Lost in the wilderness

I keep starting posts and then abandoning them.  Things are so crazy, hectic, and depressing here that I can’t even focus enough to finish one little post.  So I’m trying something different.  I noticed that all my posts were confined to specific topics.  Maybe that was the problem.  Maybe right now, my life can’t be confined to one specific topic.  So here.  Sit back while I share a little of my chaotic life with you.

Last week I thought that I was going to finally be able to get a car.  After selling my car earlier this summer to help fund the “save the house” project I started getting very depressed and bitter about the whole situation.  Here I was trying to help my parents and my sister and instead of feeling good about it I just feel like I’ve been beat down and abused.  The Preacher has not done much of anything other than make phone calls to lawyers and look at porn.  He’s not much help these days.  My poor mother has no clue what he’s been up to, and she’s just trying her best to take care of everyone.

We had someone come and look at the house yesterday.  My sister & I agreed not to even tell our parents yet.  We don’t want to get their hopes up.  The woman did love the house though and said she’s going to talk to her husband about it.  So we shall see if she actually comes through and buys the damn place.  I used to love this house, but not anymore.  It’s too big, too hard to clean, too…everything.  If she were to buy it next week and we had to be out in a month that would be fine with me, even though I have no clue where I’d go.

You’re response to my poll was great.  Most of you voted that I go back to New Orleans.  Part of me really wants to do that, especially now that Manwhore has left town.  We all know how that goes though.  He leaves town for a few months and then comes right back like a boomerang.  Oh yeah, he’s living with the Chicago gold-digger again.  I guess I should have started by telling you that I’ve continued to occasionally do website work for him since I moved.  That’s how I know what he’s up to.  After last week though, I’m not going to be doing any more work for him.

His business partner sent me an email a week and a half ago with a very long list of changes that needed to be made to the website and other promotional materials.  I had been waiting on the list for about three weeks.  So once I received it, on a Thursday, I told her that I would work on it on the weekend, which I did.  I spent an entire weekend making all the changes.  Once I was done I sent them the invoice for my work.  He immediately started texting me.  He said that I needed to fix some more stuff and that they would pay me half then and half once it was all done.  Well, first of all I did everything she had on her list.  The only thing that I hadn’t done was the list of additional changes that he gave me that morning.

I told him that once they paid me, in full, I would make the extra changes that he had just given me that morning.  That didn’t go over well.  He went on a texting spree and told me that I was charging them too much, that I was a rip off, that the website looked “crappy.”  That’s funny.  Before he got the invoice they both said that the website was awesome.  In a fit of desperation to get paid, and because he was so rude to me, I put an “Under Construction” page up on the website’s main page.  I also removed everything I had uploaded to Vistaprint for them to order.  That seemed to calm him down and by the end of the day I had my money, he had his website back up, everything was uploaded back to Vistaprint, and everyone was happy and appreciative.

I really don’t like having to be a bitch like that.  It’s just not naturally a part of my personality, but desperate times call for desperate measures.  After all of that I told him that I would not be doing any more work for him.  It’s just too damn stressful.

Now back to where I’ll go if we sell the house.  If Manwhore stays out of my life and hopefully New Orleans, then I would definitely consider moving back there.  The other thing that worries me about moving back there is “the one who shall not be named.”  I’ve kept in touch with him, and even seen him once since I left New Orleans.  I’m just afraid that if I move back there I’ll want to start seeing him again and he won’t want that.  I don’t know if he’s just wanting to be fuck buddies, or friends, or what, and I’m too terrified to ask.  I don’t want to piss him off, or scare him off like I did before.  If it came down to it, I’d rather just be friends with him than not have him in my life at all.

The fear of rejection can be a powerful thing.  How do you tell someone who you have a major crush on them and want to date them without sounding like a goofy teenager?

There’s also the matter of Endymion that I’d have to deal with.  If I moved back there and “the one who shall not be named” turned out to be against dating me, then I know I’d be disappointed, weak, and tempted to go back to seeing Endymion.  I really adore him, but I get the feeling that I would never be able to be his girlfriend.  In the bedroom the age difference disappears, but outside, it’s a different story.

Well, well, well.  I think that’s all I have to say about that.

Oh, back to the car thing.  I picked one out, got financing, and then was supposed to pick it up on Tuesday when the dealership called and said it wasn’t going to happen.  Evidently the odometer on the car had been replaced and therefore the finance company would no longer agree to finance it.  Damn.  That really sucked.  So now I’m back to looking for a car and saving up money, because of course as soon as they told us that, the water got cut off and the power was about to get cut off so my down payment had to go towards bills.  Have I mentioned that I hate this place?  I did?  Sorry.  It’s just that I really hate this house, town and state.

Until next time!

Happy humping!

Living in the Bermuda Triangle of Dating

I think I’ve moved right into the middle of the Bermuda Triangle of the dating world.  So not only is this tiny town one of the most boring and depressing places to live, it also causes one to lose any hope of ever having a decent dating life.  Since I’ve lived here a few specific things have caused me to believe this.

1. The quality of men is well below average, and by “men” I refer to those in an age bracket of 18 to 55 and single (not separated or “it’s complicated”, whatever the hell that means).  I’m sure that for the women who have grown up here or in a 100 mile radius, the “quality” is just fine, but for someone like myself, it’s just not plausible to have a relationship with any of them.  The men here are either extreme rednecks, religious nuts, creepy in a “what are you hiding in your basement?” kind of way, or just your average meth-heads.
2. The other things I’ve noticed is that even when I try to bring one in from out-of-town, the only one’s willing to come here to meet me are from here originally.  That’s a problem because even though they may really like me, once they mention me to their family or friends, they are warned to stay away, and they are never to be heard from again.  Evidently my father’s reputation follows me even in his absence.
3. As I said above, the only men willing to come here are from here originally.  The ones in nearby cities that I’ve talked to seem to disappear before even meeting me.  I’ve had several men who I’ve talked to and thought might pan out into at the very least a promising date, but then they just…disappear.  Normally I wouldn’t find this odd.  It happens a lot in the online dating world, but not to all of them.  Even the ones who were eager to go out with me seem just vanish without a trace, and without reason or explanation.

So my dating efforts have come to a complete halt.  I decided not to waste any more of my time or energy on trying to meet someone here because I doubt very much that I’ll be here for much longer.  My sister and I have decided to give up the fight and just let the house go.  We can’t afford to keep it ourselves, and as usual, the Preacher isn’t helping any.  We gave it our best, but it’s just not going to ever work.  Unless we can sell the house and land within the next sixty days or so, the bank will foreclose and we will have to move out and move on.

Personally I’ll be so happy to get out of this house and this town before it sucks the life and joy completely out of me.  I’ve never lived in a more depressing, corrupt, dismal place.  To outsiders it may look like Mayberry meets Little House on the Prairie, but in all actuality it’s just the entrance to hell guarded over by corrupt, backstabbing, gossiping, hypocritical, right-wing, white-collar drug dealers and murderers.  Sound a little over dramatic?  I’m sure it does.  The truth is usually far worse than fiction though.

Happy humping!

Hiding the welcome mat.

Finally, my parents and little brother have gone back home, two states away, where they belong!  Mom & little brother were here for almost a month and in that time they just about drove my sister and I over the edge into insanity.  Thankfully we survived only slightly more insane than we already were prior to their visit.  I do love my  mother and little brother, but it’s true that “Guests, like fish, begin to smell after three days.” (Benjamin Franklin)  This rings especially true because my little brother seems to have a burping/farting problem.

I understand that it’s difficult for my parents to come back to the house that they built and the town where they lived for so many years, but if it’s so difficult then why come at all?  I’ll tell you why.  Because even though my sister and I are doing everything within our power to help them keep from losing the house while they try to sell it, including my sister trying herself to get financing so that she can buy it, they just don’t trust us.  My father, the Preacher, strategically planned his trip here to pick up my mother and brother, at the first of the month.  He used my birthday as an excuse, but that’s not the real reason.  He wanted to make sure that all the rent we collected from our tenants went toward the mortgage payment.

Just so you know, I’m OCD when it comes to my spreadsheets and Microsoft Money.  I update it daily and try to stay on top of every penny that we earn, spend, and all bills that are due/coming due.  My sister may be the business minded one, but I’m the analytical and practical one.  Together I think we make a pretty damn good team, although our plans don’t always turn out the way we had hoped.  At least we are trying.  Meanwhile the Preacher is sitting on his ass not doing a lot to help out, just waiting, expecting, demanding that she and I make the mortgage payments.  At one point he was ready to just hand the house over to the bank.  That’s what really confuses me.  If he doesn’t even care anymore, then why is he riding our asses nonstop about it?  Control.  It’s all about control I suppose.

I find it difficult to feel sorry for the Preacher, but I do feel for my mom.  I know she has tried her best to rein him in and make him see the light, but he seems to be forever stuck in a deep dark cave of self-pity.  I just pray that she and my little brother don’t have to suffer through all this much longer.  I hope he will get off his ass, get a job, any job or even disability which is what he should be on, and take care of them like he should.

My mother, bless her heart, has good intentions, but she managed to drive us crazy too.  Between her waking my sister up at 2 am, 3 am, and 5 am, to let the dogs out, and her getting up at 6 am to make her decaf coffee and start doing dishes, I thought I was going to have to sedate my sister a few times.  Mom has always had periods of insomnia, and since she was already awake, she thought that 3 am was the perfect time to vacuum and do other household cleaning.  She had no problem going into my sister’s room and vacuuming while sis was trying to sleep.  Sis HATED that, and still does.

I have to hand it to my mom though.  She’s put up with the preacher for many many moons, raised two very interesting daughters, is now raising a rambunctious six-year-old boy, and always manages to keep a smile on her face and love in her heart.  Although not perfect, she is amazing nonetheless.

The funniest thing mom did while she was here was when she found my sister’s bottle of Bahama Mama in the fridge door.  The Preacher is a former/recovering alcoholic, and therefore my parents have not had alcohol in their house in at least twenty-five years.  So one night she was cooking a roast, and found the bottle in the fridge.  She asked if I thought it would be good to put in with the roast, sort of like a marinade I suppose.  I laughed and told her it wasn’t wine, and I refused to let her use it.  (She has a long history of coming up with some interesting, and not so tasty dinner items.)  I guess she didn’t believe me so she opened it up and took a short sniff of it, and then a longer one.  Then she said, “That smells really good.  I guess if I can’t use it I can at least sniff it.”  Then she proceeded to take a very long whiff of it, all the while giggling like a school girl.  LOL

I am realizing that I haven’t written much about my mother, and I will have to rectify that very soon.  She’s so funny and sweet and her innocence just makes even funnier sometimes.  She has brought my sister & I to tears on many occasions laughing at the stuff she says and does.  Don’t worry, she laughs at herself too.  She is great when she laughs really hard.  She turns red, tears come streaming down her face and anyone can see what a beautiful person she really is.

So the welcome mat may be temporarily hidden, but it will be back out eventually and we will welcome them back with open arms.  No matter what, they’re our family and we love them.

Happy humping!

I didn’t see it coming

I told you a while back that my sister met a man the day of the trail ride & crawfish boil.  He’s a cowboy of course, and a good bit older than her.  He was also very funny and flirty.  Just her type.  So a few days later she asked if I would babysit Little Bubba for a while so that she could hang out with him.  It turned out that all they did was go across the road to Dolly’s Cabin and “hang out.”  Of course we all know what that means.

The next night after her “date” we were sitting at the dining room table eating dinner and I asked how her “date” went.  With a big goofy grin on her face she told me that it was “something.”  Something?  I wasn’t sure what that meant so I inquired further.  She told me that he was very large.  She wasn’t talking about his weight.  He’s an average sized guy.  Not bad-looking either.  No, she was talking about something else.  She said he was porn star big.  Therefore, furthermore, he will be called Porn Dick.

She explained that it was the biggest one she’d never seen.  Yes, that’s right.  She said never seen.  Evidently the lights were off when things started getting hot and heavy and then she said what would become a running joke for us.  “It was huge!  I just didn’t see it coming!”

At that point I started laughing and the conversation continued to go further into the gutter full of dick jokes and cum-filled innuendos.  I almost wet my panties I was laughing so hard.

God Hates No One

A few weeks later we were sitting on the front porch one evening talking about a sign that a local church had posted in their front window.  It said “We welcome everyone including HOMOSEXUALS. Come Sunday for explanation.”  Someone had taken a picture of it and posted it on Facebook.  The local gay/lesbian community was not happy with it, and I can’t say that I blame them.  The church in question isn’t known for its tolerance towards people with views that differ from their own.  The tag line on their website says, “Come as you are, but don’t expect to stay that way.”  Unfortunately that should be a positive message, but it’s actually more of a testimony to how judgmental and controlling they are.  It should say, “Come as you are, but if you want to keep coming you’ll have to conform to our views of what a Christian should be (not God’s).”

So while sis and I were sitting on the porch and talking I mentioned that we should start our own church for freaks and rejects.  She was amused and halfheartedly agreed.  I was serious though.  I’m sick of so-called Christians thinking that people have to conform to their beliefs to be saved.  What about God?  Shouldn’t He be the one who we are worried about pleasing and conforming to what He wants us to be?  God loves everyone.  How do these churches expect to get people to come worship with them when all they do is judge and demean anyone who doesn’t meet with their approval?

The worst part was when my sister sent a text to an acquaintance of hers.  He is a member of that very same church, and even teaches several classes there.  The text she sent him asked about the sign.  He said that he did know about the sign, but wasn’t sure what the pastor was going to “explain” on Sunday.  Then came the kicker.  He said, “Personally though, I hate fucking fags.”  Wow.  There’s a shining example of a small town dumb-ass fake Christian right there folks.

Oops.  I started getting a little preachy there didn’t I?  Well, that’s alright.  You know why?  Because while I was waiting on my chicken fingers to be deep-fried at the local gas station/fried food emporium last week, I became an ordained minister online.  It took about five minutes and it’s legal in most states.  So now not only can I do wedding ceremonies, funerals and the like, I can also start my own church if I so choose.  Who knows.  Maybe I will do just that.  The Preacher always did say that he thought I was called into the ministry.  Maybe my ministry will be helping the freaks and rejects, like myself and my sister, have a place to worship freely without fear of judgement from anyone other than God.

Happy humping!

P.S.  My sister drives me crazy in many ways, but I would never trade her for anything.

The Age of Enlightenment – Part 1

The past few weeks have been hectic, stressful, fun, and enlightening in so many ways.  I guess I should start by explaining why I put my blog on lock-down a couple of weeks ago.

It was the Saturday before Memorial Day.  My sister and I were still broke from the disastrous Crawfish Boil.  Because of that we planned on staying home, grilling some dinner for us and our tenants MW and AW, and just enjoying a day of relaxation in the humid Southern heat.

That morning I sat on the porch and wrote my post “Mending Fences with the Preacher’s Daughters.”  When I was done I posted it from my phone because I still have no internet here in the woods.  Instead of posting it using the WordPress app on my phone I decided to just pull up the website on my phone and post it that way.  When I pressed the post button it asked if I wanted to connect my blog to my Facebook account.  I had it set up before to connect to my blog’s FB account, but I guess somehow it disconnected and needed to be redone.  I clicked on the option to connect it to Facebook and didn’t think anything else of it.  I was just relieved to have finally posted something on my blog again.

A couple of hours later I was sitting on the porch with MW, AW, Fallen Angel and Little Bubba.  The grill was hot, the kabobs were cooking, and I was enjoying the first of what I had hoped would be at least a few beers.  Then my phone rang, but I had it on vibrate and missed the call.  My sister’s phone rang immediately after that.  It was Horse Whisperer.  She told my sister that I had posted a link to my latest blog post on my Facebook page…my PERSONAL Facebook page.  As soon as Fallen Angel hung up her phone, I could see the panic in her eyes.  All she said was, “You need to take your blog down…NOW!”  My heart skipped a few beats, thinking maybe the Preacher had found it or something.  She told me what Horse Whisperer said about my Facebook post and then repeated in a very stern tone that I had to take my blog down immediately.  At that moment I began to freak out.  After all the precautions I had taken to remain anonymous, to keep my family in the dark was it really one stupid mistake that was going to bring it all to a crashing halt?  I couldn’t let it end like that!

I ran, literally ran, to the table and grabbed my phone.  I went to the Facebook app on my phone and tried to delete the link/post, but I couldn’t find the option to delete it.  I was in full on panic mode.  MW and AW didn’t understand what was going on, but my sister sort of explained it and they were very sympathetic to my predicament.  After repeatedly trying to delete the post on Facebook, then trying to log into WordPress on my phone and put my blog on lock-down, I couldn’t get anything to work.

I went to open the front door and go inside to get my laptop.  As soon as I got to the door it opened.  My sister was standing there with a steak knife in her hand pointing it at me saying, “Take the blog down now!  Get your laptop, go to McDonald’s, and take it all down, now!”  I know better than to mess with my sister when she’s wielding weapons so I did what she said.  I was going to do it anyway because I was panicking even more than she was, worried that someone we knew may have already seen the link and could be reading it at that very moment.  Picturing our friends, or God forbid, the Preacher, reading my blog with wide-eyes and jaws gaped open was just too much for either of us to handle.

AW offered to go with me to McDonald’s to try to get online and take everything down.  With laptop firmly tucked under my arm, we ran to the truck and sped off.  That five minute drive to town was the longest drive of my life.  The whole way there I couldn’t stop thinking what an idiot I was for making such a stupid, easily avoidable, mistake.

We got there, sat in the truck with the laptop on and I connected to their Wi-Fi.  I managed to get the Facebook post deleted, but just after I did, my battery died.  I then went inside to find an outlet to plug into, but they didn’t have any!  Not a single freaking outlet in the seating area.  How do they expect to offer free Wi-Fi and not have outlets for people to use??  Even the crappy little local burger joint in the Podunk town we used to live in had outlets in the dining room for people to use.  What else could possibly go wrong?

We ran back to the truck and I started brainstorming.  It was a holiday weekend.  Not much was open.  Hotels!  The hotels are open and there is one on the main road that offers free Wi-Fi!  Praise the Lord!  I drove across the highway to the hotel and parked right out front.  AW and I got out and headed into the lobby.  I was a woman on a mission.  I didn’t even turn to look at the person at the front desk when I walked in.  Normally I would be too timid and too worried about getting caught, seeing as how I wasn’t actually a hotel guest, but this time I didn’t give a shit.  I walked past the front desk, past the sitting area, and straight down the hallway until I saw an outlet.

I stopped right there in the hallway, plugged in my laptop, and got connected.  It took all of a minute to find the right place on my WordPress dashboard that gives the option to make a blog private.  I wasted no time in doing so either.  Even after locking it down I had to go back to Facebook to make sure that the post was actually deleted, and also that I didn’t have any messages from irate or shocked friends and/or family.  Thankfully there were no messages.  I also checked my Histats page to see if I had any hits and where they were located.  There weren’t any hits in cities that I recognized so I hoped I had caught it in time.

I kept my blog locked down for a week.  It about drove me crazy.  I have spent the past two years writing on this damn thing and to have it all go to hell in a matter of minutes was very depressing.  It’s my passion, my creative outlet, my therapist, my pride and joy, and it was all but dead and buried.

To keep myself from going completely into a state of depression and to keep my readers from thinking I had personally been wiped off the face of the planet, I sent invitations to a few of my readers who I had email addresses for and who I thought would still want access.  To those of you who did accept my private invitation, I can’t thank you enough for sticking with me during that week of hell.  You will not be forgotten.

I’m also telling you all of this because there may be other “anonymous” bloggers like myself who I want to warn about the pitfalls of connecting your blog to Facebook.  Make sure you are logged into the correct Facebook account before you hit that button!  My phone was logged into my personal FB account and it just assumed that was the account I wanted to connect to.  So consider yourselves warned.

There’s a lot more that’s been going on here on the farm lately, but I’m going to have to save it for part two.  Trust me.  You won’t be disappointed.

Whew! Crisis averted…now back to our usually scheduled “Happy humping!”