Happy Homecoming!

One Year of Love!

chanceis

Cute

Can it really be a year ago? Yes. A year ago today, my friend drove all the way across the island to deliver this sweet little tuxedo three-legged beauty. He still seems so new, although Jango has been with me almost 12 years and I still marvel that I get to have such an amazing furry friend.

Chance has come along way in the past year. I remember his first day here and he was up on my lap. I gave him a little scratch on the sweet spot at the base of his tail, the ‘tramp stamp’ stop and he completely freaked out! Now he lets me do it and loves it.

He tries to scratch himself with the missing leg, so when I notice him do it, I go give him the full, two-hander kitty scratching. He seems to come and do it in front of me now…

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Too Heavy

 

Cloud

 

I was walking home with groceries this morning, heavy ones and in my mind I said, ‘My life is too heavy’.  Then I tried really hard not to cry.

Truth is life has been very heavy lately. I’ll try not to make this all ‘sitting in the garden eating worms’ but sometimes a little self-mewling is in order. It’s financial, isn’t it. I’m out of money in a country I can’t legally work in and don’t speak the language and likely won’t learn much Spanish because statistically, being over forty greatly reduces that as a reality and as I’m over fifty I’d be happy to remember the grocery list I wrote ten minutes for I left for the store without it.

But it gets you down. Last month I had to borrow two hundred pesos from my only friend here, (Nobody likes me, everybody hates me… sing along if you know it) just to have water for the week. I actually went several weeks without cash, in the bank and on hand. I had spent the very last of it, the bits I’d been hoarding on cat food and litter. I also had to carry it home, which was brutal.

I’m looking online for work, really my only option, but it’s bits and pieces. I use several websites but recently had a falling out with one of them. I got offered a job, and the pay was good, very good, in fact. Not just for this website, but in general. The guy wanted to chat through Skype, but only instant messages, never laid eyes on him.

He came across as a bit of a prick but I persevered. I got the first assignment, finished and set it to him thought the website where he hired me. It was a job writing articles and for those of you who have done or are doing it now, it’s horrendous. Mostly, I want to punch my own spleen out. The job was up to five articles a day, finish it, do the next one.

I never heard from after  the first one and then the next day saw him on Skype and asked what was going on. He immediately started in on me about how I was way too late and he didn’t work like that and blah blah shut the fuck blah.

I pointed out I had sent the article within an hour of getting it the day before and if he would kindly stop swing his cock about and maybe put it back in his purse he would see said article in his account inbox.

He said we both had a bit of a misunderstanding (he) but we soldiered on. I did a few of more articles, some were fine, a few of them just a nightmare, but I got through them. I was sending them to him through Skype but also through his account on the actual site, and using their system of tracking my hours. The last one I sent wouldn’t go in to his account and when I checked it, it said it had been closed.

Super.

I contacted their ‘chat’ customer service do-ma-jiggy, to find out what’s going on. It’s at this point I’ll mention that;

a) I’ve had wretched service on this particular site before

b) I’m fucking mad

c) there is no alcohol in my house

I live in a third world, or developing country and customer service here is ghastly but still makes theirs seem like silver service.

This twat I’m talking to immediately started blaming me and telling me I was at fault and then things just got all white and hot and it spiraled in to several ‘fuck yous’ (mine) and then I got an OFFICIAL FIRST AND FINAL WARNING and I asked her to poke that up one of her smelly hairy holes as well and then they took the whole five dollars out of my account. I mean, really.

To top it off, because that’s not enough, they sent me an electronic invoice, just to show me the money I could presumably poke up one of my smelly holes.

I started to walk/run in the early mornings. I started a few months ago. It’s mostly really nice, somewhat quiet, not too much traffic, I see the ocean and other walkers/runners and beautiful scenery but also rats and dead animals and garbage and that is really hard to take.  Mostly the dead animals.

My body is getting lighter.  My life is getting heavier.

 

 

Olds

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I recently joined Twitter. I put it off as long as I could, but I don’t have much for a news source except Facebook, and well, you know. Twitter isn’t much better, mostly I keep waiting to see the post about Trump going to jail, impeached, shot, what-evs. I can’t say I like it all that much, it’s a bit surreal, to be honest, what with having first hand access to celebrities, kind of takes the sting out it all… but more about that at a later date.

The one thing I do like about it, there isn’t a lot of tolerance for shit-talking in the comments. Commenting on actions, policies, that’s fine but to just call someone fat or ugly is a cheap, easy hit and it’s not tolerated. I applaud that. Someone made a comment about KellyAnne Conway’s looks, called her ugly and the commenter was tackled pretty promptly and thoroughly. Good. A friend of mine puts a birthday wish for friends and famous alike on his Facebook everyday, it’s great, and one day one of his friends referred to a birthday recipient as ‘ugly’. I made a comment about it and was immediately blocked. Again, what-evs.

Fine for you, to sit in your house without mirrors in your cloud of breath-taking beauty and not raising kids to be decent human beings to go about calling people ugly. First of all, it’s not up to you, asshole. Up to a certain point, we can’t help what we look like and while I may not be your cup of tea, I am still loved and beautiful in someone’s eyes. So is everyone. So fuck off with that.

But it’s the commenting on stuff I wanted to address. It drives us all nuts, I had to take off the CBC and Toronto Star Facebook page because the comments people make were so horrible.

Another friend of mine made a comment after the Women’s March about how some men still didn’t get it. I made a flip comment about it, always trying to go for the laugh, the comment was “Boys are dumb and they smell” Fine. I’m 55 so clearly trying to use the voice of a six year old. This comment was fine for everyone. Everyone except her new daughter-in-law. She kept coming back to it, trying to make something out of that wasn’t there. That’s these Millennia’s for you. No one was upset by the comment except her. And she was like a pit bull on a toddler about it. I don’t know her from Suzy Q, and frankly could care less.

She kept trying to make that the comment was about her husband, whom I have never met and therefore can not comment to his intellectual prowess nor can I comment as to his malodorous misgivings. She’s in the house, not me.    When it became apparent no one was going to back her, she parted with a comment calling us OLD, like this was an insult. Ummm…. Derrrrr.

She’s young, beautiful with a new husband and new baby. I can’t say what her motivation was, and to be fair,  couldn’t give two tiny shits. But hear this. As a young wife and mother you better hope to fuck you make it to be this ‘OLD’. In most cultures, old is revered, respected, honoured. With age comes, wisdom, intelligence, beauty, refinement, betterment.

The phrase Aging Ain’t for Sissies is very true. Age shaming is like fat shaming or Ugly shaming and has no part in a society where young people take their own lives rather than face harassment, so be mindful of your asshole comments.

You know not whereof  you speak, fuckface.

Kathy’s Desk

Going back about 500 years when I lived in Calgary, I was at my friend Brad’s place, (you’ve met her, she comes for hols) we were just hanging out and having tea and a chat. He was talking about a social gathering he had been at recently and he mentioned that someone we both knew had been there with his new boyfriend. I asked what the new boyfriend was like and Brad replied, “Maybe  a bit of S and P to taste, she’s a bit bland.”  We had a good chuckle over this and carried on chatting but what happened was, that phrase got planted in my brain.

It comes to me , mostly without realizing it. When I myself use the S n P, to taste, I hear him saying it. When someone is boring the tits right off me, same.

So, going back another 500 years past that day, back to when I was in Grade One, yes, I remember, my friend Kathy, (her real name) sat across the aisle and one up from me, she was a front row kid. The worst. Brats. Ever. I could see in to her desk, and although neat, it was full of paper. I clearly remember one day her sliding her books in to the desk, old fashion type, and even though the books slid in easily, they were on top of a ton of paper.

So the bottom layer of her desk was all these papers she had never gotten rid of; Very Important Papers, like coloured ducks and some nonsense about Dick and Jane and their dog Spot. It had been in this state for some time, and for some reason it was really cool to me. This layer of trash with plenty of room for the other stuff on top, stuff like books about Dick and Jane and their dog Spot and sandwiches in paper bags.

Mrs. Rogers, our teacher, called her on it one day. Mrs. Rogers, if you will, picture Godzilla with a tartan dress and maybe some glass pearls. Horrid Hound From Hell! She made me go to the from of the class once to throw away my gum and then SPANKED ME in front of everyone, but I’m not ready to talk about that yet. So she made Kathy take down her mountain of papers, important or not and toss them.

Kathy’s Desk is also a yardstick in my life. Like if I can’t get through the crowd in the grocery store, or the cards in my game of solitaire are all built up and I can’t get the ones I need out, sometimes just a cluttered mind, it has been Kathy’s Desk.

I moved here to the Dominican Republic with the gentle guidance of my friend, Will. He died Sunday.

I don’t know how to process it yet.

It’s all Kathy’s Desk.

 

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William, easing in to his day.

Life Map

 

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My power went out today. Not an unusual thing here at all. It goes out all the time, some sort of conservation thing, I think. As a rule it’s only about a half an hour, hour, then back. Today was five hours. Seriously. It’s like having no arms.

After the first hour I finally got the broom out, pushed a few things around, tried to wash my dishes, but by then the water was gone. We have reserve tanks for the building, but after everyone using it, it’s gone. Saturday morning, everyone is home.

I eventually ended up head first in my bedroom closet. It’s mostly storage, piled up, crap I don’t know what to do with as yet. Excess. Thankfully, I’ve been watching ‘Hoarders’, so I’m in the mood to shift stuff.

Every apartment I’ve had here is solid concrete. Was, floors, the lot. I assume it’s due to the extreme humidity and the regular earthquakes. But I’ve never been able to hang my pictures. My last place had a few nails and I did hang two of my mother’s paintings up, it’s amazing what familiar things can do to you. It’s so comforting.

This apartment has a bit of wood. The kitchen cupboards are wood and the back wall of it is the wall for the main room. Termites are a massive problem here as well, so concrete it is! I have termites here,  but a bit of Windex seems to slow them down.

In my closet hoard was a suitcase full of artwork from a dear friend of mine. I have a lot of it and have always hung it up. I haven’t been able to here, until today.

How marvelous to see it all! The memories, the history, the beauty of it all. I hammered in a few nails, the rest I had to tape up. We’ll see how that goes, the humidity may knock them down. What’s really cool about a lot of the pieces is they are Mail Art. He makes postcards and sends them to friends, other artists, and other mail artists. It was always very exciting to receive a very colourful piece of art amongst the phone bills and pizza flyers.

But also very cool was as I applied the tape to the back of the post cards, I would see the address it was sent to. It was quite interesting to be reminded of all these places I lived, mostly Toronto, and all the memories it brought back. My first one, the Elvis Building, is dated ‘Christmas, 1988’.

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What a wonderful treat, to revisit the past. To see these lovely pieces, hanging them up, it’s well over due. There are a few I don’t even know which end is up but it really doesn’t matter. My friend Theo’s work, my old address’, touching them, seeing them, arranging them, all of it. Like visiting an old friend.

Which,really, I was. He can’t send them here so I am hoping for a delivery in person.

Hanging Up!

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Had it happen? Someone blocked you off their Facebook page? Maybe you had to block some twat who was being a, well, twat? It’s my generation’s answer to slamming down the phone. Fuck, that was always so satisfying!

About a month ago, a good friend of mine blocked me. She’s relatively new to Facebook, well, internet, really, so like all of us Olds, she has a lot of pent up anger to vent. Oh, the discovery of disagreeing with someone who is miles, countries away, getting all angry and shit and then just losing it and calling them a stupid cunt or something! Woof! That’s good.

 

So, about a month ago, she was on Facebook, shitting all over stuff she had no business shitting on. It’s about 5 am here, so about 1 am for her in Alberta. She went on to one of my friend’s page and starting in, and I called her on it. I wasn’t nice, but not as mean as I could have been. I was just fed up. I can do that. We’re friends.

We’ve been friends for a long time. A. Long. Time. We started hanging out when I turned Bar Age, which was 18 in Alberta. I turned 18 in 1979. That’s right, my Lovelies. I’ve been hammered for almost 40 years.

But she blocked me. How disposable we are, with a click of a button we cease to exist.  In my days of slamming down the phone, or having one slammed in my ear, we all lived in the same town and it was almost impossible to avoid each other. We had all the same friends.  We have fallen out before. Many time, actually. I assume she’ll come around. Maybe not.

Perhaps it’s all just run it’s course. I hope not. I haven’t lived in the same town as her since about 1986 but we always kept in touch. Always. maybe she’ll think fondly of me. Maybe she has enough friends already.

In this disposable society, I hope I’m at least recyclable.

I Didn’t Ask.

When I initially decided to move to The Dominican Republic, I didn’t really tell anyone. Moving wasn’t new for me or my friends and family but I didn’t start telling people right away.

I lived in my hometown of Bentley, Alberta for eighteen years, then Red Deer, Alberta for another seven, Calgary, ten, Vancouver, close to three, Toronto made it to seventeen. But the few people I did mention it to never chose to support me, but rather to dissuade me. So, I stopped telling people.

I wanted to just slip away, tell people via Facebook once I’d settled. I did start to tell a few people a little closer to the date but the same thing happened. People seem happy on the surface but they say mean things. If they are jealous, I understand that. Say that. Say, “Fuck you, Bish! (Bish from SNL) I understand being jealous. That is an emotion I’m very close friends with. People would question my safety. Why? Because they spent a week in an all-inclusive resort five years ago. Seriously?

So. I stopped telling people. It wasn’t until my friend Hugh sent me a message he would be in my ‘hood in Toronto painting a restaurant and invited me down to chat. I walked down to the pub and we hung out for a few hours and I confessed to him that I was leaving and that my birthday was coming up that the cat got out of the bag. He insisted on a party, said he would plan it whether I was going to show up or help him, it was going.

We did a Facebook event and sent out invites. One of my friends we invited, who, P.S., isn’t my friend any longer, asked me what the invite was for. I told her I was moving to the Dominican. I had told her some months prior and her response was completely incredulous. “Is that still on?” she shriek. Yes. She shriek. Her face was all puckered up, too. I replied it was and why would she assume it wasn’t. Just because I don’t have the need to broadcast every sandwich I eat, every cat hair I find in it or the colour it was the next time we met doesn’t mean my life isn’t moving forward.

The advise started. What I should and should do. Always with the questions. I had never actually been here before I moved here so I didn’t really have a lot of answers. The only certain answer I had was the cat was coming with me. Otherwise my best response was, “Is that what you did when you moved there?”.

Now my chats ore on Skype. I chat to a few people regularly and as nice as it is, I can’t just chat. Why do people always feel they need to solve your life’s day to day? I like to vent sometimes. We all do. Just let us. Just let us vent and complain and tsk or nod or shake your head or a few there there’s and a ‘Bastard’ thrown in is all we want.

But stop telling me how to solve shit you know nothing about. I live here. You don’t. Enjoy your own unique situation, solve your own bullshit before sticking your oar in to mine.

We’re just talking.  I didn’t ask.

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