Day 98

Day 98, self quarantine:

Saturday, June 20.  A year ago on this Saturday, we were in Virginia Beach for Eric and Natalie’s wedding.

What a year, huh.

I’m not gonna rehash it, it’s all I’ve talked about for the last 98 days.

I think I’ll just look at some of my favorite pics of the Slick family from that event and not say another word.

Yeah, right.

Actually, I just found that pic of Julie and me.  I don’t remember that one.  Thank God Julie isn’t too beautiful or anything. By our outfits it was taken at the rehearsal dinner the night before and we may or may not be very wasted in that photo. 😎

Also, Gary the Dog Whisperer is holding Best Man Marvin Prass-Slick, who was just the appreciative beneficiary of a successful GoFundMe campaign and will have life saving surgery at the end of June.

Gosh I miss my kids.

Eric and Natalie were supposed to visit this Wednesday-Thursday but changed their plans because Marvin.  They’re shooting for July 4 weekend.  I’m afraid to get my hopes up but fingers crossed.

I’m not gonna say another word about Oklahoma again, either, except to note Bunker Boi really can commit murder in broad daylight and get away with it.

Good job, America.

I’m also not going to say anything about the ridiculous criminal firing of Geoffrey Berman last night but I am heartened by this morning’s news.  

“I have not resigned, and have no intention of resigning, my position, to which I was appointed by the Judges of the United States District Court for the Southern District of New York,” Mr. Berman said in a statement released by the office .

He’s investigating Trump and his hideous family.

And that other revolting criminal, Rudy Giuiliani.

This should be interesting.

It’s gonna be a showdown between Berman and our corrupt attorney general, Walrus Bill Barr.

Yeah yeah, nothing ever happens.  

I will crawl over broken glass, swim through primordial ooze, and hold my breath through a toxic cloud of  coronavirus germs to vote for Joe Biden and get that motherfucker out of office.

Is it November 3 yet?

Sigh...

Oh well.  have to watch the last episode of Top Chef now.  I always hate when the season is over, it’s a letdown like the day after my birthday, but now I have Hulu so next Saturday morning I will be starting with Season 1, 2002, which filmed when I was a very young girl so I don’t remember it 😂😂😂

Other than that, I don’t know what’s next except sushi.  I haven’t had it since March.

Picking out what I want from the menu and listening to music is the most I’m doing on this stormy Saturday.

I’m taking another mental health day before I’m arrested for storming the White House.

Enjoy your Saturday.

Day 97

Day 97, self quarantine:

Hello, Friday!

Welp, week fourteen of the apocalypse is a wrap.

Our pizza schedule is messed up, we had it last night, which means tonight must be tomato sandwiches and hand cut French fries.

Is it 5:00 yet?

Gary really stepped up his pizza game.  That white spinach pie was next level.

Don’t hate me but I’ve actually lost weight staying home. Chef Gary is in da kitchen and he makes me eat three (mostly) healthy, portion controlled meals a day so I stopped snacking at night which is the exact opposite of the way I eat when I work at my real office.  I may break 130 next week and actually see the 120s.

Too bad I am never going anywhere again to show it off.

Well, maybe in 2021.

I’m not even joking.

I’m really not liking the news on surging numbers where states have reopened.  My mind is made up.  I’m not venturing anywhere near people again anytime soon.

I’m going to make Julie’s bedroom more office like and by that I mean a desktop computer and good color printer.  Even if my paralegal life ends soon, I discovered something magical and I’m so excited I can hardly bear it.

I can write in this place.

I can write and write and write from dawn until it’s bedtime. There’s a muse in the room, she clearly kissed Julie and now she’s sprinkling her fairy dust on me.

This house is small.  There’s no finished basement or family room.  I never had my own place to write.

I wrote four novels in my living room with Eric practicing the drums two feet behind me and Gary and Julie yelling back and forth a few yards away in the kitchen.

So how weird has it been that since it’s been just Gary and me in the house, it took me almost a hundred years to finish a new one?

I think maybe the two of us enjoy hanging out together a little too much.

But now I come up here early while he’s asleep and write while drinking coffee and listening to music. Honestly, I could write all morning except work but I write all day there, too, so all good.

The acoustics in here are great.

I know a lot of writers can’t write unless it’s silent, I’m just the opposite.

Probably because I grew up writing with Eric drumming behind me.

Gary’s getting his music man cave, why shouldn’t I have a writing cave?

Hahaha you might think the kids just moved out the way I’m talking.  It’s been ten years since they vacated their bedrooms but Gary was sure they were coming back and preferred to leave them as shrines ❤️

Now he can finally admit it’s a good thing they grew up though it’s still hard for him.  Eric recently called him with a plumbing problem in his new house and Gary hung up the phone all distraught.

“Maybe I should drive over and give him a hand.”

“In Nashville?”  I thought maybe I didn’t hear him right.

“It’s only a twelve hour trip.”

“Yeah but there’s a virus...wait, are you serious?”

“He’s my son.”

Aw, Gary.

So anyway, the new book.  To be honest, after having pretty much terrible luck with agents throughout my illustrious career and dreading the process I said fuck it, I’m just putting it out myself, and I gave myself a publication date of April 1 which I thought was perversely fitting.

And then the apocalypse happened and putting out a new book when I was pretty sure I’d be dead in two weeks seemed kinda pointless.

Anyway, last night I revisited it.  And now I’m not sure what to do.

Holy hell, even though I know better, maybe I am going to let the muse in this bedroom do her thing.  I’m gonna swallow my pride, hold my nose, and submit a query to a few agents.

The book is called “What the Hell Happened?”

It’s all about being mentally nineteen and trapped in a bewildered old person’s body.

So yeah, maybe other old people will wanna read it.

And if not...

What’s a little more rejection?

I’m alive, aren’t I?

Wish me luck.

Enjoy Friday, apocalypse dudes.

Day 96

Day 96, self quarantine:

Omg, I overslept!  No time for any wise words from my apocalypse to yours other than to quickly say Hi and tell you Gary made a pasta dish last night that was INSANE and so easy I thought I’d share the recipe.

1. • 4 ripe tomatoes, cut into 1/2 inch cubes
   • 1 pound Brie cheese, rind removed, torn into irregular pieces
   • 1 cup cleaned fresh basil leaves, cut into strips
   • 3 garlic cloves, peeled and finely minced
   • 1 cup best quality olive oil
   • salt to taste
   • 1/2 tsp freshly ground pepper
   • 1 1/2 pounds linguine
   • freshly grated imported Parmesan cheese (optional)

1. 1. Combine tomatoes, brie, basil, garlic, 1 cup olive oil, salt and pepper in a large serving bowl. Prepare at least 2 hours before serving and set aside, covered, at room temperature 
2. (We did this overnight.  We also used roasted garlic because I don’t like raw garlic)
3. 
   
1. 2. Bring 6 quarts of water to a boil in a large pot. Add the linguine and boil until al dente, about 10 minutes. 
2. 3. Drain pasta and immediately toss with the tomato sauce. Serve immediately. 
3. *****************
4. Okay, that’s my public service announcement for today - I have a complicated project at work which I have to finish this morning.

Oh.  How about that Bolton book and Bunker Boi’s reaction.  There’s no convincing me that he’s not headed to Oklahoma Saturday so that the pandemic rages sufficiently for him to cancel the election or scare people into not voting.

But can you wrap your mind around the narcissism, stupidity and pure evil behind the decision to hold a vanity Nazi rally in the middle of a pandemic where the numbers are skyrocketing and the Tulsa Health Department is PLEADING with the psychopath to postpone it but he won’t.

How is what he’s planning not called MURDER?

Or to quote my bewildered husband, “HOW IS HE NOT IN PRISON?”

How is anyone planning on attending not in a mental institution?

Oh, right, we don’t have them anymore because Republicans.

Fuck it.  I’m moving to Canada.

Peace and love, apocalypse dudes.

Day 95

Happy Wednesday morning!

I always sneak in what day it is so I can remind myself since every day is the same during quarantine and all I know at this point is it’s 2020.

Oy, what a year.  I remember thinking January would never end when we were reeling in shock over Kobe Bryant.

Anyway, behold my house with a screen door and light pouring in!

Seriously, am I right about French doors in this room or what? Wouldn’t they be amazing?

As would hardwood floors.

They’re next 😎

So the yard still contains some trash bags and some assorted remaining junk in the other pic, which I also took yesterday at 11:00 a.m.  when I came downstairs for coffee.  The sun streaming in made me so happy I couldn’t help snapping some photos.


The fun pic will be of our garden this weekend when there’s flowers everywhere and lights and beach chairs and maybe even some painted rocks.

I’m in a good head this week, probably because I’m getting a lot done at the home office and here at Casa Slick.  The mental health boost my boss gave me last Thursday carried over to this week.   A couple kind words, man, that’s all it took.  And it’s really true, the busier I am, the less my mind wanders to depressing places.  I blast my music and bury myself in what I’m doing and forget that there’s an apocalypse happening.

Too bad I couldn’t successfully keep that up every day since November 9, 2016, huh.

I’m working on it but I’m seeing light at the end of the tunnel.  Mother Nature seems to be taking care of what the Democrats couldn’t.  Grandpa Crazypants clearly isn’t well. He either had a stroke or he’s got onset dementia because he’s even more grotesque than usual and even though I’ve been screaming about it for months, mainstream media is finally noticing.

So that’s cool.

You guys realize that Mercury goes into retrograde at 10:21 a.m. today, right?  We can’t make major purchases or sign contracts until July 12.

CB2, if you’re listening, do not have your patio furniture sale until July 13.  Ahem.  Make that July 14.  As in 714.

Remember 714s?

Thank god they disappeared but WHY?  Was there a better drug ever created?

That’s why they took them from us, they made us too damn happy.

But yeah, it’s probably better for my health and Gary’s they’re not around anymore. It would be unseemly for two senior citizens to be...

Never mind.

😂😂😂

Ah, memories.

(If you ever took them, you know what I’m saying)

(At this point in our program, both of my kids are shouting Mother of the Year! Mother of the Year!)

Hey, kiddies, you’re awesome because of your dad and me. You may be celebrity rock stars but you’ll  never be as cool as we are.😜

(Now both kids are jumping up and down, laughing hysterically, and shouting OKAY, BOOMER in unison.)

In other news, last night Gary made me watch Frontline on PBS.  It was all about how Trump botched the coronavirus response and it’s totally his fault 115,000 Americans are dead.

Of course I’ve known this since March, but it was all fresh news to Gary, who kept turning around and looking at me in shock.

“WHY ISN’T HE IN JAIL?” Gary kept asking me.

Hell if I know.

Oh, before Frontline, we watched a documentary on Mae West.  

Mae and I were both born on August 17.

I’m not even lying.

Life is grand.

Enjoy Wednesday, apocalypse dudes.

Day 94

Day 94, self quarantine:

Hey hey Tuesday.  You’re looking good!

So here’s something I thought I’d never say:  Bless you, Justice Gorsuch.

Here’s another thing I never thought I’d say:  I learned of the historic decision from Gary, who was glued to MSNBC while I was upstairs working.

“I have breaking news!” he said excitedly.

Oh god.  What now?

“Oh, yeah?  Pray tell.“

Woke Gary is so adorable ❤️

“I should call Julie with the news,” he beamed.

“I think she’s probably still sleeping in Seattle,” I smiled.

“Yeah, but I want...”

“She’ll see as soon as she wakes up.”

Too funny.  Because he refuses to get a smart phone and just started watching cable news for the first time in his life, Gary doesn’t realize we’re all “in the loop.”  He’s getting his first real taste of breaking news.

He thinks it’s something new and he discovered it.

😂😂😂😂😂😂

Welp, to be fair, we didn’t used to have breaking news every damn hour of every damn day but then again, we didn’t have a mentally ill imbecile with likely dementia in the White House  cowering in a bunker behind a baby gate before, either.

But it was a beautiful thing yesterday to discover Trump and his hideous minions haven’t completely broken America yet.

Sigh...

So tonight is the final trash night and our yard officially becomes a garden.  This time I mean it!  

We’re so damn excited.

Wait’ll Gary finds out what his next project is.

I’m gonna have him officially turn Eric’s former bedroom into his own man cave music room.

We flirted with the idea ten years ago when Eric first moved out but like every other spare space in this tiny house, we started using it for storage, i.e., the place where things end up that we’re not sure we want to throw out yet.

Ahem, I mean things that Gary can’t part with.

Oy, I really have to introduce him to Marie Kondo.

https://konmari.com/

I actually tried a few years ago to get Gary to let go of some of his possessions but my fatal mistake was telling him it was called Swedish Death Cleaning.

“You want me to do what?!” he asked, his eyes widening in horror.

I tried to explain the concept to him but all he did was wrap his arms around his towers of Keep on Trucking t-shirts, bongs and eight track cassettes and stare at me like You will have to pry these from my cold, dead hands.

So yeah, when he’s done out back, Gary’s gonna build himself a playroom and I will have an official place for all his weird stuff.

In other news, yesterday wasn’t entirely awesome.  Eric texted that their dog Marvin had two seizures and was in the hospital.  Oh god, that’s the worst.

As I texted to Eric, “This adult stuff isn’t always fun, huh.”

The news wasn’t good for Marvin but they’re going to try anti- seizure medication and a holistic diet and as long as he’s not suffering...

Eric and Natalie are so distraught.  It’s their one year anniversary next week.  I can’t even believe it.

We are all heartsick but as always, I encouraged Eric to live in the moment and be grateful that he and Natalie are not out touring like they would normally be this time of year and now they can spend every day with Marvin.

None of us could have predicted the events of 2020, huh.

A raging pandemic, over a hundred thousand dead, and forty million Americans out of work, including my husband and all three kids.

To the people who told me I’m overreacting and my life and the lives of “most” Americans  won’t change even a little bit just because Trump was elected...

Fuck you and fuck you hard.

Okay, I feel better now.

And on that note, I’m heading upstairs to work.

Later, apocalypse dudes.

Day 93

Day 93, self quarantine:

Welcome to Monday, week fourteen, day ninety-three of the apocalypse.

I should call this post Baby Steps.  That’s what yesterday felt like.

As it turns out, it was a good thing Gary looked at the CB2 catalogue last week.

It was his introduction to the real world.  It’s not 1973 anymore, Gar.

In all fairness, I am in charge of finances at Casa Slick. Gary lost that right in the beginning of our marriage when he forgot to pay the electric bill for three months and guess what happened.

So he still thinks our monthly electric bill is $9.00 like it was in nineteen diggity-two when we got married.  He really has no clue what things cost.

Anyway, he started nervously yapping about patio furniture and CB2 in the car on the way to Lowes. 

“So you’re not hoping to find a $2,100 outdoor nesting table at Lowes, are you?” he asked nervously in his best Thurston Howell, III voice.

I took a deep, measured breath.

“No, but I am hoping to find a chair or two for that price,” I replied.

To his credit, Gary kept both hands on the steering wheel and didn’t drive off the road.

He didn’t answer me at all.

But the first seed was planted.

Muhahahaha.

We pulled up at Lowes and my anxiety kicked in.  There were too many people.  I questioned our sanity being out in public with 350 new coronavirus cases in Philadelphia overnight.

But everyone was wearing masks and once inside, it really was easy to be even ten feet apart.

It was still unnerving, though. I’m not doing it again for the foreseeable future.

Luckily, the patio furniture was right where we walked in.

I could see immediately their furniture was dreck but I didn’t want to be Debbie Downer and screw up any future shopping trips for when it feels safer.

Gary inexplicably walked over to a large table with six chairs and an umbrella.  I saw him examine the price tag.

What was he doing?  We have a twelve foot garden.  That thing was a faux wood monstrosity which would literally eat up all our space, if it fit at all, which I seriously doubted.

“Hey, Rob?  Come see this.  The whole set is only $800!”

Oy vey.

Suddenly I understood.  It was a six piece set and he divided six into $800 and found a way he could justify  paying anything over $150 for furniture.

So what if he wouldn’t have room for his barbecue let alone any plants.

Or be able to get out of his chair without hitting the fence.

I walked over, feigning interest.

“This is nice, isn’t it?”  Omg, Gary looked so cute but was he really that clueless?

That table was fugly.  No other words.

“Oh, yes,” I lied.  “But isn’t this more for a big suburban back yard?  I was thinking more of a conversation set.”

Holy hell, the minute I said it I knew it was a misstep.

“A what!?  A conversation set?  What might that be, Mrs, Bucket?  Will we be having a candlelight supper back there on our Royal Doulton with the hand painted periwinkles?”

Only if we buy the monstrosity you’re looking at, babe.

“Haha,” I said instead.

“So do tell, Mrs, Bucket, what’s a conversation set?” Gary asked.

“This,” I replied, walking over to two wicker chairs with blue cushions and a small wicker accent table where Gary could keep an ashtray.

From where I stood it didn’t look half bad and was definitely in line with what I was thinking but when I saw it up close, Ew, gross, it wasn’t wicker, it was plastic.  

Gary studied the price tag.

“Hey, Mrs. Bucket?  This conversation set is only $500.00,” he said hopefully.

It was hilarious how quickly $500 was now a bargain.

I pointed out that despite being a “bargain ,” we were looking at a poorly constructed plastic table and chairs made in China.

“Omg, look at the cushions,” I said disdainfully.

“What’s wrong with them?”  Gary was getting into it now.  He was starting to realize that this trip might not cost him anything after all.

😂😂😂

I showed him the strings hanging from the fabric  and lumps where the cushions were stuffed unevenly.

“I can’t believe they’re getting $500 for this,” I said as indignantly as possible.

“Me, either!” Gary vigorously agreed.

This was going to be almost too easy.

The furniture in the CB2 catalogue will be mine.

Anyway, in the meantime, I need something now while I wait for CB2’s big outdoor furniture sale.  I’m desperate to sit out back!  If I go to Target and get a couple resin chairs, I might get stuck with them forever.  I’m through settling for things that don’t bring me joy.

What to do, what to do.

I had a stroke of genius.  We need new chairs for the beach.  Therefore we’ll just buy a couple chaises and also use them in the garden for now.

So in the end, I do have to be Lucille Ball but Gary really is the perfect Ricky.

Jeez, I’m wordy today.  I haven’t even talked about the french doors yet.

The doors may be a tad more difficult.

I gotta think on it.

In the meantime, I had another stroke of genius.

We bought a screen door.

I can now see outside to the garden and the fresh air feels divine.  I realize what I’ve been missing, sitting here in the dark.

Gary thinks he’s off the hook for $79.

😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

(Where’s the emoji for laughing so hard you bust a gut?)

So yeah, yesterday was more like baby steps but fuck me, it was progress and as long as I - or you - can still move forward on any given day, all is well, right?

Right!

Okay, enough out of me.  Time to head upstairs to ye olde home office and start the week.

Play nice today, apocalypse dudes.