A Backwards Hick Story

I started buying these Sassybax bras a couple of years ago.  They're similar to a Genie bra, no hooks, you step in to them...and they kinda fit like a sports bra but not quite so boobage flattening.  The underwire style is great for riding...less bouncing boobage.  I usually buy the underwire style but on a lark, I bought a couple of the wireless kind to try.  They're like an amped up version of the Genie...the fabric isn't quite so stretchy.

So yesterday morning when I'm getting dressed for work, in the dark as usual, I throw on one of the wireless Sassybax, top it with a tee shirt and a pullover sweater.  Fat dumb & happy I feed the critters and head down the hill to work.

My first stop was a jail in a neighboring county where I had to have an inmate sign some documents. When I got there, the inmate was dressed in striped pants...he looked like the little guy in the Monopoly game on the Get Out Of Jail Free card.  I almost laughed.  I always have the urge to laugh at inappropriate moments...at some point I may need to seek professional help for this problem. Truthfully, I didn't know they still had clothes like that in jail.  I mean, we're way out of Sheriff Joe's territory....the jail in our county gives them bright orange clothes but at least they're solid colored.

So anyway, these documents had little sticky arrows pointing to where the guy was supposed to sign and date the form...and in true dunder fashion, he signed completely backward...signing where he was supposed to date, and dating where he was supposed to sign...this isn't the first time this has happened, but truth be told, they don't end up in jail by being the sharpest knife in the drawer, now do they???

After a hard day at work...okay, not that hard...I run to the feed store to get pelleted feed for the old guys (geriatric horses) and run it over to OF's house (Old Friend of undesirable snackage fame). Then off to a barn with a covered arena where I rented a stall so I'd have somewhere to ride during the winter after work.  No one was in the barn when I got there and it was dark so I ended up just turning my Girlie loose in the arena for a while watching her kick up her heels...that's her name, Girlie...I don't like to waste a lot of time thinking up original names.

By the time I get home, get all the critters fed, and stuff my fat face, I'm ready for a long hot soak in the tub.  Off with the sweater, off with the tee shirt...and WTF???  I have my bra on backwards!!!  I've been walking around with my bra on backwards and I didn't know it.  Unfilled cups were hanging off my back all day long.  And I thought the guy in the jail was a dunder...geesh.  Good thing I never took to a life of crime...I'd be signing on the wrong line like all the other dunders.

This is what was hanging off my back all day (minus the tag...I swiped the photo from an eBay ad)......it is the style without the underwire and my hope is that if there was underwire that I would have felt said wires digging in my back and noticed my mistake before I made it out the door in the morning...but who knows???

Swear to God, this was my first thought...Thank God I didn't get in an accident and have to go to the hospital.  You know how your mom always told you to wear clean underwear in case you get in an accident?  That's what I thought about.  Never once did I hear my mom utter the words "make sure you put your bra on with the boobs in the cups".   Mom obviously never thought she needed to tell me to put my bra on with the cups in front.  And why would she?  Even the most moronic among us know the cups go in front...I mean, why bother otherwise?  Okay, some very large people may have overhanging flesh in the back that could fill a cup...or two, but they have other compression garments to combat that particular problem.

One time I made fun of OF for doing something like this.  I have these underwear I love, they're boyshorts.  I was telling OF about them and how wonderful they were...yadda yadda...so when I got a new pack, I gave her a pair to try.   She said she went shopping with her sister, one of the Sister Wives, and when she was trying on clothes, she told her sis that she didn't see why I liked these underwear so much because she wasn't impressed...her sister looked at her in the dressing room and told her "it might be because you have them on backward".  I thought that was sooooo hysterical....hahaha  "you had them on backward"?    "How could you not know?"  

Well now I know...it's the stoopidist thing...

P.S.  I think I would've felt the Melvin from the backwards underwear...at least that's my story and I'm stickin' to it. 

Bacon Mac & Cheese

I went to another town yesterday with Smellie Noellie and we stopped at a little sports bar (The Happy Viking) for lunch that has one of her fave Mac & Cheese dishes...Bacon Mac & Cheese to be specific. We’ve gone a couple of times before and I’ve gotten hooked on the Bacon Mac & Cheese that Smellie forced me to eat...really...she actually shoved it down my throat despite all my protestations that I shouldn’t be eating such a high carb meal. It was heaven...the Mac & Cheese...not the shoving down the throat part...okay, she didn’t really shove it down my throat...and I never really protested about eating high carb anything...but it was her idea to go there originally.


So yesterday I’m in heaven savoring each bite of the cheesy macaroni with smokey bacon knowing there’d be a bunch left over so I could eat it last night. Then the unthinkable happened...

After work, I went to OF’s (Old Friend of undesirable snackage fame) house to ride and I put the container of precious Bacon Mac & Cheese in her fridge. It seemed like a good idea at the time and I didn’t want to leave it sitting in a hot car where it might spoil and give me some horribly gross stomach problems since I would still probably try to eat it...it’s that good.

I was about half way home when I realized I’d left the container sitting in OF’s fridge. Shit...oh well, I’ll just get it tomorrow...I thought.

My phone rang about 7:30 last night. It was OF...

OF: “Hi”

Me: “Hey, what’re you doing?”

OF: “Standing at my sink eating Mac & Cheese”

Me: “It’s good, isn’t it?” “Fuck, fuck, fuck”....I shout silently to myself.

OF: “Yes, what’s in it? Bacon?”

Me: “Yes, isn’t it wonderful”. I’m dying a little bit inside at this point. I want to shout “don’t eat it”...but I can’t.

OF: “Well, I just had a little, I didn’t heat it up, I wanted to make sure you left it for me.”

Me: “You have to heat it up” resigning myself to the fact that my scrumptious snackage is lost to me...really, how can I say “NO I didn’t leave it for you...I’m just stoopid and forgot to take it home”.

You’d think that I’d been starved as a child by my obsession with food, wouldn’t you? Nothing could be further from the truth. I’ve never been hungry a day in my life. I don’t know why food is such a big thing for me. It’s the stoopidist thing.

Me & My Husband Day

The Husband has spent the last several days getting ready to go on his annual "hunting" trip.  I hesitate to call it a hunting trip because he never actually brings home any game.  Well, he did once, but that was a long time ago and since then, nada, zip, zero.  But the hunting trip is the only time he actually relaxes, so I'm happy to see him go.  It's the getting ready part I have a problem with.  I suppose it's not really a problem but it would be if I had to be personally involved.  As it stands, I pretty much just observe his comings and goings during the planning/prep stage of his annual jaunt. The Husband runs back and forth to town several times a day for important things he forgot the last time he went.

Occasionally I'm pressed into service for some chore that requires more than one person.  This is a rare occurrence because The Husband hates to ask me to help him do anything.  Why?  Because I tend to offer helpful suggestions as to how he might do something faster, easier, or better. Since I don't have a penis, my suggestions are never taken seriously.  I've learned to accept this and truth be told, it gets me out of a lot of stuff I'd rather not have to do.

We had to hang new blinds in the bedroom and put up a new outside light before The Husband left for his adventure.  The blind job was first and most important since the ones currently hanging were ancient and had broken spots all over.  Totally white trash...but if the shoe fits...

Since I'd hung blinds before, I knew you didn't have to be a rocket scientist.  I ordered the kind that fit inside the window casing to make it even easier. You just butt up the bracket on each corner, attached it, insert the blind, and you're done.  Easy peasy.  I took the old ones down, threw them away, and laid out the new ones.  The small blind was unpackaged and all the parts needed were opened.  I'd glanced at the directions and they had great pictures...I'm a visual learner...if I can look at something and see how it works or visualize it in my head, I'm good to go.  Not so with The Husband. I don't think he's a visual learner.  After all these years, I'm still not really sure what kind of a learner he is.  He may have reached his maximum learning capacity...for my sake, I hope not.

Into the house comes The Husband, armed with his cordless drill, level, and a step ladder.  Man Stuff. He sees the long blinds on the bed still wrapped, completely ignoring the smaller unwrapped blinds and tells me "You need to get these unwrapped"...like I hadn't done my job...jeez, I was just trying to make it less confusing for the old guy by having one window laid out ready to go...next time I'm going to unwrap everything and have it in a big pile and let him sort it all out...I'm very mature that way.

I point to the small unwrapped blinds and hardware and calmly reply "This is everything we need for this window".

Having been through this before and knowing that there's metal around the inside of the window casing I add "You'll probably need a drill bit to start holes for the new brackets".

"No I won't" he says as he unscrews the old brackets.

I hand him the new bracket and the first thing he says is..."How does this work?"

Instead of being snarky and saying "Well you have the penis, don't you know?"  I say "You just butt the bracket into the corner with the opening facing out...it doesn't matter which one you use, they're interchangeable."

He takes the bracket and one of the screws and tries to attach it...but it won't screw in.  Down the ladder he comes and heads toward the door...and I can't help myself..."Where are you going?"

"I need to get a drill bit" he mumbles heading for the tool shed "I thought it was a self tapping screw but it's not."  I'm sure he added this last bit of information to let me know that he could have been right..if the stoopid blind company had given him proper screws...I'm also sure he hated having to get something to start the hole after me suggesting it to begin with.  I have to smile to myself.  Will  there ever come a time when he'll listen to me?  At this point, I don't think so...but I continue to hope.

After blind hanging we went to Home Depot to get a new outside light for the back door.  The Husband broke a light bulb inside the light and couldn't get the metal part out.  When we look at the light selection, he points to the ugliest light they make and says "That's the light I'm getting".

The light in question is painted white with a round globe that has to be removed in order to change the light bulb.  "I don't want that one, it's ugly" and I point out "and you have to take the globe off to change the light bulb".

"I'm leaving the bottom off" he proudly says...like he's just invented electricity.  "Then I can just unscrew the light bulb".

"Why not just get one with an open bottom?"  I ask...thinking it wouldn't look so white trash if we had a complete light instead of just a bare bulb hanging outside our door.

"No" he snapped "this is the third light I've had to replace because the bulbs break off inside and they were all open from the bottom."  He's really pissed off about this whole light thing.  I'm kinda stunned because I had no idea we'd had three different lights...guess I should pay more attention.  I don't have any problem changing the bulbs...I just have to get a chair to reach them so it's a pain in the ass.

Since I don't really care what kind of light we get and since he obviously does, I keep my trap shut...until we get in the car.   I'm driving, as usual, and when we turn out of the parking lot I can't help but say "If you've had to replace three lights because you break the bulbs off doesn't that tell you something?"  The inference being if he'd didn't squeeze the fragile glass bulb in a vice like grip it wouldn't break.  I have to also add "I've never broken a bulb off in the light".

"That's because you never change them" says The Husband "you always have me do it".  Which is true...when he's home.  But he works out of town...a lot.

"Who do you thing does everything when you're gone?  Elves?"  is my standard reply...

The Husband, bless his heart, is unable to come up with a witty retort so that's apparently the end of this conversation...it's the stoopidist thing.

Little Things

Little Things That Bug Me

People who say "No Worries"
What does that mean???  Does that mean they have no worries and are trying to flaunt their fabulously wonderful life in my face?  Are they trying to imply that I have no worries?  Because if they are, let me tell you, they're fucking wrong.  Is the English language becoming a spoken version of texting filled with misspelled or abbreviated words and incomplete sentences?  Are they subtly trying to give me an English test?   Next time someone says that to me, I'm gonna ask them exactly what they mean.

Thursday Night Football
Do we really need another day with a football game?  Isn't all day Sunday, Sunday night, and Monday night enough?  It really screws up my DVR scheduler when they have football games that start Sunday afternoon and go into the evening.  Truth be told, I actually like football, but I hate watching Monday night since they took Hank Jr. off.   It's just not the same without his song.

Mocha Anything
Simply calling it "Mocha" doesn't mean it stops tasting like coffee.  I hate coffee and I'm kinda sick of people trying to get me to taste "mocha" flavored treats that they say don't taste like coffee.  All things mocha taste like coffee to a coffee hater.  I know this is weird, but I've never actually had a cup of coffee in my life...and I'm not even Mormon.

Thong Underwear
I even had to be specific in the title because it could have been confused with the thongs you used to wear on your feet.  You know, the ones that they now call "flip flops" instead of thongs so they don't get confused with the Melvin inspired underwear of the same name?  Basically that's what they are...a continuous Melvin.  Everyone remembers a Melvin, right?  When someone would sneak up behind you, grab the back of your underwear and yank it up the crack of your butt?  Do you know a single person who left the Melvin in place?  No, we all did a little dance pulling the underwear out of the crack of our butt.  Now there's millions of people willingly giving themselves Melvin's via their choice of underwear.  Why do they call them Thong's anyway?  Maybe they should call them Eterna Melvin, or Melvinesque, or Melvinitas.   Who thought up this stuff anyway?  If you don't want a visible pantie line, don't wear panties.  Easy peasy.

Stale Butterfingers
You're all ready to take a bite out of a fun sized Butterfinger and when you're teeth sink in, instead of the sweet crumble buttery confection, your teeth make contact with a cement like substance that makes you worry that they're going to break.  Not only do you have to worry about breaking your teeth, but as you chew, the cementish interior packs itself so hard into your teeth that you 're afraid to pry it out for fear that your fillings will come out with it.  This ruins the whole Butterfinger experience for me.  You'd think with today's technology that they could make a Butterfinger whose inside wouldn't get rock hard wouldn't you?

When I stop and think about it, there's lots of little things that bug me.  Some of them are so petty, that I'm too embarrassed to even admit it.  I don't know why I let little things bug me, but I do.  It's the stoopidist thing...

P.S.  There's lots of little things that I love too...

The Bunco Squad

If you want to see a group of seemingly normal women turn into a bunch of screaming meemies, (What is a meemie, anyway?  I'm not sure that's really a word, even though people say it all the time.) give them some dice, a little bit of adult beverages, good snackage, and watch the fireworks begin...in other words, Bunco.

I think we were on our way back from a trip to Costco when the original idea for Bunco came up.  OF (Old Friend of undesirable snackage fame) and I regularly purchase staples like hunks of smoked Gouda, giant bags of M&M's and dry roasted Macadamia nuts for me (the Mauna Loa ones in the blue can...not the purple bag of "Gourmet" macadamia nuts...yuck)...vats of hummus, goat cheese and quinoa salad for OF (You can see why her snackage is undesirable...at least to me...), and dried bull penises or penes for the dogs sold under the unoffensive name... "Gourmet Premium Bull Sticks".   Really, I mean, who would buy it if the package said "Dried Penises"?  Not me, that's for sure.  Truth be told, if I'd known what it was when I first bought it, I would've passed.  Unfortunately, my little psycho dog, Briley, loves her some dried bull penis...and let me tell you, dried bull penis is 'spensive...not to mention, stanky...very stanky.   So don't be stoopid like me and let your dog get hooked on them.   I bet you never really knew what the plural of penis was, did you?  Me neither, so I looked it up.  You can use either "penises" or "penes" (pronounced pee-neez).  See it's true...you really do learn something new every day.

OF likes to sample all the stuff at the ends of the aisles at Costco.  Once in a while I'll sample.  On my way to get dried penises, one of the demonstrators offering samples finagled me into trying a little Dixie cup of coconut water.  She was good, I'll give her that, because it looked kinda like gray water...not something one would ordinarily drink.

"Oh it's filled with vitamins and anti oxidants, and it's really good for your skin" the demonstrator gushed.  "You can mix it with juice or just drink it plain" she prattled on as I grabbed the mouthwash sized paper cup and swigged away.

I bravely fought the gag reflex...thank God I didn't down it in one gulp... but I know I sounded just like my mother, God rest her soul, and probably looked like her too when my face uncontrollably grimaced and I said "Uuulck...that's terrible".  (Uuulck isn't really a word, it's more of a sound made at the back of your throat when something is really, really gross...I'm sure everyone has their own personal version.)

I could tell the demonstrator wanted to laugh but instead she said sort of sheepishly "Most people mix it with juice."

...there was no juice sitting on her little cart to use as a mixer...just a casual observation...

OF, who fortunately for me missed my little near vomiting episode, wandered up so I said "Try this coconut water...it's suppose to be really good for you".

I don't know if I'm just an asshole or if misery really does love company, probably a little of both, but I was instantly rewarded by her look of utter disgust as she downed the entire cup of crappy coconut water in one swig.  I laughed out loud at the look on her face...even the demonstrator couldn't help but laugh and I don't think they're supposed to do that, are they?  We watched a couple of other people, including another demonstrator, try the horrible free sample and everyone had the same reaction.  I could have stood there all day watching the reaction on peoples faces.  If I'd been smart and less of a Luddite, I'd have used my fancy new iPhone and recorded people's reaction to the fabulous product they so eagerly sampled.  Would've made a great You Tube clip.

Back to the Bunco idea.  I'd never played but it seemed like a good idea when I mentioned it to OF. If nothing else it seemed like a good reason to eat, drink and be merry...like we need a reason.

"I don't know how to play" OF said when I broached the Bunco idea.

"Neither do I" I said.  "But it can't be that hard."

We both looked up the Bunco rules on the Internet and as it turns out, the game IS basically a reason to eat, drink and be merry.  On another little side note here, what did we do before the Internet?  Is there anything you can't find on the Internet?  I don't think so.

Both of us bugged people we knew to come and we almost ended up with a full group of twelve for the first game...apparently we don't have as many friends as we thought we did.  Stuffed animals were able to fill in quite nicely where vacancies occurred confirming my original thought that brains were not necessary to play the game of Bunco.

By the third game last weekend, the cast of characters was established...at least in my mind.

OF... who needs no introduction.

The Sister Wives...LS and BS...not to be confused with the polygamous gang from the reality TV show of the same name...they're just plain old lesbians, not polygamous religious folk.  LS is a shrink and as it turns out, the life of the party.  BS is a teacher and OF's sister.  The managed to get hitched during the brief moments when it was legal in CA.

Scari...one of the Old Chix, who's old like me...actually she's quite a bit older...almost six months.  I like to say that...she's quite a bit older.  Like me, she's an orphan...unlike me, she's a widow.  Scari lives with and for a clowder of cats, some feral, some tame and she's just a little bit shy of being the "Crazy Cat Lady".  I figure in a few years, she'll have this claim to fame as well.  Contrary to what you'd imagine, in spite of all her feline friends, her house doesn't smell like cat pee.  Someone once described us as the "Evil Twins" when we worked together...we might be just a little bit evil but we're fun...and she's quite a bit older so we really couldn't be twins, now could we???

Smellie...short for Smellie Noellie...Smellie works with me, has giant boobs and is a work out junkie currently in training for a Tough Mudder race.  We're getting ready to take a little work related jaunt to South Dakota...Smellie arranged the flights...she scheduled us on a flight at 0530 hrs...as in 5:30 in the fucking morning.  This means that I have to get up at 2:00 a.m. to be at her house by 3:00 a.m. so we can be at the airport by 4:30 a.m....  Note to self...don't allow Smellie to make future flight plans. Fortunately she has a good sense of humor and is the only human I feel comfortable being a passenger in a car with.

Natasha...she works with OF and is an immigrant from some Slavic country.  Sometimes I call her The Ruskie.  I think she was a scientist back in the homeland...now she checks septic tanks (or something like that).  Natasha tries all sorts of secret dice rolls which involve shaking the dice for an inordinate amount of time.  Since you want to get as many rolls as possible in each round this proves that despite her superior intellect, she lacks common sense...a trait that seems lacking in a good many super smart people...just my opinion.  I don't know her but she seems okay.

The Mouse...truth be told, I don't know what this girl's name is.  I just call her The Mouse (not to her face, of course) because she seems really timid and hardly ever says a word.  She works with OF and does some kind of inspections for the Public Health department.  The Mouse livens up a bit after consuming a couple of adult beverages.

Andie...who also works with OF.  Single mom and the only one of us who actually knew the rules of the game.  Andie just got a part Mastiff puppy and when OF puppy sat for her, the little critter got her first taste of horse shit...literally.  The next week she ended up at the vet from some parasite she picked up...allegedly from eating said horse shit.  OF probably won't be asked to puppy sit anymore.

SIL #1...My sister in law...married to Gadget Man, both retired and living in a nearby community composed mostly of blueheads...code for old people.  SIL1 loves to plan get togethers and annoys her brother, The Husband, to no end because she plans family gatherings right in the middle of the day.  I'm sure it never occurs to The Husband that some people actually like family gatherings and attend because they enjoy the company... not just out of a sense of familial obligation.  SIL1 has a wicked sense of humor.

PD...this is a friend of SIL1 who lives in the bluehead community too.  I call her PD because she sounds like Paula Deen.  PD is a gen-ewe-wine southern belle...or she was at one time before she became an oldster like the rest of us.  She's all charm and drawl.

SIL #2...My other sister in law...married to The Husband's brother...SIL2 is always nice, I mean always.  You can't say anything bad about her because she's sooooooo nice.  Although she did play poker with us a couple of weeks ago and got b-o-m-b-e-d...I admit I was secretly happy to see that she's not perfect.

Betsy Gainey, BG.  OF and I both used to work with the now retired BG.  She's unpretentious, laughs allot, and is really lucky when it comes to rolling dice.

So there you have it, the cast of characters for the Bunco Squad.  The Princess from my office is supposed to play, but so far has been a no show.  She apparently thinks kids and a family are more important than hanging out with a bunch of drunk ol' wimmen.  I'm sure there's gonna be a ton of blog fodder in the whole Bunco thing.  If nothing else it's a good reason to eat, drink, and be merry...like we need one...oh wait, I said that before...it's the stoopidist thing.

Smooth Move

I've had a bum right shoulder for a while now but it's finally getting better.  So of course, the left one is now going bad.  At first it was just a little nagging ache that would jab me when I tried to throw a saddle on a horse or a flake of hay overhead.  Fortunately when the first shoulder was hurt I bought a synthetic saddle so I could still ride.  Thanks to the bum shoulder I had to use the fake saddle again yesterday.  I can throw it on using only the semi-good shoulder.

After riding with OF, I went home and by the time I got there it was dark.  Since I'm too impatient to look for a flashlight, I was wandering around in the dark looking for dog dishes...found them and headed for the barn to feed the horses.  There's a light in the barn so I didn't have to wander in the dark down there.  Just going to and from.  From is where the trouble started...

On the way back from the barn was the first smooth move of the night.  I was just walking along fat, dumb, and happy...but the ground wasn't where I thought it was.  Have you ever gone down a flight of stairs, reached the bottom, and mistakenly thought there was another step?  Then you jam your leg down on the floor because there's not a step where you thought a step would be?  That's what happend here...only minus the stairs...which does make me a collosal dunder.  It jars your whole body.  Why is that?  It doesn't seem like I'm putting that much force into walking down the stairs themselves so what's up with that jarring, jerking feeling when there's not a step there?  Anyway, for some reason the jolting and jarring feeling was felt directly in the newly injured shoulder.  Really?  Take a misstep and it hurts the shoulder?  How is that possible?

So I get all the animals fed and I'm in the living room and I trip over a round foam pad (used on the gimpy back).  In this second smooth move of the night I manage not to fall thanks to my un-cat like reflexes and a Jerry Lewis type move that sends me jerking and staggering sideways like a drunk.  Again, the shoulder took the brunt of said smooth move number two.  This time it really hurt bad.  How can not falling hurt so bad?  I could understand it if I'd actually used the bad arm/shoulder to break my fall right before I hit the ground...but I didn't even put any weight or anything on it...just a huge jerk to my entire body. 

How come everybody tries so hard not to fall?  It's comical the lengths that people will go to not to fall.  Giant running steps, head down like a bull charging, arms flailing wildly...usually for nothing because you end up falling anyway.  So not only do you look like a dork when you fall, you end up looking like an even bigger dork for the lengths you go to to avoid it.   If you're lucky, you manage to get up relatively uninjured...if you're really lucky, nobody's captured your smooth move on video.

I think when we're kids, we should all be taught how to fall, not to avoid falling.  Falling is inevitable at some point so why not learn that tuck and roll shit from the get go?  Parents should teach their kids how to fall and pop right back up...preferably uninjured.  Although I can see how some parents would take advantage of this parenting technique and use it as an excuse to lump up the young 'uns. 

"Uh no, Occifer, I din't hit the kid, I was just teaching 'em a new tuck n roll move".......

Old people worry about falling, because they might break a hip...everyone knows when an old person breaks a hip, it's the start of a downhill road...they end up in the hospital with pneumonia and die...all from a broken hip.  Okay, it's a bit of an exaggeration to suggest that every old person who falls and breaks a hip dies...but they all think they're gonna. 

Now, not only do I have to worry about falling and  breaking a hip, I have to worry about getting injured by not falling.  I have some complaining to do when I get to heaven.  Hopefully it won't be because I died of a broken hip.  It's the stoopidist thing.

Food Police

I'm eating a York ice cream bar.  It's my newest favorite thing...I'm kinda like Oprah that way...I have many favorite things.  Except I don't have the $$$ to share my favorite things with a whole studio audience full of strangers who love me.  Wouldn't it be great to be Oprah for a day and give shit away to people?  Not shit literally, only someone with a freakish psychological disorder would literally want shit, but stuff, you know, they'd love?  I think Oprah should start a new show like the old "Queen For A Day" ...I know I'm dating myself...and call it "Oprah For A Day".  Might boost ratings on that new network of hers. I'd watch it.

The York ice cream bars are wonderful, but they should have a stick.  They're round, and you have to hold them in the wrapper when you eat them so the chocolate doesn't melt all over your hands, so you kind  of have to keep turning them around in the wrapper so you can get an edge to bite off.  Not a well thought out design if you ask me, which obviously they didn't, but they're soooo good I struggle through.

I'm eating after The Husband has gone to bed.  I've become a closet eater...not that I'm actually eating a closet, I mean, how could someone eat a closet???  It's just an empty space for putting stuff...mostly stuff you throw in and close the door so it looks like the rest of the room is neat and orderly. No, I'm hiding in the dark so The Husband doesn't see what I'm eating.  I waited until he went to bed before I started chowing down.  I feel guilty but I'm really not doing anything wrong, so I don't know why I feel guilty.  I guess I feel guilty because I'm eating all the things The Husband can't eat...ice cream, M&M's, cookies...the good stuff.

The Husband’s doctor put him on a diet.   I am now the Food Police.  It's not a job that I asked for. I don’t want to think about what I eat let alone monitor the food intake of another human. I now find myself measuring a quarter cups of trail mix into baggies for The Husband to take in his lunch. I  have to buy whole grain bread instead of the soft white of my childhood that sticks to the roof of your mouth. Labels now have to be checked for calorie, fat, and sodium content...and the print is so small that it's really hard to read.  All through the grocery store, I have to put glasses on and off, on and off...all in an effort to make The Husband's road to Skinnyville as painless as possible...for him at least.

The older we get, the easier the weight goes on...and the harder it is to take off. Lately I’ve actually been thinking about trying to shed some lbs, but I haven’t really got past the thinking part to the doing part. So maybe this is a good thing for both of us. I mean, if I have to fix him healthful things to eat, maybe a little healthy lifestyle will rub off on me and with little or no effort on my part I’ll magically lose lbs too. It could happen.

Old men, for some reason, refuse to acknowledge they’re getting old and keep trying to do things they used to be able to do when they were younger. Like work outside in the sweltering heat digging ditches. I know it’s probably wrong to generalize, and I’m sure there are some men out there who acknowledge that old age is wreaking havoc on their bodies and act accordingly, but I’ve just never met one. I’m sure there was a time when The Husband would be able to spend the one day off from his sedentary job digging ditches in triple digit heat without nearly suffering heatstroke and keeling over, which he did weekend before last,...but those days are gone... forever.

Fortunately, The Husband had a regularly scheduled checkup with the doc the very next day. So I called the doc’s wife who just so happens to work in her husband’s office and told her about The Husband’s little heatstroke episode...thinking that the Good Doctor, who’s the same age as The Husband by the way, would tell The Husband “don’t do that”. Wrongo bongo...Becky, that’s the doc’s wife, said “my husband did the exact same thing”. Great, I’m thinkin’...the Good Doctor, despite being a highly educated and trained health care professional, has no more common sense than my goober of a husband. What is it with these old men?????

The whole diet thing’s been a long time coming. For a while now, I’ve been threatening to buy The Husband suspenders to keep his pants up. He doesn’t want to wear suspenders because that’s what old men wear. Hello???...Dude, you’re old...and I don’t want to see you embarrass yourself in public with a bad case of plumbers butt..(this is what I say to myself...). Every time I threaten to buy suspenders, The Husband tells me that the older he gets, the more his butt shrinks. I just don’t have the heart to tell him that no, your butt isn’t shrinking, your stomach is growing...but the butt is still the same size as it always was.  The only reason you can still wear the pants is that you button them up under your stomach.  I've said this to myself many, many times.  Why is it anyway, that men's butts don't grow like women's butts do?  You don't see too many men around with fat asses unless their body is morbidly obese, but there's plenty of small to average size women out there with gigantic asses.  They like to call it "pear" shaped.  Sounds much more pleasant, but all it really means is that you have a gigantic ass in proportion to the rest of your body.

The Husband is having a much easier time with the whole diet thing than I am...probably since I’m the one counting the calories, sodium, and fat content of everything he eats. All he has to do is eat. Or not eat, as the case may be. “Don’t eat that much” I’ll say when he gets out the strawberries and a plate to put them on. “You can have a cup of strawberries...not a platter of strawberries”...I get a scrunchy face in reply.

Yesterday I found the zip lock bag holding the Nilla Wafers unzipped. Since I never, I mean never, leave zip lock bags unzipped...and since there’s only the two of us living in the house...I didn’t need Sherlock Holmes to figure out who the culprit was.

“How many Nilla Wafers did you eat?” I asked...because inquiring minds want to know...along with the Food Police.

I got a scrunchy face look from The Husband before he said “five”.

“Why? Did you count ‘em?” he continues accusingly...making me wonder if I should have taken on this job of Food Police and...leading me to believe he had way more Nilla Wafers than the admitted five.  Just a hunch...

“No” I snap back at him...a little testier than I intended “you never zip the damn bags up when you get stuff out of them”.

My hope now is that even if he doesn’t lose a pound he’ll finally learn how to close a zip lock bag properly... if only to hide his snackage sneaking ways. Of course, there’s probably as much chance of this happening as there is of my lbs magically disappearing because The Husband is on a diet...it's the stoopidist thing...