Post #62 – Macy’s alleged faux paus

Yes, another dilemma with Nana (my 95-year-old Grandmother). The feather pillow that she brought from Georgia is really worn out, “Flat as a flitter,” she says. And it’s probably 20 years old at least.  So, a couple of months ago, I took her to the mall to buy a new pillow. Unfortunately, they didn’t have a large selection of feather pillows at Macy’s, and the first one we saw was $248.99.

We looked around a bit more, and finally, she found a cheaper one. When the very nice, rather handsome African American clerk rang up her purchase, his eyes seemed to dilate. And he stuttered, “Um, hold on, let me check on… that price can’t…” and his voice trailed off.

The clerk was sans wedding ring, and I immediately recognized the bachelor’s dilemma. He looked to be around 25, and I assumed he’d never been shopping for linens and such with a girlfriend as yet. I smiled and said, “Yes, this pillow really is $70. That’s almost half off.”

“For real?” asked the clerk, looking at me wide-eyed. “Yeah, I see that now,” he mumbled, glancing at the computer, “It was originally $149.99.”

“It’s goose down,” I said.

He stared at me, an abyss of confusion whirling in his dark eyes. “What kind of goose charges this much?” he asked grinning, “Cuz, I’m thinking they’s some pigeons on my street that…” at which point, his jovial mood was shut down by the flat-eyed glare from Nana. I felt so bad for him. He was being so nice, and he had no clue who he was dealing with…

I smiled and looked away.

He cleared his throat and smiled again. “Will there be anything else, today, ladies?”

“No, thank you,” Nana replied in that tethered tone of hers.

After she bought the new pillow, I thought finally, I wouldn’t have to hear about her pillow and all of its uncomfortable glory, but I was SOOO WRONG.  The next morning when I brought Nana her morning medication, I smiled and asked, “How’d you sleep last night on the new pillow?”

“Oh, it was terrible,” she whined, rubbing the back of her neck. “It’s hard as a brick.”

Perplexed, I went over, grabbed the pillow and checked it out. I squeezed the pillow with my hand and said, “Feels pretty soft to me.”

She shook her head, and gave me this disgusted look. She pushed down on the pillow frowning. “See that,” she said, almost snarling. “It’s made with trashy feathers.”

I’m sorry, Nana, but  I’m not familiar with the Trashy-Feathered Goose? Is that the one who lives on the wrong side of the tracks, the one my mother warned me about? The one with tattoos, who dies her feathers pink or purple?

I busted out laughing. I couldn’t help myself, and she looked at me as if I were auditioning for an Alzheimer’s ward.

“Why are you laughing?” Nana asked, obviously annoyed.

“There’s no such thing as trashy feathers.”

“Well…you know what I mean. It’s not real goose down.”

“Nana, they can’t label something as goose down on this tag,” I explained, pulling back the pillow case and showing her the little tag attached to the pillow that did, INDEED, say:

100% goose down.

“If it’s not goose down, that’s fraud. I don’t think Macy’s is going to risk a lawsuit over a pillow.”

Nana merely scowled, emphasized by a “hmpf.”

Therefore, Nana’s diagnosis of her new bargain from Macy’s seemed a little more than inflammatory, given the original cost of the hard as a brick item full of trashy feathers.

“We can take it back if you like,” I offered….while I was thinking—at some point, not anytime soon because every time we go to the mall, she BITCHES and moans the entire way there and back about the traffic because “down home” (in Georgia) they never had any traffic. To-wit, I could only shake my head.

Her house is 20 minutes away from the beach, and the nearest mall is about 6 minutes away. And though it’s not as BIG a tourist attraction as Hilton Head, it can get really congested at times in her little berg. However, she was rarely out and about during rush hour down home.

Plus, driving from my house to the nearest mall to my suburb takes about an hour round trip due to the current construction on I-270 (our beltway), which is beyond my purview to remedy.

And getting her out of the mall after 2-3 hours sometimes requires a bit of trickery—like saying they’re closing 270 for a parade or something. Yes, I’m going to hell for telling falsehoods so that I don’t have to spend 4-5 hours at the damned Mall with Nana. Feel free to prepare the tar and feathers. Just make sure they’re not TRASHY FEATHERS! 🙂

A few days later, she changed her mind, and decided to keep the trashy-feathered pillow!!!

Yes, I have undeniable proof: There is a God…

I felt really bad that Nana’s neck still hurt even with the new pillow. However, at her age, her neck would probably hurt if she were sleeping on CLOUDS.

Over and out from WTF county, somewhere in the Buckeye state…

HAVE A GREAT WEEKEND, ALL!

~KS/TenaciousB

Post 61 – The asshole devine…

Hear ye! Hear ye! I’ve been apprised of news from Crackland, i.e., INTEL about Danny*.

Jack** called last night after talking to Danny several times lately. First of all, Danny is no longer living with Nate, a friend of Danny’s from WV. Nate and Danny had frequently argued about back rent Danny supposedly owed, about Danny drinking Nate’s beer and such. Danny got fed up, or Nate showed him the door, whichever, and Danny moved out.

Apparently, Danny had been working part-time selling timeshares in South Carolina. A woman in her 60s that he worked with had fallen for Danny’s beguiling charms (or took pity on him) and let Danny move in with her. I know. Poor woman!

So, BIG surprise that only lasted a month or two maybe. Danny told Jack that the older woman complained about Danny’s constant messes in the kitchen and his dirty clothes everywhere. And I’m sure she didn’t approve of his drinking large quantities of beer with a chaser of crack every day…or as often as he could afford to indulge.

“I had to call the police on the old bitch,” Danny said, snickering on the phone to Jack.

“What? Why?”

“She was trying to throw me out, so I told the police I was a resident, that I’d been getting my mail there…”

Oh, my God, that OLD song and dance AGAIN? (See Post 23 He did what?)

“So?” Jack asked, waiting for an explanation. “It’s her house, right?”

A pregnant pause on Danny’s end. “Well, anyway, I was tired of listening to her bullshit, stupid old crow, so I left.”

“I see. So, where are you living now?”

“I’m at a hotel, but I’ve got enough saved to rent this really nice efficiency not far from the t-shirt shop. They’re painting it or something, won’t be ready for a couple of days, really nice place though.”

“What t-shirt shop?” Jack asked.

“Where I’m working now, part-time til I find something else.”

“What happened to the job selling timeshares? That old woman you’s living with get you fired?.”

“No, the owner is a total prick,” Danny replied bitterly. “He cheated me out of $2,000 in commissions, so I quit.”

“How’d that happen?” Jack asked, innocently.

“Bunch of bullshit. They said I’d get paid so much for every unit I sold, and it never added up right. I confronted the owner, that old bastard, and he acted like I was crazy, shady fucking shyster.”

They talked for a few more minutes until Jack told Danny he had to go make dinner for his 88-year-old Grandmother who lives next door.

A couple of weeks later, Danny called Jack, jolting him awake.

“Oh, hey, sorry, man, were you asleep?”

“Yeah,” Jack mumbled, with a bleary eye at his digital clock, not happy to see it was half past midnight.

“I won’t keep you then. I just wanted to tell you what I bought.”

“Oh, what was that?”

“This really cool scooter, got it off Craig’s List for $500,” Danny said, sounding completely ecstatic.

“A scooter. What about that apartment?”

“That didn’t work out.”

“What happened-?” Jack started to ask why the apartment didn’t work out, but Danny just kept going on about this fabulous scooter.

“This scooter is so awesome. It gets like almost 40 miles to the gallon. No more walking and riding my bike for me.”

“Sounds great,” Jack said, yawning.

“You really should move down here, man, so many hot chicks-”

“No, Danny, I’m not moving down there. I’ve told you that. I’ve got family obligations here. So, are you still staying in that hotel?”

“Yeah, for now, but it’s got a small kitchen. It’s one of those extended stays.”

“Isn’t that expensive?”

“It’s $175 a week, and the rent’s due on Monday. I’m only working at the t-shirt shop like 3 days this week. It’s so slow down here right now. Think you could help me-”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Aren’t there any organizations down there that could help you? You know, the Salvation Army, or a shelter or something?”

“Naw, man, there’s nothing like that down here. So, you think I could borrow like $100?”

Note to readers: BORROWING from Danny means – GIVING it to him with no hope of ever getting it back. He still owes me $500 from ’99 – when I paid to have his electric turned back on in the single-wide trailer***.

“Sorry, Danny, I have enough to pay my bills, and that’s it, and my ex-wife keeps whining about needing more money.”

“You oughtta just tell that bitch to go fuck herself,” Danny said in an acidic tone.

“She’s the mother of my children, Danny, and I’ve got a kid in high school and another in college.”

“Yeah, I know.”

They talked for a few minutes more, then said their goodbyes. A few days later, Danny called Jack saying he’d gotten an advance on his paycheck at the t-shirt shop to pay his hotel for another week, which surprised Jack. Danny was only working 2-3 days/week, so Jack assumed Danny wasn’t even making $175/week.

Another week goes by, and Danny calls Jack again. “So, how’s it going, Danny?”

“Okay, I guess.”

“Any luck finding another job?” Jack asked.

“No, not really. Everything’s really off down here right now.”

“Really? I’d think the place would be hopping with kids who just graduated from high school and college and just people vacationing in general since it’s so warm down there. I saw on the news it was in the high 80s/low 90s last week.”

“Yeah, but it’s still kinda dead since spring break ended.”

“Uh, huh,” Jack said, not really buying the fictional lack of business in a high end resort town – in MAY when most businesses are gearing up for the tourist season.

And, ahem, dear readers, as of the writing of this post, I went on Monster.com and found not ONE but FIVE pages of various full-time sales positions and jobs in restaurants in the area where Danny lives, all of which he qualified for, not to mention 6 or 7 ads for entry level management positions at places like Kangaroo Express (a chain of gas stations/convenience stores) – which would be perfect for Danny given his background in sales and retail.

Plus, I also saw an ad to sell timeshares at the Hilton. Danny is a handsome guy, and he could sell ice cubes to naked Eskimos, but he’s not even LOOKING…and though he doesn’t have a computer anymore, I’m sure there’s a library where he could check out online ads on their computers, somewhere nearby…but I digress…

“Hold on, a minute, Jack. Somebody’s at the door,” Danny said, putting the phone down, but Jack didn’t hear anyone knocking.

In the background, Danny said, “Yeah, okay, I will. Uh, huh…”

But Jack didn’t hear anyone else talking, and he felt as though Danny were definitely putting on a SHOW.

Jack heard Danny picking up the phone, and he said, “Hey, sorry, man. That was my landlord.”

Um, yeah, he’s at a HOTEL…so, wouldn’t that be the MANAGER?

“What’d he want?” Jack asked.

“He wants his money, and I’ve got it, but damn…”

“What?”

“My boss at the t-shirt shop, he gave me an advance, but guess what that Jew did?” Danny asked, in a rather snide tone.

“What?”

“He gave me $180, left me with FIVE fucking DOLLARS, man. Can you believe that?”

“Well, I’d be glad he gave you that much, Danny,” Jack said. “I’d be happy I still had a roof over my head.”

“Oh, so, you’re becoming a Jew now too?”

AHEM, I guess it didn’t occur to my brother that this manager of a T-SHIRT SHOP didn’t sign up to become Danny’s bitch and/or KEEPER? Since when is ANY employer obligated to give ANYONE anything but a paycheck, of which this generous JEWISH MAN has given Danny at least TWICE what he’s making TWO WEEKS in a row!!

“Well, shit, Danny, your rent is paid, and I guess you’re still going to those food pantries, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So, what’re you complaining about?” Jack asked.

To-wit Danny had no reply…

So, there you have it. Being evicted from Nana’s, tossed out by a friend of 20+ years, and Danny hasn’t learned a damned thing. Oh, but I forgot, Danny subscribes to the religion of the World Owes Me…

Damn, and there isn’t a branch of that church near us in Ohio! Such would definitely come in handy when my clients are late paying me what I’ve EARNED from editing their books or doing a consult on their screenplays…

Oh, and, btw, Danny also mentioned a married woman he’s dating who claims to be pregnant. However, rumor has it, there could be more than one contender for the baby-Daddy crown…

Over and out from SASSY CENTRAL…

With love and homemade chocolate chip cookies,

TenaciousBITCH/KS

* My younger brother who fleeced our Grandmother of her life savings. For the 411 on him, start with the first post, As my mother lay dying...

** Jack is a friend from high school mentioned in Posts #29 The Prick, the Proctologist and Pigin English and #36 – Run, Jack, Run!.

*** See Post #5 – The Dreaded Call at Midnight for more info on the single wide trailer that cost my dad a FORTUNE…

Post No. 60 My Confession…

I’m ashamed to write about this after all my blustering about infidelity, but now that my husband knows, I’ve decided to come clean. I’m a philanderer. I’ve been carousing with a long-haired lover. It wasn’t planned. It just happened. Yeah, I know, so cliche, practically stolen from an episode of Desperate Housewives.

Go ahead. Say it. I’m worse than a hypocrite, maybe, worse than STERLING* though I never lied to anyone about my situation.

It all started so innocently because she was homeless and rather gaunt from not eating properly. The thought of her going hungry just gnashed at my conscience. So, I started giving her leftovers and such, for which she was very grateful-even buying certain things at the store specifically for her, which my husband didn’t notice, of course.

And, well, one thing led to another. Then, she’d disappear for a few days, and I’d think she was gone from my life forever or dead in a ditch when she’d suddenly emerge from the shadows once again.

Yes, I apologize to all the women for getting their men all in a dither since I’ve been carrying on with another girl. But I just couldn’t help myself. She’s so beautiful. And when you’ve been married for nigh on 15 years, things just occur that you don’t expect.

Plus, the heart wants what the heart wants. We really have NO control over that life-giving and life-crushing organ and mysterious harbor of our emotions, do we?

I think not.

I was trying to save a life, basically. I made several phone calls in the hope of finding alternative accommodations for her since she doesn’t have a cell phone with no luck…so, believe it or not, she’s now living with us. I know. It’s ludicrous, but so far…things are actually going better than expected.  Anyway, without further adieu, below is a photo of my new love…

Wait for it…

Wait for it…

Almost…

Here she is…

Yes, I’ve been speaking about a cat, whose name is Sasha, and there is, indeed, a story behind my bait and switch. How is it, you ask, could I characterize time spent fawning over and feeding a stray kitten possibly be considered cheating?

Because my husband HATES cats, and he only speaks of them as if he were going to fricassee them in time for dinner. Okay, NOT really, but he does make ugly jokes, on occasion. For example, one night after dinner when Sasha decided to drink from a pot full of tomato-soaked water that had contained a red meat sauce from my husband’s awesome baked ravioli – thereby dousing her lovely white fur in the orange remnants of the sauce (i.e. the photo below)…my husband suggested that I toss Sasha

into the toilet, shut the lid and flush in order to wash her little face…which, of course, I didn’t find the least bit amusing.

I, however, used to have SIX cats when I owned a farmhouse in WV back in the day before becoming MRS. CHARLIE. And sadly, tying the knot meant chucking the cats into the cold, cold world of someone else’s house… And funny thing, back in ’96…all I did was call the local Animal Shelter in WV, and a hot-looking guy who looked more like a fashion model than a civil servant (sorry…I digress, but memory is an unforgiving hottie-clutcher)…who came out to my house and gingerly carried my six furry babies off to the shelter, no problem.

However, when Sasha and her pitiful cries landed on my doorstep, I couldn’t find ONE shelter who was accepting cats except one who couldn’t promise she wouldn’t be euthanized if she wasn’t adopted within a couple of weeks.

Charlie, however, scolded me when he caught me sitting cross-legged on the porch while Sasha was devouring bits of fried chicken…

“You’re not FEEDING that cat, are you?” he snapped.

So, of course, I said, “Well, if you won’t let me keep her, at least let me feed her. I can’t stand to see an animal starve to death.”

And what could he say to that?

Additionally, Charlie opposed my keeping said Sasha because our finances are a mess. After my Grandmother moved in with us 15 months ago, our electric has been $200/more a month from the space heaters she runs 24-7, not to mention the inflated water bill. Plus, the extra groceries, and I can only work 5-10 hours/week with all the demands of taking care of Nana***.

Therefore, the cost of feeding our two dogs AND another animal and the thought of more cash for veterinary bills were cause for concern. But I found a rescue Vet who charges 1/3 of our regular vet, so now ALL the animals are going to see him.

Aside from all that, he was worried about Sasha getting along with our dogs, but as you can see by the photo below, Raven, our black lab, pays Sasha no heed, and Bart, our Shepherd/Chow mix pretty much ignores her.

Strange bedfellows, and they lay like that almost every day for HOURS…

All worries of inter-species CONFLICTS aside, after my husband, Charlie, saw Sasha sleeping on my lap during our yard sale…he realized how much this little furball meant to me, and he caved…:)

Additionally, NANA adores her as well, and I think Sasha makes her feel less lonely since the cat often naps on Nana’s lap…and, I thought Nana would worry herself into the hospital when I opened the door to sign for a package, and Sasha dashed past me  –  chasing my competition, a gray-haired cat whose lost his tail, poor thing. He’d been circling the porch railing and yowling demurely until she went sprinting past me.

But, Thank God, at 3:30 the next afternoon, I went out to check the mail, and here comes Sasha loping toward me with those big innocent eyes as if she were just stopping by for tea and hadn’t been missing and presumed dead for almost a day, little BRAT. We live three blocks from a very busy 4-lane, the main drag of our suburb, in fact, which is bumper-to-bumper traffic from 3:00 pm on…and I feared she’d become roadkill…

But she was fine save for a tail full of what looked like foam from a couch cushion.  I scooped her up and gave her tuna. I know. I’m such a schmuck…should’ve given her un-brand cat food or week-old bacon for running off…(DON’T TELL PETA…that was a JOKE…). Either way, she’s now sleeping peacefully on my feet, yawning intermittently without a care in the world…

Ta for now…have a great weekend ALL…cat lovers and all you other people too… :)…and enjoy the other photos of Sasha in my photo gallery…ENJOY!

Over and out from misfit central…

TenaciousBITCH/KS