Fiction Friday – Lost and Found Part 13

For previous entries to the story, visit the Fiction Fridays page.

Warning: not suitable for kids.

Susie set the coffee down in front of Jake, who was intent on the screen in his hand.

“Why?” she said, sitting down across from him, staring intently at his face.

“What’s that?” he asked, still absorbed in his phone.

“I said, ‘why?'” Her voice was growing more insistent.

“What do you mean, ‘why?’ Why what?”

Susie tucked her hair behind her ear. Maybe I shouldn’t ask. Maybe I’m opening a can of worms I really shouldn’t open.

“Why did you have me seduce a married man?”

“You didn’t have to do much seducing, did you? As I recall, he pretty much fell at your feet the moment you talked to him.”

“That’s not the point. Why? What was in it for you?”

“Are you mad or something? Has something happened?”

“I’m just curious. I know we’re not normal, I know this marriage is some sort of business arrangement for you, but most pimps don’t marry their whores.”

“Is that what you think this is about? Do you think I’m making money by having you sleep with him? It’s not about that.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s personal. It’s the means to an end. And I am very grateful for your help. Trust me.”

“Look. I know this guy is probably a jerk because he was willing to cheat on his wife, but is he really so horrible that you need me to go in and wreck his life and his family’s lives? He seems to be getting too attached, and I’m just not comfortable with this anymore.”

“So this whole conversation is because your conscience is bothering you.”

“No. Yes. I don’t know. Do you even know these people?”

“Yes. All too well.”

“How? Did he kill your kitten back when you were in elementary school or something?”

For a moment something seemed to flash behind his eyes, and then the mask was back in place.

“Some day I’ll tell you about it, but not yet. If you’re not comfortable with this situation, that’s fine. You’re a grown woman, you can decide these things for yourself. It’s okay. You’ve done me a huge favor, and I’m grateful.”

“Really? You’re okay with me not seeing him again?”

“Really. Do whatever you want. If you want to keep seeing him, that’s fine, too. I’m okay with it either way.” He picked up his phone again, tapping the screen.

---

Susie wasn’t returning his texts. Why had he called things off in the first place? Because Janeen had uncharacteristically wanted sex for a change? One night. One night of great sex after years of playing the snow queen. And now she was back to her usual frigid self.

And now Susie wouldn’t return his texts, or his calls. He thought things were okay after they’d met up again. She’d been as hot as ever, until he’d brought up the topic of feelings. Sure, she’d gotten a little quiet when they talked about Janeen and Susie’s husband. But after that, they’d had several more rounds. If anything, it felt even more intense.

It wasn’t like her not to reply. What if something was wrong? What if her husband found out? What if right now, at this very moment, he was strangling her in a jealous rage?

Worse still, what if her husband came after him next?

Rob pushed that thought from his mind. She didn’t even know his last name, let alone where he lived. It was funny, really. He knew every inch of her body, how to make her moan, how to make her toes curl, but he didn’t know her last name. He didn’t know where she lived. He could barely remember that she drove a gray Honda Civic. If she didn’t text him back, he would have no way of finding her.

His throat felt dry at the thought.

Continued here.

The down side to infinite life…

How many of you play games like Candy Crush Saga and the like? Candy Crush is actually one of the games I resisted for a while, although I was already playing a bunch of King games. I think it started with the Pyramid Solitaire game, which I rarely play these days. Bubble Witch Saga was the worst. I actually got to the highest level, and then they created more. They also created a second Bubble Witch Saga game. In case you’re wondering, that’s one of those aim and pop games.

My worst are Farm Heroes and Candy Crush these days, which are “switch to match” games. However, the past few days I’ve returned to Pet Rescue. It’s sad, really – I’m on level “I have no life,” aka 437. And what makes it worse is that I’ve just won 24 hours of infinite life.

What do you do when you have limited infinite life on one of these stupid games? If you’re like me, you play non stop until your damned hand hurts.

There is a game out there called “Alpha Betty Saga.” I try not to play it, because it’s one of those “create words” games that I could literally play for HOURS without losing. Without losing the game, that is. I’m losing while I’m playing it. I’m losing valuable time that could be spent doing something more meaningful, like writing, or reading, or creating, or getting up and walking.

Sometimes infinite life can be a bad thing.

Weird Wednesday – Up Butt Coconut Edition

I was trying to think of a theme for this week to go with a rather disturbing article I found. Then, today, a conversation came up at work that just sort of solidified, so to speak, the topic.

So, I’ll start you off with a video that I absolutely love, especially when someone makes me angry.

Anyone else remember using phrases like “Up your nose with a rubber hose!” as a kid? Vague memories of Welcome Back, Kotter  from when I was VERY young will age me still. What’s funny is that Adam and I were talking about that show the other day while standing in line at the pharmacy. He shouldn’t be old enough to remember.

But the article in question? Okay, I’m warning you, it’s gruesome. And no, it’s not from Florida this time, though the web site where I found it features quite a few “let’s laugh at Florida” articles. Nope, this one is from Casper, WY.

Wyoming Man Found with 30 Eyeballs in his Anal Cavity…

Yes. You read that correctly. Go click on the link. You know you’re dying to find out what?! WHY?! I’m going to give you a spoiler alert – they weren’t human eyeballs. And he had a special use for them that will disturb you on many levels.

Okay, I’ll just say it. He LIKES TO EAT BOVINE EYEBALLS, and the slaughterhouse where he works just throws them away, but won’t let him take them home to eat them, so he shoves them in his anal cavity and sneaks them out so he can take them home and cook them. I wonder if he’d like a side of stewed rat with his eyeballs?

So, somehow this came up in a conversation with a coworker today. She brought up a movie, Maria Full of Grace, which I will admit I have never watched. Somehow, that made me think of one I HAVE watched. The entire disturbing thing.

It’s a cult classic, not for the feint of heart:

Yes, I’ve watched the whole entire thing.

And while we’re on the topic of disturbing Indie movies, here’s another one for you:

If this is all too much, I don’t care. I read the end of Allegiant last night, so as far as I’m concerned, everyone can be depressed right along with me. Seriously, though – read it, it’s good, but it had a “better keep your box of Kleenex on hand because you’ll sob like a baby” ending.

Back to the weird, now. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To find links to very weird stuff?

So how about a weird job? I’m not sure if this one is still available, but you can always give it a go… Did you know you can make money selling your own excrement? There are certain requirements that must be met, before you get all excited. But perhaps, when the Casper, Wyoming guy gets fired from the slaughterhouse, he may be able to move to Massachusetts and sell his crap, once his system is cleared of eyeballs.

Conversation:

Anna: So, what do you do for a living?
Jim: Oh, a little of this, a little of that. I sell shit…

And with that, I’m out of here.

Someone asked me a few years ago where I envisioned myself in five years…

A friend of mine who knew what I was going through, who knew I wanted out of New York, out of my marriage, and a new life in Florida asked me where I envisioned myself in five years.

I drew a lovely photo in my mind. I would be practicing law, of course, because by default that was the career that made the most sense, though my dream job would be keeping my odd hours and writing more novels and having them sell like wild in the manner of any number of famous novelists. To date, I’ve still only written the one.

I would be living in a house in Gainesville, and my children would be involved in school activities, my oldest would be preparing for college, my daughter in the application process, my youngest getting ready for high school. In my mind, Matthew would have followed my footsteps and joined the local youth orchestra. Nowhere in that picture was I remarried. I didn’t envision going back to school, unless it was for an LLM in Taxation from University of Florida.

What really happened is that my son quit playing the violin for a few years, but he’ll be playing in his high school orchestra next year. My daughter is involved in the drama department, which is pretty much like breathing for her, and my youngest child sort of rebelled last year and nearly failed sixth grade. I’m still not sure how he is registered for seventh grade. I am not practicing law, and I’m not sure I ever will. I am a police dispatcher, a driver on the side for as long as that lasts until they kick me out for not keeping above a 4.6 out of 5 approval rating (I’m back down to 4.5 this week as the only rider who rated me gave me a 4) and I’m studying programming and web design. I’m hoping to pull together enough money to buy a DSLR camera to aid my photography hobby and perhaps start a photography business on the side.

All in all, I’m happy. It wasn’t what I imagined for myself, but in some ways it is better.

But today, I saw this article about houseboats. While the kids are in school, I am content living in Gainesville. I will hold down the job (or another) as long as necessary, because they deserve a sense of stability. And if we can afford it, Adam and I would like to buy a house here, a place either with a mother-in-law suite or enough land to place a trailer for his mother to live, because it would benefit everyone if she were in Gainesville where he can easily transport her to her doctor’s appointments and grocery store visits, etc. She has severe vision problems, a by-product of diabetes. (Why can’t I say that word without conjuring up Wilfred Brimley? “Diabeetus.”) I also want to make sure I’m in a place where I can assist my parents and grandmother, if necessary, as they grow older and find themselves with more needs.

But someday, my gypsy spirit needs to find a caravan, and I’m dreaming of a caravan on the water. A houseboat. Maybe in Cedar Key, in the land of the biting sand gnats, so we’re still close to family? I haven’t worked out the details yet. I know I don’t want one of the semi-permanent dwellings like in that article, though. I want a real boat, maybe a pirate ship.

In the alternative, I could find myself “settling” for a treehouse built Swiss-Family-Robinson style. At least, until my knees give out. Yeah, maybe not such a good idea, considering Adam’s got two bad knees.

A pirate ship it is, then.

Ever Respond to Political Emails?

We just sat through an hour and a half of “Driving Miss Daisy – the Uber Lecture” at the Holiday Inn. At least they had water. We walked out before the lecture was over, (it was 12:30, it was supposed to end at 1:00, he was about 1/4 through with his slides.) We walked out right after the guy basically said that Uber can discriminate in its hiring of drivers and disallow someone from driving ANYONE because the driver has allergies to animals severe enough to be life-threatening. So someone’s blindness trumps someone else’s asthma, even if there are plenty of drivers who CAN safely transport the service animals. A driver (who is an independent contractor, mind you) can’t decline a rider just because they are physically unable to transport that person safely without risking their livelihood. Alrighty then!

So, I’m feeling a bit snarky right about now. And I’ve decided to share a lovely email I received (I’ve actually received more than one…) from one of my favorite Republican candidates, Scott Walker. I’m going to cut and paste his email first. Yes, I realize he didn’t write the email himself. He has people he pays to do this for him. But I decided a hand-crafted response was appropriate.

First, I should preface this with the explanation that apparently “Kate” is the same person as “John”, because at one point we were married, and that means that I am just an extension of my ex-husband, no?

Here it is:

• Scott Walker
• Jun 27

To

• JOHN XXXXXXX

JOHN, I have an important question to ask you:

JOHN, as a trusted leader in the Conservative movement I need to ask you an important question. Should I run for President of the United States? I have been praying about this decision for a long time and if I do decide to seek the Republican nomination for President I need to know you’ll stand with me. If you think I should run please let me know by donating $10, $35, $75, $100, $250 or even $500 today. America is at a crossroads and the lack of leadership over the past six years has put us on the wrong track. The challenges facing our great nation are robust and the next president must have the experience to solve complex problems. JOHN, you have been on the front lines, fighting for our shared conservative values. You and other grassroots leaders were instrumental in Republicans taking control of the U.S. House in 2010 and the U.S. Senate in 2014. Now we must stand together to stop the Obama-Clinton machine from keeping the White House in 2016. I didn’t inherit fame or fortune and I don’t think being President is by birthright, but I do believe I am uniquely qualified to lead this country. Your early support will confirm my feelings and let me know if my family and I should embark on this journey. Donate any amount you can afford to let me know you’re on my side. $10 $35 $50 $100 $250 Other When we took office as Governor of Wisconsin our economy was in shambles due to years of reckless liberal spending, our unemployment rate was at 8.1 percent and we were ranked 41st in the country for places to do business. The future looked bleak but I knew the conservative reforms we were about to put into motion could be the shot in the arm our state needed. In four years we turned a $3.6 billion deficit into a surplus, unemployment is down to 4.6 percent and Wisconsin now ranks 12th in the country for places to do business. Leadership and courage were the keys to my success and I know this kind of experience is just what our next President needs. What worked in Wisconsin can work for America, but I can’t do it without your support. Contribute $10, $35, $75, $100, $250, or even $500 on our secure website now to let me know I can count on you to support my decision. The next few days will be critical and I need to know I can count on you. So what do you think, JOHN? Should I run for President of the United States? Scott Walker Paid for Scott Walker Inc. Testing the Waters http://www.scottwalker.com This email was sent by: Scott Walker Inc. Testing the Waters P.O. Box 620590, Middleton, WI 53562

This message was intended for: katexxxxxxx@yahoo.com
You were added to the system April 8, 2015.
For more information click here. Update your preferences
Unsubscribe | Unsubscribe via email

So, here was my response:

To

• info@scottwalkerttw.com

Not only should you not run, you should resign from your current office. You have not lived in the manner which Jesus would have you live. Did Jesus demand the poor be tested for drugs before he fed them? No. Did Jesus preach to lock up the elderly for peacefully protesting their government? No. You say you are praying about this decision. Go back and read the sermon on the mount. Go back and read the words of Jesus Christ.

You are a failure. You should resign from office and stay out of politics.

---

I didn’t bother with a signature. Because if they bothered to read the email address, they would know that my first name is NOT “John,” but “Kate.” As I said, John has his own email address and always has.

I’m not going to pull an Alec Baldwin and claim that if one of these Ass-Clowns like Scott Walker or “The Donald” wins the presidency, I will automatically move overseas. I know it isn’t that easy. But Canada is looking better and better, even for someone who hates the cold. Maybe I can spend summers in Canada and winters in Grand Cayman?

Sigh. In other good news – I only spent an hour trying to fix the problem with Adam’s cell phone (the phones are in my name) with Assurion last night. He dropped the phone last year, we didn’t fix it because with the crack it still worked, and it took a lot to find an extra $100 to pay the deductible. We’ve been paying for the insurance all 16 months. So when he fell and it hit the ground the third time, shattering the screen so that he couldn’t use it anymore except when it was hooked up to the Blu Tooth in his car, we finally scrounged up the $99 for the deductible, and they sent us a lovely refurbished one. With a bad microphone. And a tendency to overheat. And now, it won’t even charge the battery.

I called numerous times last night, going through their stupid misleading menu multiple times, lying about the whole “capable of charging your device” line so it wouldn’t disconnect me, talked to people, told them what happened, got 80% through the process just to be disconnected and have to call and go through it all AGAIN. He’ll be getting another (refurbished?!) Galaxy S4 on Monday.

I’m looking forward to work in about an hour. Then off to drive for Uber while I still can, because it will only take a few more one-star ratings from drunks who are mad that I won’t drive the wrong way down a one way street for me to lose eligibility to transport anyone, elderly or not.

Fiction Friday – Unnamed Story Part 2

This is part 2 of an older fiction story I started to write years ago. Part one can be found HERE. I still don’t have a name for this story.

---

Then he walked into the room.

Even in my panic, the name DiAngelo had struck me as ironic.  But if I had thought I was struggling for air before, I was now going into a full blown asthma attack.

Tony DiAngelo.  I hadn’t seen him in about fifteen years, over half a lifetime ago.  I put my hand to my neck, hoping that someone in that room would see that I was suffocating.

“She needs her inhaler,” Tony said.  How did he know?  I hadn’t developed asthma until about five years ago.

The voice was the same.  That same voice that had haunted me for so long even after he had dropped off the face of the earth.  I felt rather than saw someone putting an inhaler in my hand.  I squeezed it, inhaling, waiting for my trachea to relax and allow the air to reach my lungs.

“Where is Jason?” I asked when I finally caught my breath.  “What the Hell is going on here?”

The nurse was standing beside me, her hand sort of holding mine in an attempt to comfort me.

“Honey, you’ve been through so much.  You should try to calm down.”

“Look, if you tell me to calm down again, I’m going to show you just how calm I’m being right now.  I want Jason in here, right now.”

“Who is Jason?”  Tony asked.

“What are you doing in here?  Why are you here?  Where is Jason?  I want my husband!” Every sentence was a little higher.  I knew I was getting “hysterical,” but I couldn’t seem to stop myself.

“We may need to sedate her,” Dr. What-ever-his-name was said. (In that moment, I couldn’t recall.  I was too overwhelmed.)

“No.  I don’t want to be sedated.  I just need answers.  Please.”  I didn’t want to sink into that spinning darkness again.  “I’ll calm down.”

I sat perfectly still, to prove that I could be calm.  Inside, my heart was still racing.

“Why is she like this?” I heard Tony asking the doctor quietly.  “Is it because of the head injury?”

“Concussions can lead to confusion, even some memory loss.  She did suffer from a more moderate to severe concussion.”

“Please,” I said, “Can you tell me where Jason Wilkins is?”  I asked the nurse.

“I’m not really sure,” she said.  “I’m not sure who he is.  Is he a patient here?”

“He’s my husband,” I said.  “He was in the car, and my children, too, when we crashed.”

“Honey, your husband is right here,” she said, pointing to Tony.

“That man is NOT my husband,” I said, quietly but firmly.  “I don’t know what is going on here, or what he has told you, but I am married to Jason Wilkins, NOT Tony DiAngelo.  Please, make him leave.  Find Jason.  Help me.”

She looked a bit confused, then said, “I’ll talk to the doctor about this.  I’ll have to talk to security, too.”

She walked up to the doctor and Tony, who were still involved in a quiet conversation.

“Excuse me, Doctor, but can we take this outside for a few minutes?  I think the patient needs to rest, and there is something that we need to discuss.  If you don’t mind, Mr. DiAngelo, I think it would be better if you left as well, just for now.”

They all walked out of the room.  I reached over and picked up the phone when they left.  Maybe Jason still had his cell phone turned on.

I dialed nine to get out of the hospital, then his number – (703) 555-2846, thinking about how we had laughed at the number because it made the sign of the cross.  It started to ring.  Answer please, I thought.

“We’re sorry, the number you have dialed is not in service.  No other information is available.  Please hang up, and try again.”

I felt my heart fall into the pit of my stomach.

Continued here

Pet Peeves

Everyone has theirs. Most of mine are the landmines on Facebook. Here are a few triggers for me:

1. “Jesus Daily.” I’m going to keep on scrolling without sharing, liking, or saying “amen.” Know what? I don’t believe God is any more or less likely to kill that little kid with cancer because of my non-reaction to your bleedin’ Jeebus post.

2. People who bitch about what other people do with their food stamp allowance. Know what? I don’t care what that person with the EBT food stamp card is buying. Obviously not alcohol, and even if they could buy it with food stamps, how is it any worse than the endless photos you’re posting of pale ale, boat drinks, and “it’s beer o’clock/wine-thirty”?  So what if they’re eating caviar? When the monthly allowance runs out, it runs out. They will have to figure out how to feed themselves at that point. Not my monkeys, not my circus…

3. Posts that accuse our current president of doing every bleeding thing the president before him did. Look, the guy isn’t perfect, nobody is, but he seems like a pretty smart man, and his intentions seem honorable. No, he’s not a Muslim anymore than anyone else who professes to be Christian is Muslim. Get your head out of your arse and quit buying into every conspiracy theory invented by Alex Jones and Rush Limbaugh. Someone posted this:

My comment to that was, “I never realized George W. Bush was African American!” If you look at the numbers of what they each did during their presidencies, it doesn’t look as though President Obama will go down in history any worse than George W. Bush will. The divisiveness of the Obama administration is just as much about having to work with a Congress determined to make him fail.

Guess what? I didn’t vote for him the first time around. I did the second. Neither decision had anything to do with the color of his skin, but more to do with actually seeing what he was trying to accomplish. Has he been perfect? No. Has he made mistakes? Yes. Not one single president has ever had a perfect presidency, nor do I believe any of our presidents didn’t act in the manner they felt was in the best interest of our nation. Some have been more misguided than others, but they all deserve respect.

4. People who post crap about how Christianity is under attack and the Pledge of Allegiance is no longer being recited, yada yada yada. Guess what? It was a socialist manifesto invented in the late 1800s. It originally didn’t contain the sentence “Under God.” That was added during the Communist scare. The original salute looked VERY much like the salute to Hitler and the Third Reich.

Heil America!

Adam created the meme from this historic photo. There was a video in his history class – they actually DO extend their arms after.

The same people who wine about how their rights (often nothing more than the right to discriminate against non-Christians) are being attacked will bitch and moan about the Empire State Building being lit up in green for the last day of Ramadan. Guess what? THAT was planned well before any shootings of marines. It wasn’t some reaction to appease Muslims to stop them from attacking. Nope. It was a celebration of a festive day celebrated by many citizens of the United States of America. Just like Christmas, or Easter, or Passover. Don’t cry over how you’re “not allowed to say Merry Christmas anymore” (bullshit on that, too – nobody is stopping you. Just don’t proselytize in your workplace, especially if you’re in customer service! I don’t feel like being preached at when I’m buying milk at the grocery store.) but then turn around and get your panties in a twist because OH MY GOD! THE POST OFFICE IS PRINTING A STAMP TO CELEBRATE AN ISLAMIC HOLIDAY!!! You didn’t bitch about the Nativity Stamp, did you? What about that Easter stamp? No? I’m pretty sure I heard crickets chirping.

5. Donald Trump, Scott Walker, Jeb Bush. There are others on the list. Pretty much any time they make the news, and I read what comes out of their mouths, my blood pressure starts to rise.

6. Men’s Rights Advocates. People who respond to “Black Lives Matter” by saying “All Lives Matter.” Look, it’s hard to be a human being, no matter your gender, no matter the color of your skin, no matter where you were born. However, can we all just take a step back and realize that if you have never been black or never been a woman or never been gay, you’re not going to have the same experiences? History has plenty of evidence to show that some people had it better than others. Wander into a museum that displays the artifacts from slave ships some time. Hopefully one that lets you pick up the chains and feel how heavy they are, and imagine how it must have felt to have it shackled around your ankle. Imagine what it feels like to be put up on an auction block and sold as a piece of meat to the highest bidder, torn apart from your family and all you hold dear. Imagine being told you could were set free and could now vote, then showing up to be told to go away, all the hoops you’ve jumped through weren’t enough.

Women were chattel to men. They were considered an extension of their husbands, why should they vote? If they were beaten or mistreated, it was because they brought it on themselves. There were jobs they were allowed to take, and jobs they weren’t.

Why does that matter now, when nobody is preventing anyone from voting? (You just have to jump through some hoops that may be difficult if you don’t have money/transportation/etc.)

Life is not equal. Most people who are born wealthy stay wealthy. It’s much easier to succeed in school if you’re not distracted by where you will get your next meal, or whether you should spend hard earned money on filling the gas tank so you can have hot water to take a shower. It’s easier to make good grades if you’re not working 40 hours a week at a minimum wage job while trying to balance between work and school.

Saying everyone has an equal chance is not honest. If you place someone on top of a mountain and another person in a concrete trench, who do you suppose will have an easier time finding the middle ground?

Going around saying “Men have it rough, too” is like saying “heart attacks are bad, too” at a Cure for Cancer rally. No shit, Sherlock, but this isn’t the time or place. Yes, I agree, ALL LIVES MATTER. But not all people are being killed on the street by overzealous officers because they sold a cigarette out of the package. If a huge percentage of our population is feeling unsafe in their own homes, persecuted, and unfairly treated, we need to open our eyes, see where the problem lies and do everything in our power to FIX IT.

Yes, I’m a flaming liberal. Yes, I’m female. No, I’m not African American, if that makes a difference to anyone reading this. No, I’m not gay, either. I just happen to believe that all human beings deserve to be treated with respect and dignity.

Weird Wednesday, Weird Work Week

I’m sure I’ve mentioned before that Wednesday is my Tuesday with my current schedule. So far, the week is getting off to an unusual start.

For one thing, apparently Monday was extremely busy, which isn’t very typical in the summer. I’m calling it a preview of the start of fall semester next month. Everybody needed doors unlocked, and people kept locking their keys in their offices.

And then, the dead calm of the IT Department’s power surge causing the phones and internet to fail. It was handled, but some of the phone features were still being repaired as late as this morning.

Today, I was working on a special project that involves calling people to update information. Recalling that a few weeks ago I made an outbound call from the main line and when that call lasted more than a few minutes it prevented other callers from being able to dial in (it shouldn’t have – there are multiple lines on that phone, plus another phone it can feed into, but someone was getting a busy signal) I decided to use another of the five front desk phones.

Why do we have five phones? There is the main line, which actually has two lines. Then there is the emergency phone, which is strictly for emergency calls. Then there is a phone right next to the emergency phone, which is great for calling to trouble shoot any issues with NCIC/FCIC. There is a phone that the public can use, which is located on the counter by the door, and then, the fifth phone – a phone that is conveniently placed next to one of our alarm monitoring systems, presumably for the purpose of calling to trouble shoot alarm system issues. It was this final phone that I decided to use.

I typed myself out a script first, because secret? I always feel a little uncomfortable about making outgoing calls. I compiled my list of phone numbers. I looked down and thought to myself, “Boy, this phone is dusty! Maybe I should wipe it first.” Then I felt something brushing on my leg, and I looked down and made a sound that made my supervisor think I’d spotted “the office rat.” (We’ve had some sort of rodent in the building in the past couple of months.) No, it wasn’t a rat.

It was a HUGE bug. A black bug. A roach or a palmetto bug. And IT WAS ON MY LEG.

So, here is the weird part – after knocking it off and watching it scurry behind the computer panel by the floor, my thought was, “DAMN. I should have taken a picture!”

What the Hell is wrong with me?

Priorities. Next time I’m getting that bastard with my cellphone camera. I know, hopefully there won’t be a “next time.”

And no, it was NOT a pretty beetle like this one!

Computer failure

The phones and Internet all went down at school/work today because of some sort of catastrophic failure in IT. It was over 30 minutes before any phones worked – we had to call the county dispatch and give them the department back up cell phone.

The internet was down for an additional hour or two, depending on where you were on campus. The main website was down for nearly four hours. I feel bad for any of my classmates who were trying to take the final in programming or turn in the critique papers. I was exempt from the final (woo hoo!) and I managed to turn in my paper (with some minor problems with the drop box – I had to email it to my professor) Saturday night after work.

I did a little Uber driving Sunday. I spent a good chunk of time waiting for a rider to request a ride. While waiting I got some really fun photos of a grasshopper on my window/rear view mirror.

Katydid the bug photographer…

Today I snapped some ladybug photos while walking the dog.

In between those two days, I captured the extent of the porch leak our landlord can’t  be  bothered to repair…

I need a real DSLR camera and soon. I may be photographing a wedding soon.

And that’s my story for the last few days.

Tomorrow is Weird Wednesday.  I’ll  try to come up with something other than videos of people dressed like large penises. Because that seems to keep popping up. All puns intentional. Even the ones you caught that I may not have intended.

My summer term is terminating.

I have done almost everything I need to do, and one thing I didn’t need to do, for the Summer D Classes session.

The thing that remains undone is to turn in the paper (which I have written) critiquing the websites of five of my fellow Web Authoring 2 classmates. Yes, I have written the paper. Why haven’t I turned it in? Because there appears to be a glitch in the website that doesn’t recognize my Microsoft Word Document as a Microsoft Word Document. (It’s .docx, one of the valid formats.) Nothing can ever be easy, can it?

I did not have to take Exam 3 in Programming, as I received a message from my Programming Instructor stating that, as I had an A, I didn’t need to take the Final Exam, and that she dropped my lowest Exam Grade (Exam 3) to determine that I had an A in the class and am therefore eligible to skip the final. I didn’t have to take Exam 3, because had I not taken it, it would be dropped anyway as my lowest exam grade. However, I decided to take it, just to see how I would do. I made an 88. So the 84 I made on the first exam will be the officially dropped Exam grade, and my Exam grade will now be a point or two higher, making my overall A about a point higher than before, which means absolutely nothing.

The long and short of it is that I’m pretty sure I’ll be making an A in Web Authoring 2 (I’m currently carrying over a 100% average before the final project and paper are graded) and I know I’ll be making an A in Programming, so my 4.0 at the college remains intact. Woo hoo!

We can all breathe a collective sigh of relief, right?

So, for everything good that happens, something bad must happen. Adam fell again, because his knee gave out on him. I’m waiting to hear from him. He went to the ER. We also had to go ahead and pay the deductible on his phone and make the claim, because the third time was the charm – his shattered screen is completely not working now, though he can still use the phone to talk.

Fortunately, we had the money to pay the deductible because the Moving Crew I hired last year who backed out on me and promised to refund my money during the horrific move of 2014 finally refunded my money, almost a year after the move. They said they would refund it, they just didn’t say when.

And that was kind of a messed up story, too. I hired them through U-Haul. I’m going to call them “Two Deaf-Mutes and No Truck.” Yes, they were deaf and mute. No, I have nothing against people who are deaf or mute, and I don’t believe in discriminating against anyone. That said, part of the problem was that there was serious communication issues involved, as I don’t know ASL. And the problems I had with them went beyond the communication error.

When they backed out, they said they would issue a full refund. So I waited a few weeks, then put in the claim for the refund with U-Haul. That made them angry, because after all, they said they were refunding the money, so I shouldn’t put in the claim. Um, okay – except that at the month point, I have to wonder how good your word truly is?

They didn’t refund my money. I should have gone after them a long time ago, especially since I am always broke, and the fact that they backed out me put me in a worse position than if I’d never hired them – the time I wasted trying to coordinate their service took just long enough for a major thunderstorm to roll in, causing even more delays. The load I took before they were due to arrive was smaller than it otherwise would have been because I wanted to make sure I was back at the old place in time to meet them, etc.  Because of their actions, I wound up having to rent the truck an additional day, and I still wasn’t able to move everything I needed to move.

Why didn’t I fight them when they took nearly 11 months to refund my money?

Because it costs money to fight for money, even money you are owed. So I let it go, just like I let so many things go. I moved on, I worked my 12 hour shifts, I took my classes, I spent what little time I could with my kids, and I avoided another legal battle. Add a hashtag “Why I get screwed.”

Anyway, they finally DID refund the $100. And $99 of it just went right back out to pay the deductible for the broken cell phone that Adam needs to be able to do any of his four jobs.

The story of my life…

This is why I can never get ahead. No matter how hard we work, the boulder comes crashing back down as soon as we think we have it on the top of the hill.

One of these days, it will go over the edge, and it will roll down the other side of that hill, uncontrolled, and crush all the people who have ever screwed me. Or not. Who the hell knows?

Either way, life is good.

Oh, and my Final Project in all its Glory can now be seen online. No, you can’t really buy the stuff in the Catalog.