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Archive for March, 2008

So is the Mom, and the rest of the crew.

“It” (slumlady) drove by the house very, very slowly.

A chill went through our collective bones.

Then she turned to go to her office to treat a patient for stress, I suppose.

Wow.

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Many years ago, my father, William A. Mahan, put an ad in ‘The Recycler’, for a roommate, as his mother was in the Motion Picture Country Home, and he had to take care of her, and needed someone to take care of the house while he was gone.

Louise Hogarth answered the ad.  It seemed like a good fit.  Bill liked her and got her into the editors union.

She manipulated him, and myself, for decades.

She is all over the internet now, promoting herself, using her grants to jet around with one film or another, she does not know how to use the Avid, or Final Cut Pro editing machines – the list is so long.

She came to the wake we had for Bill, sneering at all of the “skinny women,”  while sitting on the deck rail, a smug look on her face.

Then she approached Tomas to score “The Gift.”

He worked very hard on it, but alas, she screwed him also.

Ahh Louise – I remember back when I was working on Walter Hill’s film “Geronimo”,  Bill called and begged me to give you some work, anything, you were sinking.

I called her, and while I went off to the scoring stage, asked her to arrange the change reels by date and put them on the rack.  I gave her $100 out of my pocket.

She was happy, my father was happy, and she drove off in her beat up car.

Poor Louise.  It is so nice to see that her lies, manipulations, and screwing people over has paid off.

You go, girl.

Just remember, the ghost of Bill, the Bird, and the Mom despise you, and someday soon you will be exposed.

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I finally had to brush poor Vito the Cat, little Vinnie’s large, black brother.

He has had dreadlocks that have been driving him insane.

So, I snuck up on him in the living room, and began trying to separate and pull the dreaded dreads out.

Vito was not happy, and he made it clear.  Bobby was watching, and making growling sounds, with the occasional holler.

The whole ordeal took over an hour, with Tomas coming out halfway through to help.

I soothed everyone, then committed the ultimate sin.

Pulled out the vacuum.  Bedlam.

I am, as of this post, the most despised mother EVER.

Pop an exedrin, guzzle some milk, and leave everyone alone for a while.

All will be forgiven, in time.  Or not.

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brought to you by slumlandlady and lord.

Judy Davis Farash and hubby Martin Farash.

The stress therapist and her husband, the addiction specialist.

Just. Too. Funny.

I believe this falls into the category of “non-fiction.”

Samantha Dunn?  Did I get it right?

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“Vote for ‘The Lost Girls’s’ Blog!”

We are, Bobby. Every chance we get.

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Today is daylight savings time, and Bobby is bellowing because it is still hot and sunny at six-twenty p.m.

The nutjob landlady put her For Rent sign on the lawn yesterday, and today two very nice Latino families came to the door and knocked. I invited them in, and Bobby started flapping and jumping.

We all Spanglish the breeze for a bit, as they are fascinated by him. Sadly, they want to see this house from hell, and we must move along, where I warn them to be careful of the rotting floorboards in the hallway, the broken swamp cooler in the kitchen, where hideous muck drops onto one’s head from the roof (mmm – really tasty conditions to make a meal) – and this is the nice section of the house.

I actually had to caution the second family to NOT bring their infant inside, as the guck in the walls, etc, would make a baby sick.

The list of what those poor folks had to see is much to long to go into, however, one fellow from the first family was so glad to have talked to us, the tenants, because, as he said quite plainly,

“The landlords lie.”

Yes, they do, and this particular landlady is borderline delusional. She has neglected this (once upon a time) lovely house for years, and thinks she will simply slap another coat of paint on it and charge, as she puts it, “Market Value.” Seems kind of cruel to treat something one owns so poorly, when one has the means to do otherwise. I believe this is known as Greed, perhaps?

To end this on a bit of a laugh, later in the day a real estate agent put up a big open house sign on the outer corner of the lawn, basically obliterating the For Rent sign, on the same corner was a flyer hung on a pole advertising a garage sale, and kitty -corner to this house was another real estate sign pointing to another house for sale.

People in cars were starting to do donuts in the intersection.

And Bobby bellowed his lungs out at the whole circus, while Tomas and I semi-collapsed on the floor, too tired to laugh, but somehow, sounds resembling laughter were coming out of us, and for a moment, all was well.

It was peaceful to be enjoying the great insane ride of simply being alive.

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