My Fresh Hell
Life in Scribbletown.

Updates and Craziness


I know you will be happy to know that the prince came back for Barbie around lunch time ("Which is the afternoon.") on Friday to rescue her. But! He could not untie her and had to call the police. Not such a manly-man, that prince.

Truly, I couldn’t make these things up!

The whole weekend the girls were crazed like they were mainlining Sweetarts or something. I mean, apart from good public behavior at my mother’s house (which is a whole other story and we’ll see if there’s time to go into it here), they were whiny and obnoxious and manic and jumping off the walls and hanging on me and I was thisclose to just quietly getting in my car...and driving anywhere that wasn’t here.

And to add to the chaos, Red’s summer allergy bout last week made her cough and become congested to the point that I had to get out the nebulizer so she didn’t end up with pneumonia (in July! I ask you!) again. The nightly xyrtek wasn’t doing it for her. So we’re back to singulair (which she’ll eat raw – maybe because she thinks it’s got the same high as the powdered Sweetarts I mentioned earlier) and xopenex. Sigh. Poor kid can’t catch a break – unless she breaks a limb climbing up on the kitchen table so she can throw all the (Very Expensive Fresh) fruit onto the floor and knock the fruit fly trap liquid on herself. Or while climbing onto my bed where she can take my BRAND NEW chapstick and bite into it so hard she cracks the plastic. Or when she climbs onto my computer table to turn on the printer. And off. And on again. Until I catch her and pull the plug and kick her OUT of the room. Double sigh.


I have heard back from the gov’mint – reponses to my rant. Before I post the best letter, I will say that this is not the first time the city has accused me of owing them money. Oh no! This is not the first time I’ve told them to shove it. But apart from the amount of time I wasted trying to prove that I am innocent (I love how govt entities can just make this shit up and the burden of proof rests on ME - the unjusted accused! I love that.), I really resent that this could affect my credit rating. That REALLY galls me. So, it’s far from over, my friends.

Anyway, if you noticed, I mailed copies of my letter to the president of the city council and to the mayor, who is independently elected now rather than appointed from within the council. The mayor is feisty and was once the state’s (first black) governor. He likes a good fight. Sometimes that’s the best I can say for him. Either way, I heard back from one of his assistants. I will overlook, for the moment, the fact that the letter was addressed to “Carol” FreshHell rather than by my actual name. This slight mistake confused the mail deliverer: she circled “Carol” and added a question mark to the envelope. Nevertheless, I received my mail - because our mail person is competent and knows us (score one for the feds). Anyway, here’s the response I got:

“Dear Ms. Freshhell,

“You recently wrote a very, shall I say, creative letter [ha! I love this!] to the City’s Finance Department with a copy to Mayor Wilder. The items you pointed out about inaccurate bills, insufficient customer service, and “irrational” billing statements have too often been the case in that department. The mayor continues his efforts to reform the climate and culture at city hall and your letter reminds us that we still have a long way to go.

“I personally shared a copy of letter [sic] with the City’s Chief Financial Officer H— Bl— who is trying to make some reforms, but he is fighting resistance among the staff and the City Council. Rest assured we will continue the fight until letters like yours will not be necessary and every citizen (or former citizen) gets the level of service they deserve.

“Thank you for bringing your problems to the Mayor’s attention, and I trust we will be “off your back” shortly.

“Sincerely, xxxx”

It’s not really addressing the real issue here but it’s certainly better than the response I received from the city councilman’s office which was one of those, “We’re in receipt of your letter dated July XX 2006, blah blah blah.”

I will be contacting Mr. XXXX very soon about the credit issue – that’s more crucial to me than whether City Hall cleans up its act, frankly.


Okay, we've got time for one little item about the trip to mom's. She's a bit of a pack rat. Some (me) would call her a residential hoarder. She also thinks that things in her house that in some way pertain to my sister and I, that she wants to get rid of, sudden belong to us.

I noticed, upon arrival, a stack of quite old RSVP cards. What the? I asked myself but really, I just didn't want to know. It's better that way.

So, when Auntie Amblus arrived, she was given the stack of cards and the box that was under them.

What were they, you wonder? Why, they were RSVP cards from Amblus's wedding. Which occured in 2000. And leftover invitations.

Yes, my mother has kept the RSVPs for FIVE YEARS. Now, a not-crazy mother would come across such a thing, call the correct daughter and ask, "Do you want these because otherwise I'm tossing them."

The not-crazy daughter would say, "Nah, toss 'em."

The not-crazy mother would do so.

What does MY mother do? Try to make my sister take them with her and throw them away in HER house.

I won't even try to reconstruct the circular conversation the ensued but I whispered to my sister that my mother had a fairly large trash can in the kitchen, with a lid, and she could just dump them in it when our mother wasn't looking.

Which is what happened.

Triple Sigh.

Again, I can't make up shit like this!


Here’s a sample of the kind of conversations I end up having these days with Miss Always Right, Miss Black & White. It’s the kind of thing that drives me crazy and I try very hard not to fall into the trap but I find when you don’t respond to the beasts, they keep TALKING AT YOU until you do. Ya can’t win.

“What’s that?”
“A lake.”
“It looks like a swamp.”
“It’s a lake.”
“It doesn’t look like one.”
“Well, that’s what it is.”
“I know what it is! It just looks like a swamp!”



1:00 p.m. ::
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