At what point do I start worrying about HIS Alzheimer’s?


Hubby: blahblahdrunkenblah… “… As soon as you’re done making your depression coffee.”

Me: “This is for your mum and I drink it too! Every swede knows how to make swill into dark roast coffee!!”

Hubby: “it’ll be to strong for her!”

Drunken-me: ” then she can water! She’s not THAT feeble.”

Silence. A walk to the porch. I finish his mum duties. I join upon the porch. Laughter, conversation, video-sharing. Only 30 seconds later… So is my life.


perhaps I need a new start.


I really want to change up my catchphrase.  In place of, “dire straits never looked so lovely,” I was thinking, “all chicks counted, awaiting the hatching” or “a series of unbaked cookies.”

However, the former sounds like a lovely feministy blog filled with ideas and the softer side of mandates.  a call to action.  a gathering of petitions.  an undertaking better left to my younger, less hopeful, more angry years.

And, the latter…  well, the latter suggests a place to find raw sweet recipes instead of the banality of what is essentially my dear-diarying.  I fear readers that know me and my pay-the-bills jobs would equate such a phrase with food posts whereas it is me simply alluding to Dorothy Parker’s witting of James Thurber’s illustrations and how I perceive my whitterings to be.

The point is, I haven’t felt to be in dire straights since I took a lengthy-upon-lengthier hiatus from writing on this [I guess we can call it, “a] blog. [“]

I wish I had a hammock and another day off today.


Waking up to perfectly fair weather.  The sun is shining.  The blue sky is gently interrupted by little fluffballs of clouds.  The air smells a recent rain. [apparently it DID rain.  A GOOD AMOUNT!  WHILST I WAS SLEEPING!!!! *arg*]  I get to wear my stripy light-sweater with shorts and argyle socks combo and feel none-the-selfaware for it. [[SMILES!]]

This is fall weather in the central valley.

Perfect “whip smart” listening weather…  and “dance song ’97” too.

I can most certainly get behind this.

can’t you hear that boom da boom boom boom da boom boom bass?


The porch of my house, which seems quiet enough for feral cats and black widows to do their nesting thing, is approximately 15ft from a busier than naught city street, and two houses down from the semaphore of said-street and a main artery of a street connecting “the Grid” of Sacramento to the less savvy “South Sacramento.”  Souped up cars are constantly stuck at the light near or in front of my house making their music choices known to the neighbourhood.  If I didn’t know any better, I would assume a train was passing nearby.

Today, someone just drove by blasting “Super Bass” by Nicki Minaj.  I find this to be utterly charming.

1. It is a song I like by her.  …before she went on her I’m-going-to-take-everyone-of-your-favourite-late80s-through-early-90s-pop-songs-and-sample-it-just-so-that-you’ll-be-excited-to-hear-the-original-but-find-my-rap-instead bender.

2. It is a song I recognise.

3. It isn’t quite a negative song for a neighbourhood that really doesn’t need to hear negative songs.  [We’re a turning-around hood.]

4. It didn’t scare the cats despite said-song being my cleaning/the vaccuum monster is coming out anthem.

5. It made me smile.




I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again:

As much as I would love to be non-judgmental… I am a Swedish Capricorn. And, THIS place is filled with oh so many not-with-a-10-foot-poles.

Choose your battles.


I don’t get opulence. I prefer comfort… just as some prefer minimalism… which would be ideal if I weren’t married to the son of his live-in hoarder of a mum, AND I could part with any well-collected mugs and glassware.

Damn straight YOU’RE calling the plumber.


Who the hell puts all the old food from the fridge clean-out down the residential disposal!? Laundry is backed up. Kitchen sinks are backed up. Dishwasher is backed up. He’s lucky he married a non-violent man cos I’m freaking IRATE! I wouldn’t’ve even put that much shit down an industrial disposal! Aaaaaagggghhhh!

*over it now. But by all means… Let the sentiment resound for this particular situation. #marriedlife #secrets

Oh good.


…I can post from mobile. …and I’m wearing awesome shoes as I do it.






I am not even going to tell you how long this took to piece together.  But you should know, my laptop, my desktop and my mobile do not talk or share with each other, so there was a lot of sending images back and forth through email.  It’s sorta like living in the oldytimey days.

it started with a sandwich quest.


I lost a redbox rental last night.  I HATE losing things.  [I should specify: I hate losing MUNDANE, TRIVIAL, EVERYDAY things like one sock, tomato sharks, reusable cups, packets of seeds, pens…. OH LORDY!  I ABHOR LOSING PENS!!] My husband is the loser; I am the finder.  That came out wrong… My husband is the one that loses things; I am the one that miraculously finds them.  It runs in my genes.  My mum found my dad’s contact on a football field during a night game somewhere between the 20yard line and the endzone whilst they were courting.  My sister found wads of money throughout our childhood.  I found my wedding ring and my great-grandmum’s ring [the stopper… so the wedding band doesn’t fall off] at the bottom of a bucket of buttermilk marinading chicken parts after going through every glove in every trash bag in the dumpster.  I FIND THINGS.

I cannot find this damn dvd.  It is somewhere in the house.  It was last seen in the kitchen.  I have retraced my drunken steps.  It’s not in the vegetable drawer of the fridge.  It is not in the pint-glass cupboard.  It is not in the junk/coffee filter drawer.  It’s not lost between junk mail which piles up on the counter despite my best efforts to get hubby in the habit of immediately recycling said-post.  It is not on the porch.  It is not in the bathroom drawers that generally house a pair of tweezers which were needed to remove the sliver of glass in my foot that I earned by walking outside barefoot trying to find the dvd.  It is not in the shower.  It is not in the first aid kit.  It is not in the linen closet.  It is not in the dirty laundry pile of socks and towels.  It is not in my discarded clothes.  [[damnit!  I just realised that we’ve lost every pair of tweezers.  SHENANIGANS!]] It is not hiding amongst the sheets, quilts, pillows and duvets.  And, of course it is not in nor around the dvd player.

What business I had hiring a film drunk at 3am in a Safeway is beyond me.  I was there to acquire a sandwich and that is all.  What business I had buying a pre-made grocery store sandwich is also beyond me. [[I dolled it up a bit when i got home.  It was GOOD.]] But, I digress.  I was simply supposed to fetch sandwich, get home, eat sandwich, shower and sleep.  There was no time for cinema, let alone ransacking my own house in search of cinematic disc.  There isn’t even time today.  I’m due at work in 20 minutes. Where o where for art thou, The Amazing Spiderman 2!? I’m going to find you.  I’ll make a night of it!  I may even find my husbands wedding rings [which he SOBERLY lost somewhere near his bedside table] [[they’ve been missing for 6 weeks]] [[[INCONCEIVABLE!!!]]]

Come hell or high water [hopefully “high water”…  we’re in a draught] I will find you and then watch you because I’m not about to forego my 1.63$ just to experience this sort of agony without some mindnumbing gratification/entertainment.  Drunk-mattson clearly thought you were worth watching and he’s generally spot on with impulse purchases [fun skivvies, wasabi ginger crisps, cubes of wine [[not box, but CUBE!]].  He also hates losing trivial things, but does so with much more gusto.


UPDATE!!!!! found it…. beneath that damned cube of wine.  *sigh*