suck sucky suck suck

cheap-fun-wineYeah, 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

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.

the good, the bad, and the snuggly (no, not the damn blanket!)

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.

stanleyclarkeI 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.

mcdonalds1Call 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!cleaverish 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.


I love ’em.

Cowboy Coffee and PPL


Ever have one of those mornings when you wish you could get a do-over?

Last night I watched my 10-week-old grandson while my daughter and her husband had a night on the town for her birthday. This was her first real outing since the baby was born and she really needed it so I told her to stay out as late as she wanted.  “We’ll be fine! I’ve watched babies before!” I said smugly.

Five hours into the evening I was watching the clock. By 10 o’clock I was totally exhausted! At 10:30 they came for the babe . I had planned on making a birthday cake and making potato salad for the Sunday celebration the following day but at that point I said “screw it” . I emptied the dishwasher, washed the coffee pot and went to bed.

At 4:20 A.M. the phone next to my bed chirped once, loudly and woke me up. I reached for it and realized the power was out. Grreat……..

No sleep for me after that. By 5:30 I gave up trying and went downstairs, wrapped myself up on my wooly throw since it was a chilly 60 degrees and took my book to the window to read while waiting for the electricity to come back on.

By 7:30 I was SO jonesing for some hot coffee I considered going to town to grab some Dunkin’ Donuts coffee…and maybe a donut or three. I resisted the urge. I am so good! Had I not cleaned the coffee maker last night I would have considered heating that up somehow.  I decided instead to try my hand at making coffee on my gas grill. I got out a heavy saucepan, metered out some water ( I have a well so when the power goes out the water is limited to whatever is already in the water tank downstairs), and popped it on the grill. After about 20 minutes the water was somewhat hot so I measured some ground coffee into the pot, covered it and took it off the grill.

 I waited five minutes then carefully carried the hot pot into the kitchen, grabbed the finest strainer I had and poured myself a mug of rather murky looking but FABULOUS smelling java.

Then the lights came on.

you MUST read this!!!

As someone who has battled with the same 30 friggin’ pounds my whole adult life, I consider myself to be a professional dieter. BUT I read this post by Flurrious today and I realized that I have met my match if not my superior.
PLEASE go HERE and read the funniest thing you’ve ever read about dieting in your life!!!

verily i vociferate

This morning, after having eaten nothing since Monday evening, and drinking 8.3 oz. of Miralax in every conceivable clear liquid along with 4, count ’em , FOUR Dulcolax tablets yesterday, then nothing at all after midnight and after having spent 2/3 of Tuesday hunched on a toilet bowl praying for death (or Thursday) I arrived at the offices of my two dear gastroenterologists.

rectal2I was instructed to arrive by 8:00 a.m. for “the procedure” at 8:30. When I arrived there was no one at the reception window so my SIL (bless his heart) and I stood there until this squawky voice called from an adjoining room “Be right with ya!”

As the lovely lady (cough*BULLSHIT*cough) made her way towards the window I smiled and said “Good morning!”. I was ignored. She took my paperwork without a word and asked me “So,you’re here for a colonoscopy. Did the stuff work?”

What? “the stuff“? OH!!! “Yes, thank you, it worked.” I said. My SIL took a couple of steps back.

She came around the corner and said “Follow me”. I turned to SIL and said ” Go on. Get out of here, I’ll call you when I’m done” and he scooted out the door! She took me to her little corner cubbie and attached a heart monitor and a blood pressure cuff then proceeded to squint and peck at her computer while the machine attached to my tubes and wires tried its best to cause complete blood loss to that limb.

I watched her silently pecking, looking…pecking…watching, waiting…for what seemed like hours. OK, it was about 15 minutes but it felt longer because my left hand was dead blue in color and my heart rate was jumping all over the place. Finally she asked me the same questions that I had answered on the papers I was told to bring AND the same questions this office had had their PA ask me three weeks ago. No, I do not take any medications. No I am not allergic to anything. No, I am not diabetic!! For God’s sake woman! Can’t any of you read????

Finally she stood and directed me down the hall to the prep area. Five women I assume were nurses ( Nurses are evidently NOT gonna wear white, dammit!)  stopped and watched me enter the room. Not one smiled or said a word to me. I was instructed by my  lovely (cough*BULLSHIT*cough) lady to remove my clothes and put on the handkerchief “with the ties in the back”.

Suddenly I became aware that the nurses had regained their voices. A multitude of sounds approximating the sounds of hens clucking and scratching assaulted my ears and the ears of everyone in the room.

“So I said to her ‘ I am NOT gonna take my day off to drive him to the dentist. He can get Marie to do it!” and ” Oh, you shouldn’t have to!” “Where are the bagels? I know there were half a dozen here this morning!”  “He can just go fly a kite! I am not his little servant girl!” “They want me to fill in AGAIN for Dotty on Friday!” ” Is this coffee fresh?”

Now here’s the part of the blog where I’m supposed to stop and say that I have a tremendous respect for nurses, which I do. I am supposed to say that they soothed my brow and made  me feel cared for and that theirs is a difficult job and so on and so forth.  Well, today I was not impressed. This rant is about me and my experience today so if you are a nurse, or you’re married to a nurse or you have a relative who is a nurse, please don’t go all  ballistic and start the flames, OK?

Finally one of the less hunched of the quintet made her way to my cubicle and began to ask me AGAIN “Are you allergic to anything? Do you have diabetes? Did you eat anything this morning?” She told me about the storm she witnessed last night as if I don’t live in the area and I didn’t experience the same thunderstorm. She rattled on about how she has a chain saw but her nephew says she shouldn’t use it because it’s too dangerous but will he bring his sorry ass over to clean up the branches that fell last night..oh no he won’t! All the while she is poking me with an IV needle. Holy Mother of God! She is jabbing that thing like she’s sewing up a Christmas turkey’s ass! “Sorry. I bruised the vein a little there…wait…oh, good, I think it’s in…oops, nope! Ahh……there we go.”

 I watched the male anesthesiologist roll his eyes while waiting his turn to talk to me. He whispered in my ear after she had gone “I’m sorry about that.”

I didn’t feel great about being a woman in that room of women right then. Hell, I didn’t feel great….period.

When I woke up after the procedure one of the hens…I mean nurses, came over to see if I was alive. I assured her that I was and I said “There’s something wet down here by my butt” and she laughed and said “Don’t worry about it. Everybody says that!” When she left I used my IV hand to reach down to my hip and I felt something on the mattress. Grasping it as well as I could I pulled it out and it was a plastic cup!  I must have made a noise because the nurse came back and said “OH!  That’s an irrigation cup! It spilled all over your bed!”  NO SHIT, SHERLOCK!!!!! story

 Let me tell you, I was never so glad for the doctor to pronounce me fit to go home about ten minutes later. Two polyps removed  and the doctor’s pronouncement that they didn’t appear to be cancerous (but they will be biopsied to make sure) and I was outa there! Two years of freedom from the fear of death- by- colon -cancer for me and a few thousand buckaroos for the doctor! It’s a win/win!

who you calling paranoid?

Birdpress took one of these on line personality test that determine your mental health. Hers was quite her. For those of us who know and love her, well.. we know and love her.  She’s NOT nuts! She’s awesome!

 But curiosity got the better of me so I went over there and took the test and here are my results:

Disorder Rating
Paranoid Disorder: High
Schizoid Disorder: Moderate
Schizotypal Disorder: Very High
Antisocial Disorder: Low
Borderline Disorder: Low
Histrionic Disorder: High
Narcissistic Disorder: Very High
Avoidant Disorder: Low
Dependent Disorder: High
Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder: Moderate

Sheesh!! No wonder poor little Birdpress was worried. It seems I am a Paranoid, Schizotypal, Histrionic, Dependent with moderate OCD!!

 Fuck ’em. That’s what makes me interesting!! LOL

woe is me…..

   screwme Well, the day arrived. I placed a claim with my home-owner’s insurance. The company I deal with is..well, it rhymes with StationWide. The name should be “Bend Over. This is Gonna Hurt!”  They sent an adjuster out this morning. His name was Richard but he looked like a Dick before the morning was through.dick1

   I got up early, put on coffee in case he wanted some, tidied the house, especially the areas I knew he would by looking at. I showered and fluffed. I smiled. I was pleasant. I figured that being nice to the man who will cut me a check for the damages is just smart business sense. 

    I now know why they call them “adjusters”. He surely adjusted the numbers! My contractor placed an estimate of the repairs at $6, 140.  That was to repair the damage and install cables on the roof to prevent  further damage.  According to the adjuster man, cables will not be covered. I showed him the stained, damp mattress and box spring which will most likely have to be replaced. That’s not covered. 

    After I showed him  all the water damage, he took pictures and measured the rooms with his manly tape measure (men do seem to love them some tape measures. I don’t know why!) then said he was going out to his truck to do the figures.

    Man-Oh-Man! They must have equipped that truck really well! He came in after a half an hour with about 6 pages of personalized printed pages explaining the company’s policies regarding payment and how they arrive at the numbers. He also had printed out a check…for $1,995.00. He couldn’t even f*cking round it up to $2000. ! I have a $1000. deductible so basically they shorted me around $5000. if you count the things that weren’t included in the contractor’s estimate, like carpet cleaning, new mattress/box spring, etc!

   When he gave me the check I’m sure I looked weird as I stood there with my mouth open , staring at the piece of paper. WTF?!?!

    In my life I’ve only ever made one other insurance claim on my home-owner’s policy and that was 24 years ago for the time lightning hit my home and blew out a few appliances!

   I wish now I’d had the balls to look him in the eye and say “F*ck you and your company, too! Do you sleep well at night ? Does this really seem fair to you, you miserable c*cksucker?”    I realize I could call and maybe have this thing drag out, trying to make a larger claim but I just don’t have the energy. They win.

    I hate to always be complaining but this has been a pretty sucky period for me financially. I just heard from the logger who was so eager to cut trees down on the property. He said there isn’t enough good timber to make it worth his time. So there goes another money-making opportunity down the drain. I was so looking forward to a nice fat check from him! Evidently there hasn’t been enough growth since the place was logged out 27 years ago!

   I am looking forward to eating lots more beans than meat in the near future if things continue the way they’ve been going. That’s all right. I hear a vegetarian diet is healthier anyway.

I Only Wanted Some Coffee


This morning I got up to make coffee, turned on the water in the kitchen sink and ..nuthin’.  Ahh, the pipes are frozen…again. This happens every winter.frozenpipe

I trudge down the cellar stairs, plug in the old blow dryer and stand there, pointing the warm blast of air up onto the frosty plumbing. I left the faucet on so I can hear when the pipes thaw and sure enough, in a few minutes, I hear that blessed sound…running water. It’s just the way we do things here at the old farmstead.

 Funny the things I’ve gotten used to living here. Like never flushing anything other than poo and pee and single ply TP down the toilet. When one lives with a septic system, one learns that wipeys and tampons, and other normal potty detritus is forbidden from the flush. I learned not to clean the toilet with Clorox since chlorine bleach kills bacteria; not something you want to do to an aerobic system.

I’ve learned to live with drafts in the winter and overheated upstairs bedrooms in the summer. I simply turn on fans and lower shades when summer’s heat makes sleeping hard.

I’ve learned that one doesn’t run the water for more than an hour or so at a time lest the pump overheat or the well starts to pull mud up from deep below ground .

 I live with cluster flies in spring and fall, as well as Asian Beetles aka LadyBugs by the thousands! I am used to the cardinals beating themselves bloody every spring when the attack my sunroom windows. They think their reflection is another bird invading their territory.

 I’m used to deer eating every rosebud from my bushes and every rhododendrun bud as well. My hostas get attacked by marauding woodchucks and rabbits nest under the spreading yews, waiting to chomp down every edible green thing they can find.

 I live with a loaded .22 at the back door. Any woodchuck or rabbit caught near my vegetable garden is fair game. I don’t care what they do on the other 68 acres of mine but these 2 acres of backyard are mine to protect from hungry packs of herbivores! And I’m a damn good shot! The crows and turkey buzzards love me when I throw a dead rabbit out into the field for them to consume. It makes my daughters upset to think that their mother can so cavalierly kill an animal. I can. I grew up in the country when pragmatic decisions like that are made every day.

 So frozen pipes, while annoying as hell, don’t really faze me at all. It’s part of life “on the farm”.

 Just let me have my coffee first. Please.cuppa

Wouldn’t Ya Like To Be a F*cktard, Too ?

fucktardI am seeing that wine can  sometimes bring out the fucktard in people. I am only praying I am not one of them, but then if I drink enough of the stuff, will I know, or even care?

Cases in point:

Friday night a local wine shop hosted a free wine tasting. They offered some lovely pinot noirs, a couple of chenin blancs, and I think, a shiraz. The time for the free tasting was listed as 6 p.m. to 8 p.m.

As D’Bear and I, and a couple of our friends bellied up to the tasting table we heard the pourer say she was all out of the pinots since the tasting was almost over. It was 6:50.  A very tall, Eddie Bauer-ish man protested by saying, “what do you mean? It most certainly is NOT!” in a very obnoxious manner.

The pourer, a tall, lovely woman who represented the wine distributor, not the retail store directly said “The tasting is over at 7:00.”

Mr. Snotty Pants pulled himself up even taller and said, “It is NOT over till 8:00 according to your advert and anyway I wanted some of that pinot you promised!” , in a petulant voice.  (yes, he actually said “advert”) Fucktard!

Evidently there had been a typo and the store hadn’t realized it was supposed to go on till 8:00 and they had not stocked enough wine for the tasting to go on that long. There were probably about 20 people in the shop at that time who did not get a taste of the pinots but they all had the good grace to accept that the FREE wine was gone and tough noogies! The store offered a few unadvertised wines for the tasting in place of the ones that had run out.

This man continued to make an ass of himself by arguing with the poor woman.     We all just moved away……lest we be thought to be acquaintances of his, God forbid! Thankfully we were not!

Not one of us could imagine berating the store for running out of FREE WINE! Well, except for the fucktard.

The next night one of the neighbors with whom D’Bear and I are close friends hosted a dinner party for us and one other couple on the block. The other couple is nice enough. Just quirky and sometimes clueless.

The hosts provided the dinner while D’Bear was gracious enough to have offered to provide some wine for the meal. He brought two bottles for the six of us. Actually it was for five of us since our host himself does not drink wine, only beer. When the meal came to it’s delightful end we all began to clear the table and head for the living room. The other invited guest, Mr. Quirky (I’m being nice here ) said “Hey, is there more wine? My glass is empty!”

He and his bride brought nothing to the party. Not a bottle of wine, nor a bunch of flowers or even a crumb of food, which, while it’s ok, is not something I’m comfortable doing.  Our sweet hostess found an open bottle of wine in the refrigerator and graciously offered it to him and he proceeded to fill his own glass to the rim, leaving approximately 2 ounces of wine in the bottle. Fucktard!!

He and his wife will be hosting our next round of dinners at their home. My moral dilemma is this: do we bring wine to their dinner party? I say “NO!”  Let him figure it out when we ask him for a glass of wine and he looks around to see what was brought for the night. My inner Southern Belle says “why of course, honey ( we Southern Belles say ‘Honey” a lot). You must bring something for the hosts! They will expect wine!”

My other Southern Belle (the bitchy one) says “Oh, hells bells, bring them young’uns some peanuts in a can instead! They’re on sale at the dollar store!”

I’m leaning towards the latter.fucktard2

Uninvited Critters

My sweet woodstove

My sweet woodstove

My wood stove is getting a good workout for the first time in many years.

Like so many young homeowners in the late 1970’s we purchased a wood stove for our country house and me, the young wifey was responsible for the care and maintenance of said appliance. I stacked, toted, and occasionally split the lengths of firewood and was in charge of making sure the fire was up and roaring early in the morning to take the night’s chill out of the house. I cleaned the ashes out daily and disposed of them in the garden to boost the soil for the vegetable garden I planted each year.

Needless to say this wore thin once the price of wood continued to creep up and the cost of heating oil came down. The wood stove sat, unused for almost 15 years. Until this winter.

Divorce is nothing if not a creator of realities. Where before I had the steady income of my own business and that of a husband, I am now dealing with divorce settlements which, If I am very frugal might last me till I am dead. Perhaps not in a falling economy and the fear of living on tea and kitty kibble made me learn to economize in surprisingly creative ways.

 I lit the wood stove about a month ago for the first time in years and suddenly I felt that intense radiant warmth from it that I had long forgotten. Sitting by it on a cold day when the wind has sucked the warmth from my fingers and toes and no wooly cardigan is sufficient to take away the shivers in my body I settle down with a sigh of pile o' wood

 I didn’t even mind the woodpile and the carrying of logs to the log ring on the porch outside the front door. I gathered fallen branches from around the edges of the fence line and stacked them for kindling in a basket by the door. The smell of woodsmoke is like perfume to me.

But what I do mind are the uninvited critters that make their homes in the woodshed and even on the logs themselves! I was restacking some wood which had fallen from the woodpile last week when I decided to neaten up the woodshed. I picked up a tarp that I had place over the potting table and as I lifted it the the tiny clay pots stacked so neatly  came alive ! Mice, dozens of them began pouring out of the flower pots! A veritable fountain of mice erupted, jumping and running and flinging themselves off the table in search of cover! I shrieked! My skin crawled! I ran, flinging the tarp as I gasped in horror at the scene!36_mice_wide1

I can handle snakes. I grew up in Florida where snakes are just part and parcel of the landscape. But there are two things that skeeve me the fuck out and that’s mice, well rodents in general, and spiders! The other thing about burning wood is the fact that spiders live under the bark of the wood so that bringing wood into your house also brings those disgusting creatures into your house! I have seen them creep out, those loathsome black wood spiders, then run under the baseboard where they wait for the can of Raid I haul out to kill their asses!  I feel horror in imagining them crawling out and setting up house in MY house!


Florida Wolf Spider

 When I was a little girl living in a Cracker house in Central Florida I used to sit on the toilet in our house and watch as these giant wolf spiders spin webs in the corner of the bathroom. They were as big as a small child’s hand, these loathsome creatures and that’s where I learned my fear of spiders. My mother wouldn’t kill them because they ate the cockroaches!  Ah, my childhood. What a time that was. Imagine having to do your business in a room where no sane person would venture, your little legs dangling there while you pray for a fast poop so you can get the FUCK OUT!

 I have since returned to the woodpile but I carry a long stick with which I pound the woodpile to send the critters  a warning before I pick up the first piece of wood. So far, so good.