Busy, wow! I’m loving the night shift, but will have to re-learn “day-shift mode” for the weekends until at least after the New Year, beginning this Sunday, when I start working days for Louie. That will only be on the weekends, mind you – I’m not sure yet how I’ll deal with working 7 days a week, let alone 16 hour days, so we’re going to leave that alone.
I still haven’t managed to fit writing into the schedule… believe it or not, I’m looking at an impending move of household coming up. We have the opportunity to move up two floors in the building. We’d be giving up a sauna, but we’d be gaining walls. Ky misses walls.
We would also be gaining a bedroom each. I haven’t had a bedroom of my own since… geez,
Winter of 1993. For about 3 months. My head is full of plans on what to do with it, since I will be starting out with an empty room.
I was offered my new Landlords’ apartment a couple of week’s ago. He lives on the top two floors of the building, and plans on moving out in January. Would I like the place?
The rent is more than my finances can currently bear, however, and I regretfully decline.
He drops the rent. Hmmmmmm….. Probably not as soon as January, I sez.
He gives me the lowdown: The third floor has its own bathroom and bedroom, and a small kitchenette, he tells me. It was once a bachelor apartment, and would be perfect for the Idiot Child and the Oogily Bay Girls to hang out in. Apparently, the New Landlord is perfectly aware that my home is the Clubhouse of Oogily Bay, more often than not: the main hangout of 7 teenagers (Oogily Bay + Ray), and not only has no problem with it, but is using it to pimp out this new apartment to me.
And it’s working.
And *I* would have a bathtub again! Oh. My. God.
What will I do with four walls and a closet of my very own, though…? I’m thinking of turning Japanese as far as decor goes. Ideas?
So, the Mini-Van Saga is finally over…. and it turned out to be a trilogy, at that. I was originally going to be leasing The Fly-Mobile, so-named because it was The Fly-Girl’s ride, and she wanted to get rid of it.
I liked that mini-van. Turns out, the Fly-Girl did, too, and decided to keep it after all, even though she had to pay a bzillion dollars to get it registered in the U.S. after she got married and jumped The Ditch (Traitor!).
I got over it, though, when Fluffy (so-named by Kyla, because he’s, well, fluffy – 🙂 ), the Fly-Girl’s partner-in-car-sharking, found me another mini-van just like the Fly-Mobile, except fully powered and, um… purple. Which prompted Ky to name it The Grape-Mobile. And that prompted me to like it. I like pretty much anything provided it has a cool, freaky, and/or plain ol’ weird moniker.
And then the Grape-Mobile kakked on the operating table during the certification. And I do mean kakked. It barfed out every kind of fluid running through its veins, through all orifices, including new and bewildering orifices that no vehicle should have. So Fluffy shot it. Ky was pissed.
But, Fluffy turns out to be a Genie of sorts, and magicked us up a pristine (albeit older) one-ownered as-yet-un-named mini-van of the Chevy Lumina APV variety, that positively beamed throughout its certification, and Ky loves him again. The two cases of soda, three bags of potato chips, and two large jars of pickles he soothed her with may have had a part in the forgiveness, mind you.
The Pristine Un-Named was delivered to me Friday evening, whereupon, I immediately drove it the three blocks to Ruby’s house to show off. And I drove it the six-ish blocks to the J.O.B. yesterday, and then had to return to the mall from half-way home, having forgot it in the parking lot when my shift was over. Having wheels will take some getting used to…
Anyway… it was decided last evening, now that we have transportation, that we should pick up Ky’s doggish-type companion from her father’s place and get us to a too-far-to-walk-a-dog hiking trail with the camera. I put on a pair of sneakers for the first time in what feels like forever, and off we went.
During said Walk-About, I took the above photo, and noticed when I uploaded it, that there seemed to be a face peering out at me. This face looks eerily like my daughter, until it’s zoomed-in on, whereupon it just turns creepy.
Methinks, Shrinky may have sent a faerie over from the UK. She’s always catching them with her camera. I hope she doesn’t do it again, though, because it gives me the heebie-jeebies.
This afternoon, we will be traveling to Teeny-Tiny Town to visit my Mom, and bring some flowers to the cemetery for my Dad. We will be listening closely for the sound of him rolling over in his grave at the thought of me owning a vehicle. His response to my news, months ago, that I was planning this lease was: “God help the trees on the side of the road.”
I’m feeling a little raw, lately. There are a lot of changes being thrust upon me, and, as you all well know, I don’t deal with change ummm… much.
I’m not having any luck becoming accustomed to the schedule at the new J.O.B., which kind of throws everything else out of whack as far as my family life is concerned. As well, my kid is about to graduate from… what should I call it…? Pre-high-school…? Grade 8, anyway. And another “landmark of Motherhood” being reached is difficult for me.
It’s an exciting time for her, though, because the graduation process is filled with trips, and camping, and dinners, and formal gowns, and what-all and what-not and God help me if any more gets added, because it all costs a frightening amount.
That makes it the “wrong” kind of excitement for me, because the J.O.B. wage is crap, and the schedule does not allow for a supplemental part-time J.O.B. (I never know from one week to the next what my shifts are). My small and hard-fought-for nest egg has been punctured in several places long before I’ve built it back up to where it should be, and the funds are leaking out in an alarming manner.
Other, scarier things loom ahead. The building I live in, which has been for sale for well over a decade, has finally got a serious offer. Good for Ruby – she’ll finally be quit of the huge headache the maintenance on the place has become for her.
Not so good news for me and the kid, as, rumour has it, the new owner wants to gut the interior and remodel, and plans on giving all the tenants notice. I don’t have a move built into the budget anymore, unfortunately, so I’m torn between hoping Ruby gets it sold, for her sake, and praying the guy changes his mind, for mine. Time will tell, I guess, and I’m trying to take my mother’s old saying to heart: “It’ll all work out.”
And I’m about to add another bill to the mess with the acquisition of The FlyMobile, which has now become a necessity if I ever want to see my parents.
They have moved back to Teeny-Tiny Town, where I was born and raised, the place they spent the first 50 years of their married life, to a facility that offers my father the 24-hour care he now requires, and allows them to stay together.
This was a good move for my mom and dad: they know everybody there already, having worked with them, and lived near them, and socialized with them since 1947. It’s also good because my sister,”Tootie”, is a nurse in the hospital that is housed in the same structure. She can see them everyday, without having to drive an hour each way and still manage the swing shift.
It kind of sucks for me and Ky, though, unless I can handle the payments on the minivan, which start in July. Money’s easy to get, though, right? It’ll all work out. Somehow. I hope.
Having a vehicle will allow us to visit once a week, like we’re used to doing. I’ll just have to spend more time on the stepper, which is currently gathering dust in my closet, to make up for the lack of weekly Walk-About to the other side of town and back. Now that I have an ass, I don’t want it to get flabby, do I?
We’ve driven down twice now, thanks to the generosity of The Fly-Girl, who has me drop her off across “the ditch” in Michigan and hands me the keys. “I’ve filled up the tank,” says she. “Go visit your mom and dad.” What would I do without her?
The Fly-Mobile is fair on gas, thankfully, and if the prices ever drop, I should be okay, assuming there are no more surprise grad fees dropped on me that I’ll have to suck out of the “transportation” category of the budget.
But, we’re carrying on with the carrying on… getting ready for Ky’s grad…. arguing over which photo to pick from the proofs…. pretending there’s nothing but happy, happy on the horizon, because what else can we do, really?
When, really, graduation for Ky may be a bust… Dad had a heart attack on Friday, and another on Sunday morning. He’s wiped on morphine and often confused, but for the most part, he’s holding his own. We’ve been down this road before….
Un-Brother Ken has come home from Alberta, and Big Sis will come up from Southern Ontario after her own graduation on Wednesday. We keep our fingers crossed, but our hearts are in our throats. There’s that “no resuscitation” order as per Dad’s wishes, after all. Again, good for him – it’s the way he wants it to play out – but I can’t help but feel selfish and wish they’d ignore/forget about/pretend they don’t see the yellow wristband on his arm, and just fix him, dammit!
“Ouch!” Taken February 9, 2008 with Canon PowerShot A550
She swore she wouldn’t. Pinky-swore,even.
It looks like hell, doesn’t it? I told her it looked like it was infected already, and she said, “Yeah, but only a little infected.”
She’s been after me for over two years to let her do this. I told her we would “research” it – you know, ask around, get some advice, and make some phone calls. Every “professional-type” person we’ve talked to has said the same thing: Don’t. Do this. Yourself.
She agreed with everybody that told her that an infection of your nose would not be a nice experience, that getting it done professionally (with her mother’s permission) was the smarter move. We even looked at nasty, infected, gangrene-y pictures of nasty, infected, gangrene-y noses. My stomach is still flip-flopping.
Around here, you can only get a “professional” nose-piercing at a tattoo parlour. So, of course, at the end of all the “research”, she decided she’d rather have a tattoo. A very small tattoo. On her shoulder blade. Of a music note. Relieved and Happy Mommy said she would allow such a thing (done by a real tattoo artist in a real tattoo parlour with her real mother – ummm… yes, Me – present), if she could wait for her birthday next summer, and promised not to pierce her nose in the meantime. Problem solved.
Ha. Her nose will probably fall off, now.
Guess who ain’t gettin’ a tattoo for her birthday?