I Don't Give A Damn Bout My Bad Flower Shop

Sitting here attempting to finish a Brooklyn Summer Ale beer that I wrote about tonight in one of my other blogs...Brew And a Book.  It's an OK beer.  Yeah.  Really those should be lowercase letters in a font of 2 but I wanted to stress that it's just ok.

I suppose I could have picked up the exciting and frightening all at the same time Mystery Six Pack at Trader Joe's.  One of these days, I'll do just that.  It'll be a day when I choose a new frozen entree...something we haven't tried yet...because that'll be a day of Adventure!  With my luck I'd get a six pack of all dark beers that go on pancakes.  

The checkout boy today had a tattoo of Top Gun (the words, not Kelly McGillis or an airplane engine) on his neck.  The side of his neck.  I wonder if anyone has ever tried to frame it real nice with well placed, dainty hickies around it.  It would certainly bring out the Standard Dark Green color of his tattoo.  And, he would have been 10% cuter if he would have stopped calling me M'am.

Trader Joe's is the place to go though when you suddenly realize that you have only $30 in your checking account for the next two weeks.  Yep, I allowed us to live like we were rock stars this weekend.  We ate mozzarella sandwiches, had coconut with pulp water, even cupcakes!!!  Now it'll be rice and beans for two weeks.  And the banana bread that I made tonight in order to save the three rotten bananas from certain fermentation in the garbage can.  

The roster on the channel that I watch lately are shows like Sanford & Son, Three's Company, All in the Family and Too Close for Comfort.  The commercials seem to be telling us folks watching it that we are about to die as well as being morbidly obese.  There is a sense of urgency that we need to call these people NOW and set up funeral arrangements.  Henry Winkler is wearing a "Sell Out" sign on his back in the reverse mortgage ads. And all of these ads shriek "Call now!  With your life stage, you can't even buy green bananas! "  Sheesh people, can't a girl just get her Bunker fix?

But let me leave you with this....separated at birth...Joyce DeWitt and my wife, Joan Jett.  No, no...you think about it.

Pick Up The Phone, I'm Not Done Harrassing You

This blog starts out with a commercial about Harry Potter legos.  Interesting.  They all have Cesar hair-do's, those lego folk.  I so could not have a lego set made about me if that's how it's going to be.

I'm back and forthing between Harry Potter & The Chamber of Secrets (maybe.  Maybe it's another one and I just don't feel like hitting the Info button to really research my facts) and the Phillies/Cubs game.  Last that I looked, the Phillies were making me proud to own their pitching staff on my fantasy teams.  I have four of them.  I horde things sometimes, including fantasy teams.  They aren't the staff for all four teams though.

Today has been quite the built up to the crescendo that was the phone call that I just had.  Flip is of course, persistent. I may not have used it as a label but I may have *mentioned* that here or there in these posts.  He sent me three nasty emails last night.  They went unopened and unanswered.  I am not in control of him, however, I am in control of me.  Today he stopped by my house when I was not yet home and dropped off my mail.  I have a feeling that he may have thought I'd be home by then.  I was dilly dallying though, unbeknownst, with a traipse through Trader Joe's (that store is the BOMB!) and possibly being trailed by a man carrying one single carton of eggs.  Then I mosied over to Starbucks for a nice cup o'Real coffee and a couple of indulgent raspberry chocolate cake pops.  Did I mention that I was trying to improve my cholesterol?  Studies say the whole idea we've been living on is bunk.  Back to the drawing board, they say.  So a cake pop for me.  And one for my special girl at home.  Some parents bring home big special treats, like toys or stuffed animals.  I bring home the cake pop. She stuffed the whole thing in her mouth at once as I was simultaneously saying "NODON'TPUTTHEWHOLETHING....awwwwwwwwwww".

So he emailed me tonight and I had a couple of things to say back and it wasn't much and it wasn't mean, just how I felt.  In a respectful, loving relationship, these things shouldn't happen.  I should not have spent three years morphing into a person who had no real decisional freedom.  

Whatever I wrote, and it wasn't anything with daggers, incensed him.  He called.  He called long enough for me to answer the phone and mention that I had about five minutes because I had something that I'm about to do (which really was blog, but my writer's mind needs to be disciplined where I can convince myself to move it) and then his voice started about 4 pitches higher than normal, louder than normal and said "By EMAIL????" He is referring to the fact that he believes he has been broken up with by email.  And again, for emphasis, "BY EMAIL???!?!?!?" and then in the most piercing, skull cracking schream (scream and a shout and shriek), and right into the mouthpiece of the phone, "F****************CK YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!"

I had actually emailed him earlier to say thanks for bringing by my mail and included the words "that was nice".  

The decibel level of that call is still stuck in my brain, bouncing around.  It's like I need something to dislodge it from my head.  The sound of my phone ringing over and over again certainly is not doing the job though.  I've received some fairly....and I'll use some real description here, Yucky emails from him (that I am not opening) and these phone calls (that I'm not answering).  

I emailed him after he blessed me with his well wishes earlier and let him know that that was the phone call of a pretty angry person.

So why would he think that calling me over and over again is something that is even on the table?  If I held a Wile E. Coyote Acme firecracker up to my face and it blew up, leaving standing black hair on my head, would I run to get another one?  

Yes, it has been the day.  

It turns out that the Great Oz that I used to think he was is really the man behind the curtain. Big bad ass bummer, that one is.

So I must mention...at Trader Joe's, I actually had recyclable bag envy.  I have plenty of bags in my trunk (and always remember to use them!  In fact, that's how I moved most of my things into this apartment!)  I saw a woman saunter past in slo-mo, hair bouncing to some sexy beat while her five MATCHING adorable and colorful bags all sat like perky Target models in the cart.  How is that fair?

Still thinking about how not to let my bags feel inferior, I passed a man outside with no butt, although nicely dressed, smelling the melons.  I'm just sayin'.

The way home felt more like a video game.  One where the batteries were dying.  First I had this flock of bicyclists in front of me.  They always say "share the road" but they were thick on my side.  So sharing would mean me crossing the yellow line.  These were obviously assassin bicyclists trying to look environmentally harmless.  I finally had to beep gently since they seemed to have no intention of letting a motor powered vehicle go any faster than their legs could pedal.  

I finally get to a place that I can enjoy, the home stretch, singing to Katy Perry about how you're a firework and you're going to leave 'em going Ah Ah Ah.......and a large truck, with the equivalent of a 2 story building in length trailer decides to merge in front of me.  I'm doing 65mph and there is nothing to my left besides rail and a little pavement.  I thought the truck and it's train were simply shorter than that but it felt like the handkerchief in a magician's pocket. It was never ending and squashing me over to the left, further and further.  It's in those moments that are so short where your mind turns into a feature film flashback.  As I thought of how to maneuver through without hurting anything, suddenly the Mississippi lengthed vehicle was just barely all the way in front of me.  

I did what anyone would do after breathing a sigh of relief.  I laid on the horn and hoped they would feel my wrath!  They'd FEEL their road fueled stupidity!  Yes!  Wah HA! HOW DOES IT FEEL?!?!

Honestly it looked like the dude clearly didn't care.  He had no idea that I am the mother of two beautiful girls, one at home waiting for me to walk in with a surprise cake pop, and a devastatingly cute grandson.  And that's fine. As long as I know and I get to enjoy them!

We Don't Need No Stinkin' Pity Party! (Just some Marshmallows)

Remember that fun pity party we had recently?

The one where the full bucket with cries of empty, hot chocolateless tummies were dumped upon our heads?

The relief helicopters have arrived and this is no longer a home devoid of the Green Tin that originates from Trader Joe’s. I only had to give half of my left pinky for it.

(Arms up in Touchdown stance) And it’s GOOOOOD! Hope you like it shaved, because there within the magic peppermint powdered mix lies oodles of shaved dark chocolate.

The Humanling enjoys it as is. I happen to enjoy putting a scoop in my afternoon coffee.

And as is during the holiday season at the end of any commercial, I must say very quickly and in a manner that is barely audible, yet covers my butt, Marshmallows not included.