Old Chix - III

Sunday was champagne brunch with the Old Chix (OC) at which mass quantities of food were consumed by all. We also consumed mass quantities of alcohol but fortunately were able to remain in our assigned seats. Nobody ended up passed out on the floor. Thank God. Not that that usually happens, but sometimes it could.

We had all the regulars there, me, Em, Elmo & Cee along with occasional OC, Lo, and new OC, Tee (who happens to be the oldest and looks younger than all of us...I secretly hate her guts..not really...okay maybe just a little).

Em was slightly crabby having had only a couple of hours sleep before rising to make herself beautiful for the get together. Which she succeeded, fabulously I might add, wearing an oversized grayish blue sweatshirt, blue jeans, and pink (yes pink) Uggs. I was particularly impressed with her fashionable garb. I was dressed similarly, except I had on black shoes.

Em is the same OC who watches a marathon of “Bridezillas” and still has the audacity to make fun of me for watching “Real Housewives”. I should have reminded her that “people who live in glass houses”...unfortunately, I didn’t think of it quick enough. That always happen...I never think of a snappy retort until two days have passed and it’s way too late...and since I’m old & have no memory, I can never remember the snappy retort that might work in another instance when I need it.

I think that has something to do with long & short term memory. You know how you’ll put something in a specific place that you’re sure you’re going to remember...keys for example..then an hour or so later, you can’t remember where you put them? Well I always thought that it was just the short term memory loss associated with old age...sort of a pre dementia phase of life...and eventually, when whatever I’d forgotten got to the long term memory portion of my brain, I’d remember. I was looking forward to all this great stuff I’d someday remember..names of people I see every day..money I put away for “a rainy day”...the fucking keys I can’t find...get the picture?. Then I started asking how long it took for something to go from short term to long term memory. Nobody could tell me...soooo...I turned to my old friend, Mr. Google...and guess what? It’s just a matter of seconds for a memory to go from short term to long term memory. So all that stuff I forgot is apparently gone for good. I don’t know whether to be bummed by this or whether it’s a good thing...

Also along for the ride in this pre dementia phase of my life is the inability to focus...which is why I’ve apparently gone off on a tangent about memory loss and strayed from the Old Chix gala....sooooo back to the Old Chix.

Cee & Lo (not to be confused with that rapper dude...these are old white wimmin), the fashion plates of the group, both dress to perfection wherever they go.  The rest of us...mmm...not so much.  Plus they're way more mannerly than the rest of us...

We spent three hours at that buffet...eating and drinking the whole time. One of the things I really like about buffet’s these days is I don’t have to drag out reading glasses to see what’s on the menu. I can just go get in line with a plate and heap food upon it to my hearts content, bypassing the yucky stuff like bran muffins and loading up on the yummy stuff like bacon...and tri tip...and chicken fried steak...and bacon...and mashed potatoes...and fried shrimp...and broccoli beef...and apple pie...and banana pie...and macaroni & cheese...I actually ate all these things, cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye. It didn’t seem nearly so bad until I wrote it all down. I’m such a friggin’ pig. You would think, by the way I eat, that I must have suffered some sort of food deprivation as a kid, wouldn’t you? Nothing could be further from the truth.

So before we get to our little foodfest, Em tells me she has a “new app” (she’s a gadget girl)on her phone...it’s some kind of “sound app”...as in “fart sounds”. She’s planning on activating it during the brunch. I think it’s a fine idea so after we’ve all had a little champagne she starts activating the “fart sounds”. Unfortunately it didn’t sound like someone was really farting, it sounded like a fake recording of farts. She & I laughed. Nobody else seemed to think it was as funny as we did. Cee & Lo (again, not to be confused with the aforementioned rapper dude) didn’t really laugh...Lo in particular seemed a little “above” our apparent eternally immature sense of humor. It would have been really funny if it’d sounded like “real” farts. I can’t help it...farts are funny.

I know I'm going off on another little tangent here, but since I’m prattling on about food... have you noticed that York Peppermint Patties (fun sized)are much flatter than they used to be? The diameter is bigger but the patty is flatter...I bet they’re trying to gyp us into paying more for less in some way...like they did when “they” quit making half gallons of ice cream...but charged the same price.

After the brunch I emailed Em to see if she wanted to go to a Xmas party that a friend of ours was having. I usually don’t do things like that but thought it might be fun to get out of the old comfort zone for once. Now she’s the one who’s all sweaty about whether she should go or not...what she should wear....jeeeeezzzzz...apparently I’m not the only one...it's the stoopidist thing.

P.S.  This time, I wasn't the one who left our little gala with her foot in her mouth.  We were talking about planning an out of town OC trip and Tee said she would have to see how her mom was doing (she's really, really old) before she could say if she'd be able to join us.  So Em decided to open her mouth and insert her foot....

Em:  "Well, yeah, unless she dies."

Tee:  Nada...zip...zero...crickets...she covers her face in horror. 

I, on the other hand, laughed because if you had seen the look on Tee's face when Em said that about her mom dying...it was fucking hysterical.  She looked shocked, like she wanted to laugh but knew she shouldn't, and horrified at the thought, all at once.  It was worth the price of admission and then some. 

Merry Christmas

Family Fun

We went to the SIL’s house for Thanksgiving dinner. She doesn’t live far so it’s not like it was a major undertaking or anything and I like her and the rest of The Husband’s family so I was happy to go. Plus, I didn’t have to cook.

The SIL lives in an area of the county that’s largely populated by oldsters. Sort of a “retirement” community...a Habitat for the Elderly if you will. Many, many blue headed drivers bustling to and from the Post Office where they pick up their all important junk mail then rush to the grocery store to get canned soup and stool softeners. There’s a routine and it’s the routine that matters. The routine must be followed. The Husband is big on routines. I’m still on the fence trying desperately to lean away from the dreaded “routine” lifestyle. I may be fighting a losing battle but I keep trying.

The drive was uneventful thanks to Xanax and alcohol. The Husband wanted to drive and his son, the BBS (Brother of the Bad Seed), rode up with us. Hence the need for Xanax...not the BBS, simply the fact that The Husband was driving. The Husband fits right in with all the other blue head drivers in the SIL’s landscape. He’s a total booberdoober who thinks it’s perfectly acceptable to drive at least five miles per hour under the speed limit at all times regardless of the fact that he’s holding up traffic for miles. It makes me crazy. I complain about this on a regular basis. Just for the record...The Husband hates my driving too. He says I drive too fast. One time he told me he hates it when I drive his precious Homobile because he ends up “hating my guts”...those were his exact words...I just laughed....and just for the record, I didn’t take any Xanax before we left and I only drank after we got to the SIL’s house...but I should have.

After about an hour of white knuckled passengeritis on my part we got to the SIL’s house. She loves, loves, loves entertaining...and I have to admit she’s really good at it. She’s the Martha Stewart in the Habitat for the Elderly and she shines. She’s kind of a youngster in the land of oldsters...she’s in her early sixties.

The group for dinner was mostly family but there were some of the SIL’s friends and neighbors too. It was a bunch of old people...the youngest person was the BBS and he’s in his mid thirties. We ended up socializing for about an hour before the dinner was actually ready. I had a couple glasses of wine and chatted with some of the other ol’ wimmen. Most of the men gathered together and talked about “man stuff”...most of the wimmen gathered together and made fun of the men talking about “man stuff”. It’s always the same thing.

Then dinner was served. I ended up sitting at a table of ol’ wimmen and sadly, I fit right in. It was fun, we laughed, and talked, and laughed. Then one of the ol’ wimmen, a friend of the SIL, sitting next to me farted. She just sat there and let one rip...and acted like it didn’t happen. The expression on her face didn’t change one bit. I didn’t know what to do. I looked around to see if anyone else heard it but everyone was acting like they didn’t hear anything. Were they just pretending they didn’t hear it? Was it possible that nobody but me heard it? Now, it wasn’t loud enough to rattle the walls or anything, but come on...I can’t be the only one who heard it. Fortunately there was no major stench involved because if everyone started smelling it and nobody heard it, they probably would have thought it was me.

Then just a few minutes later, one of the family members sitting to my right...who shall remain nameless...farted. WTF??? Again, no change of facial expression. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was being punked. Is this what happens when you get really old? Do you just fart uncontrollably? Do you just get so hard of hearing that you think if you can’t hear it nobody else can? That if you don’t let your facial expression change people will think they didn’t really hear what they thought they heard?

While all this is happening I’m dying inside wanting to laugh and the first farter gets up and walks to the counter to get something and when she’s about three steps away...tiny steps mind you...she farts again. WTF???? And nobody acknowledges it. Nobody looks at each other in surprise, wanting to laugh...and believe me, I’m lookin’ for at least one face who’s heard the same stuff as me...and nobody’s acting like they heard a thing...nada...nowhere...

Now I’m wondering...do you just reach a certain age where you can’t control your sphincter muscles enough to prevent gas from slipping out at inopportune moments? Or, and this is what I’m hoping for, do you just get to a point where you don’t care. Can it be possible that I’m going to reach an age where I can just fart freely no matter where I am instead of doubling over in pain because I’m holding in copious amounts of gas?

For the life of me I can’t imagine getting together with the Old Chix...and having one of us just raise a cheek off the chair to let one rip...and nobody acknowledging it. No matter how old we get I can’t imagine that they all wouldn’t bust up laughing at the offending farter.

I know I shouldn’t worry about stuff like this, but I can’t help it...it's the stoopidist thing.