SO OVER 2019

Not going to lie, 2019 was an up and down year. I don't usually make resolutions for the New Year,  but for 2020 I am going to make an exception.

So, here it is. I resolve not to take shit in 2020. I know, I know: it will happen on occasion because old habits die hard. But, I have already started. I refuse to feel guilty or squeamish about calling out people's bullshit.  I am sooooo over it all.

Welcome, 2020, and bring it on. I am totally ready, or, at the very least, in training. Here is your fair warning, people. You push my buttons, I have a response for you, and I damn well mean it.

I'M OVER IT.

Truly, I am so very over it. Here's  to a bullshit-free 2020. May you all be over it, as well. 

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

HOLIDAY SHOWERS BRING DECEMBER CURTAINS

Moving for the first time in fifteen years was a wonderful idea.  Moving weeks before Christmas ... NOT a wonderful idea.  Although the tree is up, the rest of the decorations are sadly lacking, and my shopping is not quite under control yet.

Imagine the pressure this puts on me whenever I do get out to the mall or to stores to start my shopping.  I'm already lagging behind, and I see decorations for people who take the holidays to an entirely different level.  For the love of all things sane, there are even Christmas-themed (and other holidays, too) shower curtains!  Who has the damn time or energy to change out the damn shower curtain every damn holiday?

That's how it all starts, anyway.

Actually, it starts at one store in the tablecloth aisle.  First I see outrageous silver place mats and think, Shit, I MUST have them.  Alas, nothing is priced.  Saved by the errant label gun.  Oh, but it doesn't stop there.  I edge over to the holiday-themed tablecloths.  (Please remember that I have just downsized in living space, and I am madly attempting to rid myself of my worldly possessions.)  But am I even hosting the holidays at all this year?  Do I truly need a silver and gray snowflake-infused cloth and gaudy, shiny mats if it's dinner for one?

I wander to the next aisle and discover holiday shower curtains priced out anywhere between $16.99 and $50.  Really, people?  $50 for a temporary shower curtain?  (Secretly, of course, I want one.)  I leave the store, completely resisting temptation on all household fronts (but not on other fronts).  On to the next store, which is a sister store in the same chain.

In this store, I say casually, "I'm just going to troll housewares for a few minutes..."  This translates to, "I'm about to drop a whoop-ass amount of my Christmas shopping money on myself and my new place."  I look around.  So far, so good.  Until ... until ...

Until I reach the shower curtains.

I paw through them, each one gaudier than the last.  Hmmmm, maybe this one .... maybe that one ... oh, look, Parisian dogs in berets ...  I cannot decide even if I were to buy one.  I turn to walk away when the price tag catches my eye.

$5.99.

I crap you not -- $5.99 for a curtain that's heavy duty and has a decent pattern to it.  But, remember: I do not NEED anything, not one thing at all.  I walk away.  I return.  I walk away.  I return again.  Oh, man.  I spent that kind of money on a sundae and a Coke at Mickey D's yesterday, and I don't have anything to show for that purchase except a new stomach roll.

So, folks, I am now the proud owner and displayer of Christmas via a vinyl shower curtain, and it's kind of fun and festive.  I start to understand what all the hoopla is about!  Maybe I don't, but I don't mind.  My bathroom is ready for the holidays, and, in the end, that's the room that really matters.

I am thankful. Oh, I am also doing a lifetime's worth of praying.  I am on my way to the airport,  driving myself in this time, and the weather sucks.  SUCKS.  It is pitch-black outside, the roads are wet, and the street lines have faded.

It has been pounding rain, and I seem to have forgotten that hours upon hours of steady downpours mean the roads are like ponds.  I hit the first massive puddle less than a mile from home.  No worries.  I'll be on the highway soon.  Right?

Idiot. I am so focused on getting to the airport and finding my perfect spot (spitting distance to the door and parking pay station) that I forget about the water buildup on the shoulders of the road.

What a sight to passing cars if they could see me in the darkness: hands tightly clutching the wheel, wide eyes focused into nothingness,  teeth clenched, spewing a mantra that includes the words God, Jesus,  damn, oh, fuck, and motherfucker ... in no particular order.

I am not giving up! I am going to North Carolina come Hell or, well, high water.  So bring what ya got, Ma Nature.   You may be tough, but I am a nana on a mission.

Oh, and thank you muchly, by the way.  I will gladly turn my car into a glorified kayak to drive here.  It could've been ice or snow, so, much as my jaw is sore, I truly appreciate just rain. 

COAT RACK CHAOS

The new home needs a coat rack.  Honestly, the old place needed one, too, but there wasn't any room in the old place.  The problem is that I don't actually want a coat rack because the coat racks I've seen are ugly, but I start searching for one, anyway.

Coat racks in the store are knobby.  That's right, I said it.  They're wooden and knobby and homely and just plain old-looking.  I start searching online.  Aha!  Metal coat racks like the medical offices have.  but still ... knobby and ... well ... coat rackish.

Maybe I should give up.  Maybe I should just break down and put up some hooks, make my life easy.  Maybe I should just do what I did at the last place and plop the coats upstairs on a bed or hang them from the backs of kitchen chairs.

Then, I spot it.  It's online.  It's perfect.  This coat rack looks like modern art, like an industrial version of a tree only better.  Price is decent, so I read the reviews, most of which are favorable, but a few say "Difficult to assemble."

Truly?  It's like eight pieces.  How difficult can this be?

I order the coat rack, and it arrives four days ahead of schedule.  Excellent.  I'm having company this weekend, so I'll assemble it Saturday morning.  When it's time, I open the box and separate the pieces, making sure that I have all the parts.  Seems easy enough with eight metal pieces, two plastic pieces, and six screws.  I turn over the paper to read through the directions.

Step 1.

That's it.  No actual directions.  Just a picture that says "Step 1."  Apparently step 1 is to assemble every frigging thing all at the same time.  Logic tells me that parts #4 are the ones to assemble first, and parts #1 are the final pieces.  But, what do I know?  It's just a picture, and I am terrible with technical visuals.

After one mistake and an awful lot of WD40 spray, the struggle ends in victory.  The coat rack is done and looks even better than I thought it would at the beginning of this whole process.  The new coat rack is not knobby, old-looking, nor ugly.

Best of all, it actually holds coats.  What a novel concept, and good thing, too, since that's exactly what I need it to do.

WAZE AND THE ROADKILL GAME

WAZE is a great app ... when it works and when it's programmed properly.

Sometimes it cannot find a satellite feed.  Sometimes it shows my car driving sideways.  Sometimes it automatically tries to avoid toll roads and attempts to take me on wild goose chases.  Sometimes it sends me around in circles just to confuse me.

Most of the time, though, it's pretty darn handy.  Plus, my WAZE is programmed to speak British English, so it's also a little sexy when he orders me to round the roundabout.

For instance, I enjoy knowing where the speed traps are.  You can always tell who has WAZE because we are all whipping along in the fast lane when suddenly one person will move over and slow down.  More of us move over and slow down as we enter the notification zone of "Warning! Police reported ahead."  The idiot drivers behind without WAZE zoom on by, assuming that we are letting them pass because our travel speed of 85 mph is no match for their 100+ mph jaunt.  Then we laugh and laugh and laugh (and sometimes honk and wave) as they are receiving their state police ticket in the breakdown lane two miles later.

Usually, WAZE will warn me of travel obstructions with a simple, "Warning!  Object reported in the road ahead."  This is a bit like playing roulette. Which lane?  What object?  How dangerous?  Will there be projectiles involved?  It's the driving version of the old TV show Legends of the Hidden Temple, only with cars and speeds in excess of 70 mph.

Driving north on I-95 Friday, I get this message about an object.  Time to play I Spy.  I watch the traffic in front of me, and no one appears to be swerving maniacally.  Turns out to be a tire rim in the left hand breakdown lane.  No harm; no foul; no bonus points.

All of a sudden, WAZE says something I haven't heard before: "Warning! Roadkill in the road ahead."  Geezus, Brit man, that's oddly specific.

So, I start speculating.  Which lane?  What kind of roadkill?  Human?  Animal?  Moose-sized?  Skunk-sized?  Elephant-sized?  Chipmunk-sized?  Where?  Am I close?  Will it stink?  Is it bloody?!  I stay in the middle lane, figuring it's probably my best vantage point.  I study the traffic, but no one appears to be executing any defensive maneuvers.

Then I see it.  It's a fox, or what's left of a fox.  In the lane to my right, kind of in between that lane and mine, is a fox head, completely severed and looking like it belongs stuffed on a wall.  The rest of it, guts and all, cover about fifty feet of pavement.  It looks like a giant lasagna found its way onto the interstate and spread out everywhere.

My return trip south on I-95 is much less eventful, with my Brit pal telling me about construction and which EZ Pass lane to head toward.  It's not nearly as thrilling as playing Roadkill Roulette, but that's probably a good thing since it's getting late and already very dark.  Oh, sure, my buddy tries to trick me into exiting the highway because "he" still thinks I'm avoiding toll roads (hence the huffy instructions as to which EZ Pass lane, since I ignored his original orders).

WAZE is silent for a long while until I am half a mile from home.  I moved a month ago, and I seem to have forgotten to update WAZE.  Poor guy.  He is as irate as a polite Brit can be when I turn left instead of right, go straight instead of turning around, and park my car several streets away from where it has lived for fifteen years.

Oh well.  I consider it payback for the roadkill.  If we're going to play the roulette driving game, it's only fair to include WAZE as a player.  You know, pay back and all.

SUN: NOW YOU SEE IT, NOW YOU DON'T

I've decided to build an ark.

I don't have any great desire to save two of every species.  I don't even have any biblical leanings outside of the realm of normalcy.

What I do have is a severe aversion to and complete exhaustion with the weather; to be more exact: RAIN.  Lately I feel more like I live in London or Seattle than I do in New England.  Twice, perhaps three times in the last three weeks, I have been able to see the sun.

I drive to work, and it rains.  I drive home from work, and it rains.  I go to appointments (doctor, dinner, work meetings), and it rains.  I slog groceries from the car to the door, and it rains.  I think happy thoughts, and it rains.  I think sad thoughts, and it rains.

It truly feels like it has been raining for forty days and forty nights straight.  Oh, it hasn't really, but the everyday gray of the sky and the rain nearly every damn day combine to make it truly seem like the last sunny day happened years ago, decades away.

Imagine my utter surprise when I look out of the living room window and see .... the sun.

It's a fleeting glimpse.  It's dusk, and soon it will be dark and I won't be able to see anything, sun or otherwise.  However, for a brief time, about ten minutes' worth, I am able to remember what it used to be like, back in the olden days of about a month ago, when a bright, glowing object in the sky actually shone from above and cast shadows and gave light and created heat and made the world a happy place.

Fear not, though.  It's already raining again.

FILM AT ELEVEN FOR THOSE WHO NEED A GOOD LAUGH

I don't like to complain (who the hell am I kidding -- that's all I do) but this weather kind of sucks.  I break out the winter coat, the gloves, the fleece vest, the down vest, and the car auto-starter this week, all in the name of November.

The wind howls, the snow blows (albeit briefly), and the temperature plummets to 18 degrees with a wind chill of about zero (Fahrenheit, not Celsius).  At one point I realize that my car is parked near the back of the lot, and I know I will need to auto-start it in the morning.  It has been drizzling, but, now that the wind is whipping at about forty miles per hour, the temperature resembles the Arctic Circle mid-winter.  I go to move my car and discover ...

I have been iced out.

In my old car, I could open the back hatch, climb through, and be in my driver's seat in no time.  This car, though, is a sedan.  If the back doors are iced shut as well, I'm basically screwed unless I can get the trunk open, clean it out, push down the half-seat, and manage to squeeze my fat ass through the small crevice into the back seat.  Thankfully, the back door opens, and I only have to crab-crawl my way over the console, literally pulling my leg from behind using both arms and wedging my ass-cheeks into the steering wheel.

Which brings me to my major complaint: If I let my car warm up for more than five minutes, I risk being fined anywhere from $100 to $500.  Kids, if I cannot even get into my own car after a mere drizzle-freeze, what am I going to do when the real shit-storm hits December through March?  What if I am at five minutes and three seconds?  Am I now in the fine zone?  And if it only takes me three minutes to get into my car on a Monday, can I buy back those 120 seconds to apply them to another day during the week, say, Thursday morning?

I'm trying here, folks, but Mother Nature and the local police have to work with me.  If I can truly only have five minutes on an iced-over, eighteen-degree, windchill bad enough to cause instantaneous frostbite kind of morning, then either waive the extra fee or plan on watching me wedge my fat ass into the steering wheel via the back seat of the sedan every damn morning.

There.  Complaint over.  Film at eleven for those who need a good laugh.