Getting over fighting Beelzebub was tough stuff. Losing, maybe hell, effing yeahabissel(a little bit) worse. It has already taken up a lot of time, effort, energy and wellness for me, my Mrs., my kinder (kiddo’s) and the wonderful people who were helping me scrimmage. Still, my glass, it stays half-full. If there was an award for, ‘Most Resilient,’ this one would definitely go to me. Knock me down, and I come right back up again. Spunk, integrity, and Energizer Bunny. Pliant, flexible and rebellious. That’s me.
In this latest round of rebound, I am working on being present and mindful. Here are five things that I have noticed in myself
Currently, I can go batshit crazy frustrate easily. I’m aware of this and determined not to take it out on others. But, no lie, I have channeled my inner Mohammed Ali, and I punched the roof of my car when driving this week (technically, I was at a red light). Like texting, no punching and driving. Not at all smart. This helps no one. Not my hand, not the car. Not my emotions.
In Yiddish, they say, Bad temper and anger, they shorten the years. Der ka’as un der tsoren farkirtsen di yoren.
So, I must do more tai chi and learn to meditate. Stat! Plus, the anger is just sadness in disguise.
Sleep, not so hotsy-totsy. I can fall asleep at the drop of a hat. Staying asleep — a whole other animal! I get up to pee. I try to make my way back into bed. I have to push aside a Little or a Big, who has usurped my precious, yet small mattress real estate yes they are all in the bed, and I am at the very edge, practically outside the apartment. Reclaim my swatch of the blanket. Find my special neck pillow. By the time I do this, Gatsby, he makes his way over with his waggity tail and kissy, shana punim (face). I finally try to get my head to the pillow and arrange my neck in good fashion. Don’t you know, now my brain, it begins to churn with thoughts and activity. With this, I am hopeful that this Yiddish Proverb holds true:
Kirtser geshlofen, lenger gelebt. Translated to, The less you sleep, the more you get out of life.
A nice positive spin on fricking insomnia. Nu? Leave it to Yiddish! Oh, how I love this juicy language!
If you (and by you, I, of course, mean me) experience a hot flash while blow-drying your hair as I did today, it feels as though you are sitting in a steam room, grabbing a nice shvitz (sweat), while doing hot yoga (like my Mrs.) inside a convection oven, in August, in Florida. The hair simply will not dry (it re-wets itself from the inside, underneath, out!) I am more than a little concerned — It is quite possible, that me, and me alone — I am responsible for global warming. Forget the cows farting methane. “THIS GIRL IS ON FIRE” is my anthem! She’s just a girl and she’s on fire… Oy vey! (OMG!)How does Alicia Keyes know so much about me? Nu? PS, this was lovely during winter.
A fool doesn’t age and cold water doesn’t spoil. A nar vert nit elter un kalteh vasser vert nit kalyeh.
Yiddish! Beautiful… a phrase for every life moment!
I am slowly reconnecting with the people that I have knowingly detached from — my own feelings of shame and self-worth caused this silence. And what I have learned this week, a friend is a friend is a friend, as a rose by any other name, would be a rose… If you haven’t heard from me yet, you will. Or if you call, I will answer, and explain the battle that has tied me up.
To fall down, you manage alone but it takes friendly hands to get up. Falen falt men alain, ober oifsuhaiben zikh darf men a hant fun a freind.
Thank you dear friends. ❤
Nothing, and I mean bupkis (nothing) makes me happier than seeing my family happy and hearing their laughter. Those priceless giggles that stem from deep inside, fill my heart with joy and simultaneous calm. I must crack the code on this one, bottle it and imbibe daily. And if I do? I will share the tonic.
Happy mamas, and an easy upbringing. Freylekhe mames, un a gringe hodevaniye.
And I continue to move onward! Karma will win in the end. It must! As for resilience, I must figure out the lesson to be learned here. It’s a bit tiring to keep reinventing the wheel.
An ounce of luck is worth more than a pound of gold. Besser a loit mazel aider a funt gold.
Yes, she did. The ‘F’ word in question is feminist, and she was the first feminist for this alta kocker (old fart) of a baby boomer, to witness and learn from, on TV. She very easily and seamlessly showed the world, and young madelahs (girls) like me yes I was a young kinder, that you can be a woman and do things differently. It was okay.
As a little pisher (kid), I grew up admiring and dreaming of becoming ‘Mary Richards.’ I know, you’re thinking, Mary, she’s a shiksah (non-jew) with a cute little turned up nose… and me, a Yiddisheh momma? Well, at the start of every episode, she tossed that hat up into the air, and knew, she was ‘gonna make it after all.’ She was a smart, single woman in the ’70’s, living alone and carrying a big job at WJM-TV. She demanded respect, and was incredibly kind. A true mensch (good person). Once, she bumped into her desk, and actually said, “excuse me.” I’ve done that. Really! I have channeled Mary Richards and her kindness, and I have brought the Rule of Kind to our home.
I remember the very first episode, when she interviewed for the job of TV producer. Mr. Grant (Ed Asner) was giving her a real tough time and she flat-out stood her ground and stated that he should be asking her about her qualifications, not her personal life. Zing! Ah-ha moment. Click. Save.
Over the seven years her show spanned, she taught me about equal pay (and we are still fighting that fight) for women in the workplace, birth control, being single and having sex, not conforming to society’s view of women — married with children, dressing differently (yes, the very first member of the pantsuit nation), mixing skirts, dresses, and pants in her wardrobe both for work and for play. All the while, I baby sat and ich macht a labent (made a living), as pint-sized pishers did. Click. Save.
As I mourn Mary Tyler Moore, and Mary Richards, I sure hope she meets up with Chuckles the Clown in the big TV studio in the sky. Perhaps one of the funniest episodes ever, Chuckles Bites the Dust, where Mary really lost her sh*t couldn’t contain herself. He worked down the hall from the studio and was killed by a rogue elephant when he was dressed as Peter Peanut. The gang kept relentlessly making jokes and Mary was appalled. Then at the actual funeral, the sermon began it finally hit her and she laughed louder and heartier then ever before. It was comedic genius and showed fear of the ever after simultaneously.
*Video courtesy of You Tube
Mary, wherever you are, I hope you can laugh. For your life looked easy to us, but it was much harder than ever imagined. Go find Chuckles, and laugh, and know that you made a real difference in the world that is so very important today, especially today, in 2017. RIP MTM, and thank you for your wisdom, comedy, and insight.
The only true dead, are tose who have been forgotten. di bloyz ams toyt, zenen di vas hobn shoyn fargesn.
Okay, so in 2017 I (hopefully we) have replaced ‘Frugalism’ for ‘Minimalism.’ It admittedly has a nicer sound, nu? You agree? Frugalism has such a negative connotation – as if one is a tightwad. Minimalism and its glorious way, appears to offer more of a choice, well at least to me. In fact, there still is no choice. It’s what’s gotta be…
So, in a pure minimalistic bent, take a look at a beautiful outing with friends, to IKEA of all places. For those of you who have kinder(children) and don’t know, IKEA is the poor person’s Disney World. Admission is free. Climate is always appropriate. Each room brings with it a new and exciting adventure to explore, pretend and play. Whether mattress hopping, imagining living or working in each showroom, or playing hide and go seek in the ‘grab it yourself’ warehouse, it is fun for all ages.
Oh, and ice cream (which is really frozen yogurt) is only $1. Add to the fact that on Monday through Friday, kids eat (meals, entire meals, nice meals) for free… And in this past year, they have taken that famous Swedish meatball and turned it all millennial! Yes, it now comes in a gluten free, vegan version! This is no joke!
What is not to love about IKEA?Keep your glass half full and take a nice visit.
If time is money, I don’t have any time. Oyb tsayt iz gelt, hob ikh keyn tsayt nit.
“Are we going to lose our insurance with Mr. t-elect,” The Mrs. said as she sobbed into the phone.
“Honey. We may. But at least we know they will offer free conversion therapy!” (whaaah – whaaaaah)
“No really, it’s a shanda (real shame, scandal) what can happen. It’s starting already.”
“What does ‘pre-inaugeral’ feel like?”
It’s like, you know. When you look at at him and his cabinet. You see a crowd of people, and not one person among them.A groyse oylem un nito uyn mentsch.
“Are you going to watch it, next week?”
“I thought a lot about this. Yes. I must. Nancy Pelosi says it is her job to be there. Hillz will be there. I must watch. I must know. It is history. Who would have believed it? Ver dolt dos gegleybt?”
“Will we be okay?”
“If the world will ever be redeemed, it will be only through the merit of the children. Oib de velt vet verren oisgelaizt, iz es nor in zechus fun kinder.”
Here we go. A bi gezunt. As long as you are healthy.
In December, on the very day that follows jolly ol’ St. Nick, traipsing (trudging) soot through the Manor, schlepping (hauling) holiday gifts aplenty, the Mrs. and me, we will be legally married for three years. We’ve been together for just shy of 19 years. There was a bit of lag-time before the Supremes sang out to the world that we are in fact, equal. That our love counts too. Hey, that it happened in my lifetime! Pthui, pthui, pthui… So what, our engagement was long (16 years), and we had a couple of kinder (kids) out-of-wedlock. Nu?
Now, like all of you, we live through sickness and health, for richer or poorer… And what I have learned is that ‘poorer’ carries so much more in definition. Oy vey iz mir (Woe is me)… Poorer doesn’t always refer to insufficient bank funds. Sure we are shy of green and becoming quite the frugalista’s. We are actually quite rich in our poverty! Let me tell you three ways how:
Sleep. They say, a nacht on shlof iz di gresteh shtrof(a sleepless night is the worst punishment). Well, how about 3,285 of them! Yes, our kinder (kids), sweet shana madelahs(little girls) that they are, they lack the skillset to gai shluffin (sleep) like normal children without us mommas in tow. Often times, as we try our best to lull them to slumber, you can hear either the Mrs. or me mumble under our breath, “FCKITY F#CK FCK, will you please just go the F%CK to SLEEP!”
This is a far-reaching problem. It means neither sitter, grandparent, family member, sleep doula, nor even Mary Poppins herself, can lay them down for the necessary night’s worth of zzzz’s. Co-sleeping wee-sized infants have grown into co-sleeping small humans. They stand tall as trees, long limbs kicking, elbowing and stealing our snuggly quilt nightly. Our oversize king mattress, well not so much.
Our sleep bank and our cash bank look all too similar. Oy.
Kid-free zone.I’m talking about ‘alone time.’ Adult time. For schmoozing (talking), to catching up, binge watching Grace and Frankie or Orange is the New Black while spooning on the sofa. Even having actual time to talk about our dear kinder with each other. Taking in ‘a nice meal’ together, when we are both showered, dressed like we put in some sort of effort in the game, and totally tantrum free.
Thankfully, the Mrs.and me, we have some truly remarkable friends who have recognized our severe insufficiency in the ‘kinder-free’zone and have started with sleepovers. Big, she loves the sleepover, and Little, well, she is trying the best she can. We are not quite there. Last night’s pick-up (mid- Downton Abbey, season 6, episode 3), and todays screeching fits, outbursts and hysterics are proof.
Time. Not great bits of it mind you, but an occasional late slumber, where my body awakens because it’s met some sort of natural and healthful internal quota. Grabbing a shower without a cutie little punim (face) opening the curtain and asking, ‘do I know where her shoes are,’ or, ‘do you have any money.’ Uninterrupted time to poop, alone. Yes, I said it. That would be f#cking amazing.
So my Mrs., as we tackle the richness of poverty in our lives, please know we are in it together, for now and forever. That alone brings me such nachas (joy, pleasure), no gelt (money) can ever buy. I love you my sweet. And those kinder, kaynahorah (warding off the evil eye), they are happy, healthy, wonderful, meshuggeneh (crazy) girls.
Wow, I am rich.
Hnah lebn. Das iz nit a kleyd repetitsye. Enjoy life. This is not a dress rehearsal.
I mean I do feel that close to you. You are my president and the president of my family. You and the Supremes actually are responsible for making us visible, and I am forever grateful for your wisdom and intellect. You have done so much good for us all. I am so proud to have you and Michelle as our Potus and Flotus. Oy gevalt (woe is me), how I could go on and on?
But given the current situ at hand, I feel I should be less verbose and strike my point early. Things are batshit crazy in our country feel a bit unsettling with the impending Mr. Macher (scheming social climber) Elect’s upcoming inaugural. So I got to thinking. You know that phrase; I think it’s a Cherokee Proverb (we won’t tell Mr. Macher T that, it will just anger him further), “Don’t judge a man until you have walked a mile in his shoes.” Well maybe, as you and Michelle are packing up your things, you leave behind one pair of shoes in the Potus closet.
Maybe, just maybe, he’ll try them on. And like Cinderella, whose shoes forever changed her life, your Potus powered ‘kicks’ that you have been ‘commander-in-chief-ing’ around in for the past eight years will do something magical for the mystifying Mr. Macher T. Perhaps when he laces up, and potchka’s (keeps busy with no clear end in sight) about in the oval office, he will sense your compassion, empathy and willingness to hear and be open. Possibly, right in those moments of strolling in your very experienced and authentic set of shoes, he will f*cking quit his narcissistic and sociopathic ways and get a clue better understand the feelings, perspectives and emotions of we the people…who are all searching for life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness together.
Michelle, she doesn’t need to leave any pumps or even sneakers behind, for I just learned that Mrs. Macher T will not be living in the White House. We should only be so lucky for the rest of this meshuggeneh (crazy) clan.
Now, a lot is riding on this shoe idea, but given the circumstances that stand before us, we have to start somewhere. And, it may be easier than taking out the Electoral College.
Thank you Barack, for all you have done and continue to do every day. I welcome any ideas you may have towards passing the baton with the same set of leadership, integrity, morals and ethics that you bring to the party each and every day. You Barack, are a true mensch (decent, good and honorable human being).
Very sincerely yours,
Di shich fun oreman’s kind vaksen miten fisel. The shoes of the poor man’s children grow with their feet.
I had to memorize that poem in grade school, and recite it to my class. I think I now know why. The poem is called ‘Don’t Quit,’ and was written in the late 1800’s by Edward A. Guest. Obviously, good old Ed had the awareness to realize that someday, here in the good ol’ U. S. of A., we would be in need of an optimistic verse to deal with the overwhelming feeling of doom and gloom from the tsuris (worry and woes) caused by the 2016 Election.
A baizeh tsung iz erger fun a shlechter hant. Ikh mura mir itst hobn beyde. A wicked tongue is worse than an evil hand. I fear we know have both.
Don’t quit. Seems easy enough. Bat-shit crazy things happen Truly bad things happen all the time. I can be heartbroken, scared, stunned and angry as fucking hell, but I won’t quit. I can’t. I have two shana madelahs (sweet little girls) who need me to energize and focus all of these emotions and inspire them into action.
What we have ahead of us is the fight of a lifetime. And my Mrs.and me, we are in it to win. We know what progress and hope feels like. We will know it again. Because we have to… Because we can’t live in a world that is so hostile, albeit anti-woman, anti-people of color, anti-immigrant, anti-LGBT, anti-disability, anti-religious freedoms, anti-climate, anti-fucking freedom and liberty and justice for all.
Our battle will be one of civility. We will sign petitions. We will write letters. We will march bravely and peacefully in protests. We will use our voices. I will use my words. And we will continue to vote. Most importantly, the Mrs. and me, we will be role models to our dear bubelah’s (sweetheart girls). We will model kindness, empathy, hope and respect – things that everyone deserves in this world. Even the man whose name I cannot yet type or say aloud who won the election. We understand democracy.
“This loss hurts. But please never stop believing that fighting for what’s right is worth it.” —Hillary Clinton
We will fight because this world belongs to my daughters and your daughters – and all of the kinder (children).
“To all the little girls watching…never doubt that you are valuable and powerful & deserving of every chance & opportunity in the world.” —Hillary Clinton
Di velt zogt a vertel: besser mit a klugen farliren aider mit a nar gevinen. The world has a saying: better to lose with a wise man than to win with a fool.
We have a fool. Please prove the world, and me wrong. I would love nothing more than to be very, very wrong about the tsuris(troubles) that are ahead for us all.
When things go wrong, as they sometimes will… don’t quit.
I thought now a good time to provide you all with some good, hard data anecdotal evidence on how we are doing as a family, with our one, single, solitary family rule: BE KIND. Some of you may recall thisinspired postmeant to get our little mishpocheh (family) out from under the tiny terroristic grip of Big and Little’s mood swings, urges and tantrumsand back to the matriarchal quasi-control of the mamelehs (me and the Mrs.).
It was mid-August. It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. We were feeling the worst of the heat, reeling from the weariness of endless pool days and we had hit the ceiling on late night movies. The kinderlech (kids)andthe Mrs. had become nocturnal. By the time I joyfully strolled up the Manor steps after a hard days work, it was batshit crazy with a capital BAT all hell had broken loose. We had grown accustomed to our tsuris(troubles). It was pure mishegas (insanity and chaos).
Dos leben iz vi kinderhemdel—kurts un bash. Life is like a child’s undershirt—short and soiled.
Be Kind.How f@cking hard is that to do? I knew we could do it. I believed. The first coupla’ weeks were exhausting and awful filled with tears, apologies and repetition of our golden rule. Be Kind. Be Kind. Be Kind. Be Kind. Be Kind. Be Kind. Be Kind.
Siri, How long until something basic, simplistic, and all encompassing becomes a damned habit?
It’s a shondah (pity) how my LittleandBig, such sweet little maidelahs(girls), put each other through fisticuffs, scuffles, scrapes and screeches. Glass shattering screams, pushes, slaps and hair pulling. (It’s almost as if they had watched old reruns of Dynasty from the ’80’s?) I cried me a river. So did the nextdoorikeh’s(neighbors).
Time went on, as it does. We stuck to our one rule. Be Kind. Be Kind. Be Kind. Be Kind. Be Kind. Be Kind. Be Kind. Patience. We had such effing patience! We were so very, very virtuous with all of our patience. And then, it started.
Listening ears, they listened
We heard ‘Please’ and ‘Thank You’ fairly consistently
‘I’m sorry’ flowed from their tiny little mouths appropriately and sincerely
Random acts of kindness happened without begging, yelling, nudging, cajoling any parental prodding
When Little ate all of her marshmallows before the hot chocolate was ready, Big happily handed her a handful of hers
When Big cried about not wanting to take a shower, Little volunteered to take one with her
If one was in need, the other helped
When one hurts, the other says, Vu tut dir vai (where does it hurt)?
If we said clean your room, they did it together
It was working. Be Kind. Be Kind. Be Kind. Slowly and steadily our kinder (children) began to treat each other as if we were not behind the walls of the Manor, but as if we were in public and on their best behavior! They began to give one another the benefit of the doubt. My little bubbelah’s (term of endearment) were becoming menches (good, respected people) to one another. Loving shvesters (sisters), friends.
Now, I do not for one minute want you to think that we are all hotsy-totsy and blissful over here. We still have plenty of our moments. We will always have work to do and we still can be kinder, gentler, nicer and more empathetic. But so far, dos gefelt mir (this pleases me) very much! I’m kvelling (oozing with pride)!
I’m no quantum physicist maven (expert) by any means. I’m just a Yiddishermomma trying to put some pieces together to better understand this thing called time. Does it always go forward? Does it really flow? My coffee is getting more and more chilled as I type and I like it piping hot, especially in the quiet of the morning, when the Mrs. and the kinder lay keppe a schluffy(are still asleep, heads on pillows). If I could turn back time maybe my cuppa would be hotter, or better yet, alevai (it should come to pass; it should only happen), maybe events would be different.
Nit af alleh mol shlecht, un nit af alleh mol gut. Things can’t be bad all the time, nor good all the time.
What am I trying to get at here? I’m stretching to find meaning in the meshuggeneh (crazy) world we are living in. Remember that commercial, “Time to make the donuts…” with the perpetually exhausted donut maker readying for the early morning rush at Dunkin Donuts? It’s always time to make the donuts… and I’m looking for my epiphany. I started thinking of song lyrics (can you name the artists/songs below?), after all Dylan just one a Nobel in literature. Poets, they have answers.
Let me forget about today until tomorrow…
Get it right the first time, that’s the main thing
Time keeps on ticking, ticking, ticking into the future
Does anybody really know what time it is
If I could save time in a bottle
Time after time
The first time ever I saw your face
Let’s do the time warp
I had the time of my life
This is the time to remember ‘cause it will not last forever
A time to be born, a time to die
It’s closing time
My Big, she is learning about time in school. Taking all those pieces of perspective, theory and momentum and understanding the very things I am struggling with today. It will no longer be, “How many sleeps until we see Audrey and Steve?” I still don’t know if time is an illusion, or if our perceptions, my perceptions are simply flawed.
Some lifetimes are minutes
It was the best of times
Some minutes are eternities
It was the worst of times
The kinder (children), they grow up so fast
This is no cliché
Slow it down
Speed it up
Oy a brokh (Hard times)
The first half of the gas tank goes slowly
and WTF then you are on E
It’s faster than the speed of light
It grinds to a halt
It’s time for a change
Nothing stays the same
Everything stays the same
Past, present, future
Oh, there’s always time
There’s never a good time
Free time, hah!
Time heals all wounds
What to do about my time conundrum? I will try very hard to…
Live in the present, using time wisely
Choose happiness, smiles and nachas (pleasure and joy)
Put the damned phone down and take in new adventures and experiences
Be in nature, making memories, creating more firsts
Love myself, because who gives a flying f*ck cares what people think
Read, explore, learn, and give
Walk in others shoes and be a gutte neshumah (good soul)
Inject novelty and spontaneity
Grab the ones I love and love them well
Live out loud
Vos lenger a blinder lebt, alts mer zet er. The longer a blind man lives, the more he sees.
I know, you’ve been thinking, Lisala, it’s been so long since you shared your parenting perceptions and insights. Sure, a nice rant, a beautiful pic, sweet tender mishpocheh(family) moments. Today, we revisit bedtime. How on earth do you get the kinder to gai shluffin (the kids to go to sleep)? Well my readers, I offer you our thoughtful child rearing insights, in the form of a song. Hum along if you like, to the tune of Let It Be, you know, by the Beatles:
When I find myself in need of slumber
Trying to act sensibly
The whole world feels chaotic, fretfully
Retiring Big and Little takes too long
I doze off first expectantly
The kinder, they’re nocturnal, devilry
Empathy, come and see
What, like our bed is the only bed on earth?
Their own room is so beautiful; come and see
I wake up to the sound of squealing,
Maidelahs have taken all control
The Mrs. voice is loudly fuming, testily
I muster up some words of wisdom
Pleading with veracity
Yet my babble is not in sentences, regrettably
We need a two bedroom like we need a luch in kop (hole in the head)?
They’ll sleep in their own bedroom, eventually
My Mrs., she chortles at my jabber
The kinder loudly laugh and giggle
Reveling in my senseless banter, splendidly
Minutes have slowly ticked to hours
Empty threats thrown about with leniency
We’re a helpless parent fail, professedly
Other kids go the fuck to sleep without such a gantseh megillah (long drawn out story)
Tomorrow night will be so much better, hopefully
Other kids go the fuck to sleep without such a gantseh megillah (long drawn out story)
Tomorrow night will be so much better, hopefully
Well, you know what they say:
Der shlof iz der bester dokter. Sleep is the best doctor.
It’s been a fucking lifetime few weeks now of life as a salmon, swimming against the tide of bureaucratic bullshit on numerous life levels. Paperwork perdition. Righting wrongs, with only a small success to keep my spirit motivated. I fear losing some of my much called upon ‘glass half-full’ skills. I’ve been a salmon so long now, I cannot even appreciate a nice nosh (snack) of lox and bagels with a shmear…Oy vey iz mir.
IRS: the Mrs., and me, we filed our 2015 tax return in February of 2016. Twenty-one days is what the website said. I’ve always been an early filer. I pay what we owe and I look forward to our return. Never have we as a family been so in need of said gelt (money) from the return than this year. Please understand, as of this writing, it is now mid-September of 2016. That’s 21 days plus almost 7 months, and still going. Talk about red tape! I’ve spoken to my accountant more times than both he and I care for… Maybe he even blocked my number by now. I’ve gone many a day to irs.gov, clicked on ‘Find my refund’ (the fact that they have that as a button option, I’m just sayin’) and get the same message every time: Your tax return has not yet been processed. I called the IRS back in March of this year and found a live person, who was kind and apologetic. I let him know my story and he searched high and low, keeping me on the phone for almost 3 hours. He found out that my return was placed in some holding purgatory for those who have had experienced identity theft!
My heart pounded, “What, someone stole my identity and has my return?”“No, it was just a random pull”, he replied. “Let me see what I can do to get this processed for you”. I took his name and badge number and felt we were on our way. He said, “Call, and just ask for me by my badge number.”
That was March. Now, I dial the many IRS numbers I have amassed, and get 85+ different prompts, all of which I have tried, and none of which lead me to an actual live person. I fear for my badge-numbered friend. I go through the ‘find the status of my refund’ prompt, and nu, I get: Your tax return has not yet been processed. I called the phone number of the local IRS department, and I got a recording saying, ‘This phone number does not offer phone support.’ What the fuck! I even tried the phone number for the hearing impaired. After all, even the IRS would be nice to the hearing impaired, right? Not so much. When the machine picked up, it let out a blaring sound, like a ship at sea (warning poor schlemeils (fools) like me, mere salmon still going upstream) to move aside. My right ear, it still rings. And yes, dejectedly, I am still swimming.
Botox: As many of you know, I get Botox injections (no, my face is like a google map!) to assist in chronic neck/head pain, cervical dystonia, etc. Due to the cost prohibitive nature of this treatment, Allergan, the company that makes the injections of botulism that relieve the pain to passable life levels, offers a subsidy for those who are green-gelt impaired. An incorrect diagnosis code has bolloxed my Botox, leaving my pain plan in a perpetual place of purgatory, like the above referenced tax return gelt(loot). I call, I write, I beg, and I remain without treatment. No one should know of such pain. If you want to click here or here, you can learn more about how wonderful Botox is for my chronic pain.
The Car Tow: So as not to be deemed a total whiner, let me tell you now, this one ends with a Mitzvah (in a win, a good deed)! My Mrs., she had a lovely day at the shore with friends right at the end of the summer. She left early to get there and got home late in the evening, making memories of fun and laughter with good friends, Little and Big. She arrived back at the Manor and there was not one parking space available. In fact people were parked sideways, on the grass, and in the fire lanes. Half asleep, I grumbled, “Leave the car in the stairway spot. There are no signs saying ‘no parking’ and you can move it in the morning.” She awoke to a car towed and the start of a fight with the 4th management company to take charge here at the Manor since our sojourn began. We talked to Katrina, the new manager. She could give two shits about us or our car. We begged for her to get the car released as she did for two other families before us. I contacted Katrina’s boss. No response. Our car was gone, and we needed $200 to free it from this unfortunate and unnecessary incarceration. This timing, it was not so good for us in the gelt department. The next week, we searched under sofa cushions and on the floors of our cars to scrape by — no joke. The fight, it continued. Went on for weeks. The neighbors, they all complained. We did not relent, and we finally got word, today, that we will be credited $200 towards next month’s rent. Azoy! (Huzzah!)
There’s more, but this seems like just enough. End on a good note.
Tsum shtain zol men klogen nor nit bei zikh zol men trogen. Better pour out your troubles to a stone, but don’t carry them within yourself. So, I’m pouring. Thanks for reading!
Wishing you all a tsuris (trouble) free time. A bei gezunt (Be in good health).