Son of a Bitch…………….

There was one thing you did not do at 282 Riverview Road in the seventies; or should I say there was something you had better do and that was fill my father’s ice cube trays.  When Steve came home from his travels as a sales engineer for a paper company, he went directly to the freezer, in search of the frozen pearls that would help keep his alcoholic beverage of choice as cold as the Northern Hemisphere.

Of course, as kids and then teenagers, we had absolutely no respect for his wishes, and this would never end well.

“Son of a B I T C H,” was all he had to say and us kids would run in thirty different directions.

“Jesus, Christ, Mary and JOSEPH, what the hell happens to my ice cubes???????  Is it THAT HARD TO FILL A G.D. TRAY WITH WATER AND PUT IT BACK IN THE FREEZER? Mary Lou!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  The kids screwed me again……son of a B I T C H!”

For some reason, (pretty sure my dad had laser vision goggles, which he would don as soon as he pulled into the driveway)….he would go from the kitchen, directly upstairs to unpack-and there he would once again become the victim of unspeakable foul play, for he would immediately notice that I, his very own daughter, had borrowed a pair of his socks!!!!!!  This would only serve to further provoke him, and for the life of me I can’t remember why I didn’t wear my own tightie whities.  Were daddy’s tube socks that big of a temptation?  Apparently so, because that scenario wreaked havoc on my weekend plans, ears, and self esteem in general.

Don’t get me wrong, that poor man never bought a thing for himself.  If it weren’t for my mother, he would have walked around in holey shoes, tattered shirts, or, God FORBID, stretched out stockings.  Steve had another quirk, and that was his propensity to find something, anything wrong when we cleaned up the kitchen.  I will never forget the hours I spent in a Bennigan’s, preaching to my sister that dad was not a monster, he loved her and there was absolutely nothing to fear but fear itself.

And so it was, that drunken evening, when my dad said goodnight on the way through the kitchen,   I gave her the nod, like, okay, now tell him you love him.

“I love you dad.”

That’s nice honey.  Don’t forget to load the dishwasher.”

 

The Bucket List…..

I want to be the girl in this video….travelling across the world, uninhibited, throwing caution to the wind.  Chances are, the likelihood of this happening is akin to a camel poking its head through a needle, and then realizing he still has to get his body through it.

I love, love, love to travel.  It’s just that we have no extra moolah, and what we do have goes to silly things like food, vet visits and electric bills.  I don’t have a bucket list in all actuality, but here is a sampling of things I would like to do before I leave this planet:

I would love to go to Ireland, in search of my ancestors.  If I do go to Ireland, I will be tempted to drink an ale with the kin folk-you know, raise up a glass to the country that turned us out-I hear they’re very folksy and welcoming, but let’s face the facts, I would want to live there, or perhaps petrify in one place, sitting at the pub, drinking Guiness, and singing the songs of my people.

Big Sur was a big draw, until I read about Bohemian Grove.  With our luck, we would find the wrong place at the wrong time, and I apologize, but becoming a blood sacrifice for the elite in this world?  Let’s just say I have no time for the big, wooden statue of Baphomet, and I don’t like people telling me what to do.

Hawaii was big on my “list” at one point, and now I see the error of my ways.  The fat faced dictator from HELL has threatened their peace, and I don’t want to spend my whole vacation in an underground bunker.

And lastly, there was Sea World.  Yes, I wanted to ride the dolphins with abandon, you know, be that girl: the one who never stops talking about her relationship with a fifty year old she met out in California, and then you come to find out it was a sea mammal.  No thanks.

So for now?  I’ll stay in this sleepy little town of horse and buggies, biting flies the size of Texas, and more cow manure than you can shake a stick at.

 

Spirit Flight 666, Boarding at Gate Tarmac

Oh my God, for as long as I can remember, my brother and I have been subject to the most incredible indiscretions, abnormalities and absurdities.  Actually, it doesn’t happen that much to my husband and myself anymore (kind of a drag, we had some damn good inappropriate laughter in our day, but lately……….slim pickings.)

That was before my brother came for a visit and regaled us with his hilarious reenactment of a flight he took last Summer on Spirit Airlines.  Of course, my  husband interrupted him with a little ditty I like to call, For Christ’s sake shut your mouth.  I just sat there, smiling uncomfortably, while Dwain told Craig the story of my getting flagged by the stewardesses on our flight out to LA.  Apparently……..one of the gals flagged me so I went to the next stewardess and was served a glass of wine, drama ensued and the two of them almost came to fists and cuffs….don’t remember it, but I do remember the lovely woman I sat next to all the way to LAX was most definitely  not my amigo by the end of the flight.  For all I know I could have thrown up on, cursed out or told the same story 252 times for 6 hours to the poor woman.  I digress.  The following is my brother’s story, told in Michelespeak.

Apparently, last Summer, my brother wanted to save fifty, umm, yes that is $50, by travelling Spirit Airlines.  He brought his daughter and wife across the country, from LA to PA, on what could have been a “pretend” plane.  I am terrified to fly.  I have never flown sober, and as I no longer drink, I will take care of that little problem with a joint and two Ativan.  Trust me.  So, they are at LAX, waiting, as not just once, but myriads of times-they keep delaying the flight and switching gates.  He said it was a harrowing experience, you actually have to go through a security check and there are NO FRILLS.  He and his family were so unhinged, that they trauma bonded with fellow travelers. 

So, they finally get to the final gate (at this point, they are taking a red eye and they have been running back and forth to different gates at different parts of the airport.  If you have been to LAX, you know that’s a shit ton of running.)  They are getting ready to board.  There is no gate, only steps down to the tarmac.  My brother could not believe what he was seeing.  Feeling more and more anxiety, he notices a police car by the plane, but gets distracted by the 1930’s Russian version of a prison air craft.  No lie.  The seats didn’t recline.  Everything was metal.  He said he sighed a huge sigh of relief when he noticed that the flight attendants appeared to be normal people who obviously got trough at least a few of their flights.

And, as my brother begins to calm down, the captain speaks to the passengers:

Good evening ladies and gentlemen, sorry for all of the delay.  I have been sitting in this airport for over two hours.  It appears the safety hatch on the left side of the plane was open, and by the time the authorities checked it out, well, my apologies.  We think we should be okay for the duration……………..”

In My System……………

Ladies and gentleman, I am in loveeeee……………………and I owe it all to my brand new, Shark Rocket Ultra-Light Upright.  Sweet baby Jesus I am over the moon and I doubt if I’ll come down from the clouds any time soon.

We are country mice, and we have no squares to spare for things like vacuum cleaners.  However, I have had the same burber carpet for 15 years-and as I’ve been using my in-laws twenty year old Oreck vacuum, complete with holes in the outer bag-for longer than I care to admit-well, I grabbed that Kohl’s 30% off coupon and ran for the jeep before anyone could stop me.  I was a woman on a mission, and nothing, NOTHING I TELL YOU, WOULD GET IN MY WAY.

You want to know about pure hell on earth?  Try living in a small farm house with 6 cats and a golden retriever without a workable vacuum.  If you’re lucky, you won’t lose your freaking mind, and if you’re really lucky?  Well, you won’t be seen cursing a blue streak whilst kicking the shit out of said crap vacuum on your front porch in your skivvies.  True story.  I hate that piece of shit like I hate poison, and I can finally say adios!!!!!!!! you mother effer, you are banned to the land of failed household appliances, forever.

My husband just laid mouse traps, that’s right, mouse traps under my settee and behind my wood stove, as the cats were so afraid of that monstrosity?  They would literally crap their pants-or, crap my floor is more like it.

I have become such a germ phobe that I wear flip flops in my own shower, for crying out loud, after I have scoured it with Clorox.  And God forbid the shower curtain touches me, I wince in disbelief each and every time it happens.

Did I tell you my brother, mon frere, my amigo is coming tomorrow?  I may be a withered nub of nothing when he arrives, but you can bet your sweet ass my house will be clean.

Elijah

Let’s get this song out of the way, shall we?  I have been reading about Elijah in the book of Kings-and that was supposed to be my “Elijah” song.  So, after realizing that I have been singing my heart out to the wrong lyrics for twenty years, I just said, screw it, use it.

I have been doing quite a bit of bible-dipping (a technique I picked up from the book Running With Scissors-a book I highly recommend) in which you pray about an issue in your life, or, like me-pray for what Jesus wants me to know this day.  I flip through the pages of my bible, and let’s just say-99.9 percent of the time, he gives me the exact wisdom I need at that exact moment in time.

So, anyway, I was reading about Elijah, and I came upon a bio on his life and ministry.  The words that caught my breath were these:  Elijah was sent to confront, not comfort.  Elijah spoke God’s words to a king who often rejected his message because of the messenger.

Elijah chose to carry out his ministry to God by himself, and as a result he was often misunderstood by his peers.  His one mistake was not to trust others.  This is where it gets good peeps, after the miracle of Elijah defeating the prophets of Baal, Queen Jezebel threatened to kill him.  He felt afraid, depressed and abandoned.

Holy crap on a cracker that spoke to me.  Goosebumps when the aha moment struck.  I have been in situations (stories to come) that no one finds themselves in, mostly jobs, sometimes churches….where I am left burning bridges for opening my mouth.  I have been fired for standing up for some injustice or another, more than twenty times.  No exaggeration.   And each and every time I found myself in an unholy war?  It never sunk in.  God was working in those scenarios, mostly at my expense, (I totally get his sense of humor) by using me to open my huge mug and cause absolute chaos (was never a small thing, and always involved a major life transformation.  I can look back now and laugh, but some of the crap I went through?  Jesus mighty it was a three ring circus….for twenty plus years.

Everything makes sense now.  It truly does.  I am a modern day Elijah.  Who would have thunk?

 

She’s Got the Look…….

via Daily Prompt: Glaringhttps://youtu.be/8gRRou8rJgc

Blame it on my Irish blood, but I have been known to give the evil eye, and judging from what friends and family alike have noticed, it will kill you dead.  My husband has tried to break me of the habit of staring at people, and for the most part?  I don’t believe it is as much of a habit any longer.  But looking back, I believe that my temper has down right terrified those who have been the subject of my ire.

As a teenager, I suffered from anorexia nervosa.  I still have an eating disorder, and it is on my bucket list to have it addressed at some point.  Don’t get me wrong, I eat, and no longer suffer from bulimia, but I will only eat one meal a day, and this has led to some pretty awkward situations, let me tell you.   Give my mother in law a call, and ask her about holidays with me, I am sure she’d be thrilled to get some things off her chestSadly, I don’t even give myself a break during holidays, and she has glared at me more than once.  I don’t blame her, anymore anyways.

The point is my anorexia made me mean.  I didn’t know it until years of therapy and research later, but I was starving to death so my emotions and electrolytes were off.  My sister and I shared a bedroom phone.  It is legend in the suburbs of Philadelphia that I scared the absolute life force out of her friends.  They would hang up if I answered.  Looking back, I can’t even believe it was me.

I come in a small, 5 feet, 0 inches and weigh about 135 pounds.  But hell hath no fury, and I mean no fury like that of a daddy’s girl who doesn’t get her way, or who has been treated unjustly, or even worse-seen other vulnerable people be taken advantage of.  I have fought for what I believe in since I can remember.  I remember, in sixth grade?  A little snot named Kim Something was the Crossing Guard.  She had a chip on her shoulder that manifested in all of it’s glory on poor, unsuspecting, why does this shit always happen to me? girls and boys.  I remember one day I spit out my gum and she wrote me a ticket.  And there I am, at Belmont Elementary, in her face screaming “IT’S BIODEGRADABLE YOU ASSHOLE!!!!!!”

Another incident comes to mind:  I was a waitress through my twenties at a Houlihan’s in King of Prussia.  I loved the people I worked with, but there were a few exceptions.  One afternoon, hung over and praying my station would close, another waitress butted in line for the computer.  I snapped.

Why don’t you do another line, Sady?  Go do another line so you can be faster at doing nothing but getting in my fucking way.”  Yeppers.  Yelled it right out into the dining room.  My boss was literally speechless.

I pushed Mark Folsom down the church steps after he picked on my brother one Monday evening, after CCD.  He broke his front teeth out, and I couldn’t have been more pleased.  He didn’t try that again for a long while, not until High School-where my brother surprised the crapola out of him by knocking him out in the hallway.

As Christians we often presume that we are to be as meek as church mice.  Jesus overturned a table or two at the Temple, and standing for something means not falling for anybody else’s bullshit.  God made me to roar like a lion when something is evil, and I pity the fool who mistakes my kindness for meekness.

Don’t let anyone take you out of your integrity.  Fight hard for what is just, and remember-you didn’t really do it if you didn’t get caught.  🙂