The Downtown skyline through EaDo's eyes

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Something amusing...to me at least

So my baby girl, Emi, has been sick lately. Her retarded mommy decided to switch her food and was not intelligent enough to do it gradually, albeit she and daddy were only concerned she wasn't getting enough nutrients from the cooked meals I have been making them (yes, I'm a doggy chef). Anyway, Emi's tummy was unappreciative of the effort and she has been suffering major consequences. The 1st night, at 3:00 a.m., bless her little heart, I was awoken by her 'lemme the hell outta here signal', which is a looooong, continuous, soft, pitiful whine. How I heard it I'll never know. I jumped out of bed, grabbed a t-shirt and shorts--sans bra and panties, threw them on and dashed out the door grabbing a handful of paper towels. Thank goodness, because she didn't even make to the stairs. So I am standing in the hallway realizing that, one, it has to be cleaned up, and two, that I still have to get her 3 flights down to the sidewalk and the dog run because surely she is not finished. I quickly reach down and try to swipe up the mess and continue hurrying down the hall to the stairs. Baby girl is pulling with all her might down the 1st of the 3 flights of stairs and I am trying desperately to keep up with her and keep my balance with a leash in one hand and a handful of crap in the other and at this very moment, my freakishly-big shorts decide they're gonna fall off. Mortified, I am trying to figure out what the hell I'm gonna do as they slip further down my legs. By some miracle Emi stops pulling just long enough for me to grab a hold of my shorts with my leash hand and now I am clambering down the stairs behind her once again with one hand grasping my waistband and one hand above my head with crap in it. Somehow I get down the stairs without breaking my neck or losing my pants and showing everyone my who-who. I had to stop a minute and laugh at the ludicrousness of the situation and hope to God no one was watching the whole fiasco. And as crazy as it sounds, even if I hadn't been able to save them from falling to my ankles, I really couldn't be happier that my shorts are falling off me!!!!

Tuesday, June 14, 2011


For the last couple of days something has been irritating me to no end and that is, what in the hell possesses people to develop such disregard for other human beings? This holds true in so many facets of life, but specifically, why is it that some feel as if they are allowed to go through life thinking people owe them something and that everyone else is responsible for taking care of them? That they are in no way responsible for taking care of themselves, much less anyone else, i.e., children? It makes me so mad I could fucking scream. I can name a couple of cases that are somewhat personal to me, but the truth of the matter is, I see it way more than often than I wish I had to. These certain people are taking advantage of people I happen to care for, which leads me to believe I am entitled to bitch about it. And what may be more disturbing is that these well-meaning loved ones of mine are partially--if not completely--to blame.

As a whole, we have become a society that is self-centered, irresponsible and unaccountable (among other things). We want to blame anyone but ourselves and are always seeking someone to bail us out—from those on government assistance all the way up to the government itself. We are forever searching for someone to right our wrongs and fix our mistakes. It's utterly disgusting. How many times do I have to say that it's not the banks' fault that we overdraw ourselves, it's not the credit card companies' fault that we overextend ourselves, and it sure in the fuck isn’t McDonald's fault that we're obese?!?! It couldn't POSSIBLY be that we’re just greedy. It couldn't be that we want to do and spend and eat whatever we want and THEN...wait for it...not be held liable for our reckless ways and want someone to blame and to fix it.

I am certainly not innocent in all this myself. I have been extremely lazy and self-indulgent for quite some time now. Thank goodness I figured this out before my health suffered irreparably. I was also married for 10 years and take full responsibility for my part in what was ultimately the demise of our marriage. And I had an out. I had everyone I knew and some that I didn't telling me that I was in no way at fault. That I did everything I could and that I did more than what the vast majority of women in my shoes would have done. Yeah, I had an out and I still never blamed him completely. I had a spouse who had a drug and alcohol problem and I chose to overlook it. I did everything he wanted and gave him anything he even thought he wanted--and then tried to be upset when things got out of control. I will never forget a friend saying very early on in my marriage that I had created a monster. And I had. I was equally responsible for the management of our finances, our spending habits and our overindulgence--even if I wasn't the one putting the coke up my nose.

We overspent, we lived above our means, we indulged, indulged, indulged and then when we got into a bind, we stuck our hand out. Looking back it was disgusting and I have no clue how we justified it in our heads. The lesson I learned? We can't and shouldn't have everything we want or think we want. We work hard, we take care of our responsibilities and then, yes, SOMETIMES we get to splurge.

I get up and go to work every day because I have to. Because I'm an adult and that's what adults do. I have responsibilities, and it may only be to myself (I have no kids that don't have fur or 4 legs), but isn't that enough? Don't even get me started on the ones who have kids and have the nerve not to work. I know entirely too many people who do the absolute BARE MINIMUM, if that, and even more that don't work at all. What in the fuck gives them the right? You pay for a roof over your head, you pay for utilities if you don't want to sweat like a pig or watch TV or play on the internet, you pay for your transportation--be it a car, bike or bus, and you pay to feed your own face. You don't depend on any number of people to provide these things for you and then, God forbid, have the nerve to complain about it. ANY PART OF "IT"--whatever "it" may be. Complaining about the kind of food provided (or not provided), the type of transportation, and, my personal favorite, the speed of the internet. Really? REALLY? Someone needs to punch these people in the face. Hard.

The same goes for addressing my health and weight issues. No, it isn’t hard. Yes, I eat what I want. No one ever said you can’t have things you like—you just can’t have them every day. Hence the word, splurge. What happened to everything in moderation? I lost sight of that concept just like anyone else. Some people love to drink. Well why don’t you go try drinking as much as you want, whenever you want, and see where that gets you. Not much in this world was meant to be enjoyed in excess.

Now for the enablers. And boy do I know about this one. If I hadn't killed myself (back then, sometimes clocking 120+ hours a week) to make sure my ex-husband had everything he could have possibly wanted (that I could make happen within my means, of course), then he wouldn't have had it; simple as that. I don’t say that to be mean, but the fact of the matter is these ridiculously skewed people usually cannot take care of themselves; much less indulge in the "luxuries" in life on their own. Since when do we get to just decide we want these things but don't have to work to get them? And by luxuries I mean drugs, alcohol, cigarettes, video games, various forms entertainment--whatever--and even vacations. You have got to be kidding me. I can't even remember the last time I went on a vacation and I go to work every freaking day and have 40 days of paid time off a year. Literally--eight weeks.

This brings me back to my initial question. What the hell makes these people feel entitled to take advantage of other people? People they supposedly care about, no less, and that obviously care about them. Okay, I get it, early on it may have been because they were spoiled. But at some point, how do you not grow up, look around and see how selfish and lazy you look amongst everyone else? Or heaven forbid, want to return the favor or give back to that person who, more often than not, has sacrificed EVERYTHING for your sorry ass? Whether you are taking advantage of your spouse, your friends, your parents or your grandparents, how do you look at yourself in the mirror? OHHHHHH, that's right. We don't look in the fucking mirror.

I am watching 4 women, in 4 vastly different relationships, being taken advantage of every day by sorry sacks of shit. Seriously, I am. And every one of these women are near 60 or above and still working their asses off while a 20-something, a 30-something, a 40-something and a 50-something meander their way through their pathetic existences, blaming everyone for their failures and finding it acceptable to take, take, take and give nothing. Fuck money, I mean complaining about lifting a finger. And heaven help us, one of them is about to become a father. Not to mention the jerks who have the nerve to beg for money for ludicrous things on FB or complain about not wanting to get a job AND THEY HAVE CHILDREN. And then I'm supposed to feel sorry for them and give up my hard-earned money (or feel bad when I don’t) when they need medical care or food or to pay off fines or a ride somewhere or gas in their cars (undoubtedly to go somewhere they have no business going and can obviously not afford). I am certainly not justifying my own actions, but even when I was not being responsible with my money I was never not working. Anyone who knows me knows that I haven't a qualm in the world with helping those in need. Hell, I had my freaking head bashed in with a beer bottle by a homeless person who didn't like me helping another homeless person. But those who are fully capable and CHOOSE not to help themselves? Well, they make me want to run them over with my truck and put them out of their misery.

I realize that bitching on this blog that no one reads will not solve a damn thing. But maybe, just maybe, someone who needs a wake-up call will read this and think I’m talking about them. By the way, if you have to wonder or ask yourself this question, I probably am. And maybe they will open their eyes and realize the people they supposedly love are killing themselves to try to help someone who isn’t even close to deserving it and by some miracle they’ll develop a fucking conscience. Until then I suppose I will continue to do what I can to help, bitch about the rest online and keep an eye out for these losers whenever I’m behind the wheel.

Saturday, May 28, 2011


My baby boy. An American Pit Bull Terrier. The first one I have ever had. Being an animal person, more specifically a "dog" person, I love all breeds. Including those I don't know much about. Actually, the feeling seems to be mutual as I have never met a dog who didn't seem to like me too. Thank goodness--I consider this a compliment since dogs seem to be a better judge of character than any species on the planet.

My boyfriend and I live in a loft in Downtown Houston with our two beautiful children--ahem, dogs. Yes, they are both Pit Bulls. Never mind that they are babies. Or that they're friendly as all get out and want to play with and/or lick-to-death every man, woman, child and dog. Never mind that we are responsible pet owners that keep them on a leash at all times, make them sit so someone can pass them by and pick up their poop. Or that they are fully vaccinated, insured and healthy. None of this matters because people everywhere think my babies are monsters that should be euthanized.

Today I saw someone's post on FB about the evil Pit Bulls that live next door to them that bit her husband and her Chihuahua. Are you effin' serious? First of all, if ANY dog bit a Chihuahua (other than another freakin' Chihuahua) I'd venture to say that it wouldn't live to tell the tale, but that's neither here nor there. What I would like to know is how that wretched, disgusting, out-of-control Pit Bull had the opportunity to nibble on this Chihuahua. Did he scale the fence and go through all that trouble to give him a little nip? Did he bum-rush him on the front porch and snatch him right out from under his master? Or are they one of the many, many arrogant and discourteous people that let their own dog run amok because they think THEIR dog is NOT the problem. I'll be the first to tell you that the latter is not that far fetched--I live with dozens and dozens of them. And every day it's like trying to walk my dogs through a gauntlet of stupidity. If I am expected to be responsible with my deadly Pit Bulls, then why on Earth shouldn't you be responsible for controlling your yapping Chihuahua?

Now, I am not implying that the Chihuahua, the husband or their master are to blame. I simply wonder where the blame actually lies. If I am walking my dog, on a leash, and your unleashed terror comes rushing up barking, snarling, carrying on and jumping at my dog (essentially the canine equivalent of "little man syndrome" in my opinion), and my dog reacts, how in the HELL is this my or my dog's fault? Regardless, you can bet your butt that's the way it's gonna play out. My dogs don't bark, yelp, screech or lunge at any other dogs...UNTIL THEY ARE PROVOKED. What animal (or human, for that matter) would not react when backed into a corner? I walk each dog separately for at least 30 minutes to an hour every time they go out. I have tons of time spent with them, training them and observing their mannerisms, as well as those of my neighbors and their pets. I am not even nearly always right, but I am certain and confident in my observations in this regard--people can be extremely discourteous and irresponsible. I liken it to the parents that let their children run wild and don't watch them, yet want our sympathy when they end up drowning in the back yard or when grandpa backs over them in the driveway. How in God's name was no one watching that 2 year old? It sounds callous and mean, but at some point in time we have the accept some responsibility. I won't start because that's a completely different rant.

Let's clarify some things. PEOPLE are the problem--not the Pit Bulls. By nature, Pit Bulls are friendly, non-aggressive animals. A Pit Bull should NEVER be people aggressive. They are extremely loyal and loving dogs. When a Pit Bull shows aggression toward another animal, or heaven forbid--a human, that Pit Bull was taught that aggression or was wired wrong from the start. The same way any other breed of dog or animal or human can be. And yes, they are dangerous. Either way, it's not their fault. Dogs can be, and are, as much a product of their environment as any human. I watched the NYPD released footage of the Pit Bull puppy getting slammed into elevator walls, kicked and beaten with his own leash. I watched him cower on the floor in horror and my heart breaks that there are people out there that think it's okay because it's only a Pit Bull. Or worse yet, should he make it through this ordeal and come out adopted and then start showing signs of aggression as a result of what he has been through, that he would likely end up being put to sleep. No animal on the planet deserves to be treated this way.

So, once again, call me crazy but I tend to try not to condemn things I know nothing about. Hell, I try not to condemn or judge things that I DO know something about. But as a society, we are sure as hell perfectly content to be ignorant. As they say, ignorance IS bliss.

Monday, August 23, 2010

Catnip for Crazy

Today I had happen to me, one of the oddest things that has happened to me in quite some time. On my way to work, I was sitting at a light on Lamar at Louisiana (across the street from my office) waiting for it to change. Though there were at least 40 people waiting for various Park and Rides and buses, I was the only vehicle in the intersection and I was sitting in the middle lane. I happened to glance up to my right and noticed a man in the crosswalk and it was a sight that just about broke my heart.

I won't pass judgment, but what I DO know is this. He couldn't have weighed 90 pounds soaking wet, he was elderly, it was 100-degree-hot and he appeared to be homeless. He was also clutching his freakishly large clothes in what looked like an attempt to keep them on his frail body. I said a prayer for this man and looked back at the signal, waiting.

A few seconds later, I glance over again (just generally trying to pay attention to what's going on around me) and this same man is now standing on the corner and staring at me. I smiled in his general direction and, not wanting to be rude,
quickly faced forward to stare at the light (and admittedly break eye contact). But the next thing you know, as I looked out of the corner of my eye I realized that this man is about to start knocking on my passenger side window! I look over at him and...he smiled. Just one really, really big smile and then waved. Then he hurried back to the sidewalk and kept going. I was laughing so hard, but not NEARLY as hard as the people waiting at the bus stops on either side of me--they were cracking up!

Living in Downtown Houston, or really just Houston period, I have become very accustomed to interacting with homeless people. I live within blocks of the Womens' Shelter, Salvation Army Home for Men and one of the city's soup kitchens, Loaves and Fishes. Most of them are friendly, mean no harm and some of them aren't even bold enough to ask for anything. Of course I thought he was knocking to ask for money, but he proved me wrong and just said hello.

Funny world we live in. Needless to say, I'm still laughing at the incident because overall, it was pretty amusing. I'll never know why exactly he decided to come up to my Jeep and say hello. Maybe he thought I was pretty. Maybe he was going to ask for money and changed his mind. Maybe he caught me looking at him and was offended and he was making a point. Maybe he was just stark raving mad. But either way it goes, all I can do now is shake my head and say, "damn, I must be like catnip for crazy!"

Friday, April 2, 2010

Okay Dea, how 'bout you help me with my Qi?

So here are some long overdue photos of the humble abode. There's not much to it; it's a loft for cryin' out loud! I think the flow is good though--what do you think? No mirrors facing the door! Anyone else wishing to chime in, please do so! Also, I'm looking for suggestions on drapery color. I have bought several sets of panels and have taken them all back! They're about to end up a dark espresso and be left at that! Photos of the sleeping quarters to follow. The last pic is the birdcage you gave me with my beautiful stuffed bird, Matcha. Ain't she adorable??? The crystal you gave me lives next to Matcha. So?

Oh! And P.S. - Anyone interested in that TV stand? It's for sale! :)

Wednesday, March 31, 2010


Anyone that knows me, knows that I am absolutely terrified of spiders. Big ones, small ones, daddy long-legs - I don't give a shit - they all creep me out. Afterall, when one awakes at the age of 5 and finds such a creature has nested in the long, and apparently inviting, hair on the nape of their neck, one tends to become somewhat arachnophobic. So phobia aside, I somehow had a fascinating encounter with a spider this past weekend. Tyson, my crazy-ass brother for those of you not in the know, has been telling me of a certain arachnid that had taken up residence somewhere along the path on which he walks his AD/HD dog, Violet. You know how they say dogs tend to take up the traits and personalities of their owners? Well, never mind, that's a whole new blog. So anyway, my mom was in town and we went by my brother and his wife's place and for some retarded reason, I decide that I want to see this spider. Now, those of you familiar with my brother know that this is not an entirely bright idea when one is deathly afraid of something. Against my better judgment, down we go to see the spider. We shall call her Phoebe. And with no real "warning" of the magnitude of Phoebe, I about flipped when I saw her. There she sat. I kid you not, at least 7-8 inches in diameter - legs and all. Holy crap. Without a doubt the largest spider I have ever seen in person. I found out later that she is a Golden Silk Spider or Banana Spider. So we examine her for a bit, from a friggin' distance of course, and Ty decides he should throw something at her. Dear Lord, WHY, I don't know, but he precedes to throw a very large chunk of dried mud at Phoebe. I know it was not a nice thing to do, and I very well probably should have protested, but that scenario likely would have ended with him taking a stick and picking Phoebe up and trying to put her on me (as many childhood memories of similar incidences come flooding back to me). We look for her, for about a minute, both of us being chicken shits, and then leave for lunch. When we get back, no more than an hour later, Phoebe was not only back on her perch, but she had rebuilt the damn web. Whoa. Okay, so now I go grab the camera and take a few shots. Unfortunately, Phoebe is now missing a leg, undoubtedly thanks to Tyson and his precision aim. Kinda pretty, eh? Now you see why I was fascinated. Poor girl. I probably shouldn't tell you that Tyson hit her again, yes AGAIN, and this time I was not around to go back to check on her. Tyson is now convinced that she is going to exact revenge on him by lying in wait somewhere in his car and crawling on him at just the right moment. I think she would be justified, don't you? I am interested to know if she has rebuilt her web or if she said, 'screw this' and went somewhere else. I would send Ty to go look for me but, well, you get the picture...


NOVEMBER 2, 2008

Man, it sucks like hell to be arachnophobic. For two days straight I have been held hostage in my car by a spider. Yep, same spider, I assure you. Ugly little bastard. I say "little", but clearly he was larger than I could handle. Hell, the ones the size of a pinhead freak me out. It doesn't help that I have this terrible feeling that they "know" this and that if they were big enough to be seen, I would see tiny tongues sticking out and wagging at me as they watch me become paralyzed with fear. Sorta like a serial killer. Don't they get off on watching people squirm?

Anyway, back to the freakin' arachnid. It was all clear-ish, green-ish, white-ish. Like the color of things that are plastic and glow-in-the-dark. About the size of a quarter (I SAID it was little) and crawling on MY window as if it didn't have 3 others to choose from. So again, just like it knows EXACTLY what it's doing, it crawls along the bottom of my window, then up the side and, yep, you guessed it, out of sight and right into the crack of my door. Son of a biotch. Now what? The first incident happened while I was driving on 45 South. Oh man, most of you know I'm more dangerous than a blind man having a seizure behind the wheel when it comes to the possibility of a spider getting on me. Haha, so what do I do? I drive faster. To blow him off, right? I maintain that the concept would be a good one if this freak of nature didn't have 8 friggin' legs to hang on with. My mind is telling me, suuuuuurely he can't hold on at THIS speed (and you don't want to know what THAT speed was); my heart is telling me, yep, soon as you open that door he's gonna jump on your ass. I had intended to go grab something to eat, but no way was I going to let the window down. Besides, screw food, I didn't even know how I was going to get out of the car.

So I make it home and pull into the garage and...sit. I finally muster all the courage I can, shrink as far over toward the passenger seat as humanly possible, and KICK the door open. I wait and scan feverishly for any sight of him and then muster even more courage to leap outta the car. I look and look and look - no spider. So he DID blow away! Yippeee!


The next day, Friday, I am coming home again and this time, I was leaving Last Concert Cafe. I was heading to the 24-hour Walgreens semi-near my house and waiting at a light when, lo and behold, out he crawls. Same friggin' erratic scrambling path across my window and straight to the crack. Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!

This time I stop immediately and pull into a brightly lit parking lot so I can take care of this once and for all. Mind you, it's Halloween and I'm in costume, so there I stand in a parking lot on Wayside at 3 a.m. with my cleavage-from-hell top on and a fox tail hanging from my butt. I might as well have had a sign that says 'please, why don't you come over and check me out and hey, rob me while you're at it!' It's beyond me how I can be so much more deathly afraid of this spider than of getting assaulted and robbed in a parking lot at 4 a.m. Yes, by now I had been sitting in my car for an hour, watching and waiting for the asshole to come out so I could jump out and get him. This, as opposed to getting out to look for him and giving him the opportunity to jump out and get me.

I needed light, but it's ironic that I seemed to be sitting under what must have been the brightest flood light in all of Houston, because let me tell you, it was like moths to a flame. A woman, by herself, in the middle of the night, sitting in a parking lot on a bad side of town. I have no doubt that some of them probably had good intentions. And those that weren't good samaritans were either morbidly curious or leering at me with their tongues practically hanging out. Don't get me wrong, I am all too aware of how freakin' crazy I looked. Staring at my windows, eyes darting around, interior light on (just in case he actually made it through a crack somehow and wasn't just all folded up and sitting in one), lol, and in costume. Yep. I'm a freak.

I finally work up the nerve (AGAIN) to kick the door open and leap out. AGAIN, I see no spider. I am cussing and hopping around and yelling and MAD. And pathetic. Haha. But I was determined to get this sucker before I got back in. Period. And then by some miracle (I guess God wanted me to make it home that night), I see him. He's in the door frame, in this cozy little web, den, lair -- whatever -- thing, where I can barely see him (much less get to him quick enough to kill him). YES DEA, I SAID KILL HIM. If you like me as much as you say you do, then you will realize it was him or me, as I assure you, had he gotten inside and crawled on me while I was on 45, you would have been attending my funeral after I flipped out and lost control and ran into a concrete barrier. ANYWAY, then I spend the next 30-45 minutes trying to work up the nerve to stick my makeshift weapon in this stupid hole to get him. I'd get SOOOOOO close and then jump back and cuss. This one poor couple circled me at a distance for what must've been an hour. I could tell they wanted to help, but were probably scared to death that I was a psychopath. I am not too sure they wouldn't be right at this point, but I could practically
Publish Post
hear the conversation...

We HAVE to stop! Look at her, she needs help!

Yeah, she needs help alright!

Maybe we should call the police.

Maybe we should get the hell outta here before she sees us and chops us up and puts us in her freezer...

Of course this just made me laugh, which made me look THAT much crazier.

I finally decide I should spritz him with the only thing I had - Caress Cucumber & Green Tea body spray (my logic is such that if I spray a critter with enough of anything it will kill 'em). I finally get the guts to spray and then shove the cardboard thingy I had been holding in my kung fu death-grip for over an hour into the crack. He came tumbling out and I squashed him (sorry Dea). I jumped in my car and said screw Walgreens and went straight home. By this time, it was daylight.

I don't know what it is. I've held snakes. I've caught and released (and attempted to release - but that's a different blog) mice. I can deal with a friggin' tree roach the size of a hamster and have actually picked up and thrown away a dead rat I saw near a building when some chick was freaking out. What gives? Why the spiders? Many of you know I found a giant monster of one in my hair on the nape of my neck when I was 5. Maybe it was that. Maybe I should check into overcoming the fear. I mean, let's face it, spiders aren't going anywhere. Well, I guess in the meantime it would serve me well to put some spider spray in my car...