What's this I hear?

I can't tell if these announcements about new HAMP guidelines will have any impact on my situation, as someone whose "modification" was a complete disaster and who is now coming up on being 4 months delinquent on the mortgage?

It would be wonderful if I could stay in my house!

But I am not holding my breath. I am just going to wait and see.

In other news, I had a brief vacation.

SOMEBODY had work in Washington DC, so he got a hotel room for a WEEK for free! So I flew out there for a few days because I had a round trip ticket that needed to be used within the next couple of months.

I saw the Smithsonian Museums, the National Archives, the Library of Congress, and whatever else is situated around the National Mall and Capitol Hill. It was very powerful. I was able to watch the following protests: war, health care bill, immigration. By far, my favorite moments were at the war memorials. Arlington Cemetery was also an important place to visit. I am so glad I had a chance to see these things.

Now I am back home, and surprisingly I spent very little money! We bought most of our food at a grocery store and ALL of the museums and memorials that I visited were free. I bought one t-shirt and one coffee mug and four post cards. I wish I would have visited the Newseum, but unfortunately they charge flipping $20 to get in! Screw THAT!

Why I hate myself today...

I have a suggestion for the CIA if they want to torture people without getting in trouble for it. This form of torture would also be good for any type of sadistic power assertive type of men who want to inflict pain on all sorts of levels, but would prefer to stay out of jail.


This is WAXING. Specifically waxing in places that have NERVE ENDINGS everywhere!

During typical lunchtime girl-talk, it was suggested to me that a BRAZILIAN would be the answer to my ire of shaving. I have been depressed somewhat over these many months because Heracles is gone, but I have enjoyed a certain vacation from shaving! I love not shaving. I don't care what it looks like down there, I don't look and life is easy!

But as is typical of men these days, Heracles really believes women are pretty much hairless. We can debate all day long about why/how/when they ALL started believing this bullshittery, but it's happened. We women are no better. Such competition for man's favor has caused us to buy in as well.

I asked if getting waxes hurts. All three of my companions chuckled and affirmed that it hurts "at first" but over time it "gets better." Hmmmm. I guess it can't be that bad since everyone does it, riiiiight???? WRONG. Read on.

I arrived at the salon, nervously scoping out the gays on staff. That's a very efficient way to deduce the level of bitchiness present in the atmosphere towards customers. Luckily the gay guy was NOT a bitch. The waxing technician (is that what they are?) was professional, kindly, and I liked her immediately. I thought, oh this will be a breeze. Nice clean salon. Nice people. I'm going to be glad I did this just like everyone says!

So I have no complaints about the technician or the salon.

My complaint is about the torture. Someone might say, well you must have hairs with tree-stump-like roots. That might be true. There is that possibility. Guess what. It's still torture. With all of our wonderful technology today, is it possible that someone would give a crap enough about the pain and indignities women are expected to endure, and invent some INEXPENSIVE, relatively pain-free and long-lasting way to remove that undesirable natural occurrence? Of course not, nobody gives a fuck. Eh, it's only women.

There I was, thinking such thoughts as I displayed my cold naked hairy butt for the procedure. Why??? I asked myself. I couldn't furnish an answer but of course it got worse. The tugging and ripping of the tree stumps around the most sensitive part of my body. And I'm paying for this?!

Just goes to show how stupid we are. We women who engage in this masochism are totally fucked. We can't STOP the hair removal/ripping out/laser, et al because we wouldn't be able to attract or keep a man. So we PAY for torture.

Like I said before. If the CIA wants to engage in torture, nobody can say anything to them about it if they start waxing Taliban balls because American citizens PAY for it. And don't use the hard wax, use the SOFT wax! Yeah! Post it on Youtbe. The evil killers would be there, just like ME, on all fours, humiliated and wondering how fuck they got there?

My Wonderful Mortgage Company

Mortgage Company Guy: This is an attempt... please verify... bla bla bla
MH: Yes, Yes etc et al
MCG: Ms. H, and has anything changed since you last spoke with a representative of SunTrust?
MH: Nope.
MCG: And Ms H, have you considered taking out any personal loans against your investments, assets, 401-K, or asked family or friends for help.
MH: Um, yeah already took out the loan against my 401-K and until that one is paid back, another loan is not an option. I have no other assets.
MCG: And Ms H, do you have any other personal debt that you can defer payment on until you bring your mortgage current.
MH: If you mean my student loans no I cannot get a deferment because I received the maximum when my husband was undergoing surgery and treatment and later physical/occupational/speech therapy for a brain tumor, so unless I just stop paying them, I won't be missing any student loan payments. Or payments for my 401-K loan. I have no other debt.
MCG: Ms H, I see you worked with one of the credit counseling agencies which we recommended to you last year. Were you able to follow any of their advice so you could pay your mortgage on time?
MH: Their advice was nothing more than to spend less money on FOOD. I am not sure how much excess food I consume when I have never weighed above 125 lbs, but I am always open to whatever advice anyone has, like how about asking your mortgage company to reduce the principal of the mortgage since the property is worth $100,000 less than you pay. Actually since I have you on the phone, any chance you guys are going to consider reducing the principal here? You would never get anywhere near what I am truly able to pay for the house, and I would be willing to make a deal.
MCG: Uhhhhh you would have to deal with someone else, I am not in a position to...
MH: Ok well it looks like this conversation is over. Have a nice day.
MCG: Have a nice day.

I feel sorry for these guys. Of course they can't help me, nor is it what they are paid to do. Crappy job!!! I'd really hate to do that for a living. I don't think there is a soul on earth who has a job in which they reduce principals of mortgages for their own employer (mortgage company).

I think I have another month before I get the notice posted on the door. At that point I'll start actively looking for a suitable place. I'm pretty happy with the choices available to me, only I will need to get rid of an awful lot of stuff. That kind of sucks. Man! I know I don't need a Fire King delphite blue milk glass splash and oven proof mixing bowl from the '40s. It serves very little purpose compared to what is available today, not that I mix or bake right now anyway. Fuck! I just love it. I want to keep it. I want to keep my Pyrex Flamingo Pink band milk glass gold trimmed dinner service for 12. I want to keep my Noritake Cook 'n Serve Cielito Lindo and my Franciscan Nut Tree and my Hall's for Westmoreland yellow and turquoise refrigerator dishes. And my sassy mental hygiene public health books for teens and young adults from the industrial revolution until the demise of its popularity around the time of Kennedy's inauguration, when fucking around and getting VD became sassy! And my... oh whatever. I have to get rid of stuff I don't need. I have to laugh at myself because I have had opportunities to do so. Several years ago, I made out like a bandit on an estate sale, but I hardly had enough room to accommodate the treasures I just could not part with. Again, I had a huge garage sale with some friends. Didn't make a dent. I am not a hoarder exactly. I just love beautiful old things that other people have forgotten. I want to have them.

I don't need newspapers or cans or cats or chihuahuas. OKAY, this place is probably messy too often, but it is single girl lives alone crap like clothes and shoes thrown in a corner. Formerly clean laundry piled on the table. Not cat poop or dead birds littering the paths carved out of the refuse! I certainly HOPE I never get like that. But I suspect that it is a problem associated with those who are obliged either through mental health issues or just as debilitating, lack of family and friends. When you live alone, you don't have to put stuff away all the time. Well I don't anyway. And I would imagine that if I knew for a fact that nobody would EVER show up on my doorstep I might not even care at all.

As a renter, I didn't have this mindset. I knew that my landlord could walk in any time he wanted. I was terribly humiliated one day when my landlord at my last apartment saw my cluttered living room. I could have died. I'm rambling. My mental issues may be starting to reveal themselves right this second. Let do a quick status check... hmmmm. do I feel like I would like to take a stack of newspapers and use it is a tv tray?..... Whew! notsomuch. Yes! I'm still hanging on.

A move is imminent, but to where?

According to friends, I ought to be able to stay in my house for another few months at least. I'm not going anywhere until the house is sold and the new owner comes knocking, because no way am I going to let the lawn get overgrown and the windows knocked out and crack heads smoking it up in here.

I plan on saving as much money as possible. It is only this week that I have been able to catch up on my other bills, however. My car's mechanical problems and then my BANK, deliberately withholding my direct deposit paycheck for an extra day (resulting in over $500 of 'nsf' charges) has caused an avalanche of financial roadblocks. A few weeks ago, I set it up through online billpay for my bills to be taken care of on Friday. I get paid on Thursday. Well, my BANK's software saw an opportunity! How about we hold the check for one extra day before releasing it into the account???? That way we can charge 12 nsf fees PLUS some other charges, the nature of which still confuses me. At $38 each, that really hurt. I called the bank but they were uncooperative, sort of like, "we have you by the balls, and we LIKE it."

But today I am finally back to where I should have been. It is all about saving money from here on out and that makes me feel much better. By the time I need to move, I'll be able to get a nice place. If I don't get laid off, which is always a possibility.

On the Heracles front, we have had some developments. Heracles has no idea that I'm losing my house. First of all, it isn't any of his business. Second of all, and the REAL truth, is that I'm just ashamed and I think he'll dump me as soon as he finds out. Gradually, that fear has faded because we don't seem to have much of a relationship anyhow. We do live a couple thousand miles from each other... so how much is there to lose?

But Heracles had a job interview in another state. He isn't like me. Because of his intelligence, skills, imagination, education, credentials and general BRILLIANCE and PERFECTION, he is one of those rare people who will call the shots even though he is technically the interviewee. He decided that he might take this job, which happens to be in yet a third state.

And that's apparently where I come in. Heracles thinks I ought to move there too. He doesn't understand that I am not in a position to look for jobs anywhere. I would love to move somewhere to be near Heracles, but it's just not possible. It isn't as if he is going to ask me to marry him, which would definitely resolve the situation for me. Of course, since I am the FEMALE, I can't go and ask HIM, now can I?

I wonder what his vision of life in this beautiful third state will be like. It is probably something like this: We have matching apartments in different complexes a couple of miles apart. We see each other four nights a week at Heracles' more comfortable (for him) apt, entertaining ourselves (Heracles) a with stupid slapstick sophomoric thirteen year old boy-humored movie, followed by a half hour of sex matching the objectifying, demeaning, boob jiggling sex in said movie. MH leaves as soon as Heracles' alarm goes off the next morning. Throw in a stress-relieving massage for Heracles every other night or so, and the picture is complete.

Here is what the reality would be: MH moves to Third State, finds a shitty apartment near Heracles' luxury apt, and struggles to find a job. Her money runs out, but Heracles doesn't know it because he would be very disappointed in MH for mishandling her money in such a way. MH finally takes an asst manager job at McDonald's and the acne sets in, rendering her even LESS attractive than before. Heracles feels relieved that he dodged that bullet a couple weeks ago when MH timidly broached the topic of marriage and a family to go with the dog he gave her for Christmas a few years back. He congratulates himself for pretending that he was very busy and didn't have time for this uncomfortable conversation. Things go downhill from there. Third State is full of HOT women! Who knew??? Time to shake off this miserable aging wretch MH, who can't seem to find a decent job and just moved to a STUDIO for fuck's sake.

So I'm thinking I won't be moving to Third State.

In Limbo But Still Living!

You know, there is no reason to stop trying to live a quality life just because I'm losing my house. I don't mean going to the movies, either. I never do that anyway. I mean enjoying life.

My pets, my friends, my family, the city and the job are still the same. It's important to remember the wonderful other things in my world because a house is just a house. It's a roof. I love the house, but I loved my ex husband too and now it's better that he's in another state.

Life will be EASIER when this chapter is closed. There will be some flexibility in my career, and maybe when the economy recovers I won't be desperate to be the BEST employee for THIS organization and I'll be interested in looking for something more challenging! I'm ready to face my forties. I'm going to be 37 this year and I still don't know what a woman in her THIRTIES acts like! I need to get with the program.

More of the same

Lately I have been preoccupied with my looming adjustment in housing, but along with that comes the presumed end of this relationship I've had with dear old Heracles.

Over the past year, my c.r. e dit s. core has been spoiled as a result of my missed mortgage payments. Even though that's the only aspect of the stupid credit report that drags the number down, it has been devastating to it. I don't even care because I see people survive without "credit" every day. The privileged class sees none of this, and they liken a person's credit record to their criminal record. In fact it seems to replace a criminal record in their estimation of a person's worth. That's because lots of people engage in driving while drunk, beating their wives and kids, and cheating/stealing from others. None of this has a damn thing to do with credit score, so if you have the money to pay your fines and you won't lose your job for a week in jail, you are still able to maintain that status of solid citizenry.

Hercules belongs in the group almost perfectly self-entitled to judge the rest of us. He is honest, law-abiding with sparkling credit and probably had sparkling SAT scores. Me, notsomuch. I am not a genius and obviously I am a crooked debtor. And when Heracles finds out about this situation, he will be disappointed and repulsed.

I have debated with myself about how I ought to handle this problem. Should I dump him first so he CAN'T? Should I beg him to love me despite my felonious credit behavior? Should I be straight up honest with him and tell him taht I expect his FULL emotional support? None of these seem to be realistic options, because the truth is, our relationship will end the day he finds out that I am losing my house. It won't matter what I do.

You know you've led a shitty ass life when...

After your "private" funeral, Nikki Hilton and Bijou Phillips find your pets at Tila Tequila's house

Project Walk Away, 2010 : Fall-out predictions

In 2010, the occupants of this house will move. I am in the process of making a list of bottom line requirements for a long-term residence. The ideal place will be quiet, secure and clean. Not such a simple proposition, in this particular town!

In 2010, I will turn 37. This unremarkable milestone may go down as the year I trolled bars looking for sex, not because I like sex, but because I am nearing menopause. I can tell. My body is changing. Okay, I'm not brave enough to have sex with strange men, I'm a nerd of the first sort. So this year will more likely go down as the year I accepted my destiny as a childless woman. This year, I will probably begin to yearn for a yard again, so I can yell at any little kids who manage to steer their bikes off the sidewalk onto my pristine green turf. Ah, what wonders the future holds!

In 2010, Heracles will dump me. He wasn't serious about this relationship anyway, he considers himself much too exquisite to entangle himself in emotional connections with females. Unmarried females try to rob men of their cherished sperm. One must always be on his watch. Heracles is smart, because I would have been guilty of doing just that, except I've always been too scared to have kids without a good man around who I knew wanted them with me. Who wants to go through all that only to have some little bastard blaming YOU for all their problems. No thanks. But if I WEREN'T so scared, Heracles would be right on, I have to admit. Anyway, Heracles is also a paranoid mess and has a grave mistrust of anyone who commits such a felonious act such as ruining their credit. So when Heracles finds out that I have to move because my house is getting foreclosed, he will be forced to distance himself from this sleazy ho.

In 2010, I will learn the true value of independence. I have been independent most of my life, but I never saw the value in it. I have always wanted a good man around. To my disappointment, I never found one. I probably don't know what to look for anyway. So this year, I am going to LEARN how NICE it is to be a WOMAN who does not NEED a man around for anything. I will not have a house with all sorts of maintenance issues that are mysterious and complicated. I will make sure I have a LIFE that I alone can manage by myself!

In 2010, I will simplify my life for the very first time. I will liquidate every tangible item in my possession which I don't USE. I will sell it or donate it or give it all away.

By the end of 2010, I will be able to pay my bills and for once, I will be able to save money.

I will face my forties alone and most importantly, I will face them content.

No choice but to walk

Here is the situation right now.

I owe over $170,000 on this house, which is worth less than $80,000. A foreclosure on my street with the same floor plan as this house recently sold for $76,000, and THAT property had been updated. My house has never been updated.

Yeah, I'm underwater. But when I started having trouble making the payment, I tried to get the loan modified, and I was willing to honor the whole amount, if they would extend the life of the loan in order for me to be able to afford the payment. That did not work. The mortgage company "approved" a modification in which the principle of the loan was raised (due to late fees and god knows what other charges) by almost $5,000 and my monthly payment actually increased! I spoke with them the other day and I was told that we will need to wait a year in order for them to revisit the subject of modification.

So here I am, savings are gone. Already got a loan on the 401k. Cannot get a roommate. House is starting to fall apart. I feel bad, but I have no options left. A collector called today. He suggested a short sale. "Why?" was my question. Well, he said, it might save your credit, you can put this behind you, bla bla bla. Plus, as it gets closer to foreclosure, they may be able to explore more ways of settling the debt. I reminded him that as far as anybody knew last week, the only way we have is for me to simply pay the mortgage on time every month, and if I can't do that, they will have to "send it to the attorneys." He had no response other than that he was sorry this was happening. I told him that I am too.

So, looks like my dream is starting to become my nightmare. All I wanted was my own home, and I was so happy when I "bought" it. I have learned many things about myself these past couple years, and I'm not proud that I don't know anything about managing too much debt. I am not proud that I bought a house that I simply can't afford.

And nobody else can afford it either. What really kills me is that if I had waited for six months, this house would have been $30,000 less at least, I would have had more money to put down on it too. And the payment would be manageable. But I guess thinking about that isn't going to do me any good.

Thank GOD I live in Arizona right now, along with so many other people who paid too much. Because right now they can't go after me for "deficiency" which is the difference between the amount I owe and the amount they ultimately receive, I think... All I have to do is make sure that the house has not been neglected and all of the appliances it came with are still here when they kick me out. I'll definitely have no problem with all of that, since I won't have a mortgage for the next couple months. I'll be able to afford to fix these things I should have fixed a LONG time ago. And I will. And I know that whoever is lucky enough to get my house will be really happy here if they keep the kitchen tile intact but update EVERYTHING else!

Guilt

Did I really get a loan modification or was it some other crap? Because my payment did not get reduced.

Ok, I know I've been thinking of little else and if I chance over to my own blog, I will write of little else as well. My words are of interest to few others than scammers and spammers, that's true.

This mistake has taught me very much about myself, but unfortunately I have no way of moving on. I can't walk away from the house, but I can't make the payment. I can't get a roommate because for some reason people don't want to pay me to live in a house without a working stove and a leaky bathroom sink and termites and a neglected yard.

I spoke with my mortgage company again today. Everybody says, "Talk to your mortgage company, don't ignore them!" They ignore me! I had to call three times before I actually reached someone instead of the call getting dropped. And I can't see how talking to them can help. They have my information. They know how much money I make, where all my money goes, and given that, I can't afford to make the payment. For my part, I know they don't want my payment to be any lower, they "can't" do anything more than all the great favors they did for me a few months ago, and they just want me to give them the date I can bring everything current.

We can't help each other at all.

Here it comes

I work all weekend every weekend. I don't have a chance to go to garage sales but that is what I would do if I didn't have to work. So there you have it. Why would a person rather be skulking around garage sales instead of hitting up pottery barn? I don't know! But that's how it is! Perhaps it is all about the mystery and the unexpected rather than the bleeeeeeh yeah that's cool but terribly overpriced.

Anyway it doesn't matter because I don't frequent either of those. I was just sayin' -as tmz would say.

As I was hard at work yesterday, my phone rang. It happened to be from a number that I did not recognize. I figured it was the wrong number.

This morning my phone rang again from the SAME number! I thought it might be some family member or friend who has suddenly moved, so this time I was sure to answer it. But before I even had a chance to say hello, I heard a LOUD, OBNOXIOUS ding dong and then "This is Suntrust Mortgage....." you know the rest. If you don't, just read Grapes of Wrath and that will do you up just fine.

I steadfastly maintained my composure, but this is yet one more sign that the end is beginning.

Poor house. Do you realize that after all these years of being loved by your original owners, some trashy biatch moves in and all of a sudden, you go to shit?

Oh hell. I would like to apologize to the former owner, but seeing as how she is currently surviving in her high-priced assisted living facility on the hundreds of thousands that I have yet to pay, I feel like it will be best to just leave well enough alone. The fucking place was built for less than $15,000 after all. And actually I am glad that she is benefiting from my folly. She lived all through the eighties and nineties and aughts with no dishwasher so she deserves her due. And yes, I am living without a dishwasher too, but come to think of it, the last time I used a dishwasher I was in 11th grade and that was twenty years ago. So I guess that was a really shitty analogy.

Suffice it to say, I am a piece of dung. I can't take care of a home and I am broke and Suntrust has officially fucked me like I deserve to be fucked and soon this house will have broken windows and graffiti all over the place.

sorry.

In other news, I sold two books on amazon! How sweet is that?

Happy Holidays

It was only a matter of time before my car decided enough was enough. I have continued to drive it, ignoring the somewhat violent shake, knowing full well that soon I would have to face the obvious- I can't afford my mortgage.

Earlier this year I applied for a loan modification, and I probably had too much wine late one night and chronicled the results of that fruitless effort. I'm too lazy to go back and read my previous entries, so I will refresh our memories. The mortgage company didn't lower my payment. In fact, it actually increased because somehow, even though the value of my home is only about 30% of what I am paying, my taxes went up! The result of my purchase two years ago of this roof over my head (the shingles of which regularly make an appearance on my lawn and driveway) has been a marked decrease in attention to other costs, like car maintenance.

I bought my car new. It was the first new car I had ever owned, and clearly I have not learned much since then, because I paid too much for that as well. I never missed a payment for FIVE YEARS. I paid STICKER PRICE. I was an idiot, but what did I do? YEARS LATER I bought this house which needed all sorts of work which I don't have the first clue about, plus it was out of my price range. None of it makes any sense. I look back at my poor decisions and I wonder why I did this to myself. I can't explain it, except I simply didn't know at the time that it was a poor decision.

I really did think that my car would retain worth! I really thought that my house would gain worth! I thought that if I took care of the car, like all the stories I hear about people who get their oil changed every three thousand miles, it would last for at LEAST ten years. I thought that I'd get a promotion because I was so close to it at the time, but I didn't. Then they started laying off people and now I'm one of the few left of my kind and my position is being eliminated AND I honestly don't know from one day to the next if I will have a job. The job market scares the living crap out of me. But I have kept on scraping along because I don't want to lose my home. I love it and I don't want its windows broken out or graffiti on the side of the garage or the copper plumbing stolen after the walls are kicked through. It doesn't deserve that. But then who suffers? My car, that's who. And when the car suffers, I suffer.

Last week the car loudly protested its current situation. I was in a fender bender a few months ago and yeah I got a really good deal on a quick body work fix, but apparently that wasn't all that had happened. Oh well, what's a noise or two here and there, I thought. I mean, the car is 9 years old, it has almost 80,000 miles on it and it IS a FORD. What do I expect? Dum de dum. Drove the car everywhere I wanted to go, used its noises as an excuse for NOT going where I DIDN'T want to go, and then one day I smelled antifreeze and my world fell apart.

You ever hear those anecdotes about how families are one paycheck away from the street? Well that's were me and kitty and Minchie are. This week was horrible, and I know it feels much worse than it sounds, especially since I am not as young as I used to be, and I get nervous and hysterical more easily. After depositing my car at the mechanic's shop, I borrowed my brother's beater car, which he keeps parked at my mom's house...which is 25 miles from me. Late the night of the breakdown, I pulled the little Beater into my driveway, breathed a grateful sigh of relief, and forgot about the whole mess. Early the next morning, I had to work. My job is not one of those jobs you can call in sick for. There is nobody around to do it, and many people expect me to be there to do it. If I am not there, it can have some very serious results to the detriment of those who depend on me, and who are in no position to have their time wasted in such a way. Plus it's unprofessional blaaaah blaaaah blah.

I had to walk. Actually I had to run. I was still late, but at least I made it. After the essentials were completed, I RAN back home and called my brother. He told me to go buy all sorts of crap at the car parts place. I did. I ran back home and then sat there wondering what the fuck I was going to do with all of this shit? I don't know the first thing about any car workings and even if I did, I am hard-pressed to scrounge up a pair of scissors, much less some car tools. I called AAA. They sent some cracked out tow truck driver who actually did help get the Beater started, but then he asked me for money. I knew he probably deserved it since the car didn't get towed and he DID spend two hours messing around with the car freezing his ass off too, plus he didn't have time to smoke any crack for at least two hours, right? So I gave him the sixty bucks. I sort of kicked myself because UM that's why I pay for AAA right? But you know, when you are a single woman STRANDED at home, and you have this guy knowing where you live, you just give him the sixty bucks, smile and thank him kindly for "everything."

I heaved another sigh of relief. Ok. He got the car started. It's ok now. I had to take a half day off work but tomorrow I won't be late again and everything will be alright. Next morning I awoke with an uneasy feeling somewhere. It wasn't in my heart and it wasn't in my stomach, it was somewhere in between those two. I hurried my butt up and zoomed around the house, getting a backpack stuffed full of everything a bag lady needs to survive on the street. I got in the car, PRAYING that it would do the same thing for me as it did for the crackdriver. But it didn't. It didn't start. I ran to work.

I ran home. It was raining, but at least it was above freezing temperature. I called my brother. He told me how it could be this or that or this or that. But just replace the battery and see if that works. I wanted to fucking kill him at this point, but of course it wasn't his fault and he couldn't do much to help me any more than he already was.
But having already spent $200 on the car, I didn't WANT to buy a battery. But I did it anyway. Who knew batteries are so heavy? I am sure anyone watching me lugging that fucker home would have gotten a huge laugh out of it. I tried many different positions, but by far I have to say that the easiest way to transport a battery is to roll it by gently kicking pushing. Yes, it does take forEVER, but if you can't carry something you have to be inventive.

That worked. Actually, I had the car parts store guy tell me EXACTLY what TOOLS I will need for this job. And I paid retail for THEM, TOO. But I got the battery in the car and it did run for the next two days until today when I dropped THAT off at the mechanic and picked my car up. After I paid over a thousand dollars, I went to the ATM to see how much money was in my bank account. I had enough, with ten dollars to spare.

That means I have a car that runs, so if I don't get laid off this year I will at least be able to make it to work. I hope. That means I have exactly 5 days to come up with $1300. That means I am looking at this computer screen wondering where the fuck I am going to get $1300. Which is probably why I keep on typing, not saying much.

It's all my fault, I know it. I was irresponsible or stupid. I did not purchase any luxuries except an occasional bottle of $6 wine and I live a frugal life. I would have been just fine if I would have stayed in that old apartment but my problem was that I just HAD to buy a HOUSE. It is something that I don't know if I will ever be able to explain, even to myself. The need was so strong, perhaps it represented to me exactly the opposite of what it really was: stability.

Why, Tiger? Why?

Oh, Tiger. Go ahead and whine about privacy and dealing with your transgressions with your family blaaaaaaaaaah blah blah. That's ok, you don't have to talk to the press. Your ladies are doing it for you because you are SO concerned about your family.

Say goodbye to AT&T and Gillette. Um, and I'm pretty sure Cadillac won't be knocking at your door anytime soon.

Here is your problem now. Your credibility as a stellar PERSON as well as a great golfer has been shot because you can't control yourself.

It just goes to show, ladies. A great family will not stop a man from throwing it all away on a 24 year old waitress.

Gang Rapes at Richmond High

I have been following this story but since I am not a career blogger, I don't usually post about news items.

Until today. I just can't stop myself.

I am glad we have a system in which a person is considered innocent until proven guilty. Sometimes we punish people who are innocent. Sometimes the punishment does not fit the crime and that's why we have the media who LOVES to publicize pieces like that. I hope anyone who has been proven innocent is compensated for the crime committed against him or her.... so with THAT out of the way..

And even more often, people get away with crimes by never being caught and also by lawyering up - oh and also by being juveniles.

So to all of you juveniles out there, I just want you to note the following in that juvenile, not quite mature or legally adult brain of yours: I vote every chance I get. I vote for harsh penalties and I vote for prison time. I am a democrat but guess what. I came from economically challenged parents who had no education and nothing going for them and I know what is expected of me because from an early age I knew I had enough problems, and didn't need to create any more for myself. I don't feel SORRY for others who don't want to be productive citizens.

Here we have young people who simply have no respect for others. They think it's okay to victimize another human being and do you think they would hesitate to kick your DOG? Hell no. Prison. Whatever. Get rid of them. They are worthless. They are using up precious resources and taxpayer dollars.

I deal with people like these fuckers every day and I know that there is no amount of "therapy" or "cognitive (ha!) intervention" that will persuade a criminal to stop preying upon those who are weak, especially when their sexuality enters into it. After they get themselves off on victimizing another person, forget about it.

Letting them stay in the community is cheaper, that's true. But guarantee it that these people who raped this girl will do it again WHEN they are released, and I do mean WHEN.

Not that it matters.

The Joys of the Late Fall Season

Yes, as I embarked on all sorts of pre-holiday household projects like picking up ice cream wrappers in my front yard and dog crap in the back yard, inspecting the large balls of dust accumulating on my coffee tables and ignoring the laundry piling up, I began to realize that all of this work was beginning to drag me down. I was just tired, that's all. Was I working too hard? Yeah, but what else is new. Was it the stress of making my newly-modified mortgage payment that happened to be TEN WHOLE DOLLARS less except oh yeah my taxes went up so ten dollars MORE every month? Could it be the worry I felt when I envisioned what Thanksgiving is going to look like, seeing as how my mother is in the throes of some sort of new phase of her prescription drug addiction and she is now imaging that there is a feral cat under her bed half the day?

Frankly it was probably all of those things but also so much more. You see, I had the FLU. I would venture to guess that the last time I was this sick, it was Halloween of 1992. I was dressed as a bobby soxer and, being the HUGE rebel that I was, I accidentally drank what I later found out were called screwdrivers. Suffice it to say that I promised Sweet Baby Jesus that I would never, ever, EVER drink a vodka-orange-juice again if He would just please get me out of this just this one time! I have never had another screwdriver. Yeah, I've had the odd Long Island Iced Tea, Long Beach, Sex on the Beach, whatev. But never have I drank those dangerous concoctions with such naive abandon again. Because I don't like to be sick goddamnit.

And now I do everything right. I drink wine and when I have to drink it in excess I make sure it's over several hours and of course I have my aspirin and econo-sized glass of water before hitting the sack. I am a vegetarian, and if it were not for my butter cravings I'd just go ahead and call myself vegan. That's a fairly healthy diet. I do get some exercise because I have a strenuous job, not because I LIKE exercising. So I shouldn't get sick! It doesn't make any sense.

But last week, as I said, I was tired. I was cranky. I told Heracles that my ears were popping and I wanted to go to sleep. "Well, go to sleep then," was his brilliant reply. I slept. I didn't wake up until 10 minutes before I was supposed to email my micromanaging supervisor that I had made it to my desk. The next few days I slept more and more and felt guilty on the same scale. Minchie was crying out for attention like a child from a broken home. Kitty didn't give a fuck which is one of the reasons I love Kitty so much. Ah, finally the weekend! I could catch up at last! I had a brief half day of fun, shopping with a friend for baby shower gifts for another friend. Then home to wrap my prizes in the most beautiful way possible. All of a sudden, I felt a bad attitude coming on. I wondered if it were some sort of subconscious jealousy? Why was I so pissed OFF that the RIBBON wouldn't CURL and it LOOKED like SHIT? Ok, I thought. Just put this stuff away and finish it in the morning before you leave, MH. Ok. Sleep again, beautiful sleep. It was 7pm.

12am. My eyes popped open with the realization which is years old, but one which I can never forget. I was going to throw up? I was! I ran to the toilet and let 'er go. No, I thought. This can't be! I didn't have anything at all to drink! wtf is going on here? I sat around for a few after that first heave-ho, wondering what had happened. I probably felt just like Minchie felt when she was yanked from her comfy little house/yard and plunked down on a stainless steel table, operated on and put in a little holding cage, aching and confused. She would have wondered what had just happened. Whatev, life is weird, I thought. Go back to bed!

12:30am. Oh no. Not afuckinggain. Ran to the toilet.

All night I cried. I begged SweetBabyJesus. I asked "Whyyyyy am I hungover? What did I doooo?" And the answer:

Nothing, bitch, you have the flu!

Every half hour I threw up. By 6am I was throwing up saliva pretty much every time I made the mistake of swallowing it. I was a pathetic sight. What's more, this misery continued unabated for two days! Yesterday I started getting congested, which seems like it was a good sign because now I know that it's OKAY to SPIT! I have my own spittoon now. I spit all the time.

I didn't get Tamiflu.
I didn't go to the doctor.
I went to work today even though I had a fever because of some bullshit policy that if we call in sick three days straight we need a "doctor's note." How fucking outdated is that shit? But no way was I going to sit around at some crappy urgent care place with a bunch of scared teenagers who "might" have staph or some weird STD and some dumbass tweens who stapled their little brother's finger to the microwave cart door. Or, what's worse screaming toddlers! No thanks. No way was I going to shell out $35 for that hell.

I went to work.

Yeah I sneezed all over my micromanaging boss, and guess what. Too bad.
I said, "Oops! Did that get all over you?
I have a fever and I have the flu!"

Do I Look Like a Nurse to You?

I am dealing with a REAL mess in Heracles, despite how entertaining his little quirks have been in the past.

Heracles is emotionally incapable of allowing himself to recover from the deadly assault on his throat aka tonsillectomy. Since my return a week ago, his pain/breathing/sleep/hunger status has dominated every single communication. I should have known it would devolve to something like this. I am not the most sympathetic of persons, granted. As far as I am concerned, if you obsess about little throat itches or snot clogs, you are wasting your time unless it prevents you from doing what you need to do. A little bit of pain and discomfort does not call for an hourly email to your SURGEON, which is the type of patient we are dealing with currently.

sigh.

My brother called me while I was out East, wondering where I was. I told him about my little patient. He said, "YOU? He wanted YOU to be there with him? Is he CRAZY?" I was hurt. I had been taking great care of him. "But MH, you aren't the most PATIENT of people. Have you told him to 'man up' yet?" I hadn't. Thereafter, I resisted the temptation because nobody is going to call MH impatient and get away with it.

But now I have just about had it. Heracles needs to get it together quit emailing his surgeon and quit texting me with 20 min updates on state of his dry throat. Drink some water and go about your day! These hundreds of self-pitying texts brought me over my texting limit to the tune of $200 this month! Dude give me a freaking break.

Minchie comes home from vacation

The English Speaking American Male Patient

Okay.
We have established that I am a stupid biatch, so of course I don't need much more than in invitation to spend my hard-earned vacation time EAST of here, "nursing" a 36 year old tonsillectomy victim. I didn't need one but I was invited, thank you very much. Yes, my dear sweet Heracles needed some down home care because while it is an outpatient procedure, you do need someone around who will be LEGALLY responsible for you for 48 whole hours after the surgery, ok? ok! And yes, that individual was me. If Heracles had robbed a bank with that big old bottle of oxycodoneahydrophyllstuff it would have been all on MH! I could have gone up for 15 years because that's a federal offense! Well thank God he was way too full of oxycodone and otherwise hurt because I don't need a federal offense on my record that's for sure. Point is, it was a huge responsibility, get me? Like being a guardian. If you want to put it like that, it's like being a parent. A mother! sigh!

As it turned out, Heracles needed someone. His mom is in her seventies. Does she need that mess when she's trying to unload a house full of Heracles' childhood memories that nobody seems to care about? Hells no. Poor lady all she wants to do is shop and live like a single woman about town who has paid her debt. But she had too many kids over too many years, her husband had the bad manners to die and both of them didn't teach their youngest how to man up. Heracles actually considered letting her come over to that freezing, garbage-ridden city to take care of him. She can't see well enough to learn the fine art of texting, so how is she going to drive a Chrysler around on streets the size of sidewalks? When she is saddled with two expensive homes to maintain and an aging brother with a terminal illness? The woman raised a fine son, like she did with her older children. But somehow Heracles forgot that boys grow into men. He's still the baby of the family, I guess. I'm the baby too, I know how it is. But damn, even I had to grow up.

Well anyhow I couldn't see putting an older woman through that and besides I have cooked less than 6 meals in the last 4 years so nesting a little bit on the shady side of my thirties seemed to be a bittersweet departure from using the microwave for warming my nightly pore-opening steam towel. With that in mind, it was a pleasure to use a microwave to cook. And I don't even EAT Jello! See what a nester I was?

I nursed that little Heracles for days! It was heavenly. I thought about how much fun it would be to take care of him all the time. I started to use little pet names for him and talked baby to him. He liked it. Mom wasn't around, but he could pretend right?

It was glorious. I pounded cubes of ice into shards of ice that barely passed as "shaved." I made three kinds of wholesome soup and froze it all. I made gatorice cubes for times when someone might need his "electrolytes" replaced. I made Jello for the first time and second time and third time, then added some choco-protein powder to another and another batch for my little patient. I rinsed, wiped, cleaned, took out garbage and recycle, plucked bloody q tips out of the sink, slept with the bathroom light on so Heracles could make regular hourly visits there throughout the night, and rejoiced when he decided he might be able to stomach some cold Campbell's chicken noodle soup.

I giggled at all of my patient's little complaints about his throat, his nose, his head and the bruises from getting stuck and missed several times by a nurse in training. I told Heracles that he is so CRAZY since he wants more than anything to be crazy. Well, he also wants to be funny, so I laugh at him all the time. Makes us both smile. Plus we had one nice afternoon at an indoors botanical garden. It was a nice time, I have to say.

Then I started to miss my Minchie and Kitty. I wondered about my fountain grass. Had it grown in the last five days? How about Minchie's wading pool? Was it still safe next to the coiled up hose and serpentined soaker? And that slow leak in my front driver's side tire that I have been ignoring, did it finally cause a flat, rendering me immobile?

Boy, was I glad to get home. I collected my dog, collapsed on the love sac and snuggled under a for a few hours, thinking about the last week's worth of experience and what I have learned from it.

I don't care what Heracles says. He's missing out, and I don't miss taking care of a man for a living for nothing but a sniffed thanks and an offer of cash to offset the groceries. Yeah, I missed it before, but that was because I had forgotten that men aren't grateful for shit. We don't need to make them soup! They don't want or need us for anything aside from clean shaven, issue-free sex.

FYI, this MH didn't accept any money from the patient.

Jane Adams Gets Hung Up On A TWEET

I know celebrities have seemingly unending power over retail establishments, so most people expect that celebrities get their way when they sit their precious butts down.

But come on. Every restaurant ever I worked at required me to zero out my account every night and if somebody skipped out on the check like that chaunch Jane Adams, I would have had to pay. So here is Mr Ingels, who clearly isn't a tycoon. And this woman thinks she has the right to leave without paying for it. Later when she finds out the waiter complained publicly, she had the balls to get him fired? This whiny prima donna's business is that important to Barney Greengrass? Well, looks like I won't be eating there.

Ms Adams has likely never had to serve people like HER, so she probably has no idea what all the fuss is about. Well, Ms Adams, I'm relieved that I didn't know who you were already, so I don't have to be annoyed about that I've made the mistake of contributing to your evil doings. I certainly intend to NEVER see anything which has your name in the credits. You are a nasty, vindictive person. You didn't have to skip out on that bill but you thought you were too important to have to walk your lazy ass back in there. You didn't have to go back there and engage the waiter in a verbal confrontation and you showed your ass something awful when you actually complained so much that he was fired from a job he's held for a long time. Did you ever stop to think that perhaps YOU were the cause of all of this?

I hope YOU get fired. Anyone who watches whatever this Hung crap is, please email HBO to let them know that you aren't going to continue until that awful woman gets written out of her part. Hey I know, she can have lunch in a pretentious restaurant and while she is complaining about the waiter, she can choke to death. That would be great for ratings.

Heracles oh Heracles

I had lunch with a friend today and we discussed a great many important things happening in our lives.

My friend, as is typical of pretty much everyone I know, is pregnant. Unusually, this is her first. I respect her so very much because she is around my age. I do wish I were just like her, though. Somehow, she has managed to get herself married and with child within the last few years. sigh! but! I am very happy for her and no amount of envy that I may feel towards that type of situation could ever detract from how wonderful I think life can be for people, especially for those who do whatever it is that they do, and what they do is 100% perfect so that is why they are living that 100% perfect life. So I am very happy for her and I love the fact that she is living her dream. She deserves it!

I am not always sure if I ought to have kids. With my history of traumatic experiences with luck or fate, I ought to leave well enough alone. But I have to say, sometimes all I want to do is nestle myself deep inside that lovely huge lovesac and embroider and knit until I have outfitted a household ready for an army of little brilliant scientists. And little MHes.

But then sometimes I worry that there will never be another unfortunate soul of my blood, good old MH- who did not receive the greatest education, never had any sort of positive role models, and certainly doesn't have her shit together any better than anyone 15 years younger.

I can't blame my parents because emulating them was not an option, due to my unending disdain. I can only blame myself. I sometimes wonder how my life would have been different if I had made different choices in different times. But now I realize that it doesn't matter any longer anyway. Lessons are sometimes learned too late.

Luring men into fatherhood never works, but if I were younger perhaps I would be a mother right now and I wouldn't give two farts what anyone thought about it. But stupid MH. I'm always concerned with my dignity, self-respect and of course, the respect of some other fucking idiot.

Confidentially, if Heracles were dumb enough to have sex with me unprotected, I'd most happily do my damnedest to get pregnant. I would. I would nurture any child I had at this advanced age, and I wouldn't have much urge to even notify any sperm supplier, especially if he had no desire to father my children!

I wouldn't expect child support. If a man doesn't want his child, why bother with the money aspect of it? It seems so backwards to me. I would think he should pay if he WANTS access to the child. Simple supply and demand.

Oh well. I will be childless. I can handle it because I am scared of it all anyhow. Mothering human beings is one of those truly thankless careers. We, as human females, want NOTHING more than to have children and take care of them, but somehow, as in so many other ways, my intended path never stuck with the main.

And that, my dears, is why I am sitting here right now, almost finished with a bottle of barely palatable CA merlot and wondering what the fuck I'm doing here worrying about being alone the rest of my life when I have a dog and a pension.