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Mr. Dad Worthy

Picture it–(Sicily, 1947)–just kidding, it was probably around 1980-1981. I was roughly three or four years old. I lived in a tiny place in the frozen tundras of Alberta, a province in the great forested wilds of a country named Canada. The town was called Tin Town. Tin town was basically rows upon rows, huddled up to the street, of small mobile homes with some geniuses idea to use metal sheets on the roof and outside. Metal sheets, guys–I don’t know if any of you have stuck your head inside an oil drum while someone cranks out a drum-beat from Pantera upon it, but it’s pretty much what it sounds like whenever it rained, sleeted or hailed.

These were the “lower ranked” military housing, set below the much more majestic actual houses on a far off hill where I assume the higher ranking Canadian military families all drank expensive water and had expensive parties or something.

It is night. (Remember: you’re picturing this with me.) Our tiny little tin coffin is darkened and silent as the night cloaks all in stillness. My father–a long time sufferer of a horrible back and gout-ridden feet, often slept on the couch at night as it was more solid and more supportive than the bed. In our tiny little metal box, my room was at the very end of a short hallway that looked right out through the kitchen and into the living room; facing the living room’s large picture window. Below the picture window was the couch. And on that couch was my father, arms crossed over his chest, feet crossed at the ankles and grey-wool sock covered feet peeking out from under a blanket. I knew he was fast a sleep because it seemed as if he were sawing the winter’s worth of aspen trees for kindling. AKA: Holy mother of Odin, my father could out-snore a drunk bear.

And so, like most three-to-four year olds, I had gone through my list of Things I Could Do To Avoid Going To Sleep such as the number one hit: I Have To Pee, and, I Have to Pee Again, as well as, Read Me Another Story! and my favorite, I’m Hungry! as well as the other not-as-well-known usual night time favorites.  Having annoyed the living fuck out of my parental units so much that they fell asleep, exhausted, obviously ignoring my needs–I felt rather betrayed. And upset. And so, I began:

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RP Rambling

Basically, we’re just testing a new layout and theme, trying to get it worked out and figure it out. This post as well as the example posts will eventually disappear when we choose which layouts and things work. Rabble rabble rabble!

Oh hey, I’m back. Also: Period cat, period cat–

–does whatever a period cat does?

What a way to reintroduce myself back into the world of WordPress and blogging, am i rite guise? It’s been…years. Let’s share a post about my junk and my period cat. GOOD THINKING! …And I’ve been floating in the ether of not doing shit about blogs for a very long time. I think it’s because facebook and google plus are the sugary quick social snacks of my life. And boy have I been stuffing my face. With quick social sites. Also food, but good food. Because I’m eating better. And that’s like, totally another story and post for another day right? ANYHOO–

UTERUS!
OVARIES!
MENSTRUATION STATION!
PERIODS!
CRAMPS!

Okay, now that I have suitably frightened the shit out of those who are squeamish or not willing to read and or discuss anything that has to do with monthly lady business…

I have a period cat.

Mel, you ask, what the hell is a period cat? And I’ll say: I’m so glad you asked. LET ME TELL YOU.

Usually, women are much smarter about their periods than I, on the whole. I didn’t get into actually trying to track my monthly RED WEDDING until a few YEARS ago–when I realized that HOLY GOD SOME SMART MOFOS made TRACKING APPS! I COULD GET WARNED BEFORE THE DESTROYER CAME TO TOWN! Or at the very least, since my period is about as predictable as I am–a general consensus of when and where I should be ready to shut down and feel like I am dying for a week so I can plan and prepare.

I’m not sure when it happened. And it took me a long time to clue in. But–here’s the thing: we have five cats. The oldest, and crankiest, and craziest is named Flora. Flora is a tiny little black cat who the Vets she goes to–to my CONSTANT delight (I love it), have sweetly nicknamed her SATAN KITTY. We think Flora is half siamese. She has that very, very, very distinctive siamese nose and triangle head–but is all black (or all very deep brown in direct sunlight.) She is a very nutty, bitey, scratchy, hissy loveable cat. Not all cats are super affectionate love bugs, and we at Casa De Pence are ok with that. Hell, Shawn owned a cat before we got married–and had her years after–that hid 18 hours of the day behind the bed and only came out to let us pet her, use the litter box, eat, and hide again.

Flora is …”particular”.

She WANTS your attention and affection, yes. But only how SHE wants it. And the secret is: she never tells us how. Somedays you can pet her head and scritch the side of her face for hours until she turns into a liquid. Some days she allows you to pet her for EXACTLY 4.5 pets and then she freaks out and wants to devour your soul. That’s just how she is.

But for the last few years, she’s taken, to what I thought was randomly, sleeping directly on my pillow a few nights out of the month. Sometimes its just one night. Sometimes it’s two-three. And when she does, she will LITERALLY take up the entire pillow by loafing smack dab in the middle leaving me no room but a corner to either nuzzle her forepaws, or have her ass warm the top of my head. And she WON’T budge.

After she has done this catly duty, she won’t be seen on the bed again for another month-ish.

And recently I realized that she has been doing this, on the dot, 1-3 days before I get my period.

Literally, if she is on my pillow, I don’t even have to look at my period tracker app anymore because if I see her on my pillow I know THE STORMS A’COMIN’.

Some people use the calendar. Some people use a tracker. Some people don’t use anything. Me? I get a period cat.

Consumer BEWARE: Brian Davis Septic Company

Consumer BEWARE: Brian Davis Septic Company

 

 If you live in the Palm Bay/Viera/Melbourne area in Florida, USA and you  own or have an aerobic septic system in  your home? Consumer BEWARE of the Brian Davis Septic Company! Read this! 

 

I contracted with Brian Davis Septic in December 13 after finding them in BBB with a A+ Rating. It took multiple calls to get them to fax over the paper work. Since that time I’ve experienced the problems listed below. While reading these, please note that this company is licensed by the State heath department to service it’s constituents for required services:

  1. Initial inspection stated all was well, however both tanks badly in need of pump out. Several calls required to schedule the pump out, all by me, in January (around the 10th) 2014.
  2. In January 10, during pump out, service techs stated that the “inspectors don’t really look for that sort of thing.” However tanks were open and inspected.

  3. During this service call, asked about leakage into yard from what was eventually determined to be a bad emitter. “Yeah, hmm, weird.” However no further information given, nor the need to fix as eventually determined. Techs at this time stated “everything else looks good and in working order.”

  4. After the pump out in January, 10, pump began making strange noise, as though water in pump. Communicated to office, attempting to schedule visit to inspect. Promised callback twice, none returned by office staff.

  5. In May 2014 as pump sounds began to increase, contacted office again to schedule visit, took several calls, again from me, never called back, to schedule visit.

  6. During visit, aerator pump was determined to be bad, and screw covers for vegetation covers/tank cover not screwed down properly, and would have been an inspection violation… last service was by this company, so error was theirs.

  7. During same visit in May, previously mentioned emitter determined to be issue needing repair.

  8. After calling office, informed that the pump issue was noted in January, however this was not ever explained as an issue needing replacement. Issue was slight in January, continued operation and a failure to respond to my initial concerns 4 months prior while in need of repair was likely cause of eventual failure, or at the very least accelerated it.

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April Fools

mother-and-baby-isolated-871294248560rUxApril 2nd, huh. You missed out on the really fun shenanigans that often happen during April fools by only a day. That means that, depending on how you felt and how dad felt, April fools jokes were still going to be played whether you wanted them or not. I don’t remember all the April’s Fools the two of you played with me and with each other. The only one that really stuck out in my mind was when, in my early teens, my mother pulled me aside with stillness in her features. She bade me sit down and said, “I have something important to tell you,” with low words. I couldn’t read her face. I couldn’t figure out if I had gotten into trouble of it I’d done something–all I knew is that burbling, wordless fear started crawling around in my brain trying to find anything that I’d done wrong recently.

“Uh. Okay,” I said.

She was in her favorite rocking chair. She leaned in close and put her hand over mine. And then the stoic mask she’s worn earlier slipped with her one-corner-of-mouth  smile as she said: “You’re going to have a little brother or sister!”

And of course I start flapping my arms around lik they were made of two week old celery that’s not dried out enough to be bad, but certainly rubbery. “REALLY?” I asked, in that sub-sonic woman’s voice reserved for newborns, puppies, kittens, and those moments that happen in your favorite move.  It’s at this point that I notice my mother’s smile turning to smirk. It happened slow; along the left hand side of her mouth it would begin to curl a little downward, showing laugh-line creases. Then her eyes, once steady, became glittering with the laughter she withheld .

She came clean to me and reminded me of the date: April 1st. I was disappointed, but not mad. It was, for me and for her, a trifling little April fools between us that meant no hard.

April is coming.
April fools and then
My mother’s birthday.

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