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Tired of Parenting YOUR Knucklehead Children

Boo, keeping watch for the knuckleheads.
Well, not your children of course, but other people's children, and more specifically children who happen to live in my neighborhood.

We seem to have an awful lot of them around here these days too. I've lived here long enough - because I apparently didn't have enough sense to take advantage of all those big loans that other people got, to buy big houses they couldn't afford, to impress who knows who (and now they want mortgage relief). If only I had known my neighborhood was gonna go to pot, I mighta gotten me one of those too. Well, I didn't and thanks to the real estate crash and greedy insurance companies, I am stuck here now.

Anyway, where was I?

Oh yeah... so I stayed in this far too little, cramped, but now paid for, house with the crappy tiny, galley style kitchen, full of old appliances, not nearly enough storage, and 1001 handyman problems (and still haven't stopped bitching about it either, although yes, even though it doesn't sound it, I truly am grateful not to be a bag lady and to have a roof over my head) long enough to see this transition of children happen around here a couple of times. When my son was in middle school and high school, there were a lot of kids around his age and not many younger. Then they graduated and moved on with their lives and left all us old folks behind. And, for awhile, it was just us old folks.

Since the greedy insurance companies used Katrina to pad their big fat greedy pockets, and rob homeowners blind by legal extortion, people abandoned their homes in my once lovely and quiet neighborhood, and moved away, or inland, but then when they couldn't sell, they turned into landlords.

We seem to have turned into a giant cesspool, I mean subdivision, of home rentals now. It's kinda like living in a college dorm, except spread out over miles instead of just floors. They are loud, obnoxious, they have no respect for the property they live in, their neighbors, or the neighborhood, because frankly they'll probably only be around 6 months, a year, maybe two. Who cares?! With the renters came a lot of folks who seem to have, well, a lot of children. A lot of rude, disrespectful, snotty, little  knucklehead children, apparently without a lot of sense, guidance or discipline.

My master bedroom is so small that I could potentially kick the window out with my foot if I tossed and turned too much. That's my sweet little Boo up there and he likes to lay at the foot of the bed where he can see out that window behind him and keep me informed about what is going on out there, with all of these darling children.

I've had to run teens off from congregating in front of my house, mostly because Boo goes nuts, but also because what starts as two of them congregating, quickly becomes a dozen in no time, kids with no concept of boundaries, throwing trash and candy wrappers in the yard, knocking things over, messing around with things in your yard. I've had to run their animals out of my yard because they think my yard is their personal toilet. I've had to holler at them from spinning wheels in my yard with their go-carts and tearing ruts into my grass. I've had to run them off from throwing balls around our cars. Mercy.

This morning about quarter till 10 Boo was raising all kinds of cain, and I had to go out to the box anyway to put yet another piece of government waste at it's best back in the mail to FEMA to let them know that yes, after I received my notice of insurance, returned my payment, to which they mailed me my policy, and then later, mailed me another piece of paper wherein I must sign and return to confirm that I previously received my flood policy, one of 3 insurance policies I now have to carry on my house thanks to those aforementioned damn greedy insurance companies.

So, where was I again?

Oh yeah. So I walk outside and see the cutest little blonde headed boy, maybe I don't know 10, with a gun. A BB gun I'm sure, but he's pointing it at something down the street. This is the THIRD child I have seen, and run off, walking the streets with BB guns since Christmas, which means one thing and one thing only. They are shooting innocent birds, squirrels and yes, apparently at least shooting at pets. But I'm ahead of myself. Two teenagers got smart with me until I screamed at them to stop or I was calling the law, and those knuckleheads took flight.

So I walk out into the street and see that this precious blonde headed little boy was apparently taking pot shots at the cutest little white dog, a Chihuahua or maybe even a Russell Terrior. And then, as if he has a pang of conscious for shooting at this dog, he calls the dog over to him by name, meaning the knucklehead at least knows this dog and maybe it's even his own family  dog!

Well, then the knucklehead must feel somebody staring him down, because he turns around and takes notice of this fat old lady standing in the middle of the street watching him, and he decided apparently that it must be time to go home and perhaps watch some cartoons or play video games, instead of shooting innocent animals. He walks away from me down the street, taking a few glances over his shoulder to see if I am still watching him. I am. Heck he even stopped once, turned completely around and waved at me. Or flipped me off. My eyesight isn't good enough to tell which one.

I don't budge, but I stand there, watching him, until he walked into a yard a few houses away, purportedly his own yard, I would assume, with the dog in tow. Knucklehead. If I would have had the energy I would have gone to his house to chat with his parents, but truth is, they're likely just overgrown knuckleheads themselves. To be honest I was sorely tempted to tell him that if he came back around here with that gun, that I might be tempted to show him what a real shotgun looks like. Yes. I have one. Yes, I sure do know how to use it. No I wouldn't really do that. But I just might have thought about it. Just sayin'...

Parents, if you must buy a BB gun for an inadequately prepared child, it is YOUR duty to teach them how to be a responsible gun user. It is YOUR duty to make sure that the gun is secure and put away when you are not at home, or I guarantee your child will be wandering the streets with it, shooting at innocent animals. It is YOUR duty to teach your knucklehead that a BB gun is solely for yard target practice on an inanimate target, to improve upon their gun skills for when they have a real gun later in life. That you don't just shoot a living thing for target practice. For God's sake, get your nose out of your damn iPhone or Blackberry for a few minutes and direct some attention to that child you brought into this world for a change, would ya? I done raised mine.

And y'all wonder why I haven't been posting? Geez Louise.

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Things That Make You Go Hmmmm....



"This week was the 150th anniversary of the completion of the transcontinental telegraph. Back then, before the telephone, people could only communicate by laboriously typing messages... one letter at a time."   ~Jan Leno

Tell me life doesn't come full circle.

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The Gladys Files - I Am the Grouchy Old Fart


Remember Gladys Kravitz on Bewitched? I'm feelin' a little bit like her these days. I know that I haven't written much lately so the few readers I did have are dropping like flies around here. Sorry about that folks - all that cooking has been keeping me very busy these days. Since leaving my Big Legal Career and working from home the past few years, it's not that I'm at a loss for material, believe me. It's just a time issue really. Besides, it seems that while I do get a lot of material to write about here lately, seems the majority of it has to do with my neighbors, and seems a lot of it is grumpy.

I swear y'all, I am a nice person. I get along with most people. I am compassionate. I have empathy. I have paid it forward. I have performed many random acts of kindness. When a disaster hits, I never miss an opportunity to reach out.

But these people who live by me make me want to spontaneously combust into a string of four-letter words most of the time! I guess it doesn't help when you are at home all the time and you don't get away from them. Ever. And there's always something going on. So.... seems I've become a bit of a Gladys here in my old age. Might as well write about it.

When I was growing up there was a fella who lived on the corner of the street, slightly catty-cornered to our house. He was, I believe, military retired and still sported a crew cut, though his was pretty gray. He was known as "the grouchy old fart" of the neighborhood, because for one, he didn't like the fact that all of us kids would tromp across his pristine front yard taking short cuts, or to retrieve a ball we accidentally kicked over there playing kickball. He also wasn't too fond of all those stray 4th of July bottle rockets that would accidentally pop in his carport over his car when the bottle fell over. I can't imagine what his problem was with all that!

Well, karma will always get ya in the end.

Today I ran off a group of about 6 boys who were, not all that well, throwing, or mostly missing a football in the busy, and narrow street in front of my house. My front yard is small and my house closer to the road than anyone else's house, and these boys who apparently can't catch, wanted to "go long." The football was bouncing all over the place, way up into other people's yards and consequently into other people's cars.

Now, in my defense, none of those boys live anywhere near me. In fact, I know where they live. Up a side street a few houses away. When I went outside and told them, while I wasn't at all opposed to boys tossing a football around, would they please take their football practice elsewhere, like perhaps, down the side street, OVER IN FRONT OF THEIR OWN HOUSES... they balked a bit. One would even say talked back. And then they ignored me. Like I wasn't there.

Two things I've learned I really dislike in my old age. Being disrespected. And being ignored. Especially from children who need to learn how to say "yes, ma'am." So I did what any modern Gladys would do.

I came inside grabbed my iPhone and got it on video. Oddly, they must've suddenly decided they were tired, because when they saw me, they left. And went away. Up the side street. On their own street. But I noticed they weren't throwing a football by their parent's cars.

What? I was just shooting a video of this beautiful day!

Course, yes I do realize that there is no telling what other mischief I'm liable to endure as a result of this pleasant encounter. But, in all fairness. That's only liable to make me even more grumpy.

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How Not to Do Housework


So today was going to be a catch up on housework/deep cleaning day. Since I blog full time over at Deep South Dish, I tend to neglect (and ignore) the house, and well things can get clutted up and dusty. And then I see an episode of Hoarders and it freaks me out.

I intended to start in the kitchen first, wipe down everything, put away everything and do a top to bottom cleaning including floors and walls. Went in there and decided that I was hungry so made some lunch. Checked the fan page for DSD on Facebook, got distracted, looked up some links & answered some questions for readers, worked on coding some old posts for the new recipe box before sharing the links - I'm in the midst of that on my entire site - finally an hour or more later, made my way back the kitchen.

The satellite started acting up and suddenly we couldn't get any channels at all. I remembered that we were supposed to be having some sort of geomagnetic storm for the next few days and knew that could be part of the problem but wasn't having any problems with cable (yes, we have both cable and satellite) or internet and we've been having trouble with our satellite 2 input. Already replaced the outside cable recently that was looking a little weary and thought that had fixed it.

So I pull out the tv and check the connections behind there. Noticed the dust and start dusting the curtains, wall, all behind the tv. Had to go get the vacuum cleaner to get all that up. Found the cable that runs outside, followed it and discovered the frayed cable we replaced recently was actually for satellite 1, not 2. In between having to come inside to cool off every 5 minutes, got the ladder and started checking all the connections at the switchbox outside, then at the satellite, still no signal. Grab the remote start running tests, find a problem, rerun the satellite test and in the midst of that the satellite comes back on.

Back to the kitchen.

I have cathedral ceilings that extend into the kitchen and I store cookbooks on top of the cabinets. A LOT of cookbooks but we won't go there right now. I was reshelving some of the ones that I had been browsing through for ideas. By the way {forthcoming hissy fit warning} if a blogger of food never credits another source for any of their recipes and says things like I don't watch any of the cooking shows on tv, I don't have but a handful of cookbooks I've owned forever, I don't subscribe to any of the food magazines yada yada yada, they are 1) lying through their teeth or 2) stealing recipes from cookbooks or other food bloggers, changing one insignificant detail and calling that recipe their own. Well, I don't do that.

If I want to write a new recipe, I usually have a base of an idea that just comes from experience or is inspired by something that I have seen on tv, in a book, or in a magazine. I subscribe to several magazines, some because I want to learn to write better. Others because I want to learn to photograph better. Others because they inspire me in other ways. From there, I research using those same resources - online, television, magazines and cookbooks. I have hundreds of cookbooks, some very old. I watch a lot of food television. A LOT. I write up an idea and get in the kitchen to experiment and cook it. Sometimes it's perfect, others it's not quite there. I make some revisions, rewrite, and yes, I hit the kitchen again. I know some bloggers do, but I don't want to publish failures or recipes I don't like that much, so I keep making them until they are the way I want them. To me, unless a food blog is made up of adaptations of and fully attributed recipes, that's the way a food blogger should write recipes. It's the only way to be authentic in my opinion, and that is the kind of food site I want to convey with my work. {tucks away soapbox}

All that to say, I work from the family room and there are constantly books and magazines all over the place. I like being in here with my husband rather than tucked into another room, isolated and by myself.  So I went in the kitchen to start re-shelving some of the cookbooks and let's just say things are a bit tight up there. Truth is they have also moved onto a shelf in the family room too. But anyway, I have a few Christmas cookbooks so thought, these don't really need to be in here so I'll move them to the office. Pull them down, take them in the office, decide I have got to vacuum in there. The cat litter box is in a corner of that room and although I do clean it out everyday, I just don't understand how these cats manage to spread litter all over the floor in there, but they do. So I put the Christmas cookbooks on the shelf in there and vacuum - floors, corners, top, bottom, edges, everywhere. Decide since I'm vacuuming might as well do the family room too - floors, corners, top, bottom, edges, everywhere. Might as well dust some things while I'm here too.

Finally back to the kitchen. To shelve the cookbooks I made room for. Was thinking about a photo styling project that I'm doing for Foodbuzz & thought Mama's old punch bowl cups would be nice (my cousin has the punch bowl itself) thought the box was in the office closet so back to the office. Straightened up the closet a little while looking, found a purse that had stuff in it, no money except change, started cleaning the purse out. Dug around the closet some more but never found the cups.

All that stretching, stooping, bending from vacuuming had me exhausted. Hey that's exercise - I'm not used to that! Decided I wanted some tacos. Went outside with the pup, came back inside and started intensely itching on my back from who knows what. Looked in the mirror and there was a huge red rash across my back. Apparently having some kind of rash reaction to something. What the heck? I literally just walked outside & came back in. It's not like I rolled around in anything. Took a shower, had hubby put cortisone cream on my back, put fresh clothes on and decided to take a break, started this post, checked Facebook, answered questions and looked up links for a reader.

Back to the kitchen. To shelve the cookbooks I made room for. A hundred bazillon hours ago.

Went back to the office to get an envelope for the receipts tucked in the corner. Back to the kitchen. FINALLY shelved the books and started on the kitchen. 9 hours later.

Funny thing is ... I know I'm forgetting many more distractions that happened along the way and I sure didn't make much progress. Oh well. There's always tomorrow.
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Lip Dub - Clark Retirement Community



If this doesn't make you smile, your heart isn't beating. Enjoy!
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Did You Get a Push Present?

This one looks about right.  

I want my push present.

I gave birth in about 6 hours, though I had been uncomfortable and had back pains all night the night before, so it'd be reasonable to say that I was actually in labor well before that. At 3:00 a.m. I convinced my then husband to take me to the hospital, despite a phone call to them and their "doubt" that I could actually be having true labor pains that close together already. They were wrong. The winter air was cold, the sky clear as glass, and I can still remember so clearly the mirror image of the near full moon on the still water as we crossed the bridge over the bay that winter morning.

I had been determined that I would give birth to this child naturally since the moment I found out I was pregnant. I did not have a single, solitary drug of any kind during labor or delivery. No pain medication. No epidural. Nothing. Nada. It was a painful few hours of my life, but I made it through it even with nurses trying to convince me that maybe a little "something" might help. After the fact they gave me something to "relax me" and that was welcomed!

After being knocked out for a few hours I woke up in a hospital room alone, not a soul there. My head foggy, I struggled to get my legs to the floor and boost my body up from the bed. My body was traumatized and I felt Every. Single. Muscle. in my body. I touched my stomach. Had I just had a baby? I was supposed to be in a special birthing room with my baby. Where was he?  Nobody would tell me. Nobody would let me see him.

Turns out during the labor process my baby had tried to breathe in the birth canal and had a lung collapse. While his lungs had recovered immediately on their own, they had whisked him away to the nursery to place him in an incubator to monitor him. When my physician showed up to make his rounds and found out, the hospital staff were directed to immediately take me to the nursery to see him. On top of the physical trauma, there was all this mental strain.

While I got divorced not long after that, and over the years my ex and I shared custody back and forth over the years, being a mother was never easy from that day forward and there were many sleepless nights of worry through those teen years especially.

Well, I have just learned that apparently there is a new trend among new mamas that they are to receive some kind of a "push present" - preferable diamonds of some kind - when they give birth.

It was more than 30 years ago, when I gave birth to my one and only baby, a son.  I am clearly far overdue for my push present.  So my dear ex-husband, I have one question for ya.

Where's my bling?

Photo: TheGoldJewelry.com
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