The Return of Pandemonic

I can hardly believe it has been three years since I posted as Pandemonic. However, lest you think I have been lazy, incarcerated, or perhaps both, my real life person has been busy writing novels. Also busy working in the Real Life business, but that’s boring.

So far, I have completed three novels, self-published one, and am in the process of editing the other two. Also working on finishing a fourth. So I have been very busy. I’ve also been blogging in my real name.

So why would I come back to the Pandemonic blog?

In a word, anonymity. I love that while here, I am a nameless, faceless pandemonic person. My other blog features my real name. There I feel as though I can’t quite cut loose as myself. You always have to worry about stepping on someone’s toes. If you can say one thing about the modern man, most of us are too sensitive to take a joke, and too closed minded to look at things from varying perspectives.

This is why Pandemonic’s Time and Space was started: as a way to vent and bitch and moan and be politically incorrect without suffering the slings of Internet trolls. Been there, done that, and I can tell you, it’s no fun.

I nearly forgot the password and the email address I had used to launch this area of WordPress. But…obviously not. Perhaps I am not getting as old as I thought I was.

Anywhooo…I will be changing around the look of the blog. I feel a bigger need for anonymity.

Home Alone

Mr. Demonic and his “boy” (I call him the other “b” word most of the time) are over on the West Coast of the state on a mission. They are moving a classroom from one store location to another one in the same mall.

This calls for an overnight stay. This is because the West Coast is a long drive away. They could come home, but it would be after midnight by the time they get back into town.

I have no problem being home alone. In fact, I rather enjoy the unencumbrance.

For one thing, I can do what I want, when I want. Like eat junk food. I had junk food for dinner, and it was sinfully awful. I will not divulge which form of junk I consumed, just know that my cholesteral is probably peaking even as I type.

For another thing, I can lay out my craft work. Take over the entire living room. I did this, until my fingers got numb. My fingers don’t take long to be numbed.

I can play my etudes on the violin. If Mr. D is home, I can only play melodies. Etudes are studies and they are not supposed to sound harmonius. No, they are supposed to confound your brain and your fingers at the same time, contain more flats than sharps, and sound like the cries from Hell. In fact, they are hellish for the first couple of weeks until I figure out when to shift and what the notes are. In the meantime, it sounds like a cat in heat.

I took the opportunity of Mr. D’s absence at work to get caught up on some other projects. I worked on some computer designed brochures, business cards and the like that I had been putting off for weeks.

I worked out a little too. I work out very little, because working out is boring. I can only take fifteen minutes of it. I cannot work out when Mr. D is around because his workout machine is next to mine. He likes to watch golf or the news, and I like music. He also sweats like a pig. I work up a mild sweat. Sweating like a pig I save for mowing the lawn in 100% humidity.

When Mr. D is gone, I can work on my writing. Thus, my presence here in the dark tapping at the keys. I’m about one third of the way finished with my YA novel. I am working slowly compared to some, but compared to myself only a year ago, I’m on freakin’ fire!

I haven’t heard from Mr. D. I think he took his friend to the casino. Good for them.

I think I will get a glass of wine and go to bed early. I’m entirely wiped out from my loneliness.

A Guilty Pleasure

Hello, all, I have been away.

Not that anyone cares…

Life is full of things to do, especially this time of year. My husband got the bright idea to pressure the home office into putting up a web site for us, since because of the name we cannot do it ourselves. Actually, he’s been nagging them for about five years. This week, it finally became operational.

It’s still in its infancy, which means I have to do a lot of back and forth work. My husband has been driving all over the state and is unable to work on the bugs, but he’s not too adept at bugging, so it’s a good thing he’s out of the office.

It’s hot here, summer came up and over us in about two days time. Really, it’s not too hot,  but the humidity is horrible. Going from the house to the car to the office is excruciating. I don’t know what people did before air conditioning.

This morning I woke up at 6 and started mowing the front lawn. (Don’t worry, I have an electric lawnmower that makes less noise than my vacuum.) Even though it was very early and not yet hot, by the time I finished 45 minutes later, I was dripping in sweat.

I received a huge bead shipment and it has taken me a few weeks to sort through it. In fact, I’m still not finished, but I have all winter for that.

My one guilty pleasure came when I went to my favorite discount store, Nordstrom Rack. Nordstrom the real store is nice, but very pricey. I feel like I’m hitting the lottery when I shop at the Rack. Last week, I had a coupon. I didn’t need anything in particular, but I’m getting to the age where I don’t need much these days.

I happened upon a pair of marked down shoes. These weren’t just regular marked down shoes, these were Ferragamo slides. Originally sold for $500, now less than a hundred and with a $20 coupon, I couldn’t let them go to someone else’s feet.

Before I continue, people who don’t know me must realize that I have a thing for shoes. I sometimes buy shoes just because they are architecturally superior and sometimes because they are works of art. I also collect vintage shoes, especially those produced during the disco era. The clothes sucked then, but the shoes were to die for.

I would never pay $500 for a pair of shoes, but I can see why people do. The Ferragamos are the most comfortable, softest sandals I’ve ever worn. The leather is soft like cool butter, and even though there is a bit of a heel involved, it’s not hard to stay atop them. Shoes that are poorly envisioned are easy to teeter off of.

If you must know, I’m not wearing them yet. It’s because it’s too darn hot and I don’t want my sweat to ruin them. I’ll wait for a cold spell before I take those puppies out for a stroll.

The New Food Addiction: Molten Lava Cakes

Leave it to Sam’s Club to come up with tasty desserts.

The big box warehouse club is famous for such yummies as angel food cake, quart boxes of strawberries, damned good carrot cake, baklava (during the fall) and other fattening wonders has come up with a new dessert.

Molten Lava Cakes.

Four come to a box, and each is big enough to split. There are two chocolate and two apple/caramel. Forty-five seconds in the microwave, a dollop of ice cream, and folks, it’s as close to heaven as a person can get on earth. Imagine chocolaty goodness with a warm center.

The advent of molten lava cakes is laying waste my plans on slimming down. I wasn’t hoping for swimsuit material, but I at least wanted to fit into my skinny clothes. Right now, I’m in my fat clothes and two and a half pounds away from having to buy a new wardrobe.

I wish I had more willpower, but sadly I must admit to having less than none. In my line of work, and because it’s a mile away, I’m at my local Sam’s Club at least three days a week. That’s because for less than $5 one can buy a rotisserie chicken that makes a meal for a couple of days. The croissants are to die for, and sample weekend is enough so that I don’t have to make lunch on Saturdays.

Since the molten lava cakes are a seasonal item, I can only pray for the season to come to a close.

Soon.

The Drunk Man Saga

Our ex-manager no longer works for us. It’s because he ended up in the hospital back in November. We’re still not sure what was wrong with him. He couldn’t breathe, fell down in his filthy apartment, and was lacking oxygen. He spent a week in the hospital, and was released no longer able to work. He won’t tell us what is wrong, but we’re thinking emphysema, among other things.

I am referring to him as the Drunk Man, because he most likely is. Being a heavy drinker is probably what caused his problem. He thought we didn’t know, but we were all well aware of what was going on. He had one of those beet red noses, and made a mad dash for home each day at 5 p.m. to get his fix. Oh, and he was a heavy smoker as well, which came to a screeching halt after the hospital incident. That’s because I hear that oxygen is highly flammable.

Since November, we paid him twice, but when it appeared he was never coming back, we terminated him. Mr. D gave TDM a car, and continues to pay his health insurance, at least until the disability kicks in. He was grossly overpaid anyway. For the amount of money he was making, he should have done more than sleep five hours a day at his desk.

TDM now uses my husband’s “bitch” as his own. This little twerp of a man is 70 years old but can’t retire because his life is in a shambles. So he acts as a go-fer for Mr. D. Now he has become the paid go-fer for TDM.

We learned that Go-Fer has been providing TDM with groceries each week. In those groceries is three liters of vodka. I couldn’t drink three liters of vodka in three years, but I’ve seen TDM drink. I’m thinking the Go-Fer is TDM’s pusher, and I told him so. However, TDM pays well, so he’s not going to offer up his advice.

TDM now lives with his elderly mother, who liquidated her entire life on the West Coast of the state to move here. The mother stayed with us while TDM was in the hospital, and we like her a lot. TDM used to complain about his mother, but it’s true that people usually complain about their own mothers. Mr. D and I no longer have living mothers, and TDM’s mother was very nice.

Since she moved here, we have been trying to have her over for dinner. She refuses to leave TDM alone. I don’t know if she realizes he has a serious drinking problem or not. TDM takes his alcohol into his room, according to Go-Fer.

In the meantime, we promoted a guy (one that I originally hired for the office, above the objections of everyone) from instructor to TDM’s position. I was hoping this would happen. New Manager is personable, knows the office, has been teaching for over a year and I like him. Plus he smells good, which is always handy.

The drama comes in because New Manager really has the least amount of seniority. Of course, when Mr. D initially hired TDM, he had only been working as an instructor for a month. Talk about low man on the totem pole.

There’s a lot of rumblings within the ranks, and New Manager doesn’t like it, because he want everyone to like him. I told him to get a tougher skin. When you’re at the top of the food chain, lots of people aren’t going to like you. In fact, many people don’t like me, and I know it. However, the buck stops here, and that’s why I’m such a hard ass.

My In-House Nostradamus

This post was rather a downer. Sorry.

It could be because Mr. Demonic and I spent the time hashing out the current state of affairs. We don’t stay long on the Demonic household, because our state of affairs, while wobbly, is better than many others. What Mr. D is concerned about is the general state of affairs, in our rust-bucketed Tundra state and in the country and world.

I used to laugh at Mr. D’s predictions. Partly because some of the things he thinks about are really out there. But he’s been right more times than he’s been wrong, so now I am a convert. Besides, it’s nice to have an in-house Nostradamus as a barometer in these difficult times.

Lest you think I’m making stuff up (true, on occasion I make stuff up), I will list some of the things he got right:

1. The fall of the stock market. He’s known that for a couple of years. I didn’t believe him, but then again, I don’t study the market as much as he does. He believes in cyclical natures of economy.

2. The fall of the housing market. Not long after we purchased our house for a big vat of money, Mr. D told me that the market was dropping and that in a few years we would not be able to get one-half what we paid for it. True, we bought the thing right at the peak of the boom. Some of you might remember a post I made on another social networking site about two years ago.  He predicted then that after a time, our house would be worthless.

He’s not quite right, but we were just barely able to refinance it last month.

His next predictions? Here they are:

1. Our children will be saddled with incredible debt, resulting in their standard of living being less than what they’re used to.

2. The government will end up owning everything. (I can expand on that later, but I really don’t want to think about it.)

3. We’ll have to work until we die.

4. At some point there will be martial law. (I’m really hoping that one does NOT come true.)

5. Before martial law, there’ll be civil unrest. The truly disadvantaged are going to commit crimes to survive. There’s already some of that going on here.

Hmm… sometimes I wish he’d have visions of lollypops and rainbows. It would make sleeping at night a whole lot easier.

Diversionary Bird-Dom

This post is dedicated to my friend, Mimi. I’m sure she would have screamed louder than I did.

Our office building is nothing fancy. In fact, it’s made out of cinderblock, so it’s damned cold in the winter and sweltering hot in the summer. It has a flat roof, so every few years we have to retar the thing. My husband, the dear Mr. Demonic, is on an austerity kick due to two kids in private college and an economy that’s going south faster than a flock of geese, and we have foregone the usual maintenance, like roof, painting and new furniture.

As a result, the roof leaks and our drop ceiling tiles are all spotted and ugly. The paint is peeling on the outside of the building due to the massive icicle that formed on the side of the building. I took a picture of it, because it looked like it was edging toward the door and was going to devour us whole.

The other problem is the toilet. Oh, Lord. Not only is it old, but it doesn’t flush well. I’m thinking something is stuck in the escape pipe.

Our office bathroom fan is home to an army of sparrows. I don’t mind birds, in fact I have a cranky lovebird in my house. However, when they take up residence in the vent leading to the outside, that’s when I have to object.

Sparrows have to be one intelligence quotient above a chicken. They seem to prefer feathering their nests in vents rather than in bird houses. We had this problem in my house and I bought an assortment of bird dwellings to get them to lay off the vent. No luck. I solved the problem by shoving a bright yellow tennis ball in the vent, and voila! no more birds.

I can’t reach the vent at the office, it’s at second floor level. The birds come and go, and in the spring you can hear the baby birds cheeping away like they owned the place.

Last night, my Number 2 thought she heard a bird, but she claimed it was inside the building. Mr. Demonic pooh-poohed the idea, thinking how the hell would a bird get inside a building. (Let’s see… hole in roof? hole in vent?)

It turns out Number 2 was right. A sparrow decended out of our false ceiling and began to buzz her. Mr. D grabbed a box and cornered it in the copy room. He thought he had eliminated the bird problem, but noooo….

This morning I’m sitting at my desk minding my own business when a sparrow dive-bombs me, narrowly missing my head. He bounced off a window, and I screamed. (What? It could have been a bat.) The screaming caused him to fly to the other side of the office, where he flew into another window, obviously not hard enough, because he escaped. He flew back and forth for a time before hiding in a far corner.

The noise rousted Mr. D from his comfy office down the hall. He began to open all of the windows (there are eight big ones) to release our little avian visitor. It’s freaking 18 degrees outside, and a cinder block building doesn’t retain any heat whatsoever. We were reduced to Creamsicles in mere seconds. Mr. D took a huge piece of cardboard and shepherded the bird out of the window.

It’s now two hours later, and I’m just starting to warm up.

We should have left the bird inside. You know the thing is just going to find his way back in.