In which Primo's ex-wife, who has been in the ground for over two years, also comes back from the dead to haunt us, but fortunately for us, our bonus daughters and their husbands are the total opposite of Ted, that is, they are NICE

Yes. You read that right. Primo's ex - I have forgotten what I named her - has become an issue again.

You would think that once people are dead, they could not make your life more complicated but you would be wrong. Sly and Doris continue to touch us in so many ways and now Primo's ex is doing the same thing.

The difference is that with Primo's ex, his stepdaughters are dealing with it and making it as easy as possible for Primo.

Primo's two stepdaughters are wonderful, lovely young women. Any time Primo says he might have been better off had he never met his ex, I remind him that he would not have his stepdaughters, their husbands, and their children in his life if that were the case.

They are all worth the drama he went through with his ex, who, by all accounts, was a nice person but she and Primo were just not a good fit. They did not date long enough before they married to discover that, which is why even though Primo told me after one month that he was in love with me and wanted to spend his life with me (I was all, "IT'S BEEN A MONTH!" and he said, "Here are some diamond earrings. See?"), we dated for three and a half years before we married.

(Part of that was because it took so long for him to get his divorce but it was mostly because he was gun shy.)

Anyhow.

His ex's mother died last summer, as you will have read. Primo went to her funeral two days after Sly's funeral. I am absolutely positive there were more people mourning the ex MIL's passing than mourned Sly's, as the ex MIL was, according to Primo, a lovely lovely lady. He visited her every time he went to California and sent her a mother's day card every year.

But ex MIL, just like ex, died without a will.

When you don't leave a will, you leave trouble for your family.

IF YOU DO NOT HAVE A WILL, MAKE ONE TODAY.  Go ahead. I'll wait. If you must, download a template and complete it and take it with you next door to have your neighbors witness your signature, then make a copy for the people who need to know and give it to them. Trust me, this is better than nothing. DO IT.

(And if you have minor children and do not have a will already where you designate guardians for your children, may God have mercy on your soul.)

Ex's mom died without a will. Years ago - this would have been more than 15 years ago, because it's been that long since Primo and his ex split, Primo and his ex borrowed some money from ex MIL or lent her some money or whatever.

That issue has somehow come up in the sale of ex MIL's house (which is right by the new Apple campus in San Jose, so Primo's stepdaughters are going to have enough money to pay for their kids' college, which I think is fabulous) and Primo has to sign something assuring people that he does not have a claim on ex MIL's estate.

Which of course he does not. Why would he?

Here is how fabulous his stepdaughters/my bonus daughters are :

They are paying to send a notary TO OUR HOUSE to DELIVER THE PAPERS TO PRIMO for him to sign and have notarized AT OUR HOUSE.

That is, they are going out of their way to make it very very easy for Primo to do this.

THEY ARE THE MOST WONDERFUL PEOPLE IN THE WORLD. They are thoughtful and considerate and are not thinking of Primo as someone who should jump just because they say so.

That is, if Ted is white, they are black. If Ted is matter, they are anti-matter. If Ted is A, they are Not A. They are the total opposite of Ted. They. Are. Nice.

In which more readers discover my IRL identity but this time, nobody tries to out me to people who could cause me trouble

Remember how I had to shut the blog down last summer? It was because someone had figured out who I was and thought it would be a great idea to post something on Doris' online funeral announcement.

You know - the announcement that Sly, Ted, and the rest of the family would be reading?

Yes. This jerk wrote something about his/her condolences and said something about having learned about Doris on the blog Diary of a Gold Digger.

WHO DOES THAT? WHAT KIND OF @SSHOLE GOES AROUND TRYING TO MAKE TROUBLE FOR PEOPLE HE DOES NOT EVEN KNOW?

I hope you have a rash on your face and an itch everywhere else that won't go away, jerk who posted.

I had to shut the blog down while Primo tried to figure out how to get the comment removed from the obituary before Sly saw it and started asking questions.

Sly never did see it, but my lovely sister in law, Stephanie, whom I LOVE and would not hurt for anything, did see it and asked about it. I had to lie. I had to lie to someone I love and whose respect I want. Not because there is anything written here that would hurt Stephanie because there is nothing ugly to say about Stephanie, but because I could not have Sly find this blog and do something nasty to Primo in retaliation, like disinherit him or make him wipe his ass.

Oh. Wait.

The only reason I have ever kept my identity a secret on this blog is because of the possible repercussions for Primo from Sly and Doris. After all, with my other blog, where I didn't even talk about them, they told Primo not to marry me and threatened to boycott our wedding, which, to this day, I wish they had done. I did not need mean drunk people at my wedding.

Now they are dead. Now I don't care. No, I have not identified myself here by name, but my friends know about this blog. My mom knows it exists but she does not read it. I would not be comfortable with her reading it because there are some things on here a mom probably does not want to know. However, there is nothing ugly about my mom on this blog because there is nothing ugly to say about my mother. My mother is a lovely person and I am lucky to have her.

Now. To the point. I have discovered - and this is cracking me up - that there are several of you who have figured out my identity. I am proud to have such smart readers. :) And I am laughing because this new discovery reinforces an idea I have held for a long time - that there is almost no stronger force than the human desire To Know. (Witness Adam and Eve.)

You guys are fabulous!

I told Primo about it.

Me: These readers have figured out who I am and who you are. One of them wrote that she hates Ted. That means I have conveyed him accurately. (She also said you are a hottie, which you are.)

Primo: Wow.

Me: Do you care if Ted would find this blog? We didn't want your mom and dad finding it, but do you care if Ted finds it?

Primo: I don't need anything from him.

Me: Nope.

Primo: He needs me. Although he doesn't seem to get that.

Me: Nope.

Primo: I don't care if he knows what you think about him. I don't want anything to do with him.

And then we fell silent, dreaming of a day when we would not be wondering what jerkiness Ted was planning next and when Ted would be completely out of our lives.

In which Primo's aunt may be dying (she is older than Sly and has been ill for a long time) and he is all stressed about whether he will have to go to a funeral

Primo: Oh no. My aunt J is not doing well. My cousin just sent me an email.

Me: I'm sorry, sweetie.

Primo: Now I'm going to have to go to another funeral.

Me: Why do you say that?

Primo: Because! I have to!

Me: I have cousins who live in or by the town where we had my dad's funeral who did not come. There is not one single person in my family who holds any anger against them.

Primo: Why didn't they come?

Me: People have jobs! They have kids! They can't always get away.

Primo: Jobs on a Saturday?

Me: Yes, some of them. But the funeral was not on a weekend.

Primo: Why not?

Me: Because when you have a funeral in a church, you can't have it on Sunday. And maybe not on Saturday, depending on if there are any weddings or other events and then of course Mass is at 4:00 on Saturday.

Primo: Oh.

Me: Anyhow. My family did not keep score of who came and who didn't. It doesn't matter. What matters is how someone acts when the person is alive.

Primo: I guess Ted could go.

Me: It is just a train ride for him, isn't it? You would have to buy a plane ticket and rent a car and stay at a hotel. * He could go as the Representative of the Family.

Primo: He didn't even go to Uncle Bob's funeral (aunt J's husband).

Me: Wait! I thought he was all Mr "Family is EVERYTHING!"

Primo: I know.

Me: What a jerk.

Primo: Now I'm cranky. Not at you. But cranky. This is going to get me all pulled into the family drama again. I'm glad I didn't answer Ted's last email! I'm glad I just sent him the spreadsheet with the check.

Me: He is a jerk.

Primo: I don't know if Ted thinks I can be bullied or if I am just stupid.

Me: He thinks he is the smartest one around. And if he thinks you can be bullied, he does not know you at all. You grew up with your dad. Ted did not. He has no idea how much bullying you can deal with. You are immune after living with your dad.

Primo: Yep.



* When my dad died, friends of his flew in from all around the country. He and my mom are from a very small town - no stoplights - and hotels are slim pickings. Our relatives insisted on housing the out of town guests and on picking them up and returning them to the airport, which is an hour from town. One couple showed up - they had flown - with a honeybaked ham that they had carried in their laps the entire flight. My dad had amazing friends.

In which Primo really does get rid of a bunch of newspapers - from 2011 - that he had been saving in his office

It's Saturday night and things are about to get crazy around here.

In which Primo misunderstands the fundamental purpose of a clothesline

Primo: Did that towel blow down?

Me: No. Why?

Primo: Because it's pinned differently from how I did it.

Me: I was taking them down and realized they were still damp so I put them back up.

Primo: You did not pin them with the same care and precision I did.

Me: No. 

Primo: Why not?

Me: Because the purpose of hanging clothes on the line is for them to dry. Period.

Primo: But you are not doing it right.

In which Primo continues to bring The Sexy with his musings that he might clean out the old newspapers in his office

Being in Primo's office stresses me out because it is full of stuff. Stuff on the desk (including the Leaning Tower of Visa), stuff stacked on the narrow ledges of the bookshelves in the tiny spaces left over from the books, stuff in piles on the floor. Every time I walk in there, Primo panics and says, "Don't touch anything!" which is hard to do when there is STUFF ALL OVER THE FLOOR.

It's a Pre-Hoarder environment.

When I was in there last week and cranky about something - oh - there was STUFF all over the guest room  as well, including stacked on my filing box, so I could not get to my filing, I suggested that Primo get rid of the 24" stack of old newspapers that he had been accumulating for years.

He got all panicky and said he couldn't make a decision about that NOW because THERE WAS TOO MUCH GOING ON and I countered with It is possible to make a yes or no decision ANY TIME and KEEPING OLD NEWSPAPERS IS NOT A PRIORITY and he got mad and told me it was his office and his business, which is true, but when his office spills into the rest of the house, then it is my business.

I also informed him that when he drops dead, I am throwing away EVERYTHING and not looking at any of it to see if maybe possibly it should be saved.

That was a week ago.

Last night, Primo came downstairs.

Primo: Maybe this weekend I will get rid of those old newspapers in my office.

Me: WHAAAAAT?

Primo: I keep thinking I will read them - I saved them for political articles.

Me: But you haven't been reading them.

Primo: No. And I am thinking I never will.

Me: And if you really want to read old news, you could always go online.

Primo: Yes.

And then I smiled and kept my mouth shut because when you win, you don't want to spoil the moment.

In which I meet the neighbor of the horrible, awful (but we did not do our due diligence so we share a lot of the blame) campaign manager Primo used for his first campaign

My friend Dawn, who was a Peace Corps volunteer in Panama, and I went to a Returned Peace Corps volunteer happy hour.

I have not been going to RPCV events since I moved here from Memphis. My friends Leigh and Megan and I started the RPCV group in Memphis as a way to meet men. It worked for Megan - she met her husband, who was a volunteer in Chad, through the group.

Leigh and I did not meet men via the group but we met a lot of really nice people who are friends to this day.

Our philosophy for the Memphis group was, "We've done our volunteer work and now all we want to do is have a party."

The philosophy for the group here blesstheirhearts is "There is no social event that cannot be used as a fundraising opportunity."

Which is fine. They get to do it how they want. But I don't want to donate $25 every time I hang our with RPCVs or even $3 for a potluck. Potluck should equal free.

OK. I am being a bit of a bitch here. The three dollars for the potluck is because they have it at a county park and you have to pay to reserve the shelter with the picnic tables. And they buy some beer.

But. I haven't been going because 1. I don't want to pay and 2. I don't want to Do Good and 3. I hate leaving my house anyhow.

Primo saw that there was an event and said I needed to go - that I was turning into a hermit.

I asked Dawn if she wanted to go, hoping she would say no and I would be off the hook and could watch "Inspector Lewis" in peace and then read some "The Nest," of which I have read only two chapters but am already loving because it is about greedy, self-centered people who have lived way beyond their means in anticipation of an inheritance and I AM THINKING, "TED!" THIS IS ALL ABOUT TED! WHO LIVES BEYOND HIS MEANS AND THOUGHT HE WAS GOING TO INHERIT AND HE DIDN'T!

But she wanted to go so I was stuck and off we went.

And of course we had a really nice time. It was at a bar, so I didn't have to make a donation, although I bought Dawn's drink because she had driven.

I started talking to this very cool woman who had been a volunteer in Morocco. (We are now finally getting to the point.)

She lives in Town X.

"That's where the horrible campaign manager my husband hired lives," I said. "She's on the city council now. I can't believe you guys re-elected her."

(I know. This is not a wise conversation to have with a stranger. However, if it turned out that Morocco Lady was friends with Campaign Manager, well, I didn't want to be friends with Morocco Lady.)

ML shuddered. "I know her!"

Me: You do?

ML: She's my neighbor. I have mixed feelings about her.

Me: Why?

ML: My neighbor across the street is an artist. She was building some stuff - molds for casting - and using some chemical Campaign Manager didn't like. So CM reported her to the police.

[NB CM is ultra left, which is a category that I am thinking does not usually think well of the police and is always on guard against a police state - and I concur, as I also do not want a police state - but calling the police on your neighbor for a project she is doing in her own garage seems to be excessive use of police force if you ask me. So really, CM is just a hypocrite - she doesn't want police power to be used against her, but as long as she is the one calling the shots, she is fine.]

Me: What?

ML: The police came and shut my neighbor down.

Me: Had CM even talked to the neighbor first?

ML: Nope. So yeah - she's really not a friend.

Me: OK. You and I can be friends, then.

In which Primo has no interest in returning cleaning supplies to their home after I have cleaned the kitchen sink but thinks that fairies take care of the items he leaves stacked on the cookbooks

1. We have cats who like to tear around the house, including on top of the cookbooks
2. The deal was that Primo would be in charge of the house stuff while I go to work.
3. The guy is PBK. He can figure out where stuff goes.


CRANKY.

In which my sexy husband talks about THROWING THINGS AWAY

1:03PM

I got rid of more boxes from the guest room and the upstairs hallway.

like - out of the house?

or just moved somewhere else wher you think I won't find them?

:)_

They are in the recycling.

They were empty boxes.smile emoticon It wasn't really hard work.

In which Primo the engineer completely misses the point of the story, which is not an accurate recounting of the dates he was in California but rather joy that he might go back to his old job

Remember how Primo said that the reason he couldn't get rid of the old manuals from his old job - the job he quit in October 2014 - was that he might return to that job?

Which shut my mouth because HALLELUJAH would there be a happier ending for me than Primo returning to his old job, i.e., the job where he works at home and hence does not need a car which would mean we would not have to buy a second car and the job that pays a Silicon Valley salary even though we are in a place considerably less expensive than Silicon Valley.

I was 'appy.

We went for a walk. We stopped by my friend Danette's house to deliver the copy of Rowing Without Oars that I had accidentally had sent to my house rather than to my mom's. I had gotten the book from the library and liked it so much that I ordered one of those one penny copies from amazon.com where you pay one cent for the book and $3.99 for the shipping, which is fine, for my mom, only I entered the addresses wrong and had my mom as the bill to rather than the ship to.

Rather than go to the PO myself to mail the copy that came to me, I just ordered another one penny copy for my mom and decided to give this copy to Danette, who loves to read as much as I do.

While we were at Danette's, we chatted, as one does.

Danette: Primo, when are you going back to work?

Primo: I don't know. I am really busy with the campaign.

Me: But he might be able to go back to his old job!

Danette: Oh?

Me: A few weeks ago, he went to California to see his stepdaughters and the new baby.

Primo: It wasn't a few weeks ago!

Me: What?

Primo: It was in February! That is way more than a few weeks!

Me: So what?

Primo: You are telling it wrong.

Me: The point of the story is that you had lunch with your former co-workers and they were telling you about open jobs.

Primo: It wasn't a few weeks ago. It was longer than that.

Me: Danette, do you see what I have to deal with every single day?

In which Primo doesn't want to get rid of the (stinky) perfume that Doris liked (do alcoholics lose their sense of smell? I know smokers do)

Me: Can we get rid of this perfume? You were going to give it to your mom and you never did. Even though I said you should just put it in the mail to her.

Primo: I like that perfume!

Me: I don't wear perfume and even if I did, I would not wear that.

Primo: Maybe I should save it for my next wife.

Me: May. Be.

In which Primo gets totally stressed about getting rid of cooking stuff we have had since we moved into the house eight years ago and have never used

Accomplishments:

I got Primo to agree to donate

• two frying pans 
• a small saucepan 
• a large wooden cutting board (that he bought years ago and I have never used because I prefer the plastic flexible kind I can roll and guide veg into a bowl, although the plastic ones do melt when left in the oven and the oven is turned on - don't. ask.)
• a set of white towels he brought into the marriage that I hate because they shed and we don't give to guests because we already have a set of blue guest towels
• the red t-shirt sheets we bought and used once and loved but then discovered attract cat hair like no other thing in the world
• the old mismatched tupperware that we put in the basement when we bought a set of Rubbermaid where all the sizes stack nicely
• some wedding gifts that we have never used but have been taking up space in the china cabinet
• a bunch of three-ring binders that contain nothing
• printer paper that we will never use because it is 8x14
• Yahtzee
• Four jigsaw puzzles I bought at Goodwill for 50 cents apiece and that we have already put together
• Primo's bread machine
• Me: I will make you bread from scratch any time you want
• All the candles I brought into the marriage and we have never used
• a pod coffee maker that may or may not work
• a wooden serving tray I have never used
• Primo: But what if one of us gets sick and needs to have food brought to him in bed?
• Me: You can go hungry
• Primo: You are mean
• A bunch of silver plate stuff - small plates, salt and pepper shakers - that I got from Goodwill thinking I had gotten a great deal only to realize that the Curse of Polishing the Silver was now mine.
• Five emtpy boxes. Yes. EMPTY boxes.
• Primo: But what if we move? Those are the boxes from the coffee thingy/other stuff.
• Me: We. Can. Get. More. Boxes.

What I could not get rid of

• Two different frying pans. That we have not used in the eight years since we moved in.
• The waffle iron I got at the Rochester Minnesota Goodwill for 25 cents when my dad took me thrifting - it only works on a gas stove, but Primo promises he will take care of replacing our horrible electric smoothtop oven - WHICH I HATE - with a gas stove
• The foam thingy that goes on the sofabed in the basement. My philosophy is that our guest accommodations should not be too comfortable.
• Primo: But what if one of us dies and we need to put people from the family up?
• Me: If you die, the only people who will stay here will be my mom, my sister, and my brother and my brother can sleep on the sofa without it being folded out. Ted will not be invited to the funeral and even if he does come, he is not staying in my house.
• This plate, which I made for Primo while we were dating. He is sentimental. I am not.

Primo freaking out upstairs before coming down to the basement:

Me: Could we please get rid of this stuff from your old job?

Primo: Stop! I'm busy!

Me: You said you were working on your mom and dad's taxes.

Primo: I'm editing photos from the delegate meeting today. Look! Daphne got doughnuts made to look like Bernie!

Me: Those are cute!

Primo: I  need to get these posted.

Me: But you said you were working on the taxes. I think you need to pay a penalty.

Primo: What?

Me: How about getting rid of these three binders from your old job?

Primo: NO! I can't make a decision about that now!

Me: You quit 18 months ago. Even if you would go back to your old job, you would get new materials.

Primo: STOP!!!!!

Me: Why can't you make a decision?

Primo: I need to be able to focus on it! It's not a good time!

Me: IT IS NEVER A GOOD TIME!

Primo: Leave it! Besides, what if I go back to OldJob? That might be useful.

Me: Oh, right.

Primo: It is a possibility, you know.

Me: Well all right.

In which Primo discovers houses do not stay clean just because you have cleaned them and we talk about selling porn on Ask a Manager, my favorite blog

1. Houses get dirty

Primo: But - it looks like I need to clean the tub again!

Me: Oh. No.

Primo: But I just cleaned it last week!

Me: I know.

Primo: But I just cleaned it!

Me: Houses get dirty.

Primo: I don't like housework.

Me: Neither do I.

Primo: But you did all the housework when I was working and you were not.

Me: Yes. But not because I like it. I hate cleaning house.

Primo: You do?

Me: PRIMO! NOBODY LIKES HOUSEWORK!


2. Porn sells

On Ask a Manager today, there is a discussion about garage sales, so being a person who always has to give my opinion, even when it is not requested (I am working on that), I had to talk about Primo's experience with the garage sale for Sly and Doris' house.

Remember that Primo drove around until he found a dumpster far from Sly and Doris' house so he could get rid the box of porn he found in their closet?

The brilliant commenters on AAM noted that he could have sold it.

Apparently, vintage porn that is - um  - clean - is in. Who knew?

In which Primo and I disagree on laundry philosophy and how clothes should be arranged in a closet

Me: There are clothes hanging in the basement that you have not brought up.

Primo: I brought up the rest of the laundry yesterday.

Me: I can't find my black zip-front athletic jacket.

Primo: I brought it up.

Me: Oh. Here it is. It's with the t-shirts.

Primo: Yes.

Me: But that's not where it goes. It goes with athletic clothes.

Primo: Your closet is organized by color.

Me: By color within a category. Look - dresses, skirts, shirts, and athletic tops.

Primo: That's too much to remember.

Me: What? You were Phi Beta Kappa!

Primo: I can't be expected to remember all of that. I never expected you to remember where my shirts go when you were in charge of laundry.

Me: Short sleeve vs long sleeve.

Primo: No. It's a lot more than that.

Me: OK. It looks like you also have stripes and solids separated from patterns.

Primo: NO! There is also "not worn yet" and "worn once or a few times."

Me: What?

Primo: So I can know when to wash them.

Me: That is a binary status. Either something is clean enough to wear or it's not.

Primo: There are degrees. I have to keep track.

Me: If you can't know if something needs to be washed based on smelling it, you are not doing it right.

Primo: You are wrong.

Me: You are.

In which a comment from Webb reminds me why I have stopped skipping the abs sections of my workouts

In this post, Webb commented that she hopes we all make it to 95.

I do, too, but I want it to be a healthy, vigorous 95.

Have I told you guys the story of finding the woman who had fallen who couldn't get up?

It was a super cold day in February. I had stopped at the school on my way home to vote in some primary. I walked out and had not put my sunglasses back on. I saw a woman on her back on the sidewalk, reaching her hand under the car.

I squinted and decided she must have dropped her keys and was trying to retrieve them. But when I got closer, I realized that she had fallen (because really, who lies down on her back to get keys?) and could not get up.

You guys, it was freezing cold. FREEZING.

I dropped my purse and gym bag, reached out my hand to her, grabbed her one hand, and tried to pull her up.

I. Could. Not. Pull. Her. Up.

I am fairly strong and in decent shape for my age. She was probably in her late 50s or early 60s, maybe 30 pounds overweight.

Even with my pulling on her, she did not have enough abdominal strength to sit up from lying down.

I grabbed her hand with both of my hands and tried pulling again.

She did not move.

I am strong! But I was trying to pull up dead weight and it was not working.

I saw some other people come out of the polls and yelled at them to come help. It took three people to get her back on her feet.

That, my friends, is the day I stopped leaving BodyPump before the abdominal routine. When I am old, I want to be able to get up when I fall.