Birthdays, Anniversaries, and Architechture

Today is my little dog's birthday. A day of great joy and celebrating in my house. A celebration of 3 years of love, joy, and happiness! (Because it is his birthday, we are going to ignore some of his more irritating habits, like not waking me up at night when something is knocking on his back door. Love those morning surprises.) He has an under bite that makes his bottom lip stick out and I swear he dangles it in front of me hoping I will trip on it and cover him with kisses, all while pretending to want to get away from my loving embrace. I think he is just trying to save face in front of the other dog, that is why he runs away from the kiss storm as soon as he can wriggle away from me, but he has a head that is as soft as a velvet painting of Jesus and I cannot resist trying to cover it with layers of kissies. The other day I came home to find that my dogs had ransacked my potatoes. There were 4 of them scattered around the house. One in the living room, one in the kitchen and two in my bed. I threw away two of them and let them keep the other two because they were enjoying them so much (and had eaten half of them). They kept bringing them into bed with us and I kept pitching them back out. We kept up this charade until I gave up, as they knew I would, and I went to sleep with 2 dogs, 2 potatoes, one rope toy, 2 books, my 2 remotes, and me all sardine-canned in to a full sized bed. I should be embarrassed by how much I spoil my dogs, and I am a little, but I love those little sh*ts so much and I have never been a good disciplinarian. I set his birthday on the 5th on purpose, because I wanted something positive the day after something negative, which is the anniversary of my being diagnosed with MS.

Eight years ago yesterday I got the news that I got the MS from sitting on an infected toilet seat, probably at a store somewhere. I really should use those paper seat covers, but I didn't think I would ever contract anything. How naive I was, putting my bare arse all over toilet seats wherever I went, never for one moment stopping to think of the possible consequences! Nah, I just had to give the public what they want, a reason to treat me as a person with a communicable disease. The thing about having MS for this long is getting over having MS at all, whether that is good or bad, I leave to each person to decide for themselves. I'm not saying I don't hate it or get frustrated by it, but I no longer rage and shake my fist at my crappy immune system. In fact, I am not even doing any of the DMDs anymore. I remember in the early days after being diagnosed, whenever I heard of someone willingly not doing any of the DMDs, I thought they must be crazy. I never thought I would be one of those who stopped clutching my sheets with sweaty palms at night, worrying about not having that 30% (more or less) reduction in disease activity or whatever, but here I am not caring. I was getting so bad about giving myself my shot that I only did it once or twice a week, just to be able to show my family an itchy red welt to prove I still was doing my shot, kind of. I talked to my neurologist about it, we tested me for the virus (is it JCV, JVC?) that excludes you from taking Tysabri. I tested positive (good thing I quit doing Tysabri) so that was out, and she and I agreed to stop with the facade of doing Copaxone because there is no benefit to taking it so little, and just waiting for some of these new meds to make their ways down the pipeline. Now I have 3 months of Copaxone chilling out in my fridge, waiting for a good home. I would like to find someone who is really struggling with being able to afford it to give it to. It is house broken, crate trained, and ready to cuddle with its forever family. If interested, contact Blindbeard at Blindbeard's MS Medicine Rescue.

Lastly, I have a few words to say about architecture. The other day Princess asked me how it feels to play the same game that little kids play. She was talking about my enjoyment of Angry Birds. Yes, it may seem like a game for little kids, but that is only if you look strictly at the graphics. Those damn egg stealing pigs are architectural geniuses! Their structures are marvels of engineering! If we could build stuff as ridiculously strong and stable as they do, no tornado or hurricane could ever destroy any home or building, EVER! There is more to the game than just flinging birds at those irritating, albeit very cute, pigs. It takes some finesse and figuring to bring down those structures. I get so angry at those pigs, I swear I'm going to have bacon for my next meal. Princess hates when I say that because it makes her hungry for bacon. I'm just hungry for revenge and my eggs back! The only complaint I have, other than their building skills, is how they get black eyes and lose teeth. It makes me feel bad, but then they smile when I don't beat the level and I swear I'm having bacon as soon as I finish that level and go to the store, or they give me my eggs back, whichever comes first.

How To Lose 200lbs Of Ugly Fat

It is called Divorce. You may have heard of it. You may have already used it, successfully. You may even recommend it to friends who are wanting to lose their own mass of ugly fat. It is a painful, yet oddly freeing, diet. I am currently on this particular diet, needing to lose those last stubborn 200lbs because they are annoying, irritating, frustrating, discombobulating, infuriating, and, worst of all, tenacious. The only good thing about this mass of fat is how easily I can irritate it, having known it for 12+ years now, I know what buttons to push to make it just as frustrated as me.

We finally decided that it was time to do this. Actually, he was pushing for it because the woman he was seeing, who turned out to be a real peach but more about that later, kept asking him how his divorce was coming along. Silly man, thinking with his twigs and berries instead of his brain, tried to work out a plan for he and I to get together and see an attorney to hammer out a deal and get this whole thing rolling. He has been so gung ho to get me there and pin me down (sadly, both ways that can be taken are accurate) that it made me suspicious. So this woman went and done got herself her own attorney. Said mound of ugly fat was soooo happy about that, he yelled, hooted, hollered and boo hoo-ed to me about it for a good half hour, telling me how much he hated me and amusing me very much. We hung up, I went back to my book, and 20 minutes later he called me back, considerably calmer, to talk about it. Because neither he nor I give a hoot about the other's way of seeing it, we just stop as soon as we catch ourselves starting to try to explain how we see it. It's pointless. At this point, we cannot sympathize with the other.

I was surprised that he called me back so quickly. I figured he would be digging up his jar of pennies and moving them to a new spot. But he wanted to call me to sing, "I just called to saaaaaaay I haaaaaaaaate youuuuuuu!" at which point we both laughed and started changing love songs into hate songs. Don't get me wrong, we are both brimming with hate for the other, especially as it could have been so different if we had just made some different choices along the way. He is so irate with having to divide up the marital assets/money, that I can't resist messing with him. Case in point, I offered to go halves on a cabin with him once this is over. I think he popped a few blood vessels over that one, but it helps me deal with the stress of this all if we can at least joke about it a little. Like him telling me that if we can work out a deal and not have to fight this out in court, he might be willing to not delete my number and still be my friend. Gee, how can I not be thrilled with that offer.

Lastly, this wonderful woman he was dating turned out to be seeing an ex of hers on the side. She has turned out to be the gift that just keeps on giving because it seems the whole town, except my ex, knew about it. So not only was she cheating on him, she pushed him into getting a divorce when I would have been content to just stay separated forever. Instead, he decided that he really wants to have to give me some of our marital pennies. The moral of this story, if it ain't broke, don't fix it!

Mountainous Expanse Of White Flesh

Princess came in, saw the title of this post and said, "You're writing about mom?" Sharp as a tack, that one. We just got through another fabulous blow out fight in our house. The best analogy I have that sums up Sugarbowl's and my relationship is to compare it to a pressure cooker, especially the old ones that exploded so easily. My mom said that growing up they had one and my grandmother forgot to let off the steam one time and green beans got blown all over the ceiling. The pressure builds up and we have to vent at the right time or risk a big explosion. We didn't vent soon enough this time and our relationship green beans got blown all over the ceiling. The reason for the fight is not particularly interesting, in fact I'm not sure what started it all, but once Sugarbowl gets mad/hurt/upset etc. her Borderline Personality Disorder comes out to play. I don't like that playmate. It really sucks, but someone has to stand up to its hideous bullying ways, and that someone is always me because I am the one person who can tell her to shut the hot hell up and knock her crap off and still be friends with her again. This time she disabled all her electronic stuff so no one could use it. She took all the cords to her TV, DVD player, computer, phone, the wii and so on. We all made up yesterday and she started to bring down the cords from her room and slowly put them all back. I didn't want her to know how much I was missing some of those electronic things, so I read my brains out the last 2 days, which is great but sometimes you just want to kick back with a movie. I took back my robe that she stole from me awhile ago and kept meaning to take back, but she is always naked when she wears it and until I can boil it I have no use for it. Last night I woke up to her naked in my room trying to set the computer back up because she wanted the wireless stuff back on. It would not have been so horrible if all the needed cords were in one area, but she had to go around my bed, plug this in, go back around and put this one here, apologizing the whole time for her nudity because she couldn't find the robe. I didn't bother to tell her it was stuffed in my closet. Some things are better left unsaid and I didn't want to extend the conversation any. I just wanted my room back so I could go back to sleep without the risk of waking up to that sight again. Things should be better soon because the neighbors in the other unit are moving out and she will be moving over there. So when we fight we can go back to our own side and beat on the walls to annoy each other instead of having to argue in person. The neighbors are moving out because they can never seem to remember to pay rent and are being evicted, which has made them very pissy. Not sure what they told their friends across the street, but I can feel the daggers being stared into my flesh whenever we see each other. We have given them so many chances and warnings to pay rent on time, even letting them get really far behind because they were having some financial problems, but it was getting ridiculous. Plus they have a very mean pit bull that scares me and they play their music really loud. All these things add up to me not caring how much the neighbors across the street may think we are in the wrong and hate us, and instead accepting it all as a good exchange to be rid of them. I really hate that dog and am hoping that when it does hurt someone, as it is bound to do, it is one of the owners and not an innocent person. I could be out working in my yard without my dogs, and it will try to charge me. You don't even have to be doing anything, just sitting on your porch, and it will try to get at you. I hope something happens to it before it can do anything to any other animal or person. Keeping my fingers crossed here. Other than that, my MS is as much of a hoot as always. Lately my legs have been feeling so weak and shaky, especially as the day goes on, that I feel like a newborn colt trying to get some errands done. It scares me to have these kinds of problems with my legs because I DO NOT want to lose my ability to walk safely. In fact, I am more likely to take injuring myself over needing better support than a shopping cart or an arm can give. That will show you, MS, when I fall and get hurt instead of doing the smart thing! I hope it burns, because I can be a hardheaded ass all day long. I may need to stock up on Ace bandages while running errands today. It's worth it.

Gonna Pound This Out Even If It Kills Me!

And it just might. With all the laptops gone to technology hell, we have been reduced to using this old behemoth of a desk top. I'm glad we still have a computer, but, dagnabbit!, does it have to be such a monstrous ancient dinosaur? It takes up my whole room and heats it up by about 50 degrees. Good thing I keep my bedroom so cold, so now it is about 70 in here. And don't even get me started about everyone junking up my room with all their crap! Every day I pull out cups and food wrappers, I try to organize all the papers they leave all over, and resist the urge to practice some redrum on their arses. I've been using a laptop keyboard for so long, this old, stiff keyed keyboard seems harder to use than I remember them being. It makes me think of typing on an old typewriter, where you have to really hit the keys for them to work. I only have this decrepit old computer chair that you have to balance your weight on very carefully, or it will dump you out because the back is no longer interested in supporting anything, especially fat hags who bitch about it. Okay, moving on.

We all were sick for about a week there. The joy of the flu makes me question my decision to not get a flu shot this year. I can always come up with a plethora of reasons to not do it, but when good flu bugs attack, I can't remember any of those reasons, besides me being an idiot. Speaking of good reasons, I have been fighting against doing my shot, because I can think of a veritable plethora of reasons to not do my shot. I'm so tired of needles and shots and itchy injection sites, oh my!, that I am starting to think there is something to be said for going Secondary Progressive. When I mentioned this to my family, it went over like a herd of lead balloons and started a fight that will rage until I no longer have to do any shots. I have not been good about doing my shot every day, and even skipped as many as 4 days a few times. It is getting to be that time that I am scheduled to reorder, and I still have a whole box left. I am pondering whether I should tell them that or just keep it to myself. If I keep up this futile resistance, I'm going to amass a ton of Copaxone that I DO NOT want. Due to the fact that I am not the fighter my mom and sister are, I'm going to have to keep half assing doing my shot, because they are keeping a sharp eye on me to make sure I am as lumpy as I should be if I'm doing my shot everyday. In winter, being lumpy is not as bad, but in the summer, it SUCKS! Has anyone else on Copaxone noticed that the lumps get worse in the sun and heat? I go to the beach and become a mass of distorted injection sites that swell and disfigure my body. I'm not interested in attracting anyone, but I certainly am not interested in repelling everyone. Contrary to popular belief, I do have a few standards, they are just well hidden.

Until the day I can retire all needles, I'm going to be a big pin cushion, like one of those tomato pin cushions, which would be a lot cuter than the lumpy body I am. Ah, dare to dream of no longer having to do any shots. . . The sweet, sweet siren call of Secondary Progressive is hard to resist. (For the record, I know going Secondary Progressive is serious, but so is my desire to not have to do any shots anymore. Although the treatments for SPMS are pretty crappy, too. I've done Novantrone and that is an injection that I REALLY do not want to do again. Good ol' MS! It really knows how to suck the joy out of life.) Now I have to go avoid my shot. Toodles.

Grudges

I don't have too many grudges, not being a person who can hang onto anger for very long. That and I have a thing about excess baggage. Carrying a grudge can get heavy, and I'm too lazy to want to carry anything heavy for very long. But for all my high minded words, I have 2 grudges that I am not quite ready to let go of.

Rebif

That's right, I have a grudge against Rebif because it happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or was it diabolical enough to put itself there? I'll let you be the judge. Right after I was diagnosed, I didn't want to read anything more about MS because everything I had read about it up to that point was not anything I wanted to hear. I wasn't ready to research any deeper than the most basic information, and even that was too much. After a period of avoidance, I decided to try reading a magazine I had gotten in the mail, figuring it wouldn't be too overwhelming. I took the magazine into the bathtub with me and got trapped in the tub with a magazine that turned out to be one long advertisement for Rebif. I wanted to read about MS and the different treatment options out there for me as I was still trying to decide which medicine to go with, but I obviously got a magazine that was funded exclusively by Rebif. I stalked out of the bathroom, and as soon as my foster daughter and husband saw the look on my face, they grabbed some popcorn, propped their feet up, and sat back to watch the show. I threw the magazine against the wall, was unsatisfied with that so I threw it into the fireplace, and ranted and raved and frothed at the mouth about how it told me nothing about MS, only propaganda about Rebif. That started my deep antipathy for Rebif, and I swore then and there that nothing would ever induce me to take it. And I still hold with that position. I don't care if God Himself comes down and tells me to use it, I will have to decline as politely as possible and pack my bags for hell.

The icing on the cake came in the form of a representative for Rebif. I liked her personally, I just hated what she was representing, and representing she did with gusto. One day, at a MS walk, I was talking to someone who was hoping to go on Rebif. I said how much I hated the interferons -- I had been on Avonex and didn't enjoy the experience -- and wasn't hip on doing them again (I didn't tell him about my grudge against Rebif). We were talking about the side effects, and I said how higher doses of interferons means a higher risk of neutralizing antibodies. He, all pompous and holier-that-thou, pooh poohed my statement with a, "Oh, I don't know about that." The rep came over and we asked her, she admitted that it was true, and I was big enough to not yell, "CHECK and MATE!" in his face. He lost all interest in continuing the conversation, and I lost all interest in having any more conversation with his pompous self.

The only Rebif I will touch is my Rebif pen, because I like the way it writes and the general public doesn't know what it is. They would probably think it was some medicine that stops bladder leakage at the cost of the rest of your organs. The day someone knows what it is and comments on it, is the day I throw it away and use a pen that doesn't write as well, but that is a sacrifice I am willing to make.


That "Brave" Woman

I had met this woman when I first started Tysabri, and she had just started too. I saw her years later, after I had gone off of Tysabri due to the higher risk of getting PML the longer you are on it. She asked me if I was still doing Tysabri, and I told her what I just wrote. She, still doing Tysabri, said, in a voice one would use to talk to a slow child, "I'm not scared of dying," like I was one of the cowering masses who live in fear of death, which I am not, death seems like blessed release to me. She was walking away, head held high like the superior person she is could not possibly be seen talking to a coward like me, when I told her that I am not afraid of dying, I'm afraid of living through PML and what it could do to me. She actually slowed her walking away, and got a frown on her face as she processed that answer. She lost all interest in ever talking to me again and still doesn't have too much to say to me whenever I see her. Maybe because I didn't have the proper awe for her and her blithe disregard for death? Maybe because I had a point and have blithe disregard for death, too? Who knows? And I have no intentions of having further conversations with her, not enjoying being talked down to. It actually gets my hackles up and doesn't cow me the way I feel like they are intending it to.


Even though I don't like holding grudges, these are 2 that I have no intentions of letting go, they having offended me to the marrow of my bones. It is rare for me to be that deeply offended, so I'm going to enjoy these grudges to the end of my days. Some baggage is worth carting around.

Y. Bother

I'm going to change my name to that. After my SSA hearing, I think it is rather fitting. I would have written about it sooner, but the whole thing left me in a deep blue funk that I am still trying to claw my way out of. The next time I EVER have to go to any kind of SSA bowlsheet, I'm going to yell everything I have to say into the toilet and flush it all down, because it will have the same effect (is that the right effect/affect? I'm not sure, but I am sure that I don't really care right now.). After all the crap I had to say, all the questions I answered for her royal highness, all the "experts" throwing it their 2 cents -- regardless of whether it is true or not -- at the end of it all, the judge asked the vocational expert what a person who can stand and walk for 6 hours could do for a job. Why did I bother to talk at all?! I should have just asked them to tell me what my problems are, if any. And could they please tell me what my limitations are, again, if any. Dearest Judge, could you please tell me how it feels to live in this body? Please explain my fatigue to me, my pain, and ignore my gimping walk. I am breathlessly awaiting your answer, because living with it is nothing to what you have to say about it all. I left the courtroom feeling like I was wearing a neck brace and someone knocked a book off a table, and I whipped my head around to check it out, like in a TV show.

Did you know that the day after you get turned down for Disability (SSDI), you can file for SSI? If you no longer have the work credits for Disability, as I do not because this whole farce has taken so long, you can apply for SSI, which is for the poor saps like myself that no longer can apply for their full disability because they haven't worked X amount of years out of the last so many. Nobody told me this! I just found out about it earlier this year, when I reapplied and the whole mess got rolled into one huge mess. So if you get turned down, reapply IMMEDIATELY before the whole appeals process starts, so they don't get mushed together. The trick is to make sure they are separate. I am now impatiently awaiting my unfavorable decision so I can apply for SSI before filing my appeals, because I AM going to file an appeal because I hate them all and am not going to just shrivel up into a little ball of manure and go away. I am looking forward to what they come up with as a job I can still do. Marathon runner? Acrobat? Contortionist? Please make it better than a grocery bagger. A little creativity would be deeply appreciated.

Ugh! Other than all that fun, not much else has been going on. Well, nothing worth writing about anyway. Except maybe how now that it is getting colder and we are keeping the windows closed, the dogs seem to be gassier. Or a great story of how Sugarbowl sharted at work the other day and we have been singing the diarrhea song to her, but she can laugh at herself so she agrees with the whole "pants full of foam" part. Or even how the medium sized dog jumped on me in the yard yesterday and ripped a huge hole in my pants, showing off my unshaven legs to anyone who happened to be looking. Yeah, like I said, nothing interesting. Now I must go and get ready for my job as a marathon runner. Smell ya later.

How Could I Have Forgotten?!

All my blogging nonsense and I forget the most important thing that is going on in my life right now! I hope you are all sitting down or near a soft place to faint on to, because this is quite shocking. My new disability hearing/court date thingy is this Friday. I was surprised that it was so quick and when I called my lawyer, she said she was surprised too, which made me feel a little special and like maybe the government finally got my memo that I'm not going to slink away and let this whole brouhaha blow over. I do enjoy a good brouhaha and the government, or Social Security to be more exact, has gotten my hackles up and made me ready to fight to the death, either mine or the SSA's. Preferably theirs even though I will take one for the team if need be, and hopefully that need won't be. My lawyer said that because it was remanded back, that put me at the front of the line for a hearing. Sorry to all you poor saps behind me, but I've paid my dues and waited in that line for 5.5 years. And that is one sh*tty line. One anger inducing line. A line that only makes you that more determined to win.

My little sister is going with me. 1. To drive. Even though it is only an hour away, I don't do longer-ish car rides well. Especially if I am driving. It makes my legs more stiff and jumpy, which means I will be doing Cricket Legs later that day. (Note To Self, figure out a way to make music when rubbing legs together. I'm sure everyone in this house/neighborhood would enjoy being serenaded by a gimp trying to start a fire by furiously rubbing her legs together.) 2. She is willing to testify if the judge allows it. This is good and bad. She could really help my case by telling what she knows about how I am. Bad because I'm not sure I want to hear it. I hope the judge will let me leave the courtroom if she does testify. I know what I am, but I am not quite dying to hear someone say it out loud. I'm also afraid it will make me feel worse about myself.

I realized that I didn't have any nicer clothes to wear to the hearing -- why would I need dress up clothes to sit around the house? -- so I went to Goodwill and got a pair of khakis for 99 cents. It pisses my little sister off that I can get so many 99 cent clothes because she has to look in the fat girl sizes and says that I get to shop in the skinny scrawny ass hole sizes while all the other fat girls race in before her to get all the good clothes in her size. In fact, it pisses Princess off too. I am only 5 lbs heavier than she is and am 4 inches taller than her. Everyone was hoping that my being laid up with this damn knee would make me gain weight, but something about pain makes one not want to ransack the kitchen. I thought I would gain weight too, but I have actually lost a few pounds. Princess is saving her money to hire a hit man to come break my knee caps and force feed me. The other day, while doing my laundry, I wore a pair of her jeans and when she came home and saw me, she started counting her pennies to see if she had enough to hire that hit man yet. If losing 5 pounds would make my arse as firm and dimple free as hers, I would start fasting now. She doesn't get that what the scale says means nothing. It's all about what you look like, and I do not look like someone who is only 5 pounds heavier than her. Oh to have the flat stomach of a 12 year old! If I had her hips, thighs and butt, I would wear the tightest, most show off-y clothes I could find at Goodwill. Then Sugarbowl and Princess would pool their pennies and I would be laid up with 2 bad knees. I probably still wouldn't get disability though.

So Much Negativity

Ya know, I really wanted to write a blog post about some of the funnier things that have been going on around here. Like when we went to the local lakes here and Sugarbowl found everything disgusting on the beach and in the water. Or maybe I should say it found her. First she put her shoes next to 2 dead rotting fish, then she was attacked by a slimy clump of algae, and finally she stepped on a fish spine that some fish rudely left behind when it died and rotted on the beach. She and Acorn wanted to go to that particular beach because Acorn has big boobs and doesn't like to show them off, and Sugarbowl has a big butt and gut and doesn't want to show it off, so we had to go to a beach that no one else was at. They are ready to have others see their big body parts next time because that beach was obviously empty for a reason. I would have liked to write about that, but there is so much negativity floating around everyone right now that it has my undivided attention, and maybe if I vent it I can move on. Maybe.

Everyone in my family is hurt and angry at everyone else. It is such a mess that we would need a mediator to come in and help us all out because everyone is sure that they are right and everyone else is wrong. Mostly it is centered around my older sister and a situation that nobody can agree on. Sugarbowl has some hurt feelings towards me, but she and I are so used to fighting that we can be mad at each other and still function, mainly because we are BFFs and love each other no matter what happens. But my older sister... I'm no longer sure she loves any of us. Here is the Cliff Notes version of the whole thing.

The house that we were renting -- we finally moved -- was my older sister's house. We moved because they were having financial problems and decided to let the house go into foreclosure. The house payment was $1200 a month and we paid $1000, but they were having a hard time paying that extra $200. My mom helped us with the rent each month, so "my" part of the rent -- my mom paid mine and an extra $250 to help us out -- was $625 and Sugarbowl paid $375. The house payments had fallen behind by $5500 and my older sister had sold a piece of her land and could bring the house current but Sugarbowl and I had decided to go our separate ways by then, so she kept the money instead. When Sugarbowl heard that they decided to keep the money and let the house go, she thought that meant that we would not have to pay rent on a house that my older sister was letting go back to the bank. She thought dead wrong. My older sister still wanted us to pay rent. Sugarbowl was furious and moved out before she had to pay another month's rent to "line their pockets." My older sister said that I could take the appliances when I moved, so I was not as bothered about still paying rent on a house that they were not making any payments on, even though I thought she could have cut me a little slack and not exacted my full $625 each month. She thought she was cutting me slack by only having me pay my part and not the full $1000. Never mind that the money was coming from her disabled sister's account and her 68 year old mother. She needed that rent money. She has a lifestyle to maintain! (Sorry, a little anger seeped out there.) When Acorn moved in with me, she told my mom that the rent should really be $1000 again.

When Sugarbowl moved out, she left all the dirty cat boxes and the cat crap all over the basement floor. I had put my cat down months ago and was tired of cleaning up after her cats. I knew she was moving and she had planned on taking the cat boxes with her, so I didn't clean them. She went downstairs, took one look at the dirty, overflowing cat boxes, and decided that she would just buy new cat boxes. It angered me so much that I left all that mess because all the stuff in the basement was hers and I wanted it to soak up as much of that cat crap smell as possible. My older sister is mad that the basement was that bad and is feeling "used" because "her" house was so dirty and "trashed." They had left a Foosball table behind and they claim that a cat climbed up on the Foosball table, somehow squatted on those moving poles, and peed on it. I can understand how a cat with a UTI would do something like that, but the only cat that had been in that house with a UTI was one of hers that she had to put down after it had peed all over the house. She kept talking about how a cat had peed on and wrecked "a $400 Foosball table" like we should pay to replace it when they had left it down there for a year and a half. If it was so damn important, why did they leave it for so long? And I think the $7000 they made off of us for rent for a house that has been foreclosed on would cover that expense. She doesn't see it that way and is mad at us.

Remember those appliances that she said I could have? Well, apparently I misunderstood her saying that I could have them for meaning that I could have them. I only took the stove because the one here is so old. She decided that they needed that stove so we had to move it back. My mother and 69 year old stepfather moved that stove back so she could sell it and maybe make a little more money. Now here is where it gets really fun! The land that she sold a part of to help pay off some of their mounting debts, my mom bought for her. She didn't intend to buy it for her, but she helped them get the loan to buy it, then they couldn't make the payments so my mom paid the whole $70,000 for them! They made $45,000 off of the piece that they sold and didn't give my mom one dime of it because she looks at the land as "her inheritance." Never mind the fact that my mom may need that money some day if she should ever -- God forbid! -- need to go into a nursing home and it ate up any money she has and nobody would have an "inheritance," she got hers! Never mind the fact that this duplex I moved into is my mom's and a nicer stove would help the value. She could sell that stove and make, what? $100-$150? That and all the other little "loans" my mom has given her over the years would bring her "inheritance" to about $150,000, by my conservative estimate. I was digging around on the internet looking for information about Borderline Personality Disorder, which my little sister has, to see if there was a way she and I could communicate better about the things that are bothering her about me, when I stumbled on Narcissistic Personality Disorder. I finally found what my older sister has. She has ZERO empathy for anyone else. She is exploitative to other people, especially her family, and she is preoccupied with having the "perfect" life. She has to have the best of the best and their lifestyle is going to put them into bankruptcy. She has an arrogant, haughty way of dealing with people and wants to be admired and envied.

I don't want a big fight in the family, so I am going to keep my distance until we all are a little less angry about all this. I am going to try, but whenever I think about this whole situation it makes me so mad I want to go toe to toe with her and have it out. I don't think it would change anything, her being Narcissistic, she would never see anyone's side but her own in all this. But sometimes I really want to say some things that she would never forget!

Hey You Guys!

I have been dying to use that for a title since I started blogging. Growing up I loved LOVED LOVED The Electric Company, and the Super Friends, The Muppets, Slim Goodbody, and 3 2 1 Contact. But all those will have to wait their turn to be used as a title. Today I need the Electric Company to round everyone up for me. I need your opinion.

Last night we were all playing Scattegories. Me, Princess, Acorn, Sugarbowl and Sugarbowl's fiance Vanilla (we call him Vanilla because he can be so bland -- but that is another blog post). If you haven't played Scattegories before, I'll give you a quick rundown. You have a list of topics, like Song Title, Famous Female, Things Found At The Beach, Pizza Toppings, etc etc and you roll a big dice with letters all over it to see which letter you have to start all your answers with. Well, for World Records starting with the letter A, Princess put Armpit hair. Sugarbowl hotly argued against it and Princess had to cross it off her list, even though I agreed with Princess because everything is a world record these days. We were doing our next round, and for Things That Jump/Bounce starting with the letter B, Sugarbowl put Boogers. And with that answer an argument was started that may never be resolved.

Sugarbowl claims that almost all boogers bounce. Acorn agreed that her boogers bounce, too. Princess and I, who apparently have very sticky boogers, disagreed. Boogers do not bounce, they stick. Vanilla wouldn't take a side in the debate so we were at an impasse. To prove her point that boogers bounce, Sugarbowl picked her nose, got a booger and started rolling it between her fingers. She said she was going to bounce it off of Princess to prove that boogers bounce. I told Princess that she needed to pick her own nose, get a booger and fling it at her mother to prove that boogers do not bounce, they stick. If they are so bouncy, why are there boogers on the wall by kids' beds? If they bounced they wouldn't stick to the wall, you could just vacuum them up. Sugarbowl says they are on the wall because kids wipe them there. And I can't disagree with that, but I still say that a lot of them are there because they were flicked and stuck.

We argued this while I looked up records for armpit hair. There is a record -- 32 inches in case you wanted to know. I tried to look up boogers bouncing, wording it every way anyone could think of, and I got nothing except a blog site called Boogers Don't Bounce (I didn't go to the site so I'm not going to link it here, even though I'm sure it is a great site). We continued to argue it as we went outside to smoke and Sugarbowl continued to pick her nose clean to prove her point. I pointed out several great instances of her boogers most definitely not bouncing. Like the time we were driving and she had a booger stuck to her finger that she couldn't get rid of and I was laughing at her getting a booger stuck to her that morning from a towel. A booger that we didn't know where it came from. Or who it came from. YUCK! (http://blindbeardsmsblog.blogspot.com/2009/06/boogers-bitches-and-blindbeards-blues.html) Then there was the time at one of Princess's basketball games that Sugarbowl's nose turned into a magician's handkerchief and she had a big runny booger that just kept on coming out of her nose. We didn't have any Kleenexes so she was wiping it on the bottom of the bleachers. I'm pretty sure those boogers didn't bounce off of the bleachers and are still stuck right where she wiped them.

Anyway, what I'd like to know is if you think boogers bounce. I told her I was going to ask you all -- not that she will ever admit defeat if you do agree with me -- and she was okay with that. You may comment anonymously, I don't care, but please tell me if you too think boogers bounce. The decision of who won the game is in the balance here.

Sucked Out Of My Head

I was going to blog about my new puppy. I was going to talk about how my family got me this new little chihuahua Manchester terrier mix because in my grief I wouldn't sleep in my bed because there was no littlest dog to hold me down all night. They talked me into it because they said that a puppy would give me something to love and help heal my bleeding heart. Not a dog to take my other dog's place, but a bandaid of sorts to slow the bleeding. They were right. I still miss my dog, but I am sleeping in my bed again with my new puppy pressed up against me all night. I always say that I can love a million dogs, and there are so many animals out there that need a home, so why not love one more. And I am loving one more. I love that he is not like my other dog; he is his own little puppy. I liken it to my other dog was a circle and my new dog is a triangle. Or a square. Or even an octagon. How about a trapezoid? You can choose your own favorite shape. He's just different, which is exactly what I wanted. I was not looking for the same dog, knowing that that will never happen and I would never try to make one animal be like another. I want them to be just what they are. And he is.

I was also going to blog about the flea market and how great it was. How I got some really good deals. Like an old school desk, the kind from the old school houses that were nailed in place, for $10! I also got this really cool old collection box for missionary work from the 1850's (the dates are on it) for $5. And an old toy horse for $1, and on and on. And how on the first day, as I was dragging my tired arse back to the car, a man asked me if I saw the handicapped sign in front of my car. He said it so friendly-like and I was so tired that I thought he was pointing out how great our parking was, he being parked in handicapped, too. I told him yes, I had my hang tag hung up and he said, "Oh, you seem so able." I told him I have MS and am not always so great and asked him if he had a hang tag. He said he did because "he is like me" about not always being so great. Getting into my car, my little sister was FURIOUS that he had the nerve to be the handicapped police and judge who was disabled and who was "able." Her window was open about an inch and she loudly said, "That is F*CKING BULLSH*T!" And driving away she put her window down, put out her arm and, with a gesture, showed him how she felt about him. I wish I hadn't been too tired to process the whole exchange fast enough because that man would NEVER say something like that to anyone ever again. My little sister ranted and raved and foamed at the mouth. Driving out of the parking lot, I kept asking her if she wanted to go back and "talk" to that man because I felt he should get an ear full. She didn't want to because she didn't want to punch an old man in the face and because she was unable to say anything without obscenities as every other word and she wanted to be coherent and a little more classy than that. That old bastard got lucky. The next time anyone says anything like that to me, I will be ready. And if that old bastard has the bad luck to ever see me again, he will not enjoy it. We kept our eyes open for him the next day we went because we had some choice words for him. He must have sensed the murderous feelings in the air, or he parked elsewhere when he saw my car, because we did not see him. And everyone knows that the second and last day of the flea market is the best time because everyone is willing to cut a deal so they don't have to haul their crap home.

I was going to blog about all this stuff, but this morning I found a tick in my hair. A TICK! I always joke about buying ticks at the flea market, but I didn't know it was an option. I haven't had a tick on me since I was a kid and I was hoping to keep it that way. That tick sucked all my ideas right out of my head and I can feel the Lyme disease a-brewing in me. I feel so dirty, I think I need another hot shower.

Pied Piper Plus Pesky Peccadilloes

I love alliterations too much, maybe because "hurl the hag headlong into hell" is my personal motto. Or maybe because they are just so much fun. Who knows? Who cares as long as one can get pleasure from them, and pleasure I do get from them.

Pied Piper

Yesterday I was playing Indy 500: Lawnmower Edition and enjoying it. The dogs always follow me around and bark to let everyone know, "She's mowing! I'm a dog and I'm barking! She's mowing! I'm a dog and I'm barking!" God forbid the neighbors not know I'm mowing. I'm sure they appreciate the dogs letting them know when I'm on the lawn mower and trying to tame the wild jungles of my yard. I'm used to the dogs following me, barking, dragging their toys and any big sticks they can find into my path, and pinching stinky loaves into my next swipe of lawn to be mowed. But yesterday their barking alerted a flock of barn swallows that decided they needed to join in on the fun. The swallows flew around me, dive bombing and circling like they were buzzards and I was the carrion. I looked around to see if a baby swallow was near and I was getting too close, but I didn't see any babies. I was mowing the ditches in front of our house with a flock of swallows circling me and the dogs running around barking at me, hoping no one would drive by -- vain hope, several people drove by to my extreme embarrassment. I felt like a messed up version of the pied piper, and if my pied-ing brings those kinds of animals to follow me, I'm going to leave my flute in the house next time I mow.


Pesky Peccadilloes

I saw my neurologist last week and have been stewing over our conversation since. She was unable to answer some of my questions to my satisfaction and wanted me to see the head of the MS clinic on my next visit because she felt that she would be able to answer my questions better. I do not want to see her on my next visit (the head, not my neurologist... although I'm not sure about that. They both irritate me.). I tried to be polite about it at first, "No, it's okay. I'm happy with your answers (blatant lie)." She kept insisting -- maybe she just wanted to avoid the 3rd degree and push me off onto someone else. She forced my hand so I had to say what I was trying not to say. I told her that I DO NOT like that woman because I do not like the way she talks to me, very condescending and patronizing, and I hate how she wears push up bras -- and she is not skinny in the least, so of course she has big boobs -- and low cut shirts. I am offended and find it very inappropriate to wear such things in a professional setting, but maybe I am just old fashioned.

I lost because my neuro failed to see how all that would change how that woman could help me. My neuro said that she has a "good head" for MS, and I said that I couldn't get past her ridiculously pushed-up-and-on-display boobs to find out whether that statement is true or not. She sails into the room, boobs first, and tells you what you are feeling is not what you are feeling and pooh-poohs what you have to say about it. I'm going to prepare for my visit with her by making a series of index cards with statements like, "You're not listening to me" and "That's not what I said" or even "Get thy boobs from out my face and thy pompous attitude out the door!" When I said this at my exercise class, my bestest friend there said that she believed that I would really do it and wanted to be told how it all plays out. I will let her and you know how it turns out because I have no intentions of losing and every intention of investing in a pack of index cards and a Sharpie pen. Boobs is going DOWN!

Before I Forget

I had a day yesterday; maybe I should say day because it was... something. Before it all gets lost on my slippery memory, I have to share it. No need to thank me, even though I'm sure that was the first thing you wanted to do.

As I was getting ready to head to the shower, my ex called me to see if I wanted to switch cars. I wanted the truck because we needed to haul some stuff that just won't fit in a car, that and I was sooooo ready to have my truck back after driving his old road car with almost 350,000 miles and hardly a scrap of paint left on it. Plus, it is impossible to be sylin' and profilin' -- whatever that means -- in such an un-stylin' and profilin' car. So I skipped my shower, which I rarely do, tossed on some grubby clothes that I reserve for cleaning days, and headed out to meet him halfway, about an hour's drive for each of us. Princess went with me because she wanted to see that ghost town that I had taken pictures of and it is over that way. We switch cars, and I head back for my hour's drive home, taking a detour to the ghost town, and dreaming of the shower I am going to take as soon as I get home. But the gods of boob sweat had other plans for me.

When I get home, Sugarbowl wants to go pick up Princess' new bed. (Sugarbowl's ex took back his bed, the one Princess was using.) I decided that since we have to go that far down, might as well go even further and pick up the scripts for meds at my shrink's office. To say my shrink's office is in the ghetto is an understatement that defies an adequate comparison. I pick up my scripts, and at a stop light a homeless man comes up to my open window and asks for 30 cents. I give him 35 because I couldn't find a nickel and what is 5 cents between friends -- I would be homeless if my family didn't take care of me. (What the heck is 35 cents going to get him?! I would have given him more, over Sugarbowl's protests, but I only had change handy. And he told me he was homeless, I'm not just making assumptions.) So we leave that part of town without having any caps popped in our wigs or having our shizzles nizzled, again, whatever that means, and go to pick up Princess' new bed.

On the way back up, my bff from elementary/high school called to cement our plans to get together this weekend (she's moving and I am going to be the cheerleader to their huffing and puffing -- move it out! Shove it out! Allllll out! -- as I did for our recent moving adventure). While yukking it up with her, Sugarbowl says I took a motorcycle path in my truck at 80 mph, running so many people down I had to use my windshield wipers to get them off my windshield. I most certainly did not (I'm sure I never went over 65)! I found this very hypocritical from the woman who drives like she has a spiked ball up her anus that she cannot remove until she reaches her destination.

We get Princess' bed and head to Wal Mart to get my prescriptions filled and some flea and tick shampoo to add to our arsenal of weapons against the raging flea war we are in. At this point I feel so greasy, grubby, sweaty, dirty and every other -y that denotes that horrible feeling of I-shouldn't-have-skipped-my-shower-this-morning, that I am ready to give myself a flea and tick bath.

We finally get home and have to huff and puff and sweat even more to get Princess' bed up the stairs to her room. Then Sugarbowl and Princess gave all the animals -- no small task for our petting zoo -- a flea and tick bath. I really did not want to hop into the shower after all that crap was scattered all over the tub, so I feel ever grosser today. By the end of the day only the pets were fresh and the rest of us were left feeling dirtier and smelly-er than ever.

Today I only have my exercise class on my agenda. I am going to see what I feel like doing, if anything, after that. Yesterday was such a fun fest, I'm feeling all funned out. And like I may never be fresh again.

Peppermint, Pests, And Procrastination

Peppermint

Last night Sugarbowl and I were sitting on the porch listening to the kids fighting in the house, hence why we were outside. We heard Jabber doing the laugh that usually precedes him crying, ie the laugh that he does when he has Princess in a lather and imminent doom is upon him. Sure enough about 2 milliseconds later there was a loud thud and he started crying. He comes boiling out of the house and starts telling the neighborhood, in the loudest possible voice his lungs could support, that his sister's pits smell like peppermint. She takes after him and he yells, "Don't you like peppermint?" Sugarbowl and I agreed that if someone announced that our pits smelled like peppermint, in the dead of summer, after sweating all day, and having your pit juice run out on you early, we would not be too sad about it. We would be flattered and would not seek revenge. For some inexplicable reason, Princess was not flattered. Maybe because she uses some of that teen pit juice that is in "Pop Star" scent and would rather he announce that her pits smell like a pop star. The last time she went out of town she took my pit juice by mistake and I had to use her's, and I can honestly say I would rather have peppermint pits than pop star.

Pests

Last night, while lying in bed reading and idly petting the little dog -- the ever-alert defender of my chastity, he won't let anything get in bed with me -- I found a tick on him. I was on the verge of sleep until my fingers happened upon that abomination. We are currently fighting off a flea epidemic, so I was none too happy to learn that ticks had joined the fight too. I burnt the tick and it exploded inches from my face like a nasty kernel of popcorn and I KNOW that it sprayed tick powder all over my face. I spent the next 20 minutes scrubbing the skin off my face and hands before returning to bed where I woke up throughout the night to scratch my head and check for ticks. Ewww! Even talking/writing about it is making me itch and I foresee more skin scrubbing in my near future.

Procrastination

I am banning myself from any more blogging until I catch up on your blogs. I have been procrastinating too long due to raspberries, my love affair with the riding lawn mower, and that damn game, Bubble Town, that has taken over all my short attention span. Now I must go boil myself and get ready for my exercise class. As Tigger would say, "TTFN."

Where Have I Been?

Do I know how worried I was? I couldn't have at least called, dropped a postcard in the mail, sent smoke signals?! I almost started calling the hospitals and morgues I was so worried. Next time I do that, I need to call and let myself know that I will be late. After all the recent stressful things, I feel so relieved that it is all over and like I want to take a Rip Van Winkle-style nap.


Blindbeard v Bastard

I won.


That damn exercise study.

I lost. I had to wear a skin tight wrestling suit and let a bunch of whippersnappers stick reflective things all over me to measure my balance. I now have to start my exercise program, but at least I can wear loose clothing to hide my no-longer-young body.


This concludes our test of the Updating System and we now return you to your regularly scheduled program. Wake me in 40 years...

Boogers, Bitches, And Blindbeard's Blues

In an uneventful life, it is rare for me to have so many things going on right now. It gives me a pleasant feeling of busyness and deadlines that I inexplicably miss. For once it is pouring and I am relishing it, especially as I know it won't last.

Boogers

Yesterday when I was drying off from my shower I noticed a gigantic booger on the towel. I didn't think it was mine as my nose was not runny and I didn't see any bats in the cave when I checked my nose to be sure. I figured I must not have noticed when I dried my face, even though a booger of that size should be felt when exiting one's nose. I shook the towel and it went off into space and was forgotten by me. Later in the day, when Sugarbowl, Princess and I were coming home from shopping, I told Sugarbowl she had a bat dangling out of the cave and it reminded me of my booger issue that morning, so I shared the story. She said she had the same problem that morning. She was drying off -- with a different towel -- and a huge booger got wiped on her. She figured it must have been her's even though she had not dried her face off yet. She picked it off her body, wiped it on a kleenex and threw it away. She was furious and asked why I hadn't properly disposed of it and why I thought just launching it into space was taking care of the problem. I told her because I didn't think it was mine. We agreed that it had to be her bf/f's and Princess asked how we knew for sure, even though our process of elimination was pretty clear to us. She argued that we couldn't know without a proper investigation. Sugarbowl retorted that next time she would ask if anyone lost something in the bathroom because she found it. I laughed so hard I thought I was going to hyperventilate. The fact that the booger became her problem, that she touched it, and the idea of her trying to return it to it's rightful owner had me laughing so hard and for so long she threatened to punch me in the boob and leave me on the side of the road. She's still mad at me.


Bitches Part 1

Sugarbowl and her bf/f have decided to part ways. At first it was amicable, but when she heard that I climbed up a ladder to clean out the gutters, which I had been nagging everyone to do, and he sat on the couch watching TV (she was at work), all amicability drained away and she is furious with him to the point he can't leave soon enough. She and I were outside smoking and he was in their room. She leaned right up to the open window of their room and loudly voiced her opinion that it was bull sh*t that an able bodied person let an unable bodied person climb a ladder while said able person watched TV. Every time she thinks of it she gets mad all over again and I get the warm fuzzies that my family is so protective of me.


Bitches Part 2

Set aside the date! We are taking our old landlord to court June 22 for not returning our deposit or an itemized list of the deductions he made. We filed a claim with small claims and had it delivered by the sheriff. It was the craziest thing, the next day his wife showed up claiming that they never got served the papers, but she was there to discuss the deposit. She tried to tell Sugarbowl (I was out of town) that the oven looked like it had never been self cleaned, even though I had cleaned it numerous times. I even wipe out all the ashes and detail it with a wet cloth every time I self clean any oven. Sugarbowl had the foresight to take pictures of every part of that house when we left to show how we left it, so she asked Mrs. Landlord if she would like to see the pictures of how we really left that oven because the Mrs. was claiming that it took her forever and a LOT of scrubbing on that oven. (Even if we had left the oven dirty, how would that be $850 worth of cleaning?) She showed her the pictures and Mrs. LL left. This happened about 11:30 am. At 8:30 that night, her husband showed up with a bunch of papers in his hands and in his definition of "good faith." She had tried to tell us they were on vacation and that was why we hadn't heard from them. Their house is right behind us, just across the road, and we can see their cars and watch them come and go from our living room window. He told us he had been working 12-14 hour days -- not much of a vacation -- had to cash in some cds and had been too busy to get back to us, is that a crime? Sugarbowl, with me on the phone with her to witness the conversation, told him that yes, it is in fact a crime. He lost his temper and told her that we were pigs, the whole town knew it (the whole town doesn't even know us and who would care anyway?) and we are just "low life renters." I don't care what he says about me, but I am offended that he would say that about renters when his income is from these low life's money. I have printed all the laws that he violated, a copy of the lease, which has some plainly stated violations of the law (I did not know they were violations until later), and we have been keeping track of all our dealings with these people. I can't wait to take this bastard to court and only regret that I can't tell him in court to go suck his wife's d*ck and I hope she fists his ass and reams him out so bad he can't sit for a month.


Blindbeard's Blues

In the same week we are taking our %^& of an ex landlord to court, I have several doctors appointments. I am going to a pain clinic (YEE HAW!) to see if there are better ways and better drugs to help me get my pain under control. (Pain has such a way of draining any fun out of life.) I also am starting the process of the balance study I agreed to do (BOOOO!). I have to do a bunch of tests to chart my balance and then get to start working out 2-3 times a week (sob). I have been avoiding a structured exercise program for so long I feel like I have crossed over to the dark side by agreeing to do this. But I know that I need to do it, so I sucked it up and bought exercise shoes -- damn it! But I am going to wear my bobby socks with monkey heads for pom poms because I'm such a rebel.
(You'll never take me alive -- or with any dignity left in me -- coppers!)

Good Mood

*Update: I had a GRRRRReat birthday! It was one of my better. Sugarbowl and Princess went together to get me a flower pot that I have been coveting for too long, Sugarbowl made me a jello cake and my favorite dinner, sweet and sour chicken. I did win the Indy 500 with my racing lawn mower and get most of those spots that normal people would need a weed whacker to get. I didn't get as much planted as I would have liked, but the garden is in, so that is a relief. And, lastly, I have been plotting and planning and doing much maniacal laughing and hand rubbing in anticipation of fighting that ass hat of an ex landlord. Let the games begin!



That's right! I woke up in a good mood today. Must be the end of the world, time to start praying like hell and return all that crap you borrowed and were hoping to keep -- damn, that will cut down my personal library a ton. I am in such a good mood for 2 very good reasons:



#1: It is my barfday! I am finally 35! I have been counting down the days until my birthday for the last few months... okay, not really, I just had to pull a Princess there. I usually do not care one iota about my birthday except to ponder the adding of another year to my age. 35 seems like such a milestone, and not in a good way. I swear I can feel my nose hairs growing longer by the minute and ear hairs forming, ready to pop out and give me hairy old man ears. When I came into the kitchen to start my coffee, there were some Hello Kitty cupcakes on the table. I galloped into my little sister's room to tell her how awesome they were, and she was so thrilled to be woken up at 5:30am that she said, "Great. Now get the f*ck out of here and shut my door!" I have made a list of the things I am going to do today for my barfday and am chomping at the bit to get started.



First, I am going to go drive around on some back country roads looking for anything old. I mapped out where some old towns were -- ghost towns and such -- and am ready to inhale some dust. Usually I go alone, but Sugarbowl said she would go with me because it is "my day." She likes to see the old houses and cemeteries that I find, she just does not enjoy the process it takes to find these things: a lot of driving around in the middle of BFE. I am THRILLED to have company, so I did a lot of research last night to plot out areas that were once towns and still have stuff there. I am content to wander aimlessly, but I wanted this to be good for her, too.



Second, I am going to rattle my teeth on the riding lawn mower. I adore the riding lawn mower; it is the biggest thrill of my life right now. I love ripping around the yard and seeing how close I can get to things so that I don't have to use the weed whacker, which I detest. In anticipation of my b-day, I have been letting the grass grow the last few days so I could have the maximum amount of fun today. I can hardly wait to get out there and play Indy 500: Lawn Mower Edition.



Third, I am going to plant the seeds that I have been meaning to do for the last few weeks. I was going to work on it last night, but Sugarbowl saw me gathering my gardening tools and asked me to plant her seeds too. I told her we could do it together today. I love working in my garden and flower beds, but the heat of summer makes it impossible for me, so I can only do it on cool days, and today better be cool or I want a refund!



#2: Then it's WAR! Nothing gets me going like a good fight, especially when I am in the right. Our landlord has still not returned our security deposit. Nebraska law states that it must be returned within 14 days along with a detailed list of the deductions, if any, that were made. I went to their house yesterday and asked how that deposit was coming. His wife answered and said, "let me go get L. for you." She comes back and says that he is still working on the deductions, but it shouldn't be too much longer. With a sweet smile glued to my face, I tell her, "I'm sure as landlords you know that Nebraska law states that it must be returned within 14 days. I'm on a shoestring budget here and could really use that money." With a smile on her face, that doesn't touch her eyes, she tells me that they will get it to us soon, and they know where we live now so they know where to find us -- we live almost directly behind them.

We are giving them until Tuesday -- they get the extra time due to the holiday Monday -- then we are going to go file a claim with the small claims court. If the deductions are too much then we are going to small claims court. That house was filthy when we moved in and we took pictures to document the filth and damage that was already there. I cleaned the holy hell out of it before we left and we took pictures to document it. Sugarbowl took an old landlord of her's to small claims and won with the pictures that she had taken, so we have that in our corner too. I took on a much bigger adversary then some small town landlord, a hospital in the town that I moved here from. They were trying to bill me from being EPCed. Even though the law states that EPCs are covered by the county the person lives in, the hospital still tried to bill me, sent the bill to collections and even went to court over it. I had a heck of a time finding a lawyer that would take on that hospital, but I did find one and with a copy of the law in hand, he wrote up a letter to the court and I won the day. They still try to get me, but the last time they tried, just a few months ago, the court told them that they had no case and it is totally dismissed. Ha HA and HA, you bastards! Too bad I do my research and am determined to show these people what one little crackpot can do.

Ahhh, yes, the joy of a good birthday planned and knowing that I am prepared to stand up for myself. Our old landlord is detested in this town, so if we win against him we will probably be given a key to the city and crowned Mayors For Life. I should start my acceptance speech soon...