I miss you, bitch.

May 2, 2020

So, this is what happened.

After my breast lumpectomy operation last summer, Lissa and I stayed an extra day in Gainesville so I could get a post-op check the next day. After the horrible mess that happened with the “needle biopsy” – which I am STILL recovering from, we wanted to make sure I was able to get help immediately if something went wrong.

Then we drove back to my sad little house in Beverly Hills, Florida. My landlord had been pretty slack about repairing it over the years since I had moved in, in 2014, and I had just purchased it.  And I’m sorry, I’m not a great housekeeper. We were raised with maids. I try, but I had just finished a HUGE assignment, right before the operation, and literally uploaded the job right before I left the house to drive to Gainesville. I ran out the door thinking, oh well, Lissa will understand.  She didn’t.

Lissa came in the door like a drill sergeant doing an inspection with a white glove. She was already pissed off at having to be exposed to my son – his name is JOSHUA – on the last part of the drive. She hates kids, and has always resented him. She charged into the house, looked around and blamed the dirty dishes in the sink and the clutter on him and told him he was a bad kid, and a lazy child and should be doing more to help me, yada, yada, yada.

Poor Joshua had been such an angel over the summer after I had been diagnosed with breast cancer. I had been telling Lissa while we were in Gainesville what a great help he had been to me. He didn’t deserve to be attacked, and he didn’t understand why Lissa was being so mean to both of us. I was just horrified and didn’t know what to do while she went off on her rant. At some point, Joshua finally lost it. To be fair, I think he was defending me, more than himself. Yes, he called her the C word. It came at the end of a long string of otherwise non-offensive dissenting arguments.

I was speechless. Lissa looked at me and said, “are you going to let him talk to me like that?” I didn’t know what to say.  She WAS being a c*nt.   Sorry, Lissa, but you were.  I didn’t know what to say.  You can’t blame me for that.

Lissa stormed out and sat in her car for a few minutes, probably programming her GPS, I don’t know. I really wanted to run out and apologize, which I would normally do because I love her and frequently subvert my own dignity to hers, but I couldn’t do that to my son. He was in the right. I had to stand by him.

Lissa drove off, and has not spoken to me since. I sent her birthday gifts in September, and rather than simply sending them back, she went to the extra effort to repackage them and sent them directly to ME. I actually quite enjoyed them, because we always tend to choose presents for friends/relatives that we ourselves would enjoy, especially the wine glass that says, “I miss you, bitch.”

So, that is the sad state of affairs between Lissa and Peewee.  I’m doing okay.  Work is a little slow, but I work at home so finances aren’t too bad – WHO’S STUPID NOW?  Joshua is home, over 6 feet tall now, in high school and still an A student.

Lissa, I miss you, bitch.






Shaking and Baking

October 19, 2019

First of all, let me just say this.  I loved my mother unconditionally (unlike my sister) and would hate to diminish her memory in any way.  Something keeps floating to the top of my mind, though, every time I hear the term, “shaken baby syndrome.”

I remember multiple times, from as young as I can remember, our mother grabbing one of us by the shoulders, shaking us vigorously, and saying, “I could just shake the pudding out of you.”

I know she got it from her  whack-job mother, as she did the strange word, “awnry.”  She often told us, many, many times, “you’re being awnry.”  Eventually, I looked up the word, and found that it did not actually exist in the English language.  Later however, as I began to explore languages and accents, I had an epiphany that “awnry” was simply what she heard and didn’t completely understand as the southern version of the word “ornery.”  I’m not sure she even knew.  I think it was just a reflexive use of a word she heard all of her childhood life, not knowing what it meant.  I’m sure she would have been horrified if she had known what she was saying.

So, I don’t know if the three of us might be victims of shaken baby syndrome. The oldest would have been most affected, and she is brilliant, although somewhat emotionally dysfunctional.  Lissa, she’s brain-dead when it comes to anything to do with mathematics, dates, history, etc., but she has our mother’s amazing artistic talent, so I can’t make any judgments there either.

And me, I – uh – uh – uh – uh – uh – uh – uh

Just kidding.

Don’t judge me.  Don’t be awnry.











Lissa, I Hate You, I Love You, Talk to ME.

September 29, 2019

Hey Lissa,

Since you’re ignoring me, I thought I’d fill you in on a few things.

Our sweet little Snapple got hit by a car.

She jumped out of my car window, with no warning whatsoever, as I was turning into the driveway after dropping the kid off at school.

I shut down the car, halfway into the driveway, and jumped out, but it was too late. She had already got across the street to the median and started back, as a car was coming. It’s normally a quiet street, but it was 8 in the morning and there were people everywhere, dropping off kids at bus stops, walking dogs, and they all stopped and stared as I screamed at the top of my lungs.

For a second, I thought maybe she would be okay, as I could see her intact underneath the car, but she kept going and then I saw her go rolling as the car passed on.

She must have gone into shock immediately, because her little legs were sticking out straight, and her eyes were wide and staring as I picked up her little body and took her back to the car. I didn’t know what to do. I was sure she was dying, but I couldn’t let her pass without doing whatever I could, so even though I only had $40 in the bank, I laid her on the passenger seat of the car and drove her to the vet, just a mile and a half down the road.

As I drove, one-handed, with my right hand resting on her side, I felt Snapple’s heart beating, and her breath in and out, and by the time we got to the vet, her legs had relaxed, she had started to move her head and her eyes had come back into focus. The vet people took her away from me, but they came back within minutes to report that her vital signs were normal. Thank God.

Long story short, Snapple had a bruised spinal cord, which the vet thought might cause her problems, but two weeks later she is 100 percent recovered and if anything, she’s being picked on by the other dogs because she gets SO MUCH preferential treatment and spoiling and everything. I could have told you this right off the bat, Lissa, and spared you the shock, but I didn’t feel like you deserve it. I suffered for days, and had no one to talk to.

More fun, ex-hubby decided to “refurbish” the kid’s room at his house this summer, and offered us the very NICE solid cherry bedroom furniture. Not sure what that’s about, since the kid is still sleeping on a cot there, months later, but anyway, we took in the furniture. It’s a lot of work, though, moving furniture, and we ended up putting the mattress and box spring on top of the bed frame that was already there, because the kid wasn’t sure he wanted to give up his captain style headboard.

So, there’s these stupid bed frame pieces, some pine, some steel, leaning up against the wall, and the stupid cat keeps trying to use the pine pieces as a scratching post. Crash, in the middle of the night. Okay. Tired of picking the stupid pieces up.
So, last night I tripped over one of the wooden pieces laying on the floor, and knocked it into the metal pieces, still leaning against the wall, and they came crashing down on top of my head. Sharp piece of metal on the end of each of these pieces.


Why is my face all wet? Touch it. Blood. OMG. Look in the bathroom mirror. OMG. Looks like something out of a horror movie.

It’s a lousy half-inch cut, but you know how head wounds – or “head lacs” as they call them on TV shows, BLEED. After just glancing in the mirror, the sink was instantly covered with blood. I knew I had to contain this mess, so I jumped in the shower, clothes on, and stayed for some 20 minutes, till the water finally started to run clear. Then after I turned off the water, there was still blood dripping everywhere, so I grabbed a roll of toilet paper and held it to my head for another hour or more, till it finally stopped completely.

Okay, this was freaky. The weird head-lac crime scene bleeding I can deal with, but when I thought Snapple was leaving us, I truly wanted to die. And I’m angry. Angry that I don’t have anyone to share my pain with. I don’t go around calling people, whining when things aren’t working out for me. I pretty much keep shit to myself.

But I just don’t think I can take it anymore. I’m trying so hard to be good, and cooperative. Okay, I have cancer, no big deal. Okay, my boob turned into a giant purple blood balloon after the botched “needle biopsy,” no problem. So now I have this still oozing wound after the surgery that’s taking a lifetime to heal because they had to cut into the nasty blood pocket (hematoma) and drain the nasty old blood, and I STILL have a gross old hematoma on one side of my breast, as the whole thing turns dark brown from the radiation burn because pasty white vampire skin like mine doesn’t handle radiation well …

Okay, it’s not OKAY. And I’M MAD AS HELL.

And Lissa, just because the kid called you a cunt, well if that’s all it takes for you to abandon me, you ARE a cunt.

And don’t think this is about money, because the vet has a great payment plan and we’re well covered there, so we’re not for sale. I don’t like to go there, but I feel like sometimes you do.

I just want you to know. I am very sad. I HATE you. I LOVE you. You suck. Call me.

A Very Mueller Christmas

December 16, 2018


Peewee here,

I know it’s been a long time since I’ve blogged.  I’ve been kind of down in the dumps and more than a little obsessed with the demise of our great nation since that dreadful election two years ago.

We’re about to go through a real shitstorm as a country — as if we haven’t already been in the middle of one for two years — but I’m beginning to feel confident that we will come out stronger, in the end, and hopefully sooner than later.

And so I wrote this little poem, in honor of the season, and the turbulent New Year to come.  Hope you like it!

A Very Mueller Christmas

T’was the night before Christmas, and at the White House,

not a felon was stirring, not even Jared Kushner.

Eric and Junior were snug in their beds,

While visions of porn stars danced in their heads.


When all of a sudden came a crash and a clatter.

Trump said, “Melania, go see what’s the  matter.”

She rose from the bed, and she opened the door,

And  there was Bob Mueller, saying, “Get down on the floor!”


His eyes, how they twinkled, his dimples, how merry,

he was loaded with indictments, more than others could carry.

He spotted Fat Donald, cowering in fear,

said, “Don’t worry, Donald, your impeachment is near.


“But for now I’m here to indict all your kin,

your staff and your cabinet,” he said with a grin.

“I’ll try them for treason, and criminal bents.

They’ll all go to prison, including Mike Pence.


“And then, Fat Donald, I’m coming for you.

I’ll get you for bank fraud, money laundering too.

Treason, conspiracy, tax evasion, fraud,

obstruction of justice and crimes against God.


“What I’ll do to you will be so disgusting,

your attorney Mike Cohen will surely be lusting.

When I take you down, there’ll be hollerin’ and hootin’

I’ll slap you so hard it will hurt Mr. Putin.


“For your crimes you’ll be tried, and the whole world will cheer,

They’ll eat pizza and popcorn, drink champagne and beer.

Your trial will be televised all across the nation,

With much bigger ratings than your inauguration.


“When I’m through with you, you’ll be broke and in prison,

No towers or golf courses, not a pot to piss in.

But you won’t be alone, you’ll have Jared, moreover

Eric and Junior will be just one cell over.”


Now all of the family came to see the excitement,

And so Robert Mueller gave each an indictment.

Then laying his finger aside of his nose,

he disappeared so abruptly, no one heard the door close.


Fat Donald was trembling, and asked of his wife,

“What do you think, do you think I’ll get life?”

Melania just snorted and said, “May be true.

But frankly, Fat Donald, I don’t care, do U?”






Hurricane Lissa

September 15, 2017

We just had the biggest hurricane ever

Irmato hit the United States, EVER, bigger, I’m told, than the state of Texas, twice the   size of Hurricane Andrew, and what does Lissa go and do?  She decides to go and ride it out at ground zero, in the Keys, virtually one key over from the bullseye.  Stupid, stupid, stupid.  Next time I see her, I will be hard put not to slap the back of her head, ala Agent Gibbs in NCIS.

Of course, she was lulled into a false sense of security when the storm was making for Miami — FALSE because hurricanes never go where they’re supposed to.  Remember Charlie?  And of course, she wouldn’t leave her dearest pal Lillian, who subsequently disappeared from the island without a word, and resurfaced in North Carolina.  I don’t know what went down there, but somebody’s in for a beat-down (just kidding Lillian).

Lissa quickly regretted her decision, and spent around 24 hours huddling with her dogs, listening to the bedlam and praying it didn’t rip her roof off.  She had to stay close to the dogs, because they had life vests.  Couldn’t figure out what happened to the human life vests, though.  Hmm.  Somebody who shall remain nameless had to go rummage around downstairs during the storm, trying to find them.

I spent a restless night on the living room couch, flipping through the news channels, watching the flying weather girls give Sally Fields a run for her money, and texting with Lissa and 3 of her friends on the phone.  Finally, at 9 a.m. the next morning, it looked like they might make it.  The eye was upon them.  Lissa texted she was going to shut her phone off for a bit to save the battery.  That was the last time I heard from her.

Around 9:15 or so, a 10-foot storm surge was reported to have hit Cudjoe Key.  Lissa’s stilt house sits 14 feet above the ground, but still, 10 feet of water is quite a force to be reckoned with.  That’s why they call it a SURGE.  I imagined her house ripped off its stilts and sent tumbling.

Days went by.  By the time Irma reached us, she was a Category 1.  We heard a lot of wind, and were reduced to partial power.  As of this moment, we are still on partial power.  Some rooms in my house are completely dark, some have dim lights.  It varies from day to day.  The refrigerator worked intermittently, but seems to have signed off completely now.  Definitely no air conditioning.  Only two of my windows have screens, so I have put fans in front of them to suck in the cooler air when the sun goes down.  I stay up as late as I can, since I don’t want to leave them open once I go to bed, for fear of a break-in.

Still no word from Lissa.  With no cable and no internet, no data on my phone, I had no way to find out what had happened down in the Keys, except for encouraging texts from Lissa’s three friends.  No one really had any information.  The lower keys were cut off.  Isolated.

Finally, the sheriffs (I’m assuming), going door to door as part of a rescue mission, found Lissa and Chris, alive and well, house intact, and allowed them to make a quick call to civilization.  Thank GOD.  Lissa, don’t EVER do that to me again.

So, armed with a generator and loaded with food and water, Lissa and Chris have refused evacuation and are sticking it out on Gilligan’s Island. (No lights, no phone, no motor car, not a single luxury, like Robinson Caruso, it’s primitive as can be.)

Yes, they have drinking water.  No, they have no showers, toilet facilities, etc.  I don’t even want to KNOW where they’re doing their business.  No television, no internet, no phone.  Just the two of them, and the four dogs, for who knows how long.  I’m told the place is devastated. They’re living in a wasteland.

If Lissa has an accident, Chris, it WILL be investigated.  And if something happens to Chris, well, let’s just thank goodness Lissa doesn’t have PMS anymore.

Meanwhile, throughout the state, life is far from normal.  This storm was so large, that even though it struck the west side of the state, it caused massive storm surges on the east side, flooding, destruction and power outages.  Luckily for us, we ended up on the west side of the storm, the weaker side.  People on the east side weren’t so lucky.  Since I have ventured out, I have discovered many of my neighbors still have no power.  Some businesses are running on generators.  The McDonalds where I’m using the wifi right now has a “limited menu” because they’re still waiting on delivery trucks.

Lissa’s friends went on Gas Buddy last night (I still have no data) and were able to steer me in the direction of a gas station that had fuel.  I had been calling all day (using an actual phone book) and found that many of the stations weren’t even bothering to answer their phones.  It is such a relief to have gas again, to be able to get in the car and cool off, to drive somewhere and get wifi and clean out my inbox.

Next week I have appointments for DirecTV and Century Link to replace my cable with satellite.  Hey, I gotta work.  Can’t spend all my time at McDonald’s.  So life goes on.  At least for us.  Lissa and Chris, I think, will be in a state of suspended animation for quite a while, in a gulag of their own making.  Either their relationship will evolve and become stronger, or they won’t be able to stand each other before long.  I would love to be a gecko on the wall…

The Greatest Hoax Ever Played

January 28, 2016


Photo courtesy of ProgressivesToday.com, December 8, 2015

I, Donald – legitimate candidate or willing actor for puppeteer Karl Rove?

Not since the movie “The Sting,” has such an elaborate, complex, genius scheme of misdirection been played out on the silver screen or in real life. And the movie reference is appropriate because, in fact, the 2016 election process is so much more reminiscent of a reality television show than the United States electoral process, it’s absolutely uncanny.

On the one hand, we have the self-proclaimed reality television king himself, Donald Trump, posing as a Republican, running his mouth, spouting preposterous ideas that no other candidate in history could possibly get away with, and only gaining more popularity for every crass comment. On the other side of the aisle, Hillary Clinton, the tried and true presumed heir to the throne is suddenly being usurped by a self-acknowledged pie-in-the-sky socialist with lovely thoughts that are completely unfounded in reality. Has the whole country suddenly gone nuts?

When Karl Rove’s ugly mug surfaced on Fox News this morning, I had an epiphany. What if Karl Rove and Donald Trump are working together? Let’s take a step backward.

It’s 2013 and Karl Rove and Donald Trump are trading insults via Twitter about how even with the horrendously vulgar mega-fortunes being foisted upon him by power moguls like Trump and his friends, Karl Rove couldn’t get his lily white Mormon boy elected over a black “Muslim” with a “questionable” birth certificate. Oh the frustration.

Flirting with a bid for the White House as far back as 1988, Donald Trump has dipped his toe in the presidential water on a number of occasions, most notably in a half-hearted attempt to gain the Republication nomination in 2012. He dropped out in favor of his new reality television venture, “The Apprentice,” but not before he had garnered an impressive number of followers. And that certainly didn’t go unnoticed by the likes of Karl Rove.

Now, Donald Trump could never be elected to the White House. Even with a large following of reality-television watching, marginally literate trailer-dwellers, he’s just not electable. No self-respecting American would truly want someone like Donald Trump representing our beautiful nation to the world at large. If you thought George W. Bush was embarrassing — well, we’ve all heard what kind of insulting things the Donald has to say about other cultures.

But after 2012 (if not before), the Republican Party was hopelessly divided. Disillusioned and disenfranchised younger members split off and created the Tea Party, whose radical candidates were also too bizarre to present a viable candidate for the oval office. With no hope of uniting the party under one candidate, and Hillary a shoe-in to follow in Barack Obama’s footsteps, Karl Rove knew he had to do something drastic. He had to pull a sting, and it had to be a big one.

What if he could put up a reality television star who could gain enough of a following to lull the Democrats into a false sense of security? With a party so contentious, most of whom had already surrendered to the idea that Hillary would no doubt win the 2016 election, it wasn’t difficult to rally the numbers around a “defiance” candidate, one who spoke his mind and expressed opinions many secretly harbored in their own dark hearts.

In December 12, 2015, Huffington Post Politics Social Media Editor Ashley Alman wrote: “But in a matchup against Democratic front-runner Hillary Clinton in the general election, Rove wrote, Trump would get ‘creamed.’ He called Trump a ‘dream candidate’ for the Democratic Party.”

Truer words were never spoken, and how ironic if they should be mouthed by the very engineer of this great hoax.  And so now the Democratic Party has let down their guard and allowed themselves to do a little dreaming of their own. Against a legitimate Republican Party candidate, Bernie Sanders would be unelectable. Spouting rainbow rhetoric about universal healthcare and an even economic playing field for all, there’s not a snowball’s chance in Congress that a self-acknowledged Socialist like Sanders could possibly be elected — unless he was running against Donald Trump.

And now, on the eve of the very critical Iowa caucus, Trump drops out of a critical Republican debate, giving the real candidates the opportunity to hash out the nomination amongst themselves. Is it the action of a petulant, egomaniacal corporate bully, or is he really just playing out the last act in his reality television drama? He could then blame his resulting decline in popularity as a simple miscalculation. After all, his three previous bankruptcies would seem to evince that the Donald is not infallible.

Is this scenario even possible? Could two purported enemies the likes of Karl Rove and Donald Trump actually devise such an elaborate, evil scheme, let alone work together? Is either one of them intelligent enough? You decide.

No Such Thing as Free

August 27, 2015

Hey Lissa, want to know the latest scam?  “Free samples.”  They send you an email saying, “want to get free samples of all kinds of products?”  And you think, that might be nice.  Who doesn’t want free samples?  But each and every one of them are the same. When you click on them they make you fill out a survey, then they take you to other free sample sites who also make you fill out a survey, and if you click on any products, you have to fill out a survey for them and you NEVER actually get any free samples.  They’re a SCAM.  Each time you fill out your information or just provide your email, the SITE gets paid by a variety of sources who are collecting information, some of whom are other free sample or coupon sites who want to send you an email and do the same thing.

The ONLY people getting anything out of this are the scammers with the websites.  I repeat, there are NO FREE SAMPLES.  Just a lot of hassle.  DELETE these emails, or better yet, open them and unsubscribe.

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