Doxie Proxy

Still waiting.

My SUV has been in the shop since July 6th June 19th. I had planned, with the kind permission of the mechanic, to pick the car up on July 17th. It took over a week for them to get back to me on what was wrong with the car, and when all was said and done, I couldn’t afford the cost of a transmission until then, and they were nice enough to stow it for me until then. The 17th came, and I was told they had trouble getting the used transmission to them on time, so it would be the 21st. On the 21st, it would be done on the 22nd. On the 22nd, I was told one of their transmission fellows was quite ill and out of work, so the other fellow was taking his jobs, and was working on mine, and it would be very soon. Friday, the 23rd, I answered the phone to hear the news that a part/component on the side of my transmission didn’t match up to the transmission they’d put in, and they were waiting to see if they could find another part, etc. etc. Friday afternoon, I’m told that… drum roll…the transmission the vendor sent was for a newer model than my car, and it wouldn’t work. Now, it’s the following Monday, and I’m…

still…
waiting…

To their credit, they have been exceedingly nice, and kept me informed every step of the way, not to mention I don’t feel like we’re getting screwed in this deal. It’s just been one thing after another, but I have to respect a company that keeps me in the loop, rather than passing the buck.

Stay tuned, life. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.

P.S. My little man Taz (chihuahua) is ill. He’s not eating, and just looks puny. Sigh. Abigail, on the other hand, is fat (Prednisone) and sassy. The cat’s just fat. (Bwah!)

A lovely poem: The Lanyard, by Billy Collins

The other day I was ricocheting slowly
off the blue walls of this room,
moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano,
from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,
when I found myself in the L section of the dictionary
where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard.

No cookie nibbled by a French novelist
could send one into the past more suddenly—
a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp
by a deep Adirondack lake
learning how to braid long thin plastic strips
into a lanyard, a gift for my mother.

I had never seen anyone use a lanyard
or wear one, if that’s what you did with them,
but that did not keep me from crossing
strand over strand again and again
until I had made a boxy
red and white lanyard for my mother.

She gave me life and milk from her breasts,
and I gave her a lanyard.
She nursed me in many a sick room,
lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,
laid cold face-cloths on my forehead,
and then led me out into the airy light

and taught me to walk and swim,
and I, in turn, presented her with a lanyard.
Here are thousands of meals, she said,
and here is clothing and a good education.
And here is your lanyard, I replied,
which I made with a little help from a counselor.

Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,
strong legs, bones and teeth,
and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,
and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.
And here, I wish to say to her now,
is a smaller gift—not the worn truth

that you can never repay your mother,
but the rueful admission that when she took
the two-tone lanyard from my hand,
I was as sure as a boy could be
that this useless, worthless thing I wove
out of boredom would be enough to make us even.

Awaiting…

I cannot wait to see this movie. The book was simply lovely.

Bravo & Housewives

First, let me say that I’m completely and unalterably biased against the ridiculously mis-named “reality” TV. I think it makes you dumber by the second, and that you lose brain cells every time you watch it. I liked the very first Real World, but it went downhill after that, and nearly every single “reality” show or wanna-be “reality” show (on any channel) is just trash TV.

With that said, my email to Bravo TV, because apparently I’m a prude:

I was flipping through channels today (at 2:40pm) and stopped on a Real Housewives reality show, just in time to hear a character named Danielle (I believe) say “I got the p***y.” Really, folks. I got the p***y? Do you like the word p***y so much that you want to share it with your entire viewing audience? It’s vulgar and demeaning, and vile to read AND hear.

This is incredibly tacky. Do you folks have any limits? What’s next? This is in the middle of the afternoon, people, not 4am. Why would you allow this word to get past the censors? Are there even any censors anymore? I don’t expect every show to be Seventh Heaven, but surely the line between entertainment and outright vulgarity for vulgarity’s sake isn’t that blurred?

Perhaps we all expect too much from any television channel with such a cerebral lineup. It’s not like we pay a ridiculous price to watch… oh, wait. We do.

Update: The cute little barking fiend from next door has been oddly quiet these last few days. We’ll see. I’m seriously considering offering to babysit the dog when they leave the house, hehe.

In addition, the outer reaches of my neighborhood must contain some seriously stellar specimens (alliteration!) of human intellect, because they are still (still!) shooting off fireworks at night. Between them and Thuggy McThug that has to ride through the neighborhood at approximately 10:30 every night with his fabulous rap music thumping, one can only these wonderful people don’t breed.

Yes, I’m angsty and whiny today. I’m in the throes of a friggin’ sinus infection that just won’t go away, no matter what I throw at it. Antibiotics have been a last (very last) resort, and my ears still feel like I’m living in a plane. Ow.

Neighbors

We have lovely neighbors, truly, but the scottie dog they procured a few weeks ago is driving us crazy. They leave him outside for hours upon end, and he yaps, barks, yelps and howls…for hours.upon.end.

Let me reiterate: these are actually really great neighbors, and this is the first time, ever, that I’ve ever had anything negative to say about them. It’s to the point where I’d rather listen to that cute little beast yap instead of saying something about it. I mean, we’re dog people, for Pete’s sake!

I may offer to babysit, though. *snicker*

I’m sure the little pooch is just lonely. Scottie dogs are such characters.

Woes

I have a serious triple-threat today. My head is throbbing, and my ears feel stopped up. It’s like being on a plane at high altitude, and I can’t get my ears to “pop”. Second, my ovaries have decided to use my lower back as a punching bag, and it feels I’ve been kicked by a donkey who has a fondness for anything lumbar. Lastly, (I never know when it is or it is not appropriate to use the word ‘lastly’, but I like it, so there you have it) Mister and I ate at a Mexican restaurant on SATURDAY (it is Tuesday), and it didn’t sit right with me. After a day or two of feeling really unwell, I feel like I’m dehydrated or depleted in some way (I dunno.. sodium? potassium, maybe?), and just feel Godawful.

I stayed in bed this morning, trying to think serene thoughts while feeling the crown of my head slowly freeze from the ice pack, but my back finally made me plead uncle, and I got up to take something (else). I took an Amerge earlier and am so friggin’ thankful that it has helped. I must once again tout the brilliance and wonder of my neurologist. I pray, seriously, literally and honestly, that I never, ever, EVER have to go through another bout of Status Migrainousa. It was so awful that there aren’t enough words to describe it, and, though I would never, ever hurt myself, it made me truly understand, for the first time in my sheltered life, why some may looking at ending it all as an option. Pain like that tears you down. *shudder* Anyway! Feeling somewhat better now, as evidenced by my ability to focus on a laptop monitor and type with some minimal dexterity (albeit surely the snoring dog beside me helps).

Thoughts:

Michael Jackson - I’m so sorry he died. He was so talented, and, I’m sure, misunderstood. The BET tribute was a ridiculous circus, replete with tasteless bling, even more tasteless and tacky clothing (denim prom fashions, anyone?) and fake words. These folks wouldn’t have returned his call a week ago, but now he’s the greatest thing ever. These folks make me sick. And his dad? Is the ugliest thing on the face of the Earth.

Farrah Fawcett - So very sad. She sure did fight her disease, and showed a lot more courage than I would have. What a beautiful woman. She seemed pretty on the inside, too.

Billy Mays - Y’know, in his commercials, the guy came across as loud and somewhat irritating, but I never heard him be rude, vulgar or condescending. He was just doing his job. My heart goes out to his family. I’m so sorry. So young!

Iran - the cleric…CLERIC…calling for execution of the protesters. I hope those marching in the streets find the cleric.

Nobama - it just keeps getting worse. He’s going to be the downfall of this country. He’s a deceitful liar, and we’re all screwed. Thank goodness for the Patriot Post newsletter.

Mark Sanford - There are so many bad things about this story. Normally, I’d say “What? He had an affair? Off with his gems!” - but - I hate to say this, but after reading the emails in the paper, I feel bad for everyone involved. Everyone but the mistress, that is. (Yes, he’s a floozy, too. I’m not singling out the mistress.) It’s apparent he really loves that woman, but dang, man, you have a family! Your poor wife! Your kids! Your kids, who have schoolmates who’ll be reading the emails their dad wrote to his mistress! Such an awful, awful situation. I hope all involved find some peace, and soon.