Chasing the birds away…

So, maybe I’m turning cuckoo?

The past two weeks have been spent redoing a chaotic yard, which may have inadvertently reflected my life, into a beautiful canvas of dirt.

I wouldn’t say my life is dirt but maybe dirt with life ready to sprout! Thankfully this isn’t Hitchcock’s “The Birds” otherwise, I’d have no eyes. My yard on the other hand is experiencing a terrifying venture into a realm only seen in the movies. It’s being pecked to death!

I feel like a peeper, except the only satisfaction I’m getting is watching a yard with no pigeons. Who knew pigeons liked to hang out in the desert? I had no idea but they are everywhere! Apparently, the pigeon express exists because a memo pecked in bird-speak has been sent out across the land informing all, that grass seed has been strewn about! So now I’m the crazy lady because the moment I see them…I come flying out the door like a wild banshee, flailing arms and all….shooing the beasts away.

I think they are on to me. I envision a “watch” bird on the roof, just waiting for me to leave. The call goes out and the whole friggin’ family arrives. I see Moms, Dads, sisters, bros, the cousin no one talks about….the kid who has no manners and that damn Uncle who smells. It’s a smorgasbord of birdy treats.

So yesterday I’m thinking hard about this situation and come to the realization that these birds have a brain the size of a pea and mine is humongous! I can out smart these pigeon-toers! So I get my bird seed out, which looks much more delectable than bland grass seed. Theres corn, sunflower seeds, other seed that I have no idea what they are, but if I were a bird, would find quite attractive!  I send the man of the house out to the back yard and direct him on where to throw the seed, everywhere but where the grass seed is. I was like a great composer and the seed was my instrument. I directed it here…and there, around the fence, on the pathway. I made it easy to enjoy a meal without having to get a beak dirty. I’m a f’n genius! I said this to myself of course…but I am.

Today, dinner time, I have a birds-eye view of my backyard. The neighbors across the way are dealing with the same issue of impending doom, lots of dirt…no seed. But they were smart and spread chicken shit, literally, with their seed. They thought they were geniuses too. Turns out..birds don’t mind the smell of other bird shit. I’m watching the birds eat their buffet over there, I’ll admit, chuckling to myself about my brilliant idea when BAM! A mother effin’ bird comes swooping in my yard. Does she go to the beautiful array of birdy food I laid out like a bouquet of Valentine flowers? No, that little pitch starts pecking away at my dirt. I leap from the seat, almost trip over my son’s chair only to fall against the door instead of open it. Loud bangs don’t faze her and as I get my bearings, she looks at me as if to say, “Nice job genius, thanks for the dirty seed…ha ha ha”. There may have been steam, my eyes may have turned red, I believe the hair was standing on my neck like a cat ready to pounce on her prey and in slow motion…I’m pushing the door open, my arms are swinging to pump me for my sprint and as I reach the end of my patio she takes off….right above me and off she goes, a trail of shit landing in her wake.

The fight continues…..

Tomorrow I’ll be propped in the door way with my hose, ready to blister this competition away.

God save the Grass!

I Think She’s Cuckoo, Not for Cocoa Puffs

Where, oh where do I begin? Let’s start with this: My neighbor might be cuckoo.

‘Might” is relative. To tell such a cuckoo story, one must begin, well…at the beginning.

I won’t lie, I’m a bit of a recluse. I have friends of course but when it comes to my wee castle, I stay in. I watch t.v., I play with my son, I cook dinner and I play on the internet. I like my time and hey, I don’t really like being bothered. Time is precious and though I’m young as everyone likes to point out, Life is short…no if’s and’s or buts about it!

So, let’s say September time frame, I start chatting with my neighbor. I’m in the backyard and she’s talking to the nice lady who lives behind us and it turns out, someone broke into her house. This is astonishing. Why? Because we live in what you’d call a gated community with armed men in uniform at all gates. Not something that typically happens on a…government installation. Her husband is away, for awhile, so it’s her and her kid. We start to talk, and after a few days we talk more. To cut this part slightly shorter…the house keeps getting broken into and no one is taking it seriously. I’m a little freaked and try to watch when I can. Now as a side-note and a very important part in all this, it turns out we have a few things in common. We both read Tarot cards and hence, our spiritual side is similar. I’m Wiccan, I guess. I’m baptized Catholic which means I potentially could drink a lot and love bread…with a side of butter please. But, I was jaded in high school and found Wicca. I’m what you would call a solitaire witch and think Covens are full of crazies who claim to be eclectic, or are full of dungeons and dragons players that took the game a little too far. Just my opinion but my luck with covens has been like a severe nerd-fest and I was worried it would rub off. Anywho, it’s good to note that against popular beliefs, Wicca is a very pleasant religion. It’s Earth based and goes by the seasons. And one more important fact that I would ask you to remember through this reading because it will come back…witch’s cast spells. Spells are like prayers and the number one rule is, you don’t cast spells against others or it comes back three-fold. I have enough bad luck as it is….so this is one rule I stick to.

Now, let’s jump forward a little. My neighbor, seemed to be paranoid. Some of this was a given considering the situation but some things were just ridiculous. In the heat of the moment I dared not say anything because as we ladies know, you don’t want to tell another lady she’s wrong or…cuckoo. But, she would swear to things that were just impossible or take one little thing and turn it into the Alps. I could have skied down her fears and paranoia. In the end, they are pretty sure they figured out who it was. This was after she had her locks changed twice, put her own security camera’s up, put in flood lights, had the cops driving by every night and had her friend and neighbor…me, watching her house like a hawk. I can’t tell you the numerous things we did for her. She even called the cops on my husband once because she thought he was the burglar. If she would of just looked through her peep-hole, she would have seen it was him.

So now it’s Thanksgiving, her husband is back and we ask them if they want to combine food and eat together. We did and it was great! They had delicious southern dishes and I had my mama’s recipes from the west. MMM MMM good. Then the boys watched football and we read Tarot. My reading for her was pretty right on. She couldn’t stop dwelling on the “person’s” in question and really, was driving herself crazy. The reading she did for me was astounding and it is because of her and that reading, that my marriage went from not so good to grand. And though she may be cuckoo…as a side-note, I will always be grateful for what she told me.

I’m going to backtrack slightly. She is into psychics, Feng-Shui, has had her house “cleansed” and constantly gets readings and help from many in the spiritual profession.  I’m not the opposite but it’s rare that I seek these things.

January, I saw her outside the house as I was going back to work. I hadn’t chatted with her and pulled up to see her. She asked me if I was mad at her because somebody spilled colored dye all over her driveway. I told her that no I wasn’t, in fact I wanted to thank her again because Hubby and I were doing fantastic. I mentioned that I hadn’t seen anything nor did I see the dye. She said she had cleaned it. Apparently I’m not very observant cause I still don’t know where it spilled or what color it was. I left and went to work.

3 weeks ago I’m chillin’ on the couch, minding my business when I get a phone call. It’s her and she sounds stressed. She just left a new psychic she was trying out and apparently this “psychic” told her I was…and I QUOTE..”Burning candles” on her. Now, I consider myself pretty damn smart…in fact, I may be a genius in small circles but I’ll be damned if I’d ever heard this phrase. Confused, I asked her what the hell that meant? She told me her psychic was positive, POSITIVE,l that I was casting spells on her and that I was not to be trusted. Well! First I laughed because..I didn’t know what else to do. This was the stupidest thing I’d ever heard. I told her:

1. I haven’t burned a candle in 6 months for spells and that the last candle I lit was 2 days before that. The candle I burned was one I made and totally screwed up and thought I would test it to see if it collapsed on itself.

2. The golden rule, I don’t cast spells on people and if I do a spell for someone, I always get permission cause it takes that nasty 3-fold rule out of the picture 🙂

3. I have nothing against her…at all. In fact, I like her so why would I do something so ridiculous.

Then she goes on to tell me that this loon of a lady told her I know the chick that was breaking in to her house. Another impossibility! I still don’t know who she is. I know she works at the grocery store here on base but I don’t shop there…I’m a Whole Foods girl.

I told her that I don’t know why this woman would say such a thing but that it was out in left field and completely untrue. Our conversation changed to what’s been going on personally and I ended it with telling her to call me and let me know if she found out anything.

I didn’t hear from her.

Two days ago, I check my mail and get my utility bill. It’s not pretty and I notice some major issues. I’m in a panic and tell my husband that I’m going to  my neighbor to see if she’s got the same problem.

The door was open, I knock, her husband tells me to come in. I ask if he got his bill and he said yes and that it was huge. I asked when wifey would be home, he said he was leaving and that she’d be home soon. I say I’ll come back when she gets home and off I go. I watched for her but it started getting late and I had to make dinner. So I figured I’d leave it for the next day.

Yesterday, I go to work and am waiting on hubby so he can take me to the property management office. I plan on letting loose and getting all this years frustration out on whoever the poor girl is working at the desk that day. I’m pissed! I look down and realize I missed a call from an “Unknown” number. And I think, probably a bill collector but…turns out they left a message and guess who it’s from? Oh yeah…Mrs. Cuckoo. The message was short and to the point, ‘hubby told her I stopped by and that he was uncomfortable with me there without cuckoo and frankly so was she. She didn’t want me over and thought “We had discussed this last time we talked”. And she hung up.

What the Fu…aaack? First, I was shaking. I was so pissed/upset and offended that I couldn’t think straight. Second, I wanted retaliation..I wanted confrontation. But then I thought…why? She obviously believes the loon and constantly needs direction from people she doesn’t know. If she can’t go with her own gut then she’s  missing a big piece of what life is about. No one has all the answers and most psychics are full of shit. I actually felt more grounded and in tune with myself realizing how out of tune my neighbor is.

But this brings on other issues. She is paranoid which means anything that happens in that house..will be directed towards me. I know this because I saw her do it to others and now I’m thinking that a lot of what happened was imagined and that all the issues she thinks she has in that house (ghosts, bad juju) are caused by her and nothing else. As I write this, they have their music banging through my walls…yes, the house is connected, YAY me!

I talked to God last night. I do this often. It’s funny cause I always do it in bed when I’m about to fall asleep. It goes something like this:

“Dear God, I need some help. I do not want to dwell on this stupid bitch. How could she think such a thing and now I’ve got a utility bill I can’t pay. How am I going to pay it? I need a second job. I wish Erik would turn over and stop snoring. Don’t forget Elias has no school on Friday. Oh shit, Dear God I need…shit, Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven, give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us and lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil. AMEN.”

Sometimes I’m Catholic….

My Coffee loves my Coaster

This is a shill post but purely innocent, I profess.

This morning, I woke up a tad late. Due to my uncanny sleep pattern last night, I decided to blow it off and watch a cheesy, very late night, movie called “Angels and Insects”. I prefer not to link to this strange 1800’s set movie as it is not worth looking up. But I regress.

I was awaken by my son at around 1030am, brushing my hair with his hand. Cute, yes…but certainly didn’t help me continue the restful sleep I was enduring. So I got up. I fired up my new/used Rancilio Silvia, the new love of my life, and began the hardy but well-worth process of making myself a heavy two-shot cappuccino.

After the froth and pour, and a scoop of sugar…yes real sugar, not that pansy fake crap, I strolled to my computer and sat my tired ass down. As I did this, still apparently half asleep, I had a little spill on my desk. Instead of getting my tired ass up, Icalled out to my husband to grab me a paper towel and a coaster. He brought me one of my favorites…and so the shilling shall begin!

My parents have owned businesses all their life…or..all my life. Some good, some not so good but all had their heart and soul. In the last 6 years or so, my Mother began selling old 45’s. Some of you should know what I’m talking about but most may not. Old records. Small, ancient relics of our music history, which became quite popular in the 1940’s and 50’s. I know our technology moves fast but most, I’m sure, grew up with a record player in the house. It always had that small round insert sitting in it’s bevelled spot, always ready for a 45rpm to be played. I’m sure there is a technical name for that round plastic thingy majig but I’m too lazy to look it up! Nevertheless, these little vinyl round records of #1 hits and one-hit wonders had become my Mom’s new obsession. It’s not as easy as just selling them, they have to be rated. Some are worth hundreds, some a couple of cents. And unfortunately, as many other things in our lives, some were not taken care of  and were considered unsellable.

After a couple of years of trashing vinyl, my parents came up with their most brilliant idea. They stopped throwing them away and began a very long process of figuring out how to make the perfect coaster out of our favorite hits.

This started the craft show party train. I was lucky enough to have just moved back from Germany to see some of their first shows and it was a sight to behold! Radio Stations are a joke these days and I admit I rarely listen to them. Because of this and the lack of really great hits each station genre plays…we forget what memories were created around our favorite songs. My Mom and Dad have tapped in to the millions of memories hidden in our hearts and souls. Customers would stroll by, not taking a second glance and the day would start out depressing. Then it would happen. Someone would take a chance on my parents “Rock and Roll Coaster” booth.

They would act uninterested, walking around aimlessly in the 10X10 space until something would catch their eye. Maybe it was the label design, maybe it’s the genre, band or song but they would stop, pick it up and you could see their mind backtracking to a memory. They would say, “I remember this song.” My Mom, who can sell ice to an eskimo, would say something like, “Oh, such a great song!” and either would tell a short story of the song and band or would start singing it. Brilliant to say the least! This attracts more customers and my parents begin a journey down someone elses memory lane. It’s fantastic to watch because everyone loves to hear themselves speak and everyone wants to tell their own story. It’s a domino effect and before you know it, they have 4, 6, even 10 coasters balancing in their hands. I, myself, am purely guilty of this. I have 8 coasters. Some I bought because the label is so freaking cool and others because I love the song or band.

This morn, I was blessed with “Good Morning Starshine”  from the original movie soundtrack of “Hair” from 1979. A movie my parents of the 60’s allowed me to grow up with. It is one of my favorite songs from the movie:

And here is my coaster with my half drunken cup of coffee….

Isn’t it sweet? Everyone who visits my humble abode always notices them and of course I begin the tale of how my parents came about selling these precious gems.

They have a website, they sell on etsy and I got them a blog here on good ole’ wordpress, 45Revolution’s. I’ll link to “The Needles” which is the about them page and which I have written. Yes, I’ll shill my writing skills because if I do say so myself, it’s some of my best work!

I invite you to look and preferrably buy because, hey, let’s face it….we’re all broke right now but birthday’s are still happening, Mom and Pop days will still come this year and before we know it, good ole break the bank Christmas will be here. They are cheap, but memory jilting priceless!

Screaming Banshee : Paris Back to jail

Judge orders Paris Back to Jail. FOR 45 DAYS!!!!

 LINKY

Paris left Screaming and crying, “It’s not Right! Mommmm!”

 

WOW People…too funny.

TMZ

UPDATE::

Greta Van Susteren was in the courtroom and thinks Paris needs medical attention. Paris was shaking, twitching, quivering…and apparently looks very sickly. She also said in her “un-medical” opinion, she needs to see a doctor.

Interesting. Maybe the lesson has already been taught?

Back to Jail :

The Paris Parade…on the way to the Jail House…pass by the Circus.

Ironic?

Paris Pulls the Sick Card

TMZ.com reported it first and everyone else has been following suit.

 

Now it’s confirmed, Paris is out of Jail and on House Arrest.

Oh Brother. But are we surprised?

Of Course not, I knew she couldn’t do it, you knew she couldn’t do it.

What’s sad is that it’s Breaking News and I, myself, am helping that runaway train.

 Lame Lame Lame.

Ding Dong the Witch is Dead

Why CWonder, that’s not very nice!!!

Yes I know..but I don’t care 🙂

rosie.jpg

So after Thursday’s Kitty fight between Elizabeth and Rosie, Rosie calls it quits.

Hmmm, how interesting? Don’t you think?

Rosie the dragon spewing, psycho babbling, conspiracy theory’ing, leftist freakazoid couldn’t hang when the going got tough.

You want me to tell you how I really feel? (grin)

I used to like Rosie, in fact, I loved her. I watched all her movies, her show. I thought she was hysterical but this extreme lefty disease got a hold of her, choked her and she submitted to the extreme.

Watching the debates between Rosie and Elizabeth was like watching regular America. That was the only plus side. There are just as many people out there who clap for Rosie as they do for Elizabeth. People actually believe what comes out of her pie hole.

The debates turned argument, turned emotional, turned personal. And let’s be real here, Rosie did most of the attacking.

When it wasn’t an answer she liked, she took that sharp little knife out and poked it a little deeper.

Elizabeth jabbed back…finally got a good one in and…POOF!!! Rosie’s gone.

Considering her attitude on the show and the “My way is the only way” line of thinking; not to mention the total disregard for the Country she lives in; she copped out.

 It seems every time Rosie comes out in public she causes controversy. We forget about her and back again she comes.

Her comments literally make me sick. Shame on you Rosie. 

Someone get a pail of water so we can be done with this nonsense.

A lighter side to Crisis.

When I first got my gmail account, which wasn’t that long ago I discovered Google Alerts. Not knowing exactly how it worked, I typed in Breaking News. Now I get alerts on every story that features the words “Breaking” or “News”. You can imagine how many alerts I get.

Nevertheless, today, while scanning my first alert email of the morning I came across a piece in the Philadelphia Inquirer (via philly.com) by Annabelle Gurwitch.

I’ve always thought Annabelle was hysterical and this piece confirms it.

While she’s on a plane, she sees a breaking story on CNN of the Fire in Griffith Park and realizes it’s her neighborhood.

She tells of her panic and journey back to her house, evacuating and forgetting to pack underwear.

——–

When you are breaking news,

 you are what you forget to pack

 

Annabelle Gurwitchis a contributing writer

and commentator

for “Day to Day” on NPR

I was sitting on a plane Tuesday, flipping through the channels on my seatback TV: makeover show, makeover show, home decorating tips, CNN breaking news story on a fire, Maria Bartiromo has great hair.

Wait a minute. Gee, that CNN shot looked familiar.

I flipped back. It was my neighborhood. No, it was right above my house. My family lives in the hills that back up to Los Angeles’ Griffith Park.

Even in these reality-TV-saturated days, no one wants to be featured in a breaking news story. Breaking news is never good.

As the plane flew, I watched the fire burn, unable to phone home. Only the day before, I had seen TV pictures of the residents of Greensburg, Kan. – and their neighborhoods and houses, or where their houses used to be – looking bedraggled, struggling to cope.

I started to cry.

But there was no way of knowing how seriously my family was affected. So I stopped crying and watched the end of a Law & Order episode.

As soon as we landed, I called the house. The fire was under control, my husband said, but as I drove home from the Burbank airport, I could see the fire right next to the freeway, lighting up the trail my son and I hiked the previous week. The sun was shining, and the park glowed an eerie yellow. It was kind of beautiful, in an end-of-the-world way.

I went to my son’s school to pick him up, and we could see the fire on the hills, right where we were headed: home.

“Front-row seat,” my son said excitedly as I assured him everything was going to be fine.

But not long after that, helicopters circled above us and the neighbors gathered in the street, transfixed by the fire line. Gallows humor set in. We unfurled our hoses and took bets on whose house would go up in flames first. Then the word spread: The police had ordered a mandatory evacuation.

I’ve always wondered what I would take with me in the event of an emergency. Now I know. I packed our cat, our son’s favorite stuffed animals, my grandmother’s silver, and a really expensive pair of shoes. No underwear, but our wedding invitation and some designer shampoo! What was I thinking?

It’s weird to drive away from your home as flames shoot up in your rear-view mirror. As I sped away in one car and my husband and son took off in the other, I had the same barely-in-control feeling I had watching the ’92 riots unfold. Roads closed off, street lights out, police and firetrucks racing by me, cars honking. Across Los Feliz Boulevard, crowds gathered.

My cell phone rang. In that spirit that unites people in a crisis, everyone in our two-block radius called each other: “Do you have a place to go to? Do you have your medication?”

“I have no panties!” I kept telling people, in what has to be the most inappropriate observation made all night.

My family spent the night at a friend’s house farther west in the hills. We could see the flames kicking up until we went to sleep. We woke up at the usual time. I insisted that my son do his homework over breakfast with our friends.

The not-so-breaking news was good. No houses were lost in Los Feliz, and soon enough word would come that we could return home. We were grateful for devoted firefighters.

As I drove my son to school, I kept repeating the mantra I heard from Katrina survivors, and then the Kansans: “I just want to get back to normal.”

And I found myself thinking about how everyone looks the same in an emergency, how quickly my family had been transformed into those sweat-pants-wearing, dirty-T-shirt-sporting, tangled-hair evacuation people. And how easily the transformation could have gone from one night’s evacuation to something much worse.

We became the breaking news, and breaking news is never good. But it can serve to remind us of how closely linked we are to one another.

And to always pack underwear.

Linky

Read more Annabelle @ NPR.org