Jean Lund's Blog











{February 26, 2009}   Welcome to my Writers Blog!

I hope to amuse and entertain you with my stories and quip art. There is comic relief, intrigue and drama. There is love and sorrow. There are opinions and ponderences. There are rants and raves and reflections. 

I have been told that I tell some great stories, especially when I am bitching about something. I think George Carlin was my soul mate. Yes he may have been crude, rude and brutally honest, but that’s what I loved about him. I’m the same way. The great thing about Carlin is that the things he said made sense. He said things that other people only think about and are too inhibited to say. I like that. He could probably get away with it better than I. After all I am a female, I should act like a lady. But I don’t.  ;)

So please enjoy and know that my rants are filled with honesty and humor and but no  disrespect to any race, religion or sex that I perhaps may diss at some point.

When finished here be sure to check out my other writing pages over on the right under that groovy chick!

Here we go with:

STORIES FROM A-BROAD

Best-

Jean Lund




{September 25, 2011}   My Thoughts in General
I can’t wait until I get old enough to go to a nursing home. I’ll get to crap in my pants again like I did when I was young and sit in it. They’ll feed and water me once a week with the plants…if I’m good.
Why do people think you want to be forwarded every fricking joke they receive in their e-mail? I hate these bastards who clog up my e-mail artery. Get a LIFE! And if you are going to send me jokes, let’s just stick to the cartoons. They are quick and every once in a blue moon I actually get a joke that makes me laugh!
What the hell are the grocery stores trying to do? Test our intelligence???  How many of you have gone to the store and really looked at the eggs before buying them? Have you ever really looked at the ones marked “Large?” I ask you, do they really look large to you? For crying out loud, my 5 year old grandson has huevo’s larger than the eggs marked “Large!” So you move up a box and open the EXTRA large carton and what do you see? Eggs that look the exact same size as the LARGE eggs!! Do they think they are FOOLING us??? The price has gone up almost a buck a dozen for the same size eggs marked in a box as extra large. And what ever happened to the eggs marked small??? Oh yes, there use to be eggs in cartons that were small eggs. They looked just like the ones in the store today marked large and extra large. It’s as if they decided to cut the portions down and keep the same price. And just how do these eggs get so small anyway? Is there something in the feed that they give the chickens that stunts the eggs growth? Somewhere in America is someone raising midget chickens? So you move up to the JUMBO eggs…now THERE’S an egg!  Much the same as the way I remember large eggs looking. Course add another dollar to the dozen now.  Did you know you can go to Costco and get 3 DOZEN “large” eggs that are really medium for the same price you pay for one dozen jumbo at the store? Case closed!
Here’s a point: If you or I were traveling alone in the car pool lane we would get a huge fine if caught. So why is it that the car pool people are allowed to drive in the fast lane without getting a ticket? How many times have you been clipping along only to be slowed down by the car in front you that is full of people? Do you find yourself yelling “Get the hell over in the car pool lane where you belong you MORON!!!” like I do???
Thoughts from my dreams on 2/15/02:
Men and sex are like gas stations. When you need one just say “Fillerup!” then leave. If he was high octane see him again for a refill. But if he “pings” change stations. But then I relate flushing a radiator with douching so whaaado I know?? :)))
Speaking of douching……ladies!!!! Ever notice that men always make comments about women and the smell of fish??? The truth of the matter is that the odor comes from them and that smell only shows up after having sex with them. They deny it but compare it ladies. Don’t have sex for……..let’s say…………a month (masterbation doesn’t count) and you’ll find there’s no real reason to douche. There’s no foul odor. Then have sex with a man and you’ll smell that “fish” smell immediately. And you can’t leave the house until you’ve douched out of fear that anyone standing close to you will catch wind of it. So you gotta douche! No sex with a man, no fish. It doesn’t take a mental giant to figure out who’s causing that fish smell!! However I do find that when I “self serve” myself numerous times there “is” an aroma but it is strong, sweet, sensuous, heady, and intoxicating. Probably the kind that Al Pacino meant when he was talking about the Scent of a Woman. And if the men don’t like the smell of fish, remind them of it the next time they want to take off for the weekend “with the boys” to go bass fishing!!!
What if reincarnation is for real? Is that what happened to people walking around with split personalities?
I had a friend ask me if I have ever picked my nose and tried to flick the booger without anyone noticing only to discover you’ve got a sticky booger on your finger? And they just won’t roll into a ball will they? No, they just spread all over your finger and the only way to get rid of it is to wipe it on your pants or along some wall you pass. EWE!!  He’s no longer my friend! YUK!
Why do they release the flu shot after flu season has started? By then you’ve got the flu so they won’t give you the shot. By the time you’re well enough for the shot, flu season is over and you don’t need it. So don’t tell me there’s a shortage of vaccines. And why does all our flu’s come from foreigners? That’s a good enough reason to close our borders right there!
Ladies: Why do male gynecologists think we will relax while they shove a cold shoe horn up our twat? Know what I’m gonna do? The next time I need an exam I’m going to start moaning and writhing and crying “Yes, yes, oh, more, more!!” That oughta fix `em!!
Where were all the psychics on September 11th? Were their guides asleep on the job?
If I hear “exclusive” one more time on the news I’m gonna SCREAM! And what constitutes the beginning of “Storm Watch?” In Los Angeles, it’s one tenth of an inch of rain. I DON’T THINK SO!
I really don’t care if Tom Cruise is gay. Do you??
Ever have to take a poop when you’re in a hurry and it decides to hold you hostage? It couldn’t just be a plop, wipe, I’m outta here turd. Oh no! It has to be the pasty I’m gonna make you use a whole roll of toilet paper to wipe kind of poop. And of course with so many attempts, just one of the swipes has to land crap on your finger so you gotta double wash your hands too! Hell, I want a catheter! Gimme a tube so I can take the bag out with the morning trash.
The utility companies advertise the wise use of appliances by telling us to avoid running our appliances during the peak hours of 4-7PM. Well if we adhere to that, doesn’t that kind of strip 4-7PM of it’s title of “peak hours”?
How come we never hear elevator music anymore?
Is there anywhere in the Bible that it says it’s a sin to say fuck, shit, piss, damn, asshole, bastard, prick, or pussy? Why do people have such a problem with that? What prude gasped out loud at the first mention and decided it was sinful? Have you ever been really thinking of the true meaning of the words when saying them? I mean when you call someone an asshole are you really thinking of some big hairy crack with an outlet?? I’m not. When I say shit the last thing on my mind is “Oh, I better get rid of that lunch I ate.”  And when you say Goddamn you are you really talking to God asking him to damn someone? When you yell Jesus Christ are you really thinking of our Savior? I’m not. So what’s wrong with saying these words? I feel good when I say them. They give me some kind of release like endorphins. My gut feels much better yelling fuck then “oh gosh darn.” Think about it and tell me what the big deal is would you?
Men? Why do you always have to ask a woman if she’s cum yet??? For Christs sake (see above regarding bad words) if we haven’t cum you have now succeeded in putting the pressure on us. That in turn makes us lose our concentration. Loss of concentration almost makes us have to start over from the beginning. You make us think you’re getting tired and usually you are since your ten seconds has cum and gone! We can’t just pole vault over to the other side like you guys can. We are aware of your need for speed but we ain’t goin’ anywhere cuz we need at least 30 minutes. So eat your wheaties and stop asking!!!! If you can’t tell when your woman is having an orgasm you need to go check out some books and brush up on your skills cuz if you can’t tell that, lemme tell you somethin’. You ain’t nothing us women can brag about!!
My son and his wife and I went out for breakfast on Mother’s Day and on the way home we drove next to a car that had it’s company info on the drivers door. It said: Santa Clarita Sleep Disorder Center with a phone number.  
My son and I are a lot alike. He pitches a pretty good bitch himself. He sent me an e-mail at work the other day entitled I’m fuckin nuts and even though it was a string of bad luck, I nearly fell off my chair laughing because I so know the feeling. Without further ado and with his permission I am posting his letter to me here:
“I just got home after having shitty buffet Chinese over in Newhall off Calgrove, then went to Rite Aid to fill Krystal’s prescriptions, $44.55 FUCK! Cause we didn’t get them filled at Olive View for free cause the line was too long, so we went to Rite Aid and I told Krystal to “Ask” how much it’s gonna be, cause if it’s like $40.00 bucks forget it, we will go back to Olive View, but she didn’t ask, and there was people in line behind us and she said “$44.55″ she already used or stamped our prescription paper so we couldn’t get it back to go to the Hospital. So we paid full price, instead of going back to Olive view, seeing the Doctor without an appointment, drawing a number and waiting to drop off the prescription, then drawing another number and waiting to pick it up! Fuck it, we took it up the ass and bit the bullet and paid the 45 bucks. Then I’m bitching as we were coming home; I haven’t showered since Tuesday morning! So we pull up and THE WATER STILL ISN’T ON! So I went up to toothless and ask “whose working on the water pipe?” he said he is, I said how long does it take to fix a water main? I busted one and we fixed it in a couple hours! It has been 3 days since I showered and I need the water working, he said……..it’s on! I said we just checked and it off, he laughed and said it will be on in a minute then! Fuckin’ numb nuts toothless incompetent white trash wannabe maintenance man! I get stressed when it’s hot, I stink and haven’t showered in days, get ripped off for 45 bucks, eat bad Chinese food and am running outta money quickly while waiting for my last two fuckin’ unemployment checks! I’m not stressed about Vinny being born, that will be the only good thing! It will make me forget about all this bullshit!
May 6th, 2004
Love your disturbed son, Frankie
My son Frankie really is disturbed.  It took me 30 years to figure that out and it’s really pretty sad.
My daughter bought a car last week. She hasn’t had a car in several years due to an unpaid ticket that cost her her license. She finally cleared that up. Her excitment was that she can now haul around her band equipment from place to place. I had to chuckle not only on WHO she bought the car from but what KIND of car she bought. She bought a “taxi” from a priest!!!!  Yes, that’s right, she bought a used taxi!! From a PRIEST! HA! I told her that her prayers had been answered. Since her long time boyfriend can’t seem to stay on one job very long he could drive it for a living! :))


{September 25, 2011}   Easter Shopping
 Here’s the deal….I just left home and drove to my local car wash and it was closed. I was pretty bummed because my car was filthy inside and out and was in dire need. The car wash is always open Sunday’s so I was very surprised to find it closed for Easter, considering it is owned by people from the Middle East and the crew is all illegals from Mexico!
     Bummed, I decided to drive the 13 miles across my valley where most of the shopping is around here (because the city forgot we exist on THIS side of town, until last year when they finally ran out of room on the THAT side and are now tearing up MY side…grumble grumble) I have a 32″ Magnavox TV in my bedroom which is 7 years old and a great TV, great picture etc. but I decided I wanted a new one because the clarity is so much better now with the new technology. So I get over there and Best Buy is closed! There were a few other cars driving up and discovering the same thing as we all slowly kept going, disappointed. The sale started today and I am wondering WHY?!
     So I head about 1/2 mile away grumbling under my breath how Best Buy just lost my business and Sears will get my money. I turn into the mall parking lot and…..bada BING!  Sears is closed, as is the whole mall. Once again I am greeted by several other cars driving around with the same looks of disbelief on their faces. I actually drive up to the door of Sears and get out and peek through the windows to see if anyone is inside. No-one. As I head back to my car, a woman pops her head out her driver’s window and asks “Are they going to be open?” I don’t think the way I was dressed (funky olive shorts, an olive striped shirt, no makeup, dirty hair and sunglasses) that I really could have passed for the gate keeper, how EVER I told her they open at 10 and it’s ten of ten and no sign of life. Depleted we all leave. I couldn’t believe it!  Everything closed on Easter Sunday?  And no warning???  No announcement or anything? I thought stores were only closed on Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Years??
     There was no one wanting my money!!! I was on a mission to SPEND!!!  I was even going to look at a new Home Theater system as I am having a yard sale next weekend and my current one AND the TV are on the list to sell.  Feeling really bummed I headed home while wracking my brain trying to think of who would stay open on Easter besides ME, if I owned a store!!  I passed by another car wash on the west side of town so I pulled in, happy that at least I would get the car clean. Being on the west end, which is the “upscale, snooty” end, I had to pay $14 for a stinking car wash rather than my normal $8 and the guy tried up selling me for shampooing my mats etc. I couldn’t get a cheaper car wash, Best Buy and Sears were closed and I was NOT in a good mood!!  I told him the piece of crap car didn’t DESERVE its mats washed and told the guy “forgggedaboudit!”  I don’t know WHY I was mad at my car but I guess because I felt it failed at its job to takeme some place where I could SPEND my money!  
grumble grumble ****%%%%%###
     As I left I passed K-Mart. Well of course THEY were open…I wouldn’t buy a TV there if my life depended on it so I passed.  They were probably only open to help Martha Stewart out because they had her stuff on sale this weekend. Grumble grumble.
     So I head back home and decide to take the long way and go to the Costco on MY side of town. I pull in the parking lot along with about 10 other cars and low and behold…….it’s closed!  Wahhhhh!!!
I think we all got excited for a minute because the carts were outside the door. But they open at 10 on Sunday and it was 10:30 so the carts were there just because that’s where they tie up the carts when they close.
     I headed home and was so depressed that I went to the In-n-Out drive through for a burger and fries one block from my home.  MIRACLE!!!  They were open!! So I spent two hours of my time and my MONEY on an overpriced car wash and fast food for my over weight body and am back home.
     Now *I* am as Christian as the next one but REMEMBER!!!! HE IS RISEN!!!  And HE is probably parked outside the Sports Chalet some place ticked off that he can’t go shopping!!!!


{September 25, 2011}   Mama, The Computer Geek

It was the weekend from hell! One crisis after another. Dropped my car off to be repaired early Saturday and took a bus home. At 2PM the shop called to tell me they couldn’t get one of the parts before 4PM, they close at 5 and it takes 3 hours to put the car together. Closed on Sunday, I was without my car for the weekend. I called their referenced car rental agency at 3:15PM. They closed at 3.  Murphy’s Law! My friend came over to install my new CD burner. We had dinner and talked late into the night.

     On Sunday my computer ran out of memory causing applications not to run. In order to purchase more memory I had to gallivant around town in my daughters blue 81 Volvo. With front-end damage and the grill covering the radiator, I was basically driving a jalopy, fearful that people would think it was mine! Later we picked up her 8 yr. old daughter from her father and her son from the “other father” and brought them to my house. They made Christmas cookies with Mom and had such a sugar rush that grandma (me) broke out in a rash!!

     Meanwhile I fought to install the new memory for 30 minutes before realizing that I was trying to put the chips in backwards (and my kids accused me of being a computer geek). Finally I began to hook everything back up but the keyboard wouldn’t plug in. Frustrated, I turned it every which way and couldn’t get the connector to plug in. I then noticed that I’d bent all the prongs inside the connector so now I had a broken keyboard. I drove blue Nelly to Radio Shack to buy a new one. I returned home and wah la, everything worked. I decided to burn my first CD and it froze three times leaving me with useless blank CD’s. More frustration. More of Murphy’s Law.

     Meanwhile the grandkids started to get punchy. I heard screaming, crying and mother yelling in the other room. By then I had a splitting headache; neck and shoulders full of tension.  Night fell and my daughter dropped the 3 yr. old off. Then she left for a Christmas party with her boyfriend, leaving me the task of returning her daughter. Round trip 30 miles in the blue Demon. I returned and headed straight for the bathtub, poured a ton of bubbles in the water and cranked the water to just below scalding. I sunk in slowly, panting from the heat until my body adjusted. The lights were off, and a scented candle offered a soothing scent. The house was quiet except for the gentle ocean waves coming from my stereo. Thank God the next day was Monday. I needed the rest!



   Being single has its perks but every once in a while I am reminded of the pluses of being in a relationship. Take for example repairs. I have tried my best to fix things on my own. I’ve come to the conclusion that I hate tools. I purchased a battery driven drill with different screwdriver attachments. The first time I used it to remove a screw it flew out and hit me in the eye. I used it next to replace the doorknob on the back door. Do you know how hard it is to line up those holes? I spent an hour before completing it only to discover I had put it on upside down. The tongue was pointed the wrong direction preventing the door from closing. Another hour down the drain. How do men do it so easily?
     Electronics is another miserable task. I have four remote controls in my living room. One for the VCR, one for the TV, one for the Cable and recently I bought a DVD player. Numero four. Can’t this be simplified? Of course the DVD doesn’t play loud and I’ve just been told I need a stereo system to play it through. All I’m thinking now is how am I going to install a Home Theater System by myself? And as if I didn’t already have enough wires behind the TV, I have to add a coax cable, an audio input S-video cable, and cable with a switch to watch movies directly from the Camcorder. Where is a man when I need him?
     My biggest catastrophe to date was when I started bath water and then got caught up in some work on my computer. Forty minutes later my eyes widened simultaneously with remembering my bath. Logic told me it was too late as I raced across the house. There was four inches of water on the bathroom floor seeping onto my bedroom carpet. Throwing every towel I owned on the floor I raced to Home Depot to buy a wet vac. Anxious to get the water off the floor, I tore open the box and yanked the vac out. Quickly I started sucking up the water. I’d been using the wide end of the hose and once done I found it strange that there were no attachments with it. I read the box and it said nothing about attachments. I looked inside and it was empty. I thought “How stupid!” I then removed the cover to empty the water and found all the attachments and hardware floating on top of my dirty bathroom water! I have come to one conclusion:     
Any man that comes within a ten-foot radius of my front door is open season for me!


{September 25, 2011}   Various little thoughts
I called up my friend and said “Let’s do lunch,” and then picked her up and took her to Costco with me. She hasn’t talked to me in several weeks. I just don’t understand why!
I just lost my full time job. I think I might be dyslexic. I kept showing up at 5 and leaving at 9. :-<
I came home last night to find my living room window wide open. I walked up to the window and yelled, “Hey!!! Close the window! It’s cold out here!” :O
I’m getting old and forgetful now, but I really don’t know what to do. I bought Ginko and never remember to take it. I can’t see worth a crap either. I’m forever laying my glasses down and then can’t find them, because I need my glasses to find my glasses. Yup…I have turned back time alright. I look like a homosapian hunchback caveman when I rise in the morning and try to walk to the bathroom. Life sucks!
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{September 25, 2011}   Erma Bombeck’s replacement??
I would just love to have my own newspaper column. I could be pissing and moaning and telling it like it is. I would tell the world that I think our government is abusive and mafia style driven. That we are ‘FREE’ just isn’t the case. Of course we can move about, etc. Free to BUY, but we buy beyond our means, and get sucked into debt and then pay five times as much in interest rates and never get the balances down. Marketing is killing our kids…..taxes are turning our pockets outward, we pay social security and there’s going to be nothing left. Well then, I want all of MY money back that I’ve put into it. I didn’t just give that for free! That wasn’t taxes that I paid. That was for MY supplement for MY retirement! And we go into debt, believe it or not, with all the places we are hit asking for money. People on off ramps, in front of stores, at the door, co-workers selling for kids school fund raisers, the list goes on forever. We are killing ourselves. We are letting the gov kill us.
We marry abusive spouses and have police turn their backs when we need help….too much paperwork. They’d rather be beating unarmed law breakers to death with flashlights! (and then after so called “investigations” the cops are always exonerated. What a CROCK!) There’s not enough help, medically and therapy for families, for the homeless. We fight terrorism abroad and let the baggy jeaned white trash, niggers and chicano’s commit robbery and murder in our neighborhoods; (and please don’t think I am a racist and bitch if I used the word nigger when blacks use it themselves! I don’t yell racism when I am called a KRAKAR do I?) (And let me just emphasize that. I love the black culture. I have close friends of many races who are hard working, educated, moralistic, family oriented folks. I adore them and would stand beside them till the end of time.) My heart cries out whenever I watch the news and see some poor mother whose son or daughter was just killed on the street. It isn’t RIGHT and it’s not right that officials do don’t something about it–it’s as if because they are poorer or live  in the projects their life means nothing! We can give our money away to other countries–we can give our jobs to foreigners but we cannot pick up our own people, no matter the color and give them the tools, (and this includes emotionally) that they need to have a decent quality of life????  That is total BULLSHIT! And poor demented homeless people wandering aimlessly sleeping in boxes or on benches, some with children. Oh my God why???? When does the viscious circle end?? We are afraid to walk after dark, and in some cases in the daytime. We are afraid to use ATM’s….always looking over our shoulders, we have to worry about being caught in a police chase and smashed to smitherines by speeding suspects or cops. We pay outrageous amounts for medicine because the gov pacifies the pharmaceutical companies and we fight our HMO’s to see specialists and then when laid off from jobs, and COBRA runs out, the same HMO’S deny us personal medical coverage because we’ve seen doctors in the past so we are a ‘RISK’….penalized for even using the insurance at ALL!!
And I’d tell Mommy’s to shut their fucking spoiled little shits up before I drop kick them through the goal post of life! I’m sick of seeing them throw themselves down in fits, and scream and crying at the top of their lungs. Biting, hitting, all of it! It’s been several years now since you all listened to some quack shrink’s advice to give “time outs,” to take away something they like, to talk to them. How many more years before you see that it just ain’t workin’?? The government (state, federal) has made sure to terrorize parents with fear that they will go to jail if they “abuse” their kids and have made it so the parents are afraid to punish them. And filled their head with this tender tough love bullshit!! IT AIN’T WORKIN’!!! I see kids acting up every day. Maybe 1 out of 10 is calm and behaved. The rest are tyrants. I say open up a good ol fashioned can of WHOOP ASS!
Out of breath right now, but have tons more to pitch a bitch about…including some stories to share about how I raised my kids….a whole lot different then most folk which will probably put parents everywhere up in arms!


I went to have a manicure and pedicure.  What the hell, I deserve it. While sitting there chatting with another patron, I found out she was a choreographer in the film industry. That wasn’t unusual. After all I was in Studio City, with Universal Studios five minutes away, and Disney, Warner Bros, and several others near by. She happened to be the choreographer for the movie Chicago with Richard Gere which really was cool! I loved that movie. Anyway as we were chatting, somehow we got on the topic of illnesses and I told her the story of my mother’s death. She told me I should write a book. I told her I’ve been working on an autobiography for a while now. This story is just one of many many that people find fascinating about my life. I quite honestly had never found them “fascinating” because I am “living” them, but after having just one too many people tell me after a story (any story) that I need to write a book, I decided to write my life story. So here is the story of my mother Patty’s funeral as told to the choreographer.
I hate mortuaries. I hate them for the way they prey on people’s emotions in order to make a bundle on their services. I always have. Although unprepared for my mothers death two years ago (in fact tomorrow, Sunday will be two years that she was buried so this has been a reflective week), I was prepared in a way I never thought I would use. After her death I went to her local mortuary to “browse” the caskets and found one that I really liked, as much as one can like a casket. It was over $5000.00. I knew it would be a raking over the coals but I told the “salesman” I would be back. Knowing ahead of time what I had planned, I went back to my mother’s and went on-line and went to http://www.funeraldepot.com YUP! No need to clean your glasses You read correctly. I had heard about this on radio advertisements a few years earlier. I found a casket that was very much the same as the one that I had just seen at the mortuary. I called the 800 number and got the owner. The company is in California. He was nice enough to waive the state tax for me. I made the purchase. How much was the casket? Well INCLUDING free overnight shipping………..$1500.00. Yuppers, that’s right! Well now, hells bells, with all that money I saved I had them give Mama a real “perrdy” lining on the inside top that had pink roses and said “World’s Best Mother” for another hundred bucks!
    
 I went back to the mortuary and told the salesman. You could see the, oh, I don’t know, the ANGER in his eyes…no I think it was more like indignation. After all his commission just flew over the cuckoo’s nest now didn’t it? So with bitterness on his breath he said, “Well we can’t sign for it, YOU will have to be here to sign for it.” I told him no problem, I wasn’t going anywhere, didn’t have anything to do, so I’d be there and I was. But NOW….to add insult to injury….first he had to put a big fat zero in the casket column of the paperwork, but now I see $100 for hair and makeup. Well now, I don’t even pay that much for MY hair and makeup. And the thing is, it’s not that I begrudged my mother the cost of anything…I didn’t, but her and I think alike and after all, she was no longer physically here, but here in spirit. I DID begrudge the gold diggers every red cent they wanted so I told this unhappy camper that he could have his people toucup the roots of her hair, but that *I* would bring the hair dye. Other than that *I* would be fixing her hair and doing her make-up. The look on his face was like he’d seen a ghost,  but I have to tell you, that I got the same ashen look from my grown kids and brother. NO one could believe that I was going to touch a dead body!!! I don’t know but this was my MOTHER…it wasn’t like it was a stranger, and quite honestly that probably wouldn’t have bothered me either because the dead are dead but my faith in God lets me know they are not gone so I am not afraid. But this was my MOTHER. Not just my mother, but my VAIN mother. My mother who was in show business way back in the day and stayed vain until she died. I had seen other family members after the mortuaries got finished with them, including my grandfather who raised me and I didn’t even recognize him in the casket. I thought I had walked into the wrong viewing room. Now I was not about to let anyone touch my mother but ME. So that knocked the $100 bill down to $35 bucks, the poor bastard! ……………………………….
If you haven’t read part one of my story today, please read it first before you continue on with this one regarding my mother’s funeral.
So the day before the funeral I packed up my Mom’s stuff, including her old 60′s hot roller set, that looked older than dirt and her make-up including her false eye lashes      that she wore as far back as I can remember. I carefully and lovingly picked out some casual clothes that all her friends knew her to wear on a regular basis so she would look like everyone remembered her, including family. I then placed her watch and bracelet that she wore every day along with a pair of earrings  in a zip lock baggie and off I trucked to the mortuary. I walked in the door and gave the receptionist my name and told her I was there to prepare my mother. That in itself was a candid camera look and I had to sit and wait a while before I was led back into the room where she was.
I plugged in her hot rollers all the while scolding her for hanging on to the past and asking her why the hell she hadn’t bought a curling iron and a blow dryer. Her response? A roller disintegrated right in the palm of my hand. HA! From time to time someone would come back and trying not to be obvious glance in the open doorway to see how I was I suppose. I don’t know if they expected to find me laying over her in grief stricken sobs or fainted on the floor but I was just fine and to be quite honest with you, I found a huge comfort and felt honored to be the one to make her look as beautiful as she was before she ever got sick, for her parting of this earth. I can cry now when I talk about it but I also smile with pride that I was able to do that for her.
I know that when her close friends, her buddies that she worked along side at Costco, serving up you people samples of food with little white hair nets all heard that I had done her hair and make up. When they saw her, they just cried and cried and told me she looked like she was ready to get up and go to work. THAT my friends is what she and her silly ol’ vain self would have wanted. And that’s not what she would have gotten had I left it to a bunch of strangers who peddle people out the door like an assembly line as they line their pockets with your grief. I handled her funeral, prepared her, wrote and read the eulogy, and took care of friends and family at the house afterward. It was my final goodbye to a tough old bird of a woman and that is probably the best thing I inherited from her. And the best part of all??  I tucked $26,000 credit card debt via all her cards in her pocket and said “Fuck them, let them come get it!”
And so the choreographer said I had a book there……and perhaps she was right. 



{September 25, 2011}   Stinkin’ Bandits!!
Thieves really piss me off!  I went to work this morning only to discover that somehow our small department refrigerator had been turned off so all the food in it was warm. The freezer had defrosted leaving a full tray of water and my frozen entree and yogurt were among the things in there. Being the only one in my department at 6 AM, I cleaned it up and took my food to the main kitchen and put my food in there for later at lunch. As the morning progressed, I had second thoughts about my food. I don’t know what time the fridge was turned off and what if I got sick so I decided I wouldn’t eat it after all. At lunch time I went to the main floors kitchen and I’ll be dag nabbed if both of my items were gone!!  The fridge and freezer were full of people’s items but there was not one other frozen entree or yogurt the same as mine so I know it wasn’t an “accident.”  Did I write my name on my stuff? NO!  Why should I have to?  I have seen emails go out from HR in the past regarding food being taken from that fridge, but since our department chipped in for a little 3 foot one in our area, I didn’t think twice about it. I was so frickin’ mad I could spit!!!  It’s not about the “food.” It’s the principle. That someone was a thief and took what wasn’t there’s. I started cursing up a storm as my co-workers rolled in their chairs with laughter–the madder I got, the harder they laughed. I sent an e-mail to HR and cc’d my department that said someone had stolen my food and that it had sat in the fridge all night and was spoiled and that I hoped like hell that the person would crap out of every orifice they owned—their ears, nose, butt and any place else that crap could escape!!! I also wrote that I hoped they had their medical HMO card out at the ready! Why are people so dis-respectful??? :(



{September 25, 2011}   Leaving Las Vegas -June 2007

Today is June 9th, 2007—I flew from Burbank CA to Las Vegas this past Wednesday after a miserable stressful day at work. Everything I touched went to shit! The program I need to use to download requests for new card holders from the bank for the crews on film and TV shows crashed for hours putting a strain on not only my company but the production accounts who had users who needed their cards to shop for the show productions. While waiting I was tossed at the last minute a task to do a QA testing on the next build release of software we own on my Mac—being in computer and product tech support I have one monitor with a KB switch that allows me to switch to PC, switch to Mac 10.3.9 (Panther) and switch again to Mac 10.4.9 (Tiger). I was emailed a link on the server to download the new build and test in 30 minutes on the Panther. Problem was—–the Mac didn’t have access to the server link so I couldn’t download the program—arghhhhhhhh—–now all the while I am getting calls for the credit cards from the studios and can’t give them what they want, and now I can’t do this short notice testing that is MANDATORY—so I get emailed the build. I download it to the Mac via a web e-mail program and try to install it. It froze the Mac–I couldn’t force quit the installer. I couldn’t cold boot—by the time I got it installed my time was up and I hadn’t tested—aaaaackkkk!!! I begin having major acid reflux from the stress—I didn’t take my prescription med for it that morning because it was packed in my suitcase—I just popped some (many) Rolaids and Tums to no avail what-so-ever- and counted down until I would be out of the office and off to Las Vegas to meet my family flying in from Minneapolis for my nephew’s (also from Minneapolis) wedding. They were all staying at Caesar’s Palace—I had a room for two days “right across the street” at Bally’s. Now mind you I am not a Vegas sort of person–haven’t been there much in my life time. So the time comes to go to the airport, my stress level is off the chart—I have my co-worker race me to the airport and drop me off at the curb—wooo hooooo, no more job stress!  Mid week and home for two day weekend and I’ll be well rested and ready to take on the work demons again! Says who????


After I dragged my carry on through the corridors straight to the security check with my pre-printed boarding pass, I got dinged for not having my under 3 ounce numerous containers in a zip lock bag–and so while I packed them in their complimentary Ziploc, they confiscated my under 3 ounce favorite hand cream because the container was too big!!!  Sons a bitches!!    So off I go and get in my A line at Southwest and go to make a phone call—-digging like a frantic lunatic in my purse, dumping it out and no cell phone. I ask a fellow passenger if I can use her cell phone and I call my co-worker—sure as hell my cell phone is on my desk—QUICK!!!  Drive back to the airport and bring it to me!!!  Thankfully I work only 5-6 minutes from work…not so thankfully, the plane was set to leave in 25 minutes—I couldn’t leave my bag unattended so I had to run the corridor, dragging my carry on and wait for her at the curb—she comes tearing through the inside lane and tosses me the phone, I toss her in $10 bucks for her trouble and she curses at me saying it will be on my desk when I get back—now I have to race back in and through the security line yelling “I’ve already been here once, so unless you are giving me back my hand lotion, let me through!!”  I am NOT calming down from my stressful day—my acid reflux is killing me but as I get back to the gate we are boarding—whew!!!!!!!!!!  I have promotional drink coupons, I’ll have a couple to calm me down—-


The crew member says there is only time for one drink– one 2″ tall bottle of Bailey’s cost four drink tickets and they were out of milk—screw it, give me some ice, I’ll take anything!!  Silly me!!!  What I got was more acid reflux from the alcohol!  The plane lands, I grab a round trip token ticket for the shuttle and am on my way to Bally’s,  hot, tired, and emotionally drained BUT I am no longer at work, I am going to be with family, wooo hoooo—time to relax!  I called my brother on his cell and told him I was on my way to Bally’s—they had just arrived at a restaurant in Caesar’s for dinner. “Great! Come straight over, bring the suitcase and meet us for dinner—it’s “just across the street,” he says–


I am in capri’s, short sleeves and slip on sandals—let me just say this here and now for those planning a trip to Vegas—there IS NO “just across the street!!”  There is miles and miles of skyways that walk and escalators down and stairways up and more miles and miles through casinos and registration check-ins and forums and shops —my chest was heaving, my chins were splinting and the leather tops of my sandals were rubbing my feet like an angry Samoan (and don’t any Samoan cry racist, Angry Samoan is the name of a hard core punk band I’ve heard my daughter mention—so shutcherpiehole!!) I arrive at the restaurant ready for a wheel chair and my brother and niece come running, arms out-stretched so happy to see me—-I wish I could have felt the same—-I really wanted to but I had absolutely no energy left to feel anything but the need for Jenny Craig and a good podiatrist!!!  But I settle in and catch my breath, and ask for a great fruit drink of which I am brought an alcoholic pomegranate drink with a rim full of sugar—and it was “so tasty too!!  Just like candy!”  :)))  It’s Italian of course so I ordered something spicy and washed it down with a tall cold beer—chatted up my brother and sister-in-laws life time close friends who came for the wedding, met some of the younger generation nephews and spouses on my sister-in-laws side and had a nice time but ohhhhhhhhhhhh that acid reflux!  After dinner I walked and walked and walked and walked to my hotel room—on the 14th floor with a lovely view of Caesar’s Palace “right across the street.” Below is a picture out my room window—-the little blue ball in the center says Bally’s yet I am taking this picture from IN Bally’s–right behind it is a tall gold building with a second tall one to the right, THAT my friend is Caesar’s Palace!!!!!


Here is a view zoomed in:



but the actual DISTANCE is the first picture!  RIGHT ACROSS THE STREET!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


I took my prescription for acid reflux and dropped into bed—30 minutes later the bile surged to the top of my throat. I spent the next 30 minutes upchucking the day’s stress and then slept like a baby!


I woke up Saturday morning and decided to go downstairs and have some breakfast before the 12:30 wedding. It didn’t take long on my walk through corridor after corridor just to get to the elevator to realize my feet were in deep doo!  I knew blisters were just around the corner. I had even put on my flip flops for the walk to try to give them a rest but it didn’t matter. The rubber thong between the big toe was like rubbing salt into the wound. Every step was pain and I waddled like a side show in a carnival all the way across the casino to an escalator up to the buffet—when the hell did the $1.99 all you can eat buffet’s turn into $14.99 rip offs?????  As you can tell I don’t hit Vegas often!!  So I ate breakfast and fed my acid reflux it’s morning dose and went back to my room. Along the way, the temptation was too great and I threw some money into the penny slot machines and actually came out a little ahead—as I don’t care for gambling either I struggled back up to my room, watched some TV and then dressed for the wedding—off I went over the river and through the woods to Caesar’s Palace to see my nephew marry the woman of his dreams.


The wedding was short and sweet and I finally got to meet my niece’s husband who is a career military Air Force pilot–a B-52 trainer to be exact. He was a sweet guy and they make a lovely couple–after the wedding we went to Lago’s for a buffet reception which again was very lovely—I was as surprised as the bride and groom that so many people came from all over the world to see them get married as not a one of us was from Nevada—it wasn’t very big, maybe 45 people but from as far away as France and Hong Kong, New York and Minnesota and then short hop me from California–I was really happy to be a part of it since I missed my nieces wedding—even as the blisters puffed up and filled out, even as the prescription anti acid AND Rolaids didn’t work well, I was still happy to be with family–


I returned to my room hobbling all the way, just plain miserable–I thought leaving the stress behind at work and coming to Vegas for a couple of days and then going home Friday night in time to relax over the weekend was just what the doctor ordered—-well my doctor must have been a WITCH doctor because things just kept rolling downhill. My brother decided to take us all by cab to downtown Vegas which is a ways away from the strip. Downtown is the old part of Vegas—nothing glitzy and glamorous in comparison to all the high rises and bumper to bumper traffic of Las Vegas Blvd. Downtown also has some of the original casinos from when my brother and I were kids—40-45 years ago—at a time when Mom and Pop left us out in the car while they rushed in to gamble for 30 minutes because kids weren’t allowed inside and there was no “Circus Circus” or any other number of places like today where you can leave your kids—for a price of course—everything has a high price tag in Vegas–even a tiny box of band-aids was $5.00 which I refused to pay.  I told them to piss off!!  Boy—I showed THEM!  I let my blisters kill me instead!  Hmmph!


So I decided to take my walk to the elevators, go down and across the casino to the escalators down to the Monorail!!  Thinking I was being smart I purchased a one day pass for 8 bucks that would allow me to ride to any casino I wanted. Well all my blistered, red, swollen feet wanted was a ride “next door” to Caesars to meet my family and go downtown. Let me just warn any future visitors to Las Vegas—————-the MONORAIL does NOT take you right to each casino. You exit at a stop that is for several casinos and then walk along moving flat escalators to downstairs escalators to upstairs escalators,  into casino doors, across the casino to the registration desk and to the front doors to the next Casino. I paid 8 bucks and walked the same damn length I had been walking for two fucking days already! What a pisser!!!! But I made it there and could hardly wait to walk around downtown. Luckily I had my medical card with me—I saw many elderly folks on electric burgundy carts—so many the same that I am sure there was a place to rent them—I was really starting to feel the need but I didn’t want to damper the bright occasion so I tried to complain as little as possible—so off we went in the cab with Dr. Dave as he called himself—he really was a riot as he gave us the guided tour through the neon lights of “off” Vegas—like an off Broadway feel.


We passed by old wooden stores that had gifts and antiques with running white lights trying to make it stand out on the otherwise darkened deserted street. We passed by a huge warehouse that holds a lot of Elvis memorabilia. “Dr” Dave pointed out the old industrial building wrapped in barb wire to protect its contents from vandals, and the homeless along the street corners–but he had a way of doing so with humor—we all had a great laugh and a fun ride. He dropped us off outside the Frontier and 4 Queens hotels and I immediately went back in time to when I was ten years old or so and sat in the car with my brother in front of these very hotels that really WERE right across the street from each other. But now the street was closed—the long blocks were turned into a promenade with street vendors and an over head canvas cover from one end of the closed area stretching blocks to the other end. Every half an hour the “ceiling” above the streets would show a different computer generated light show which was cool.  Anyway as we stepped out of the cab I offered to pitch in but wasn’t allowed to–I tried a couple of different times to treat but was shut down—it felt nice but I also felt the internal guilt I seem to carry if anyone does something nice for me. We stood outside on the closed street for a few minutes just looking around and then went inside Binions Casino to play some slots. It was at this time that I couldn’t find my prescription glasses. Panic rose in me because I had already left my cell phone at the office and thought I had lost it once again in Vegas. With all the discomfort I was in I hadn’t really been thinking clearly and paying enough attention. I emptied out my purse and my glasses were gone.  I know then for sure they somehow fell off my shirt (Ladies!! Don’t tuck them inside the front of your shirt like the guys do—they just don’t have that cling like theirs do—theirs must stick to the sweat of the hair on their chest!! )  My brother seemed to think that perhaps I left them in my room which I knew I did not because I used my cell phone in the cab and I needed my glasses to read the phone list—I could never read it without them.  And did any of us know the name of the cab company, or the cab number or get a receipt?  Hell frickin’ NO!!!  So now I’ve lost my only pair of eyeballs—-while they all gambled I walked down the street until I found a gift shop that sold reading glasses. Prepared to pay the Las Vegas highway robbery, I was amazed that I found a pair that I could actually read with for $7 bucks!  I made about $40 bucks off a 2 cent machine with Russian ducks dancing for me so that sort of felt like a reprieve from my continuous bad luck. When we returned to the strip we took a two dollar double decker bus—I asked my sister-in-law why my bro didn’t have us take the bus there instead of that expensive cab ride—she just shrugged her shoulders as if to say, “that’s him.”  The bus let me off CLOSE to Bally’s so my blistered right foot didn’t have to suffer nearly as long. I spent half my entire time in Vegas walking barefoot except on the carpet leading down the corridor to my room. It was beige with flower patterns and I had visions of stepping onto a discarded heroin needle by some jet setting junkie holed up and getting aids so I made sure to limp along as best I could in my flops. Word of advice—if you are ever going to Vegas, take comfortable, broken in tennis or walking shoes –NOT sandals—you will be sorely sorry, literally.


The next day (Friday) I was going to meet Jenny, the girl who helps me behind the scenes keep my medical web site running. She has been a great help and lives in Vegas so I told her I would buy her lunch to thank her and meet her. She called me on my cell phone just before noon, as planned to let me know she was behind Bally’s by the parking lot. I told her I was out front by the main entrance where the cabs and valet parking attendants were. She said no problem, she would be there in a couple of minutes then.  She would be driving a silver Jetta. So I walked out the front doors and crossed the circular driveway to be on a side where she could easily swoop in and I would just jump in and off we’d go not holding up the day long traffic. Several minutes later, I see a lady in a silver car driving up and she waved at me–I waved back and ran around the car and hopped in— “Hi!  Nice to finally meet!” I say—”I don’t know how you guys deal with all the walking in this town.” She waved her hand at me as if blowing if off and said, “You have no clue—but—-you’re lucky I had the day off today.”  We both smiled as we reached the end of the driveway about to turn out on to the strip heading for a good Greek gyro lunch. But it kind of surprised me that she was older than I thought. I was sure I had seen a picture of Jenny a year ago or so and I know her and her husband were trying for a baby but she looked older than I remembered and too old to be trying to have a kid….well it happened so fast I really can’t remember how, but I said something to her that included her name being Jenny and she did a double take and said, “No, I’m Susan.” and I was like “What???” and then she asked if I was so and so and I said “No, I’m Jeannie.” So I had gotten in the car with a stranger that was not only a stranger but the WRONG stranger!!  Luckily she had turned out the driveway but hadn’t gone very far. She hit reverse and screeched back into Bally’s drive way again nearly giving me backwards whip lash!  HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!  She said she was looking for someone in a teal shirt. Mine was as bright royal blue as they come!  DAH!!!!!!!  Maybe she had lost her prescription glasses too and was viewing me through desperate over the counter ones.  So I head back to in front where I was and there in front of the doors stood a woman in what could be called teal if one was color blind. I asked her if she was waiting for someone, and she looked at me and questioned, “Susan???”  “No, Susan is over there waiting for you—go get her!”  Then Jenny drove up, we went to lunch and had a good laugh about what were the odds that two women in silver cars were each picking up a woman they’d never met at the same time…..it was hairball!!  


Vegas was just too much excitement for me and it was about to end with a bang!!


After lunch  Jenny dropped me back off in front of the hotel.  Check out time for me was 11 AM and it was now 2 PM so I was officially homeless in Vegas until my plane departure at 8:15 PM. I checked my bag at the bell desk and figured I’d spend a few hours at the pool downstairs. Swim for a while and get in the jacuzzi and then maybe hang out with family and have dinner before heading to the airport.  Well silly me!!  I had pictured an indoor pool kind of like at the YMCA—-I had to take the escalator down, walk though all the shops and then I came to the door that led to an outdoor pool—it was a HUGE area—like a beach—a huge pool with probably 200 lounge chairs, a tiki bar, a few other snack and drink bars, a terrace cafe, outdoor rest rooms and tunes blasting from a DJ.  Being 55 I thought I had just entered spring break for college!!! There was no jacuzzi to relief the stress in my neck and back so I grabbed a table with a market umbrella for shade since I didn’t pack any sun tan lotion. Being fair skinned and heat intolerant (although I have to say it was only about 90 degrees so for June in Nevada that wasn’t bad) I wasn’t about to be out in the sun for long. The pool was like ice at first but at least it felt good on my feet—it froze them so I couldn’t feel them so it had it’s advantages—After I swam all I was going to swim I still had about 4 hours to kill with no place to go. I  had plenty of time on my hands to review my trip to Vegas and was emotionally drained.  I crossed to the other side of the pool where the tiki hut was empty and unattended. Thinking it would be the quietest place to grab some zzzzz’s I dragged a lounge chair back behind the hut to the vine covered wall in the shade. I had put two quarters in a locker by the rest room to lock up my purse and was going to sleep for a couple of hours to kill time. I even set the alarm on my cell phone so I wouldn’t by some small chance over sleep. I put my shorts and shirt on over my bathing suit,  balled my towel up for a pillow and laid my weary head down to rest. It wasn’t but 10 minutes later that I heard a huge roar over my head. I looked up and saw that I was laying just below the tracks for the Monorail which passed through about every ten minutes. So much for quiet time to relax and snooze!  I couldn’t have scripted this comedy of errors any better if I tried! By then I was just too damn tired and distraught to care. I stayed put and catnapped until my brother called. He and his wife “walked across the street” to Bally’s to meet me at the pool. Bro called from just inside the door and said he couldn’t come out—so I went in—he in his Docker slacks, not pool ready didn’t want to walk out there so I walked—-no, I hobbled along side them through the shop area where they each grabbed something to eat in a food court area. They offered me lunch but with my stomach and acid reflux (which I completely believe was stress related) I was afraid to eat anything—I didn’t want to be sick on the plane and it wasn’t too long before I would have to head to the airport to make damn sure I got through security and caught my plane on time on a Friday night!  I hugged and thanked my brother and sister-in-law and said my goodbyes as they headed back to their hotel. They were going to catch the 10 PM Cirque Du Soleil Love show. I headed back to the casino to putz around a little bit before picking up my luggage to head to the airport.


I called Southwest at 6 PM to check flight status of my 8:15 PM plane only to hear the automated update say my flight number was due to leave at 10:15. I thought, “WHAT???”  I am sitting at a slot machine, so surely I am hearing things.   So I made my way out the casino and called back and spoke to an agent. She said the planes on the east coast were grounded due to bad weather so the flights were being delayed.  Well first of all why the fuck is a plane on the east coast being used to fly people from Vegas Nevada to Burbank CA???  &&^%^*^^%%$$@$#@#$)(*(&!!!!!   Now what in the hell was I going to do?  I was frantic and one episode away from a nervous breakdown. I had watched the drama of Paris Hilton earlier that day as she sobbed in the back of a sheriff’s car being taken back to jail and I thought, drama, DRAMA, she should see what drama is—live my three days and then cry!! I hung up and quickly called my brother and told him I had no where to go–he had me walk “across the street” to their room and stay there. I arrived looking like a street urchin and my sister-in-law pulled out some bandages for my feet and they said there were snacks and if I was stranded I could share the extra bed with my niece. I could watch TV etc. So they left and I sat there feeling helpless and angry and depleted and sorry for myself until 8 PM when I called the recorded message back to see if the 10:05 plane was still on time. It said it was but I didn’t trust the recording. With the way my luck had been I figured maybe it hadn’t been updated so I transferred to an agent.  I got a southern gal who lazily drawled that  my flight was not leaving at 10:05. I asked her if the plane had even left the ground back east and she said no. Right then I was about to slit my wrists. She said all I could do is keep calling back every hour. I hung up and was one jerk away from bawling my eyes out—-but I just sat there and tried to watch CNN on Paris Hilton—and I didn’t want to be a blubber mouth like her so I sucked it up. But my gut told me to call back–it had only been 15 minutes but I wanted to hear the recorded message for the flight and it still said 10:05. It hadn’t been updated to say the flight was delayed. I needed to know for SURE because I had to get to the airport on time on a Friday night in Vegas!  So once again I transferred to an agent who said the plane was leaving at 10:05—I told her I had just called and an agent told me no, so which the HELL was it?  She said they got another local plane and were getting a crew together and it would be leaving at 10:05 and if I waited too late I would miss it.


So I flew out the door knowing there was no turning back because my brother was at the show at the Mirage with his cell turned off and I had no key to get back in and no way to get one either. I either got on a plane at 10:05 or went postal–one or the other–I really felt like I was ready for a major melt down. I stepped out to the curb at Caesar’s and took the round trip token out of my change purse. How did I contact the shuttle?  I put on my $7.00 reading glasses and squinted my eyes to read the coin and could barely make out a number on it but called. The dispatcher told me the next shuttle wouldn’t be until 9—I freaked out whining my dilemma to her and told her I needed to get to the airport NOW–I need to check in and get on a delayed plane. She put me on hold and then came back and told me the shuttle was “just across the street” at the Flamingo. I could feel my eyes suddenly bulge and take on the look of a deer in headlights as I waited for her to tell me to just walk “ACROSS THE STREET” but glory hallelujah!!!!!!  She told me he would be there in 5 minutes to pick me up. Thank GOD I didn’t have to walk “just across the street!!!”  The driver showed up and he was as Russian as the lucky Russian Schlotski duck 2 cent machine that gave me $67.00 downtown Vegas—I thought this must be a good sign—the Russians are FOR ME!!! :)))  I told him he was my hero, and off we went. I tipped him five bucks and got right in through security. I even had enough time to wolf down a burger at Burger King and didn’t even get late night indigestion. But I was very weary and it showed. The plane didn’t get off the ground until almost 10:45 but I was LEAVING LAS VEGAS and was never so damn happy in my life!!  I ordered a Baileys (still out of milk so over ice) with my free drink tickets on the plane and the guy didn’t even take the tickets–just handed me the drink and said he’d get the tickets later—he must have sensed my weariness.  I didn’t get home until midnight but it will be a cold day in hell before I see the city lights of Vegas ever again!


And believe it or not, to ME, this whole story WILL be funny as hell—————-in a day or two! ;)
P.S.
I guess I wasn’t the only one who had a few things go wrong—I got the following e-mail from my brother two days later:
I still chuckle thinking about you getting into a complete stranger’s car.
Sorry about your delayed flight, but you made it home and all’s well that ends well.
Merr and my return trip should have been routine, but I guess nothing is ever routine with me. At first everything was going so smooth. I checked out of the room at about 9:00 a.m. and they let us keep the bags in the room until noon when we grabbed a cab to the airport.
So far so good. We arrived at the airport and I decided to do curbside baggage check since there was absolutely nobody there. I figured why stand in a long line inside when we can do it right here. Problems started when the first suitcase was 4 pounds over the limit. The guy made us take four pounds of stuff out of that one and put it into the other suitcase. So we had to open everything up and scrounge around trying to shift weight around. Actually I think it was the porter guy who decided to throw his weight around. Merr is convinced that we would not have had that hassle if we would have gone inside. But I kept explaining that we avoided the long lines inside. Then once we got the weight problem solved, we got hit for an extra $2 per bag for curbside check-in. So we paid it, but Merr was grumbling all the way through the door. I reminded her that we avoided the long check-in line inside. Naturally when we got inside…there wasn’t a goddam soul inside either, and we could have just gone right through. Merr got grumpyer right about then.
Next, as we were walking to the security lanes, Merr was carrying the large framed thing that we all signed at the reception. Seeing her appear uncomfortable, I said “Let me carry that frame. I have longer arms.” So she did. We got to the security check-in and we have to take off our shoes, belt etc. etc. and put everything in the tray and send it through. Then we walk through the thing and come out the other side and hope we didn’t set it off. I went right through without a problem, retrieved my carry-on and tray of stuff and took off. Merr followed and we got to putting our shoes and belt back on and getting all settled and she asks…”Where’s the frame?” “Uh…gee. I don’t know. I must have left it somewhere.” I says. Not exactly what she wanted to hear. So we go running back…and of course you can’t get out of the place once your’re in without going completely out and around and come back in way down the concourse. Damn! We (Merr) were in a panic and frantically trying to get one of the security folks to go back on the other side and see if there was a large frame sitting there. Actually, I didn’t know if I left it there or somewhere else. Again, not what Merr wanted to hear. But luck was with us (me) because the security girl found the frame and handed it over. Disaster avoided.
Then we walked (Merr carrying the frame) down to the gate area. We were about 90 minutes before our flight so decided to have lunch. There was a couple of fast food places right there and also a brew pub. I went in there and got a beer for $7.00 (yes…not a typo. $7.00). I returned to the table with my beer to guard the carry-ons while Merr went over to Burger King to get her lunch. When she returned, I would go get my lunch. It was a good plan. Teamwork. The problem was that her fries looked and smelled so good I decided to grab one. As I reached over to get a fry…I knocked my glass of beer over. It was a whole glass of beer, and it ALL sprayed everywhere, soaking up everything in its path…including Merr (as if I needed that). The mere term “grumpy” no longer applied. In fact I can’t describe the extremely high level of grumpiness the girl displayed. It took nearly every napkin and paper towel at Gate D to sop up the suds. Of course Merr’s clothing took a hit and she had that stale beer scent….kinda like a barroom floozy for the rest of the day. I’m sure the guy sitting next to her on the plane had questions…but he kept them to himself. If looks could kill, Merr would have been indicted for my murder as soon as the plane landed in Minneapolis.
The only good thing that came out was the frame was not hit with flying pilsner. Thank God for small favors. All in all…I feel quite fortunate to still be alive. We’ll see how the rest of the week turns out.
Love,
Big Brother


OK—so humor runs in the family! HAHAHAHAHA—I thought this was a great example of KARMA!!!  “Just across the ‘street’ MY ASS!!!”  :))))


{September 25, 2011}   Medical Care in the US
Okay, time to pitch a bitch about medical care in the US. I haven’t piped up on this subject yet, but I got a shit load to say.  Let’s just start with my most recent experience. Since I moved last summer (July 07 and it’s now Dec) my left shoulder has been bugging me and increasingly getting worse. The movers put boxes in the garage that belonged in the house and vice versa. There is a stoop with 5 steps at the front door leading down to the driveway and garage. After I started unpacking I had to lift some pretty heavy boxes from the house to the garage and vice versa. It’s the only thing I can think of that would make my arm so sore. Finally the first part of November I went to a chiropractor, because *I* have come long ago to hate western medical “practioners”. He did treatment on my arm 3x a week for almost a month that included electric stim with heat, hand massage, ultra sound and then ice. At the end of 3-1/2 weeks it was time to go to plan B because I wasn’t getting any better and I have limited movement with my arm and shoulder. We both decided I better get an MRI. I called my primary’s office which nowadays your primary (at least here in California) seems to be a NURSE PRACTIONER—meeeeeeeeaning that the docs are so lazy now they are pushing their work load off onto the NP’s. Well MY NP now only works one day a week becaaaaaaaause she is going into dermatology and will be leaving. So I leave a message that I need an MRI (because I had already seen nursie poo and told her about the arm problem and she gave me some pharmaceutical kick back Vicodin) and a Dr. Lee that I have never even heard of ordered the MRI. I got the MRI and it turns out as I suspected that I have a torn tendon. The results were sent to this Dr. Lee and his nurse called me late afternoon last week telling me she had faxed over a referral to an orthopedic for follow-up and that I should call the next morning to set up an appointment. The following is a copy of an email I sent to a friend at the end of the next day:
I called to make the ortho appt today and was told they never received the fax even though the primary’s office’s nurse told me she faxed it last night–so I called the primary’s office and told them they never received it—-waited a couple of hours and called back and was told it was still not received–
I asked to make my appt NOW while they wait for the referral fax and they wouldn’t do it—well NOW I am pissed off—I said I’d like to make an appointment as a CASH patient then, and the witch told me that they know I have insurance and so they can’t make an appointment until the referral paper comes!!! GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
So I call the primary BACK and the girl faxed it AGAIN and said she has a confirmation print out that it went through—so I called the WITCHES OF EASTWOOD back and they said, well we don’t know why they are faxing the referral, we cannot accept a faxed referral, they need to do it through their web site, electronically!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Why the FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUCK didn’t they tell me THAT first thing in the morning??????????????????????
Sssoooooooooooo I call back and tell the nurse that, and even SHE is fed up with them—
I then work and leave to go to my THREE THIRTY gyno appt. I’ve never seen the gyno before, always the “nurse practioner”—-I FINALLY get called into a room at FOUR THIRTY where I sit for another THIRTY minutes before the SCHMUCK comes in—-we start to talk and a knock on the door, another doc on the phone for him—he takes the call and DISAPPEARS—-across the street to the hospital to deliver a baby!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
So I sit and WAIT another HOUR because to leave NOW would make me even madder for waiting for NOTHING!!!!
He comes back and I am first cause that’s how he left me, undressed on a table twiddling my thumbs—he said the cyst is SMALLER per the report not bigger—he said I could have my ovary removed to not have to worry about it anymore OR just leave it alone—–I chose to leave it alone—he did a pelvic exam to look for the cyst and ol JEANNIE BEANIE is screaming in pain like I ALWAYS do with a pap and he decides to ask me if I was ever molested!!!!!!!!!!!!  I said NO but that my mother drilled in my head about sex being painful  and wrong as a child. He asked how I had three kids. I said through painful sex!  He doesn’t believe my mother’s words stuck in my head———-he said any woman he’s ever seen that is in that much pain and closes their legs had some form of molestation————-
Now I am just plain exhausted and confused BUT I am NOT having an ovary removed—it was my green light to have my chiro work on my back instead and go get a deep tissue massage—Fuck him if he thinks he’s going to make money off me by carving into my body.”
So that was my email to my friend and I feel the same way if the upcoming ortho appointment tells me I need surgery—LOOK FOR OTHER OPTIONS—
I raced home from work a couple of years ago when the Los Angeles Lakers were going for the 3-peat and quickly turned on the TV and reached inside my left sock to remove it and jammed my right middle finger into the inside ankle bone—and suddenly my middle finger was bent downward and wouldn’t straighten up. I had tore the flippin’ tendon in my finger!!!!!!!!!!!  On a SOCK!  Doh dee doh, off to the ortho I was sent–who said I could keep two fingers taped for up to a year and it may straighten out OR —————SURGERY! Well I do computers for a living so I opted for the surgery. He put a pin in my finger—let me just tell you—-that is effin’ PAINFUL—-I lived on Vicodin and week after week he kept refilling my antibiotic because he was still red and infected. After several weeks he said it shouldn’t still be infected and it took ME to tell HIM to remove the effin’ PIN—he said I needed two more weeks—I said nooooooooo, I need it removed NOW—even layman me could tell my body was rejecting the G D pin!!!  So why couldn’t HE figure that out???????????  I had him remove the pin and the finger cleared up in a matter of days—
Sadly my finger is just as bent as it was before surgery. :(  I even scanned it and faxed it to the Laker home office asking for free tickets but never heard back. Now when I am talking to someone who pisses me off or I just don’t like, I can just say “Look at my finger.” and flip them off and they can’t do a THING about it!!!  :p
I wouldn’t say I am accident prone but a year before the finger episode, right around this time of year (Christmas) I went out an bought a long strand of ivy leaves to wrap around the top poles of my 4 poster bed so I could complete my self designed “ZEN” bedroom which was all peace and tranquility. Crap!  I can’t even do THAT right!  The whole room was completed by this finishing touch —the leaves above my head at night. I stood on my bed in my stocking feet on my beautiful new silk bedspread and careful wove the strand around the posts. I came to the last weave and my foot was too close to the edge of the bed. And my satin bedspread was too slippery. I started to slip off the bed and remember thinking to myself, “Oh NO you are NOT going to fall???” as I fell off the bed. That wouldn’t have been so bad BUT I fell right chest first right into the corner of my night stand.  The corner cracked a rib which then decided to puncture my lung. I landed twisted in a sitting position on the floor still stunned that I had actually fallen and then I realized my breathing wasn’t so hot. I somehow got myself up and walked to the living room, called my daughter to come get me and then took myself back into my room and sat back down where I had landed!!  ?????????????????????????????  Why????????????  Still stunned I guess I wanted her to find me where I had fallen. She wanted to call 911 but I was already anti doctors and didn’t want nosey neighbors out their doors getting their live coverage of the 5 o’clock news out of me, so asked her to drive me. I barely got into her front seat and she started to drive when I realized I couldn’t sit because the pain was unbearable in that position and I couldn’t breath and every bump in the road was like a sword in my chest—so I am screaming take me back home, call 911 who comes out and along the ride tells me they no longer are allowed to give anything for pain for oxygen for breathing!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  My hatred of medical grew ten fold during that horrible ride but it was a flower with perfume compared to the treatment in the ER.


et cetera
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