Yes, you heard it here first!Our dear friend Peter Parkour is back at Hate & Anger !
I suggest you all run right over and check things out. He has awarded this Hanging Tough award to all the loyal followers who stuck around , of which I am PROUD to be a member. There are many of us who , over the time he was blogging, fell in love with this wacky, wonderful man.
Thanks, Spidey! I love the award… and I am so glad you are back.
“When it comes to health, drinking the recommended daily amount of water is more important to women than having enough sex, according to a national survey conducted by our magazine. When asked to prioritize behaviors related to their overall health and well being, women ranked drinking enough water fifth and sex seventh on the list.”
According to the women in the survey their priorities rank in order:
Let’s look at that list again.
Yeah, I’m pissed. And depressed.
I’m 55 years-old, smart, reasonably attractive, and fairly well-liked! I dress well, speak well, and I have SKILZ, baby!
If I were younger I would consider making an offer to sleep my way into a job. I’d also take pictures and blackmail their asses but still….money is money.
On Friday, three days ago my daughter called me from work to tell me that one of her patients mentioned that a job had just opened for a Marketing Director at a nearby assisted living facility. She suggested that I would be ideal for the job and since I had “insider” information I might be able to beat the crowds looking for work there. It was too late to get my resume out to them by that time so first thing this morning, Monday, I called them to ask for an appointment and was told the position had already been filled. WTF?
So I have decided that if I live frugally enough I may be able to make it through till I sell this place, collect Social Security (HA!), and maybe have something left over in my annuity to keep me from having to ask my kids to let me live with them.
So here are some ideas I have to save money:
I plan to unplug my clocks while I sleep.
I will only eat whatever is on sale, and I will only buy what I know I will consume. In the past I have been rather wasteful. I have been known to buy items and then they sat in the freezer or produce bins until they were no longer edible. This spring I tossed some freezer burned edemame, chicken livers, a roast of dubious origins, several bags of Tater Tots , and a 4 lb. chunk of frozen Velveeta over the bank in the back field. NO MORE! I also intend to start that diet. I think I can probably hibernate on these extra 20 40 lbs. I carry.
Two-ply toilet paper and paper towels? No more. Any remaining two-ply items will summarily be separated into single-ply and used thusly. By reducing my food intake (see above) I will dramatically cut down on my own “solid-wastes” anyway!
I will get used to wearing a winter coat while in my house. My down comforter will substitute at night. Thermostats will be kept at 55 degrees. I apologize to anyone visiting me but be forewarned to dress appropriately when coming by.
Coupons. I hate ’em. I will now use them.
Consignment clothing is chic, no? I may look retro-fashionable from now on (otherwise known as “the bag lady look”).
dress made from ramen noodles packages
Mineral make-up is expensive but I love it. BareMinerals is my cosmetic of choice but perhaps some good old Pennsylvania dirt would work as well. It is, after all, mostly minerals! And it will work so well with the retro fashions I intend to adopt! Perhaps if I sterilize it in the microwave first…..
Siphoning gas from my ex’s vehicles will save me on gasoline bills for my car. Hey! Who asked him to build a house right across from me anyway?
If anyone would like to contribute suggestions on ways that I can save more money please comment and I will take them under consideration. If anyone would like to donate to my retirement fund…. I will adopt you. I could use the tax write-off of a dependent.
Hey…psssssst!!! Wanna get hot? I mean realllly hot!
I want you to put on some old, worn-out jeans. Slide a t-shirt over your head. Don’t fuss. You’re gonna take it all off later anyway. You’re gonna get D-I-R-T-Y.
Now go out to the shed in the yard. Yeah, baby, that’s what I’m talking about… the shed.
See that pile of logs over in the corner? Take a BIG one! You know you want that BIG one, don’t you?
Now make it stand up! Use your hands. That’s it! Hard and tall and proud!! You are doing great! Take your time. We have all day, baby. Feel the wood.
Now grab that axe and raise it over your head. I want you to DO IT! Go on. Give that naughty old piece of wood a good whack! It needs a strong hand. It wants to feel the hard edge of your thrust! Bring it!
OOOoooOOOHH!
Do it again! OOOH! Are you hot? YES!!!!
It’s OK to scream. Let it all out! I WANT to hear you scream! Come on!!!
YES! YES! YES! YES! OH! YES!!!!
Now look at your wood. Aren’t you feeling amazingly satisfied??? I see the smile on your face. It was good , wasn’t it??You know you liked it. A lot!
Take a break. We’re gonna do this all day long, baby. Yes. We are. You know it’s gonna hurt tomorrow.
Now put your hands around that wood. Carry a BIG pile into your house. Gently now… put it in .. the wood stove. LIGHT MY FIRE!!! Feel it?? Feel the heat??? Oh, baby, I am SO hot!
*grin* Damn. You are good!
(This is how I amuse myself on those winter mornings when the temperature dips into the teens and my house is cold. My children have reason to worry about the mind of their mother. )
1.my hairdresser really WAS a magician!
2. all cookies were sold individually I could buy a “sampler”– 6 Oreos, 4 Pecan Sandies, 3 Nutter Butters, and a Mallomar!
3.my new shoes made me feel like I was “walking on clouds”. **coughbullshitcough* Damn bunions! Damn flat feet!
4. rice cakes tasted like pizza.
5. pizza tasted like rice cakes.
6. men came with an “on/off” button. I mean, come on… flip the switch- turn ’em on! And vice versa!
7. cell phones deactivated when inside of moving vehicles!
8. my ex could have danced half so well!
9. my underwear looked as sexy on me as it did in the store…on a hanger.
10. cigarettes weren’t bad for you..I’d have a two-pack-a-day habit! I still miss ’em after 7 years!
11. being stupid was painful. heeheehee
12. the “Blog Surfer” button on WordPress was a transporter, I’d have all my bloggy friends over for tea (or bloody marys)!
Lexus Man
I drove home today along the NY thruway east and then 81 south through Syracuse, Tully, Binghamton, and then Great Bend, PA and then on to my farm.
The drive started off in Rochester at the tail end of rush-hour traffic but soon became just normal highway driving. You know, semi-trucks, U-Hauls, the Lexus Man with the cell phone firmly attached to his ear going 5 miles an hour faster than everyone else. Then there’s the career woman in the SUV also with her cell phone but unlike Lexus Man, her cell phone use causes her to drive in the passing lane 5 miles slower than everyone else, oblivious to everyone trying to maneuver around her slow ass. I got behind her thinking she would see me trying to pass but NOOOO! I had to blink my lights at her several times to get her attention. When I finally got her to move over to the right and passed her she still had the cellphone to her ear but she did take it away long enough to give me the finger. Such a lady!
There were also the proverbial Q-Tips. You know, the retirees with white hair who barely can see over the steering wheel but insist on driving on the highway at 50 MPH !! “Oh, look at me! I’m really flying here!!! No, Dorothy, don’t make eye contact! They’re crazy out there!! They might even have guns! Haven’t you heard of road rage?” They have a right to be there! I mean that, but they tie up traffic so badly sometimes it’s almost dangerous! Maybe we should have Senior Citizen Highways where no one can drive over the speed of 50 MPH! And no passing lanes…at all! 
I love that drive though. It gives me time to segue between being part of the life with my honey, D’Bear, in the city and my life as a country girl with a big old farmhouse out in rural Pennsylvania. I love the scenery along the thruway in NY at Waterloo and Montezuma, especially near the big wetlands where huge flocks of migrating birds swoop over the highway in tremendous numbers, causing motorists to slow to watch the display.
Then when I get past Binghamton, NY and enter Pennsylvania, the scenery becomes completely rural with rolling hills and farmland and small, quaint towns with names like Thompson, East Ararat, Starrucca, and Pleasant Mount. These are towns whose entire village is the size of one city block in Rochester. There is usually one gas station/garage/junkyard, one Dollar Store, a hardware store of some kind, and a convenience mart where all the teenagers hang out. My favorite convenience store is in Great Bend and it is called, I kid you not, the HoMart!!! I admit I have not stopped there to see whether they do, indeed, sell Ho’s (how does one write that anyway?)
I returned home to find the lawn needs to be mowed, the leaves are falling rapidly and will soon require attention and a house whose interior was 55 degrees!! The mail was near to filling the mailbox and as a special present I found four dead mice in the mousetraps I had set before leaving. No matter what I do they insist on coming in every fall and raiding my pantry of anything not sealed in glass jars or metal canisters. I am very Martha Stewart-ish now with all my old jars lining the shelves filled with pastas, three kinds of rice, dried beans and peas, herbs, spices, dried peppers of all kinds, and cans upon cans of tomatoes, sauces, condiments, soups, and sundry yummies.
After emptying the mousetraps ( yuck!) I hauled in a few armfuls of wood and lit the woodstove and then went out to cut the last of the hydrangeas, black-eyed susans, sweetpeas, and yarrow to put in vases around the house.
Finally I settled in with a take-home dish filled with D’Bear’s special pot roast, which he had simmered in the oven all afternoon on Sunday, pureed butternut squash with nutmeg, and mashed potatoes. Belly full, toes warm, candles lit, and flowers on every surface…yes, the house welcomed me home.
My Home Sweet Home
I am alone but only temporarily. The solitude gives me time to be with myself, to be who I am without the reflection of another. What better time than autumn to do that? Autumn feels like the right time to take stock of our lives, our thoughts, our habits, and our property. It gives us a pause before the hardness of winter to take a good look at where we are and where we need to be.
I look forward to this next week. Before you know it I will be back in the car headed north to my honey… with the winter wardrobe in the trunk. By wardrobe I mean my funky old sweatshirt, my Northface fleece, and my wool socks. Oh, and the sexy fleece pajamas with the dancing cats on the bottoms!! OOO-ee!! Prepare yourself to be swept away, D’Bear!
The weather sucks.
It really does. It’s 42 degrees outside and not much warmer inside, as far as I can tell. D’Bear keeps the heat off until icicles form on the computer screens. Hey, it is his house to do with as he sees fit. Oh, he tells me to turn the heat up but I know he hates it…so I don’t.
I am here in NY since last Friday. We went to see Chick Corea, Stanley Clarke, and Lenny White play their amazing jazz in Buffalo at the University of Buffalo Center for the Arts. I am learning to love jazz. I never thought I would! Stanley Clark practically f*cked that bass, I swear! He made love to it and made it sing in ways I never knew a bass could sound. He strummed it, plucked it, beat the strings, drummed on the body, fluttered his hand over it like he was literally making love to it! Oh. My. Gosh.
Today is the 7th day in a row with no sunshine. I can’t take much more of this.
I considered going to Rochester Works , the NY State -run employment agency to look for a job here in Rochester. I changed my mind. I need a job. I do. Money is draining through my fingers way too fast. My savings are not going to be able to withstand the kinds of hits they took this past year again unless I can somehow bolster them up with some moolah this year.
My prospects aren’t that good back in Pennsylvania. The economy sucks there like in many small towns. The few manufacturing jobs they once had have long since dried up. Car dealers folded. No one is growing larger, business-wise. My marketable skills are … well, let’s say I fit a niche market, shall we? It sounds better than saying I am practically unemployable at 55 years-old.
Oh, I am smart, reasonably attractive, willing to work, and easy to train but let’s face it. McDonald’s doesn’t really care if I keep my nails nice and ran my own business for 12 years, right?
The job market is considerably better here in Rochester BUT, and here’s the rub, I live in PA! All my contacts, my “stuff” is till there, in PA. My bank, my mechanic, my house, my daughter and her family, my art studio, my junk… all are there. If I didn’t have my house there it would be different, but I do. Until D’Bear and I make other arrangements that’s the way it’s going to be.
I don’t want to get married. I want to live, love, laugh, and enjoy the years left without the legal shit. I want to be with D’Bear simply and truly because I love him. No other reason.
He found out this week that his contract job is coming to a close shortly, like in one to three weeks. That means he will be looking for the next job, feeling the financial strain of living on savings and unemployment until the next gig comes along. Sometimes he gets cranky as shit and I have to put up with his moods and he tells me it’s because he is unemployed. Ahhem… helllooo!!! So am I!
I want to work, too. I just don’t feel like being degraded in the workplace by slinging burgers or emptying bedpans, or smiling at dumbass customers at Home Depot for a few measly bucks a week. I don’t mean to imply that there is anything wrong with doing those jobs but I won’t go there. I am 55 years-old, and I deserve want to work in a place which respects the workers with a fair wage. And I will NOT work every damn Saturday! I worked every Saturday for over ten years when I had my business and I will NOT do that again.
Call me what you will. I am not a prima donna. I am a damned hard worker. With me , you get 150%, but only if you grant me respect. Otherwise I’m outa there. I have watched pimply-faced 19-year-old boys in management at fast food places ,bossing around women twice their age, with sneers in their voices as though the women had no feelings. I have seen the callousness of nursing home owners when speaking to the nurses’ aides. I have heard the stories of the retail workers at that DIY place and I can’t imagine working there for very long.
So I am at a loss.
I’m going to sit here and figure it out. One way or another.
Hell, Cougar Town is taped! I can watch that! Noo, maybe not. I don’t need another media message telling me I should look like Courtney Cox in 4-inch heels.
Fuzzy slippers and a sweatshirt maybe.
OH! Here’s another thing! (You thought this damned long blog was finally coming to a close, didn’t you? HA!) After two years together, I am finally coming to the conclusion that I try too damned hard OR he-who-will-not-be-named needs to step his game up. I do not greet him after he comes home from work wearing sweat pants and a hoody. I smell good. I look good. I am cheerful. FUCK! I am practically June-Fucking-Cleaver!
He looks good when he goes to work. On weekends he wears cargo shorts and Tshirts. What happened to the nice pressed, button-down shirts and the neat jeans? When did wearing cologne become only for workdays? Hmm?
What happened to the sexy talk? When did sleeping- in become sleeping? When did saying “You look beautiful ” become a thing of the past? Where did the occasional love notes or flowers or kisses-for-no-reason go?
Every time I leave NY to drive home…EVERY TIME! … I write him a love note or letter or paint him a picture and leave it somewhere for him to find when I am gone. It’s become a game with us. As soon as he gets home he looks for it. Sometimes it’s somewhere obvious like on the bed. Sometimes I leave it a little hidden so he has to look for it. But I ALWAYS do it.
I am still waiting to find one from him.
Now, in all fairness, he does some wonderful and loving things. He does. He tells me he loves me pretty often. He is a thoughtful and considerate lover. He takes good care of me in so many ways. I am a bitch to complain.
I know he loves me. That’s not it. I am just tired of being the one to make all the effort here.
Men.
I love ’em.
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