Somewhere out there, in this vast universe of ours, there is a woman getting all the good karma possible. She must be stealing it from me because I can’t believe sometimes how it all just rains shits in my life. Something fantastic will happen and then it seems to stop, back up like a garbage truck with shirtless men hanging off of it, and then proceeds to take the trash OUT of the can and place it all over my driveway.
This is me feeling sorry for myself. It’s not an unusual routine, it’s just that I don’t write about it often.
And do you know WHY I don’t write about it often? Because I hate those bloggers who write sticky sweet posts with fabulous pictures and happy, happy, joy, joy posts about the greatest things on the planet (things like sweet potato fries or really comfortable shoes that also look incredibly fashionable) and then they pour out their hearts about the horrible, terrible, no good, very bad thing that happened to them and everyone comes rushing to their aid in the form of a thousand comments of “Hang in there, kid!” and “You don’t deserve this!” It all makes me wonder about the whole karma thing. I don’t think about it all that often, but recently a friend of mine asked if I could do something with her and I couldn’t because there were things pressing on me. There were other responsibilities. And then I mentioned to my friend, named Susan, that I also had to take care of my mother. “You know, you’re going to get some really good karma from doing that.”
Later, that same week, I had the Orkin folks come out and take a look at my new house because we must have brought every bug known to man into this place when we moved it including, dare I say it, las cucarachas, which are just about the most disgusting form of insect ever especially when you step on them barefoot in your living room and then you have to cut off your foot because cleaning it with acid just won’t do the trick and hey, this one footed look is all the rage in France, isn’t it?
The other reason I don’t write about the woe-is-me blog post is that there are really strange people reading my blog. Not YOU, but there are others. Weird in the way that I either work with them or they know me from my previous church or they are just nosy but not at all invested in my life. When I moved to this house it seemed like the entire neighborhood knew I was coming. “Oh, I heard you bought that house!” someone said to me. It made me remember that this is a small town and that people talk. Truly, this is a wonderful area, don’t get me wrong. But I’ve already seen a neighbor fall over drunk in front of me and smack her head on the pavement in front of my house. Twice. No lie. In fact, my favorite person who lives near me is a darling Indian woman who gasped when I told her what I did for a living and said, “Oh, my goodness! I cannot believe I am talking to an assistant principal! This is so very wonderful!” It’s not that she’s impressed with my position, but she instantly was warm and welcoming and asked if I liked to eat samosas and didn’t strike me as the gossipy kind. Plus, she always says “Hello, Kell-y!” to me in a sing-song voice with her perfect English sprinkled with her adorable and quite likable Indian accent.
Oh, and another thing for people-who-know-me-and-read-me-but-don’t-really-talk-to-me: if I use an alias on the blog here and then you bring up a story to me in person and use the alias and not the real name but then you tell me that you don’t really care about my blog and that’s why you don’t read it then I’m going to have to call bullshit on you. I will also think you’re a creeper. Stop doing that. It’s silly.
Oh, and one more thing about that since I’m in the mood to address it. Maybe you should stop talking about how you’d like to invite me to things because of my online Internet presence and about all the good I can do for you or your organization because stuff like that does get back to me and it makes me feel used. And don’t pray for me to use my blog for Jesus. Yeah. I heard about that one, too.
Back to karma, shall we? So, the Orkin guys points out that I have some mold and rotten drywall in the basement and see here? This thing? It’s a hole that’s starting to form and it’s getting bigger, you might want to have that checked out. This leads to a panicky Who do I call for such a thing? Is this a cosmic joke? Buy a new house and have to fix this already! but then I calmed down after snorting a line of crayon dust (the color was cerulean, I knew you might ask me that question) and realized that this is probably because of the air conditioner which I am running at all times and the previous owner didn’t really run at all so this is where the condensation is building up. (Much as I would love to proofread this post and take out all the run-on sentences I will certainly NOT do that right now.) Let me just shorten this next part:
1. Contractor/fixer-upper guy comes in. It’s condensation. Buy a dehumidifier and empty that sucker daily.
2. Pull down drywall. Oh, look! The rubber hose around the pipe has little teeth marks! You have mice!
3. Fix, re-rubber piping, put up new drywall, sand, paint, voila!
Karma also got me for teasing my son about the vaginal itch cream because the very next day I got bitten by a buffalo gnat right next to my eye which then created a cellulitis and I had to go to the doctor to get put on an antibiotic just in case and the whole left side of my face looked about 20 years older than the right side.
Karma: Take THAT!
Me: Okay. You win.
Besides the fact that I’m singing “La Cucaracha” around the house now and trying to squeeze in all sorts of fun things for my super short summer month, I am regrettably unable to attend BlogHer in New York. I already have the ticket to get into the conference, but no easy way to get there and pay for an expensive hotel. There’s no point in expressing how sad this makes me because I badly want to see people and get/give hugs to people who have become such good friends. My only excuses are las cucarachas y ratones and caring for a sick parent and paying for an expensive divorce that still isn’t settled yet and a new house payment. I’m thinking of how funny (just not Ha! Ha! funny) it is that I wrote this nearly a year ago about saving money and not begging for sponsorship to attend blogging conferences and here I am making the responsible decision. I will go ahead and quote myself from that post: I simply cannot go.
Karma just isn’t all that funny.
I’m so sorry you can’t make it to the conference this year.
RE: The dehumidifier, forget about that “emptying daily” nonsense. Set the unit up on something, attach a hose and run it into your basement drain. That way it’ll drain continuously and you won’t have to constantly babysit it.
Oh, Jane. I know this. I just haven’t got a hose yet! Well, the previous owners left one and it doesn’t work. So there’s that.
I’ll miss you so much this year.
Aw, that sucks. I’m sorry you can’t go to Blogher. And for the BUGS. Bleh.
I would like to invite you for a drink…but only because it sounds like you really need one. I promise no blogging for Jesus – although I’m not sure how that would actually come about. I thought that all the really good bible thumping people didn’t do things like television and internet because it would warp their fragile little minds (thank you South Park for that phrase). Lastly – that’s a bummer about BlogHer – I’m sure the people there will miss you…not that I know the difference between all these blogging convention things. Hope you give Karma a bitch slap right back very soon!
Ruth, now that I see your comment I’m suddenly mortified that I just told the Internet that I have roaches. But, yeah. Bleh.
JesseJo, you just name the time and place for a drink. I’m accepting all invitations.
Ummmmm sweet potatoes fries… wait… what was this blog about again?
Then I will come to you. Simple as that. You can not go to BlogHer, I can not go to BlogHer. I will come to you and we can stand in your basement and scream at the mice and roaches and I will call you by your alias and tell you I don’t read your blog, but hang with your neighbors and stalk you from across the street and maybe make some Indian food with your Indian neighbor and call you Kell-y in the most sing-songy voice and then we can raid Wal-Mart or Target for all the vaginal itch cream we can find and have a giveaway on your blog in celebration of using it for Jesus.
What do you think?!
I love you, Lu. Jesus, that’s brilliant.
If it makes you feel slightly better, I just got rid of (well, almost rid of) the ants. Now we have flies swarming around the house.
I once told people, and I think I may have blogged about it, that we had a mouse. Yeah, probably not something to share, even though I swear the mouse was left behind when the previous owners moved. They left bugs too, so I feel for you.
I have overshared/felt sorry for myself on my blog too many times, and sometimes you get support, and sometimes you get lovely trolls that want to pile more crap on top of you. So no more. Which is why I’m taking a little break from blogging. Don’t need no more crap piled on top of me, especially from trolls.
I hope things get better for you very soon, with or without good karma. You just deserve good things
i live in the deep south, sugar, so everybody has roaches, we just call them palmetto bugs, so nobody ever gets embarrassed! bless your heart, i like y’all’s style, girl, y’all got grit! (and fuck’em if they can’t take a joke!) xxoxoxo
Yes, Meg. I actually DO feel better from that.
Sheri, you know what I forgot to mention? That there were three dead mice near the sump pump WHEN WE MOVED IN. I hope that makes me sound better.
savannah, you have got to know how much you made me laugh just now. Palmetto bugs sounds infinitely better than roaches. I love it!
…and you feel like you’re standing at the pearly gates on judgment day, wearing a “Fuck the World” t-shirt. Man, do I feel ya on this one. It makes you want to find that Murphy guy and show him just how painful his Law can be. And I hate to be the guy that pees in your Wheaties, but a home is never “fixed” for long. The only difference I’ve seen between having house and having a pimp is that at least with a pimp you know when you’ll get screwed next and you get to keep some money for clothes.
The best fix for the mice and roaches; get a cat. But it can’t be just any cat. It has to be a hard hearted, half-crazed, south central, ghetto, hood cat. The one I have, I sprung from the pound. He was a two-time loser with “thug life” tattooed on his stomach, and he was throwing up gang signs in his cage (I’m pretty he’s a Disciple) . A week after I brought him home, he had my 80 pound Labrador retriever in pink flip flops and wearing his t-shirt knotted in the front. He attacks mice, ants, flies, dust particles, shadows, and the wife and kids. I’d let you borrow him, but he can’t legally cross state lines.
Divorces cost so much because they’re worth ever penny. Lawyers can advertise and hit-men can’t, or my marriage would have ended much differently. As for the money situation; you don’t really have to pay any color of bill except the red ones. To hell with good credit, they already gave you the home loan (suckers!) And that karma crap is nonsense. If karma’s real, explain Billy Bob Thornton. His acting is fair at best, and he looks like a cricket in the face. Rich, famous, was married to Angelina Jolie, hot sex scene with Halle Berry. What did he do for a karma hook-up like that? Unless he carried Jesus out of a house fire, karma is a crock. Whatever seeds you plant, life still goes up and down ‘til ya die. Concentrate on the ups, don’t think about the downs until you have to, and have your margaritas made with the good tequila.
Sorry this is so long. It’s early, no one else is awake, and I’m so lonely!
Dammit!! I was hoping for a three-peat of making an ass of myself as I jumped over chairs and knocked down preggos just to squeee in your face as you become more and more alarmed.
It’s really not going to be the same without you there. Really not.
Don’t worry about not going to BlogHer, not going is the new black.
All the cool kids are doing it.
Read: me.
I iz not bitter.
And I know the bitch who is stealing all the Karma, she has a perfect husband and drives a hundred thousand dollar car. I am baking her a pie full of La Cucaracha in your honour. Lets hope she breaks a tooth.
Will, I love living in your world sometimes. You write all the long comments you want. They entertain me.
Sugar, you didn’t scare me. I was just thrilled that someone was willing to make an ass of themselves for little old me. xoxo
Kelley, I’m pretty sure that YOU GET ME because that was a great comment you just left.
Karma CAN be a b*tch. Instead of being touchy-feely, though, let’s just say that I just adore your run-on sentences. Don’t ever change! Peace.
*sad face* I’ll miss you. I will say, however, that making that decision is a pretty ‘big girl’ thing to do. I’m committed to go but thinking that I maybe, just maybe, shouldn’t be. (Shhhhh, don’t tell anyone that I said that. My airplane ticket fairy just might go away.)