Point in question:

Does it not occur to them that you wouldn’t have left something somewhere unless you wanted it there?

Wonder-Cleaning Lady is among those given to assigning places to my possessions and stashing them where — you got it! — where I can’t find them. Or where accessing them is as inconvenient as humanly possible.

Batting all over the place this morning trying to find where W-CL put the bath towels, the knife sharpener, the scissors, the calculator…what she did with the clean pillowcases, the toothpaste, and…why she left a bath towel neatly folded up on the seat of a family-room chair.

I am so, SO sick! Upshot: I just don’t have the energy or the patience to search from pillar to post for everyday gear that I’ve left out where I want it, where I can find it quickly when I need it, and yes, where it doesn’t belong. She picks up all that kind of stuff and puts it “away”: i.e., in places that I would never imagine looking for it.

Feels like it would be passing rude to tell her to just leave the goddamn stuff where I put it…because often I do carelessly leave things laying out where they don’t belong. She, being the tidy type, quite reasonably resists leaving the junk scattered around the house.

Ohhhh well. What seems “normal” for me quite naturally seems “weird” for you, and so it’s to be expected that a person whose job is to organize and to clean will decide where things to and put them there. Just wish we thought along closer lines….

Dog and Human flew around the park, shortly after dawn: best time of day to be there.

Ruby dearly loves the feel of grass under her little doggy feet. The human loves the openness of the place and the young parents rolling their beautiful little babies around in strollers. What fun!  {heh!} Especially when you don’t have to get up at dawn to feed the cute líl things!)

So that’s always a pleasant excursion.

Contractors are working like proverbial horses, rebuilding a corner house that went to wrack and ruin in the hands of the previous residents. Rebuilding the pool. Installing a block wall around the back. Endlessly wrestling around inside.

It is, without a doubt, going to be converted from a “nice” house to a “wow!” house. It has even occurred to me to covet the place…briefly.

Very briefly. When common sense creeps back in…of course I would not want to live in a house that backs onto a public park and stands on the corner of the neighborhood’s main feeder street and a busy cut-through. Darn!!

That main mini-drag pumps commercial traffic through, plus all the local residential traffic, workmen’s cars & trucks…on and on. During the rush hour, drivers in the know use it as a short-cut between two seven-lane commuter roads, dumping a ton of traffic in there and serenading the locals with noise.

So. No. Pretty as the house is and kewl as the neighborhood is: not even faintly interested in buying it.

Lately, as I may have noted here (don’t recall exactly where & ain’t lookin’ it up right this minute), I’ve contemplated following SDXB out to Sun City, a senior citizens’ ghetto on the west side of the Valley.

But no. Don’t think so.

First off, because I happen to like the sounds of kids playing and teenagers carrying on. We get plenty of those, right here in the ‘Hood.

And second off, because I do hate the roar of F16s charging in and out of Luke Air Force Base: a serenade that starts every morning at 6:00 sharp.

LOL! My mother used to revel in  that racket. She’d sit on her back porch as the planes thundered back and forth, swilling coffee. “It’s the sound of fweedom!” she’d coo.

How could I have inherited a 160-point IQ from a mother who had damn near zero common sense????

Anyway, where it comes to that blasting racket, here in the ‘Hood we’re pretty well out of range. That’s one of the reasons I stay here.

We’re in one of those idiot moments. You know…when you can’t remember your name, to say nothing of your website’s password?     Yeah: like that.

Fortunately, this isn’t my first Senior Moment. By way of heading off these events, I kept a record of the site’s password…and stored it on MY OTHER computer!  So…,mirabilis! Here we are back in Funny about Money.

How long this will last remains to be seen…

Hotter than the Hubs outside. Just came in from hiking through sweaty, nasty heat. For reasons unknown: wired to the teeth. 

Think it’s because my car has been kiped, thanks to the idiots at the Mayo Clinic.. That plus absolutely positively NOTHING that I need to get done works! 

The MayoQuacks put the eefus on my driver’s license, at my son’s behest. Note that I have not been in an accident in years — and that one wasn’t my fault. Nor have I had any tickets. Or any complaints about my driving. Or…whatnot. What I do have here is a royal screwing…the upshot of which: my son came down here, snatched my car out of the garage, and drove it off. I now have no car and no sane way to get around town.

And in a Los Angeles-style city like Phoenix, that IS a problem. Yeah: a BIG problem.

Apparently it’s a Hexed Day for everyone. 

Josie, the lovely lady who bought SDXB’s house when he moved to Sun City, is having one of those, too.

Ohhhmigawd, Josie!  In a highlight of her day, apparently the kitchen plumbing jammed and…basically exploded, from what I can tell. Pipes leaking all over the place. Nothing working. And yeah: just TRY to get a plumber over here on short notice.

Last I saw, she’d managed to shut off the water into the house and was trying to mop up the tidal wave. What a horror show!

Yeah: every time things are bad for you, remember: they’re worse for someone else!

Well. Almost. No humidity is dripping off the eaves, anyway. That was a frequent occurrence over there.

Still, it’s hot and sticky out in back. The grill is running and in a couple of minutes I’ll toss on a blob of hamburger. Hungry, but not hungry enough to feel like eating on this damp and gummy evening. Still: gotta stuff some food in.

Or else.

Friends and relatives have absented themselves: probably no more anxious to cavort around in this weather than I am. Jeez….I don’t even hear the neighbors’ cute li’l kids frolicking the the backyard tonight!  THAT is somethin’!

LOL! I do love the sound of their adorable young voices and their crazy carryings-on. Nothing like little kids to make a neighborhood….a neighborhood! 

Seriously: that’s a major reason I do NOT want to be locked up in a prison for old folks…uhm, I mean, a retirement “home”: I do love the music of children playing!

We have a nice tribe of kids here on the street: three houses nearby have little ones living there. And often the families bring the kids’ friends over, so we’ll have a whole circus going on out there.

More fun than Carter has oats…

Seriously, I never could fathom why my parents — or SDXB — wanted to live in dreary, mausoleum-silent Sun City. Well…for my parents, I did know: fundamentally neither of them liked kids. Why they had me, I never understood: think my mother’s grandmother nagged her into it.

Anyway, as soon as I was old enough to shovel out the door and send down to the university in Tucson (a year before I graduated from high school), they moved right into Sun City. They liked it. Dreadful place, to my mind. But whatever lights your fire, eh?

The ‘Hood is reminiscent of Southern California: warm year-round (well…most of the time); a spread of single-story homes, grocery stores and other incidental shops within walking distance. I feel incredibly lucky to have found this place — brought here years ago by a savvy Realtor. And can’t imagine living anywhere else. Not in the Valley, anyway.

* San Francisco: yeah.
* Berkeley: yeah.
* Paris: maybe.

But what the heck: this place suits the ole’ lady just fine!

Never fails! Sit your tail down in a dinner-table chair,

Literally. This happens almost every time I sit down to eat. This morning, they jangled their way into my breakfast…again.

grrrrrrrrrr!!!!

If I had any sense, I’d disconnect the phone before I sit down to eat. But…but…

a) I’m too lazy to remember to do that;
b) I highly resent being forced to disconnect MY phone, for whose service I pay richly, because those a$$holes keep pestering me with ads.
c) Sometimes I want the phone to ring through to me at this hour.

****

Comin’ on to 9:00 a.m. I’m so sleepy I mostly just wanna go back to bed. But that doesn’t make sense: far’s I can tell, I was out cold all night. Slept like the proverbial log, all the way thru till sometime after 7:00 a.m.

So…why do I feel like a zombie?

Thinking about how my mother killed herself. She smoked herself to death.

Literally. She was never conscious when she didn’t have a cancer stick in her mouth or in her hand. Or, usually, in her mouth. Puff puff puffety puff puff puff. You knew when she was awake, morning or night, because you could smell the stench of her goddamn cigarettes emanating from her bedroom. That’s how heavily addicted to nicotine she was. She couldn’t pass more than an hour — if that long — without a murder weapon in her mouth.

Not surprisingly, this habit drew her onward to her death. A peculiarly ugly and painful death.

She managed to time that death just as I was coming up on the deadline for my Ph.D. dissertation.

When I explained to the dean who ran the Graduate College that I needed more time to finish because my mother was dying, she said, effectively, tough nougies, and then announced that if I didn’t complete the book by the deadline, I would be dropped from the program, and no, I would NOT be given a second chance to complete the degree for which I had worked over the past many years.

Evil to the left of you… Evil to the right of you… Evil in front of you… Evil behind you. Every which way you look, there’s another slice of evil. :-0  That’s academia for you!

Okay, admittedly, they didn’t kill her. She killed herself. But she did so with an addictive drug (nicotine) that made countless magnates rich as Croesus, as they killed the far more countless nitwits who were their customers. And in the process, she created an opportunity for the ba*tards at Arizona State University to make me even more miserable than I already was.

And that was plenty miserable!

It’s the primary reason that I would not go back to work there. Nor, very probably, in any major academic institution. People who run those places have no empathy whatsoever with the worms that make up their constituency.

For some time after my mother was murdered, I considered — very nearly with seriousness — a kamikaze run. I would get a job in a tobacco factory or in the offices of a cigarette company. Then one day walk into the place with a bomb or three in hand. Set them off and blow up the damn place. 

Blow myself up, too…which would be OK, because that would be better than spending the rest of my life in prison, should I survive the attack.

Ahhhhh, the Almighty Dollar…

Actually, what I want to do is finish this mugful of coffee and go back to bed. Preternaturally sleepy this morning…for reasons unknown. Slept well last night: no excuse for feeling like I’ve been up for the past 12 or 14 hours.

‘Tother thing I’d like to do is stroll across the street and ask our excellent new Uber driver if he’d like to Uber me to my favorite grocery store — some miles on into town. But that does seem like more trouble than it’s worth.

The theft of my car (by an honored family member…/eyeroll/ ) means I have to walk everyplace I need to go: to the grocery stores, to the veterinarian, to the Walgreen’s, to the…on and on and endlessly, painfully on.

In theory, I could walk to the nearby Albertson’s, Sprouts, or El Rancho. It’s a gorgeous morning, a perfect day for walking a couple miles.

But…I spavined a foot, and truth to tell, it hurts just to walk around the house. Sure don’t want to take a chance on getting a mile or so from home and finding, all of a sudden, that I can’t put any weight on that paw.

My son stole my bike, too: so that obviates bicycling to the store. In that department: thinking about buying another one from the second-hand store up the road, and then asking said neighbor to store it in his garage or backyard. Problem there, of course, is that any time I need to use it, I’ll have to roust him out of the house and retrieve the thing from him. If he’s not home, I ain’t goin’ anywhere.

*****

{chortle!}

JUST got sat down in the front patio and it’s

BRRRRRRRBLAAASSSTTTTBRRRRRRR!

Neighbor’s yard guy out there with his weed-whacker.

One should know better, right? What on earth would make me imagine I should be allowed to enjoy a gorgeous, cool, sunny morning? How stupid of me, eh?

So…Dog and Human are back in the house, barricaded in behind heavy steel doors, closed tight.

Y’know, this is when (& where) I need SDXB in his (former) abode a block up the street. He would keep my bike at his house, no question of it. He’d probably keep it some place where I get at it even if he weren’t at home. So at least I’d have been able to get to the grocery store this morning.

How stupid IS this stuff, anyway?

It’s looking more and more like SDXB was dead right about moving to Sun City — where the Younger Generation cannot follow you. That makes it about 110% more difficult for them to try to run your life.

Really, I do appreciate the many, many things M’Hijito does for me. But that appreciation fades at the line where I get told what to do and when to do it, told what not to do, dragged to doctors I don’t like…on and on.

Nothing that I need to do this morning is gonna get done, because while confined to the house I have no way to get those things done. Well…no practical way. Yes, I could walk a mile each way to a grocery store, there and back, dragging a roller cart to haul my purchases. But…well…not right this minute, eh?

If I hadn’t already spent several years in Sun City when my parents were out there, I’d be out there with SDXB right now. But…

My goodness, how I detested living in that place!!

The attitude might be different now that I’m an old bat, not a college kid. But even still…it would be hard to shake off those negative feelings, and even harder to force myself, like my mother, to pretend I like the roar of fighter jets blasting overhead from dawn to noon. Horrid!!!!!

It’s so much better here on the north end of North Central Avenue. Gotta find a way to stay here, have what I want, and not be pushed around….

No, it’s not. I’ve never had a $115 gouge for ordinary local phone service.

Sheeeee-ut.  Now I’ll have to ask the Owner of the Male Voice — i.e., my son — to call those clowns and ask WTF that’s about.

Jayzuz! Never a dull moment.

What a strange and gorgeous day. Lovely, balmy temperature beneath high, soft gray clouds.

Normally, Ruby and I would have taken off for the park by now. But I’ve spavined a hip, so she and I loaf. She has taken over the foot of the bed, and I’ve repaired to a pile of pillows. What could be better, eh?

A-a-a-n-d…as we scribble, in comes another fake email under a friend’s name. At least two dozen of these have hit my in-box over the past year or two. She’s a fellow volunteer at the church — or was a “fellow” while I was still doing that. Dropped out of the choir and the church phone-answering job when my son started dragging me to the Mayo every Sunday morning: the end of a fun activity and the loss of a bunch of friendly associates.

ohhhh well. Anyway, I haven’t been able to shake the scamming emails, no matter what I do to try to block them. Just now, dozens of these reside on my in-box…it’s gonna take an hour or two to delete them all. What a damn nuisance!

Better get to work on that….

Here’s another one, claiming an auto-payment to Cox will be made…in the amount of $115.

Oh, yeah?  I don’t normally do auto-pays, for obvious reasons. So…scam or no scam? Do I really have to call Cox today and navigate their nuisance-y system to find out WTF this is?  And if it is a scam, how did they get my payment data???

And why would Cox be gouging me for $115, when I don’t make long-distance calls?

Godlmighty, am I sick of this stuff!!!!!!!

Afraid that’s not a rare occasion for Funny. Honest to Gawd. I’ve done and said the stupidest things over the years…when if I’d kept my mouth shut at the time — even for a few minutes, to say nothing of a few days — things would have turned out much for the better.

Case in point: My father & his bitch wife.  If, that time when they came mincing up to me and said “ohhhh we want your permission to get married,” instead of uttering a slack-jawed “well, o’course!” (while thinking these idiots are grown adults: why do they imagine they need their kid’s permission to get married?), I had said “Are you kidding? You’re sixty-some years old, not sixteen years old. You don’t need my permission to do anything,” things might have turned out a lot better for them.

Why?  

Well, this is just a guess. And that guess is: if they had stopped and thought about whether they really wanted to marry, rather than getting a kid’s imprimatur, they might have thought twice about it. Or who knows? even three times… They might have slowed down enough to give themselves several weeks or, better yet, a couple of months or three before they waltzed into marriage.

A marriage that turned out to be flickin’ miserable. The LAST thing those two needed to do was get married.

Living in sin would have been infinitely preferable: at least they wouldn’t have had to navigate courts and laws to get un-hitched.

Simply proceeding as girlfriend and boyfriend — keeping their own apartments at the old-folkerie but acting as grand friends — would have more than infinitely preferably. Then they would have no hitching to un-do.

Like all of us, I’ve occasionally made spectacular mistakes. Some of those have had less than sterling results.

The upshot of these adventures, over the years, has been one crucial rule of thumb:

When in doubt, don’t. 

Sounds glib, but it ain’t. Seriously: if you’re not sure about some decision you’re about to make, don’t proceed with it. 

STOP!!!

Stop and wait. Nine times out of ten, you will indeed have time to wait long enough to think things through; maybe to discuss with a trusted friend or advisor, or just to put it all off until your head clears.

And that, my friends, is what you most need to do before making any key decision.

Goddammit! What a PLACE this is. Every time you turn around: cop copters, burglars, prowlers, sh!theads… Lordie, but I am tired of lovely uptown Phoenix.

Alas, though, as one of the cops remarked after the Great Home Invasion Episode, this sh!t goes on all over the county.

I’d said to him, “Maybe I should move to Scottsdale or Fountain Hills to get away from this sh!t.”

“Don’t do that!” said he. “You can’ t get away from it. We go to these things all over the Valley.”

Ugh. What a world we live in.

Even in somnolent Sun City, this kinda crap goes on all the time. My mother lived in terror out there…and not for no reason.

I need a shotgun, not a mere pistol…