Miss Otis Regrets

Over at the Pie, today's topic is regrets, based on this article about the Top 5 things people wish while on their deathbeds.  And no, wishing they weren't on their deathbeds is not one of them.

So June asked us, her Faithful Followers, what would be our biggest regret or wish we had while on our deathbeds.


I've done some really stupid things in my life, made some really stupid choices in my life but ya know what?  There's not too much I regret doing.


Okay, I DO regret bleaching my hair and cutting it to look like Rod Steward during his "Blondes Have More Fun" phase because really, I'm SO not a blonde and it really was an awful look for me but just like all the other questionable choices I've made, it was a learning experience.  


I've done things that even as I was making the decision to do them, I knew it was going to be a train wreck of epic proportions that could only end badly yet I plunged recklessly ahead and yeah, it was as big a train wreck as I had feared.

But do I regret doing those things?  Nope.  Again, I learned from my mistakes (Cowboy boots with shorts?  Really?) and moved forward, a little older, a little wiser (I hope).


While I don't regret the things I've done, there's a few things I regret NOT doing:


I regret not learning to play the piano.  I begged my parents for piano lessons when I was a kid.  BEGGED.  And was denied.  I always wanted to be able to sit down at a piano and play beautiful music. I'd go to people's homes who had pianos and I would sit at the keyboard and literally ache to be able to play.  Yes, I know I could take lessons now but I don't think my arthritic fingers would cooperate.


I regret not taking education more serious and going to college.  I honestly can't recall either of my parents ever discussing the importance of a college education with my sisters and me.  In fact, the only thing my dad ever really said about college was that it was a big waste to spend that kind of money for girls who would only get married and become housewives.  I honestly can't remember anyone, parents, high school counselor, etc, ever talking to me about my future.  To this day, I have no idea what I want to be when I grow up.

I regret not being more assertive.


I regret always feeling not quite pretty enough, smart enough, good enough.

Pity, Party of One Your Table is Ready

Disclaimer:  I'm about to whine and throw myself one big-ass pity party so feel free to move along.  Fair warning.

So Saturday was my birthday.  It was not observed in any particular way although Thing 1 did give me a lovely bouquet of flowers and Thing 1's GF gave me a gift card to California Pizza Kitchen (Hello Thai Crunch salad!).

Oh, and the traditional phone call from each of my sisters doing their best Marilyn Monroe breathy rendition of "Happy Birthday."  These singing phone calls are mandatory and are eagerly awaited.


TheManTheMyth, who had been out of town racing, gets home yesterday afternoon and completely ignores the bouquet on the table.  Takes no notice of it, makes no comment whatsoever.

This morning (Monday), TheManTheMyth's bidness partner comes over and the first thing he says is, "What pretty flowers!  Is it your birthday?  Happy Birthday!"

TheManTheMyth says nothing.

The two of them go into my office to look at some blueprints and I hear Bidness Partner ask TMTMif he did anything special for my birthday.  Dinner? Card?  Flowers?


TheManTheMyth's reply?


"I didn't know it was her birthday."


And that was the sole acknowledgement of my birthday from TheDeadManWalkingTheMyth.

Why do you think they call it "Dope?"

Okay, so I've had this cough for several days now.  I'll go for hours without coughing and then BAM!  That incredibly annoying tickle in the back of my throat starts up and all hell breaks loose.

When I went to bed last night, I was feeling much better and decided to forgo my nightly cough syrup.

And woke up at 2:00am coughing my fool head off.  I coughed and coughed and coughed and I knew this was going to be bad so I got out of bed and headed to the medicine cabinet.

While I was waiting for the OTC cough syrup to take effect, I sat at my computer and played Solitaire while cough cough coughing.

30 minutes later, I'm still coughing and losing at Solitaire and TheManTheMyth comes into the office holding the bottle of the "Good" cough syrup, the stuff with codeine in it and says, "I think you need to take this."

I'm not a "pill person."  If I'm in pain, have cramps or what have you, I take ibuprofen.  Anything that requires a doctor's prescription and advises you against operating any kind of heavy machinery while under the influence of said prescription is the kind of stuff I like to avoid.

In other words, I don't medicate.  When I messed up my foot in an ATV accident a couple of years ago, 

I turned down the doctor's offer of "Good" pain meds.  Which seemed to upset quite a few people who told me that if *I* didn't want those pills, they knew plenty of other people who did and I could have got some extra spending money.

Anyway.

So I'm coughing and hacking and gasping and coughing and trying to tell TMTM that I don't want to take that stuff and he shoves the bottle at me and barks, "DRINK!"

So I do.

The Good News is it worked.  I slept the rest of the night without nary a cough.


The Bad News is, I feel like the Living Dead.  Right now, it's 12:30pm PST and I am OUT OF IT.  Everything sounds like I'm hearing it from under water, my head feels like it weighs 20 lbs and wants to tip over.  There's a weird buzzing noise and I'm all jittery and jangly and this is why I don't take this stuff.


But at least my cough has stopped.

There goes an eye!

Have you ever coughed so hard you almost throw up plus every time you cough your head throbs and your eyes kind of bulge out of their sockets?

I hate it when that happens.  And it's been happening all frickin' day today.  Which was a real treat for the car salesman to witness, let me tell you.

No, I do not have a new car to tell you all about.  Instead you get to read about my hacking up a lung and possibly maybe even an ovary.

As you read previously, I've been a bit under the weather.  Well, my head cold/sinus infection has left the building but left a dry hacking cough with the non-stop tickle in the throat behind to keep me company.  Bastard.

And thanks to this lovely cough, my voice now sounds like a combination of Brenda Vaccaro and Froggy from the Our Gang series.  Which gives you an indication of my age if you know who those people are.

If you don't know who those people are and want to know how my voice sounds, um, let's see.  Oh!  I sound like someone who has been smoking unfiltered Camels since I was 10 along with a pint of bourbon as a chaser.

Oh, I'm a real catch right now.  Why there's not a line of men pounding on my door right now is one of the great Unanswered Miracles.

So.  This weekend is Memorial Weekend and if you're looking to buy a new car, this is the weekend to do it because everyone is offering sale prices and incentives and specials and low, low interest rates and hell, they're practically GIVING these here cars away.

Unless you want a Volkswagon with a diesel engine.  Then you're pretty much paying full price with not-so-low interest rates.  They ain't a-dealin' on those cars AT ALL.  Which I discovered after test driving the 2011 Volkswagon Jetta Sportwagon TDI and "crunching some numbers" with the VDub salesguy.

The VW Jetta Sportwagon TDI wasn't my 1st choice for a new car but TheManTheMyth liked it, the mileage is phenomenal, it would tow a small motorcycle trailer (very important in this family) and it was a nice little car although a bit on the boring sensible and practical side.

But I was willing to overlook the boring in exchange for awesome mileage and towing capabilities.  But not enough to have a monthly payment that would rival my mortgage payment because of a non-5-figure downpayment and lousy interest rates despite my fabulous credit score and yes, I DO have a great credit score (suckers).

So, with TheManTheMyth's blessing (he's out of town), I'm going to hit up a couple of other dealerships tomorrow (including the car I actually want) and see how badly they want (or don't want) my business.

Let's hope that a) I am able to make a great deal on the car I want and 2) my eyes don't pop completely out of my head during a coughing fit.

Wish me luck!

Snotty Turdy Head

I've been a little lax in the posting department lately but I have a good excuse:  A raging sinus infection.

I woke up Saturday morning feeling sort of okay but not really okay and then by early afternoon, my sinuses were pounding and throbbing (sounds just a bit pornographic), my nose was stuffed up yet running and I don't know how a stuff up nose can also be running at the same time and it really seems unfair that it happens like that, my throat was dry and scratchy and I was all, "just shoot me please."

TheManTheMyth and Thing 1 were in Utah and Thing 2 was at the movies with Thing 1's girlfriend so I figured I would just lay down and take a nap when there was a knock at the door.  And lo and behold, my uncle, who I had not seen in at least 10 years, was standing there.

We had a perfectly lovely visit and by the time he left several hours later, my throat was on fire from all the talking and my sinus headache had worsened so I loaded up on cold meds and went to bed.

And speaking of cold meds, the one I had taken said to take every 4 hours and lemme tell you, they weren't kidding.  At 4 hours and 1 minute after taking them, they wore off with a vengeance and I had to drag my sorry ass out of bed and dose myself again.  So how is this the "nighttime cold medicine" I ask you.



Just when I think I'm on the mend, a new symptom shows up.  The latest is that annoying tickling drip in the back of the throat that causes you to start coughing and hacking.  And it almost always kicks in at about 1:37am.


So here it is Wednesday.


I'm still sick.


Bleh.

Just a bunch of more random crap and a rant

Did you know the Rapture is happening tomorrow at 6:00PM?  Yep, it is.  Although I don't know if that's 6:00PM Eastern, Mountain, Central, Pacific or Greenwich Mean time and I don't think the dude who is predicting this here event has clarified that.  On the other hand, I don't pay much attention to the Doomsday Predictors.

Just like those who claim that the End of the World is supposed to take place December 21, 2012 because the Mayan calendar says so.  Or is it the Aztec calendar?  Incan calendar?  Gregorian calendar?  Julian calendar?  Which is why I (mostly) don't believe it because there are several different calendars in use and why would the Mayans (or whoEVER) use the Christian calendar to make their predictions?  Why not the Jewish calendar?  Huh?  Huh?

I'm always a little fascinated by those who predict The End of the World and the people who fall for it believe it.  I don't know about you but if there was an Apocalypse, I really don't think I'd want to be one of the survivors.  One of the most frightening books I ever read was Stephen King's "The Stand."  Because I could so see it happening and I really wouldn't want to live in that world.  

Okay, enough of the happy, uplifiting stuff!  

Yesterday, my little boy, Thing 1, completed his first year of college.  He survived Freshman Year and thinks he earned a B average.  Which means he'll get to continue to sleep in the house instead of out in the bushes, which is what I make the kids do when their grades drop below a B average.  Instills character, doncha know.

Thing 2 still has 16 days school days left, 17 if you count today.  And yes, she's counting down the days until she can get to work on her chosen career, which is "Professional Sleeper."  Seriously, if left unattended, she could easily sleep until 2:00pm.  Pacific Standard Time.  Girl loves her some sleep is what I'm saying.  Almost as much as she loves collecting vintage money.  And that's saying A LOT.

So, my leased car is due to be turned back in within the month.  My final lease payment was made so any time between now and June 20, the car goes back and don't let the door hit you in the ass on your way out, Gas Guzzling Saturn Vue.

That's the Good News.  The Bad News is, TheManTheMyth will not discuss what we're going to do about replacing said car.  This is how conversations about it typically go:


Me:  What are we doing about my car?
TMTM:  We're turning it in.
Me:  But what are we going to do after that?
TMTM:  What's for dinner?
Me:  Am I getting a new car?
TMTM:  This sock has a hole in it.
Me:  Well?
TMTM:  The dog peed on the patio again.
Me:  What about the car?
TMTM:  Woo-hoo, the new Dirt Bike magazine is here!  Hey!  I know that guy!


And at this point, I throw my hands up in defeat and walk away in disgust as TheManTheMyth then asks me, "Did you say something?"


Maybe he's waiting to see if we'll still be here day after tomorrow before he commits to a new car.  Which, seeing as how the Rapture is supposed to take only the True Believers, oh hell yes we'll still be here.


We ain't goin' nowhere.  Maybe not even to the car dealer.

The Florence Foster Jenkins of the Paint Color, Street Name and Concert Piano World

Today, over at the Pie, June asked us, her faithful and devoted readers, what would be our Dream Jobs, if we had enough money to be able to realize our Dream Jobs. 

Quite a few readers wanted to do Good Deeds, helping others in need.  

Yeah, that's not me.

Not that I wouldn't WANT to help the Underprivileged and Abused because I'm all about Helping Others, when I have the time and inclination, but it's NOT my "Dream Job."  

Because who is shallow, selfish and self-centered?  This gal (points to self).

No, seriously, for me, a Dream Job would be the person who comes up with Paint Colors and Street Names.  A Professional Paint-Color-and-Street-Namer.

A Noble Profession.

I have seen the paint chips at the local Lowe's Depot of Home Improvement Stuff and lemme tell you, some of the paint color names are just a bit WTF.  I know *I* could do a much better job of naming paint colors:  "Whispering Dawn" would be a lovely shade of pinkish yellow and NOT a section of the local cemetery.  "Kaylyn's Floor" would be the color of food left to rot under a bed.  Uh, I mean, a greenish-bluish-brownish color.  Yeah.  That's it.

As for street names, nothing that will take up the entire length of an envelope just to get the whole street name on it:  Avenida El Camino Del Rey Mar Vista in the lovely town of Nuestra Senora La Reina de Los Angeles.

Bob Road.  Dead Squirrel Lane.  Scenic Route.  Anchors-A Way.  THESE are good street names.

Primrose Lane is another good one.  Lots of families on Primrose Lane.

Okay, another Dream Job I have is to be a Pianist, playing in department stores, piano bars, concert halls.  Which would be great except for one small, insignificant detail:

I don't know how to play the piano.

I must be one of the very few people in the world who begged to take piano lessons as a kid.  BEGGED.  And pleaded.

And was denied.  Bitter Moment #31 in the List of Kelly's Bitter Moments.  Of which there are many.  I think I'm up into the four figures.

One of the flimsy reasons I was given was that we didn't have a piano.

What EVER.

One of our neighbors had a Baby Grand piano whenever they would play, I would stand in front of their house, listening and wishing I could play like that.

When I'd go to someone's house who had a piano, I would itch to be able to play it.  Sometimes, I'd be indulged and allowed to plink away, picking out tunes by ear.

If I was rich and could indulge my Dream Job fantasy, I'd be like 

Florence Foster Jenkins and say "Screw the critics!" and I'd give piano recitals despite my inability to play.

And there would be no more Bitter Moments.