I had the longest, most pointless exchange with the dumbest person on this earth. This one out-dumbed the last dum-dum by about 5 points on the dum-dum scale.
Remember, these people are driving on your roads, cooking your dinner and handling your money. Be warned.
Sad to think of all the cute animals killed in traffic but these people, thanks to modern healthcare, will spread Teh Dumb forever.
Watching “Eat Pray Love” as I await the arrival of tonight’s work.
I will no doubt be asleep before it gets here. But that’s ok.
Fraggle will awaken and throw her full weight (and what will sound like six vases) to the floor at dawn. Which will be my signal to get up and do the work.
What ever will I do without them at this time next month?!
I’ve been thinking. Which one does as one waits for demon children to go to bed around midnight.
I’ve been thinking about the exact moment when I stopped believing I could have everything and started believing I can’t have anything I really want.
When mom moved in eight years ago, I knew she’d never leave. So naturally you can see why I don’t believe the thud muffins upstairs will ever actually go.
Today we were on one of our adventures and she said she’s so glad she doesn’t have to cater to some sweaty, hairy, gross man in the Florida heat. I held my tongue for a while. But later I said, well, no one ever asked me what I might want.
Of course, her parents didn’t ask her what she wanted either, when they got sick for years on end and needed her there, too.
I guess I just see how she lost her few healthy years. What if this I all I get too? Is this the way mine end?
I feel terrible for thinking and saying all the awful things in my head. She can barely move now. What if she becomes confined to a bed like Gram and my dreams of Europe go from on hold to deader than my soul?
I’m not blaming her that I don’t have everything I want. That’s my own fault. I let us waste money I could be retiring on. Rent, bills, Ross and eBay. She likes me home so home is where I am — not meeting my next soulmate, my next colleague, my next friend, my next connection to the life I still feel is out there.
I recognize that maybe I can have it all. Eventually. But I don’t really believe it, most days.
I want to live in Georgia. In New York. In Italy. I want to marry an Italian man who agrees dual master bedrooms for each of us are mandatory for a healthy relationship. I want a fuck-it fund so huge, I could board a spaceship tomorrow and take four weeks’ paid vacation. Like, really take it and not wave goodbye to it every year.
You get the idea.
The movie is at the part where we learn the phrase “dolce far niente.” The sweetness of doing nothing.
I’m pretty great at doing nothing, actually. I’d prefer the sweetness of doing everything that I started out wanting. And maybe the place to start is finding out how to say that in Italian.
Anyone know what Jon Bon Jovi is up to these days? I was supposed to marry him by now.
Hey, setting goals means remembering the old ones from when I had full intentions of getting the most out of this life, right?
Given the joyful experience of living where I live, I’ve been thinking about moving to Miami.
After spending the day there yesterday, I loved seeing city lights and watching plane after plane land at MIA.
Air France incoming …
But not only did not one person act nice, but not a soul attempted to speak English.
Except here at the Mall of the Americas …
Mall of the Latin Americas, apparently.
I’m thinking Savannah for my next stop. All I know is when my lease is up, it’s “go big” time. No staying at where I currently call home.
Maybe the true south is where this belle belongs.
Behind-the-8-ball landlord texted today to say he was going to call his “layer” to see what he could do about the neighbor situation.
Eight months of this shit and suddenly he gets a good idea, right? Nah.
Consider that this text arrived in a string containing his months-old promises to bring in a maid service (hah), order screens for my windows (tee hee) and pay for a repair (roflmao).
He finally texts later to say the thunder bunch will be out at the end of the month. Which he would have known had he called the HOA like he’d claimed he’d already done.
I didn’t reply. I mean he’s an ex-trader. Like all the men I’ve met in finance, he’s a goddamn liar. It’s a feature, not a bug, with that set.
Either way, my lullaby was rolling oil drums over my head.
Mom got a rude awakening to screaming a half-hour before I did.
Mine was hearing Thundercunt yell, “I will kick your ass!” And then she threw something to the floor that was heavy — I figure a dresser or a Fraggle — and she charged his loser ass.
I worry with my mom so sick that she will die. With those fuck nuggets, my fear is that they won’t.
Just got this from the landlord five minutes ago. 
Astounded doesn’t even begin to cover it. Especially after I got this from the HOA …
I started doing it yesterday on Faceypages. It’s the only way to pull myself out of this funk.
Here’s a positive for today. I got five hours of uninterrupted sleep. A recent record!
Speaking of Faceypages, I am reminded of all the cool people I’ve ever worked with. They invited me into their homes, gave me good wine, let me get close to their spouses and kids (and fur kids), encouraged me to borrow their vacation homes and call them for sports tickets, etc.
I’ve worked hard at the job I did for them and worked just as hard at building these relationships. And it’s nice to see that even after years have gone by, they still remember me fondly.
I don’t do that anymore. I stopped being too buddy-buddy with people recently. I don’t know people’s kids’ names. They don’t know my situation either. I hate it but it’s better this way for now.
One day I’ll be able to talk about it. Probably after congress stops badgering Hillary about her e-mails. Let’s just say I may or may not be in a position to understand how she feels, having vultures picking apart the scraps of a life you’ve put together.
In any event, my happy item for today is streetside sangria …
I saw the MLS listing for upstairs. Available date December 7.
I want to die.
Everyone is showing off their cute family Halloween costumes. And all are totes adorbs.
But I’m guessing I should keep my adventures with stripper poles to myself.
A 2014 classic memory … That I can show, anyway …
Stomping across the ceiling began at 5 a.m.
Seven months without sleep.
Now hell, maybe it’ll be eight months.
Fuck.
