Friday, March 16, 2018

The Husband & Me

I went to Costco late Sunday afternoon with The Husband. I didn't think it would be as crowded as it was. Don't ask me why I thought Costco wouldn't be crowded on a weekend day. There is no logical explanation. This troubles me a little. Not the fact that it was crowded...the fact that I thought it wouldn't be.

Here's how I came to this horribly wrong conclusion. I just thought since it was after 4:00 P.M., most people would be home. The early birds, which is usually me, would be long, long, gone. The churchgoers who stop by after church would be gone, and the family packs would be home trying to get kids ready for the school week and getting their dinner ready, etc.

Sadly, I didn't account for all the other hundreds of people who don't fall into these categories. Night owls who don't even get out of bed before noon'ish, childless couples stopping by on their way to dinner or a movie, oldsters hitting the sample tables...

In fact, now that I think about it, Costco should set up a "Sample Aisle". One aisle that would be set up exclusively so the Saturday/Sunday Sample Seekers wouldn't block the aisles...thus freeing the rest of the shoppers from seething inwardly as we're forced to turn down an aisle we don't really need to be in just to avoid the crowd at the sample stop where all normal shopper traffic has come to a screeching halt. I wonder if Costco has a suggestion box somewhere?

When I'm shopping, I don't like to waste time. I go, get what I need, and get out. The quicker, the better. Scari, of Old Chix fame, complains that we're running when we shop. She should shop with The Husband, they're both amblers.

In addition to being an ambler, The Husband is also extremely hard of hearing...not stone cold deaf, but definitely headed in that direction...rapidly.
He's also a lover of gadgetry. Cell phones, GPS, tool gadgets. The only gadgetry he's not the least bit interested in is hearing aids...and it's the only one he REALLY needs.

"I hear just fine," he tells me...every time I suggest he just looks into getting hearing aids. I used to think he just had "selective" hearing. Not anymore.

As we head down the main aisle toward the checkout register, I casually turn around to make sure The Husband is following me...because I always get ahead of him.

"Huh?" he shouts...mistakenly thinking I said something to him...which causes me to start laughing...because he's so loud that people look at him. He actually shouted "Huh". He didn't know he shouted "Huh?"...but he did. The fact that he can see I'm laughing seems to make him even more certain I've said something to him...

"What?" is the next shouted response to, what I can only assume is, his guess that I've said something he missed.

I'm sure it must look like I suffer from some kind of essential tremors since I keep shaking my head in the universal "no" gesture as I pat the air with my right hand. It's my feeble attempt to get him to not say anything else...and it worked! Maybe we've reached the age where we understand some kind of non-verbal oldster sign language.

At the checkout counter, The Husband hands the non-hard of hearing, young checker his Costco card. And lest you think that I'm sharp as a fucking tack, when the checker greeted The Husband by his first name, I thought he must know maybe a friend of his son's or something. It never occurred to me that he was reading it off the friggin' card. Duh...

"So Ron, can I get you anything from the food court? Stamps? Nothing?" the young non-hard of hearing checker asks The Husband...who responds with his version of the universal "no" gesture as he puts his card in the reader.

As the checker tells him his total these were the exact words that came out of The Husband's mouth..."Hey, you got any of those stamp books?"...

I immediately jerked my head around with the universal "WTF" expression on my face, looking at him like he's just grown another head and start laughing. The little gal who's boxing our stuff smiles at me. And the checker...God love him, acts like he never even asked The Husband if he wanted stamps as he recalculates our's The Stoopidist Thing.

 P.S. The Husband still insists he hears "just fine".

Friday, February 16, 2018


For most of us Old Chix, fat becomes an accepted part of our lives. Not that we like it or anything, we just tend to accept it more. Mostly because we're too lazy or tired to really do anything about it...except complain. Heaven forbid we should quit shoving food down the ol' pie hole.

I make decisions all the time about getting physically fit. They usually last a couple of hours. It's the follow through I have a problem with. If, God forbid, I had some serious health issue where if I didn't change my eating/exercise habits I'd die, I would probably be better on the follow through. Fortunately I haven't been, and hopefully never will be, faced with this lifestyle altering necessity.

You know how you always see ol' wimmen wearing jackets over their blouses? Even when it's hot, we wear lightweight shirts over tank tops or any kind of sleeveless shirt. It has to be pretty friggin' hot outside before I'll go sleeveless in public. Face it, nobody's really trying to make a fashion statement with a cover up from Omar the Tent Maker. We're trying to cover shit

Muffin Tops - This sounds kinda cute, doesn't it? And it is...on a two-year-old. If you're past your toddler years, it's not quite so cute. When I was a kid, fat kids had to get their clothes from the "Chubby Girls" or "Husky Boys" sections of clothing at the stores. Even those sugar coated terms are forbidden these days. So far, through sheer luck, I've managed to avoid graduating to "plus-sized" sections of stores. Slowly but surely, I see myself headed in that direction. Muffin tops on ol' wimmen aren't at all cute. Mostly they're a giant wad of flabby girthage hanging down in front that wraps clear around back...into...

Love Handles - Such a romantic sound, right? Andre the Giant fist-sized wads of fat right above the ol' hip bone. Welcome to the club if you can't locate your hipbone visually anywhere on your body. You know it's just can't see it...and haven't for many, many years. Unfortunately for many of us, the love handles blend un-sveltely into the...

GynormAss - Some of us get this. I don't know why. We'll have all this normal size fat on top but from the bottom of our waist, explode into the GynormAss. Where does it come from? And, more importantly, how do we get rid of it? Sometimes it forms a ledge around the back of our butt. Maybe its there to use as a seat to pack kids around know, like monkeys carry their kids around on their backs? A little ledge to them from sliding off, because unlike monkeys or apes our little cuties don't know how to hang on for dear life.

Saddlebags - Doesn't sound quite as cute as muffin top, does it? Sounds like something you'd have to lug around. A load to be carried...which they are. Some women have giant saddlebags packed chock full of fat...and you don't even have to have a GynormAss to have giant saddlebags.  You don't see too many men with saddlebags, do you? Why is that? How come men don't have saddlebags? Or Gynormasses? They don't have those either.

Back Fat - Seriously, why do I have fat on my back? Why do you even have fat cells on your back? Does every place in your body have fat cells? I don't think I have any fat cells on my wrists or ankles. Sometimes women get a camel-like hump of fat at the base of the neck. Why in the world is that a place where fat would collect? Do they make turtleneck Spanx for this? And if they do, does it just squeeze the fat up into a double or triple chin? They have special bras now that are supposed to eliminate unsightly back fat. They usually smooth the back fat out but roll up under your boobs so you have a bra roll right under the uni-boob they create.

Armhole Fat - Generally connected to back fat, armhole fat is my current pet peeve. Not that I don't have some of the others, but armhole fat is really noticeable in sleeveless shirts. The other stuff can usually be blocked from sight by loose-fitting garments. And if you have armhole fat, and over four or five decades behind you, you probably have...

Upper Arm Flabulation - The half circle of flab that hangs down from elbow to armpit. Sometimes you don't even know you have this until you see a picture of yourself and are faced with the realization that you have a curtain swag of flabulation hanging from your arm. I saw a long-sleeved Spanx like crop top on an infomercial to keep this particular arm flab from jiggling. When they show these things, they never say that if they're tight enough to halt the swaying flabulation of your upper arm, they're probably squeezing things out the bottom of your bra area...making a reverse muffin top. If you want to look on the bright side, it would be a great Tic Tac or popcorn catcher for when you drop pieces down your shirt.

FUPA - This one had to be explained to can Google it if, like me, you're a cultural imbecile. Heavy duty Spanx work here. They do, however, shove fat upwards into the muffin top area. But, all you glass half fuller's, they do make high waisted Spanx that go all the way to the bottom of your bra. Voila! Problem solved. No more laying down to zip your pants up!

Cankles - I'm not sure if you're born with cankles or if you develop them as you age. You know how some men are shaped so that it looks like they don't have a neck? Their head just seems to sit on their shoulders? That's kinda how cankles are...only way lower. Your calf just goes all the way to your foot. I'm not sure this is a fat related occurrence. But it's a thing...

I know that none of this is strictly "Old Chix" stuff. There's millions of "Young Chix" that have these things too. If I'm totally honest, when I see a Young Chix wearing some fashion forward outfit that does nothing to hide her lumpiness and flabulation, I may not always find it attractive, but I really love the balls it takes to wear it. These Young Chix have a self acceptance that was a rare thing when I was growing up.

After all these years, I've reached the point where I'm happy with clean and's the Stoopidist Thing.

Monday, January 8, 2018

It's The Most Wonderful Time...Of The Year

Once every few years, I manage to catch a cold that always starts out as a simple little annoying cough...which then turns into a big friggin' sinus infection. Before I know it, my nose has turned into a giant snot faucet.

Being the Google fan that I am, and because I have no energy to do anything else, a little self-diagnostic web surfing is a requirement.

I didn't get very far before reading that a person's body, mine currently, can produce up to two quarts of snot a day when you're sick. TWO FUCKING QUARTS IS A LOT OF SNOT. It's a HALF GALLON. Ewwwww....

Color and consistency are also important snot watching factors to consider when self-diagnosing. In fact, there was a handy snot color chart on a UK website that I visited...sort of a snot color wheel...

 You're normal.
  You're congested.
 Your cold or infection is progressing.
 Your immune system is really fighting back.
Pink or Red...   
 This is blood.
 Could be blood. More likely something inhaled, like dirt, snuff, or paprika.
 If you're not a smoker or user of illegal drugs, may indicate a serious fungal infection.

I'm not making this up, it really said all these things. I actually had to look up snuff because I thought it was something from bygone days but apparently, it's quite the thing to sniff up your nose. Who knew? I thought all smokeless tobacco went into your mouth. I also thought the paprika thing was kinda random too. We have red dirt where I live so my brown snot would be much more likely resulting from me inhaling red dirt than paprika.

Here's another little handy insight. The little drip at the end of your nose on a really cold day? The one that just hangs there and that you know the person you're talking to is staring at, wishing you'd have the decency to wipe your nose, but you can't because you're the one old lady in the whole world who doesn't have a Kleenex handy. It's water condensed out of the cold air passing over warm nasal tissues. It's not snot...or not much...

And here's another little appetizing factoid that I truly wish with all my heart I could un-know. The average non-sick person swallows 1.5 quarts of snot a day. Every day of my life I've been swallowing between one and two quarts of snot.

And you have too!

It's the Stoopidist Thing...

P.S. You're welcome for that last little tidbit of info.

Wednesday, September 27, 2017

I Can't Believe I'm Watching The Weather Channel

The Husband can watch The Weather Channel on TV 24 hours a day. It's his "go to" station. Never mind that it's a loop that plays over for hours, AND they get the weather forecasts wrong all the time. It's like watching reruns of wrong weather forecasting. (Okay, in the interest of fairness, they do occasionally get it right...sometimes.)

Until this weekend, I never thought I would welcome seeing The Weather Channel with its horrible music and mostly wrong predictions....but I've snapped...

In the immortal words of Popeye, "That's all I can stands, I can't stands no more!".

This whole fucking football thing is making me crazy. Is there nothing going on in the world that's maybe just a little more important than "who's kneeling or not kneeling" during the national anthem? Seems to me there were just some hurricanes that caused a whole bunch of problems for a lot of people. But, that's probably not as important as who's kneeling or not kneeling. I mean, poor little Puerto Rico loses power on the whole fucking island...but it's more important to talk about who's kneeling or not kneeling at a football game.

Crazy dude in North Korea wants to nuke us, and the big guy on Pennsylvania Ave. tells him "You'll be sorrrrrry" in between early morning tweets about the ever so important topic of who's fucking kneeling or not kneeling!!!

People on the left hate the Prez. The guy could shit gold bricks, miraculously bring about world peace, cure all diseases, and they'd still manage to find something to bitch about. People on the right who love him act like he's so fucking wonderful, that he may in fact shit gold bricks, and make excuses for every little thing he does that causes outrage among the masses.

But the majority of us are "Middle of the Road Joes". We go to work, go home, have families...just the normal shit that makes up our lives. None of us MRJ's really wants to be constantly bombarded by outrage from the left or right. So why not just shut the fuck up for a little bit?

I'm soooo sick and tired of every fucking thing being politicized. I mean, have you even tried to watch a TV awards show? Such moral outrage, and courageous words of wisdom. Am I wrong, or do they seem like the most ungrateful group of One Per Cent'ers on the planet? Fucking ingrates. Although, I admit, if Ricky Gervais is hosting I may have to suffer through, 'cause he's really funny.

The other side is no better. We MRJ's have these two obnoxiously loud voices yelling at us from both sides...and you ALL sound like assholes!

Please, just think about us oldsters. We can't take the stress, you know? Maybe you could just tone down the outrage a teensy weensy bit. We're too old to learn new things like "peoples proper pronouns". What does that even mean? When would it even be a problem? And, more importantly, do we need another fucking law about it?

For the most part, we MRJ's just wanna be left alone to live our lives. You know, come home, eat a little dinner, watch a little TV, maybe see a football game, without members of the various Assholian Tribes insisting on endlessly inflicting their point of view...

Kinda like what I just did...It's The Stoopidist Thing.

Tuesday, August 1, 2017

It Happened Again...

No, I didn't accidentally fart in public. At least not that I'm aware of. Although, I suppose the older I get, the more I can expect those little bodily outbursts. I mean, is anyone exempt? If they are, I'd like to know how I can get in on that particular exemption.

Sadly, this was least for me.

A couple of weeks ago, there was a surprise gala for Terri, the oldest of the Old Chix. She didn't want any kind of party so of course, her daughter in law, Steph, threw her a SURPRISE PARTY!

And guess what old people like more than anything else??? Taking pictures of other old people! And grandkids, they like taking pictures of grandkids too. But since this was a party sans children, all that was left to take pictures of were other old people.

Let me tell you, this place was filled to the brim with oldsters. Everyone there was a blue head. It was a whole crowd of Far Side folk.

Happily, for me, The Scari One rocked the Far Sidian face better than all the rest of us. Usually, I take top Far Sidian honors.

Unhappily for me, the entire debacle was captured digitally by none other than sweet little Laura S... who, bless her heart, then made DVD copies and mailed them to people. She's just so fucking thoughtful, our little Laura.

Cindy S., no relation to Laura S., though you wouldn't know it, given their mutual membership in the Suzy Snapshot club, took pics and plastered them all over FB. Thankfully I escaped her lens.

Lois, Chris, & Terri, fared the best on this photographic go 'round. But honestly, I've never seen a bad picture of Lois. She's one of those women who always looks good. Sometimes we hate her. Okay, not really. At least the rest of the Old Chix don't. But, I think I might. She sees a camera and automatically smiles. I see a camera and automatically put on my Far Side face. I don't even have to's just natural. I'm blessed that way.

You'd think after all these years I'd be a little more gracious about the whole picture taking gig, wouldn't you? But the older I get, the more I look like an old, wrinkled, weasel faced Asian woman whose eyes disappear when she smiles. Just for the record, I have no Asian ancestry...that I know of, but my eyes turn into slits in my face when  I smile.

Maybe it's happened all my life and I just never knew it. Or now that I'm old & wrinkled I notice it more...either way, it's The Stoopidist Thing.

Monday, July 17, 2017

Why Didn't She Tell Me????

You know how you walk down an aisle in a store and you see a woman who has a button popped open? Do you tell her? I do...always. Why? Because I would want someone to tell me.

So imagine my surprise when my little co-worker, The Princess, who I thought was my friend, didn't tell me!!!

Oh, it wasn't a button that popped. It was worse....

I'm a confirmed cosmetic junkie. There's probably some deep, dark, dastardly reason why I feel compelled to buy all kinds of makeup. I don't have any idea what it is and to be truthful, don't really care. Home shopping TV channels make it easy to indulge my habit.

One of my latest purchases was a trio of clear lipsticks. They're like a solid gel stick, that leaves just a hint of color on your lips...supposedly adjusting to your...or, in this case, my, skin tone.

I showed one to The Princess this morning and told her if she wasn't afraid of cooties, she should try it...mistakenly thinking her hesitancy was somehow related to a fear of germs.

She tried it and got the "hint of color"...the one I thought I had. That was, until the end of the day when I went to the bathroom and saw my face in the mirror when I went to wash my hands.

It looked like I had hot pink clown lips. No shit...the brightest fucking pink you could imagine was plastered on the ol' pie hole. I was horrified... I tried to wipe it off with the paper towel after I dried my hands and it wouldn't wipe off. It felt like a nice lip balm going on so I just kept slathering it on all day, completely unaware that my lips were getting pinker and pinker with each slather.

When the wet paper towel failed me, I left the bathroom and headed back to my office...with my hand covering up the fuschia lips. I was laughing by this time...because, really, what else could I do.

I stopped by to give The Princess a piece of my mind on my way back...

"Why didn't you tell me my lips were bright pink?" "How could you let me walk around like that?"

She laughed sheepishly...obviously because I looked like an ol' pink lipped clown screeching at her.

You know how you see an old lady in a store, all pale wrinkled skin, no color on her face at all...except for bright red lips? And you think to yourself, holy fuck, doesn't she have a mirror in her house? What's with the lips grandma? Why didn't someone tell her???

I have no idea how this happened...she is me...or, I am her...or somehow I got her fucking's The Stoopidist Thing.

Political Correctnesss

I was walking down the hallway at work one day recently and I came upon this picture/mural/poster on the wall...

You're probably thinking WTF??? Well, welcome to my world...because that's what I was thinking too. I had to go back to my office and get my phone just so I could take a picture. Nobody would've believed it if I'd tried to explain there was a giant poster of Sasquatch waving from behind a tree with a spaceship hovering overhead.

You might be under the impression that kindergarteners made this poster...and you'd be sadly mistaken. The less than talented artists who proudly displayed this masterpiece are none other than employees of the building where I work.

I'm sure this is some kind of "team building" exercise meant to bring co-workers together and establish a sense of camaraderie. Maybe everyone spent their lunch hour huddled together with crayons and construction paper laughing & having a great time. If that was the case I'm sure it was fun and a good time was probably had by all...until they got to Big Foot Boobage...

 ...which looks like two empty circles on his chest...or her chest. Kind of hard to tell. Shouldn't there be some little dot of a nipple somewhere in those circles? I mean, male or female, there should be nipples, right?

If you look closely, Big Foot has fingernails & toenails. He/She even has green eyes, defined lips, teeth and lots of detail was important to the artist...and yet no nips.

I can totally imagine how this happened. In this uptight, politically correct world we're living in, everyone is soooo afraid of "offending" anyone about anything.
You can imagine them huddled around the table, wondering how to draw boobage on an imaginary ape like creature, can't you?

"What should we do?"
"No! What if someone complained?"
"It's not like a porn picture, it's nature."
"Should we just cover it up completely with hair?"
"Apes don't really have hair there, do they?"
"But it's a Bigfoot, they're not real anyway."
"Let's just not put anything there, then nobody can complain."


I don't know about you, but I'm kinda sick of all the political correctness every-fucking-where I go. I can get that they wouldn't want to display any lower genitalia on the mythical creature. Then they'd have another it a boy or girl Bigfoot? How do we draw a dick on a Bigfoot? But, male or female, all mammals have nipples, don't they?

So, unknown artists, next time the creative juices start to flow, don't hold back. If you're going to take the time to attempt to draw a chest area complete with nipple-less boobage, add a little dark dot of a nipple. Doesn't have to be a rosy pink or anything like that...just a little dot to show you know where it goes.

It's the Stoopidist Thing....

It would have been funny if they'd drawn nipples and then stuck pasties to cover them up. I wanted to draw them on myself but I was too slow. I also wanted to stand in the women's restroom wearing a Scream mask and long black cape at Halloween just to see the reaction of women coming in. Maybe this Halloween...