Liar, Liar, Skirt on Fire

While hubby and my eldest were on vacay during the MDLW, he had some errands for me. The most important of them all, since I failed to remembered to pick up the cleaning, was going to our local post office to deliver a box.

It is a small facility that was almost shut down because of its size.

If one were to shop for stamps, one would know there are basically three key people that work there… all with vivid memories.

Imagine the show Cheers, only its the post office where everybody knows your name, address and your face.

I was warned to not go when the woman who works there was working- since hubby said he was sending forbidden contents.

Knowing that I had to climb back into bed after being out for five minutes, there was no way that I would attempt the delivery twice.

Hubby had boxed several gallons of paint for me to schlep; he felt I could get one of our remaining kids to help carry it.

In any event, I took my son since he was awake at 2:00 PM, and together we struggled inside.

After what seemed like forever… or a minute, the woman which he had warned me about, told me to place the box on the counter.

Woman: Here, put it up here.

Me & Son: (drop box onto counter)

Woman: What is inside the box?

Me: (Asshole! Doing his dirty work!) I think it’s a pool pump.

Woman: (Looks at me with disdain; irate) You can’t mail that! The postage says Media, which is for books only.

Me: Then I think it’s books.

Woman: (Scornful look; a “Don’t fuck with me” face) Books? You said pool pump.

Me: (Caught) Books about pool pumps….

Woman: It’s not books. I’m going to open this up and see what’s inside and if you’re lying to me bla bla bla.

Me: (Fuck! I will kill him!) Go ahead- open it.

Woman: (Tears open the box; her gaze upon me stinging) This is a pool pump. Do you want to get fined?! Your husband chose Media post because it was the cheapest postage and he could get charged twice! Once for bla bla fuckety bla.

Me: (Cheap MF; dripping with sweat; feels like I’m in the principal’s office) Actually, it’s paint.

Woman: (Enraged at hubby for knowingly sending me here with his contents) You tell your husband that I want to see him and the next time…..bla bla bla.

Needless to say, we won’t be patronizing the steps from our home post office, just in case our photos are on the wall.

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Lethal Weapon

Every time I use the bathroom facilities at work, I feel like Danny Glover in Lethal Weapon. You know the scene, where he’s on the toilet and if he moves an inch, the toilet will explode?

Our bathrooms are state of the art- where one just has to wave a hand for water or soap, and move 1/8 of an inch out of the sensor, to flush.

What I can say is while I am no longer spry, I have become hyper-focused on how I utilize the bathroom…when I use the bathroom.

For instance, I no longer stand up and turn around to then wipe…. oh hell naw. I barely move from my 30* angle and ever so carefully grab whatever measly amount of single ply (think packet of anti-bacterial wipe one would get before a urine sample) paper, and wipe. Then, still in position, pull up my pants, crank my neck over my shoulder to ascertain there’s no sissy on the seat from squatting, and run to the corner of the opposite walls as if held by gunpoint, to not get splashed.

But Rochelle, what would happen if you didn’t turn to check the toilet for sissy?

Well, I would then have to clean the toilet and wave my hand back and forth for the next two minutes for the sensor to work.

So, that could explain all of my UTIs since my anxiety just cannot take it.

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Whistle While We Sleep

On Sunday, I took my son to the movies and then for ice-cream. His favorite ice-cream is banana and there is only one place in our township that sells it. Therefore, I bought the quart or the pint… whichever is the bigger one.

Yesterday was hubby’s and my 18th anniversary, as I noted in the post prior. Rather than me drag my other two children to pick up hubby plus one at the airport, I canceled our dinner for five in town and decided to order in.

The food of choice was Pan Asian.

Now when one thinks of said cuisine, one could think of sodium … like Teriyaki or Soy Sauce.

We had: vegetable fried rice, avocado rolls and edamame.

Up until 9:00 pm when hubby crawled into bed exhausted, I would never have suspected that non-stop, for the next seven hours, I would be serenaded by dairy tunes.

That’s right! Hubby took it upon himself to celebrate staying in, by having more than a teaspoon of ice-cream… I suspect with my son.

Needless to say, if only Alexa could have made it stop.

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It’s About Damn Time

Yeah, yeah… I’ve been busy. Plus, I have short term memory so things I would have written are long forgotten.

That is, until this evening when I remembered something fascinating! Did you know (as if) that one no longer needs to think of their own response on Facebook?

How amazing is that? When prompted to reply, there are options for things one should say when commenting on another’s post.

For instance, this afternoon I remembered it was my wedding anniversary (not to be confused with the day I got cancer anniversary) and I
cided to post a picture. Actually, I looked high and low for the perfect photo of the two of us.

Opening up my wedding album, I looked through the photos lovingly… noticing how young everyone looked… observing the amount of dead people from group shots… and then I got to the cake cutting. It was at that moment my my smile disappeared and I remembered how fucking annoyed I still am at hubby. He ruined my classic dress that one of my girls could have worn and once again I was irate.

Nonetheless, I posted a photo taken prior to the ceremony- one where I looked relatively nice and for the rest of the afternoon, my notifications beeped.

It was only until moments ago, when I mustered up the energy to “like” the many comments, that I was prompted with choices.

How lazy a society have we’ve become, where all we have to do is “click” to acknowledge?

Obviously I’m not a shmuck… so I used them as well.

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Do As I Say, Not As I Do

A few weeks ago I started to teach my middle child how to drive.

As I did with her older sister, we started a little early, so that I could be the one to teach them….while I’m still capable.

The first rule I went over was the importance of not just using your mirrors, but physically straining your head out the windows to make certain nobody is behind the vehicle. I cannot tell you how many times I kept stressing the importance of looking outside the windows before reversing– which each of my girls.

Anyhow, this afternoon I needed to do a few errands and invited my middle to ride shotgun.

As soon as she got into the passenger seat, I realized that I had left my handbag in the kitchen.


Me: Oh no! Could you get my bag in the kitchen?

Middle: (Leaves door open as she grunts) UGH! Fine.

Me: (Waiting, waiting, waiting…. Hears door slam shut…and I assume she’d only just gotten in the house. Thus, I begin to casually reverse the car.)

Middle: (Jumps to the passenger side) MOM! WHAT THE FUCK!




Middle: (Snotty) What happened to your first rule?

Needless to say, I’m sure she’ll always remember how to reverse.

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Cause of Death….

“Next time read the reviews!”
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Dying From Boredom

Rochelle’s mother had just celebrated her 75th birthday- along with the state of Israel, amongst her family and friends.

Known as a realtor for over 40 years, a Bubbie and wife- Rochelle’s mother boasted of her youthful appearance much of the time.

Walker, synagogue goer, landscaper and caretaker- there was nothing Bubbie couldn’t do.

Wake up early and take the kids to school- sure. Work long hours while playing Candy Crush and Words with Friends… as well as Wordle, this woman was unstoppable.

….That is, until today. Whilst sitting in the tiny hospital room, taking diligent notes and asking all the right questions, was just too much for the senior citizen.

Unfortunately, I am going to have to add snoring to my list of noises.

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Noises that immediately make me angry:




Keyboard pecking


All or any of the above are enough to make me furious!

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When In Doubt, Bump Them Out

Last week hubby came with me to the big apple; this time, we brought my wheelchair.

First, I must note that hubby no longer drives. He cannot see anything. I could have a bright red, swollen face and he would still shut the lights to go to sleep. Also, he has zero aim abilities and refuses to sit like a respectable spouse- only further infuriating me.

In any case, he can’t see, so when we found the Red Cap and made it onto the train platform, I held my hands on the wheel so it couldn’t move. I would guess that if anyone wasn’t around, he’d have wheeled me right over the yellow lines- that is how much I trust his driving.

In fact, that gap between the platform and the train… the one that’s 16 inches wide… he thought he would just tilt the wheelchair back and hoist me onto the train- and I’d survive.

These instances should give you some foresight as to how he wheeled me around the busiest city ever.

For example, once I found our Uber, rather than wheel me into the side of the street nearest the curb, that mother fucker wheeled me into oncoming traffic- just to go in the driver’s back side door.

Between that and pushing me over every grate in NYC, I was contemplating his murder for the next several blocks.

Additonally, while he was pushing me on busy sidewalks, rather than yell, “excuse me….coming through…” he felt everyone else should move out of his way. So, I painfully watched as he pushed me into every ankle he could- like he was playing Donkey Kong.

Could you imagine my mortification???

“Watch where you’re going! Watch out!” I would yell to my very own mercenary- only to hear…”Stop telling me to watch out! I can’t see and they should move out of my way!”

Needless to say, I don’t think I could stomach another ride around the city with Ms. Keller.

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Looks Like We’ve Made It

Today, at the ripe hour of five am, my mother came to pick me up for the first day of my trial.

Forgetting that I have Life360, she decided to alert me with what she called, a light beep.

Immediately, I went into molasses mode- for I cannot be rushed. Typically, I am the “beeper,” when its just hubby and me… but today, I just couldn’t move.

I’m not sure the last time I was ever up so early- but I know I will never get up this early again.

In any event, I ended up driving- because I know my mother is a nervous halalya when it comes to the highway. In fact, when the sun visor wasn’t low enough for the blinding sunrise, I shut it and she jumped out of her skin. Apparently, she thought it sounded like a gunshot and then proceeded to inform me of a shooting somewhere yesterday.

When we arrived, no thanks to my head nodding, I collapsed into the cushion-less wheelchair and started my day.

It began with bloodwork and a weigh in. Since I was so tired, I grabbed the handlebars and faced forward… yet had my eyes closed. The bleach blonde nurse said 58 point something, and I was relived to never have mastered the metric system. Unfortunately, as I was exiting the lab, she told me I was 129 lbs.

Gasps. Horror.

It’s not all food weight, although I have been eating rather frequently… but I know it is the fluid in my legs, the Air Force sneakers and the big, fuzzy sweater that I told my mother I hated, when she had given it to my daughter for Hanukkah, that was part of the digits.

Next it was the urine sample. Now, I don’t know how all vajeens work…but on a full bladder and squatting… it comes out in an erratic sprinkler.

Balancing my body with the handicap bar in one hand and making sure my pants were low enough to not get sissified, is the most difficult task. On the one hand, it feels great to get relief from the 1/4 functioning kidney… but on the other, its akin to a leaky faucet.

After that fiasco, it was time to go down one level to the treatment floor.

Still devastated over the obnoxious, informative nurse, my mother sat me by the windows overlooking the Hudson River.

Negating all the promise this day holds, I did inspect the entire floor to ceiling window and for a moment, imagined jumping through it- thinking about my ascending gain.

…Don’t worry, that thought was brief since I was called back to my room.

Now, as I lay here typing away, I have seven hours to contemplate… as I stare out my very own view.

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