Only Mr. Pansy

Only Mr. Pansy

Something Pansy Found 2 Lifetimes Ago

Let me not pray to be sheltered from dangers, But to be fearless in facing them.
Let me not beg for the stilling of my pain,
But for the heart to conquer it.
Let me not look for allies in life's battlefield,
But to my own strength.
Let me not crave in anxious fear to be saved,
But hope for the patience to win my freedom.
Grant me that I may not be a coward,
Feeling your mercy in my success alone,
But let me find the grasp of your hand in my failure.

Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941)

Thursday, February 25, 2010

Salvation? Hell? Oh, HellaYes! HELL!! PLEASE!!

It was Pansy’s Dream Come True. Her household appliances had a meeting and conspired to create a flood, thereby ruining the vinyl flooring in the kitchen/laundry/half bath areas….but no damage to anything else. Pansy has long wanted to replace that vinyl flooring and get the subfloor squeaking repaired, but could only afford to do so via her homeowner’s insurance deductible route. Good appliances! Good, good appliances! [Promises to sneak them some treats but stoopid appliances don’t know there is no such thing as a “treat” for an appliance. Double Win for Pansy!]

When will Pansy learn to beware what she wishes for? The Pansys are successfully pursuing their unbroken record of being magnets to the worst sorts of "worker people". This event would be no exception. We had a washing machine flood a couple months ago. The washing machine was not broken, the water simply hit a root clog in the pipes outside, did a U-turn and came back into the house through the 1/2 bath toilet. Not sewage water; just a nice big load of hot, soapy wash water to give the vinyl flooring one last scrubbing.

We have no explanation for why we put up with the Bizzaro Flooring Dude (BFD) and everyone we know (because they weren't caught in the vortex of crazy) said we should have marched down to the flooring store and demanded their "A" team within the first day. But, nooooo. We got F Troop’s leader. A glacier moves faster than he did. TEN GODDAMN (yes, I said DAMN) DAYS to do a 3-day job.

BFD is a 56 year old who “got with my Lord when I was 28" guy who works with his tinny, static-riddled radio on full blast, set to a Christian Soft Rock station, he works alone, evangelizing the whole fucking damn (yes, I said DAMN) time; and mumbled a lot. To himself? God? I don’t know. But he didn’t mumble so low that I couldn't hear him as he shared: he and his buddies burglarized and vandalized many schools in this area and he named them....all 2 dozen plus. But he's glad he got caught before they moved on to stores. He dropped out of high school. He joined the Marines, but got out after 3 years (even Pansy knows something is wrong with THAT math); he just had his 4-year sober anniversary (I guess the Lord wasn't all THAT close with him for a number of the earlier years); he's divorced (gee, really?); his grown son is currently living with him "trying out California over Arkansas"; it's lonely in his apartment; "is that a surround sound system you have there?"; "where is your Harley?" (from a photo on the refrigerator); he brought in a piece of paper with ink blots on it for us to "stare at the four dots and then at a blank wall and what do you see?" I refused to do it but Nice Guy Mr. Pansy did and of course it's the classic "Jesus" portrait. Ho the fuck hum, WHAT a surprise! BFD was practically peeing his pants in anticipation of our imminent salvation upon viewing this amazing magical piece of paper. Which reminds me, he also peed 40 times a day and each time he peed he would make a mark on a Post-It while he tried to discuss his fucking damn (yes, I said DAMN) prostate with me! Which HE pronounced “prostrate” and I am so proud to know that his kidneys just don’t hold like they used to. [screech] He tells me my daughter no way looks 28 years old; my husband seems to have a mellow vibe (oh, he changed THAT tune very soon); I don't look old enough to have children that old; blah/blah/blechhh.

And I know all this and so much more about BFD??? Because the Bible, I mean, HE told me so! Aaaarrggghh! I begged God to PLEASE save me. From this jerk. We googled him up and waddayaknow......he is listed under "felonspy/dot/com”. I am thinking that to make THAT list involves more than mere misdemeanors. Plus, Cubbie Darling AND his Combover hated BFD with a vehement violent deep-abiding passion. Not a good sign at all! I made sure I was on the phone with someone at all times; the doors and curtains were kept wide open; even the garage door was open so that I could at least try to make a run for it to the street where he would catch me and end my life in the gutter. Actually, I was not too worried. I take comfort in knowing that he would have asked Jesus to bless me as he killed me.

Every day he would finally show up around 10:30 with his vanilla latte grande cappuccino mocha espresso cafe au lait half-decaf/half-nonfat sweetened with Splenda coffee from the corner gas station. He would then spend hours doing nothing; he left for hours on end at random times; and, of course, he hung around way too much on our time at night, exhausting us all half to death with just trying to breathe calmly while he putzed around. I am pretty certain he hoped we’d turn into good Christians and ask him to have dinner with us. I would sooner throw the food into the garbage disposer. Oh, yeh. He had his work cut out for him when it came to saving US.

The Very Worst of all this? The BFD actually did a beautiful job on the actual flooring installation! Really. Oh, he screwed the ever-lovin fucking holy crap out of all the details. But the floor and the vinyl came out PERFECT. Which only shows how incredibly obsessive/compulsive he is. He did such a beautiful, meticulous job of installing the plywood underlayment that the animals thought he was done and promptly reclaimed their territory. The pomeranian peed by the dishwasher; the outdoor cat pooped by the oven, the indoor cat looked at the other two animals with utter disgust as he carried around mouthfuls of food and dribbled them everywhere, creating greasy stains. I don't know art, but I know what I like and this was "performance art" at its most basic, profound, in yo’ face muthafucka flooring guy level. I praised the pets and gave them extra treats.

BFD molested my brand new dark and handsome dishwasher, Eduardo. It took hours of expensive therapy to get Eduardo back to his old virginal self. BFD beheaded the dryer vent. We are still waiting for the surgeon to come out and tell us the operation was successful. BFD “didn’t like” how each doorway transition had been done before and butchered them into oblivion. The coup de grace? Mr. FelonSpy ALSO “didn’t like” how our front door worked and dismantled the LOCK and doorknob…..destroying the integrity of the fucking door frame in the process. Even the 3-legged cat can knock that door in now, with his remaining paw behind his back. Ooh, THAT recorded call to the flooring company will be used to convict Pansy The Lipstick Wearing Pit Bull because we are seriously wondering which will happen first:

Will the flooring details be repaired/completed or will I be taken into custody as a person of interest in a missing flooring man case? “Oh we found him .... floating down the Sacramento River, with a 4 ft piece of flooring shoved up his ass.”

I am quite certain that BFD spent 90% of his time here praying to Jesus in 5 minute intervals:

“Please, Jesus. Make the demon voices go away for even just 5 minutes. So that I won’t have to listen to them telling me to kill that woman over there.” He’d get his 5 minutes and then have to pray all over again. I would not be surprised if he showed up late and left at random times because of his prior commitments to AA meetings; his parole officer; drug tests; tent revivals, shock treatments, etc. He is undoubtedly struggling mightily just to get through each 5 minutes of every day and night. And you know what? I DON'T FUCKING CARE! ~sob~

Of course, what HE doesn’t know is that while he was praying to Jesus? Pansy was also praying. To God:

“Please, God. Keep my hands busy for 5 more minutes. So that I won’t grab those scissors that are Right Here and run screaming into the kitchen and stab that man over and over and over again.” I’d get my 5 minutes and then have to pray all over again.

But God trumps Jesus (being His Father and all). So God granted MY prayers, sent Jesus to His room without The Last Supper and those demons that talk to BFD? God granted BFD half his prayers: BFD still has to listen to the demons but now they sing to him. They sing every horrible head-banging, heavy metal, sinful rock and roll song PLUS filthy rap lyrics thrown in for good measure. Because I had to listen to the blaring Christian Soft Rock music for 10 fucking damn (yes, I said DAMN) days!

[note to self: remember this rant when I get held to account for my personal Tote Board of Reasons I Should Go To Hell.]

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Crossing The Line In The Sand

It happened so suddenly. And unexpectedly. At first I was so amazed I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I have never had very high hopes of being able to go through this rite of passage. I experimented. Stand up. Yes. Sit down. Yep. Twist left; twist right. Yes and yes. Why me? Why now?

What is Pansy talking about? Well, she went international. Actually, it was more like intercontinental. Hmm...not quite the right word. In-Country? Too military sounding. Ahh, of course! IN-CONTINENT. Oh. My. God. Pansy would not kid about THAT. Because she was majorly pissed off. Figuratively and Literally.

I decided it had to be that new blood pressure drug. But I checked with my doctors to explore any other possible explanation. They ran a few lab tests. Negative on any UTI issues. Good. Still, they mocked Pansy's self-diagnosis. But I knew I was right. Because when that drug dosage was cut back (due to side effects not self-diagnosis), Pansy got her groove back. Stoopid do-NOT-know-it-all doctors.

The new drug's major side effects are: dry mouth; constipation. Ha! How about Drier Than The Sahara Desert? Even my snot was turned into dry flakes from nostril constipation. All my mucous membrane tissues went d-r-y. Speaking of tissues, I went through rolls of toilet tissue like no woman ever has before. Because I was drinking excessive quantities of liquids, trying desperately, futilely, to overcome a drug-induced systemic drought. And when you overfill the tub, the waters will flow. Every few minutes. Around the clock. For any damn reason and for no dam reason.

I could only laugh about this (oops, there goes another wet pair of panties) since crying (dry eyes, ya know) was not a viable option. Everything was very dry, except the panties, sofa, chairs, bed, Mr. Pansy, the puppy, the pussy, etc., and "irritated". Especially my mood if anyone thought I was going to allow this to be my future NOW. Hell, the doctor actually said "most women your age are already in diapers." He is just about well enough to be released from the ICU because Pansy is NOT "most women" and never will be.

So....beware! You, too, could become in-continent. With no warning. Just pray you have a drug you can blame for it. On the other hand, I don't know many people who can mark their calendars with such conviction as to the exact day their personal waters involuntarily parted. Mine was January 22. I am petitioning Congress to wipe that date forevermore from all calendars. Unless they will make it a 3-day National Piss Your Panties Holiday.

[Suddenly remembers: some people will PAY for that "treat". Job Opportunity! See? A "golden" lining is possible even for rain clouds.]