Archive for social issues

Post #158 -The Oddest, Coolest Mother’s Day Gift Ever

Posted in art, blogging, comedy, Family, Freelancing, humor, life, marriage, memoir, people, relationships, true crime, true stories, Uncategorized, work, writing with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 6, 2016 by tenaciousbitch

Those of you who know me IRL (in real life), you’re aware that I’m weird. And that such is an adjective I wear proudly. So, it won’t surprise you to know that my husband gave me a very strange gift for Mother’s Day, one that I absolutely love. However, I can’t think of one woman on earth besides me who would’ve shrieked with joy as I did when I opened it.

Obviously, it wasn’t flowers or jewelry or an expensive pair of shoes or a gift card from my favorite retailer and the like. Though, honestly, I would’ve been perfectly happy with any of the above.

So? What is it, you ask? A 6-foot alligator? No. I prefer my gifts aren’t of the man/woman – eating kind.

Was it some sort of unconventional kitchen gadget like a knife sharpener?

No…it was…

Wait for it…..

Wait for it…

Here’s a photo of the box.


Does that give you any ideas? 🙂 For all the ladies and gents out there who might’ve been to a gun store, the box might be a dead give away.

Otherwise, for  the many folks who’ve never been to a retail outlet that sells weaponry…you may not even know what it is by viewing the item itself below….


Yes, it is, in fact a STUN GUN!!! 🙂 And don’t you LOVE the fact that it’s pink? 🙂

Though I live in a very low-crime area, I wanted a stun gun because I’ve been selling my artwork (i.e. fine art photography, decoupaged coasters, hand painted vases, etc.) at various flea markets and art shows since last summer. When I had a booth over the winter at a flea market in a somewhat shabby area, I saw a man arguing with a woman in the parking lot, and he struck her so hard in the face, she almost fell down. I called the police who FINALLY showed up about 20 minutes later. And what kills me about that is – that flea market is a mile from Easton Mall/a very EXPENSIVE area to live/work, etc.

Obviously, violent crime can happen anywhere, so you never know when I might actually have an occasion to use this handy gadget in my own home.

Additionally, the outdoor flea market I’ve been going to since March is frequented by more men than women. And sometimes as I’m packing up my artwork and boxes of household items I’ve also been trying to sell (inherited from my mother/other relatives), there might only be a couple other vendors left. There are no security guards or anything, and occasionally, I meet a vendor who just evokes that vibe that he’s probably seen his share of time “inside” a local prison.

Once in awhile a male vendor or a customer will hit on me, and I’m always polite when replying that I’m happily married and not interested in cheating on my spouse. But you never know when one of those guys might take offense and turn an innocent situation into something ugly.

That said, I LOVE MY STUN GUN. And it’s all charged and ready to go, so be warned all lecherous, less-than-honorable men who might consider getting aggressive with me cuz this chick is PACKIN’, and I won’t hesitate to STUN the hair right off your  balz! 🙂

Peace out –

~Tenacious Bitch and her band of truth spouting hippies

P.S. If you’d like to do a girl a solid (and want to help me garner some more cash to GO SEE NANA – and btw, Nana is now 99 years old), feel free to check out my online store with most of my artwork and such at:



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…:)


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


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.


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.


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…


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.

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?




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.


Tenacious Bitch and her band of truth-spouting hippies.



#134 – Time to Go To Prison~Again!

Posted in college, Family, family battles, family drama, friends, marriage, memoir, Motherhood, nonfiction, parenting, relationships, true crime, true stories, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , on June 2, 2014 by tenaciousbitch

My son Rory’s first DUI occurred when he was 21, not long after he got married. He was working at Chase bank, and he’d been partying with some friends one night and fell asleep at the wheel and crashed into a tree. No one was injured, thank God. All of which happened in Upper Arlington, a very ritzy, old money suburb not far from Ohio State University.

He couldn’t remember who was in the vehicle with him. However, his unnamed drinking buddies were seen scattering into the darkness when the police arrived.

Apparently, not only had he thrown back quite a few cocktails, he’d probably taken double the recommended dosage of Dexedrine, his ADD medication, and he’d been awake for around 36 hours straight. So, yeah, he was a mess. And he shouldn’t have been anywhere near a car.

Long story short, he was shuffled off to the drunk tank downtown and was later sentenced to six months probation and attending some sort of group therapy. Rory hadn’t augmented his Dexedrine intake to get high. He did it to increase his productivity and stay awake longer in order to get more accomplished – because he’s always been an overachiever.

Besides his job at Chase, he started moonlighting at Victory’s bar and restaurant downtown after Lacey lost her full-time job at a bakery. They had accumulated a massive credit card debt, and he was attempting to stave off foreclosure on their house. Lacey was unemployed for six months and had just started working part-time as a receptionist at Mt. Carmel hospital when he’d gotten the first DUI.

Three or four months later, he was out drinking and decided to give Kim, a co-worker at Victory’s, a ride home.  According to his friends, she was rather inebriated.

Kim didn’t doze off en route to her apartment as expected. No, she attempted to seduce him. Fending off her her advances caused him to swerve into the opposite lane where, thank heaven, there wasn’t an oncoming car. But a cop just happened to be right behind him.

Yeah, he was totally fucked.

On the advice of a friend/attorney who handles a lot of DUI’s, Rory refused the breathalyzer. But, apparently, when he passed the field sobriety test, the cop didn’t believe he was sober. So, the officer snuck up behind him, popped the breathalyzer in his mouth and told him to “blow”.

His blood-alcohol level was high enough for an arrest, but if I’d known how the cop had obtained his probable cause, I would’ve helped Rory prepare a Motion to Dismiss since all the evidence against him was fruit of the poisoned tree nullifying the policeman’s probable cause.

It might not’ve have been a Supreme Court-worthy document, but having been a paralegal for almost 7 years, I think it would’ve sufficed for a Pro Se defendant.

It might’ve eliminated or at least truncated Rory’s 2nd turn in County. Either way, worst case scenario – the judge could’ve denied the Motion to Dismiss. No harm. No foul. But I didn’t know what the police officer had done until a few days ago when I asked Rory about the specifics of his arrests to confirm all the details.

He pled guilty to the 2nd DUI because he couldn’t afford an attorney. He was sentenced to 5 days in lockup for violating his probation in the Upper Arlington case, and 5 days for the 2nd DUI.

Additionally, he lost his driver’s license for 2 years. However, at least the judge was kind enough to allow Rory to serve his time on his days’ off so that he wouldn’t lose his job. And since he was on flex time, his days’ off varied.

Rory’s 2nd prison term began in mid-summer. He had moved back home temporarily because he and Lacey were separated. (They divorced about a year later).  Since he didn’t have a driver’s license, I drove him to the corrections facility, which was only 4 miles away from our house.

I didn’t mind providing transportation. Plus, I could make sure he clocked in at at 9 a.m. sharp as required by his sentencing agreement. I was concerned he’d be late or not show up at all because he’d started drinking even more after he and Lacey split up. I knew that if he was a no-show, he could get thrown in the clink for 3 months to a year.

So, I’m sure you can guess what happened next. One particular morning in August, I got  up to take Rory to serve his time, and he wasn’t sleeping peacefully in his room. He wasn’t steeped in Jameson, dead to the world, on our couch downstairs in front of the TV. He was nowhere to be found.

I called and texted him a dozen times, but all I got was his voicemail and no reply to my texts. I texted every single friend of his whose contact info was on my cellular Rolodex. No one had heard from him, and none of his friends had a reason to lie, especially given the severity of the situation.

Finally at 9:45, I decided to toss out a Hail Mary. I suspected Rory might’ve spent the night with Lacey because he’d been talking to her a lot on the phone lately. She and I have a rocky history because I never wanted Rory to marry her. Don’t get me wrong, she’s a beautiful girl, and she can be extremely sweet when she wants to be. But I just didn’t think either of them was ready for marriage since he was barely 21 and she 22.

I also didn’t think they were a good match. He’s very serious and intellectual, and Lacey is not. And as I feared, they split up eight months into their marriage.

Therefore, it was a delicate proposition to contact Lacey. God forbid, I didn’t wanna call and wake her up unnecessarily since she works night or embarrass her if she happened to be with another guy. So, I chose a different route.

I called Rory’s friend, Nelson, who is probably Rory’s most responsible friend. By the time Nelson was 21, he’d already completed his BA in automotive technology from Ohio State. He works at a local Chevy dealership, and he’s got his own side business repairing/restoring old muscle cars. Yeah, I like Nelson. He’s a good egg.

So, I explained Rory’s incarceration dilemma and asked Nelson to contact Lacey. Not ten minutes later, he texted me confirming that Rory was at Lacey’s apartment somewhere downtown. I took a deep breath and dialed Lacey’s number.

“He got another DUI?” Lacey gasped.

Score another fuck up for me. Sorry, Dude, I thought to myself, didn’t mean to turn up the temp on the hot water you’re swimming in, Rory, but it ain’t my fault.

“Yeah, right after my Dad was diagnosed with terminal cancer, Rory, got a DUI downtown,” I explained. “Is he with you?”

Long pause.

“Look, Lacey…” I began in an apologetic tone while looking at my watch. “He was supposed to be at the jail an hour ago. Is he there?”

“I see,” Lacey sputtered. “Thanks for letting me know.” And she hung up.



The conclusion to this story will be in my upcoming book – Tales From the Lunatic Lounge – which I hope to finish in a couple of months wherein you can read all the dirt on Rory’s last stint in the pokey! 🙂

And if you’re searching for some summer reads, check out my list of favorite books at:

Over and out-

~TenaciousBitch and her band of truth-spouting hippies

Tenacious Bitch © 2014


Post #130 – The Sterling Stalker

Posted in dating, marriage, memoir, nonfiction, relationships, sex, thrillers, true stories, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , on May 2, 2014 by tenaciousbitch

A friend of mine calls me a psycho magnet because I often found myself in peculiar circumstances/relationships with men before I met my husband, Charlie, and this event with Sterling is no exception.

In fall of 1989, I decided to move from Brooklyn, New York, to Los Angeles with my then boyfriend, Ashe (now deceased ex-husband mentioned in ). Shortly after Ashe graduated from sound engineering school, he got a job on the Rolling Stones tour.

Unfortunately, four months later, Ashe brought home a new BFF, her majestycocaine. Our relationship imploded, and I was a single Mom again with a 3-year-old Tim in tow. Sigh…

I got a job working as an admin assistant at a computer sales company. While attending a trade show in Santa Monica, a handsome man swaggered over to my table at lunch. “I’ll trade you a bit for your byte?” He asked with a beguiling grin.

I stared at him, confused. Then, I noticed the trade show badge pinned to his shirtand it hit me — a joke about the PC biz…how charming. However, since he was a blonde-haired, hazel-eyed babe, I laughed…while admiring his thick-muscled arms…

“Hi, I’m Sterling,” Mr. Hottie said, extending his hand. “I’m at IBM.”

With a polite handshake and cool smile, I replied, “Kennedy, Kennedy Smith.”

After an awkward pause, the usual pleasantries evolved into a conversation cultivated via common ground. We both liked cooking ethnic meals from scratch, sci-fi books and movies, and both of us wanted to own motorcycles.  But neither of us had the cash to satisfy that yearning at the time.

A dozen dates later, I started to feel that flutter preceding those three little words that will kill or cement any liaison, but quick. However, since Sterling was likely a rebound beau, I refrained from verbalizing said “L” word. Thank God because…

Five minutes after our first blissful romp between the sheets, Sterling had a lengthy discourse with someone named Clair on the phone. I was half asleep, and even though his timing was odd, I assumed by his verbiage, he was chatting with his assistant…or maybe, his sister until…

“Love you, too.” And the cooing timbre of that phrase was definitely not the way one speaks to a sibling…

“Who was that?” I snapped.

“My wife,” he said.

“What? I’m sorry. Did you say wife?”

“Yes, Clair, my wife of six years.”

“You goddamned piece of shit!” I yelled, wanting to kick the short and curlies right off his fucking balls. “You’re  married, you filthy bag of dick?”

“Never said I wasn’t.”

“Oh, right, so that makes it okay. How could you call your wife, five seconds after you fucked another woman?”

A wide grin slithered across his face, “Cuz, it turns me on,” he said, rolling over on me and planting a succulent kiss on my neck.

“Get off me!” I hollered, shoving him sideways. I leapt out of bed and slipped into my robe. “And get the fuck out of my house!”

“Come on, you knew.”

“How could I know? You never mentioned a wife, you lame-assed cock, and you’re not wearing a ring!!”

“A guy like me, single at 30? C’mon?? What’re the odds?” he scoffed.

“GET OUT!” I screamed, so relieved that Tim (my son) was asleep at the neighbor’s next door – because he’d taken a liking to Sterling, the wanking prick.

But Sterling didn’t move. “C’mon, this is 1989. Monogamy’s dead, especially in Hollywood.”

“We live in the Valley, and we’re not celebrities, you arrogant bastard-” I shouted while dialing the phone.

“Who’re you calling?”

“Only 911,” I snickered.

Finally, that prompted his departure, but not without trying to kiss me goodbye. Instead, I gave him a sweet caress of very sharp, red nails…even drew a little blood.

The next day, Sterling called me at work. I immediately hung up on him, but that didn’t deter the cheating lout. Not two hours later, Kiki, the receptionist, strutted over with a dozen roses in a crystal vase.

“Wow, someone’s got a sweetie,” said the dull-eyed Kiki, setting the flowers on my desk.

FUCK! I glanced at the card:

 I miss you, beautiful. 
Please forgive me. 
Just say the word and I’ll file 
Love, Sterling

I dumped the roses in my trashcan, and I wanted to throw the vase at the wall, but I couldn’t exactly afford to lose my job.

And just when I started to relax a few days later, my hands turned cold, and my heart dashed about painfully in my chest…when a bottle of Dom Perignon appeared on my kitchen counter. A card bearing my name beside it.

“What’s wrong, Mommy?” Tim asked, tugging at my quivering hand.

“Nothing, honey,” I said with a weak smile, trying desperately to shield him from the terror evoked by this seemingly innocent bottle of bubbly. “You go on and watch cartoons while I, uh, make dinner. Okay?”


My beautiful blue-eyed boy toddled into the living room as I tried to collect myself. I glared at the card for a second. Then, like an idiot, I opened it:

I love you. I can’t 
stand being apart.
Please call me.
Love, Always

“Shit…” I mumbled, leaning on the counter to steady myself. I raced to the front door and dropped to my knees. I didn’t see any marks on the door or the doorknob, and that was the only entrance to my tiny one-bedroom apartment. I checked all the windows, which were still locked.

I called the police, and two patrolmen showed up an hour later. Tim, of course, was fascinated by their badges and their guns.

“Please, can I see it, Officer, your -?” Tim pleaded from the doorway, pointing to the shorter Officer’s pistol.

“No, Tim,” I scolded. “Go watch TV in the bedroom, please.”

Frowning, he slumped away.

“I’m sorry, but,” said Officer Denton, the older of the two lawmen, “There’s really nothing we can do.”

“But he broke in!”

“There’s no sign of forced entry, and that card isn’t…it doesn’t constitute a threat-”

“I don’t understand! He doesn’t have a key!”

“I know. I’m sorry. I suggest you move.”

“But my lease isn’t up for seven months.”

With that, the nightmare with the STERLING STALKER was just beginning…

And what made me think of this creep after all these years? Yep…you got it? Another…do you know –

Sterling XXXXXXX

On Facebook. And Sterling, apparently, has 3 friends in common with me who still live in L.A.  Holy Shitballs, Batman…and these are not folks I knew when I lived in Cali…they’re folks I’ve met at seminars and such…

If you’d like to read the conclusion to this story, it will be one of the chapters in my upcoming book, Tales from the Lunatic Lounge, which I hope to finish in the next month or so! 🙂


Post #99 – Still unhappy, but there is a dog named SUE…

Posted in dogs, Family, humor, memoir, nonfiction, relationships, Travel, true stories, Uncategorized, writing with tags , , , , , , , , , on June 28, 2013 by tenaciousbitch

Do you hear it? No? It’s the SOUND of silence…:). The Food Channel isn’t squawking over the monitor in my office! No, I’m not ignoring Nana, and she’s still kicking.

The moment described in:   …. has come to fruition. It took a month of research, a voluminous passel of online forms, many phone calls and several HOURS packing up Nana’s 51-pound suitcase, but she is now living in a 5-star nursing home, Greenlawn Retirement Home in Georgia. It’s 5 miles from where she lived for 52 years!

As you can imagine, all the prep work necessitated my absence from these hallowed cyber halls. So, my apologies for that…:). But THANK GOD, the airline didn’t charge $90.00 for Nana’s obese valise.

However, nursing home care requires a SEPARATE Medicaid application, which hasn’t been approved yet. Therefore, please say mega prayers for its acceptance. Otherwise, we’ll owe $5200 for her 30-day tenure at Greenlawn, and she’ll have to endure another grueling journey north. Her income is well below the maximum allowed, but even a minor error committed while navigating the mean streets of Georgia’s RED TAPE, could mean rejection.

Sadly, Nana was stunned by the news of her relocation. Apparently, my constant dialogue about our massive credit card debt/bleak finances caused by her financial baggage was lost on her. She was silent at first, but then, she started weeping. And I think Charlie felt worse than I did.

He kept saying, “We really don’t want to do this, but we’re broke”, which is true, and our debt isn’t going to dissipate until I can work FULL-TIME.

However, later on, she was THRILLED about living in Georgia again, with its balmy climate, and she can see all of her friends.

Our trip southward was no vacation, but I can’t say enough GOOD things about the staff of American Airlines and the Columbus/Jacksonville airports. Someone was always ready to assist with bags/a wheelchair/whatever. They made EVERYTHING pretty painless.

On the other hand, there’s a reason we call Nana – QUEEN MAUDE. And I realize that Nana can’t help being cold all the time. She’s NINETY-SIX. However, she’s often completely ridiculous.

We arrived at the La Quinta Inn (courtesy of Ben and Allicia’s Amex points!!) around 9:15 our first night. Not five minutes later, Nana said, “I won’t be able to sleep with that air condition on. I’m already freezing!” And, yes, she says it just like that: AIR CONDITION – without the ING, a Southern-ism, I guess.

“How about I turn it up to 75?” I offered.

Nana frowned.

“It’s 95 degrees out. I cannot sleep without air.”

Nana sighed.

“I’ll turn it up, and you bundle up with all the blankets on and see if you’re still cold.”

But Nana wouldn’t budge, so the AC went off, and after much discussion, I reserved another room for me. I was bleary-eyed exhausted, and I got nauseous after 64 minutes sans FREON-cooled air.  I hated leaving her alone – even two doors down, but I didn’t know what else to do.

When I returned from booking another room, Nana said, “I need another blanket.”

“Why? The AC is off.”

Nana shook her head while giving the comforter an angry toss. “I can’t sleep with these, this thing-”

OMG…here we go. “What’s wrong with the blankets?” I asked, dreading her bizarro reply.

“Feel of them,” she snipped as if her bedding was manufactured from decomposing body parts…

I felt the sparkling white linen and ordinary cotton bedspread and shrugged.

“They’re perfectly fine. What’s wrong with them?” If they were a DARK color, THAT would be cause for hating the allegedly awful bedding because Nana will only tolerate PASTELS. She once demanded another room during a 3-day hospital stay in 2008 because the curtains were dark brown…

“I just don’t like the feel of them.”

I argued with her relentlessly, but she persisted. So, I called the front desk, knowing she wasn’t going to shut up until I did. After 30 minutes, 2 phone calls and a trip to the office where, of course, they had no blankets, I was ready to strangle Nana.

“I can’t believe they don’t have any blankets. What kind of hotel is this?”

“The best we could afford, Nana – a FREE, 3-star hotel,” I answered. “And it’s JUNE for heaven sake. All of the Eastern seaboard is experiencing unseasonably WARM temperatures,” I stammered.

Nana just grimaced.

At 11:45, another fucking BLANKET still hadn’t arrived. I sat at the desk, my shoulders drooping while contemplating adding a stiff blast of bourbon to Nana’s bedtime tea – when she asked…

“You okay?”

“I’m dying to take a shower. I think my sweat is SWEATING because it’s so damned hot in here.”

Nana’s lip quivered, and I immediately regretted that remark, evoked by the guilt from banishing my Grandmother to a HOME. But she could’ve worn a sweater over her pajamas like I KEPT suggesting or swaddled herself up in the supposedly icky bed clothes, and she would’ve been FINE. Then, I could’ve turn on the AC a tad and slept in the FREE ROOM. BUT NO…welcome to the nightmare known as Nana MAUDE’s universe…

“Go on. I’ll be fine,” she said.

I had stayed fearing she’d have trouble with the dead bolt (with her arthritis) – or she’d forget to lock the door.

At midnight, I relented and went to MY room. She remembered the lock and the DO NOT DISTURB sign, but I didn’t rest easy. And, GUESS WHAT? Another blanket never appeared, and she slept just fine on the less than-Laura Ashley SHEETS, etc.

Unfortunately, her doctor (of 30+ years) didn’t sign Medicaid’s authorization form the next day, so they couldn’t admit her to Greenlawn yet.

In lieu of sleeping in separate rooms again, I booked a suite at the Marriott. I stayed there before (RE:  )…

Anyway…the Marriott has a bedroom, and…

KITCHEN 3a kitchenette, which was nice because we had breakfast in our room, in lieu of making it to the FREE continental meal before 9 AM. Nana took the bedroom, immediately cranking the HEAT, and I slept on the slab of concrete/sofa bed, with the AIR CONDITIONING chugging away. So, I spent $150 for 2 extra rooms because HER Highness wouldn’t compromise. Is it any WONDER that we racked up so much debt because of her?

FINALLY, two days later, on JUNE 21st, 2013, Nana was admitted to Greenlawn.  She got weepy when I left for the hotel that evening, but thank you, JESUS, thus far, she LIKES the food at GREENLAWN! Check out: as to WHY that’s so AWESOME…

By the time I departed Georgia, Nana seemed happier than she’s been in months – even though yesterday on the phone, she said, “I’m unhappy, and I’ll always be, but I’m making the best of it…and Boots sat on my lap today.”

BOOTS 2Boots, one of Greenlawn’s pets, and Ms. Pickles, another cat who scurried away before I snapped this photo (so named because she LOVES pickles, and she’ll snatch yours right off your plate if you’re not looking). Nana loves cats, AND the dog named SUE, pictured below…

DOG NAMED SUE 2… a really sweet Shi-Zhu, who belongs to one of the administrators. And don’t you LOVE the ponytail? 🙂

Despite the obvious adjustments, I really think Greenlawn is the best place for her. She’s rarely alone, and they have lots of activities like a middle-aged crooner belting out Nana’s favorite Frank Sinatra tune her first day there during “happy hour” at 3:30, LOL.

AND they have a beauty shop on site! What’s better than that? 🙂

Anywho…thanks for suffering through my laborious account about Nana’s new digs…

Over and out from the now QUIET abode of TENACIOUS BITCH and her band of truth spouting hippies…~TB

Post 88 – Back off, baloney spewing ass-hats or embrace THE CYBER-FIST! :)

Posted in BOOKS, Family, humor, nonfiction, relationships, Uncategorized, writing with tags , , , , , , , , , on February 14, 2013 by tenaciousbitch

Upon reading the incredible words of Wisdom of the fair maiden known as SWEET MOTHER, who catapults her provocative and wondrous verbiage upon our cyber pages this day regarding the subject of THE ASSHAT HATERS, I felt I must offer homage to her kind and brilliant words, which are parked here:

Ne, which is called: “HOW TO COMMENT”.  Why the kudos? Because the Shit-Munching Ass-hats who bandy about frequently ill-founded criticisms born of brain vomit don’t even deserve the title of critic! Their shite lobbed into our cyber-fans is often NOT done so with the intention of helping us improve our prose, n’est-ce pas?

Occasionally, yes, MANY comments are written with the noble cause of offering constructive criticism. And to that end, I am ETERNALLY grateful for those alms.

HOWEVER, more often, the proverbial Ass-Hat slink onto our cyber stage and flings his or her mud, merely because said Ass-Hat is angry because his/her cat went poo in his palm tree, or HER husband said she looked LUMPY in that dress! Or, perhaps, the husband asked for fallatio when the wife had the flu!!

WHO KNOWS what lurks in the bubbling cesspools of the Ass-Hat’s soul. Could be vinegar, could be the devil’s ca-ca…could be SUGAR or NOTHING. A barren soul might think he or she doth provide FACTS in lieu of OPINION.You know JUST LIKE SHELDON (if you don’t know who Sheldon is for chrissakes go watch THE BIG BANG THEORY already!).

However, most likely we shall never know the ass-hat’s rationale for his or her vile replies.

I’ve been fortunate that only ONE or TWO not-so-nice remarks have been bestowed upon my cyber feet in the 7 years and 49 days since I commenced upon this cyber journey we call BLOGGING (ahem, I was on for 8 years before I joined the hallowed cyber walls I now call home – in case you found my math to be deficient), and the ONLY one that rankled my ire was this one:


Yes. ONE. Word. One lousy, fucking word! No, twas not angered at the definition of the term and how it reflected upon my tales. I was enraged that he did not say WHY my post was lacking excitement, the post be-named- “An Ode to Barboursville”, which resides here:

No, this bard merely dropped his little plop of POOPY and ran away! I emailed him for some elaboration, not to anger him or seek revenge but to understand what was BORING about getting arrested in a hick town when you’re 17 while watching the BOBBIES (coppers/5-0/policemen) suck down YOUR FUCKING BEER??

I always thought this yarn to be hilarious. And if it is not, I would like to KNOW why, so that I can eliminate the BOREDOM and possibly breathe more fire into my tome, capiche? But, alas, I like so many, will live out eternity in the maddening state of wonder…

So, I chose to believe that The Ode to Barboursville… isn’t, in fact, boring. For what else could I do, ladies and cybermen? 🙂 Cry? Sorry, I do not cry over cyber mystery. Methinks it not worth the salt…

And with that, I shall depart. My lunch is cold, and Nana’s television is silent. And both are cause for going postal, LOL…or postal-lite by flogging Nana’s TV with old mashed potatoes…

Or maybe, I’ll find Nana’s remote under her nightstand and toss my Chinese in the nuker (psst… the microwave – I whisper)…

OH, SHIT! I ALMOST FORGOT THE FIST…here it is! Cower at the sight, dear, dear cyber ass-hats flinging insulting BLA BLA for sport or vengeance our way:


But, wait, there’s more…if you can’t see him looming in the background, said FIST was thrown in the shadow of the WORLD CHAMPION FIST CHUCKER, the one and only KING OF THE WORLD/himself:

ASS HAT MARSHALL BE FIST                             YES, his HIGHNESS, Marshall B Marsh, Marsh, III!!!!

AND THE CROWD goes wild as I dance away with Donner and Blisten…:)

Love, and oatmeal COOKIES… 🙂

Tenacious BITCH and her band of CYBER KNIGHTS…(or cats, I always forget which)…


Post #78 Moments of joy and things I hate…in honor of my mother—

Posted in Family, memoir, nonfiction, relationships, true stories, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , on October 29, 2012 by tenaciousbitch

My apologies for being AWOL. The freelance transcription job that was supposed to be 15-20 hours/week has turned into working from dawn until midnight some days, which doth threaten to kill me, though I do REALLY like the job.


Secondly, today, would’ve been my mother’s 77th birthday. Sadly, she died from cancer in 2007, and I miss her every day. She was one of the sweetest women ever born, who once bought $20 worth of groceries (including a jar of peanut butter and a chocolate bar) for a homeless woman named Jo-Beth, who was living in the restroom at a public park.

When Mom handed Jo-Beth two bags of groceries, she burst into tears and was barely able to whisper, “Thank you.”  How many people do you know who would actually do that? And being a bratty 16-year-old, I was a little short with Mom because her act of charity made her 30 minutes late picking me up from work at Wendy’s that afternoon.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I said, tearing up, overwhelmed by shame, because my only reason for annoyance was that I hated sitting in that cold dining room (where the AC was always up too high)  in my ugly, scratchy, polyester uniform that reeked of Ranch dressing and French fries. And I was hungry, but I’d never missed a meal ever in my life, unlike Jo-Beth.

Obviously, Mom was a good person, but she was also the most upbeat/positive person I’ve ever met. Even when she was dying, she smiled at everyone who walked into her hospital room.

That said, in honor of Mom and for other reasons I’ll get to in a moment, I’ve decided to chat about what makes me happy and what makes me SEE RED as Mom would say.

Additionally, my friends are always asking me how I deal the misery that is living with Nana, I also decided to enumerate the positives in my life…and to the particulars of that nightmare (of life with Nana), check out this post:

Anywho, the third reason I chose to compile a list was a book I stumbled upon while doing some research for a project I was working on. It’s called—The How of Happiness. When I read the description on Amazon:

I couldn’t stop laughing. SHIT! No wonder I’m so unhappy! I haven’t developed a strategy, and I don’t have the workbook!! Holy fuckballs, batman, I don’t know HOW I’ve managed to enjoy one nanosecond of my life without this BOOK! DAMN…

It’s difficult to imagine anyone plunking down $10.88 of their hard-earned cash, so that someone ELSE can dictate a formula for happiness?!  I was married to a bi-polar alcoholic who treated me like shit. Did I buy a book OR draft a strategy? Yes! I left his sorry ass and didn’t looking back. There. Done. That’ll be $10.88 for all you ladies who might be in similar predicaments! 🙂

Okay, so maybe, I’m being harsh. Maybe, some people really NEED a book like that to figure out why they’re unhappy. However, this how-to manual seems like the literary version of the snake oil salesmen to me, simply a con to convince people their product is THE answer to their problem (hmmm…not unlike the answer to infection??).

My mother always said chocolate would cure whatever ails you, but nowadays, I guess, it’s incumbent upon finding a doctor who’ll over-prescribe your poison of choice until the 5-0 catches him, or over-consuming alcohol or street drugs, or last but not least buying yet another self-help bible.

That said, ahem, take note…in lieu of a strategy and a workbook, I have a list:


1)        Eating dinner with my husband while watching Warehouse 13, The Walking Dead, Doctor Who, etc., without the soundtrack of mega SIGHS of disapproval from the antiquity known as NANA. To-wit, I say, you have a TV in YOUR room. Go watch the FOOD CHANNEL, C-Span, or Dancing with the Stars in THERE because the Tardis just broke down, and the sonic screwdriver isn’t functioning!

2)        Being at the BEACH, ANY beach, anywhere in the world, as long as it’s 80 degrees-ish (Fahrenheit) where I can sit in lounge chair with a good book all DAY long. If I’m with the husband, such is double GOOD 🙂 or a few friends, but alone is fine too.

3)       Doing Yoga or exercising (at home) for an hour without Nana squawking over her monitor about what Paula Deen is making on TV and/or complaining about what Mrs. Obama is wearing at some political function (WHO THE f#ck cares?) and/or without odd looks from passersby (like Max’s friends) who gawk at me in horror as if waiting for my spine to snap, or LEER at me in a way that—um, well, ain’t even going there.

4)        Sitting in our hot tub with a cold beer or a luscious glass of Merlot alone or with Charlie in the dark! We’ve been together 15 years, so sex would be a great perk but not required (just so you know…).

5)         When my husband does the dishes when it’s actually MY TURN because he knows that my plate of chores is ready to topple over.

6)         Thunderstorms—enough said, unless said storm is occurring while I’m in the hot tub~TRIPLE plus good.

7)         Reading a good book that isn’t predictable, has original characters and keeps me up at night, regardless of the genre or author – OR watching the Sequel to a GREAT movie that doesn’t suck like the second TERMINATOR…:)

8)          Winning another Writing Award, but I don’t have much control over that one, guess that’s because I don’t have the workbook!

9)           When I’m having a bad day and unexpectedly find an adorable photo of my kids when they were little.

10)         Going shopping alone or with anyone but Nana and her endless,  complaining about how no one carries GOOD shoes or clothes that she likes, etc., etc., anymore…and the unrelenting insults about “fat” people, which she MUST utter within their earshot. Just what overweight people need, some 95-year-old stranger making derogatory remarks about their weight.

11)        Spending Christmas/birthdays with my family–particularly sneaking off to hang out with my cousins in Indiana.

12)       GIRL’S NIGHT OUT!

13)       Eating an ice cream sandwich with a glass of Merlot with my cousin Shauna (and her sister and our cousin Sharona if they happen to be about)…just because.

13)      Sitting alone on my coma couch late at night reading or watching MY SHOWS that my husband doesn’t like, i.e. The Good Wife.

14)      Playing with my cats!

15)     Putting on a pair of jeans/sweater/whatever from LAST YEAR that are now too big! 🙂

And THAT, my friends is the happy list. Stay tuned for the WHAT THE I HATE LIST…

Thanks for visiting my STOP AND SMELL THE CRAZY life…

~TenaciousBitch and her band of truth-spouting hippies…

P.S. Happy birthday, MOM!

** For an amusing post regarding a certain clash with the police when Shauna and I were in high school, check out: