"He may be black, but I'm..."

I feel positively spoiled.  I just found "Varmit" my beloved Baby Girl, under my computer chair (it's a folding wooden one).  She's grooming, looking so cute in her black spots (she's the smaller, spotted brown tabby). 

Torbie's holding down the loveseat, in her usual spot.  She likes to watch me work on the computer without getting "too" close. 

I feel very spoiled, surrounded by beautiful tabby girls. 

So, the last couple days.  This might not be sequential but you'll get the idea. 

We worked yesterday, it was a really long day.  We went to the warehouse and bought soda (I can transport about 6 cases at a time on paratransit, so we had to make two trips).  Long day. 

They are demolishing all the concrete in front of the building.  After we got the sodas stocked we came out to find we had literally nowhere to wait on our ride. 

I have problems getting near traffic.  God is behind every Bible Handout because I'd rather lie on a mound of fire ants.  I hate getting near traffic since Ron's accident, and they drive like maniacs on the road in front of work.  Not fun. 

Ron thought it was "fun" to tease me by pretending to walk toward the street.  I almost had a panic attack.  He doesn't realize it's a lot more serious - it's not funny.  Anyway. 

While talking, we discussed a wierd man.  He likes to sit in the front passenger seat of the cab, and the two times we rode with him he was picked up first, and did that.  Fine.  I don't like the backseat, but I don't mind.   First come, first served. 

I did find it objectionable when the gun reached back and started fondling Ron's hand and leg.  Both times.  I don't care if you did know him, 40 years ago, at the school for the blind.  It's not appropriate to do that, especially when the person is telling you to stop.  I find it very wierd and creepy.   He's not slow, I could understand that - but something in his head says this is fine. 

Wierd. 

So, Ron said "Don't worry about me.  He may be a black man, but I'm a n*gg*r!"  I died laughing.  It's true.  Ron "came up" in a notorious ghetto in Houston (not the one where we work).    He can certainly go ghetto on the man if needed.

I think Ron's worried about me acting.  My nickname on Ham Radio was "Heather the Hatchet".  I think Ron's afraid I'll "Get out the hatchet" so to speak. 

While we were at work, Ron mentioned the phrase "Crazy b*itch" a few times.  Not in regard to me, just in general.  I laughed and told him that is a song.  "What?" 

Now he wants to hear it.  I have it loaded on Youtube when he's ready.  He just woke up, cold and very morose.  I think it's a metabolism thing - I wake up cold, from naps, occasionally.  The thermostat is fine. 

Speaking of morose, I am a little expectant.  While doing research on #19, the party house renters, I found out the owner is selling the house to two older ladies with spanish names.  The home only has 3 bedrooms, and 3 people live there (two, I assume, share a room so that leaves one spare).  Two older ladies, different last names, are buying the house.  One has an elderly homestead exemption. 

I hope (pray) the old ladies move in and evict the party machine.  I worry they bought the house for the party machine. 

I do know the machine was on, loud, and active last night.  I hope because they are being evicted, but I do have some worry they're staying. 

Can I do anything, no?  I'm turning it over to God.  One way or another He will deal with it. 

I'm just a little tired of hearing loud Mexican Polkas, a couple times a week.  They do the ghetto think and turn on the car stereo, leave the car door open, and the front door.  Then they listen to the loud music I can hear 2 blocks away.  It's rude, and drags down the whole neighborhood.  No one else does this, ever. 

Well, #2, and #6, a couple times a year.  I do hope they get some empathy for the rest of us, having to endure the party machine, too. 

Can I fix it?  No.  I can turn it over to God, and most importantly, stop letting it bother me.  It could be worse. 

I do know #6 has been going over to talk to them.  He has 3 small children who need their sleep. 

I managed to sleep pretty well in spite of everything.  I woke up with a little bit of a headache, I took some generic headache pills. 
I forget why I didn't take a shower, just a birdbath at the sink.  I think I was pretty depressed until the caffeine kicked in, then I got manic. 

OH!  I forgot to set my alarm! 

I overslept, I had time for God, or a shower.  I picked God after I freshened up.  I did my God time. 

My hair was fine for Walmart.  I wore my jeans and a t-shirt. 

I needed various things: Scoop Away (the name brand is way better than the cheap generic I had used).  I got the 38 pound.  Ron almost had a heart attack when I picked it up, out of the vehicle, and walked up the driveway today.  Worm medicine.  I got a big bottle.  Using a syringe, I give them a teaspoon each at dose time.  Doable.  Cat treats for Ron. 

I got a few snacks and a desperate needed female supply.  I was almost out, for that thing I do get the name brand.  I got some TP, they changed it up but the new brand is better, so even though they give me less I won't use it up as fast. 

Ron got cheetos, cat treats. 

I got decaf tea, and some crackers for work.  I don't mind spending $6 of my own money because I do eat and drink some merchandise. 

Now I have 3 new choices.  They were out of the peanut butter on cheese, which says to me, I need to get it because they love it. 

I found a cute, purple, men's tshirt.  I got it.  They're a lot more modest than the "show my breasts" women's tshirts.  I bend over while working.  I need to keep them covered.  Manufacturers don't get that!  So I'm stuck getting my work-tees in the Men's section. 

Walmart had a sale on the Nighthawk dinners.  They are a really nice chopped steak patty with some sides.  The patty is about 5 ounces or bigger, and good.  I got a couple for me (Ron said no). 

I got a pint of peanut butter chocolate ice cream, which I ate later.  I took all my meds with it. 

Checkout time and we're off.  The first driver wasn't for us, I teased him "You lucked out!"

The second driver is one I really like, but she's leaving, curse it.  She is going into a "caring" profession.  She'll do great.  She grew up in the ghetto and looks a little "scary" with her tats, but she has a nice heart. 

Yay!  Home!  I didn't want to take chances with my sleep, I napped as long as I could once I put everything away.  Well, I ate the ice cream first. 

I had a good nap, a couple hours, so God forbid we hear the party machine tonight I've at least got a little in the tank.