Three Amigos

We called him Earl, OF and I.  OF is my old friend of undesirable snackage fame.  Earl was a rescue.  A big boned gray Quarter Horse...one of a million old horses who, through unintentional circumstances, had become a bag of bones.  He was twenty-nine and pretty much toothless.  I took him to OF's house and put him in her "medical unit" which is basically a stall with rubber mats and a gate to enclose it to keep the other horses out.

Old Earl wasn't really interested in anything or anybody.   I don't think he'd ever been a "pet".    He turned his nose up at the soaked hay pellets we tried to get him to eat.  I can't say I blame him...it was pretty unappetizing mush.  So we added a little sweet senior feed to the mush and he started eating...and eating...and eating.  After the first week, he started nickering when anyone came in the barn to feed.  The only time he nickered at anyone was for food.  He pretty much got as much as he could eat and in no time went from being a walking skeleton to a hog fat equine senior citizen.  Okay, maybe he got a little too fat...not a lot...just a little.

OF had an oldster Arab named Trigger, so named by OF's ex who didn't want to ride a horse called "The Guy"...which is what OF called him....probably because her other horses were mares.   Trig, who bore no resemblance to his flashy palomino namesake of Roy Rogers fame, had been put out to pasture at OF's sister's house because of a gimpy hind leg and was starting to get thin.  He came back to OF's where he and Earl, who was pleasingly plump by this time, became pasture mates. 

Trig was Mr. Personality...the complete opposite of Earl...more of an "in your pocket" type of guy who loved attention, always walking over and presenting himself for a good scratching.  They were a pretty good fit...two gray haired old men standing head to tail swishing flies off each other when they weren't ambling around the pasture pretending to eat the dry grass but actually subsisting on a steady diet of senior feed.  Life was good.

A couple months go by and OF gets a call from her sister.  Her Arab, Kai, was sick and she was worried about him.  The vet was called, treated Kai for colic, and he seemed better...still not quite right, but better.

OF & her sister went on vacation to Mexico for a week and I was going to take care of the animals while they were gone.  Everyone decided that Kai should come to OF's house in case he got sick again.  I immediately felt the pressure.  All I could think was, Please God, don't let him die while they're gone.

Of course, as luck would have it, Kai got sick almost as soon as they left.  Colic...again.  I called the vet who doused him with mineral oil and some kind of anti spasmodic meds.

On a little side note...Tess, one of OF's dogs, lapped up a bunch of mineral oil from the bucket while the vet was tubing Kai...which she barfed up in OF's garage after he left.  It was disgusting.  I went in the house to find some paper towels to clean it up and when I got back to the garage...there were OF's three dogs, tails wagging...and there was no barf left on the garage floor...it was licked clean.   Somebody ate the barf.   I'm hard pressed to decide which is worse...dogs eating barf or dogs eating cat poop...why do they do this?

Kai seemed better after the vet left, but still not right.  I was thankful he didn't die while they were gone.  Instead he ended up living at OF's house with Earl & Trig.  As it turns out a diet of grass was causing his problems and once he started eating senior feed the colic went away.  Funny how something you eat all your life all of a sudden starts making you sick.

So the three old gray horses ended up together.  Three Amigos.  We called them the Old Guys.  They all got along and the pecking order you usually see at feeding time, was pretty much nonexistent.  Earl, the big ol' Quarter Horse was thirty now and still unfriendly except at feeding time.  Kai, twenty-nine, and Trig, twenty-four, whose former gray coats were now almost completely white still had those beautiful Arab heads with great big soft eyes.  I don't care what kind of horse lover you are, there's nothing more beautiful in the horse world than the head of an Arab...I think even the most die hard Quarter Horse fan would be hard pressed to deny it.

When you have oldsters, you know they're not gonna live forever, and you think you're prepared...but you never really are.  I always figured Earl would go first.  Even though he gained all his weight back, he was arthritic and wobbly, and his back end tracked crooked from his front end.  His eyesight was going too.

But it was Trig who went first.  Go figure...the spring chicken of the bunch.  His back end was getting stiffer and one day after rolling in the sand couldn't get back up.  OF managed to help him get up and once he was upright, he went on his merry way like it was no big deal.

The next time Trig went down, hours, and I mean hours, of pushing, prodding, and coaxing with a grain bucket didn't help.  But boy he tried...each time he was asked he tried to get his legs under him.  His heart was in it but his old legs just wouldn't move the way he wanted them to.   It was pitch dark by the time the vet got there and Trig spent his last few hours illuminated by car headlights eating treats and generally basking in all the attention he loved so much.   Everyone cried.
He's buried right in the pasture where he spent his last night.

With Trig gone, Kai and Earl became inseparable.  Wherever Kai went, Earl followed, his nose whiskers touching Kai's hip.  Even though he wasn't completely blind, Kai was like a guide dog for him.

They came to my place for the summer.   I got used to hearing Kai whinny every time I called his name.  Earl still only gave a little nicker at feeding time.  I started feeding Kai separately after I figured out that Earl was wolfing his food down and then helping himself to Kai's food.  Earl wasn't aggressive or anything, he'd just kinda move all his massiveness in on little ol' Kai and nudge him out of the way...all very slow and methodical.  So I'd open the gate and hang Earls feeder on the inside of the fence and Kai would walk through the gate to his tub on the other side.  He always grabbed a mouthful of Earl's food on his way out.  It was kind of a payback ritual.  When Kai got done eating, I'd open the gate and he'd walk back in where his buddy was standing patiently waiting for him.  Life was good.

A few weeks ago I went with OF and a couple of others to the coast to a B&B that had stabling for our horses.  I left early Saturday after feeding the Old Guys and everyone else.  My neighbor, who has horses of her own, was feeding for me while I was gone.  I called her Saturday evening to see if everything was okay and she said Kai wouldn't eat.  He didn't act sick, just wasn't interested in food.   When I called the next day he was the same.

We came home early and I hauled the Old Guys down to OF's place.  We called Ellie, the mobile vet, who barely looks like she's old enough to drive, and she came to check Kai out.  Ellie said Kai had a fever and his heart was beating abnormally but she was more afraid his liver was failing and did a blood test to confirm it. We waited till the next morning and got the good news that Kai didn't have a liver problem but did have some kind of low grade infection.  Everybody was relieved and he was started on daily penicillin injections.  But still wouldn't eat...and he didn't whinny when you called his name.

I went over after work to see him and carried out a pail of dry unsweetened pellets, grabbed a handful and held it out.  He took it...and ate it.  It was nearly dark, and getting cold...my hands were slick with horse slobber but I was elated. He ate!!  It was only about four or five handfuls, but at least it was a start.  He wouldn't eat the sweetened stuff but ate the dry unsweetened kind.  Go figure...when he first came to live with the Old Guys he didn't want the dry plain stuff but chowed down on the sweetened stuff.

OF said he whinnied at her when she called his name the next morning.  We were just looking for any sign that he was going to pull through...the tiniest thing would give us hope.

So we got dry senior pellets for Kai...two different kinds....which he immediately turned his nose up at.  We saw him nibble at the hay that was dropped when we fed the other horses so we started putting hay in front of him.  He pushed it around, but it mostly stayed in the feeder.  We tried to convince ourselves he was eating. But he wasn't.  You want to do anything but say goodbye...but you have to.  OF called Ellie.

The day before Ellie came back, we put Earl in one of the pastures with an old horse named Nick, thinking Earl wouldn't be as stressed if he wasn't alone.  Nick, another oldster, lived on the property next to OF.  Earl made it clear he wanted no part of Nick, arching his neck, screaming and striking out with his front foot. Very studly for an old guy.  It was a brief glimpse of what he must have been like as a youngster.  I bet he was really impressive in his day.

We turned them loose and they promptly ignored each other.  Nick stood at the fence bordering his property while Earl paced up and down the other side facing the barn where Kai was, leaving crooked hind end tracks in his wake.  They stayed that way all day until feeding time when Earl grudgingly left his side of the the fence long enough to chow down and the love of food was enough to get Nick away from his fence line.  The next morning when OF fed them she said Earl stared at Nick like he was giving him the Evil Eye and gave another little studly scream when Nick started eating from the feeder next to him where Kai usually ate.  Nick ignored him...maybe because there was a stall panel between them...or maybe because he knew he was way more agile than Earl...or maybe because he just wanted food.  Nick's a pretty mellow dude.

In hindsight, which always seems to be 20/20, Earl probably would have been better off alone that first night.  You have to wonder what they think when all of a sudden their buddy is taken away from them and some interloper is trying to take his place.  All our good intentions probably just traumatized the old guy even more.   We probably double whammied him by taking him away from his buddy AND putting a strange horse in with him.

It was about ten when Ellie got there to check Kai.  She knew why she was there. We knew why she was there.  We knew it was going to happen.  It didn't make it any easier.  OF had even called "the truck" to haul away the body.

Ellie examined Kai and said his gums looked worse.  He wasn't oxygenating properly.  His heartbeat wasn't worse but she could see the pulse in his neck and that wasn't a good sign.  Simply put, his heart was failing.  She went on to say there were various things that could be tried. After she explained things that "could" be tried, she said the magic words to OF...

"You wouldn't be doing these things for him...you'd be doing it for you."

OF went in the house.  She couldn't watch.  I held him while Ellie gave Kai a tranquilizer before the final injection...a giant syringe of pink fluid..."the pink juice" my friend D calls it.

Some of them drop like a ton of bricks, but not Kai.  Ever the dignified Arab he let his legs just curl up underneath him and slowly lowered himself to the ground. Almost like he wanted his last act to be a graceful death.

While we were standing there waiting for the final breath, Ellie making small talk, me fighting tears, Ellie looked over at Earl.  I was so focused on Kai I didn't even see him.  He was laying down in the pasture thrashing around...and he couldn't get up.

OF came out and the three of us tried to get him up.  You could see the panic in his eyes.  I don't know if it was from the three of us pushing on him or just a natural fear from being unable to get up. Either way, it was there.  We were finally able to get him up after a few minutes of pushing.

You never know if you're making the right decision.  Is it time?  What if he goes down again and can't get up and nobody's around.  Can he make it through the winter?  Should I wait and see?

Ellie knew..."What do you want to do?"

I put the halter on him and led Earl out to the lawn where Kai was while Ellie filled more syringes.  He didn't go down as gracefully as Kai.

"I wasn't expecting him to go too" I told Ellie while we stood there waiting for Earls final exhale.

"You know, maybe he just wanted to be with his buddy"  she said bringing fresh tears to my eyes.

A few days later when I was sitting here writing this, The Husband laid this card down on the desk. It came in the mail with no return address.

Inside there was a handwritten note that read...
 
Dear Mother R,
Thank you for making my last years wonderful.  I was never hungry, cold, or lonely.  You were always kind to me and I thank you for loving me.  I knew my best friend was going to leave me & I chose to go be with him.  I was sad to leave you but knew you would understand.  I miss you already.
                                    
                                                                Earl

I thought it was from Ellie...as it turned out, I was wrong, it was from my friend Smellie.

I had a preacher once tell me that animals don't go to heaven because they don't have souls.  I don't know if he's right or not.  But anyone who has ever known the unconditional love and devotion of a dog, the affected indifference of a big orange cat, or the bond with a favorite horse would have to disagree.  I know I do.

So I hope that when I get to the Pearly Gates, there's Three Amigos standing there waiting for me. The Old Guys...Trig waiting to be scratched, Kai with a big whinny hello...and I hope I get to hear Earl give a little nicker.

"God forbid that I should go to any Heaven in which there are no horses."
         R.B Cunninghame Graham

Why The World Doesn't Revolve Around Me

I'm sure nobody in the store guessed that inwardly I was a raging maniac hurling obscenities at the prissy blond woman holding up the line at the checkout counter.

She with the sixties long, straight, blond hair parted in the middle...wearing a fashionably fitted button front blouse tucked into a fashionable knee length A-line skirt...with fashionable flats that matched the fashionable belt wrapping her barely double digit waist.  She with the "I just smelled something bad" look on her fifty something face looking at everyone down her perky little nose. It's one of the few parts that doesn't wrinkle or sag...it does, however, grow continuously...albeit slowly...and why do they get so bulbous?

This complete stranger inspired my rage...I wanted to knock her fucking head off.   But I didn't.
Why, you ask?  Because that would be rude...and I've had it drilled into my head from the time I was itty bitty that you always, I mean always, have to be polite.  Plus, it would be a crime I would probably go to jail for...and there were witnesses all around.  I may be stoopid but even I'm not that stoopid.  Even though I'm seething inside a smile stays pasted to my face..."a smile is just a frown turned upside down"...remember that song?  I know it wasn't a "real" smile.  It was one of those half smiles you see on ol' wimmen who look like they have no idea what's going on around them...sort of a La Di Da, every thing's right with the world smile. Totally fake...

Now, call me crazy, but I always thought you were suppose to finish your shopping BEFORE you head to the checkout counter.  In fact, I'm fairly certain that that's the way it's suppose to work.  It's why they give you carts.  So you can wheel around the store putting all the things you want to buy in one place and when you get everything you need, you take all your stuff at once and pay...it streamlines the process.  Otherwise you'd spend hours buying things one at a time.

Of course, if I stop and think about it, buying one thing at a time might force me to do more walking...walk from the car to the grocery aisle, get my item...or two if I can carry more than one...walk to the checkout and pay...walk out to the car and put my stuff in...walk back to the store for the next item(s)...and repeat as necessary.  If I walked more, I'd burn more calories...if I burned more calories, maybe I'd lose weight.  I may be on to something here...The SIS (Single Item Shopping) Diet.  It could work.  Once I get the kinks worked out, look out Weight Watchers...

So anyway, back to the object of my rage...PB (Prissy Blond) was at the checkout, followed by a teenage girl and then yours truly.  PB's almost done when she starts telling CC (Chubby Checker...not to be confused with the sixties sensation of the same name...this really was a chubby checker.)  how she couldn't find something she was looking for.  CC assures her that the store has the item she wants...and she sends him to fetch it for her...while the rest of us wait...and wait...and wait.

Nary a word of apology passes her lips as PB glances our way.  No "I'm really sorry to make you wait", no "I'm sorry but my child is sick and really needs this"...no, PB just stands there acting like the world revolves around her...which it apparently does.  So I guess my mom was right...the world doesn't revolve around me because fucking PB had it revolving around her...  I always secretly wanted to be thin and have long straight blonde hair when I was younger.  Maybe I instinctively knew that if I did, the world actually would revolve around me.

Now I realize that when you're standing in line waiting, minutes seem like hours.  I get that.  It doesn't make me like it any better though.  I also get that I'm essentially an Impatient Patty type...and most if not all of my impatience is directed at people.  People tend to annoy me.  Animals rarely annoy me but people...sometimes I just wanna kill 'em.  Figuratively speaking of course...

So I stand silently appearing patient, half smile pasted on my face, shifting my weight from leg to leg...(gimpy back screams from standing still too long) until finally with sweat glistening on his brow, CC comes bustling back to his checkout counter holding a little bag above his head like a flag.  He hands it to PB so happy and proud that he could find it for her... and she tells him it's not the right flavor...and doesn't buy it...and walks out the door like the world revolves around her...which apparently it does.

I'd have been so grateful to the kid for trying that I'd have bought it no matter what it was.  I even wanted to tell him I'd buy it...and I didn't even know what it was.  To this day I don't know if it was a bag of cough drops or gummy bear like vitamins, but that's the kind of bag it was.

I don't know why I let myself get annoyed at strangers who couldn't care less even if they knew they were annoying me...but I can't help it...it's the stoopidist thing.


P.S.  I think I'd like it better if the world actually did revolve around me.

Caught In The Act

You know that feeling you get when you're caught doing something you're not supposed to be doing?  You wish that you could magically disappear and would welcome the ground opening up and swallowing you whole.  Okay, that may be going a little far...if the ground opened up, it would be filled with bugs and creepy things.  Just having a bug crawl across my foot nearly causes me a heart attack.  So I guess I'm really exaggerating when I say I wish the ground would open up and swallow me.  But the feeling of wanting to be anywhere but where you are at a given moment I hope is something everybody understands...at least I know my friends get it.  Especially OF (Old Friend of Undesirable Snackage Fame)...who experienced that feeling today...with me...'cause that's what friends are for.  Kinda makes you want to sing along, doesn't it?  Keep smilin', keep shinin', knowin' you can always count on me...for sure...that's what friends are for.  Remember that song?

I digress...So anyway, OF and I were in Costco buying provisions.  Me...dog food, cat litter, apple filled pastries, cashews, mini pizzas.  OF... alcohol, chicken salad, alcohol, spinach, alcohol, yogurt, alcohol...hmmmm that's a lot of alcohol.  

First to hit the basket was a gallon of vodka followed seconds later by a jug of Fireball (cinnamon whiskey...really good).  A few steps further down the aisle was a jug of regular whiskey to be used to make whiskey slush's which are fabulous and last but not lease was a box of Zinfandel.  Yes I said box.  Which surprised me because OF is kind of a wine snob.  Me, I know nothing of good vs bad wine, vodka, whiskey, etc.  I'd be a totally white trash drinker were it not for the fact that I hate beer. Give me a jelly jar full of some sweet alcoholic concoction over ice, and I'm a happy camper.

In an effort to look less lush like (say that three times fast), OF decided she really didn't need the gallon of vodka and was going to put it back.  Since we were now in the wine aisle, I told her she should just set it in the big empty spot on the pallet of wine.  I didn't think there were any employees around to see her commit this whopping shopping faux pas and it would have taken more time to wind our way through the masses to get back to the vodka aisle.  Wrongo bongo...

As soon as she set the giant vodka bottle down on the pallet, and here I admit it looked conspicuously out of place next to the petite wine bottles it was sidling up to, I looked to my left and there was one of the store stockers standing behind a potato bin looking at us.  Even though I was old enough to be the kid's grandma, I suddenly felt like the proverbial kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.  I did what I always do when I'm nervous...I started laughing.  I tell OF "that kid's watching us, let's go put it back".  She starts laughing and keeps walking..."we have to put it back" I tell her...beet red and laughing she keeps walking.  We're both mortified and laughing like a couple of ten year old school girls but we keep walking... leaving in our wake, the lone vodka bottle looking like the tall gawky girl towering over her petite red wine classmates in the school pictures.  

Actually, I was torn.  I didn't know whether I should grab the bottle and rush it back to its proper place, or shove it back into the cart.  If I'd thought about it logically, which I'm  rarely prone to do, what was the kid going to do?  Give a couple of old ladies a tongue lashing for putting a bottle on the wrong shelf?  Kick us out of the store?  Not likely since our shared basket was filled with hundreds of dollars in goods.  

I know from seeing other misplaced items on shelves in stores that we aren't the only ones who've done this. Every time you go to the store you can see a lone product stolen away from its family of like products and put in an aisle where it sticks out like a sore thumb.  Sometimes I make the effort to return things to their proper place...not something someone else has moved, but something I decided after putting it in my cart that I really didn't need...unless the store's too crowded.  Then all bets are off.  But I always try to look around to see if any one's watching before I hastily put the previously coveted but now unwanted bottle of ketchup on top of a bag of brown rice.  Then I nonchalantly mosey away...

In an effort to relieve myself of the stoopid guilt I feel when I return items to their unassigned shelves, I've decided to look at it another way.  I'm desegregating the store.  If you stop and think about it, stores really are the last bastion of accepted segregation.  So I'll just proudly do my small part to ensure that products don't remain segregated for their entire shelf life.

P.S.  I probably won't go so far as to place a carton of ice cream on the shelf next to the toilet paper or a head of lettuce in the ice cream freezer.  I'd feel even more guilt for ruining something than I already do for unintentional rearranging.  It's the stoopidist thing.

Hay Holes

Hay holes...not to be confused with a-holes...although I suppose a-holes can make hay holes...but not vice versa...you know what I’m talking about? You go to haul hay and you’re walking across the top of the stack without a care in the world, only to suddenly find one leg buried knee deep between bales leaving you unceremoniously sprawled on your stomach. Yes, you’ve found the first (of many) hay holes, cleverly disguised with loose hay to make it look like you’re walking on a solid surface when in fact you’re not. Hopefully in your fall, you’ve managed to avoid landing on your hay hooks which might result in serious injury instead of a little touch of humiliation from your lack of gracefulness.

It’s funny when someone else hits a hay hole. You can’t help but laugh. It’s not quite as funny when you hit it yourself. I’m actually a little paranoid about hay holes because I’m afraid of falling off the hay stack. I’m not fond of heights...but I love roller coasters...go figure.

Last weekend, I went with OF (Old Friend of undesirable snackage fame) to haul hay. She got a call from a grower she calls Hay Juan (she calls him this because she didn’t know his last name)saying he had some oat/rye three wire bales left and would she like it? Of course my frugal friend wanted some and luckily for me I was included in her windfall.

When we got to Hay Juan’s farm, he was waiting for us on his quad...looking like a little brown raisin in a straw cowboy hat. He leads us to the field...and the stack of not so high quality looking hay. You can see that we’re getting the bottom of the stack because each of the bales has dirt on one side where it’s been sitting on the ground. OF’s had hay from Hay Juan before so I’m trusting her judgement on its quality...because even if she’d eat rotten food herself, I know she wouldn’t ever feed it to her horses.

“Take as much as chew wan...I be back en about half a hour” says Hay Juan as he rides off into the sunset...actually it was morning so I guess it was more of a sunrise...truthfully it was closer to noonish...he just rode off and left us.

I looked at OF, she looked at me, and suddenly this deal didn’t seem so sweet. But really, what were we going to do? Neither of us had gloves...we had one set of hay hooks between us...and two trucks to load. We loaded OF’s truck first.

OF hit the hay hole on her first pass across the top of the stack. She was dragging a bale over to the truck and down she went. I didn’t want to laugh but I couldn’t help it. OF’s got some size to her, she’s really tall...I’m talkin’ Brienne of Tarth tall (I can’t help it...I’m hooked on Game of Thrones.) and when she went down it was like a giant redwood falling.

Why is it so funny when you see people fall? I know it’s wrong to laugh...at least before you find out if they’re seriously injured...but I just can’t help it.

The Lucy & Ethel show continued through two truck loads of hay loading...dragging bales, rolling them end over end to stack them. I seriously hope nobody was watching us...or God forbid, recording our escapade for future YouTube viewing by the masses.

OF hit the same hay hole and went down at least three times...and I’m ashamed to admit I laughed hysterically each time. By the time we got done, we were hot, sweaty, covered with scratches and itchy from hay chaff....and then we got to tie the loads down. We tie like girls...not bows or anything, but a bunch of little knots everywhere.

When we walk to the side of the field, Hay Juan’s waiting for us “We gonna have some good peaches this year” he tells us. I ask what kind...

“Oh, Elberta and O’Henry” he says “real sweet”.

Fresh peaches are the bomb and Fay Elberta’s are my favorite. We tell Hay Juan that we’ll be back for them and even as the words are coming out of my mouth I’m wondering if I’m going to have to climb the trees and pick them myself...it’s the stoopidist thing.

Banned

Greg Gutfeld is on a daily talk show called The Five.  He's also on a late night show called Red Eye. I think he's really funny...and smart.  In a Dennis Millerish sort of way.

On The Five, Gutfeld has a little segment called "Banned Phrase/Word" or something close to that. One of the most recent banned was "With all due respect"...because generally if you preface your comment with that phrase, you think the person you're speaking to is a fucking moron, or your boss, or both...but you don't want to say that out loud.

Today I'm going to start my own little ban...the first ban will be the improper use of the word "like". Used properly, you might say "I like apples".  Used improperly, you might say "She came up to me, and I'm like, what do you want?".   Why do people say this?

Who started this?  Is it so hard to use the word "said"?  Because that's what you mean, really, isn't it? It makes everyone sound like Valley Girls.  Fer Shur.

This has become so widespread that everybody does it.  You hear it on TV, you hear it on the radio...it's everywhere...(kinda like lesbians... They're Everywhere   ...only annoying)...I'm like, he's like, she's like, you're like, everybody's like using the word like improperly.

I'm like, totally annoyed...it's like, the stoopidist thing...

P.S.  And with a nod to Bill Mahr, New Stoopid Rule... from this day forward the use of "Valentimes" instead of the correct "Valentines" is absolutely forbidden by everyone in the universe.

Dinner With The Husband

A couple of weeks ago, The Husband and I went to dinner at a new Chinese restaurant.  The place used to be a different Chinese restaurant that I didn't like very much but I noticed a new name on the sign and since it was close to the grocery store and we needed to eat, it seemed like a good time to try it.  The new name of the restaurant is Lucky Jin.

The first time we went in, there was only one other couple having dinner.  A few people came in and picked up orders to go while we were there but it didn't seem like a good omen that nobody was eating there.  We ordered a dinner for two or as it was repeated back to us "dinnah fo tu".  The food was good and even though we couldn't understand the waitress, we decided we'd go back again.

This weekend we decided to go again to "Lucky Jin".  It wasn't the original plan.  No, this happened after The Husband annoyed me.  He didn't know he'd annoyed me...he never does.  See, we have this agreement that nobody cooks or waits on dinner for the other one during the week.  Since we never know when we'll each get home, it works out well.  But I didn't work on Friday so I waited for The Husband to get home from work to see what he wanted to do for dinner.

I was in the bathroom when The Husband came home and by the time I got out, (no, I wasn't going "big potty") I walked into the kitchen and he had a can of clam chowder soup poured into a bowl and was getting ready to heat it up.  Now, I know this shouldn't have annoyed me...but it did.  The Husband didn't know I'd waited to eat until he got home...but I had...and so I felt I had ample reason to be annoyed.

"Well, I guess I'll go to the store and get something to eat..." I said, each word dripping with sarcasm as I walked out the door to feed the horses.  I don't think he even heard me.  The Husband is more than slightly deaf but refuses to admit it.

When I walked back into the house The Husband said "Do you want to go to town and get something to eat"?  Maybe I was wrong...maybe he had heard me...and maybe, just maybe he noted the annoyed tone in my voice.

"I thought you were eating soup" I said...

"I was, but I ruined it" he said...now I know he didn't notice anything I said before and wasn't trying to be nice...he just fucked up his soup and wanted dinner.

"How can you ruin soup?"  I wondered out loud.

"I made it with buttermilk" said The Husband...and I'm instantly happy, delighted even, that I'd forgotten to go to the store to buy milk.  That'll teach him...it won't really...but at least I had a good laugh and a good laugh can get you over mild annoyance any time.

So that's how we ended up at Lucky Jin a second time.  Again, there was only one other couple at a table when we got there.  The same waitress brought us our drinks and remembered from the previous time that I don't like sweet & sour sauce with mustard in it.  She brought the sweet & sour sauce sans mustard along with our drinks so I know she remembered.  She didn't take our dinner order this time though, instead a man who I assume is her husband, took our orders...he was even harder to understand than she was.

I said "let's just get what we had the last time" to The Husband.  The waiter took our order and asked us something about "soup".  Even I couldn't understand the waiter but I almost laughed at the look The Husband gave me...and I realized he gives me this look all the time...it's the "WTF did they say" look.  Every time we go to a restaurant, I automatically repeat things to him or just order for him.  It's become such a habit, I don't even realize I'm doing it.

I manage to get that the waiter is asking us what kind of soup we want and when I ask him what kind there is I understand the words won ton.  So that's what I picked.  As he walked away, The Husband asked what the waiter said so I told him he wanted to know what soup we wanted.

"Well I couldn't understand him...bla,bla,bla,bla,bla" says The Husband, trying to make his bla, blas, sound Chinese.  I'm horrified when he does this and immediately start nervously laughing as I tell him to shut up.  Deaf people talk louder than they think they do sometimes and I don't want the waiter or waitress to hear him.  Jeez....

We finish eating and I tell The Husband I'm going to get a carton to take the leftovers home.  When I start to turn around to get the attention of the waitress I hear The Husband shout out "Hey Lucky Jin"...like that's her name.  WTF???  I must have had a WTF look on my face when I looked at him because he kinda looked sheepish...like after he said it he knew it probably wasn't the right thing to say...still he felt the need somehow to dig himself in a little deeper when the waitress brought me a take out carton by asking her...

"Do you speak Chinese?  Or Cantonese?"  and... you guessed it...he said it in old white man fake Chinese accent...and he didn't even know he was doing it.  I wanted to die...like The Husband would even know the difference between Chinese or Cantonese...

Now I'm afraid we can never return to Lucky Jin for fear they'll spit in our food thinking The Husband was intentionally mocking them...it's the stoopidist thing.

The Kindness of a Stranger

We had an Old Chix gathering a couple of weeks ago at Scari's house.  It was just the original four, Scari who's a widow, barren, and has an incurable disease...she likes to mention these things frequently in an attempt to gain attention but it kinda falls on deaf ears since we've all heard it about a million times... me, Prissy, and Elmo who's husband just died.  Elmo was the reason for the gathering at Scari's.  We thought she'd be less self conscious in a small group where we could eat, drink, and be merry in a non-public setting...we usually go for Champagne Brunch at the casino because we all get senior discounts and hence, drink for free.

At some point during our festivities, Elmo mentioned she needed a new BBQ and it just so happened that Priss had one that she and her husband never used so she said Elmo was welcome to it.    

The following weekend, OF (Old Friend of undesirable snackage fame) and I went to Costco so I took my fancy new truck thinking we could load up the BBQ and haul it back to Elmo.  Wrongo  bongo.  These new trucks are sooooo tall, you need a ladder to get into the bed.  There was no way we could lift this fancy ass BBQ into the truck.  I should have known.  Priss never buys anything cheap, and this BBQ was no exception.  I figured it was aluminum, and would be light weight...wrong again...even after we wised up and removed the full propane tank we still couldn't lift it.  I would like to point out here that in spite of our aged status, OF and I really aren't wimps.  We both have horses, haul hay around, throw heavy saddles up on giant horses...okay, they're really not "giant", but sometimes they seem that way...especially when the old back or shoulder is gimpy...the point is, we are capable of lifting a "reasonable" amount of weight.  Just not the Prissy heavy duty BBQ that does everything and then some...we left BBQ-less.

Fast forward a couple of weeks and I ask The Husband to hook his little utility trailer up to the truck (it has a ramp) so I can go get the BBQ.  It's a little six foot trailer so I thought it would be a piece of cake backing into Prissy's perfectly landscaped suburban front drive replete with giant cement urns lining the side of said driveway...I back my three horse trailer all the time so why would it be a big deal?  If I'm being totally honest, it now takes me a little longer to get it right with the new truck...I blame this on the new truck being longer than the old one was...plus it has fucked up divided mirrors that show close up and far away...so I never really know which one to focus on...  In my heart, I know the problem is mine but I still blame the truck.

On the way down the hill, I try to call OF to see if she'll help me.  She doesn't answer.  OF is a woman who never goes anywhere without her phone...she panics if she doesn't have her phone with her.  But when I call her for help...she doesn't answer.  I secretly think she knew I was going to ask her for something and just didn't answer when she saw who was calling.  

So when I can't get OF, I try Elmo's phone.  Yet another woman who is never without a phone...no answer. Story of my fucking life...I can't call Scari because I know she'll still be in bed and I already know Priss & her husband won't be home...but I figure since the trailer has a ramp, I can wheel the BBQ on myself.  I immediately start getting nervous.

I make it to high class suburbia in under thirty minutes.  The street is lined with palatial homes all landscaped to perfection.  I've driven into the real life version of House Beautiful magazine.  Nary a yard car to be found in this neck of the woods...and there's no Big Wheels trikes lining the driveways either.  You'd never know anybody had a kid in this neighborhood...kids make messes...and there's nothing, not even a blade of grass out of place anywhere.

Unfortunately for me, even though the streets were probably wide enough for four cars, I couldn't get the truck positioned to back straight into the urn lined drive with the magic BBQ sitting at the end like a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.  

So...my first attempt failed miserably as I found out that it's way easier to back a big long horse trailer than it is to back a short, short, utility trailer.  I barely touched the steering wheel and the little trailer nearly jackknifed...okay then...start over.  Now I'm really nervous because I can see a white sedan getting ready to leave its driveway two houses down.  Fuck...I'm blocking the street.  I manage to get the trailer a little ways into the perfect driveway...at least enough so the white luxury sedan can get by, when much to my surprise once it's past the front of the truck, the door opens and out jumps Mr. GQ.  I try to roll down the drivers window as Mr. GQ approaches because it's obvious he wants to say something to me, only to lower the rear window instead...this is not the first time I've done this in the new truck because I don't know where the fucking buttons are...nervousness just tends to magnify my imbecilic tendencies.  

It must have been the universal "yikes" face I gave him as he drove by that prompted him to stop.

Or the way I sheepishly covered my face...

I was mortified...

"Hey, I'm an expert at this...do you want some help?"  asks GQ.  He really does look like a GQ model on his way to a  photo shoot and I briefly wonder what he can be an expert at because GQ doesn't look like the type who would ever get dirty or place hands on any type of machinery whatsoever...I say briefly because I had these thoughts in the nanosecond it took me to bail out of my truck and turn it over to a complete stranger simply because he told me he could do it.  "That would be wonderful, thank you" I manage as my feet hit the pavement...  

Thank the Lord that I was driving the new truck and not "Old Red".  Old Red is a 93 Ford that's seen better days and is all dented along one side where a deer decided to ram it...the deer won.  If I'd been driving Old Red and wearing my usual...as I was...bag lady garb, GQ probably would've called the cops thinking I was there to commit some heinous crime.  (I really did look like an old bag lady.)

True to his word,  GQ backed the truck down the never ending driveway and stopped it right in front of the BBQ.  He didn't even have to stop and pull forward once or twice to regroup like I would have had to do a million or so times.  

"You want me to help you load it?"  GQ asks as he starts to let the ramp down, noticing me fumbling with the trailer latch on the drivers side.  I can't get it to move...it feels like the stoopid pin holding the ramp up is welded shut.  

GQ has the other side open in the hot second it takes me to say "Oh thank you, that would be great" and pulls the pin I've been fumbling with which, when he lays his golden hand on it, suddenly acts like it's just been shot with a heavy dose of WD40.   WTF????

I manage to act like I was helping him wheel the BBQ up the ramp, probably hindering more than helping when he asks how I want it to ride?  Duh...what?  "Well," GQ explains, "if you put it this way, there'll be less drag when you're driving".  I nod like I know what he's talking about when I say "okay".   

GQ says he thinks I'm good to go and heads back to the white Lexus he left parked in the street as I thank him profusely.  It may have been a little much for him when I tried to kiss his feet.  I think I may have scared him.

After using forty feet of the sixty foot rope I brought I finally feel I have the BBQ tied securely to the trailer...I even had to laugh when I looked at how stoopidly I tied it up.  Mrs. Moronsky at work again!  I manage to get to Elmo's house without incident and with the help of her and her daughter we get the whole shebang unloaded and in her back yard.  Elmo's my kind of peep...she has a yard car.

I have no idea what prompted GQ to stop when he saw this big ass new truck driven by an incompetent old woman who probably in his opinion had no business being on the road...maybe he was simply afraid I'd wreck his neighbor's yard if he left me to my own devices...or maybe he was just a nice guy doing something nice.

It's amazing how the kindness of a stranger can touch your life...and make you want to be kind in return...it's the stoopidist thing...