Ditch Witch and Other Things

The neighbor Dale and her husband Old WhatsHisName had a Ditch Witch up and running at nine in the morning. On a Saturday. Listen, I like Dale and Old WhatsHisName, but mostly I just like their dog Cookie. She’s a chocolate lab and she’s beautiful and friendly and she likes to play tug in her front yard with her favorite rope toy and she reminds me of my dearly beloved, Bentley, whom we had to put down two years and some change ago on account of her arthritis and her slow doggy dementia. She was nearly 14 years old and sometimes she forgot who I was, but mostly she sat at my feet and watched squirrels out the window and listened as I read her bits of essays and stories and she always, always let me cry into her neck fat. Dale and Old WhatsHisName are sort of afterthoughts. I like their dog so I tolerate them. I listen to Dale tell me stories about how she used to live in Charlotte too and really she didn’t like it as much as I did being a make-up exec is hard work and do I ever use eyeliner, because I have beautiful blue eyes, but…

The Ditch Witch at nine am was a bridge too far. Especially because I didn’t sleep well last night on account of it being week eight of my semester and why does everyone suddenly need me to do something for them and yeah I’m aware that I need to make some important decisions about residency and candidacy and my thesis in the upcoming weeks and when is the last time I cooked dinner for my family and hey they are opening school back up and Jackson is too afraid to go and I agree especially because a custodian in the district just died from Covid, but I mean half of the teachers are vaccinated and MAP test scores don’t really matter much this week and maybe we should just keep compounding this mom guilt on top of wife guilt on top of whatever it was that made me give that cash to that woman today in the Sam’s Club parking lot.

So the Ditch Witch sprang to life at nine am and I rolled over to my husband all, what the actual hell is that and he said how should I know it sounds like some type of heavy machinery and I knew right then that Dale and Old WhatsHisName were doing some yard work because about a month ago I was violently awakened from the loud diesel noises of a wood chipper from Sunbelt Rentals.

I wish I had a point. And I was drinking a glass of wine on a beach somewhere all alone. I feel all alone all the time, but it’s not possible because I am with my family all the time and I love them dearly and also I need a fucking break and a vacation and someone to tell me that it will all be okay. I know that it’s usually me reminding you all that it will all be okay, and really I know that it will, but sometimes when you haven’t been sleeping and your medicine is making you sick but you have to keep taking it or you’ll really get sick and you have no means of escaping this life that is really actually quite beautiful and you are thankful for it so much but that sometimes sucks like it does for all of us right now in varying degrees you just have to get on your old blog and yell about Ditch Witches and neighbors who really aren’t that bad and things that are absolutely outside of your control and some in your control but you that you don’t have answers for and you have to say your dead dog’s or your dead kid’s or your dead dad’s name because it matters at that moment.

That’s all I’m saying.

Damn it, y’all. It will get better and I love you and you have pretty eyes and you don’t need eyeliner but if you want to use it then use it because you are responsible for your own happiness and one day when we can hug each other again I’m gonna hug you so tight you might have a hard time breathing but you won’t mind cause you’ll get it. I hope you get it.

M.

Post About Sam’s Club Toilet Paper, for Real, That’s What the Whole Post is About

Welcome class, I do believe I have lectured on the wonders of Sam’s Club toilet paper previously, but I’m glad you’ve come back for another discussion today. First, let me say that if I could give Sam’s Club toilet paper to all of you I would. Like if I won the lottery, which would be hard to do considering I don’t play the lotto, but if I did the first thing I would do is give the world Sam’s Club toilet paper. Then, I would buy 20 acres, a pack of llamas, and donate the rest to charity. Now, before I get into the wonders of Sam’s Club toilet paper (from here on out referred to as: SCTP) let’s take a moment to acknowledge the fact that we all know Wal-mart is a horrific company that underpays their employees, cuts corners, forces manufacturers into cut-throat deals in the name of low prices, and takes out small businesses whenever they come to town. But the truth of the matter is there is nothing I can do about that, ergo every year I pay to have a Sam’s Club membership (actually we started piggybacking on my MIL’s membership this year because why not? Fuck Wal-mart!) just so I can enjoy the SCTP that I have come to know and love. That is to say I am stuck now. Addicted. I can get TP from no where else.

Let’s talk about that other TP. Most of the other TP is what Jerimiah refers to as “John Wayne TP” because it’s “rough and tough and don’t take no shit off anybody.” Ain’t that the truth. Here I’m talking about your run-of-the-mill store brand TPs, your Walgreens brand, your Up and Up from Target (I’m sorely disappointed in your Target), your Kroger brand, and what not. Now Member’s Mark is a store brand. That’s the brand that SCTP is. It is Member’s Mark, but it is quite obvious that Sam’s Club is not the manufacturer. I had a teacher in elementary school whose husband worked for Always Save, which is an off-brand food brand that they sell in those bright yellow boxes. You know the kind I mean, if you were ever at my house in the 90s you saw them in the pantry

Anyway, she told us once that Always Save gets their food and products from the name brand places, but because they don’t have to pay for branding and advertising and all that they can give deep discounts. It’s the same elbow macaroni, for instance, that the name brands sell, it’s just in a different package. She said they would literally get shipments of bags of pasta sauce, green beans, etc from the same places that Del Monte, for instance, is getting them, but instead they just go into the yellow label brands. Now this was back in the 90s, things may have changed since then, and there are definitely differences in the taste of some products (that why I can’t shop at Aldi, I can taste the differences) but this got me thinking about TP. And how there can’t be THAT many TP brands out there, instead Member’s Mark probably pays a brand to make their own label. So you know me, I Googled it.

But… all I could find was information that suggested Member’s Mark TP was made by Sam’s Club in the USA. So maybe it is in fact it’s own brand. I mean I am okay with that, I was just hoping for some secret. I did however, come across the Consumer Report article that exploits the scamming of the toilet paper industry and how they have been shrinking their rolls and upping their prices for years (Hint: They are particularly mad at the brand known as “Angel Soft” for it’s dishonesty and trickery, especially because it is sold mainly at places like Walmart and Dollar General, which means it serves low-economic communities and they are taking advantage of those people.) Nevertheless, here are some other brands to be weary of:

Now Kirkland brand is the Costco equivalent to SCTP and although I’ve never tried it, I’d be willing to. But I can’t bring myself to get a Costco membership for a myriad of reasons.

Now I know what you are thinking: Well this is just like, your opinion man. I get it. But there is actually a whole thread on Reddit about how SCTP is the best, and if you are so inclined to do your own TP test, you can can buy SCTP at Walmart.com. Just click on the image below. It says “out of stock” now, which they have had trouble keeping it in stock during the pandemic, but it will be back shortly I just know it! If you want to read up on other toilet papers and compare them this is a fun little article, and not just because they editor’s pick for best TP was Member’s Mark. That is just a coincidence.

But what makes Member’s Mark so good, Missy? Great question! It is soft like Quilted Northern, strong like Charmin, and a fraction of the price of the other two. In fact, aside from the problem of lint coming off (which is a problem they know about and are working on, but all the softest brands have that problem) it is the best toilet paper I have every had in my life, and yes I have tried many other brands, plus it comes in a minimum, MINIMUM of 45 rolls at a time, which is fantastic (if you have the room to store that much tp) because you don’t have to buy TP all the damn time! Bonus! And did I mention the price. On average, you can buy this 45-roll pack for about $20! TWENTY MFING DOLLARS!

So there you have it, a whole blog post about Sam’s Club Toilet Paper. I told you that’s what it was about.

M.

Thoughts on Zoom

Is it just me, or do you have a hard time reading the natural end to the conversation with your therapist via Zoom? I adore my therapist, but these Zoom calls have been increasingly difficult. Same with my rheumatologist, who has a heavy middle-eastern accent. It’s hard to hear her and hard to decipher her words through her mask in person, but via Zoom is even worse. I feel really bad because I already have a hard time with accents and naturally ending conversations, but it’s been even worse over the last year because I feel like I am always on edge, always forgetting things, always have a ton on my mind, and it’s getting worse not better.

Last week I called the meeting quits a good ten minutes before my session was supposed to end because I was like, well is she done writing? Is she checking her clock? Does she have notes to do before her next patient? It feels like there are just way more things to worry about via the Zoom calls and I don’t feel like I can read the room, mainly because there is literally no room to read.

To make matters worse we are so “close” in a Zoom call, like closer than we would be in real life, that it makes me uncomfortable. Have you noticed this? Like I can see the fine lines and wrinkles in people’s faces on Zoom. I can see if something is hanging from their noses. So I sit way, way back away from the computer because it scares me. Meanwhile some people sit with the computer so close all you can see is their face. Back up, y’all! Back up! It’s too close.

I don’t know what my issue is, not really. I just know that Zoom freaks me out. It always has. Zoom, FaceTime, Google Hangouts, whatever you use or want to call it. It’s not my favorite, most effective form of communication and I hate that this is how we have to do things now. At the same time, I can be in my pajamas for therapy, so… I guess it’s still a win.

M.

Long Days, Quick Years

Sometimes when I’m in the bathroom taking a shower, or peeing, or crying while I eat chocolate and slide down the wall dramatically, I think I hear Jackson on the other side of the door. I think I hear his little preschool voice, the one I miss oh so very much, saying, “Mommy? Mommy?” Now way back when the soft “Mommy” would be followed by an adorable, “Are you in thwere, Mommy? Are you pwooping, Mommy?” Because sometimes I would pretend to poop to get some alone time.

Anywho, lately that has been happening to me. I think I am hearing Jackson on the other side of the bathroom door asking for me when I am in the shower and I turn the water off and say, “What’s up, baby?” And no one is there. No one is ever there. And I am feeling sad about that. I think I am spiraling. I think I am wishing my little boy was running to find me when he realizes he hasn’t seen me in a few minutes and wants to make sure I am okay, or just needs to tell me that he made a new Lego house. I miss those days, even though I thought I would never get through them.

Is that what happens as your kid grows up? Am I just experiencing the age-old “I miss when they were little”? Is this when I start telling people to enjoy those little moments because the world moves so fast and the kids grow so fast and if you close your eyes, or even wish for a second for it to be over, when you open your eyes again it will be and then what? Then what?

Listen, I love the life we have now. A kid who can make his own lunch. Who can do the dishes and bring me a glass of wine when I am in the hot tub soaking my problems away. But somedays I desperately, desperately miss my little guy running to find me, a diaper sagging to his knees, or a trail of some sticky candy behind him, or a car in his hand asking me if I am ready to play. It’s all so much.

The days are long, but the years are fast. Really, really fast.

Take care. Be safe. Enjoy the little moments.

M.

The Damn Gravy Boat

I ordered a red gravy boat to add to my Fiesta Christmas collection this year. Everywhere they sell Fietsta was running low on them, but I ended up finding one at Kohl’s when I had a whole debacle trying to find one at Macy’s. I’ll save you that story. So when the box arrived with my new trivet and my new scarlet-colored Fiesta Sauceboat I was jacked! Until I opened the box. As soon as I touched the box I knew something was wrong. I heard pieces. Broken pieces moving around. I hoped that it was the trivet, but of course because it is 2020, it was my beloved sauceboat.

Kohl’s made it right by shipping me a new trivet, but they couldn’t ship me a new sauceboat because they are out of stock. So I sat there in madness for a second, wondering who the hell packed the box, considering it was a nightmare packing job. Then I shrugged, said hey, this is 2020 and in 2020 we have learned to accept things we can’t control and move on. So I Googled the ancient Japanese art of Kintsugi.

Kintsugi is the mending of broken pottery by using gold. It creates a new piece that doesn’t shy away from its blemishes, but rather accepts them and makes the pottery beautiful again, just in a new way. I knew I had to do this to my 2020 gravy boat, but of course I can’t really afford to melt gold down, nor do I have access to do that or even know how. So I did the next best thing: I watched a YouTube video on how to practice “modern Kintsugi” with epoxy resin and some mica powder, ordered it from Amazon and got it done.

Listen, it was easy. But also tough. Much like this year. The epoxy resin is a mess to work with, I had gold mica powder all over my hands and table and places I was like, how did that even get there? But in the end I prevailed, in my own way of course, and now I have this broken, beautiful gravy boat. And while Jerimiah and Jackson looked at me a little crazy at first, eventually they got it.

2020, y’all. What a hot mess. But, hasn’t it shone some light on some things in our lives? I mean don’t we all have some cracks in our lives that could stand to be made beautiful? Don’t we all feel broken sometimes and wish we could be whole? Isn’t this year a shitshow, but also didn’t it sort of enlighten us to a lot of things? I think so. Which is why my family’s 2020 gravy boat* will now live eternally the way it came to us, broken but beautiful, and hopefully in years to come it will serve as reminder of how fucked up, funny, absurd, horrific, broken, and enlightening this year was. Maybe.

Enjoy some pics of the process and don’t laugh too much at my broken gravy boat.

M.

*This way of doing it, the modern, easy way, makes the gravy boat unusable as the epoxy resin is toxic, but it looks nice on the hutch.

Middle of the Night Thoughts

My mouth smells like one of those hush puppies you get at Long John’s Silver. Eww. I know. It’s the middle of the night and once again I am awake and once again I am having some crazy thoughts like what at the hell does Long John Silver even mean? Is that the name of the pirate? Was he tall? Aren’t all pirates tall with their large hats and parrots and wooden legs? Also, Silver? Did he have a bunch of silver he wouldn’t share or is it his last name? I didn’t know pirates had last names. I thought they were just named like the Seven Dwarfs, Sleepy, Dopey, Crazy Scurvy Joe, stuff like that. Speaking of the Seven Dwarfs, is that still politically correct? Should it be Seven Little People? That’s a show on TLC that I would watch in a heartbeat. I’d subscribe to their channel and pay like $5 a month to see Seven Little People with bad attitudes and names that evoke their personalities. That reminds me of Ms. Juicy Baby in Little Women-Atlanta, one of my favorite shows featuring Little People. I used to like Little People, Big World but then the kids grew up and the dad got all angry and they divorced and the dog died and ehh. Too much real life happened.

I had to Google “Long John’s Silver” and it turns out I was all sorts of wrong. First off it’s Long John Silver’s, not Long John’s Silver. Then I found the part where a corporate entity tries to tell their sweet story here but I was left unsatisfied, like when they forget to give me that little packet of malt vinegar in my to-go order and I have to complain the whole time I eat my oddly-shaped fish that I don’t have malt vinegar to go with it, then make sure I write malt vinegar on my shopping list so I always have it one hand when this sort of thing happens, which in fact, happens more often than not.

Hmm, Long John Silver’s. Who knew?

M.

Hello, Karen?

We’ve been phone banking for the Democrats of DeKalb. We live in DeKalb County Georgia. You’ve probably heard of us on the news lately, and hopefully they are pronouncing it correctly, it’s “Duh-Cab.” Anywho, we have over 500,000 registered voters in our county, but our population is about 800,000, so as you can see we have some work to day. DeKalb Democrats tries to get people registered to vote, it doesn’t matter how you register, which party you affiliate with. They also do phone banking to make sure people know they can vote in Georgia both in-person early (starting three weeks before Election Day) and also vote by mail, anyone can, you don’t know a “reason.”

That should probably explain all you need to know about how the state was flipped this year, considering you already know about Stacey Abrams and if you don’t then go ahead and Google her, or maybe read this.

Anyway, we have been phone banking and we let Jackson do it too. He actually really liked it. Might be illegal, might just be morally wrong, but he had a great time calling people and telling them how they can request an absentee ballot, he is a civically engaged kid, what a great way for him to learn about the voting process too!

So the other day while we were all phone banking, well Jackson and Jerimiah were, I did it one day then decided it was not for me (I am writing and sending postcards to voters instead) Jackson was getting some really lovely people on the phone, older ladies are his sweet spot of course, and they were chatting away with him, telling him all about their grandkids and what not. He ate it up, and can tell you all about Debra and her absentee ballot that she had to do because she’s been living in California with her grandkids for the last six months to ride out the pandemic. Anyway, so Jerimiah gets this really nasty lady on the phone and then we did something bad.

Jerimiah is chatting away and then we hear him get quiet and he’s all, “Umm, okay. Not sure what to do about that.” He called this woman, let’s call her “Theresa.” He called Theresa and said, “Hi is this Theresa?” And the white woman on the other end of the line decided to lose her shit on him about calling her. She said he had the wrong number, which is all she needed to say, she didn’t even know who he was or what organization he was with, she just flipped. Then said she was calling the cops, filing a police report, the whole nine yards. Jerimiah just politely hung up and then sat there in stunned silence for a moment before he told us what happened. He didn’t know what to do. Should he alert someone? Is there a no-call list? We shrugged. So he just marked her as “Wrong Number” in the system and hoped no one else would call her. Except…

Well I did call her. I asked for her number and used my Google phone number to ring her up. She answered and sounded like she was driving. She seemed to be a young, maybe 30s white woman with an attitude from hell, like I expected. So this time I said, “Hi, is Karen home?” And she was like, “Oh my God, you have the wrong number.” And I said, “So you are not Karen?” And she said, “Right.” And I said, “Are you sure you are not a Karen?” and we sat for a moment in silence before she hung up on me, and I gotta say, I did feel vindicated. Childish and immature too, but mostly vindicated.

I know, Michelle, I should have went high, but I just couldn’t. I’m all out of patience for people like that, and though y’all know I don’t prescribe to the whole “Karens are evil” thing, simply because I know some really nice Karens and I don’t think it’s fair, it is a social construct that does exist and I did exploit it and for that I am sorry. To all the other Karens, not that bitch.

Be safe and well, y’all.

M.

The Chaos After the Storm

I’m getting real fucking tired of saying this, but here we go, “The hurricane was downgraded to a tropical storm somewhere over Alabama and it got us. It got us good.” I didn’t sleep a wink. Right before bed I got the alert that said it was headed our way. Now mind you, I knew it made landfall in New Orleans, but New Orleans is a good eight hours from us so I wasn’t too worried. Then I started to get weather alerts from DeKalb County all, “Y’all, some shit fittin’ to go down tonight. Pull ya umbrellas out ya tables, pick the pinecones up out ya yard, and remember to vote. The election is six days away!” They also “closed” school, but not really because we are still going virtually on account of the Covid, but essentially they said don’t worry if you can’t log on in case you lose power “cause you will probably lose power.” Seems to be some infrastructure problems they could be working on, rather than sending me salty texts at midnight, but whateves.

So early yesterday morning, right around the time I was falling into a good sleep, Lady Winifred Beesly of Atlanta started up on her barking at random noises she heard, only it wasn’t so random. It was pinecones hitting the roof and the windows at speeds no pinecone should travel. Then the creaking of the pines started. I don’t know if you have ever watched a pine tree sway in downgraded hurricane winds, but Imma tell you it’s spooky.

Pine trees are so tall, and their roots are so far into the ground, that they are flexible trees by nature. But that doesn’t stop you from looking out your window, watching the swaying trees, wondering if you would be safer if you woke up the whole family at three am and herded them into the guest room in the basement.

The good news is we made it through the night unscathed. Relatively. The street looks like it vomited pine needles, the plants are all a little wonky, and our old windows took a beating, but the worst part was when the doorbell rang at 8:45 am and our neighbor Dale was standing at the carport with Sir Duke Motherfucking Barkington of Charlotte on a leash. What?! How did that happen?

Turns out the wind was so strong, it knocked open our wooden gate. It didn’t unlatch, just opened it up wide enough for a petite standard poodle, who hates me, to slip out undetected and romp through the neighborhood until Dale and Cookie came outside and found him running around the empty lot by their house. “Looking like he was chasing butterflies.” Yeah, that fucking checks out.

Listen, it’s been a week. And I need these storms to be over and I need this damn election to be over and I need to incorporate more gin into my life.

Hope you are all unscathed these days.

M.

Things are Getting Stranger

We finished season one of “Stranger Things” with Jackson last week and have moved on to season two, but we can only watch it during the day because he likes it, but also thinks it’s creepy. Sure, I feel that flow. So it’s been slow going, but he has developed a little obsession with Hopper, which makes sense seeing as Jackson loves the law. Police Chief Jim Hopper is his new favorite, but “Stranger Things” isn’t new at our house.

Way back in 2018, Jerimiah and I watched the first season with my mom when she was visiting. She also loved the show, and had asked to wait to watch the next season with her until she came back again. Well we forgot about it the last time she was here, so we’ve been stuck in this season one standoff for ages now. Back then Jackson was too scared to watch it BUT he had a little crush on a girl who liked the show and when he asked her what she thought he should be for Halloween that year, she said “Eleven” from “Stranger Things.” So this happened…

Yeah, that’s all of us dressed up for Trunk-or-Treat at Jackson’s school that year to impress a girl he never got the guts to “ask out.” Ho hum.

We were a big hit, but I did have to explain the Eggo connection to him because again, he’d NEVER watched the show.

Fast forward to 2020 and he’s like, “Ohhh, now I get the Eggos!”

Cool.

Anyway, I wanted to be Marv, Harry, and Kevin from “Home Alone” this year. But then Covid happened and well, it’s not like we are going trick-or-treating anyway, so I let him do what he wanted and guess what he wanted?

Yeah, that’s Chief Hopper with a (fake) cigarette dangling from his mouth while he decides if he’s gonna crack open another beer or get to work. “Mornings are for coffee and contemplation” my 12-year-old has taken a liking to saying, “Coffee and contemplation.”

So there you have it. The Halloween costume has been created, once again, and he was headed to being all dressed up and nowhere to go. That is until we got a great idea! But this is a long post and my fingers are all burned to shit from ironing patches on shirts and coats and what not, so I’ll tell you about that another time. For now, enjoy some more pics of Chief Hopper.

M.

Bone Thugs

Bone bone bone bone, bone, bone, bone, bone, bone, tell me whatcha gonna do, when you need some new china, what’s the difference between bone and porcelain, who will judge you if you ain’t got either? Tell me… okay, it only works if you know the song “Tha Crossroads” by Bone Thugs-N-Harmony so if not please listen to that and then come back here so we can talk about how I need, nay want, some family heirloom china but didn’t come from a family that could afford family heirloom china so now I have to buy my own and I’ve been living deep down in a rabbit hole of the differences in china and did you know bone china is actually made of bone?

Are you back? Did you listen to Bone Thugs? Are we on the same page now?

Bone china is only legit if it is made from approximately 30% cow bone ash. So yeah. If you’re family has heirloom china and it’s bone china it’s straight up made from the dead bodies of cows. Also, aren’t you a vegetarian, that must be weird for you. Also, real bone china, like the real deal stuff, the old stuff, probably had a little human bone mixed in there. Man, could you be so lucky?

To be fair Josiah Spode the Second (yeah, that’s a person) developed the six parts bone ash, four parts china stone, three-and-a-half parts clay (or was it his dead Uncle Clay?) recipe back yonder in the 1800’s. And for some reason today, in 2020, I want, nay NEED, a set of it. Probably because pandemic.

Now I don’t want the kind of bone china I can get from a trip to the Macy’s at Lenox Square, both because I try to stay away from Buckhead and because I want vintage shit. So it’s a tad harder.

I’ve been perusing Craigslist and people want a lot of money for their family heirloom china. Like Jerimiah was all, “Both the car and truck are getting new tires,” and I threw one of my $16 Fiestaware salad plates against the wall and screamed, “That’s my bone china money, bitch!”

I might have a problem when it comes to dinnerware.

I emailed this woman on Craigslist about a Fiesta platter the other day. She had three for sale for $75 (steal of a deal!) but I already have one of the platters so I only needed two and she was all, “I’m only selling as a set.” So I online stalked her social media accounts to see how much of a bitch she really is, like is she a Trump supporter, and she isn’t so I didn’t make a separate Craigslist post titled “bitch woman who won’t piece out her Fiestaware platter collection.” Look, IDGAF. You don’t jack around with Fiestaware and it’s not even BONE.

Do you see where I am? Like, mentally and emotionally? Do you see it? Is it clear? Is it a little translucent? Does it have a 24-karat gold edge? Is it scalloped? That’s where I am.

Send help.

M.

Voter Suppression: A Stacey Abrams Fantasy

I live with Stacey Abrams. Well, I don’t technically “live” with Stacey Abrams. Man, that would be sweet. To be Stacey Abrams’ roommate. Or BFF. Or wife. Whatever, I’d take any of the above. Anyway, I live in DeKalb County, Georgia and I’m always on the lookout for her. Down at the Corner Cup, or over yonder at the Target. I keep waiting to bump into her so I can scream, “OH MY GOODNESS, YOU’RE STACEY ABRAMS!” Then in my mind, we’d sort of run toward each other and embrace. Except, Covid, so we’d probably just awkwardly stand there and she’d be all, “Hi, nice to meet you,” then I’d run here and tell you all about it.

I’m off topic.

Voter suppression is real and rampant. Yes here in Georgia, but in other places too. Like: Mississippi, Missouri, and Oklahoma which are the three states that require you to notarize your absentee ballot.

You may not know, but a couple of months ago I became a Notary Public. I did it for one reason: My husband consistently needs a Notary for his work and we have one friend who does it and we were probably running her nuts (even though we were keeping her in a steady supply of wine) and so he suggested I just become one so I can sign his work “shit.” Don’t worry, it’s totes legal. It would be illegal for me to notarize like, his will, or something else personal, but if he is signing on behalf of a company, I can notarize it for him.

That’s all to tell you that I took the oath at the DeKalb County Courthouse to do all the things and then was automatically signed up to receive these weird newsletters from the “Notary of America” or some shit like that. I promise we are getting to the point. It’s about to come full circle. Wait for it… wait for it…

Yesterday I got once such newsletter that was to help us notaries when it comes to notarizing ballots. Of which is required in those three states and I was like, well sonofabitch, that seems like voter suppression, ya dig?

I think Stacey would agree. She’d tell me I was correct over a glass of wine on our back porch, as our mini poodles ran around chasing a squirrel and I would laugh and say, “I know, honey. You’re so smart. Why don’t we go into the bedroom and…” Hold up, my husband just came into my office and he has something important to tell me.

Okay, I’m back and it wasn’t important enough to take me from a Stacey Abrams fantasy, and honestly he should be ashamed of himself.

Anyway, notarizing a ballot is serious business, according to the notary newsletter. First, you can’t charge anyone to do it. It is just part of your public service. We took an oath, remember? To protect and serve. Oh, no wait, just to serve. Anyway, it also talked logistics, all about checking ID’s, how to tell the real ones from the fake ones, where to find your state’s laws, etc, etc. Boring shit. But! Important shit.

No one, and I mean NO ONE, should need to get their damn absentee ballot notarized. That simply puts a barrier in place for people. Plus, what if you don’t even know? And do you even know a Notary? Right now pick two notaries you know, in your state, one to do it and then one to be a back up if the other can’t. Got them? No, I didn’t think so.

Hmpf.

I’d love to talk more about this but I think Imma head over to the courthouse to turn in my absentee ballot today. I’ve heard, if you linger around the absentee ballot boxes long enough Stacey Abrams just sort of appears, kind of like the Tooth Fairy. I gotta go put some make up on.

Vote. However you can, Honey.

M.

Fri-Yay?

I love Fridays when I don’t have a million things to do. But on Fridays before say, my son’s pool party for his birthday in the middle of a global pandemic where he desires very particular cupcake toppers and there is a 40% chance of rain and I need to order enough pizzas to feed all the kids and how many kids are actually gonna show up anyway and is this even safe I mean chlorine kills germs but not when a kid sneezes into my face and did I order the right color frosting and what about that kid with a gluten allergy, well those Fridays aren’t my absolute favorites.

We actually didn’t think we’d be able to have a party to celebrate Jackson turning 12 this year and I was okay with it, but it happens that we go to a pool and we met a lot of new friends at the pool this summer who also belong there and Jackson asked if he could have a pool party this year with those friends. And since our pools down here are open until the end of the month, and Jackson’s October 1st birthday doesn’t normally lend itself to a pool party, and because of the aforementioned global pandemic I said sure thing, kid! But then I remembered I’d have to plan it.

Bleh.

I used to go all out for his birthdays. In a “rent an old-timey fire truck to deliver pizza to an outdoor venue decorated in replicas of burning building and kids equipped with “hoses” to put the fires out” kinda way. For sure. Birthday number five. But I’ve tampered down my birthday enthusiasm over the years, between dying paper, drawing pirate maps on them, then setting fire to the edges to look “realistic” to ordering pizza and Sams Club cupcakes to throw on a freshly Lysoled table by the pool. Maybe I haven’t tampered down anything, maybe the world did all the tampering down. Either way, here we are.

So yeah. Normally Fridays are good. But this one has some work to do.

This Gal Is Fucked, y’all.

I mean, TGIF, y’all!

M.

500 Posts!

We are pausing for a celebration today: This is my 500th blog post. So I guess if you’re still reading, and some of you are, thank you! And look at you! You have nothing better going on in your life?! Really? Are you just shirking responsibility to be here? I mean, I don’t mind if you are, I do it ALL the time. Just this weekend I had about 19 chapters to read, so I went to the pool and to Target. Cause when I have a lot to do I find other shit to do instead.

Off topic.

Five hundred posts!

Now listen, they haven’t all been good. Matter of fact, I’d say the fast majority of them are me just complaining about one thing or another. But that’s the beauty of having your own blog, you can say whatever you want!

I’ve been writing every day this year, this horrific, bitch of a year. And it’s been great. Something I never thought I’d be able to pull off. Unfortunately it hasn’t really upped my craft, but, and this is a big BUT, it has kept me regular. Like when you take probiotics.

I’m veering off again.

I love y’all, those of you who have been around awhile and our new friends. You make this community fun, my days have some kind of meaning, and hey, who else would I want to talk about probiotics and regularity with?! No one else.

Thanks.

Keep being you, and I’ll keep being me.

M.

Remains

The dogs have been swapping a bone in the backyard. We noticed it the other night. Duke refused to come inside when called for dinner. Jerimiah walked into the backyard and saw something laying beneath Duke so he approached and Duke growled. Jerimiah was all, “The fuck, man?” And he low-growled another response, so he let him be.

We eyeballed him out the kitchen window and noticed him gnawing away. They dogs had been digging that morning, up until the point when Jerimiah and Jackson flipped the outside table upside down on the hole to keep them out until we fill it.

“I think they found a bone when they were digging,” Jerimiah said, sipping his tea.

“Uhhh, what?” I inquired, like totally bewildered he’d let him chew on something he dug up.

“It’s just a bone,” he said with a laugh.

“You mean remains,” I corrected.

“Six of one…” he walked off.

Last night the remains made it to the living room rug when Winnie ran in all wild-eyed, and proud of what she’d found. I squealed. Jerimiah laughed. Winnie pranced around in a big display. Duke sulked.

This house has gone mad.

Totally fucking mad.

Stay away.

M.

What is Today?

No, really. What day is it? I have no idea anymore. I have been off since sometime the last week of August. I actually wrote the wrong dates in my calendar. I missed a Zoom class discussion because of it. I missed a phone call. I almost missed a doctor’s appointment. Thank goodness I don’t have a small child or a plant to keep alive these days, because I’d be pretty bummed about now. So would they.

Listen, I don’t want this to turn into another husband appreciation post, but not only has he been cooking dinner all week, and keeping up with the laundry while I complain about pain and try to get us out of social engagements, he’s also been letting me fall into him while I cry. Listening to me when I complain about why life is the way it is. Holding me up, telling me that it’s hard now, but that I am being the best version I can be of myself right now, in this moment. Man, I wish I could believe him.

Patsy told me this week I need to cut myself some slack. She tells me that all the time, but I never can figure out how to do it. I’d say I’m working on it, but let’s be honesty, I’m not. It’s the last thing I’m doing right now.

Oh, it’s Wednesday. Jackson’s day off school. Wednesday. Middle of the week. I think I can make it.

Hope you are well.

M.