Going in Circles

It’s amazing the odd collection of stuff that goes around in circles in my steroid addled mind at 4AM on a Saturday morning.

My wife wants false and removable backs on the window boxes that I had to rebuild so that everything you put on a shelf doesn’t end up falling way back where you can’t reach it. I’m trying to figure out how to do that while keeping it removable, attractive, and functional.

The screen door on the back of the house was relatively cheap and fell apart. Should I buy a new screen door or I wonder if I might be able to actually build something attractive? If I try and make it myself, how do I join the horizontal and vertical pieces, because I don’t have a jointer or a dado blade, just a table saw. Should I use the table saw to remove half of the ends on the horizontal and vertical pieces so that I can glue them together and have the thickness of one board, or should I try and tongue and grove it? Can you do that with a table saw if you have patience?

The side door to our garage has been collecting water for 20 years and the frame is rotted out to the point that you can put your finger through it. This is a reoccurring theme in this house. How hard will it be to replace that damned door frame? How do I keep it from happening again? Gotta build some sort of roof over that side door to keep the water off of it. How the hell do I do that? How much of the structure behind that door frame is rotted out too and will require rebuilding? Why in the HELL did I sell a 100 year old house to buy this piece of garbage – what was I thinking?

The exterior wall of my upstairs bathroom rotted out years ago because the previous owner or builder of the house did a shitty job building the shower. They didn’t use the right drywall and didn’t seal things properly, so the water was leaking into that wall for decades until the wall rotted away. On the second floor, that was all sorts of fun. So we ripped the shower and tub out, and rebuilt the wall and the structure of the floor. Years later, that bathroom is still gutted, no proper flooring, the wall is still drywall, no tub, no shower. The floor has sagged and has distinct ridges and humps  in it that to my way of thinking, will make it impossible to put down a proper floor unless it is flexible linoleum or carpet. Ever heard of carpet in a bathroom?

If it weren’t for all of the lives that could be lost, I could almost hope for a tornado as it truly would solve many of my worries.

The 1967 Mustang wont start. It gets driven so rarely that the battery has died and wont hold a  charge. Should I replace that battery? What’s the point of spending the money for a car that goes nowhere? What the hell was I thinking when I bought that car? Keeping an antique car going is the hobby of either a very passionate person, or a wealthy one, and I, alas, am neither.

The nodules on my darn legs refuse to go away. Normally they last about 6  months and then go away for about a year. This round has been going on for about 18 months now with no sign of going away. Every time I stop taking steroids, the stuff comes back with a vengeance. I’ve taken more steroids over the last 18 months than a cyclist team prepping for the Tour De France. It makes it just a bit harder to rebuild an entire house when it hurts to walk, and when your brain is so soaked in steroids that you can’t fricken think straight and clear anymore. I wonder if I should try and increase my life insurance just in case? Is that taking money away from my family that could be better used, or is that putting money away for them if this shit turns out to be a symptom of something serious?

I wonder how my son William and his family are doing? Proud of him for making a family and taking care of them. Sort of wish he wasn’t in the Navy so we could be closer and be a part of their lives, but I’m also proud of him for doing the smart thing and staying in the Navy.

There is a large hole in my daughters bedroom ceiling where my poor wife fell through it trying to get Christmas stuff outta the attic while I was away. I wonder where that should be on my priority list.

My wife wants false and removable backs on the window boxes  . . .

Can I make my own screen door? If I try, what method/design should I use?

The side door to our garage is rotted out . . .

The bathroom is STILL gutted. . .

Would a tornado be a good thing or a bad one?  

The 1967 Mustang wont start . . .

I wonder how Billy is doing?
Is my sister all right?

My wife is kind of quiet lately. I wonder if we are OK?

My daughter is 14 now and starting to demand  some independence. This causes a bit of friction . . .

My 8 year old son spends all his time in front of the idiot box. His father is gone on the road all week and then spends every weekend working on the house and doing laundry. At 52 years old, I'm a bit old for teaching him to ride a bike and playing at the park. Boy did that kid get screwed . . .

I should call my mother. Nope, scratch that. Mom has been gone for years. You would think I'd have that through my thick head by now. 

My wife wants false and removable backs on the window boxes  . . .

Can I make my own screen door? If I try, what method/design should I use?

The side door to our garage is rotted out . . .

The bathroom is STILL gutted. . .

Would a tornado be a good thing or a bad one?  

The 1967 Mustang wont start . . .

I wonder how Billy is doing?
Is my sister all right?

My wife is kind of quiet lately . . .

My daughter is 14 now . . .

My 8 year old son spends all his time in front of the idiot box. . .

Over, and over, and over, and over . . .  

So yeah, here I sit at 430 AM writing my thoughts, slurping coffee, and wondering if I can listen to a record without waking up everyone?

Someone is broke in the head around here . . .

I sometimes think my family is just broke in the head. I just sent my 8 year old upstairs to take a shower. He's up there for a moment and then comes back downstairs.

"Dad, I think I need to mention that there is a very large and strange looking bug in the bathtub." he tells me, in a very serious and adult tone.

"Oh really? What does said bug look like?" I inquire with a raised eyebrow.

"He is quite large, has claws like a preying mantis, and looks extraordinarily aggressive" is his concise and detailed reply.

I swear I'm not making this shit up. This was the conversation word for word.

"Well all right then, let's go take a look at it." I told him, then went to the garage to get the little hand held and battery powered vacuum I have stored there. After all, if this thing is "extraordinarily aggressive" there is no point to going in unarmed. So my son and I, the great and fearless hunters that we are, both made our way to the bathroom and cautiously peeked around the shower curtain to observe this monstrosity. Sure enough, he's pretty big and looks intimidating to me.

My son looks at the bug.

I look at the bug.

My son and I look at each other.

"Let's go get mom. . . " says I, much to my sons agreement.

Now don't get me wrong, I hate bugs but I WILL do my "manly" duty and take care of them. The rules are simple though: if I take care of it - it dies. If mom is feeling kindly and wants the thing to live, she squares it away.
Now my wife peeks around the shower curtain to look at it.
Then my 14 year old daughter looks at it.
My wife and daughter both look at each other.

“It’s a leaf footed assassin bug” my wife sagely informs the crowded bathroom. My son and I lock eyes and I give him a nod of acknowledgment and respect.
“By God, ‘assassin bug’  does sound pretty aggressive to me little dude! Good call!” I told him.

“Naw, he eats other bugs.” My wife laughingly assures us, but I aint buying it.

“So – you gonna take care of him or am I?” I ask while raising the cannon . . . err . . .  vacuum into the air to make my point clear.  I guess I should mention that my wife and daughter were ‘doing their facials’ when I so rudely interrupted them, so I guess she didn’t want to be distracted.

“Go for it.” She replied with a wave of her hand toward the tub. 

A hush fell over the bathroom as I turned and slowly approached the tub with my weapon at the ready. . .
Suddenly, the silence in the bathroom is shattered when my daughter shouts “NO!” so loudly that I almost peed my pants. Next thing I know, she is shoving me aside, reaching down into the tub, and picking this bug up in her hands to carry it outside. The whole way, my son is right behind her, asking over and over "is it biting you? Is it biting you?!"
Like I said, this family is broke in the head, I’m just not sure which one of us is crazy . . .  

September sucks . . .

So September totally sucked for birthdays.

Two days before my birthday, my niece died.

Two days before my daughters birthday, my mother-in-law and my daughters grandmother had a major stroke.  Yeah, I’m glad September is over.

Fire Any Bites

Fire Any Bites

I’ve been in pretty poor health this last year and so a lot of stuff has piled up around the house and yard, and I’ve just started to make my way down the list. This weekend I was out working in my backyard, which has gone completely wild. About four hours into it, I conceded to myself that I was in very poor shape, and so I got down on my hands and knees to continue yanking weeds.  Any half-wit who has lived in Texas could have told you that this was a remarkably bad idea, but I was exhausted and not thinking straight. Anyway, about an hour later I realize the magnitude of my mistake when I start feeling these sharp little pains all over my stomach and hands.  I’d had to remove my glasses because they were getting so coated with dust and sweat that I couldn’t see through them anyway, but I didn’t need to see them to figure out that I was covered in fire ants. Now I’m a fairly shy person, but I didn’t hesitate at all – I ran like hell for the back porch and ripped all of my clothes off faster than a prostitute that had just been offered a thousand bucks. Yup yup, my clothes and I were both covered in hundreds of the little bastards and I got the snot bit out of me. I still can’t believe that I forgot to watch out for them . . .

I had a bit of a paradox when it comes to height. My 14 year old daughter Audrey had a checkup with the doc, and I guess she kind of surprised him when it came to her height. According to my daughter,  he pointed at her chart where it showed her height steadily increasing through the years, but then tisked when he showed that it had leveled off at just under five feet.

My five foot two inch tall wife laughingly explained to the doc that most of her family was relatively short, and that Audrey’s dad (me) was “only” five foot eight inches tall.
“Sweetheart, you might be done growing!” the doc told my daughter with a grin.

Ok, so later in the week I was picking out an outfit for my trip to Denver, and showed my wife a killer pair of heels that I thought would be perfect for the outfit, but they were four or even five inch heels and I feared the attention that might bring. I don’t recall her exact words, but she basically said it didn’t matter, that I was so damned tall that I was going to attract attention regardless.
What the hell??!!

One minute my daughter is doomed to be short since mom and dad are apparently both considered runts, and the next moment it doesn’t matter what heels I wear because I am so damned tall that I’ll draw attention in any case. Grrrr. . . .

I’ve always tried to be real in my blog and share the good with the bad, and so I think most of y’all are aware that my confidence, and hence my attitude, morale, and spirit are all suffering. I’ve noticed that this is a common thread with many of the TG’s that I know lately – they don’t appear to feel confident, safe, or welcome these days. Now we can argue all day long about whether this feeling is justified and reasonable or not, but in the end it really doesn’t matter. Justified by the current backlash in America or not, reasonable or not, the fear, depression, and anxiety that so many transgender people feel these days is very real. I don’t know where I am going with this, and don’t really have a point – I’m just yapping I guess. Really, I can’t blame my own recent depression and lack of confidence on US politics though. Mine is due to a combination of advancing age, retreating health, and increasing weight.

Not much that I can do about getting old and the damage that it brings with it; the bags under my eyes and the wrinkles all over my face.

The weight I am just starting to work on again, as I am getting up at 5 AM every weekday morning to jog and am paying more attention to how much I eat.

My health I hope to at least influence by trying to stay in decent physical condition, but all of the jogging in the world isn’t going to make the large and painful nodules on my legs go away. Sigh . . .

So as I was boarding the flight to Denver, I ended up stopped in line on the airplane right next to a flight attendant. She was about my own age and turned out to be a bit of a chatty Cathy. At one time, I would have had fun with this and enjoyed bullshitting with her, but refer back to the above paragraph denoting a lack of confidence on my part. Anyway, she went out of her way to tell me that she loved the color of my hair, and when I turned to thank her, she exclaimed about my eyes.
“You have the brightest and prettiest blue eyes that I have ever seen! Now me, I got stuck with brown eyes.” She said, with an exaggerated pouty face.

Here was my big chance to make a good impression for the TG community.
I could have chatted with her.
I could have made her laugh.
I could have told her that her brown eyes were beautiful.
No, I just smiled, thanked her, and slunk to my seat. I’m kind of ashamed of myself for that . . .