Some of you may have noticed that my blog blew up yesterday. I had been obsessively coding for a client the past two days, and didn’t have a braincell left to fix it.

My hero, Rob at ScorpWebSolutions, fixed it for me. I knew the database was intact, because I had checked it, but I didn’t know how to finish the update after a fatal error. He did it manually, after a long day at work. If you are thinking of going self-hosted, the service doesn’t get any better than ScorpWebSolutions. Thank you, Rob. I was totally freaked out.

My Grammie is doing better now. They have her in a ward where they are trying to ambulate her more, and she is not having to take such heavy painkillers. It was difficult to talk to her as she was all loopy from them. And? She didn’t come down with pneumonia, like I had feared.

I met with the new owners of the building and am thrilled to say I won’t have to move. I was dreading the prospect of another summer move, and now I can think about planting more flowers, and bulbs for the fall. All of the plants that I identified by their leaves earlier this spring have flowered, and they are exactly what I predicted they would be. Go me.

I also got my itinerary for the psychic fair tour. The tour will be my chance to get caught up on my pesky overdraft, and maybe even have enough left over for a nice camera. I need to have a reason to get out and away from the computer more.

And that’s about all of my news. I was preparing a post about The Big V and the amazing dollhouse she created, but that one can wait a bit.

I’m glad to be back! Thanks again, Rob!

I have lived with my younger son for almost twenty-five years. I know if and when he leaves home, I will miss him dreadfully. We get each other. Most of the time.

Every once in a great while, I recall the times before I had children. When nothing sagged or wrinkled, or was anything but cute.

On Saturdays, it was errands and housework. After work during the week, it was everyday chores. Whoever got home first made supper, the loser had to do the cleanup and dishes. I always raced home from work.

I always did my housework naked. I would tear through the entire house, doing laundry as I went. When all was done, I jumped in the shower, and had no sweaty clothes to hang around and foul my hamper.

After my shower, I would don a crisp, clean outfit that was awesomely cute, and be ready to go someplace and show off my hard-working self.

What I didn’t realize back in the day was that I had a picture in my head of what my house should look like, and I felt terrible anxiety if the reality didn’t match the image in my head. I was fanatical about it.

Once a month, I would strip the wax off the floors, using a knife to make sure even the corners were clean as a whistle, although when I think about it, how can something full of spit be clean? Then, when the floors were spotless and clean as a whistle, I would re-apply the wax. It was very satisfying.

What I didn’t get was that other people had to live with me. On my terms. Or visit me. If they smoked, I would wash their ashtray the minute they butted out. How to make your guests feel comfortable, huh? But that image in my head kept giving me anxiety. I guess I figured if everyting matched the perfect image in my head, then my life was okay.

Eventually, I figured out that it made more sense to change the image in my head rather than feel overwhelming anxiety when the reality didn’t match the unreasonably perfect image.

People enjoyed visiting more. Who knew?

My compulsive cleaning left another gift for me. I overexposed myself to chemicals so much that I break out when exposed to them now. I use a lot of vinegar now, and green products, and nowadays, the image in my head is pretty darn lackadaisical. If nothing stinks, it’s all good.

I’m still averse to clutter and mess, because it is one extra step to tidy before cleaning and dusting. I do both less often now.

And Ass Burger Boy? I just ask him to keep his door closed because nobody wants to see what’s in his room.

Really. I have pictures.

And? I don’t do my houswork naked anymore. First, nobody wants to see it. Secondly, I never work up a sweat at it now.

After whining and being a general pain in the backside, I have received my itinerary for the summer.

And no, I won’t be travelling to the states, just regional venues.

The fun of this is I get to stay with two of my bitches, and there is another to do my bidding.

Of course there is Skinny Bitch. Can’t wait to see her!

I have a man-bitch in the same city where she lives. He drives me to see my Grammie, and usually takes me out to dinner while he’s at it. I’ll call him my Port City Bitch. He’s really awesome. He talks a mile a minute, and never fails to make me laugh. I think at first he made himself useful to me in order to get close to Skinny Bitch. (Every man is a sucker for SB.) But we’re pretty good friends now. I really enjoy my Port City Bitch.

My third bitch is another man-bitch. We’ve been BFF’s since high school. I’ll call him BFF bitch. He is bar none, the BEST!

His wife is a very smart woman, and conversationally engaging. We get along well, but I take umbrage that she abuses my bitch. When she said one time that she wished she had a bitch too, I reminded her that you have to praise your bitch, and never call him arsehole.

I do love all three of my bitches. Am I a lucky woman or what?

On the phone with Skinny Bitch, finding out what is new in her life.

SB: That’s odd.

WP: What is odd, Skinny Bitch?

SB: Someone has been touching the drapes. Why would they want to do that?

WP: (trying not to explode in giggles) Umm…maybe they wanted to look out the window?

SB: No, you don’t have to move the drapes for that.

WP: Do you suppose they’re messing with your OCD to get even for your perverse parenting?

SB: (gasps) They. Wouldn’t. Dare.

She may be right.

I’ve been frustrated lately about firming up my psychic fair tours for this summer. Usually I have my itinerary by March.

This year, there has been some tampering by outside agents. Somebody has been calling the venues, posing as the promoters, and cancelling. Also cancelling advertising and accommodations.

I find myself in the unenviable position of not having a schedule. I still don’t have my surgeon’s appointment, and I have a follow-up ultrasound to schedule amongst my travels.

The lovely flat I live in has been sold. We find out June 1 if we have to move. Indications are that we will. Probably in the heat of summer, while I am travelling. If there is a psychic fair tour this year.

I suppose I should consult my trusty oracle on these matters, but really, all I want to do is curl up on the couch with a nice bottle of Chilean red wine. If I weren’t overdrawn, I would so be there.

Those twins I Photoshopped tiaras onto? Apparently, they have peckers. I can make a hundred bang-on predictions, but get one a little off, and whoosh! There goes my confidence. And? I’ve been doing this stuff for 25 years.

Ass Burger Boy missed an important appointment this morning. His anxiety is painting the atmosphere here.

Mercury is retrograde now. I guess I can just kiss that lottery win goodbye. Which is unfortunate, because I would need it for that much-coveted bottle of wine.

And when I hit publish, my site broke. I have made no changes to my CSS. Craptastic. Help yourself to the cheese I am offering with my whine.