In The Beginning…

… There was light.

 

Oh wait, I am talking about my beginning. Sometime around the first part of February in 1963 my parents made passionate love… (I really do not know the details as they chose to never disclose them with me) So, they may have had a session of grudge sex, or I might have been the result of a ‘quickie.’

 

It really does not matter all that much at this point, but don’t we all want to be the result of some wickedly hot sex? Anyhow, nine months later… Waaalaaaah, I am here.

 

That is not where I was going with this post, but thought it would be rude to leave out the real beginning.

 

Fast forward a few decades…

 

This is my Official 100^th post and thought it appropriate to share with ya’ll how this particular blog came about.

 

The Beginning…

 

About a year ago, the wonderful, funny, strong, intelligent, sexy, gifted, and fantastic mother and friend, Ms LL at Chromed Curses (did I leave anything out?) asked me how I was doing. So I sent her an email and pulled no punches. She told me that the email should really go in a blog…

 

… And so it began… How-to-start-a-blog

 

Today, I wanted to thank LL, SK, and all my new blogging buddies for helping me laugh at the crazies.

 

Hugs to each and every one of you. Ya’ll ROCK

 

 

 

 

No Holding Back

My dear friend  Mario the plumber came by the office yesterday afternoon. Mario is a breath of fresh air in my smoggy city, the sun peeking thru on a stormy day, a flower rising up thru the crack in the sidewalk… (I could do this all day)

 

We talked for a couple hours about life and death. We shared our wisdom on the insane land prices where he lives, as his neighborhood just might be the only place in the country where prices continue to escalate. We laughed about the photography studio, around the corner, that everyone knows is really a front for a whore house. And we talked about his cancer, the surgery, his prognosis, and further testing.

 

He offered to show me his scar that runs from his belly button to his kibbles and bits. I politely declined. I mean, if you have seen one you have seen them all. (Scars, I mean scars)

 

He also talked in great detail about having his catheter removed. He left me cringing in pain and I don’t even have a tube crammed up my stuff. He shared the anxieties he felt about having a “drippy faucet” the rest of his life. Thankfully he will not need to borrow his wife’s maxi pads as the dripping stopped after a few minutes. (It was so sweet of him to pass this on to me.)

 

I adore Mario. Although 20 some years my senior, we can talk about anything and everything, with no worries of offense or embarrassment.  

 

I love sharing everything with Mr. J, but it is kind of nice to have a Mario in my life as well. Like a small child, Mario says what is on his mind, never holding back. Sometimes I wince at the vulgarities of his openness. But I would not change one thing about my Mario.

 

Who else would have the nerve to shout to me from across the parking lot as he pulled out, “Tell that husband of yours to flush a box of tampons down the drain, so that I will have a legitimate reason to stop in and have coffee with ya’ll.”

ARGH….

Saturday we had to have a plumber come over and unstop the kitchen drain. There are numerous reasons why this makes me uncomfortable.

1.) I don’t like strangers in my home. Not ever. I barely like friends and family in my home. It is my space, where I can walk around naked if I so choose. I don’t do it often, but the option is there. I am anti-social to the max. I don’t like small-talk chit-chat and can only smile politely at people for so long. There is no reason to take the chance of my face freezing like that.  

2.) My dear friend Mario  has retired and is not physically able to make house calls. Not that I would ever bother him with my chores. He has enough on his plate as it is.

3.) It burns me up that I cannot reach the point of the clog with my basic tools. I even disassembled all the pipes under the sink, up to the point where the plumbing leaves the house. Grrrrrrrrrr…

4.) I hate being dependent on others.

Because of all the reasons listed above, I refused to call a plumber for three weeks. Three weeks of heating water on the stove and washing my dishes in dishpans on the counter, and tossing the water down the toilet when I was done. Mr. J asked me on several occasions to call a plumber. He felt bad that I had reverted to hauling water. I would shrug and say, “Our ancestors had it much worse.”

Crazy, I know. But, that is how much I hate strangers in my home.

Finally I relented… Only because Mr. J was going to be home as well.

I am happy that the drain is fixed and that I can once again run water in the kitchen. BUT, it was a painful experience. This guy will not be invited back. He proceeded to walk thru the downstairs area and verbally critique our entire home.  (his actual comments in bold)

“… Your TV is CRAP.”  Yes, that is what he said. “It is too big for the room and the quality sucks.” Excuse me? WTF? We know our TV is outdated. It was ok when we bought it 10 years ago. Way back in time before LCD and Plasma. I don’t give a damn what you think about it. I scrimped and saved our pennies and surprised Mr. J with a 64″ TV when we didn’t have the money for such a luxury. Now get your opinionated ass back into the kitchen and work on the drain…

“You need to stain your cupboards mahogany.”    … No, I don’t. Mahogany is too dark for my small kitchen. They are stained a beautiful shade of teak to match the flooring. “Teak is too light. It shows the wood lines.” Those are called grains, and I love seeing the grain of the wood. Dammit, if I wanted the wood grain to be hidden I would have painted the cupboards.

“You need a new microwave. One that mounts above your stove.” No, I don’t. I like my microwave that sits on the beautiful teak microwave cart. I like my kitchen. I like my house. What I don’t like is your opinionated ass walking around my home telling me what I need to change. Even my own mother does not do that to me.

He would not shut up the entire time he was there. I think he could have been finished in 30 minutes had he shut his mouth and worked. I am glad that I was being charged by the job and not by the hour. He  ruined almost 3 hours of my day.

On the way out he had to get in a few more digs… “Why do you bother with burglar bars? You don’t have anything that a real burglar would want to steal.” I explained that I was more worried about the crack-heads in the area than experience burglars.

“I doubt the installers put the burglar bars up correctly anyway. They need to install steel bars into your 2X4’s.” Dude, they are installed correctly. They will slow a person down enough for either my husband or myself to empty a clip on them.

“Bah, women do not shoot guns. They will end up shooting themselves first.” At this point it took every thing I had in my reserve tank to stop from proving him wrong. 

Mr. J had been watching a basketball game thru all of this. I heard him chuckle under his breath from time to time. But, he left me alone to deal with our charming plumber. However, he knew I was getting riled and came to my rescue.

The plumber tried to get in one more dig… “Who drives the Porsche?” Mr. J was so sweet in explaining that it was my car. The twit laughed and said, “You let her drive this?” Mr. J had to hold me back….

ARGHHHHHHH….. I hate people in my home! I swear, if the toilet ever plugs up we will be pooping outside.

For Mario

My dear friend Mario was recently diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Mario is also my plumber, the same plumber who saved me from total embarrassment with the boss: The woeful tampon tale 

Mario is just…. Well, hell… He means a great deal to everyone he touches. His surgery went well and he sounds good. We are as optimistic as possible.

But last night I broke down and cried. Mario is much like a dad to me. He drops by on a regular basis just to grab a cup of coffee and chat. His oldest son is a Navy SEAL and he enjoys telling me of his adventures. His youngest son just sang at the White House with his high school choir.

Mario loves to joke about fixing the plumbing at a whore house around the corner. Listening to him tell of the desire to douse himself in bleach afterwards and walk thru a car wash…

Simply hysterical the way he can spin it.

Damn it. I wanted to call him when I took my bathroom apart. He is so good at walking me thru my projects.  

 

(Yes, I even pulled the toilet… three layers of nasty flooring… and rotten wood)

I am sure that I can do it, but I want to hear his voice… More so, to know he is ok.

Out of complete frustration, I started beating on my drain pipes. Yes, I used a hammer. (A plumbers tool of choice… not!)

(I beat the daylights out of it…)

And today I am going to use a jig-saw… Mario, I need you to get better. My bathroom needs you to get better.

Shit! I don’t care about my bathroom…

Just keep fighting. We love you.