Moody Meow

Behave or BEGONE!

Nothing pisses me off more than sitting down to a nice meal at a restaurant to the sound of screaming children. The same can be said for kids kicking my seat throughout a movie. Or children that think it’s their right (with the backing of their trollish-bow-wearing mother) to mock my bad habits.

This has nothing to do with kids - it has to do with manners and respect for your fellow person. I would never, ever bring our beagle-boys to an inappropriate place (and I know some of you will take offense to my equating children with canines, but get over it). I’ve seen spectacular displays of selfish disregard by both parents and children, in galleries and stores and just walking down the street.

It’s my view - if you can’t control yourself, and this goes for both the grown ups and kids - stay home and watch TV. If you can, come on out and enrich my life. I am always amused and smiling when children point out my oddities or ask honest questions (the ones their parents are terrified to ask). I think that the innocence and curiosity that I once possessed got lost in the fast-pace of being an adult. Kids bring that out in me, they really do.

I think “Behave or Begone” applies to everyone.

As for the rest of this beautiful, drizzle-soaked Monday, I have to work on timesheets and try to get my paperwork done.

Dear Bitches – get to work!

That will be all. I hope you all have a great morning (it’s amazing what Sudafed and a cup of coffee will do for my mood) and be careful in that rain!

I’ve reached that kind of tired.
Our smooshy bed is due to arrive tomorrow, and Julie is going to be kind enough to make sure they deliver it to the right casa.
Someone is coming to look at the evil dryer tomorrow.
Our sink is leaking.
I need firewood.
I need to sleep less, dig more hours out of the week and win the lottery.
This rainy, muted weather calls for a long, uninterrupted nap.

I had a crazy dream last nigh/this morning that I think would be perfect for a story….remind me to write it down.

I’m off to drink a Dr. Pepper, because on top of everything else, I didn’t get coffee this morning.
And the healthcare industry is a sham.

As Wilma passed, she left behind tender fall air. Suck on that, Summer! Neither of us went to work. Honestly, I didn’t feel safe driving in Tropical Storm force winds. I also had to finish reading Wuthering Heights and I found the rushed tap of rain on the windows singularly relaxing. There’s nothing better than being cuddled by your demon children on a fluffy couch with a woobie. I tell you, it’s the best.

D and I tried to keep the tent/gazeebo/thingyweneverusedmuch from flying into the neighbor’s yard. That meant we had to run into the rain (why in the hell was it so fucking cold?) with scissors, a screw driver and a sad smile. I wish we had used that little tent more often, but the porch’s access to even the faintest wind kept us out front. That, and the porch doesn’t smell like dog shit. But, I digress. I heard the pained twisting of the metal supports, and wanted to laugh as the whole thing hopped in wind. After a particularly hard twist, I told D that we needed to take it down. We hacked off the cloth top. Bits and parts were screwed in and we just didn’t have the time (nor the inclication) to stand in the rain trying to get it off neatly. It was trash. It just needed to be cut down into smaller pieces. We diassebled what we could and I spent the rest of the afternoon periodically checking the back yard to make sure the wreckage remained. With the gazeebo down I can see, without interruption, how poorly my garden is doing. I’m a terrible gardener. The weeds have taken over….blech!

I’ve not heard from the Grandparentals, nor the Uncle in Miami. Actually, I’ve not heard from anyone, which worries me. I am going to assume everyone is okay for now. I don’t want to worry prematurely. It gives me gray hair.

The weekend went as follows: pickedup Tali from the airport and taking her to dinner, slacking, watching Batman Begins, slacking, Frankie’s party, drinking with Tali till 2 a.m., slacking. Yeah. That pretty much covers it.

I’m ready to get the hell out of this state. I’m pretty much over hurricanes now. Give me a good blizzard!

We couldn’t save it. It’s been sacrifices to the hurricane gods. But they’ve left our cars alone, so that’s something.
For the record - the rain is fucking COLD!
More later, after breakfast.

We prepared for the unkown. After the power went out at 9:30, I spent the evening huddled in the hallway with the creatures. A storm blew furiously. I felt the ground rumble as great oaks fell. I listened with great fear to the wind tearing my neighborhood apart. Darkness fell. It fell hard. And just after midnight D and I, accompanied by our trusty canines (who had to pee) ventured out to see the damage. It was year ago today that Hurricane Charley blew through our lives.

I have to thank that damnable storm for a lot of things. I learned to fully appreciate air conditioning. I didn’t care much about the lights, as candlelight is quite becoming. But the infernal, sticky, overbearing heat of a summer night brought love for blessed cool air. I also came to appreciate how old homes are built. The idea of covering 27 windows (I counted them all) in preperation scared the shit out of me. But those windows brought such comfort when they were opened to their fullest, allowing the sticky, but clean air to move through the house for a time. The best thing about the storm was a whole and complete understanding of how much I loved my man. It’s strange to think that a storm can clean the cobwebs in a mind such as mine, but as the ferocious wind tore through the brances, it also tore through my heart. I didn’t honestly think that we would die. But I did think that we had a chance of losing this home we loved so. And when the winds quieted, a thought came to me. I loved D. I didn’t want to be without him. And so from the storm came the full understanding that we should marry. I know it seems odd, or off, to think that a hurricane can bring completion, but it did for me.

I still miss the canopies that sheltered some of my favorite streets. And it was not the lives lost that I mourned, it was the corpses of fallen trees and torn vegitation. If you know me at all, you know that the natural cost would hit me hardest. I felt for those that lost loved ones, homes, and whole lives. But I also mourned the destruction of the land I love. I do love it here. I admit that much. For the natural chaos that blossoms from every garden, from every cobblestone street (you’ve seen the grass that grows between them, I know you have), from every sidewalk, it fills me with green.

So, the hurricane allowed some to rebuild with a clean, if painful slate. For me, it clarified what was important. I hope that you don’t have to hear the winds tearing at your door to realize what means most to you. Today, I kiss my husbad, and tell all of you who bore witness to that brutal night to remember what you lost, and all that you’ve gained since.

I find it quite amusing in a sick way that there is a hurricane named after the infamous ex. I won’t get into the history of my relationship with him, because it was sick, co-dependant, and hinged on dominance and drugs. But I find it strangely appropriate that his namesake threatens my current happiness. I’ll show that bastard who’s boss…..

We are getting a real grill today. Fuck this charcoal bullshit! (btw: roaches like charcoal. They do not like lighter fluid and fire)

His name is Adrian

Written During the Storm
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And I realize how weary I am of this madness.
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I wish it would rain so the ferns could wake up. I absolutly love the ferns that grow on all the trees near our house. It’s like the trees are wearing a beautiful shawl, draped in a deeper shade of green.

It’s gray outside. The weather is slightly cool. It’s a good day to work in the yard, but at the moment, I don’t have a proper yard.
I headed home for lunch, got to the house, got off the scoot, and realized that my keys were still in my messenger bag, which was sitting on my desk. Thank god I had money to run to Publix, otherwise I would be starving to death….
okay…not to death, but I’d turn into a real bitch … okay…. more of a bitch than normal.
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It�s not that I�m disgusted, but I am. I used to be there; loving the corner of the room because the shadows understood. Yes, I�m being melodramatic. But there is as much conversation with the chair that you molested as there is with the person in front of you in the same condition. I want you to wake up sometimes and see yourself through my eyes. I�m not trying to tear you down; I�m trying to make you see that there is somewhere else to go. God damnit, your potential is limitless.
I have spent many hours of conversation discussing your life path, but I realize it�s not my own. I have to respect that. Still, I squirm in my seat for you, wondering when the next crash will be. It�s like watching a scary movie; the dramatic music washes over me, my nerves jangle with anticipation and I�m biting my nails. I know something is coming, something bad, but I can�t stop watching and I can�t stop hiding behind ragged fingertips. There is going to come a time, sooner then you think when those you rely upon are shown for what they are; skeletons with no flesh to warm you. I�m not perfect. I don�t deny that. And while this may come off as some kind of lecture, it isn�t. I am just reacting to a feeling knowing that I am not in the rain tonight. You may not even know this is for you. Maybe that�s better, but know you wander between whisky laden meanderings in my head. And I worry for you sometimes.
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