Archive for the true stories Category

Post # 157 -Our Valentine’s Day Shooting of the Non-Murdering Kind…:) A.K.A. An Upcycled Valentine’s

Posted in art, blogging, BOOKS, Family, friends, humor, life, marriage, memoir, movies, nonfiction, people, relationships, sex, true stories, uncategoried with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 16, 2016 by tenaciousbitch

Below is a photo of the beautiful bouquet that my husband, Charlie, gave me for Valentine’s. We’ve been married 16, almost 17 years (and together for 19). Yet, he never ceases to surprise me. If you’d ask me ten years ago if I’d still be getting flowers for Valentine’s at this point in our relationship, I would’ve said – probably not. However, I’m happy to say, I was wrong…:)

FEB 16 2016 - VALENTINE'S -TARGET SHOOTING 001.jpg

He also got me a much-needed item, this gigantic paper cutter for my art projects and furniture upcycling and whatnot! 🙂

PAPER CUTTER

I know, right? Such an odd gift, but I was thrilled! I was trying to cut some wallpaper the other day to decoupage the table below, and never did get it straight.

DECOUPAGED ANTIQUE END TABLE WITH QUEEN ANNE LEGS

I wrestled with the paper for over an hour. It just kept rolling and slipping no matter what I did. It still managed to wriggle/spring out of my grip after I taped it down with shipping tape. So, I gave up. I finally just cut it the best I could, which was still a little crooked and then sanded it until it appeared relatively straight.

That said, my Valentine’s Day gift to Charlie was as nontraditional as the paper cutter. You see, he requested that we exercise our constitutional right to bear arms on President’s Day, LOL (which was yesterday for those who live outside the U.S.).

We went to a local gun range with a couple of our friends and their 17-year-old daughter, Tiffany. I was surprised that Tiffany was interested. I wouldn’t have been at that age. Are you kidding? I would’ve been at the mall, the movies or at home nursing a hanngover, LOL.

As  far as our day shooting paper people and the like, Tiffany seemed a little embarrassed by her lackluster aim with Charlie’s pistol. But I reminded her that it was her FIRST time handling a gun, after all. And she did hit the target 3 or 4 times (better than my stats the first time out, but we’ll get to that in a sec…:)).

We burned through 100 rounds of ammo with Charlie’s new Hi Point pistol, and check out my quasi successful results on my last attempt to nail the bullseye.

FEB 16 2016 - VALENTINE'S -TARGET SHOOTING 004

Not too shabby for an old lady who hasn’t touched a gun in over a decade, n’est-ce pas? Unfortunately, I forgot to snap a pic of my best efforts where I hit the ring closest to the bullseye three times. I had put all the targets in the trash, and another gun enthusiast, whom I will refer to as Mr. Special Forces who had the build and swagger of a soldier. He spilled a bottle of coffee on it 20 seconds before I thought about photographing my target.

I didn’t do as well on very last round because the grip had kind of bruised the side of my hand, from the action of the pistol – because I wasn’t holding the gun tight enough initially. But anyway….

You’re not supposed to have food or drink at the range. But Mr. Special Forces plucked his Starbucks out of his backpack and dumped it as he was leaving. An employee reprimanded him for it. He apologized, but it was too late to immortalize my most-shredded paper perp, so to speak. Ah, well, lesson learned…:)

While I didn’t hit the bullseye, I did much better than my last venture at the outdoor range when I barely hit the target ONCE out of 20 rounds or so. The best I did was barely striking the top edge, lol. In fact, the best shot merely grazed the head of the target and made a moon-shaped gouge in the top of the target’s noggin.

However, my expertise was definitely NOT as good as Mr. Special Forces…check out the photo below…

MY TARGET - AND GUY NEXT TO ME

He pretty much decimated his poster proxy of a man’s torso (EEK)i.e. the target to the right of mine. Remind me to never snag his parking space.

Anywho…t’was big fun, and now I’m thinking I might want this lovely Ruger for Mother’s Day.

http://www.vanceoutdoors.com/products2.cfm?id=123906

So appropro, is it not since purple is my favorite color?

Though it might seem like an odd Valentine’s Day gift, one romantic caveat occurred while at the range…Charlie said I looked very sexy blasting away with his weapon.

“What?” I asked. “Why?”

“You got the target.”

I replied with a shrug, not feeling particularly proud. 

Typical Charlie though. Does he get all hot and bothered when I’m wearing a little black dress? No, he gets all randy when I’m trying to bust a cap into a cardboard criminal in a noisy room full of strangers! 🙂

I guess we’re kind of like an 80s band in the romance department, LOL.

Get it?

GUNS

and

ROSES…..

Okay, so maybe that was funnier in my head. If you knew my husband, however, you’d know that was definitely a joke of the Charlie persuasion. He’s always spouting dumb zingers like that with a dorky play on words.

All righty then…time for something completely different…

Hope you all had a wonderful Valentine’s and are experiencing a fantastic Tuesday…or at least not a horrible one.

~Ciao

Tenacious Bitch and her band of truth-spouting hippies.

TB/ks

 

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Post #149 – The Good And Bad About The Ugliest Birthday Yet

Posted in Family, humor, marriage, memoir, nonfiction, relationships, true stories, true stories, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , on March 9, 2015 by tenaciousbitch

Much to my unhappiness, I turned the big 5-0 last month.  On my 40th, though there were black balloons on the wall of my cubicle at Yabinski and Kramer law firm where I worked at the time as well as a gigantic HAPPY 40TH banner behind my desk, that particular birthday didn’t bother me at all. But that half century mark is another story. However, I decided to make a list to measure the gloom and doom vs the positives…

GOOD: My boys are in their 20s now, so I no longer have to worry about child care/missing work because of sick children and all that.

BAD: I woke up yesterday with a silver hair nestled among the dark brown in my eyebrows. I plucked it out straight away, but I’m sure there’s another one just worming its way to the surface as we speak. And I hate coloring my hair, so forget dyeing the brows!

GOOD: I’m much more comfortable being alone these days. Until the age of 30-something, the idea of spending a Friday night at home, curled up with a good book or binge-watching Downton Abbey or Supernatural, would’ve driven me to madness and/or pacing about/ calling everyone I knew trying to scare up something else to do.

But these days, when my husband’s band is playing out of town, and I don’t feel like drudging through the snow or whatever to attend his gig, I welcome those nights on the couch sans company because PRECIOUS is all mine!!! 🙂 And by my Precious, I mean the television remote, not a gold ring that summons demons from the darkness.

Additionally, I lived alone from the time I was 18 until I got married at 22, and I was often terrified to spend the night alone for fear someone would break in my apartment and attack me, etc. In fact, I used to put a row of juice glasses on a chair under my bedroom window and another set on the floor by the front door so that the sound of shattering glass would wake me should an intruder breach either entrance.

But these days, I sleep like the dead when Charlie’s not home. I have faith in God/the ghost of Max’s Dad/Saint Superman, whatever, that no harm will come to me. Either way, my worrying about a home invasion isn’t going to prevent some psycho from barging into my house in the wee hours. I just lock the doors and make sure my phone is plugged in. Plus, Max (my 22-year-old) is always home way before Charlie returns, and he’s a pretty scary-looking/well-muscled fellow, who is capable of causing major damage to anyone who might try to mess with his Mama…:)

That said…

MORE BAD:  I can’t exercise the way I used to because my knees swell up after 40 minutes or so, and I have to ice them all the time. And I’ve developed issues with the balls of my feet. Sometimes a couple of hours after a good workout, I’ll get up from my desk/couch/whatever, and that tender padded part of my foot will turn to to a lumpy stone of pain.

And the last time we went to Vegas, I couldn’t walk the usual 10 or so miles/day without agonizing foot pain…which totally SUCKS because one of the reasons I love Vegas is being able to walk/ride the monorail wherever we want without a car, unlike here in Ohio where a night on the town w/no vehicle would mean dinner at Taco Bell and bowling at best because our public transit is almost nonexistent.

My foot issues limited our treks to 4 or 5 miles/day at most. I remember limping in absolute misery from the nearest monorail stop on the strip back to our timeshare, which was about a mile. I was barefoot across the asphalt, sandals in hand, because the hard sole of my favorite dressy flip flops were killing me.

GOOD: On the other hand, the last time I took a spinning class about six months ago, the two overweight 20-somethings sweating profusely in front of me left 20 minutes in while I actually spent 10 minutes or so on the treadmill afterward to make sure I’d obliterated the doughnut I’d had earlier…:)). And I’m no waif these days at 160+ pounds.

BAD: Though I can obviously best kids half my age at the gym, I have to do a lot more cardio to work off the occasional pastry or that gallon of Merlot I consumed last weekend (okay, so maybe, t’was only 1/2 a liter) due to the slowing down of one’s metabolism after the age of 40/45…sigh. And it’s just not worth having rotten teeth if opting for crystal meth instead of Splenda in my tea…:)

GOOD: Charlie is almost six years younger than me, but there have been times in the last 4-5 years that I’ve gotten carded at a bar or a restaurant, and he wasn’t, LOL. Perhaps, the waiter was merely flirting, hoping for a big tip, but the last time, the waiter honestly seemed surprised when he looked at my i.d and figured out I was pushing 50.

BAD: I’ve been getting solicitations from AARP (the American Association of Retired Persons) for at least five years now, which I find irritating and insulting. I realize they will gladly take your money and indoctrinate you into their discount fold at the age of 50. But to me, I feel like screaming, I AM NOWHERE NEAR RETIREMENT AGE, so FUCK OFF.

GOOD: I like what I like, and I don’t give a shit if anyone disapproves. Some might say I’m too old to listen to Eminem or Kid Rock or Iggy Azalea, but I have CDs of each in my car. And on that note, as my family knows all too well, I’m a major fan of Slim Shady. I own all of his music, but, I’m not overtly in love with his last 2 musical endeavors. And I was surprised the MM LP 2 won a Grammy for Album of the Year. I think the Eminem Show and Recovery are much better.

I will also wear skinny jeans, short skirts and tennis shoes until I’m physically unable to dress myself. In which case, I’m not gonna ask anyone to help me slide into a pair of Old Navy Rock Star Super Skinny denims.

Oh, and last but not least, I shall put Spaghettios on bread (funny story about that in  http://tenaciousbitch.com/2013/04/29/lovehonor-and-will-buy-ford/ ) and lick the bowl after finishing my vanilla ice cream with chocolate syrup until the day I die, so all you haters and uptight sons ‘o bitches, just keep your yap shut should you happen to see me doing either one! 🙂

GOOD: I don’t have to go back to high school again no matter how many times I have that nightmare that I’m late for class/a final exam, and no one believes me that I’ve traveled this treacherous road already and DON’T need to be there, LOL. I know, right?  WTF is that about???

Therefore, I guess the ugliest b’day to date came out on top – can’t think of any other negatives.

~TenaciousBitch and her band of truth-spouting hippies

TB\ks

 

Post #148 – The Toilet Promise from the Kitchen Bitch…

Posted in Family, family drama, Food and beverages, humor, memoir, nonfiction, relationships, true stories, true stories, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 4, 2015 by tenaciousbitch

Like many women, I got tired of constantly being put upon to do shit tons of housework that I shouldn’t be doing because, well, the men in my house don’t always clean up after themselves, so I posted this note above the sink in the kitchen a few days ago…which I did TYPE, btw.

GUYS –

 The dishwasher is dirty! PLEASE LOAD your dishes. Please do me the courtesy of not ignoring this request. And I mean EVERY single dish that you use whether it’s only a bowl or a cup. It all adds up. And when I do the dishes in the morning, and the sink is EMPTY, and I go downstairs at dinnertime, and the sink is bulging with dirty dishes – like so…

DAMNED DISHES FEB 18 11It really pisses me off! And that’s exactly how it happens—a bowl here, a skillet there, a couple of plastic containers, and POOF – 20 or 30 minutes have been added to my daily chores.

I realize you both help out a lot with the dishes and such. However, I spend anywhere from 15-30 hours/week cleaning, which I’m sure you didn’t realize because I do most of it while you’re asleep, or you’re not here. Last Friday, for example, I spent 2 hours doing laundry and doing dishes, vacuuming, sweeping the floor and dusting. And I would greatly appreciate it if the two able-bodied men in this household would not add to the HOURS I spend cleaning by loading your own dishes! 🙂 It doesn’t take that long!!!!!

Therefore, from now on, if you leave your dishes in the sink for me to load, it will be with the understanding that you’ll clean both the downstairs bathrooms in exchange. And I realize that often there are dishes that need to soak, and that’s fine, but PLEASE load them before DINNER, so, again, I won’t have such a monstrous mess after dinner because it frequently takes me an hour to get the kitchen cleaned up, and if you both loaded your own dishes—that wouldn’t be the case. And if you spill your drink, or get a dab of mayo, or ketchup or something on the counter, PLEASE CLEAN IT UP as well. I’m not your maid, so please stop treating me like one.

THANKS for all your help as always! 🙂 🙂 

 Love,

The Kitchen Bitch

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

*And isn’t that just the loveliest, most condescending smile?

And my son Max’s reaction? He was “tired of doing everyone else’s work”.

?? Excuse me, but I don’t think bringing you into this world means I’m required to wash your dishes and do your laundry once you reach the age of say 13/14, and he’s now 22 – YES, TWENTY TWO!  WTF? And this was after my husband, Charlie, had spent FOUR days helping Max, clean his room. Then, Charlie spent four more days washing Max’s clothes while Max finished cleaning his room, which I opposed, btw. I thought Max should launder his own frickin’ togs. And this is the mess that’s been in the hallway since Max’s room was cleaned 3 weeks ago. However, the mattress was thrown away, thankfully, and the computer monitor disappeared. Otherwise, I don’t know if the rest of it is to be given away, or what.

JAN - FEB 2015 088JAN - FEB 2015 089JAN - FEB 2015 090

So since Charlie helped clean his room and did his laundry, how is it he’s doing everyone else’s work?

Perhaps, because Max unloads the dishwasher more than I do? But he doesn’t vacuum, scour his bathroom or either of the bathrooms downstairs, which he also uses. He’s never dusted or mopped the kitchen or the tile by the front door. He doesn’t sweep the kitchen floor with a broom if he spills 1/3 a package of Ramen noodles or macaroni or something, nor does he put his shoes or coat away unless I harass him. And when Charlie does the laundry, Max’s clothes might sit on the back of the couch for weeks before he finally takes them upstairs – except for times when he decides he’ll wear a shirt or two from the pile.

Therefore…once again, dude, explain how you’re doing everyone else’s work cuz I guess I’m just not smart enough to see the correlation here. On the flip side, he did unload the dishwasher without my asking a couple days later. So, perhaps, he was merely grandstanding/spouting off out of guilt?

However, regardless of what he thinks, I am SOOOOOO going to keep to my promise about him and Charlie both cleaning toilets if they dare leave dirty dishes in the sink when the dishwasher is empty or DIRTY…Just so we’re clear.

Over and out,

A rather FED UP, PISSED OFF, ready to stomp her little feet and kick some ass –

~KITCHEN BITCH~

TenaciousB’s cousin, doncha know…:)

TB/ks/kb

P.S. MUCH OF THE HALLWAY DEBRIS HAS BEEN REMOVED! Apparently, the clothing in the hamper under the balls (as in a basketball and a football) was slotted to be given away. So, they’ve now found a new home at our local Volunteers of America donation center! YIPPEE!!

Post #144 – You Ain’t Seen Nothin’ Yet! There is no crying uncle here…

Posted in beer, college, Family, family drama, friends, humor, memoir, nonfiction, relationships, true stories, true stories, Uncategorized, writing with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on January 12, 2015 by tenaciousbitch

This year, my sister, Fiona, received the Merry Christmas, “your job has been eliminated” speech as her box of wonder from her employer in mid-December after 17 years of faithful service. Awesome, is it not? The joy of living in America. Absolutely, give us your tired, your hungry, your poor and/or a dedicated workforce, so we can shred their livelihood after they’ve devoted their blood, sweat and blood to helping a f’ing corporation grow ITS business and/or make it a better place.

And, then, another family member, Mitchell, also got the congrats, it’s a shiny new pink slip for Christmas along with 78 other devastated individuals! And such was allegedly due to a downturn in profits. However, the black and white of it indicates according to the Wall Street Journal –  profits were up 32.9% at XYZ, Inc., where Mitch had been working.

And this kick to the curb occurred not 6 weeks after Mitch received a mega promotion, and one of his now disenfranchised co-workers had also gotten a leg up the corporate ladder as well not 2-3 months ago that included a nice increase in salary. Thanks for that, f’ing bastards!

Ya gotta wonder what their mindset is when upper management or whomever decide to chuck their employees when profits are up. Did they suddenly realize that a 38% profit margin isn’t enough to bid on that third world country they’d been lusting over on Ebay? For fuck’s sake, they can’t have that. What would the neighbors say?

But after Enron and the shenanigans of Bernie Madoff, and the like, we shouldn’t be surprised by corporate deception and greed, right? However, that doesn’t mean we have to LIKE it and doesn’t revoke our right to BITCH about it!

But I digress, as Fiona revealed the details of her occupational severance on Christmas Eve, she started crying/then sobbing (understandably so) and apologizing for ruining my Christmas!

Holy Fuck Balls, no one says the holidays have to be all candy canes and mystery Santas bearing Porsches! And if nobody cries on Christmas, it just ain’t a success, doncha know?

Otherwise, Hollyweird wouldn’t churn out so many dramas about turkeys that never get cooked because bizarre typhoons appear from nowhere on dry land on Thanksgiving, or Kim-Kim showing up in the not-to-die-for dress made of bamboo and Guatemalan mud that Jane wanted to wear but couldn’t fit her fat ass into… sigh.

I tried to convey to Fiona that she has every right to blubber her damned eyes out because I know how devastating it is to get downsized because such happened to me twice in 2005, and the first layoff was from a teaching position that I loved at a junior college where I’d been for almost 5 years.

And the immense frustration of watching someone you love having their life decimated for reasons that make no sense – certainly explains why so many folks begin spraying bullets in the general vicinity of those who had wronged them. However, Fiona is not that kind of person AT ALL.

Regardless, losing your job after 17 years of dedicated service and lots of overtime, and occasionally getting to work at 5:00 in the damned morning?! That fucking blows-PERIOD!

And the thing is, little did I know at the time that I was also about to be sans employment. Yep, I too lost my job as a fraud specialist at Jeans, Inc. a couple weeks after Fiona’s employment cessation. And get this, I found out from an announcement on the company webpage. And such was the first time I’d been canned that my manager had not been the one to convey the news, so that was odd.

With me, however, it’s not as earth-shattering to be cast adrift in the ugly waters of unemployment as it was for Fiona because I had only been at Jeans, Inc., for around 6 months, so I wasn’t as invested in the job, really. Plus, business was down so much that on my last day, they sent me home before I even got logged into my computer. And there were times when we had 8 or 9 orders to work with probably 75 people working. So, unless the phone was ringing, there was nothing to do. But when such isn’t the case, ya gotta wonder…

Plus, fortunately, my wonderful hubby makes enough coin that we shall not be worrying about keeping the lights on, but our cashflow will be a might pinched. Additionally, I tucked away some cash that will help fill the void should the scraps of government alms not suffice (i.e. unemployment compensation) until I find something else.

That said, Fiona, Mitchell and I are intelligent, capable, talented individuals, and we will OVERCOME.

That said, why am I so confident about Fiona and I rising from the ashes of cubicle hell? Well, let’s review our track record. Between the two of us, we have –

1) Obtained college degrees, which were financed largely with our OWN cash – though student loans, et. al. did help enormously.

2) Said FU to Cancer and won.

3) Tangled with the biggest bully who ever lived and.. WON big time (i.e. check out  http://tenaciousbitch.com/2011/07/20/blog-24-evicting-the-squatter-part-i/ – about evicting my drug addict brother from my Grandmother’s house )

4)  Survived 4 or 8 or 9 divorces (we lost count – okay, so maybe I’m really just talking about me, but you get the NOTION).

5) Survived being cheated on (by those who may or may not have been spouses).

6) Moved to New York City alone with no job in hand, less than $300 in the bank and a 2-year-old in tow and only one human to call a friend in that wild-assed, incredible and somewhat overwhelming metropolis.

7) Defied the laws of fashion because we just don’t give us shit.

8) Married a rock star or two and/or frequently went home with a guy in the band if frequently means once or twice ..:).

9) Held the title of DIRECTOR or VP…

10) Made more than $75K/year – which isn’t astronomical on a world scale, but ’tis nothing to sneeze at, and in West Virginia where we hail from, that sum makes us royalty/rare birds in the earnings department – especially because we’re women!

11) And ONE OF US met with and pitched a screenplay to members of Warner Brothers/CBS/Disney/Bad Robot Prod Co (who produced the TV show Lost and the Transformers franchise) and countless other execs from Tinseltown. And such was done without a trace of nervousness, which was no EASY TASK!

12) And we did not hesitate walk on cracks, skip school, chew gum in church, rip tags from mattresses, occasionally talk back to parents/teachers/cops and in my case threw up on (yeah – check out

http://tenaciousbitch.com/2011/10/04/blog-35-the-birthday-assaultaka-the-date-from-hell-part-2/

…not to mention we don’t hesitate to ask Santa for the big SHINY TOYS.

And we occasionally imbibed alcohol during school hours, got arrested and lived to tell about it, jay-walked at WILL, sweet-talked the guy from the electric company into not shutting off our electric with a Coke and a smile and, maybe, the fact that we happened to be wearing a bikini at the time didn’t hurt…:) cuz that was back in college), and one of us wore a gaudy fedora to Thanksgiving dinner despite the request not to do so.

In other words, we’re kind of FEARLESS…

However, if we’d known we were going to accomplish so much, Fiona and I might’ve chosen different togs for the photo below…
steph and i - pine tree 73 8

And if that photo doesn’t convince you that, nobody is putting BABY and her sis in a corner…I don’t know what will.

So, go ahead universe, BRING IT the fuck on…cuz we’re on the mound waiting to bat – no matter how big or bad the bullshit you might chuck our way! And this blip of joblessness is no exception in the scheme of our lives.

And I shall sign off by saying, well, guess I buried the lead. I just got confirmation that I have a new a job starting 1/19/15 – provided I pass the background check (hmmm…keep you posted on that).

So, stay tuned, boys and girls cuz in the infamous words of Bachman, Turner, Overdrive –  You ain’t seen nothin’ yet…:)

Love and chocolate chip cookies,

Tenacious B and her band of truth-spouting hippies

~TB/ks

Post #136 – It’s Not Even American!

Posted in Family, family drama, Food and beverages, humor, memoir, nonfiction, relationships, true stories, true stories, Uncategorized, writing with tags , , , , , , , , , , on June 18, 2014 by tenaciousbitch

A couple of days ago, I called my 97-year-old Grandmother, a.k.a. Nana Maude. I talked to her for a few minutes about the new shoes I sent her, which she loved, thank God, and then I handed the phone to my husband, Charlie. Whereupon, she began whining about the food at her nursing home.

“It’s not even American,” she lamented.

For those who are new to my casa de crazy, Nana lived with us here in Ohio for 27 very long months. Then, one year ago today, she moved into Mt. Olive Care Center (the nursing home) in Georgia about 3 miles from where she lived for 49 years until her house got foreclosed on because of my drug addict brother, which you can read about beginning with this post –  http://tenaciousbitch.com/2011/03/16/danny-the-stolen-cash-and-the-stripper/

I stayed with her for a week until she got settled in her new digs. During that time, she was served:

1)  Fried chicken, mashed potatoes and green beans. She hated the beans because they weren’t “seasoned right”. Meaning, they weren’t simmered for 19 hours in a vat laden with salt, onions and bacon – until they resembled a really fine green paste. Besides fried chicken, they also offered chicken Marsala. Therefore, they did sneak a bit of Italian cuisine in there alongside the not-so-American fried chicken…:)

2) Meatloaf with boiled potatoes and a salad. The alternate choice was sweet and sour chicken, so they did borrow from other cultures…BAD CHEFS…BAD! 🙂

3) And one day at lunch, they brought Nana a steak sandwich and French fries. She said the steak was tough, so she wouldn’t touch it, and they brought her a PB&J. I ate the steak sandwich, which was thinly sliced and relatively tender, I thought, but my choppers aren’t 90+ years old.

4) One morning, they brought her scrambled eggs, bacon and white toast with butter and strawberry jam. Funny, I made that exact same meal on many occasions while she lived with us. Hmmm…

5) The last day I was there, she was given a ham and cheese sandwich, a bowl of Jell-O and a banana for lunch with a cup of vanilla ice cream for dessert.

And I remember all of this because I helped her fill out her menu requests – relieved that they always served something I thought she’d eat…but she didn’t because it wasn’t American. Oh, wait…that’s her excuse now. At the time, her meals were too spicy, too sweet, too salty, too peppery, and the list goes on – though I found none of the entrees espousing these traits except the fried chicken was a little peppery. Other than that, I thought the food was pretty frickin’ good for a rest home as Nana calls it with disdain.

Just out of curiosity to see if the menu had changed drastically, I looked on the nursing home’s website today where they post menus for the residents’ families in case they’d like to drop by and share a meal with their loved one.  For dinner today, they listed:

Beef stew and biscuits or fried pork chops with mashed potatoes and peas, and tomorrow night they advertised chili (oh, god, you’re right, Nana, that’s TEX-MEX) and barbecued wings or honey glazed ham with fried potatoes or baked potatoes and cole slaw. Additionally, you can get cole slaw with your wings and/or chili as well.

That said, I’m not sure why she insists the dining room is providing non-American cuisine. Perhaps, she’s just run out of negative adjectives and decided to utilize more heinous-sounding verbiage instead of the truth:

She doesn’t want anything except entrees from one of her favorite restaurants – or food that she, herself, has prepared, which she, obviously can’t do anymore…though she loves my potato soup, and she loved my husband’s liver and onions.

She also loved what she called – “my spaghetti”, but the slop she referred to was merely hamburger slathered in Prego, which is about 30% high fructose corn syrup, and I think it’s nasty. But I let her think it was “my sauce”, so she’d eat it.

In reality, I make my meaty Italian sauce almost from scratch, but the few times she consumed that which my boys and my husband gobble up in the blink of an eye was too tomato-y according to Nana. But it looks just a RED and tomato-infested as mine, so go figure. So, I allegedly tried a “new recipe”, the heretofore mentioned – Prego and ground beef for her and my homemade spaghetti for everyone else – i.e. making a separate meal for her, which we we had to do about half the time.

But, holy hell, Nana, spaghetti is ITALIAN, why in heaven’s name were you eating that? 🙂

ANYWHO…toward the end of her rant, I saw Charlie cup his hand over his mouth, and I knew she’d just delivered a zinger of verbal insanity, and I was right.

“But you know me, Charlie, I’m not picky…”

To-wit, Charlie and I let go of some serious belly laughs. And this from the woman who grumbled about her breakfast the morning of our departure for Georgia as such:

“Why are my eggs so big?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, rather puzzled after I set her scrambled eggs, sausage gravy and a biscuit down in front of her.

“Do you put milk in them?”

“Yes, Nana,” I said, rolling my eyes because she’d posed that query at least 492 times.

She frowned and said, “When I made them, they were much smaller.”

Oh, for the love of chicken embryos…forgive me, Nana, I wanted to say. I let the eggs cook a little too long before I “scrambled” them up and plopped them on your plate, but even at her age…she can still cut up her own damned eggs, which she began doing the moment I headed for the door.

For other depictions of why Nana “isn’t” picky – check out:

http://tenaciousbitch.com/2012/07/31/post-70-more-baloney-from-ms-cranky-pants/

or

http://tenaciousbitch.com/2012/06/28/post-66-baloney-porn-or-is-it-bologna-porn/

It’s difficult to imagine ever being that unaware of one’s own personality, but it’s not her age, Nana has always been that way…even when I was a kid, but that’s another yarn to unravel another day…:)

Over and out from Crazytown…

~TenaciousBitch and her band of truth-spouting hippies

TB/ks

© Tenacious Bitch 2014

 

Yes, I bought a COBRA! :)

Posted in Family, humor, memoir, nonfiction, parenting, relationships, true stories, true stories, Uncategorized, young adult with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on May 20, 2014 by tenaciousbitch

This past weekend, I went to the Springfield Antique Show (i.e. http://www.springfieldantiqueshow.com/ ) in Springfield, Ohio)…where you can buy everything from collectible china and collectible toys to homemade bread to antique furniture, knock-off purses, used books, jewelry, posters of Elvis, original artwork, and a whole lot more.

Here’s a few photos from the event to give you an idea if you’ve never been to one of these outdoor extravaganzas…

SPRINGFIELD PHOTO 1SPRINGFIELD PHOTO 3SPRINGFIELD 8SPRINGFIELD PHOTO 5 SPRINGFIELD 7

I love antiques, and probably 1/3 of the furniture in my house came from Springfield, including this lovely wardrobe that we refinished:

WARDOBE FROM SPRINGFIELD

And I SOOOOOOOO need this couch:

BRAZILIAN COW SOFA

But, alas, they were asking $3900, and I arrived with only $50. Sigh…I realize a lot of people may find the sofa above rather gaudy, even ugly, but I LOVE it. They re-upholstered it with Brazilian cow hide! I know…I’ll be hearing from PETA tomorrow, but what’s new? 🙂

Anywho…I did buy something rather cool. It’ll have to fight the cats for the mice in the garage though. You guessed it! I bought a snake as my title suggests…

COBRA NECKLACE 1

See? A beautiful silver cobra. Don’t hate me cuz I’m wearing a serpent…no matter how much you wanna… 🙂

Since I’m terrified of snakes, it’s rather ironic that I chose this necklace from the plethora of choices offered by the dozen or so vendors last weekend who were selling jewelry.

And when I say terrified of reptiles, I mean the totally panicked, unable to breathe, primal fight or flight variety of fear. Snakes are pretty much the only animals that induce panic attacks – other than maybe scorpions or tarantulas, but I rarely venture into their territory.

My trepidation of snakes was initiated by my brother Chad, who thought it would be funny to throw green garter snakes on his ‘lil sis when I was 6 or 7. Awesome…thanks for the nightmares, bro.

As far as real-time experiences with snakes, I once refused to move, walk or exhale until my first husband, Frank, had slain a rather harmless black snake, which is another garter snake, an herbivore, I believe, who poses no threat to humans regardless of its menu choices.

We had gone to an outdoor wedding at the edge of a lake in Michigan, and I was pregnant with my son, Drew, at the time, about 2-3 weeks away from my due date.

During my pregnancy, I was afraid to drink soda or go visit a certain relative whose house always smelled of bleach, much less – walk past the very path where a snake could’ve whipped around and bit me?! I THINK NOT.  Hello…don’t f#ck with the mother bear, after all?

So, I ordered Frank to kill the poor beast, who could’ve been someone’s mother itself for all I knew. Frank plucked one of his hunting knives from a holster (or whatever it’s called) on his leg  and sliced the black snake in half with one strong swing, akin to a karate chop.

And as I recall, the damned thing was nearly 6 feet long, so I thought it was a water moccasin – though he swore that garter snakes do get that long.

“Poppycock,” I said, the ever the paranoid parent to be. Frank laughed at me, but I didn’t care. Maybe it wasn’t a water moccasin…but I wasn’t betting mine or my child’s life on it.

So, not only did I coerce Frank into murdering what might’ve been an innocent creature, but I made him throw one half in the water…and he tossed the tail portion in the weeds a good 20 feet away. Yes, I was indeed freaked out, LOL.

That said, why do I find the necklace so fascinating, given my obvious loathing of snakes? It’s silver. It’s weird and cool. Interesting combo, n’est-ce pas? It’s also unique, and it’s totally ME…:)

So, God forgive me for forcing Frank to assassinate a reptile who probably feared us more than we did him and probably meant us no ill will. And please don’t turn my necklace into some sort of demonic talisman bent upon axing me like the deluge of horror movies Hollywood churns out…that’s just so tired…:)

~Ciao!

TenaciousBitch and her band of truth-spouting hippies…

 

Post #129 – Sorry, Uncle Sam, You Were, In Fact, Upstaged By A Near Death Experience!

Posted in cats, Family, humor, memoir, nonfiction, relationships, true stories, true stories, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , on April 17, 2014 by tenaciousbitch

Like many Americans, I was up to my eyeballs in spreadsheets last week finishing the reams of paperwork involved in organizing/compiling my tax info for Bernie, our accountant, who prepares our return every year.  I try not to leave all the fiscal drudgery until the last minute.

But inevitably, too many unexpected issues with my Grandmother or calamities like our dryer catching fire last fall decimate my schedule, and I end up finishing our accounting mess around April 1st.

However, this year, due to the demands of my second job, I didn’t print the last scrap of fiscal fodder until midnight of April 9th. And just as I was heading out the door the next day, my path to Bernie’s office was halted by the sixth-month old, curtain-scaling fella below…initiated by son, Max, exclaiming –

CLIMBING THE CURTAINS2

“Why’re George’s feet all bloody?”

I looked down at the cat sitting on my dresser. Both of his front paws were lathered in fresh blood. Samantha, our other cat, was mewing loudly and pacing erratically beside him.

“Oh, my God, George, what’d you do?” I gasped. I didn’t see any cuts or abrasions on his little white mits, and then I noticed something spherical in his mouth. But I couldn’t tell what it was. I tugged on this round, yellow disc wedged between his upper and lower teeth, but it wouldn’t budge.

I feared whatever he’d swallowed might have a string attached to it. I’d read an article at the vet’s office warning cat owners not to pull on a piece of yarn or a string dangling out of cat’s mouth because you could perforate their esophagus, which could cause them to choke on their own blood or cause serious damage to their colon if they’d swallowed part of it.

When Max realized that our baby cat might choke to death, he broke down sobbing. “No, not George. Oh, my God, no, not another cat…”

He was referring to Sasha, my beautiful stray who died last fall. Her demise is the subject of this post:

http://tenaciousbitch.com/2013/09/18/my-beloved-sasha-is-gone/

“He’s still breathing. He’ll be fine,” I said, my voice shaking as I scooped George up into my arms. “It’ll be okay,” I added, trying to keep my wits about me and assuage Max’s distress as well.

“No, he won’t,” Max wailed. “That’s his collar in his mouth. He’s going to suffocate.”

I studied George who was uttering a low, somewhat squeaky cry and struggling to push the foreign object out of his mouth with his tongue. Upon closer inspection, I realized Max was right. It was rabies tag between his teeth, which you can see in this pic:

GEORGE ON END TABLE 2

“The vet will remove it. He’ll be okay,” I replied snatching the cat carrier from the exercise room and heading for the stairs.

But Max was beyond consolation and was convinced we’d bury another family pet by sundown. “Why does this keep happening? Why do all of our cats keep choking on shit?” Max lamented, slamming his hefty fist into his bathroom door.

Max’s outburst startled George who leapt from my arms, and scurried downstairs into the living room. A minute later, Max found the cat behind the couch. I set the carrier by the door and crawled around the furniture and gently captured George once again, only to lose him seconds later. I was so rattled, I didn’t fasten the hinge properly on the carrier. George fled his cage and disappeared into the shadows of the family room.

I spotted him behind Charlie’s recliner. Seconds later, I nudged him back into his plastic pen again. I called our vet who referred me to Diley Hill, an emergency veterinary hospital in Canal Winchester, 20 minutes away.

As I sped down 270, I kept envisioning George undergoing surgery, a gasp away from death, so I kept cooing, “You’ll be okay, baby George,” trying to reassure us both.

I passed the road to Diley Hill, but my GPS re-routed, and within 5 minutes, I was rushing my infant feline inside the ER where a lovely young vet tech with long, blonde hair met me at the front door and practically sprinted George into triage.

Before I could finish writing my address on the intake form, the veterinarian, Dr. Henson, a petite woman in her late 30s, appeared in the waiting room with George’s collar…she’d gotten it out in less than 5 minutes! I was amazed.

 

The murderous collar in question.

The murderous collar in question.

Can you believe this circular belt, meant to be worn by a Chihuahua, actually fit in his mouth without choking him? Because George is so tiny, the smallest kitty collar was too big for him. Even still, I couldn’t figure out how he’d finagled it off his neck without unhooking it or biting it in two. Perhaps, a name change is in order. Houdini anyone? 🙂

“He probably pulled on the rabies tag, flipped it over his head and his ears, and the rabies tag got stuck between his teeth, and he ended up swallowing the whole thing trying to work the rabies tag out from between his teeth,” Dr. Henson surmised.

“And all the blood is from raking his little claws inside his mouth trying to dislodge the collar, I guess?” I suggested.

Dr. Henson nodded. “Yes. There weren’t any cuts on his feet. But 2 or 3 in his mouth,” she continued, prying open his mug, so I could see the gashes on his gums. The doctor prescribed an antibiotic to administer with an eye dropper twice/day and softened food for a couple days until his mouth healed.

I thanked the doctor profusely and jetted back home, absolutely exhausted.

Unfortunately, because of George’s near-death adventure, I wasn’t able to deposit my stack of tax docs at Bernie’s office before work Wednesday night. Thus, Uncle Sam didn’t receive mine and Charlie’s 1040 form and its many tables and tabulations on 4/15/14, and that, my friends, is how an 8-pound fuzzball upstaged Uncle Sam.

But we shall add a properly executed ES-86-derelicttaxee.loser form to our return for an extension… . And all will be well in the eyes of our God-forsaken tax obligation.

If not, I’ll beguile the tax man with the lore of every cat I’ve ever known, complete with photos, diagrams and urns until my ad nauseam banter prompts him to forgive our tardiness in order to free himself of a cat lover’s verbose serenade.

Over and out from George and TB’s casa de crazy…

~Ciao!

Tenacious B and her band of truth-spouting hippies...

Tenacious Bitch © 2014