Archive for July, 2008

My brain shuts down early in the evening and irritating Chihuahua wants to go to bed at 8pm. She will sit up in front of my husband’s chair and beg him to leave the room, until he finally does. Yes, ladies, I do rent irritating Chihuahua out.  She will then sit and stare at me. If I am involved and ignore her, she will finally curl up and go to sleep. However, she will then refuse to move when I am ready for bed. Her 6.2 lb body becomes forty pounds of “I told you to go to bed and I ain’t movin.”

i guess I should explain here, that due to a bad back and a horribly damp cold supposedly finished basement area, that I cannot bear to sleep in, I sleep on the couch upstairs. Then, there is always the ghost down there too, which my mother says explains the horrible, damp cold.

#1 problem is: I sleep in the front room. Sleeping in the front room has many drawbacks. One, is the fact that way too many people work late and come through the open floor plan front room/kitchen to go downstairs to their bedrooms.

#2 problem is: There are too many resident, and non-resident, boys over the age of sixteen here at any given time.  All of them require two hour feedings all night. Note to new parents. It may end when they are a few months old, but it starts again at age 15.

#3 problem is: There are exactly, at any given time, twelve items (I counted) in my vision of sight area with at least one glowing light. This does not include the cell phones being charged or the #%#! computer, which everyone seems to leave on all night. It’s something about VISTA (Hard to believe, huh????). It doesn’t shut down right and the blue light glows all night and gradually brightens and dims all night, as if beckoning someone to come so it can trap it in its non-working snare. Whereupon, I get up, go and start it up so I can shut it down and sit there until it is off, which takes like a millenium because if you shut the screen before it is shut down, it will not shut down and the blasted blue light will continue to beckon to all the planes in the flight path going south from Indianapolis.

#4 problem is: Of the twelve items that are permanently lit up, one of them is a stereo, belonging to oldest boy, Gaffer, (occupation, not his name, although it is a thought and it does suit him.). Gaffer hooked the stereo up so we could get better sound when we watch DVD’s. The problem is, the stereo has a light show that beats many rock bands. You may not turn it off, EVER! It runs when the stereo is turned off and I can’t throw it out because it does not belong to me. So, I have to get up again to cover it with a double folded throw because youngest son likes to listen to music on it.

#5 problem is: At this point, I crawl into bed muttering and after saying SH_T! I get up and take my pills. Then, I get up next time to adjust the %!#^ air conditioning. At this point, I say, Doors locked, dog’s food fluffed, dogs water filled, flashlight, pills, alarm, and lay down, safe in the knowledge I will never sleep more than two hours at a time. EVER!

I have put masking tape over the light on the air purifier. It’s light is a beacon on the ceiling that rivals that of old auto sales yard spot lights. I get up every time the electricity goes out and punch the stove so that light will not continue to blink all night. I unplug both printers at night. I firmly believe these glowing lights on everything are a plot by the oil company to make us use more power.

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Obviously, it is going to be one of “those” weeks.

First there was:

My tomatoes are off to a good start. 

Oh, wait! What is that white spot on the leaves?

That doesn’t look good. I picked up the leaves and probably dislodged an egg or two. I’m sure there are a few on another plant that I missed.  This doesn’t look good either:

Sorry, this is blurred but the major action is inside the tomato.  Whatever it is, does not eat the skin until the very last thing.

And this is how they end. 

PLEASE, if anyone knows what I can do or what this is, I don’t want my baby melons to end up the same way.

July 25th update: Against every fiber of my being, I have sprayed it with chemicals. Actually, the hose wasn’t working right so I more like drizzled it to death, I just hope I haven’t 1. fried them and 2. poisoned us.

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It is now 9:19 pm. I have just gone on my blog and see that today is a new day in WordPress world and I have 0 views for this new day; Wednesday, which I am presuming probably started at 9:pm on Tuesday.


Now, I am irritated enough having lived in the Central Time Zone most of my life and now having had some idiot legislature vote that we now belong with the east coast. If they had given me an ocean view, I could have accepted it as I would not be sitting here now watching Tim Burton on “The Directors”, I would be sitting on my deck, listening to the ocean and watching the stars. But, no, I am sitting in a stuffy, air-conditioned house, that sometimes has electricity (last night it went out three times).


So, why, if it is 9:19pm in Indiana and on the East Coast, and I live in Indiana, which should be 8:19, just why is it tomorrow in WordPress land?


I have tried setting my Timezone for UTC -4; which seems to be closer than the UTC -5 that I am told I should have it at. But, I have tried both and UTC -4 gets me closer to the time I am at; probably because frikkin Indiana is now on the East Coast.


So, why is it that WordPress changes me to a new day three hours before midnight?  This is one of those little things in life, I cannot let go of, like deleting extra programs on my computer.


Okay, to further complicate the matter. I just published this and it does, indeed tell me it was published today, Tuesday July 22, 2008. So, it is only tomorrow, Wednesday inside of WordPress, where my cute little graph chart resides. I feel so much better now!

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Doesn’t it drive you nuts?


When you have five people in the house with cell phones and you are sitting in the house, with just the goofy Chihuahua, and everyone else is either at work, or wherever they have gone to avoid mowing the lawn. And, the house is quiet. Then—


You hear a “chime”.


Ignore it. It’s someone’s phone as among those five people are two who rarely even know where their phone is. Then—-


It chimes again. And, again; I get up and go to the kitchen, it chimes, but not there. Upstairs bedroom: chimes but nope, not there. Return to the front room and there it is again, the dratted chime.


I know a lot of the rings. One sounds like an old telephone, another plays Law & Order. But, no one’s cell chimes like this. I finally sit back down and it chimes again; close. I lower the laptop lid and, there, sitting behind my computer is:


MY cell phone, sticking out its tongue at me, and chiming. Why is it chiming? It’s never chimed before. In the three years I have had it, I have never heard that chime.


By the way, I am the only one to still have my original cell phone. One boy has lost two. This is oldest boy who ran across the street in Santa Fe and turned to see a compact car run over his IPod, “Oh good, he thought the protective case I bought for it worked.” Oopps! Don’t run out there to grab it, there is a pick-up truck coming. Oh, well, the protective case is cracked but I will replace that. Oppss!  Don’t run out there! Semi truck, coming and going, leaving behind bits and bobs of iPod and protective case.


Two other cell phones met their demise in pockets at a music festival when a monsoon struck. Middle boy upgrades his and gives younger boy his old one. Younger boy just has bad luck with them functioning.


But, apparently, I have a voice mail. The screen of my cell phone tells me so. I have never had a voice mail. The screen does not tell me how to retrieve the voice mail. I have no idea how to as I push the right button under the slash and every other button I think might work. The message is now gone and no one is home to show me how to retrieve it, and even after they come home and show me, I forgot and some idiot decided to leave me a voice mail YET AGAIN! My cell phone is indestructible as I pound it on the desk to make it quit chiming.


PLEASE, whoever you are, STOP LEAVING ME VOICE MAIL!!!!!

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Mom needed medicine today. (Gosh, I so wanted to write Medication there, but I guess that’s me who wanted that.) So, I drove over to Martinsville, dropped off mail, picked up heartworm pills (for the dog, not for mom) and then went to mom’s apartment. I try to multi-task on these days, like everyone else is with gas prices being what they are.


She bought me breakfast and I learned the man next door to her was not arrested for selling marijuana; he was arrested for public intoxication. He was outside the apartment building threatening to kill everyone, which I thought was very optimistic for a man in his eighties. I worked on mom’s computer a bit, she has essential tremor and things tend to get moved around without her meaning to, I phoned the cable company (Comcast decided too many elderly ladies spent Saturday watching the whole week worth of soap operas, so they took it away and want to charge her $10 for it. Then, I took her to Kroger’s pharmacy trailer, as the store is still being remodeled from the flood and is closed, and then Marsh’s.


The point of this is that I did not get home until 4 p.m. The house, which normally houses six full size humans, was quiet but that’s not unusual, as husband takes a lot of naps, youngest boy is actually a vampire so he sleeps days, middle boy has not been seen yet from the Native Sun Dance Festival, and older boy and his girlfriend work afternoons. He is also a vampire, it’s a heredity thing.


So, I get home at 4 p.m. Let irritating Chihuahua out, put a smattering of groceries away and go online. About 5 p.m., I let Chihuahua out again and it dawns on me that all the cars are missing. So, I have been home for one solid hour, all alone, house to myself, and not realized it. 


But, then again, I was home for one hour, walked to the door three times, before I noticed that irritating Chihuahua had vomited up two gobs of food the approximate size of Rhode Island. Perhaps that is why I am home alone. Now that it is cleaned up, they can all come back. Drats!!!

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I am fairly new to blogging and started, thank goodness with WordPress. Then, I decided my WordPress blog might be a bit too “open” for my young adult writing career (after all, how many times can I mention dippers of Jose Cuervo without getting in trouble.) So, I started a “writing only” Blog on eGoogle, I think it’s also called Blogger.  They could take a number of lessons from WordPress.

I loved to mess around behind the scenes. I cannot begin to tell you how much I have learned about computers from screwing them up, by messing around behind the scenes. The first thing I do, when I get a computer, is to delete everything I don’t like. Someday, I am going to order a computer without all the extra junk. The second thing I do, when I get a new computer, is reformat it to reinstall the stuff I should not have deleted to begin with. 

So, every once in a while, I start clicking on the links in WordPress. Today, I discovered a new one. I got to read comments. I read comments I didn’t know I had. What a cool link. I may have to answer comments to the comments and, if they(the other commenters) get confused, oh well. So be it!

I also love to watch the graph chart of visitors. I respond well to rewards and that little line going up is a neat reward. I don’t know if one person has even read any of my five posts on Blogger. I haven’t figured out a way to tell. You know, it is hard to be humorous about writing. Maybe, I just write them too early in the morning. Maybe I’m just too worried about offending anyone with the “writing” blog.

But, the part of WordPress I miss the most, is being able to copy out of it, paste that into my Word to check it and revise it and then paste it back in. On Blogger, if I start a post in it, I cannot highlight it and copy it to Word. I can, however, write it in Word and past it in blogger. So, I have to start in Word. Why I find that difficult is another mystery; but it’s my mystery.  Oh, and why, if I start a blog in Blogger and don’t get around to finishing it for a week, is it dated the day I started it instead of the day I actually post it?

Thank you WordPress for having such a great product.

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This time of evening, 7pm in idiotic Indiana, which voted to be part of the east coast not that long ago. What is it with that? All my life, I have lived in the central part of the country. I didn’t even have to pack a box and, all of the sudden, I live out east. Why would anyone want to stay up till 10pm to watch a sitcom.  Frankly, I may abdicate and declare I am returning to the central states, so I can watch tv and go to bed at a halfway decent hour. Didn’t that work for the Mouse that Roared?

But, I digress:  This time of evening, words begin to jumble in my brain. (Yes, I need to post more things late at night.) Unfortunately, I forget what I went online to post, so that may not work well.

I was writing with almost wonderful MS Word. That’s it. Do they actually have people design these programs who have never written a document in word processing in their life?  Or are they all just color blind?

I refer to the idiocy of having fifteen colors available to highlight with and only seven of those colors are light enough so that you can read a black, bolded word that has been highlighted in them. Now, I can change the colors of the text to unlimited possibilities, and I can change the color themes also. I can change just about anything, except the frikkin highlighting. 

Let me guess, the guy in charge of highlight is the same guy who designed VISTA.

And, please, yes write me and tell me how wrong I am. Just be sure and give me directions how to do it because I can’t find them anywhere else.

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I make notes. On the back of envelopes, on post-it notes, on my laptop screen (right now it says, “Food is not your friend.” – I don’t think I believe that one yet.), also on my computer post-it notes, and on the back of receipts. As I have mentioned before, I have bad short term memory, so I make notes. It’s understanding them that is the problem.


Sticky notes on my computer says “Make Shar gift” (since graduation was in June, I’m late on that); “Kylie” (this was middle boy’s girlfriend about four girls ago), “enough force to knock over a _____” I certainly hope that was for my book. I don’t think these Sticky Notes work for me because they keep disappearing from my screen and I forget to turn them back on in the morning. You have to remember to look at your notes.


Right now, on my computer table is an envelope that says, “17 June, 17 July and a line under it for 34.”  HUH??? The obvious time notation of 3:15 is no help; neither is the fact that 17+17=34.


I also have a pad of yellow post-it squares:

“Danielle arrow in neck”

“Gargoyle: D=III K=1 A=1”

These are notes for my book. Danielle never got an arrow in her neck, by the way.


“Jackie” underlined with a phone number (YIPEE! A phone number with a name) I even have Jackie’s mom’s cell phone number and maybe her name is Pam.  Problem is: I haven’t got a clue who Jackie is.


There are notes for my book, notes for the endless upgrading of my web site, notes for buying dark chocolate, and notes for image size in pixels.


It’s a pretty good day when I can figure out most of my notes, but I have been trying to figure this one out for several weeks now:


“Not if it is squid day”


I think it’s hopeless. Oh, but I remember now, Jackie is the last ex of middle boy, but what is squid day?

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Unlike BrainDebris, I do not live an exciting life, filled with electron microscopes, hilarious husbands, and death defying children. The highlight of my life, this morning, was either, my husband going back to bed, an hour after he got up, because he was dizzy, or hearing oldest boy say, “9 out of 10 things I did made my mother scream.”


Lest I seem insensitive and uncaring, let me state, that husband has COPD and all sorts of other interesting side diseases, so dizziness is not a “call the ambulance symptom.” His disease has progressed for twenty years now and it is our life’s norm.


Since oldest boy will not enlighten me on the things he did that made his mother scream; only explaining that everything he did made her scream, and middle boy is gone for the week to a Native Sun Dance Festival, and youngest boy is taking an hour nap as getting up and eating breakfast was too exhausting to stay up all day, I am left with irritating Chihuahua.


Funniest thing that irritating Chihuahua has done all morning is to run around and sniff all her food hiding spots. She does this on a regular basis, ever since we watched the television special about what would happen if all human life was extinguished.


The St. Bernard, down the street, already has a little friend in his pack, so I believe the Chihuahua is concerned she will be on her own to forage for food, should we disappear. She is forgetting that getting out of the house will probably be her biggest problem. So far, the wild rabbits have all been able to outrun her, and she hasn’t figured out how to break into the cage of visiting rabbit yet.


So, please excuse me, as I just can’t find a thing to say this morning; opps, make that afternoon.



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It is not really that Mom’s irritating little chihuahua is boss of the family. It’s more a matter of her having us trained. She does not like the time I spend on my laptop. She has a way of lifting your hand and insisting she gets petted.

We had a mouse problem for the first few years we were here, so I put chihuahua’s food in a clear plastic shoe box, with a lid to cover it at night. This also allows chihuahua enough food to feed her in the eventual disappearance of all humans in the world. However, she will starve because there will not be a human available to scoop the dog food to one end, every morning. 

Apparently, she sees the little inch deep hole she eats from each day, to be the end of the food. Actually, she doesn’t see the dog food as food at all. She sees it as something to drop all over the floor and chew loudly to impress upon us how she is reduced to eating disgusting dog food, and why have we not roaster her a chicken lately.

There are three adults and one teen in the house at this time; plus two visitors. Irritating little chihuahua has decided that she controls the area where the kitchen flooring touches the frontroom carpeting and you must pay a toll, to her, when you cross over. She will sit up and do her best to look innocent and hungry. Middle boy falls for this everytime. Younger boy pretends to be the “hard guy” so he won’t give in. He is, however, the first one to brag that the chihuahua has climbed into bed with him if I am gone for several days in a row.

We each have our uses: Older boy is the master of belly rubs. Middle boy, and visiting girl, are the suckers who will always hand out a treat. Younger boy and husband are to let her out, although there are days when I am the only one allowed to. Husband is also the chicken cooker. My role in life is to be at her disposal, 24/7, and her bed. And, when she visits her original master, mom’s job is to hold her and protect her from evil me.

We have two couches in the frontroom and little chihuahua has declared one to be a petting zone; so if you lay down on it, your arm must come down over the edge and pet her.

Then, there are the signals. She would not want us to get too complacent. For a while, she would sit up and beg. You would ask her if she had to go out and she would shake her whole body no and then go to the door. So, no meant yes. Now, no means no to outside and yes to treat. Some weeks she fools us by actually going to the door and really meaning it.

I have to go now. Irritating chihuahua says it is time to pet her.

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