MISTAKES. I DON'T MAKE NO STINKIN MISTAKES. HERE ARE THE REASONS FOR MISTAKES..........

 

I have been accused of messing up on some things and I am trying to understand what on earth or in the universe is going on.

 

  There's always got to be a reason. Right?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So. my mistakes are due to:

• misreading
• misunderstanding
• misguidance
• misquotes
• mispronunciation 
• misrepresentation
• misinterpretation
• missteps
• mistrust
• misuses
• miswriting
• mistreatment
• misspeaking
• mistiming
• misadventure
• misapplication
• misdirection
• misfeasance
• misruling
• misprints
• miscalculation
• misbelief
• misconstruction
• mischief
• misconceptions
• misinformation
• misplacement
• misspelling
• miswording
• misogamy
• misogyny
• misanthropy
• misapprehension
• mischance
• mischief
• misdating
• misfiling
• misgovernance
• misjudgment
• misadvise
• miscellaneous
•  

          As you can see by my meticulous research, the errors were all due to someone else's malfunctions.

 

 

          As you, and every reader knows, I am always right. You know that you are too. People get very upset with you for being a know-it-all, but that's because they too, know that they know it all, therefore they think that you must be the one who is wrong.

 

 

 

  None of us would say something we did not believe to be right. Nor defended it if we believed we were wrong. Right? Of course.

 

THEORY

 

 

Everyone believes they are right, That being the case, then how do we figure out who,  like us,  are the ones who are right? And who are the ones who are deluding themselves?

I know I am not delusional. I have a degree that allows me to say that. Even if I didn't, I'd still believe it.

 

THEREFORE

 

The best way to find out who is right, is to question others. If they disagree with you, they are the ones who are delusional. If they agree with you, they are the ones who are right.  Simple isn't it?

Of course. We're always right.

 

 

 

 

 

I love the cool fresh wind in my hair, life without care, I'm broke, it's oke.

WHY IS EVERYTHING SUCH A FUCKING PAIN IN THE ASS?????

I suppose you could say I'm having one of those days.  More like the third in a row.

I need to organize my posts so I can put them in collections, making it easier for my followers.  I printed them all out (sorry for all the typo's especially in the titles but there is NO spell check up there.)  How do I organize such disparate topics?  I will. Somehow.

I need to get my tax crap organized because I always file early. Not that I have much to organize. It comes in the mail and trust me, it's not complicated stuff. Still, I have to separate the papers.

I'm working on my ancestor search, and from my last post, you've noticed I've misplaced two of them, so to speak.
I joined the world wide ancestor "club" for more money, so I could have more data and access.  I can't actually find out if it's helpful, since I'm not sure how to use it and, when I did come across one possible crossing (on a ship), the information was in German, which I can't read.

My lovely new room, which has more desk surfaces,  is still not enough for the piles of paper I have spilling all over the room.  Looking at it makes me nuts.

Some piles had made it to the bed.

And then I had to go out this morning. On my way out, I decided to bring in the large vintage poster print that had not been hung up since we painted as we noticed a corner of the glass had broken.
I wanted to buy a new frame so I could put that up in the outer rooms (color match) and bring one into my room for the last space on the wall.
As I was taking the frame out I picked up a cardboard that read "24 x 30" glass something and it dropped and shattered on the garage floor. I left a note for my husband in case he came home before I did so he wouldn't get hurt.

He did get home and left before seeing the note. He came home just as I was finishing cleaning up the shards of glass and as my girlfriend had arrived.
I tried to explain what had happened and he said I could tell him later as it was done.  Then he told me I keep leaving the light on in the garage. Broken glass he doesn't see. A light that he usually leaves on, he does.

NEXT

Our accountant uses e-files which is lovely. I actually saved the secure site so I could get in without having to check the password and name.
He sent a new thing which required my email address. At least I can remember that. And the last four digits. A cinch. Only it didn't work.

I tried the saved sign in from last year and that didn't work either. So,,,,, I emailed him.

He sent back that it might be my husband's last four.  That got me in.  And pissed me off. My husband's name is first on the filing for no other reason than he's the man. Unless the account decided to do it alphabetically. yeah right.

Then he sends my husband some stuff today ,which he forwards to me the insides of which, also don't open.  The accountant also sent me three emails as well that eventually I was open to combine and rejoin and say abra cadabra and they opened.

Of course I got annoyed with said husband for not understanding my ravings from my den screaming so he would hear me in his den around the bend.   Then I ragged on him that I'm getting tired of taking care of all this shit. Bla Bla Bla and yada yada yada.

Being in menopause means it's always my time of the month.

I am a curious person. I like to finish something I start.  It's like a puzzle.
  Or as I once said, I feel obligated to start what I finished. Get that one?
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Therefore, I get very frustrated with each roadblock I hit.  And somehow, the computer, whilst making life easier, is also filled with the most roadblocks.

I need a fricking little address book for all the names and passwords I have for accounts. You would think that would make things go smoothly. But NOOOO.

I don't know about you, but certain companies like ATT and Apple are the worst. I do not know how many times I have had to change my passwords for them. And, paranoid that I am, I sometimes like to write in code in case some deranged thief comes to my house to use my computer. Therefore, when I can't get into a site, I look it up and often it doesn't work, because you know, what a great memory I have so codes, are not my friends. So, I have to change it again and again.

It's kind of like every year or less your credit card is "compromised" so they send you a new number.  Then, you have to go into every account it's linked to and put in the new card.  I at least now have a list of what's on it. Maybe that will mean it won't happen so often.  You know?  Like when I take the umbrella it doesn't rain philosophy.

WHY AM I SO PISSED AND COMPLAINING HERE?

I'm married. That's why. Each of us think we do more in and for the relationship than the other and sometimes it just comes out. Human nature I suppose.

I remember reading a study about work absences.  When surveyed, each worker believed that he/she had taken fewer days off than their co-workers. Fact check did not support this at all.  It's like that.

You don't notice when the job gets done. You notice when it doesn't. Therefore it's easier to find faults because you don't see what has become invisible.

If you empty the trash cans, no one sees. If you don't, they're on your ass.

Extra 2 cents.  I want life to go smoothly. I think it is my right as an American. When I want something it should be done now. When I need to find something it shouldn't take me two days.  (or like my grandparents, possibly several years and that's only going to happen if I find money to hire a genealogist). 

Is that too much to ask? I pay my taxes damn it. My bills are paid on time. I demand that my computer treat me better. Or I will ---   I will  --- hmmm.   Does anyone know where that complaint department is?

Pardon me, but I seem tp have misplaced a grandparent or two. Have you seen them?

Well, No. They're dead and buried and I do actually know where 6 of them are. That can't be right. 4.  Yeah, that's better. My grandkids will need to keep track of, let me see, 7 and 8 if the last one remarries.


That's not why I'm writing. I'm back on researching  genealogy and I could have sworn I had found 3 out of 4 arrivals in New York. The last time I had been searching.  At the moment I can only find the documentation for 2.

My eyes are bleary after 3 hours of record reading.



NOT their wedding

That too is not the reason I'm writing. I'm looking for Grandma Mollie. I might know how old she was or not. I do have the record of her marriage where I know she lied because she was four years older than Grandpa. That's why this particular record, probably not hers, was so amusing.

I tried reading some German passenger lists and that did not go well.

The Brits kept clearer, if not more accurate records.

My favorite was a possible, although she could not probably have been 21 years old when she came here. Perhaps? Anyway, I loved it because they listed people's occupations on most of the manifests. and

Hers was listed as ,    ready.........      SPINSTER.   That's right ladies and gents. Her occupation at the age of 21 was listed as spinster.

The year was 1902?  or 07 or 03?  I looked at so many and wrote notes  all over cards that I confused myself. I must have been a clerk in England in a past life.


    IMAGINATION


I'm a little girl and growing up in the old country, is very hard.  Pogroms, prejudice, no indoor plumbing. I'm a lucky little girl though. My daddy is a Rabbi. He's well respected and we're moving to Amerika.  YAY.  I can't wait. Truly, I can't, They are burning down the town as I think.

On the trip over in steerage I wonder what will I be when I grow up in the land of opportunity. My head spins with possibility. Or maybe it spins because I'm seasick and the smell here is beyond belief. Feh!

I look around at all the people in steerage with us. Families of other hopeful immigrants and it hits me. Who wants this kind of life? Husbands who demand unspeakable things. Giving birth to something that might kill you. Breast feeding. More children. The noise. The smells. Shivers are running up and down my spine. Or it might be chilblains.

I've got it.  When I grow up I am going to be a spinster. Yes. That's what I'll do. It sounds better than being one of those Sadie, Sadie married ladies.

And that's why my grandmother lied about her age. Really. She was a little long in the tooth for the time period. I'm not sure when Grandpa found out. I'm glad I wasn't there because I hear he had a temper. A really, really bad temper.  Poor Grandma. I know, I wouldn't be here if she'd stuck to her guns, but she would have been a much happier woman. Trust me, on this I know what I'm talking about.




Theory

Why do people get married?  Social Convention. Religious Beliefs. Family pressure.  Well, at least back then.


Now, your guess is as good as mine.  Did I say guess?  I meant to say theory.  That's right. Your theory is as good as mine. Maybe better even.

Hey Baby it's Cold outside.... Would you like a lift to the subway?

I lived in Park Slope for quite a few years and at 3 different addresses.

The posting about the First Christmas Tree shows the only picture I have of that time. The apartment  was on a beautiful street that was just a half a block to the Park.

Look at the windows and doors.

If you look to the right side, you'll see the front door and side windows.  They were all glass. The inner and outer doors as well.  We needed to cover the windows, as we were a little below sidewalk level.  However,  I had a problem with the window treatments.  This was my first attempt at decorating with no budget,  and if you notice, the blue curtains are basically rectangular holes in fabric.  Good for letting the light in.  I didn't like them and I have no idea why they were still up. Now I'd have returned and exchanged them possibly four times.

I worked in Manhattan in the Garment Center, if you remember. You've seen a picture of me at work.  Getting to the train station meant  either going to the 9th street station which was a 9 block walk to the west, or the Grand Army Plaza Station which was further. I'm not sure, but the D train may also have had a stop with a long walk to the east.

There was a city bus that rode along ninth avenue. If I were lucky enough to catch it, and had change, I'd take it to the station. More often than not, it was better to walk, especially when it was freezing cold. Standing and waiting for the bus, which was invariably filled with teens, was no picnic.

I did this for the two years I lived in that house on third street.

One morning, I'm starting out of my walkway and a car stops. The guy rolled down the window and said he'd seen me walking to the station on plenty of occasions and asked if I wanted a lift.  It was bitterly cold and we were both bundled up.

It was 7 a.m. and he looked like a nice guy. Actually, Maybe around my age, 23,  25 and nice looking.  Not relishing the freezing cold, I took a chance and said yes.  He drove me to the station and dropped me off.
His name was Andy.

A couple of days later, he stopped again. We probably chit chatted about nothing, as Seinfeld would say.  I have to admit, I liked him.

This happened a few times. Then he met me on the way home. This time when he dropped me off  we sat and talked before I got out. He said he wanted to tell me something.  He had a dog and
he would walk the dog in the evenings and he could see me sitting on the sofa reading. He liked what he saw and  was determined to meet me.

I was quite flattered and happy since he lived in the apartment building on the corner at 8th avenue.  While we were talking, the car was heating up. Not from us, The heater was on, you people. Your minds always go there. Well, so was mine, until. . . . . ....

He took off his leather gloves and on his left hand was a gold wedding band.  I glanced down and almost choked. Duh, Andy, are you married? I queried?    He said yes.  Does that matter?

Does that matter?  Does that matter?  Duh, uh yeah.....

Also, I said, don't you think that your wife living down the block might be an impediment?  Nah.  He seemed quite unconcerned.

I said thanks, but no thanks. He was disappointed, but knew enough to let it go. Or let me go or whatever it was that had almost happened. I got out of the car and said goodbye. I felt sad and stupid.

I walked to the train  from then on. I saw him sometimes, driving by or walking the dog. I don't recall seeing the wife.

Theory. 

Don't take this personally. Men are Pigs. Or Dogs. Not all, but I have encountered more than my share.
*(AD)  Women are also sluts and whores. I'm not being sexist.

Also:

1.  Some people do not care about their marriage vows no matter how long ago or short ago it was since they made them.

2. Some men people nice enough not to lie. At least I could give Andy that. ( I wonder what would have happened if he hadn't taken off his gloves )

3. Why was it, that I was always attracted to the ones who weren't available.  Even when I didn't know it?

 4. You'll need to hear more of my life story to know the answer or at least the psychobabble theory as the blog continues onward.  In no particular order.

THE END  FOR TONIGHT

Bind Date Flashbck number 2

These flashbacks will not be in any particular order. Although I suppose, the ones that were worst will come to mind first.

 

See, some work out. For a while.

 

 

This one was in the era of Single 2.  After my divorce. I was living in a three story house in Queens. I lived in the middle apartment. Three bedrooms, one and one half baths. Usually the landlords floor. He lived elsewhere.  Husband 1 was gone and I had stayed on.

 

Again, I do not remember who set me up for the date.  Which I should think is lucky for whoever it was.

 

He called.  What I recall about our conversation was that he had an antique car, which I liked, a sense of humor, which I liked, and he told me he looked like Louie De Palma, which I hoped was part of his sense of funny. If I had known any better, I would have told him I had malaria.

 

 

 

We set a date for him to pick me up at my house. Since it wasn't someone I had met in a bar and there was no online back then, we didn't have to be as concerned about whacko psychopaths showing up. Well, I'm not so sure about that. We believed that our friends knew the person and that was some kind of safety net.

 

SETTING THE SCENE

 

  The time was winter and it had  already gotten dark.  I was dressed and ready to sit and wait. That's  because I was always early.  That hasn't changed.  While sitting and watching TV,  everything got dark. No lights, no sound. Nothing.    I looked out my window and the whole neighborhood was dark. Not even a street lamp.  oh crap.  I started to get cold since the heat was also out  and put on a sweater. I started to think.

No lights.  How would he find the house number?  I realized the doorbell wouldn't work either. I went downstairs to check.  Not to mention that with no electricity I had nothing to do. I needed a candle to read and when I'm nervous, I can't concentrate. And I'm afraid of fire.

 

Time passed slowly. V e r y      S l o w l y .

 

I stood vigil at the curtains that looked out on the front of the house.  At the appointed time, a car slowed down. It had a search light that was next to the mirror and was looking at the addresses. Odd. But, yes, this was his antique vehicle. It was grey and shaped kind of bomb like. You know, Long slung  in the front and rounder in the back. As I wrote that, I thought that could describe some people I know.  Okay. Back on track.

 

this is not the car, but it's the closest I could find and after 30 years who knows what the hell it really looked like.

THE MEET

 

He got out of the car and my heart dropped. Well, it would have had it not been frozen.  He may not have been a clone for the taxi character but they could have been brothers. And not like in twins where the other brother was Arnold Schwartzinager. Nope, It was like they had the same genetic code.

 

Short, balding, a little chubby and in his case, a face that could stop a clock.

 

He came in as I left the door open.  He knocked, I answered. We said our hellos and went out to a place called Naomi's that had  delicious Israeli food. Funny that I can remember where we ate, but not what we talked about. While driving there he told me how lucky it was  that this model car had headlamps on the side that could be used as search lamps so he was able to find my address.

 

I was probably thinking   "NOT!".   My bad.

I have no idea why, but every time I think of him and that date, I think of him as wearing big floppy clown shoes.  I really, really hope that this is in my imagination and that he didn't actually show up like that. Yet, why is so clear and prominent? 

As you may have guessed, it wasn't a great date. I tried to be polite and we talked throughout dinner and then I had him bring me home.  The rest, as often is of memories, is a blur. For all I know he might not have liked me either. Unfortunately, I hadn't cared.

 

I can't remember what he did for a living. I can't remember anything except the blackout, the car and the Danny DeVito guy.

Not much of a story really. Except it shows that I was, and am still shallow about certain things. I am not proud. I did get better as I aged, but the rest of the world did not.  We still make judgments about who people are with.

 

Promos and Theory

 

I am going to make sure that I do not write only about the bad dates. I had some good blind dates and first dates.  Or at least I thought so. Except there were times I thought things had gone well and the guy didn't call me. Obviously I'm not everybody's cup of tea either. Thankfully some called. As they say "What goes around comes around."

 

 

Theory.  Why do people set up their friends? They love them and want them to be happy.

 

Reality. They apparently don't know what will make their friends happy.

 

 

I know. I'm as shallow as the next guy. I might not have liked him after I got to know him, but I would have given someone like him a chance. That is of course, if he'd have  given me a chance.