Time Waits

OMG … I finally did the damn taxes today. I don’t know why I put it off for so long every year. We do TurboTax and it only takes me about an hour. One income, no kids, no itemizing – we lead a simple fucking life.

Well, I DO KNOW why I waited until today instead of doing them on Monday; I was pissed (still am) at BigD.

“Really?” you say. “No shit,” you say.

Yeah, no shit, I say.

He occasionally FORGETS who does his laundry, makes his supper five nights a week, pays the bills, deals with insurance and utilities people when they need to be dealt with and takes care of all the little stuff he TAKES FOR GRANTED. Ya know like blow-jobs and incidentals like that.

Yeah, that would be me.

That’s why when I say to him, “My car won’t start.” I expect him to do more than put the fucking battery charger on it for ten minutes, tell me he doesn’t know what’s wrong with it and tell me to call our mechanic.

Which he would NOT do if one of his buddies drove in the yard and said, “Dude, my car’s fucked, I need help.” If THAT happened, he would fire up the wood stove, move his bike and let his buddy pull his car in the garage and they’d be out there until the wee hours, working on that car.

I do NOT expect to have to try THREE FUCKING USELESS battery chargers and call my girlfriend who works for a fucking parts store for help before I remember that the ONE battery charger that works has been “on loan” since last summer.

I expect him to occasionally say, “My God, honey, you must be so tired from COUGHING ALL FUCKING NIGHT. I’ll sleep on the sofa once so you can get a good night’s rest.”

Which he actually DID last night.

And the taxes got done TODAY.

There’s a moral to that story in there somewhere.

I should be doing the taxes, but I’m in a snit at the old man and I doan wanna (spoken in my whiny voice). If you didn’t know me you might think it was because I didn’t get anything, not even a card, for Valentine’s Day.

But it’s not.

It’s because he’s a dick in bed.

Hey come back, this is NOT gonna be TMI, this time, I promise. Well there might be later in this post, but right now I’m referring to how he talks in his sleep, NOT about his tremendous sexual prowess (what, you don’t think I’ve been with him for 25 years because he’s independently wealthy, do ya?).

Every once in a while, usually if he’s sick, like with a bad cold, he talks in his sleep and says shitty things to me. One night last week, after I’d had a tremendous coughing fit, he told me to get out of bed then called the dog up next to him.

WTF.

Night before last, every time I woke up coughing he had something snotty to say. Then when his alarm went off, he says, “Well, at least SOMEONE gets to sleep.”

I am fully aware of the fact that he can’t be held accountable for anything he says/does in his sleep, but it pisses me off. I mean, I am already PISSED OFF because I just woke myself up for the third (or fourth or fifth) time coughing my guts out. Do I really need his assholery on top of it?

He always apologizes for anything he might’ve said and I know he doesn’t mean it, but STILL …

NOW for the real TMI – The Valentine’s Day Edition

1. Have you had sex with another person in 2010? Have you passed on an opportunity to sex with another person in 2010?

Nope. Nope.

2. What is the funniest thing you have ever said or done during sex? (Orgasmic facial expressions do not count.)

When we were first together, I gave BigDaddy a great big whack across the head. I can’t imagine why the hell he kept dating me.

3. What is the first thing you notice about a member of the opposite sex?

Their forearms and hands.

4. What is the best pick-up line you have ever heard? Every used? Ever been used on you?

Really? I grew up in and made my living for thirty years in a bar – pick one. I’ve heard ‘em all. Some worked, some didn’t.

5. Where is the most unique you have ever had sex?

Men’s room of a bar we hang out at

This getting up at 4:30am is getting to be a royal pain in my ass. First of all, I was not MADE to get up that early. Second, getting up with the GD birds means I’m done working by eleven-ish, leaving me way too much time to do things that I am SUPPOSED TO DO – like housework. Third, getting up early means going to bed early, like 8pm. When the hell did I get old, can someone just remind me?

Feh …

So yesterday, I managed to get the laundry done. When I was cleaning out the dryer vent at the end of the last load, I pulled out a wad of FUR that weighed more than my cat. Now granted, my cat is a bit on the small side, but come on! The whole fur situation is getting out of hand over here and lint brushes obviously aren’t cutting it anymore.

What to do …

OH, speaking of birds, a mourning dove has taken up residence in our chimney. The chimney vents out the hot water heater, not our furnace, so I’m told it’s not a big problem.

Uh, yeah, it is a big problem. What if it DIES in there and stinks up my house? What if it breaks through the covering where the old heater pipe used to be (we live in a very old house, with a very old chimney) and ends up in my frocking dining room? Also, my cat is trying to climb the wall to get AT that noise she keeps hearing. This morning she was standing on the other side of the wall, staring up as if trying to figure out another way to get at it.

Never a dull moment over here, honestly.

So … no New Orleans. My daughter has turned out to be very conscientious and doesn’t want me to pay for everything. Where did that kid come from, lol? IAE, instead of NO, we will be doing Chicago again, hopefully in May. That’s alright, too, though. We had a ball when we went down there a couple of years ago and we missed a LOT.

Of course, I have fun with that kid just sitting in my dining room, so …

Speaking of kids, did I mention that TheBoy moved OUT? Yes he did.

Now here’s the weird thing; I miss him. Even though he spent the majority of the time in the basement and I never saw him, it seems so quiet around here without him. I keep thinking I hear his TV in the basement, and THAT is a little creepy.

Alzheimer’s anybody?

Okay, I’m off.

There is nothing like attending a funeral that will change your mind about someone.

I just got back from the funeral of a friend – I didn’t know him as well as many, but he was a lovely guy. Truly a good man. As much as I hate funerals, I am of the belief that that it’s not about me or what I dislike, it’s about the deceased’s loved ones and your respect for them.

In any event, TheBug and I went to Joe’s funeral – Joe’s daughter and TheBug were close friends in grade school. It was a smallish turnout, our area is made up of hardworking folks that likely can’t afford to take off work and no doubt made their appearance last night in lieu of being there today.

After a brief prayer and a few musical selections the funeral attendees were asked to share their memories of Joe. I hoped more than anything that someone would have the courage to stand up in front of everybody and salute this wonderful man. Had I known him better, I WOULD have. Sadly, I never got to know Joe as well as I could’ve and for me to have spoken would’ve taken the spotlight off those who did and seemed more self-serving.

Growing up in the VERY, VERY small town that I did, there were some people that were more “well-known” and gossiped about than others. My family was actually at the VERY TOP of that list, but that story is for another time. There was a man, the older brother of a couple of girls that babysat my brothers and I, who was laughed at behind his back (knowing the area where I grew up, it’s not unlikely that he was actually laughed at to his face) and made fun of.

For the most part, I didn’t think of him one way or another, only when his name came up in conversation and then to laugh along with whatever story was being told.

The first person to stand and walk to the podium was that man. He lives on his family’s home spot to this day; Joe and his wife moved nearby some thirty years ago. Having the love of cars in common, they became close friends over the years and you could hear the love this man had for Joe and how his heart was breaking at the loss of his friend.

He told the story of how when Joe was first ill, he’d gone to see him before what I believe was surgery, kissed him on the forehead and told him not to worry that all would be good. It was … that time. The last time that Joe was in the hospital his friend couldn’t be there.

He never saw Joe alive again.

You can’t understand or grasp the enormity of this fifty-something year old man, who had grown up in this German/Belgian community, where any sign of emotion is considered “unmanly”, where he’d suffered at least some ridicule and scorn in his life, not only standing up in front of a group of people and professing his love for his friend, but sharing that he’d actually kissed him.

In my eyes that man is a hero and even though I doubt I said anything against him, I am ashamed of knowing that in all likelihood I shared in hurting him in some small way.

And I am sorry.