Thursday, January 27, 2011
I am pleased, and a little surprised, to say I have completed my first ebook, Confessions of a Southern-Fried Yankee, a collection of humorous columns. Should you find yourself tired of watching grass grow or paint dry, feel free to check it out.
My Smashwords author profile is at: www.smashwords.com/profile/view/jcreese
A free sample of my book is available at www.smashwords.com/books/view/38896
Once again, a huge thank you to all of my readers. All three of you. Your readership and support mean the world to me.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Friday, January 21, 2011
Last week the tri-fecta of repairs cursed my home. I must not be living right or something, because two major appliances and my truck all decided to crap the bed within the same seven day stretch. The dishwasher went dead as a hammer in the wee hours one morning. The washing machine followed suit a few days later. What sent me over the edge was my truck. For the sake of time I'll only share the appliance repair guy incident.
At my insistence that we purchase a home warranty, many of my home repairs only require only a deductible be paid to a local repair service. Sounds great on paper. The thing is, the warranty company chooses the repair company, leaving the homeowner at the mercy of Butt-Crack Bubba and a handful of Xanax.
Remember the old "Newhart" show the Bob Newhart did years ago? "This is my brother, Darryl. And my other brother, Darryl." Well, the show's long gone, but I believe one of the Darryl's moved south and found work in my area. Either that or I'm being Punked by Ashton Kutcher.
After assessing the appliances, Darryl approached me with the verdict.
"Well, the good news is I can get the parts. The bad news is they're all the way in Big City (like a whopping 20 miles away)," he said.
Yeah, and? What, it's three days by llama? The way he said it, I figured I'd have to wait a week or something, which is not unusual.
"But...I do have to go down there today so I can pick up the parts." He stopped and scratched his head. "Well...I won't be able to get to it until...how late can I come back tonight?"
"Whenever. Just call me and I'll be sure to be here. It's fine," I told him. This was not complicated. At least, not to me. Later that afternoon he called me back.
"Ms. Writer? Uh...I'm at your house (okay...) and I wanted to know if it's okay to fix the appliances."
"Yes! Get out of your truck and come inside. It's fine!" I opened the front door to wave him in. I stuck my head outside and saw no sign of Darryl's truck or his llama. What the heck? About ten minutes later, another phone call.
"Uh, Ms. Reese? I lied to you," I heard.
"Okay...how's that?" I asked Darryl. Now follow along, people. Every bit of this is true as my love for my secret crush (you know who you are).
"Well, I'm in Dogpatch (next town over) at this lady's house. I worked on her dishwasher this morning. I came to her door a little while ago and told her I had the part for her dishwasher and she thought it was weird since I told her I fixed it this morning. So I took the part in the kitchen and thought it was weird that her dishwasher is a touch panel, not a dial like yours is. So, I went to the wrong house thinking it was yours."
Wow. I can see getting lost, but ending up in the wrong town? He was just at my house that morning! He went on.
"I'm going to pay my water bill, 'cuz it's in town here, and then (sigh) I'll head your way." Obviously the commute was killing him. You just can't get a dependable llama these days.
"Fine. Don't worry about it. I'll be here," I told him. Any more than that may have confused him.
He found his way back and worked on both appliances. He turned on the dishwasher and nothing happened. Awesome. I might also mention that because he couldn't figure out with circuit breaker went to the dishwasher, he took a risk I was very uncomfortable with.
"See this wire?" he said. I nodded. "As long as it doesn't touch this over here, I should be okay." Another Xanax down the hatch.
After discovering a loose wire to be the troublemaker all along, he did something to said wire and declared his victory. I asked him about the now unnecessary new part he installed, and he decided to leave it, since he drove all the way to Big City to retrieve it. So, with the dishwasher humming along, he packed up his toys and left. I loaded my dishwasher and restarted the cycle. It worked for all of ten minutes. I called Darryl.
"Hey, Darryl. Dishwasher's dead, dude." Silence.
"It is. Okay, I know what's wrong with it. I'll try to come back tomorrow and fix it." He explained what he needed to do, an all of five minute fix, which he performed the following day.
I googled untraceable poisons before calling in a Xanax refill.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Monday, January 10, 2011
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Trying to repair my wounded soul is like dumping a 500 piece jigsaw puzzle on the table and putting it all together while wearing gloves and a blindfold. I should probably add “and at gunpoint” since I have no patience whatsoever with most things in life. Since consistent efforts over a period of time are usually a requirement for healing wounds and changing one’s outlook, therapy is an unattractive option for me. Funny that I have a similar approach when it comes to dieting. Surely I can buy something online that will provide instant and lasting results. If nothing else, I can always read another self-help book and free myself of emotional baggage while learning to exist on a new spiritual plane at the same time. Sounds like a good deal to me. I’ll Google it later.
Another reason I’ve been voted off Therapy Island is because I tend to be somewhat uncooperative about nitpicking my childhood. Maybe the reason so many of us refuse to pay money to relive our childhood to exorcise the demons is because it’s just not anyone’s idea of a good time. In fact, it just sucks. If you already know where your issues stem from, do you really need to dig all the to way to the roots? Let’s just deal with the here and now. For example: I’m here because I’m angry. Now I’m going to go kick someone’s butt so I’ll feel better. A simple solution, though not for everyone.
In addition to being impatient and uncooperative, I have a limited attention span. If someone’s sitting across from me spouting psychobabble for more than a minute, my thoughts turn to anything from what I’m having for dinner that night, to trying to recall the lyrics of a song I heard ten years ago. If something like a rogue dust bunny floating through the air should grab my attention, I become a human bobble-head, just nodding and staring off into space. ADHDers are not known for their ability to sit still and focus unless the subject matter interests us in a big way.
Therapy does work for many people. So does revenge. It all depends on who you are, I suppose. My current therapist has her work cut out for her. However, she saw me coming a mile away and made me sign waivers for suicide, homicide, genocide, and whatever other "ides" exist that could be linked to her in the future. Now that I think about it, she seemed prepared with that stack of papers the first time I walked into her office. Huh.
My last therapist had to have a cigarette after spending an hour listening to me. I told him not to worry about it and that I have that effect on most people. I’m not sure if he was waving goodbye to me or flagging down a cop when I left.