THEY WENT THIS-A-WAY AND THAT-A-WAY...

"Please Press Or Say One Number Of Your Social Security Number At A Time For Faster Assistance"

This is the actual message when you call the Social Security Administration Office for help. Myself? I prefer to mash all 9 numbers at once. ZZZZZZ!!! Saves time. I want it slower. If they can't understand me? Fuck 'em. They're stupid, anyway. There are three people in this house on SSDI, one of whom is hard of hearing and one of whom is uncomfortable with the forms, and I don't blame her; they are bearish, deliberately I am sure. The SSA wants you to work hard to get what you or your loved ones have already earned. They want you to work hard to get what you may already be too sick or broke to strive to get to eke by on. I have to call them every damned five minutes because of some badly-worded letter they've sent us. The workers don't speak English as a second language. I'm betting that Jovian isn't even their second language. They probably used facial expressions on their home planets; the grammar is that sucky. And their customer service skills are even worse. Your tax dollars are cheerfully at work!

But that's not really what this post is about. I'm trying to structure, or re-structure this blog in a somewhat coherent way, which is a novel idea for me. In doing so, I have to read for context, which is also novel. I'm one of those slash-and-burn types. I did it in music and in programming. I know it sounds horrid, but there are advantages. You learn to think on your feet, think big picture and it works well in real time. Not so good for reflection and going back to pick up threads. I'd be a lousy show-runner. So. I may repeat some stuff and I may leave stuff out because, for a long time, I kept just this one blog. Then I kept two, then three and then I did some FB and then I did Twitter and "Hi, my name is Mary and I'm a..." whoops, well... I don't know what I put when and where and I am not going back to SIFOTS, or son of SIFOTS or RUNESCAPIANDAYS or SPZ. If you start having deja vu, you're reading some of my regurgitated drivel. Feel free to skip. You'll get a hall note at the end of each post. So. I am also leaving WallPress or Wallnuts or HarveyWallbanger. It sucks. Bloggersville here does, too, but less suckage per word. At least, I have fewer kluges per word here, Walleye was one giant kluge. I need a Content Manager I guess. If I ever get some Content, maybe I'll check it out. Enough shop talk.

NEXT MONTH IS THE RNC

Would it be too much to ask the powers that be that we hurry up this December 22, 2012 thing if it's going to be the end of the world entirely, to oh, say, August 1? The idea of "Catcher" Mitt Romney being in Tampa for the RNC and that close is a bit too much to stomach. I have gotten to the point in my 56 years where the shiny has about worn off the whole idea of Best and Brightest running the U.S. of A. and  after the Bush fiasco I can say with no little enmity and loathing that I will never vote for a Republican again. But honestly? They're not the only problem. Top to bottom. The Democrats need to simplify and show unity on issues and the American people... *Sigh* We need to really educate ourselves and our children about the principles and foundations that really built this republic. It's not about sides, platforms, conservatives, or liberals. It's about the truths. 

We have so lost sight of this Everybody has an axe to grind and an agenda; something to gain. No one is in it for the greater good, unless it makes them look good. That's wrong. The only way I see to make a lasting change, is to make an honest, true one. One that's deep, bone deep. If this sounds naive, so be it. It's the only thing that works. The rest of it's just rouge on a bulldog. I been there. Not doing it anymore. But I digress.

I am an Independent, which is cool, except for the fact that you can't vote in primaries. I could be Libertarian. Anyway, Mitt (I.Q. = Catchers'?) O he of the Magic Underwear and his Horsey Wife are coming to Tampa in August, unless Cthulhu comes back for a family visit. It would be nice. He was supposed to show me his videos from Mt. Etna when he and Lois and the kids went Lava skiing. I pray something like that happens. I could go protest and get arrested, but since I have no I.D. what so ever from when the crack whore stole my purse (another lovely tale, she got no money, ha!) I may get "out-sourced" to Scotland. Oh wait! I have my Voter's registration card and 2 billing envelopes with my name on them! So I have bonafides. They can kill me, but they can't eat me. Oh wait, this is Florida; they CAN eat me!

LOAD CYCLE (apologies to John Irving)

OH GOODY!!! A TRIP DOWN MEMORY LANE

This is the laundromat that is directly across the street from Happy Acres, where I was originally "sheltered" when I was homeless. This view was taken from the north. Happy Acres is west from this Laundro. When I first went to Happy Acres...

Lovely, eh? I lived in the house with the Parking at Rear Sign. I couldn't climb the steps. I could barely walk... Man, the memories. *shakes head* Anyway, we had one leaky-ass washer in the back of the 2nd house and a dryer side by side. there was one land line. The guys all lived in the 2nd house and it was one giant frat/bachelor party held by ex-cons. You can imagine the ambience. The laundromat above was booming! If you had money to wash, that's where you went. All the upscale peeps were there. The rest of us made do with this horrid donated washer and dryer.

We had a "maintenance" guy named Fred. Air quotes for Fred, who really was a dear but he had been toasted since about 1963 and had some, er, interesting solutions for things... We had pergo all through our house, the girls' house, N, guys', we'll call S, for brevity; they had pergo too. Fred decided the only way to clean this stuff was with Windex, but he had this complex formula that involved I know not what. To this day, I know not what. It involved a stick, a rag, some kind of ranging, looking down the hall. Both front and back doors had to be open. I just don't know what he was channeling. I'd be fine with all that until he'd yell, "Mary! You just left a foot print on the floor!"

I look anxiously up... down. There's no foot print. I have footie socks on from the hospital. He scrubs furiously. Okay, now, he's happy. I hide. Well. One day, he decides to crank up the leaf blower but insists on leaving the washer lid up on the washer.

One of the oh, hell may as well call her what she should have been, "inmates," hollers, "Fred, are you going to wash all those goddamned leaves?"  

Fred: "Yup, 'n' dry 'em too. I got names for 'em, Deb. Y'wanna hear 'em?"

Of course, by this time, I can't for the life of me understand why on earth I've washed that stupid t-shirt 8 times and it still has pizza stains in it. The dryer is even worse. You basically just spin your ball of clothes around for an hour or two and fold them up and put them away in those nifty cardboard boxes we all got from the Metropolitan Ministry over time. Over the coming weeks, we wear our clothes, only to find them full of bedbugs and mold. Stop me if you've heard all this, or skip ahead. The best part was when the owners were too cheap to put us up in hotels and tent the houses, so we played "bedbug roulette" for months as we cyclically bombed and hopped from room to room. That really sucked. Try "freshening" up a room where 9 winos have holed up for the last year. 

Yep, we're makin' memories now, lol. To be very honest? I wouldn't trade any of this for anything in the world. It has grounded me and given me a depth I never could have gained. Trial by fire? Check.

So, back to our Laundro. It's under new management now. After a solid year of going downhill, it has been bought by someone who looks like they might give a damn. The A/C is out on it. I don't know much about the new owner yet, but I intend to find out. Their are two ladies who work there and have for years. They live here in the neighborhood and are young and raising families. The new owner's name is Robbie and he's done two things I'm impressed with. He's really cleaned up the place and opened it up. He's packed off the circus that was out front. No more winos. I have an idea germinating, but it's too soon. I'll have more blurbs from here and more memories to share. Here's your Hall pass. No running!