Archive for the grandmothers Category

Post #160 – About The Expiration Date and the End of the Beehive Hairdo

Posted in Family, family battles, family drama, grandmothers, humor, life, memoir, Motherhood, narrative memoir, nonfiction, people, relationships, true stories, uncategoried, work, writing with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 29, 2016 by tenaciousbitch

Knowing that each of us has an expiration date does not make it any easier when we’re told that the end is near for a family member or a friend – even if that person is 99 years old. I got that phone call earlier today from a hospice nurse about my Grandmother. She hasn’t been able to eat more than a bite or 2 of food at a time, and she’s been sleeping pretty much since Thanksgiving.

And the nurse said she was too weak to speak to me even if she brought Nana the phone. That’s when I broke down because anyone who knows Nana – knows that the only thing in this universe that would stop her from talking would be if the Grim Reaper himself was hovering about her bed.And the nurse kept using the word “declining”, which I tend to think of as a hospice buzz word synonymous with dying. I remember hearing that term a few days before my mother passed away.

I was absolutely miserable when Nana lived with us for two very long years, i.e. check out Post #1 about what she said to me when my mother was terminally ill @

And/or this post about Nana’s back-handed racisim @  However, I found myself sobbing on the way to the grocery store where I went to fax some paperwork to hospice in order to secure her care for however long she has left.

Ten minutes, I was told for the confirmation that the fax went through to Vitas Hospice’s office. Ten. Long. Minutes trying not to start crying again in front of total strangers. And then, a miracle happened. I decided I’d treat myself to my favorite dessert, vanilla ice cream and chocolate syrup. On my way to the beloved freezer holding my creamy comfort in a 1/2 gallon box, I realized that God knew how sad I would be at this moment, and a miracle occurred that caused me to break into a wide smile despite my melancholy mood…

ALL OF MY FAVORITE ICE CREAM TREATS WERE ON SALE…:) november-29-2016-019   And the Skinny Cow was buy one get one FREE! I don’t think that’s every happened that I can recall. 

So, despite the fact that I started bawling again in my car on the way home, I realized life really is about the little things. The ice cream miracle. The fact that my husband does the dishes without me asking him to do so as well as watching the hilarious antics of my cats, one of whom has learned to lock herself in the bathroom when she wants some downtime from the other 2 cats (funny story for another day).

And last but not least, the incredible euphoria I experience every single time I go to the beach (any beach, Florida, California, New Jersey, doesn’t matter), and I sit staring at the vast expanse of water roaring to and fro in front of me. There’s nothing in this world that I enjoy more (as far as leisure activities, that is) than lying on the beach on a hot and sunny day…except maybe lying on the beach with a good book.

And I wondered if any of those wonderful moments that Nana has experienced over her nearly 100 years were ruminating through her mind as she drifts away from this world. I hope so. And I decided that I was going to remember Nana as the crazy redheaded woman who spoiled me rotten every time we came to visit…who so loved the hairstyle shown in the photo below…which I never really understood but Nana never really understood my love of science fiction and zombie movies either…:)nana-demonstrating-shoes That said, even though she and I are very different in a lot of ways, she taught me a very valuable life lesson – just by the way she lived her life. And I’m sure she doesn’t even realize what I’ve gleaned from her in this respect.

In that, the most important ingredient to happiness is to be true to yourself. And it’s okay if you’re not like other women, or other people in general. Nana was the FIRST woman in her family and among her friends who worked after she got married.

A year or so after my mother was born, Nana took a job at the company store. My mother grew up in the coal fields of West Virginia. And Nana got to know the manager of the company store at church, and he mentioned that he needed a part-time clerk. My grandmother eagerly took the job, not because she needed the money, but because she WANTED to work. And she eventually became the manager of the store.

She wasn’t happy sitting around the house all day cleaning and changing diapers. And this was in 1936! Such just wasn’t done, but Nana did it! She didn’t care what other people thought about it either. My grandfather was shocked and confused, but he knew Nana well enough to know that it didn’t do any good to argue with her or to try to dissuade her from whatever she wanted. She was going to do it anyway. And she worked until she was 78 years old. She retired 3 times before she finally decided it was time to give work a rest.

I hope that I’m able to see Nana again before she’s ushered from this world.  When taking care of Nana got to be too much, and she needed full-time care, she didn’t want to be in a nursing home here in Ohio where I live because she hates the weather here. She requested to move back down South where she’d lived for more than 50 years.

So, we put her in a nursing home about 5 miles from the house where she had lived from 1976 until she moved in with me and my husband in 2011. And they’ve taken very good care of her though they refer to her as “the Diva”, which is more than appropriate because I’ve never encountered anyone more spoiled than she is, God Bless Her…:) And there are quite a few posts herein that will more than quantify that nickname.

And so with that, I will say adieu so that I can make travel plans to see the crazy redhead one more time before her lights go out in Georgia for the last time.

Over and out from CASA DE CRAZY…

~TenaciousBitch and her band of truth-spouting hippies


Post #137 – Revenge is a dish best served without Coca-Cola cake…

Posted in Family, family battles, family drama, Food and beverages, grandmothers, humor, memoir, nonfiction, relationships, true stories, Uncategorized, writing with tags , , , , , , , , , , on June 24, 2014 by tenaciousbitch

Five or six years ago when my father was still living, he and Nana Maude came to visit every fall for my son Rory and my husband Charlie’s birthdays- which are only 3 days apart. I wrote about Nana in my last post and in several earlier posts including one about issues concerning her goose down pillow at –

We all took a deep breath the minute Dad’s car landed in our driveway – wondering what kind of drama Nana will cultivate this time.  I was stirring my chili when Nana hobbled into the kitchen, her short white hair like a disheveled halo around her head as she leaned on her big, red walker. A  homemade cake was nestled on the shelf thingy on her walker.

I gave Nana a hug, put the cake on the counter and said, “That was so nice of you to make a Coca-Cola cake. I can’t wait to have some.”

“Well, I hope it turned out all right,” she croaked with another big smile and a twinkle in her eye. She always says that, and to date, I’ve never eaten one of Nana’s pies, cakes, cookies, biscuits or brownies that weren’t delectable.

If you’re unfamiliar with the Southern delicacy known as Coca-Cola cake, it’s a chocolate cake with chocolate icing, which has 1/4 cup of cola in the cake and about  2/3 cup in the icing, which makes both very light and fluffy, and it adds a certain zing to the chocolate flavor.

The next day, Charlie’s mother and stepfather, his grandparents, his Aunt Nancy, his sister Tally and her girlfriend, Melissa, all came down from Cleveland for a cookout/birthday party around noon. And Rory and Heather, his girlfriend at the time, were supposed to be at our house around noon as well.

Around 11:00, I was scurrying around the house – setting out the silverware and a dozen other last minute details when Nana came toddling into the kitchen. She looked at the Coca-Cola cake on the kitchen table with a stack of dessert plates beside it, and she said, “I need to put this up.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “Why?”

“I made that for Rory, not for everyone.”

I was immediately annoyed but too busy to argue with her. However, Nana had other ideas. “Nana, there’s plenty of cake to go around,” I said firmly, glancing at the 9″ x 13″ sheet cake. “We won’t cut it until Rory gets here, and I can set aside some for him to take home.”

She shook her head. “No, I made it for Rory,” she said, picking up the cake and sliding it into the cabinet beside the table, “Not for all those other people,” she said as Charlie walked in the room.

“Nana, when you told me you were making a Coca-Cola cake, I didn’t make anything else. What’re we supposed to serve to Charlie’s family?”

Silence and a vacant stare from Nana, followed by a shrug.

“Rory won’t mind to share. In fact, I’m sure he’d insist on it,” I snapped.

“No, I made that cake for my great-grandson, not …” her voice trailed off when she realized Charlie was standing behind me. A glimmer of guilt wavered in her eyes, but I knew she wouldn’t change her mind.

I glared at her, wanting very much to deck the old, selfish crow who just happened to have given birth to my dearly departed mother.

“Nana, I’m getting that cake out, and we’re going to-”

“No,” Charlie sputtered angrily. “I don’t like chocolate cake anyway.”

The hurt and anger I saw pulsing in his eyes sparked a new level of rage against Nana.

“I’ll just go to Kroger and get another cake,” Charlie barked.

You’d think that would elicit a reaction from her, but it didn’t.

“Excuse me,” Nana muttered, looking down. “I’ve got to go to the restroom.” I watched her slump by us, head down, wondering how anyone could be so incredibly selfish.

The moment she left, I looked at Charlie and said, “I’m so sorry, honey. I had no idea-”

“It’s not your fault.”

I shook my head. “Don’t worry about it. As soon as everyone gets here, I’ll put the cake back on the table, and she won’t have the nerve to say one word about it.”

“No,” Charlie said, grabbing his jacket from the coat tree in the living room. “I’m going out to buy another cake, so I’ll have something for my family. I don’t want her fucking cake.”

I nodded. I thought about apologizing again, but there just aren’t enough words in the universe to erase the kind of hurt that Nana frequently bestows on people.

“I can go. It’s your birthday. Why don’t you go sit in-”

“No, I need to get out of here, away from her,” he said.

I nodded, and he turned and walked out.

A few warm tears dribbled down my face. And I grabbed a tissue from the box on the kitchen counter and sat down in a heap on the living room couch. I blew my nose, feeling so embarrassed by Nana’s rude behavior. And I just couldn’t fathom how my overly generous mother could’ve shared the same genes.

And if all that weren’t bad enough, here’s the kicker. When Rory and Heather arrived a few minutes later, I explained the whole dessert dilemma, and my handsome, 21-year-old son – shook his head and said, “I don’t really like that cake. And I’m not big on sweets in general.”

“I know,” I said. “But, I, unlike Nana, don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, even hers, by revealing that info. But even if you loved that cake, you’d never want to hoard it like that.”

“Of course not,” Rory replied.

But at this point, it was too late. Nana had poisoned the Coca-Cola cake, so to speak.

Charlie arrived a few minutes later with a white cake with vanilla icing, which was delicious, btw. And  just to piss Nana off, I didn’t eat one single bite of her damned cake. When she asked why I was eating the store bought cake, I just shrugged. She got the hint, but that wasn’t good enough for me…

Three years later after my dad died, she moved in with us. And she constantly asked me to make a Coca Cola cake since wasn’t able to bake anymore, but I never did except one time when I hosted my Writer’s Club meeting last year. I gave everyone generous portions after dinner and huge blocks of cake to take home. And then, I hid the rest in a cabinet that Nana couldn’t reach.

Later, when I was loading the dishwasher, I heard Nana’s walker bumbling down the hallway, and I smiled.

“Well, hello, there, got any cake left?” Nana asked, smiling.

“No, I’m sorry, it’s all gone.”

“You didn’t save me any?” she grumbled, in wide-eyed shock.

“The people in my group had never had it before, so I gave them all some to take home, and Charlie had a piece. Besides, I didn’t make it for you. I made it for my friends.”

Her watery blue eyes turned cold, and tears of anger crested upon her thin, blonde lashes. She turned and stomped out – as best a 95-year-old woman can stomp anyway :).

I slept very well that night. And the words Coca-Cola cake have never graced her dry old lips again.

Over and out from the bitchy baker and her truth-spouting hippies…





Post 124 – Never say DISABLED…and the acquisition of the Silver Bullet! :)

Posted in Family, family battles, grandmothers, humor, memoir, nonfiction, relationships, true stories, true stories, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 16, 2014 by tenaciousbitch

Three years ago today, I wrecked my beloved Escalade, which is the subject of this post –

For those who are new to my Crazytown, my younger brother, Danny is a drug addict who stole between $40K and $50K from our Grandmother (Nana Maude) during 2010 when he lived with Nana in Georgia. She was 92/93 at the time, and the day I almost totaled the Escalade, I was on my way to get a Restraining Order against Danny.

Unbeknownst to me at the time, Danny was at Nana’s house the day of the crash. Nana was in a rehab hospital, and Danny was at her house using my computer to do some sort of paperwork to apply for Foodstamps. I found the fax cover sheet dated for that very day (Jan. 16, 2011) on his desk the next day.

If I hadn’t spent an hour waiting on a policeman to take the statements of everyone involved in the crash (where, luckily, no one was injured), I would’ve been at Nana’s and had to deal with Danny’s temper. He was furious at me because I’d kicked him out of Nana’s house, and I was trying to sell my Dad’s BMW (that Danny had been driving) to pay 3 or 4 months’ worth of Nana’s bills that Danny hadn’t paid while he was living with her because he’d liquidated and spent all of her equity on liquor, strippers and drugs. So, I have to wonder if there was some sort of divine intervention there, maybe, as far as my accident? 🙂

Unfortunately, Nana lost her house to foreclosure because of Danny’s thievery, and she lived with me, my husband, and my son, Max, for almost 3 years afterward, which was one of the dreariest and most stressful times in my life.

As to WHY I was none too thrilled to be Nana’s maid/cook/personal assistant/laundress/nurse, etc., check out this post:

Thankfully, she is now in a nursing home, which is the subject of this post:

Unfortunately, after the accident in 2011, the Escalade was never the same. The last six months we had around $1,200 in repairs. At one point, the electrical systems went haywire. All the warning lights were blazing as if everything needed to be replaced: the battery/change the oil/replace the air bags/the brakes/the blinkers, etc., and we’d just bought a new battery.

That repair cost over $300. But a month or so after that, it quit on me, about half a mile from my part-time job at Ann Taylor Corporate. Everything died. The engine. The lights, the brakes, the power steering, etc., right in the middle of a busy intersection between a Kroger and a McDonald’s during rush hour prime time around 4:45 PM…

I managed to get it started, but it died again about 30 feet or so later. I coasted into a parking space in front of the office and had it towed home after work that night. The next day, Charlie walked in from work and said, “Well, you better start looking for a new car.”

I’d been researching various cars online for a year, and I’d tried to get him to trade in the Escalade and his truck last fall, but he wasn’t interested. We’d planned on trading in the Escalade in the spring, but turned out, it most likely needed a new transmission, which would’ve cost, $1500, at least, I would think.

And we didn’t get nearly as much for it as we should have because the State Trooper who completed the accident report in Georgia, stated the Escalade was “disabled”, which devalued my SUV to about 1/3 of what it was worth according to It wasn’t actually disabled. It was driveable, but my insurance agency told me to have it towed, which I was more than happy to do because I was a little shaken up after plowing into a Chevy Tahoe.  They were towing the car away just as the State Trooper arrived, so he probably assumed it was disabled.

LESSON LEARNED: if you’re ever in a car crash, don’t let the cops label your car as DISABLED, unless, it is totally incapacitated and/or not driveable because that pretty much puts your car in the junkyard category.

However, there is a SILVER lining/a.k.a. THE SILVER BULLET.

When most people go through a mid-life crisis, they buy a Porsche. And I actually found a used Porsche or two I could’ve managed to squeeze into our budget, but that would’ve meant no new clothes for 2/3 years, and Ramen noodles and PB&J would’ve been on a frequent dinner rotation, which didn’t interest me.

That said, I’m such a nerd, I bought a 2014 FORD FIESTA…


in garage 3


Isn’t it pretty? I love it!!! It’s a five speed/manual transmission. It has a twin-cam engine, so it’s not like the scooter on a Ford frame like the old Fiesta, and it has heated seats. And despite the lower trade-in value of the Escalade, the new car payment is $30 less/month, and the difference in the gas mileage is staggering. I did a comparison on a commuter’s website, which summed it up like this:

Cost of gas for the Escalade – driving to work: 

  Daily Monthly Yearly
Drive Alone *




Carpool with 1 other person




Cost of driving the Fiesta:

  Daily Monthly Yearly
Drive Alone *




Carpool with 1 other person




So, the new vehicle costs about $150 less a month in petrol than the SUV…:), and the Fiesta is REALLY fun to drive.  Additionally, it’s the newest vehicle I’ve ever bought. It had 8 MILES on it when I drove it home a month ago.

That said, though I do miss the spacious interior of the Escalade somewhat, the Fiesta is a bit like the Tardis. It’s a lot bigger on the inside than it appears from the outside.

Ta for now…wishing you all shiny new chariots in the new year! 🙂

TENACIOUS BITCH and her band of truth-spouting hippies…

#100!!! And, yes, it is all about the LITTLE things…:)

Posted in dogs, Family, grandmothers, humor, memoir, nonfiction, relationships, true stories, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , on July 3, 2013 by tenaciousbitch

Two momentous events occurred today:

FIRST –  Yes! You guessed it! THIS IS MY 100TH POST on WordPress! Woohoo… now if they were better organized chronologically, etc., I’d have a new book to polish/send to publishers. Although, the first 30 posts are included in the memoir I’m working on, Stop and Smell the Crazy, which encompasses how a certain drug addict stole around $50K from Nana (go here: …for that wild-assed tale).

SECONDLY, I did something today that millions of people do every day and probably take for granted. I took a 35-minute walk OUTSIDE in the beautiful sunshine while listening to my favorite radio station!!! Oh, the joy of being bathed in the sounds of Seether, Metallica, an old Nirvana song and a new tune from All that Remains while strolling through my suburb was just heavenly!

And I received CAT CALLS, LOL, from a couple of construction workers at the site of a new office building going up around the bend. Okay, don’t judge my GLEE about that, people…40 has been in my rearview for more than a minute, so that “Hey, baby,” from a rather hot 25-year-old wielding a shovel and a honk/wink from some 30ish guy in a dump truck is something I do NOT experience every day. Yes, such things annoyed me during my 20s, but those days are LONG gone…:)

I also met a very sweet basset hound, whose name is Buca, and when I asked my 80-year-old neighbor, Mr. Radebaugh, why his dog garnered a name akin to that of an Italian restaurant…he just shrugged and said, “You’ll have to consult a psychic on that one.”

Noting my confusion, Mr. Radebaugh proffered a whimsical smile and said, “The Mrs. named him. I didn’t really care what we called him, but the wife had some story about when she went to Italy back in the 60s, and I can’t remember what it was now. She’s been gone ’bout 3 years now.”

His face, then softened in utter sadness, and I felt horribly guilty because I didn’t realize his wife had passed, and I could spit on their house from ours. I’m such a bad neighbor.

However, I conveyed my condolences, gave Buca a solid ear-scratching and continued on my jaunt to Kroger where I dropped a letter in the mailbox out front and bought some bath soap. BONUS – I was also multitasking!

And, then, at the very end of my journey, I saw this beautiful little fellow in one of the few fields actually still existing in our Midwestern village:

BUNNY - LIKE CAM 2It’s really unusual to see a white rabbit out in the wild in Ohio especially during the daytime. They’re almost ALWAYS gray, so I wondered if he might be Cameron, Max’s bunny who ran away about 2 years ago. If not, he’s Cameron’s twin or, more likely, his offspring. Either way, I was shocked that he/she didn’t BOLT away before I snapped this photo. But at the sound of the obnoxious CLICK from my Android’s camera, he scurried into some brush a good 20 feet away before I could take a breath.

Anywho…why is my walkabout such a big deal? Well, while taking care of Nana for the last 30 months, I rarely ever walked OUTDOORS because I was always afraid that she’d fall or some other malady would occur, and Nana wouldn’t be able to call me or 911. And by the time Charlie gets home around 5-5:30, I’m usually in happy hour MODE, ready to crash on the chaise lounge out back or in the hot tub in the winter, and not in the “let’s rival Susan Powter/the Biggest Loser/Denise Austen” frame of mind…

Therefore, though I’ve heard it 1,000 times, today’s life lesson: Definitely don’t take the little things for granted cuz you never know when they might be gone/not possible…and I vowed to try to walk/jog about my block every day from now on (or at least 4/5 times/week – weather permitting) so that, maybe, by next fall, I can look like this again…

LL IN BLUE JEAN SKIRTYeah, that’s really me when I was still modeling – when I was 42ish, I think…sigh…too little time to exercise and much of Nana’s need for SWEETS translated into my wolfing down just a couple BITES of cake (that often turned into large pieces of cake) and sometimes overindulging in my beloved Merlot added 22 pounds to my behind. I wore a size 6 in that photo. Now, I wear a 12 (ugh), and I know that’s not OBESE, but my blood pressure and my cholesterol are higher than they should be as well. So…I’m doing Jorge Cruise’s 100 diet and the whole MORE CARDIO pledge…:)

That said, OVER AND OUT from f-cked up central…:)

TenaciousBITCH and her band of truth-spouting hippies…


© Tenacious Bitch 2013

Post #70 – More BALONEY from Ms. Cranky Pants…

Posted in Family, grandmothers, memoir, nonfiction, relationships, true stories, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , on July 31, 2012 by tenaciousbitch

I sat on my couch numb-struck for a moment because my brain was SIZZLING and crackling with ANGER.

“I’m sorry, she said, what?” I asked my mother-in-law, Sarah, who was sitting next to me.

Wearing a grim expression, she replied, “When Nana* and I went grocery shopping, she said she wouldn’t buy DIRT at Kroger and that Charlie buys cheap meat.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“I know it is. I reminded her that Charlie frequently makes Porterhouse steaks for everyone on Memorial Day, and last time I visited too, and he bought her filet Mignon,” Sarah explained in a bitter tone.

“And the only cheap meat I’ve ever seen in your fridge in the 15 years since you got married,” Sarah continued, “is that Kroger brand deli meat that Charlie buys for himself because he doesn’t care what brand he buys. And there’s nothing wrong with Kroger meat anyway, but I know he didn’t buy that for her HIGHNESS. She also said that you never bake anything and that her room hadn’t been cleaned in months.”

“What the hell is she talking about? I clean her room every Saturday! And I just cleaned it the day before we left for Vegas. Was it dusty or something because of her opening the window?”

“No. I told her that her room was spotless when I got here until the dog took a nap in there and got blond fur all over the place, which I vacuumed up while she was in the shower.”

“And I stopped baking anything for her because she’d eat maybe two pieces of cake or a couple cookies or something, and I’d end up throwing the rest out unless it was something that Max likes because she wants a different damned desert every day except when I made donuts. And she ate TWO donuts every day.”

“I know. She told me,” Sarah said.

“She just doesn’t understand. I’m already spending 3-5 hours every day cooking, washing dishes and trying to keep the house clean, which as you know, doesn’t leave near enough time for me to work. So, I’m sorry that I haven’t had time to bake Ms. Cranky Pants a fresh dessert every day. And she’s the ONLY person who eats all that anyway. Charlie and I are both trying to lose weight. And Max is here so little now with his work schedule and everything that he only eats dinner here at 10 or 11 o’clock at night when he may or may not be in the mood to eat angel food cake or whatever.”

Sarah nodded. “I know. I don’t understand her attitude. And what’s wrong with Kroger? And I told her that all the stores carry about the same thing. So, why go over to Giant Eagle or whatever when everything is going to cost 50 cents or a dollar more.”

And for the record, since Nana moved in with us 18 months ago, I’ve made: Coca Cola Cake THREE TIMES, and all of the following at least twice: blueberry muffins (from scratch), chocolate chip cookies, oatmeal cookies, Snickerdoodles, blond and chocolate brownies, chocolate chip muffins, sugar cookies, peanut butter cookies, pound cake, lemon cake, cheesecake, honey bran muffins, and homemade bread more than 20 times because I prefer it to store bought bread.

I’m thinking this lack of RECALL is a pretty good indicator of Alzheimer’s or Dementia, is it not?

Sarah nodded. “I know. I don’t understand her attitude and how she can be so ungrateful.”

“And how tactless to badmouth my husband to his MOTHER of all people.”

Sarah nodded.

I was so furious that I avoided Nana for the next three days, and then I couldn’t help it. My inner most BITCH broke free and lambasted the old bird.

I walked into her room, sat down on the bed and said, “You and I have to have a serious chat.”

“Oh, is something wrong?” Nana asked innocently.

“Yes, you can disparage me ALL you want, but if you EVER make another derogatory comment about Charlie or my boys, you’ll be living in the street!”

“What’re you talking about?”

“Sarah told me what you said about Charlie buying cheap meat and that you wouldn’t buy dirt at Kroger.”

Nana blinked, her eyebrows furrowed. “I didn’t say that.”  But I could tell by the way her eyes were shifting nervously that she was lying.

“Really and you didn’t hoard any money to give Cathy, either, did you**?”

Nana grimaced and began taking deep and rather loud breaths like she might hyperventilate, which is ALL an act because she stopped doing it like 30 seconds later.

“Yeah, Sarah made up awful things about her own SON? So, I suggest you keep your obnoxious and insensitive comments to yourself from now on or start packing!” I hollered, slamming the door behind me.

For those of you who might not GET why Nana’s comments infuriated me so badly, take a gander at:

Nay, what she said on my mother’s death bed was worse. However, this latest defaming of my husband’s character was a major turning point in my life. A few days after I got back from Vegas, I started researching nursing homes…and that’s ALL I’m gonna say about that for now.

THANKS for tuning in, boys and girls. I must go now, the Geriatric Beast is yowling for more tea…

Over and out from the FLAMES of Paradise LOST…

TenaciousBITCH and her band of bullshit QUASHERS!


*For a humorous story about Nana, check out #18 The Oatmeal Incident at:    …or Post #62 –

** For info on that, check out:   …. and Post #69 –

© Tenacious Bitch/Kennedy Smith 2012

ALL posts:    © Tenacious Bitch/Kennedy Smith 2012

Post #66 – Baloney Porn…or is it BOLOGNA porn?

Posted in Family, grandmothers, relationships, true stories, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 28, 2012 by tenaciousbitch

My Grandmother, as mentioned previously, is illogically bizarre and particular about food. Yeah, feel free to check out Post #18 – called the Oatmeal Incident, as a reference for her peculiar and often hilarious antics regarding food.

Or…if you’re interested in the story about how my brother stole Nana’s life savings, check out Post #1 from March 2011 – As My Mother Lay Dying through…somewhere around Post #23…from June 2011.

Otherwise, back to Nana’s meals. I absolutely DREAD discussing the menu for lunch every day because it usually goes like this:

“What would you like for lunch today, Nana?”

“I don’t know. What can I have?”

“Whatever you want. We’ve got macaroni and cheese, and I could make a meatloaf sandwich from the leftover-”

“No,” she moans, while looking at me as though I’d just tossed dog POO in her face, pretty much like this:

Yes, SWEAR to that big Salami heaven in the SKY, that’s how she looks at me…:)

“I don’t want any of that.”

“Or I could make chicken noodle soup and a a hot dog, or I could thaw out that homemade potato soup,” I say, earnestly, hoping she’ll want SOMETHING easy, but I can tell by the look on her face, that’s NOT gonna happen. “Or, let’s see, we have chicken pot pies and chicken fingers in the freezer or that fish stick dinner you like. I could also heat up one of those, and we’ve got leftover mashed potatoes to go with the chicken.”

And by that, I mean, the HOMEMADE chicken fingers and HOMEMADE mashed potatoes, which, btw, totally rocked. 

She shakes her head. “No, none of that sounds good.”

“What do you want then?”

“Well, what do we have?” she asks innocently as if I hadn’t already mentioned a dozen different entrees already!

“We have bean soup as well.”

“I’m tired of bean soup.”

This is where I SIGH, and begin suggesting her favorite fast foods. Today, I asked, “How about I order a personal pan pizza? You haven’t had pizza in awhile.”

PLEASE LET THE TORTURE END! Please let me call someone else to make your FUCKING lunch! And I could SPIT on Pizza Hut from my back porch, so if they’re really busy, I could drive over and pick it up in THREE minutes – even walk over in less than TEN.

She shakes her head. “No, I’d really like that soup from Olive Garden.”

THEN, WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY THAT initially!!? “You mean the Chicken Gnocchi, the soup with the dumplings?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

Of COURSE IT DOES. It’s the farthest away from the house. It takes 20-30 minutes to drive there and back, but AT LEAST I don’t have to spend an hour in the kitchen making French Onion soup or something else that would trash my smashingly sanitary kitchen, which took me 45 minutes to clean up after breakfast…

That said, on weekends, my husband is kind enough to relieve me of the mind-fucking business enacting the 20 Question Quiz regarding LUNCH. And GET THIS…last weekend he inquires about the midday cuisine, and she looks at him as if she’s completely baffled and says, “Do you like bologna?” a.k.a. baloney…

“Yeah, I like bologna. Why?” Charlie asks, rather puzzled.

“I do too, just wondered. I haven’t eaten it in awhile.”

“Wow, you should’ve mentioned that before. Would you like a bologna sandwich for lunch, maybe with some mustard?”

“Oh, my God, not mustard!” she says wearing a seriously DISGUSTED expression. “Can’t you put Miracle whip on it?”

“Sure, no problem.”

Three or four days later, I decided to skip her 20-Question Quiz, and go for the jugular instead, “Would you like me to go get some Kentucky Fried Chicken for you today, or maybe, Taco Bell?”

She shakes her head, and I want to cry. Thinking PLEASE don’t make me go to OLIVE GARDEN! It’s 100 degrees outside, and I’m low on gas…

“Do we have any more bologna?” she asked, a sparkly TWINKLE in her eye…and I could hear her mind clicking…I NEED A FIX…do we have more of that wonderfully slimy pork substance, chock full of chemicals, pig snout and rectal tissue from many beasts? Please, TELL ME WE DO!

Actually, we did. We had half a package of un-brand, imitation Kroger pig-like meat known as bologna/baloney, which contains:

Pork shoulder, mechanically Separated Chicken, Mechanically Separated Turkey, Pork, Water, Corn Syrup, Modified Food Starch, Dextrose, Salt, Contains 2% Or Less Of Beef, Extract Of Paprika, Flavorings, Sodium Lactate, Potassium Lactate, Sodium Diacetate, Sodium Phosphate, Sodium Nitrite, Vitamin C (Ascorbic Acid), and safflower oil. May also contain residual amounts of sugar acetone and corn syrup solids…and MORE salt than a 95-year-old woman should have in a MONTH…

With a big smile and feeling TEN POUNDS lighter that it only took 11 seconds to ratify the lunch treaty, I JOGGED to the kitchen before she changed her mind.

When I was a kid, I loved bologna, but I haven’t eaten it in at least 7 or 8 years since going on the South Beach Diet and/or it’s maintenance plan. So, it’s been a REALLY long time since I’ve attempted to slay the DEMON known as bologna. However, I couldn’t help but laugh when I noticed what sort of creation was born in my frying pan…

Baloney/BOLOGNA porn!!

Now I ask you, does that NOT look like a deformed and slightly charred NIPPLE?

Need I say more. And thank GOD, she did not notice the large bubble that formed in the center of the baloney (the nipple I speak of)…and she smacked her lips and clapped her hands when I put the BALONEY PORN sandwich on her tray!

But even in her ecstasy to consume the BALONEY PORN SANDWICH, we still had to watch Rachel Ray mutilate a perfectly good roast on the goddamned FOOD CHANNEL! Does Rachel not EVER take a vacation??


EIGHT days until vacation PEOPLE! 8, yes, EIGHT days until I languish/punch the time clock by the pool from 10 a.m. until 5 p.m. (later on Sunday… :))…and gamble by night…

TA for now from the headquarters of the Baloney PORN STUDIOS…

All the best,

TenaciousBITCH and her porno CREW! 🙂


© Kennedy Smith 2012

Any and ALL the material/stories/true stories, photos, musings, ideas, emails and journal entries written by Kennedy Smith/TenaciousBitch are the intellectual property of Kennedy Smith and Lynne Logan. As such, any and all information, true stories, etc., presented on are copyrighted by Kennedy Smith and Lynne Logan.

© Kennedy Smith and Lynne Logan 2012

Post #62 – Macy’s alleged faux paus

Posted in Family, family battles, grandmothers, nonfiction, relationships, true stories with tags , , , , , , , , on May 25, 2012 by tenaciousbitch

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…