguments. And there's so many editions of Trivia Pursuit it makes my head swivel. I have several of the first editions that came out including the very first. I wish I had someone who would play a game or two with me...

Last night I had a tiki torch-fire pit experience in the backyard while listening to Pink Floyd and a few others groups while enjoying the company of Martha at the appropriate social distance (of course) with a good old chain link fence between us and of course, our collective fur babies, Fenway, Libby, B.A.,Digger and Cecil. Martha and I just kicked back and chilled out. It's nice to be able to do that because so many people don't. They don't know how to unwind and let go.

Earlier in the day I captured these pictures of The Queen. When I first came inside I sat down in "my chair." Fenway went over to the toybox and got inside it. I thought she was going to lay there and fall asleep. Instead a few seconds later she appeared in front of me with a treasure she had buried in the toybox so the other dogs wouldn't find it. She brought it over to me because she wanted me to lift my recliner up. You see, chewing is a "mama thing" and she always has to be near me when she chews on a bone. I followed her command and lifted my recliner up so Queen Fenway could lay up with her mother and chew her bone after a long day of being outside supervising. It really is a rough job being Queen.



(Absolutely no comments will be accepted about the amount of toys that would indicate any dog living under said roof is spoiled has been decreed by Queen Fenway herself.)



(Please, pick me up! You've been outside ignoring me and so I keep rooting through the leaves getting them all through my snout and tail just to annoy you, so now I'm being a pretty girl so won't you please pick me up and pet me?)

P.S. No Results


Quarantined Day #7

I think my body may just make it through all this yardwork I'm doing. EVERYTHING pertaining to my house has been sorely neglected for so long that it makes me feel so ashamed and so sad, but everyone I say that to just looks at me like I'm crazy or thinks I'm just making an excuse for being lazy. Well, I'm neither, I care about where I live, but I simply haven't been physically able to do the work and I can't afford to hire it to be done by some else. It's a hell of a situation to be in and one I never dreamed I'd be experiencing. I also never dreamed I'd get to the point I'm at now, but I've really pushed myself and here I am and now, I have my hands full. Sometimes I feel so overwhelmed when I look around me and see all the work I have to do. I have to keep reminding myself ONE DAY AT A TIME, MILDRED! One day at a time...and then when it gets too hot (I live in Florida) move inside and start some projects in there because there's as many inside as there's outside! Lucky me! I think Cecil, the partridge and I need to go to Lowe's and start hanging out in the contractor's section and start picking up contractors! To hell with bars! I'm to old for bars and besides my tail feathers don't shake like they shook 30 years ago. But I have a flashy hammer and a cool partridge...lol

So, each day before I go outside to do hard physical work which includes cutting down trees and cutting them up, I put on my back brace because without it I wouldn't be able to do anything but sit there and look at everything that needs to be done.  A few years ago, after I fell down my stairs and fractured a vertebrae which just added to all the other things that's wrong with my back I struggled to be able to stand and walk.  In fact, I couldn't stand for more than a minute or two before I needed to sit down. It really sucked and frustrated the hell out of me and although everyone kept telling to accept my limitations, I just couldn't do that. I wouldn't that. Over time, gradually, I pushed myself to the point of being able to do things again. It took me a few years to get there, but I was determined. I didn't announce to anyone that was my goal because I knew I most likely would have been vetoed on my decision to fight through my pain, ditch pain management and all the narcotics after years and years of using them and then gradually try to get my life back. Once I accomplished that, I started working towards getting my diabetes under control which had never been under control.

Since last May I've lost about 70 pounds and my A1C is where it's supposed to be for the first time since I was diagnosed with diabetes in 2002.  The only thing that concerns me now is that the last time I went to my endocrinologist, he switched my injectable meds to something new. You see, since I had started losing weight, I hadn't had to inject any fast-acting insulin and that's something I never dreamed I would ever stop doing. I injected Tresiba (long-acting insulin) at bedtime and Victoza in the morning after checking my fasting blood sugar. So my doctor decided to start me on Soliqua which supposedly combines the two in one injection.  I thought that was great  because it was going to only be one shot a day, but like any new medication your body takes time to adjust to it and my blood sugar has crept up somewhat. It's not a giant spike, but I worked hard to get it down and well...I know the story. The drug rep walks into the doctor's office with a new drug and wants the  doctor to push it and so the doctor starts prescribing to his patients. I happened to be one of those patients. I think when I go to my primary care doctor in a few weeks, I'm going to discuss the matter and try to get back on what I was on. I don't mind two shots a day and I wasn't asked if I wanted to switch, the other doctor just switched me over to the new drug. I would go back to the endocrinologist, BUT he's harder than hell to get in to see. It's like asking for an appointment with God. I guess things could be worse...

Now, as for my results from my coronavirus testing, there still are none, but Martha told me yesterday that I was supposed to have set up some kind of account and it was explained on the paperwork they gave me. I said, "What paperwork????" Since she and I went to different testing sites I guess I went to the shit show site where they handed me a mask and stuck a swab up my nose and tickled my grey matter, but I don't remember getting any paperwork. It's all included in Murphy's Laws and those are the Laws I live by every day of my life. So Martha is going to take a picture of the paperwork and text it to me so I can see what she received so MAYBE I can go from there and find something out soon.

Sunday, April 05, 2020

Quarantined Day #5

No results yet! Martha got her results and thank goodness they were negative.  I'm sure mine will be coming along soon. We were tested at different sites. Remember her site hunted for her G-spot whereas mine went so far up my nose it tickled my tonsils then they slapped my ass and sent me on my way to be happily quarantined so I'm sure that has some effect on the delay in getting my results. I feel fine, but waiting to be told that I'm fine is difficult. I've been staying busy with outside projects mostly. The other day I put fire ant bait out because the fire ants are trying to take over my yard and one of my little dogs keeps getting bit by them. If you never have had the pleasure of meeting a fire ant, you're lucky. They're truly miserable little creatures and the bait didn't seem to work, so today I dumped some gasoline on them...take that you little bastards! Bite my baby again and I'll light a match next time and set the whole yard on fire. ooops! I hate when that happens!

Today, I got a little sidetracked with talking and chatting and texting with old friends. I think that type of interaction is more important than me getting out in my backyard and cutting down a tree or planting something here and there. The first person I interacted with was an old blogging buddy from my days back when MSN Spaces first opened their doors in 2004. We chatted for quite awhile and it was good catching up with her. I was glad to find out that she's still writing and that she's doing well. My second friend I chatted with was an old neighborhood friend from back in the day when Mildred was but a twig on the tree of life. Again, we caught up and all is well on the home front. The last person I started texting with was an old friend from my Kinsman Hall days... good old "Doctor Detroit".  He lives next-door to the virulent cesspool known as New York. I just wanted to make sure he was okay and I ended up talking to him for hours and hours and hours. And yes, we talked about important stuff like partridges in pear trees and child birth and conspiracy theories. 

In between chats and conversations and texts I managed to drop a tree. Imagine that! When I got a good look at the wall behind the tree it screamed PAINT A MURAL ON ME! So, I decided to paint a mural on that wall. Now, all I have to do is decide what to paint. I believe it HAS to be something to do with a partridge in a pear tree, but that's always subject to change. I'll mull it over and post a picture of the finished product in a decade or two. Right now, I'm going to bed. I'm really tired. I was really tired last night, also. In fact, I went to bed around 9 and I never do that. I must be getting old or something. I guess it happens to the best of us.

Saturday, April 04, 2020

Quarantined Day #4

Somehow I get the feeling that I'll be waiting a little bit longer than 4 or 5 days to get my results back and then from what I've been hearing on the news not all tests are reliable. Just another thing that isn't Trump's fault, of course! He does no wrong! All I know is that I feel fine today and I'll take it one day at a time if I have to. I'm cool with that. So how are all of  you coping with this shit show?

Last night I did a grocery order (note to self - don't make a grocery order again while you're stoned.) Naturally, they were still out of a lot of stuff, but I had to opt to have it delivered since still I'm quarantined.  I think I'm beginning to know what a leper felt like.

I went outside today with good intentions of taking down the two small trees that need to come down so my pear tree will grow fully in all directions. Right now it leans one way because it get practically no sun in one direction. Besides being lop-sided it also needs a partridge because it's a pear tree. You don't know how many stores I've been in around Christmas thinking I'd find a partridge...just one partridge....a small partridge, so I can put it in my pear tree, but no! So tell me why there's a dumb Christmas song about a partridge in a pear tree if you can't find a partridge anywhere at Christmastime? You can find doves. You can find swans. You can find ducks. You can find cardinals. You can find owls. You can find any other kind of bird at Christmas, but you can't find one of the birds mentioned in the 12 days of Christmas. And when I ask a sales rep for a partridge they look at me like I'm asking her to perform a sex act with a French hen. Oh la la!

So instead of taking down two small trees, I took a picture of a tree about 50 feet away from where I was standing.  I'm easily distracted, aren't I? Just think about all the homes that this one tree provides. It's like Avatar without big blue creatures running around unless they run around at night. Hey, maybe that's what my dogs bark at and it's not at the squirrels after all. This tree is in Mad Mad Martha and her Digging Dog, Digger's yard next-door to me...shhhhhhhhh don't tell her I took the picture or she might hex me and make my pear tree grow funny or something :) Whoops, I guess that already happened. I need to learn to behave myself...maybe in my next lifetime??

The other picture is of my finger because it hurts and I really need someone to say "oh, poor baby"... no really, it's been swollen for days. Both joints are sore and when I put the coffee table together yesterday I said lots of bad language. Autoimmune disorders are hard. Especially ones that doctors leave undiagnosed. Oh well! I guess it could be worse. Gripping the screwdriver was a challenge, but I mastered the challenge because I'm a tough Maine woman! We're made of hardy stock.

I made my mother laugh when I purposely said things her father/ my grandfather used to say while I assembled the coffee table like..."you, son of a whore." That was always one of his favorite sayings and believe it or not when you cuss at a stuck wood screw that won't go in, I don't know what it is about it, but all of a sudden it breaks free and the screw screws right in after it's properly cussed at a few times. Okay, that's my lesson on fixing stuff today. Just remember, Mildred says if you're having a difficult time with something, a little colorful language will go a long way to remedy the situation.

Friday, April 03, 2020

Quarantined Day #3

Old hippie with a bandana
This is a picture of me taking a break from doing some yardwork earlier today when Martha presented me with a gorgeous bee she had made on her Cricut machine. I know you probably can't see all the different layers in it, but it has several. She made it for me so I can be Queen Bee while I'm quarantined. Doesn't she know I'm Queen Bee everyday... 365 days of each year? She's only known me since she was four years old! And let's see, we're how old now? What's up with that? Do you think I should break it to her now? Gently due to our advanced age? Or should I deliver it with a good noogie on top of the head? Personally, I'm leaning towards the noogie. All this coronavirus stuff has gotten me so frustrated. That's all I've got, folks so it's the Queen Bee buzzzzzzing off until tomorrow. As always stay safe...

Thursday, April 02, 2020

Quarantined Day #2

 All is well on the good ship SS Quarantine in sunny Pensacola, Florida.  I got up before sunrise so I could go sit out back and watch and listen to the birds. Naturally, I forgot my phone and/or my camera or else I could have gotten some wonderful pictures. The birds are starting to let me get closer and closer to them. Each day I move my chair a little closer. Tomorrow, we'll see what happens. With my luck lately, the heavens will probably open up and one of Florida's famous torrential downpours will happen just when I sit down and get comfortable. Oh well, at least the flowers and trees and lawns and such will be happy and there's always another day.

I guess that's what I've learned through this whole ordeal and that's that there's always another day to get stuff done. People put too much stuff on their plate and stress themselves out about it. People, you need to stop it! Be kind to yourselves! Be kind to those around you! Enjoy your families and your time together. Find a reason to smile. Find a reason to laugh. Go get some fresh air even if it's only in your backyard. Sit down and relax and just breathe for awhile. For some people they never just breathe. They stay wound tighter than a top and those type of people are very hard to be around. Holy Hell! Do they even have a clue that it's like scaping a blackboard to be around them? I don't think they know
that or maybe they do know it and they don't care that they make people uncomfortable to be around them. Wow! That's scary because if they don't care that means they're real heavy duty grade A assholes and let's face it, we all know plenty of Type A summa cum laude assholes who are control freaks. Okay, Type A's,  you aren't magically excluded from this so you need to chill out and binge watch Northern Exposure (Four Seasons) or something. I would have to say Chris Stevens and I have the same philosophy in life. Imagine that! How many of you ever watched Northern Exposure or even remember it? OMG! Please, don't everyone say they loved Gilligan's Island, but hated Northern Exposure or better yet say WTF is Northern Exposure? Don't make me have to go chill out in the backyard and pump up the music! I hate when that happens!

P.S. The Blue Angels are practicing right now and so we're getting a free air show today.

Wednesday, April 01, 2020

Quarantined Day #1

What's with all the friggin' hoarding?  I can understand that people are freaked out over the coronavirus, but come on, be considerate of one another.  We all have to wipe our asses, right? We all have to eat, right?  And in my case, where I'm a diabetic, I have to test my blood sugar.  And because I have to test my blood sugar, I have to use alcohol swabs. But guess what I can't find anywhere? Okay, I can make do without them. I'll just wash my hands before testing with hot, soapy water. No big deal.  But it irks me that I have to make do without them because people have needlessly stockpiled alcohol swabs and have caused a shortage. Although I guess I'm rather used to that sort of thing because I live in Florida and during hurricane season people lose their mind every year. Try buying a loaf of bread, a battery, a bottle of water, a generator or anything else if a storm is anywhere near Florida.  But as Trumplethinskin, our fearless and quite sagely leader says this too shall pass, but only when it when it gets hot outside, remember? Heat is supposed to kill the virus according to Trump. Just where does he get his info? FOX News? Wait! It is hot! It was 80 degrees here today!  Sigh...a HUGE sigh and I'll be so glad when November passes. Please tell me that HUGE overgrown orange pompous boobette will be living somewhere other than in Washington DC after next January....PLEASE! Oh no! That’s right! He moved his official residence to fucking Florida! He doesn’t live in New York anymore. I’m going to cry. People that’s not funny on any level. So stop laughing! I can hear you snickering over there in the corner. I see you! Mildred sees EVERYTHING!

Now, for the big news of the day. Old Mildred got tested for coronavirus early this morning and while it wasn't on my bucket list of things to do, I did it because I have a 92-year-old mother living under the same roof as I do and well you see, Martha and I got exposed to the nasty "HOAX" Chinese virus somewhere in our travels and the Health Department tracked Martha down to let her know. That was so kind of them to do and that was so snarky of me to say :) Anyway, the nasal swab didn't bother me too much even though it felt like they were probing for lost brain cells from my misspent youth. Martha claimed she cried when they swabbed her and she couldn't see immediately afterwards. They must have hit her G-spot.

So, everyone living under both roofs are officially QUARANTINED until we get our results in 4 or 5 days. It sucks to be us!

Monday, March 23, 2020

My Golden Shower

Like most women of a certain age or those who have given birth, "peeing" at times can be a quite precarious situation to say the least (sneezing, laughing, running and jumping are all on the endangered list.) Over a week ago I woke up in the morning with the overpowering urge to "tinkle,” so I jumped out of my bed and in my bare feet I started to scurry off to use the bathroom. When my bare feet hit the cold floor, I start to dribble a little. No big deal, right? By the time I reached the cold ceramic tiles in the hallway the great flood started to happen. I hurried! I really did! But the more I hurried the faster I dribbled and when I reached the hallway, those damn slippery ceramic dribbled on tiles and the damn gravity took me out in one swift swoop. My feet came out from under me and I tried to grab the door jamb to no avail. All I did was crack my knuckles and bang my elbow. When my ass hit the floor, it made a heavy thud. That thud caused a quick flood like a swift tsunami. Initially, I laid there to assess if I had broken anything and then old Mildred flailed like a beached fish in the hallway trying to get up in a puddle of piss. Unfortunately, I have nothing in the hallway to grab ahold of to help me get up so I had to slither along drenched in urine all the way to the bathroom so I could pull myself up using the vanity in the bathroom. What a mess! I did laugh at myself when I thought about the asshole whoever first coined the phrase "the golden years"... Golden, my ass! The only golden thing about this was the golden shower I got on the floor of my hallway. My youngest adult son says it's time for Depends at bedtime. OMG! Say it isn't so! Say growing older is more dignified and graceful than having to wear diapers at night. Here's your chance to lie to me and blow smoke up my ass. Mildred needs some comforting lies!

Now, for the rest of the story...why is there always the rest of the story with me? This little escapade resulted in something that felt like whiplash and a severely bruised butt from where I fell. Oh, it still hurts to sit down. I know it could have been much worse and I feel thankful I didn't break anything. When I had my X-rays done it made me acutely aware of the high anxiety people are feeling just from looking at their faces. People are worried about this damn pandemic. People need to be reassured. People need to be tested. People need to be treated. We need a vaccine and most of all we need a leader. We need someone who doesn't lie whenever they open their mouth. We need someone who puts the American people first. Tell me how I went from peeing all over myself to the American public needing a leader?  That's a far stretch on connecting the dots, isn't it? lol

Thursday, February 06, 2020

FLAGPOLE LICKERS ANONYMOUS

I truly was a Poster Child for birth control when I was a lot younger. My mother tells me that birth control pills came out a few years AFTER I was born. Phew! I think by the look in her eyes when she tells me stuff like that I should interpret it as meaning that if the FDA had been a little speedier on their approval of The Pill old Mildred might not be here today. Imagine that! A world without Mildred!

Anyone who knows me well knows that I am and have always been that person who always does what they're warned not to do just because I can.  Having someone tell me that I can't do something only makes me want to do it. I'm sure there's probably some psychiatric diagnosis to explain that "I'll show you" type of behavior! And to think they claimed I  would eventually grow out of it! ha! I do, however resist the urge to touch something that has a WET PAINT sign on it now. Maybe now that I'm older, I do less things that can be considered questionable, but as a child I was in high gear and in my glory.  Okay, so my glory days lasted a little longer than just my childhood. What can I say? Mildred is a mess and no, I didn't grow out of it...well, not completely anyways, but I act okay most of the time.

For example, when I was younger I wanted to know what it felt like to touch a bare wire and get zapped by electricity.  I can tell you that it really tingles! But it was a hard sell to get anyone else to try it.  Maybe those other kids were just more pragmatic than I was am.  Hey, it wasn't like I touched a high voltage wire.  I cut the cord from an old lamp so that the plug was still attached. Then I exposed the electrical wires so that I could touch them.  After plugging the cord in, I grabbed a hold of the bare wires. Yes, it tingles and that's all I have to say about it. I satisfied my curiosity and never intentionally messed around with electricity again.  My next zap was much more powerful and was done accidentally.  But that's another story for another time.

When I was in elementary school, during the winter it was a rite of passage to stick your tongue on the flagpole.  Sign me up! You see, I was good at doing risky stuff no matter how small and petty it may be considered.  There's an art to flagpole licking and I knew just how long I could put my tongue on the flagpole without having it stick there. Other kids weren't so well versed in the mechanics of flagpole licking in the middle of winter.  I know I must have gotten my tongue stuck a time or two, but if I had, I don't remember the incident. Obviously, it didn't deter me from doing such a stupid stunt again and again.

Now, I think about all the poor teachers who used to have to come out from their warm classroom to get another idiot unstuck. Teachers have to put up with so many shenanigans from young fools.  I actually feel sorry for them and nowadays, I'm sure that the stunts I used to pull would be considered pretty lame.  But back in the day, Mildred was da bomb. If it became a thought and if that thought piqued my interest or brought a smile to my face then the deed was going to be done. I just had to figure it out and they say practice makes perfect!

For those of you who don't live in an area where winter means snow, ice and sub-zero temperatures, sticking your tongue on a flagpole in the dead of winter usually means that your tongue freezes to the metal quickly.  If you're stupid enough to get your tongue frozen to a metal flagpole, trying to pull it free is definitely the wrong thing to do. I've seen kids pull flesh off their tongue trying to free themselves. I can understand freaking out once you realize your tongue is stuck, but in any risky situation, you have to go in with a back-up plan. You know, just in case things don't go as planned.  Every kid knew that a teacher would eventually come with a cup of warm water to free them, but most would panic before the teacher got there. And you know what panic in any situation means. It usually means someone is going to get hurt and that someone usually is you if you don't wait for the teacher.  Duh! Keeping your wits about you and not panicking when placed in any type of jeopardy is a difficult thing to do, but if you have the balls to do something risky, you have to be willing to pay the consequences if  all doesn't go as planned. To all those kids who got frozen to the flagpole and ended up leaving a little something behind...it sucks to be you!

My oldest brother once told me I'm a selfless person. Who me? Damn it! I can't have people running around making wild accusations like that about me! After all I have a certain reputation to uphold. He claimed I was the type of person who would run into a burning building to save someone without thinking of my own safety. When he told me that I thought he was crazy. I guess we rarely see ourselves as others see us. I think he might have overstated my selflessness a bit, but I was a firefighter for a period of time so maybe he's right after all, but that's another story for another time. I think maybe he was reading my willingness to do something heroic as being selfless whereas I would see it as part to my overall risk-taking behavior. The final result may be seen as selfless, but the motivation for the action was more deeply rooted. I've always liked the feeling of being on the edge with one foot dangling into the abyss. For the longest time after I was no longer on the fire department, any time I heard the siren from a fire truck, it would trigger an adrenaline rush. That was the weirdest feeling to have adrenaline surging through me and have no outlet for it. Like a Dalmatian dog you see in cartoons running after the fire truck, that's what I wanted to do, but I was afraid if I ran after it, I'd also start chasing garbage trucks, barking at the mailman and peeing on fire hydrants, too.

Saturday, February 01, 2020

I Changed My Mind

I must be going through something, but I'm too old to be having a mid-life crisis. I'm usually not quite this fickle and disjointed, but after careful consideration I've decided to scrap that last project. In fact, I think I need to put many things on hold. Whatever this is, it just doesn't feel right anymore to ramble on about myself like a silly little trollop. Oh well!

Tuesday, January 28, 2020

AND NOW FOR THE REST OF THE STORY

Ha! Wasn't that what Paul Harvey would famously say as he would put his unique twist on a story? My unique twist goes something like this...

So you read about my middle name debacle. No big deal, right? It could be worse. They could have named me after my paternal grandmother, Asenath Hedeen. How's that for a name? My maternal grandmother was Marjorie Avis. A little better, but I guess in the grand scheme of things Karen isn't too bad. I'll keep it even though every Karen I know seems to belong to a very special group of damaged individuals. We rock! If we ever rise up and unite, you better watch out! And now the name Karen has a huge stigma attached to it. We're all are depicted as obnoxious, angry, entitled, and often racist white women who uses our privilege to get our way.  Another suggestion is that it comes from a 2005 bit by Dane Cook called “The Friend Nobody Likes.”

Fast forward 25 or so years: I've always heard paybacks are hell and revenge is always sweeter when served cold, so how much colder can it be to name my dog after my mother. Oh yes I did! What makes it a beautiful thing is that I was an adult and she couldn't torture me. Hooray! lol My mother hates her middle name. You see, her mother (my sweet, sweet Nana) stuck her with her mother's first name as a middle name. God, I love it! She just about cringes whenever she has to give her middle name to anyone. Personally, I don't think it's that bad, but who am I to judge middle names? Remember I don't have one!

When my daughter was just a little girl we got a lovely German Shepherd and we named her Montie.  I think my mother's hair actually used to stand on end whenever I would go to visit and when it came time to call for Montie to come inside from the fenced-in backyard. I'd take great pleasure hollering out that glorious name. Say it loud and say it proud! Mother, are you listening?

Come on, M-O-N-T-I-E. It's time to go home. Montie's such a good girl. Here's a treat from Grandma.


 

Monday, January 27, 2020

Meet Queen Ovaltine

When my mother was pregnant with me she did something quite stupid.  She let my brothers pick out my name.  Since my brothers didn't want any stinking baby girls in their house, they only picked out one name for their new baby brother.  The consensus was that the newest member to their band of brothers would take HIS rightful place amongst them with the name of Jimmy.  When I arrived that Labor Day many moons ago, much to their surprise and major disappointment, I was that stinking baby girl they didn't want!  This created quite the dilemma of coming up with a name to put on my birth certificate. No, "Shithead" wasn't in the book of baby names that year or else I'm sure that would have been my name. 

Why my mother didn't have my brothers pick out two names (just in case) really baffles me. Why she didn't encourage them to be more receptive to the possibility of having a sister is ludicrous. Why she didn't just name me Jimmy anyways or maybe something close to Jimmy like Jamie to ease the sting my brothers felt has always puzzled me.  It was almost like they were set up to resent me right from the start. My mother even bought into the whole idea of me being a boy by not having a secret back-up name picked out for me if I was a girl.  WTF?  Welcome to the family, you stinking baby girl with no name! You little unwelcome shithead!

When my mother started having children, she claimed if she ever had the little girl she claimed she wanted so much she would name her Debbie.  Is my name Debbie? NO!  The reason I wasn't given that name is because my aunt had a girl a year or so before I arrived and named her Debbie.  Since the RULEBOOK clearly states that there can only be one Debbie per family, it was back to the drawing board when it came time to name me.  I guess that RULEBOOK didn't include chapters covering things like choosing a back-up name or selecting a middle name either.  I hope those chapters are included now so little shitheads like me aren't stuck with lame names (Moon Unit comes to mind) and no middle names.

Where my mother came up with the name Karen has always been a mystery to me. She doesn't even know. Was it one of the "hot" females names that year? Nope! Was it a family name? Nope! Was I named after a family friend? Nope! I guess they just tossed some names in a hat and picked one and forgot to pick a second one for a middle name. I guess picking the name Karen was such a grueling task that no one could come up with or even suggest a possible middle name to go with it.  I can almost picture how the whole thing happened. Throughout my life I have gone through the list of female names many times and have found a handful of names that would have fit nicely with Karen.  Each time I find one that "fits," it makes that old nagging feeling of being unimportant rear its ugly head and makes me wonder why my own family couldn't have picked a sweet little name for their new bundle of joy new little shithead. 

One of the many reasons I grew up feeling like a such a freak was due to my lack of having a middle name.  I guess it may seem trivial to most people, but most people have a middle name.  Most people are designed to fit in right from the get go and were not given an instant
conversation piece.  Whenever asked what my middle name is, I always get that "Yeah, right!" look when I tell people I don't have one.  Most people immediately think I'm lying to cover up the fact that I got stuck with some horrendous name like Gertrude or Bertha (my apologies to all the Gertrude's and Bertha's in the world, but your name sucks in my humble opinion).  Maybe I'm just jealous because I don't have a middle name. When left to my own devices (which is a dangerous thing to do), I gave myself my own unique middle name.  My story of having a mother who craved Ovaltine while she was pregnant with me is a much nicer one to tell people than describing how braindead my family can be at times.  So there you have it...I named myself.  Bing! Bang! Boom!


Now to add insult to injury, I always thought it sucked being born on September 5th. The year I was born (the wheel still hadn't been invented), September 5th fell on Labor Day (the first Monday of September). The main reason I felt as I did about my birthday was because many times my birthday fell on the first day of school.  For a child, that seemed like a fate worse than death. After becoming a parent, the first day of school seemed like a blessing! During those years when my birthday fell on the first day of school, I always felt like my birthday was the secondary event of the day almost like an afterthought.  I guess that was due to all the chaos the first day of school brings to any household.  My parents had 4 children to get ready for school and send on our way out the door and into the caring tutelage of our new brain bruisers, the teachers.


Monday's child is fair of face,
Tuesday's child is full of grace,
Wednesday's child is full of woe,
Thursday's child has far to go,
Friday's child is loving and giving,
Saturday's child works hard for a living,
But the child who is born on the Sabbath Day
Is bonny and blithe and good and gay.
-AUTHOR UNKNOWN-
LAST BORN TRAITS:
Risk takers
Idealists
Good sense of humor
Hard working
Attention seeking
Secretive
Sensitive

MISCELLANEOUS FACTS:
Famous last born children: Howard Stern, Jay Leno, Ralph Nadar, Bill Gates and Danny DeVito
Tend to go against the norm
Make the biggest stirs in life
Know no boundaries

QUEEN OVALTINE aka MILDRED RATCHED/RED KITTEN FACTS:
My youngest son was born on Labor Day also and the doctor who delivered him was born on Labor Day. We were all 25 years apart.

My great grandfather and I shared the same birthday and I grew up to share the same profession. My grandmother died on my 9th birthday.

Recently I looked up what famous people were also born on my birthday or I on theirs:
Freddie Mercury, Jack Daniel, Jesse James and Raquel Welsh. 

Wednesday, January 22, 2020

MEN ARE FROM MARS WOMEN ARE FROM VENUS

Recently a big, burly, beer-drinkin' redneck dude was talking to me about having a just a lil fight with his lil lady. When I asked him to define "lil fight" he gave me a blank look like I was an idiot for not knowing what he meant. God, I love it when a man does that! I said, "Okay let me help you help me understand. I want you to select what happened from one of the following:

a. a "disagreement" is a verbal confrontation in which the involved parties usually come to some sort of compromise or settlement.

b. an "argument" is a heated verbal assault in which the involved parties usually have to cool down before a resolution can be made.

c. a "fight" is a physical confrontation usually initiated by harsh words in which no compromise, resolution or settlement is made. "

He said, "damn girl, I didn't realize those 3 things meant 3 different things, but I reckon it was the first one. It was just a lil fight."  

I laughed and went on to ask him if he also says his wife "bitches" all the time.  I tried to educate him about selecting the proper use of words, but I didn't make much head way.  I do think he at least thought about what I had to say even though he really didn't understand a word I said because I'm just some old damn Yankee transplant livin' on the Redneck Riviera! Yehaw! Let's get 'er done! 
 
Being from Maine is like being from another planet. I've actually been asked if we have indoor plumbing in Maine. Ayuh! Ever since about 1980! We have to wait until the ground thaws out before we can dig to lay any pipe. Gotta love Maine sarcasm...God, I miss it! Now, I have Martha livin' next door to me I get a dose of it just about every day.