You know when you say something and as soon as the words left your mouth, you knew instantly, it was the wrong thing to say? It's not like I've never done it before... truth be told, I do it all the time. You'd think that by now, I'd have learned...but noooooooo...I continue to open my mouth and shit falls out.
I went to an Old Chix Christmas gala at Scari's a few weeks ago. She fixed a bunch of food (which was really good) and we had adult beverages, as usual, and we all sat around eating, drinking, and generally being merry...which is what we really do best.
So we're all sitting around the table pokin' each other...verbally, not physically...that would be really creepy having a bunch of old people literally poking each other like a bunch of Pillsbury Doughboys...which we all are...except Dr. Norman...he's kind of a thin mint in his old age. But there we were and the conversation turned to the cruise that Scari, Lois, and I went on in October.
Scari was telling a story about a little tiff that she & Lois had with me putting in my two cents by casually mentioning that "this one never shuts up...she talks all the time" pointing at Scari.
I obviously have super human powers because the Killer Glare I got from Scari would have vaporized a mere mortal. To her credit, Lois laughingly nodded her head in agreement even as she cringed and became suddenly intent on some real or imagined crumb on the table so she wouldn't have to make eye contact with either of us. I'm surprised she didn't start clucking, the big chicken liver.
Maybe I would have been wiser to keep this bit of info to myself. But it was totally true. I just never noticed it before. Probably because when I'm with Scari, we're both yakking when we're driving somewhere or hangin' with the Old Chix. Or maybe because she's pretty snarky and makes me laugh. For whatever reason I never had a clue that she was a chronic gabber.
The next glare becomes less lethal, a simple Wounding Glare, when Scari says "Well, this is the first I've heard about this". Probably because by this time we were all laughing and she would have looked like a giant asshole if she got all pissy and defensive about it. But there it was...the cat was out of the bag and I was just gonna have to deal with the aftermath. (For a while I was getting single word text responses from the Scari One. I don't know why, it's not like I ever said anything about her text messages being too wordy...or that the day wasn't long enough for me to read one, or anything like that.)
Scari sometimes hangs out with a bunch of "kids" that she used to work with, I'll call them the "Young Chix"...and of course she had to ask them if, in fact, she did talk all the time. This is how she relayed their response.
Scari: So, I had lunch with Jen and Emily and I told them what you said about me, and I asked them if I talked a lot. And they said "errrr well we all talk a lot when we're together".
Me: So basically they agreed but just didn't want to say it.
Scari: Well....not really...well maybe sort of.
Me: I didn't say it was a bad thing, just that I'd never noticed it before.
Me In My Head: OMG I've created a fucking monster that I'm going to have to live with the rest of my fucking life. From now until the end of time, I'm going to hear things like "I'm sorry, am I talking too much?" "Oh I would have said something but I didn't want to be accused of talking too much." or "The Young Chix like me...they don't think I talk too much". I just know it...
Buncha chicken liver Young Chix. Although I can't in all good conscience say I blame them, after having experienced first hand, the Killer Glare. Maybe they'd already experienced the lesser, Wounding Glare, for some real or imagined slight and were afraid to tell the truth because then they'd get the Killer Glare and be instantly vaporized. Obviously they don't possess my super human powers rendering them immune from the Killer Glare.
Maybe when the Young Chix get old like me they, too, will magically be blessed with super human powers making them impervious to Killer Glares instantly vaporizing them...it's the Stoopidist Thing.
P.S. Now that I'm aware I have super human powers immunizing me from Killer Glares maybe there's other super human powers I have that I just haven't discovered. I wonder if I really can breathe under water and fly like I do in my dreams? Wouldn't that be too fucking cool for school???
Friday, January 15, 2016
Saturday, December 19, 2015
Call The Doctor
The "Official Old Chix" are Scari, Lois, Patty, Chris, Terri, and me. We worked together for years and have managed to get together pretty regularly to eat, drink, and laugh...a lot. The laughing, not the drinking, okay well maybe the drinking too. What we really excel at is eating...which ends up being the cause for much hilarity about our ever expanding waistlines. We always blame the blubber on getting old but probably if we didn't eat quite so much...we might be a tiny bit tinier. But then what would we have to laugh about, except wrinkles, saggy boobage, gray hair, and husbands...better to eat.
We have two "Unofficial Old Chix" who are men...to be fair, they're kinda girly men, but appendagely speaking, they're men. Or so I've been told. Although now that I think of it, none of us "Officials" has personal knowledge of said appendages actually being present...at least not that anybody has confessed to.
Dr. Norman and Randy, who, in true Fuddian Fashion I always call "Wandy", are the "Unofficials".
Dr. Norman, was the first to come work with us. He had a wife and a son and in his former life was a bus driver. His wife was a little on the weird side. Somehow I got involved in trading books with her because we both liked to read. What I didn't know was that I was going to have to "discuss" said books. Weird Wife (hereafter referred to as WW) came to bring me a book or bring one back, I don't really remember, but she asked me about the book she had given me. I don't even remember what she asked, all I remember is her comment.
WW: "It made me feel all dark inside."
Me: Crickets...I have no response...I think I may have come up with "Oh".
I didn't know I was going to have to give a fucking book report when I agreed to this whole book exchange deal. I'm not looking for some hidden meaning in anything I read. I read purely for entertainment. Well sometimes I read if I want to learn about something, but that's kinda for entertainment too, since I'm doing it by choice, not because I have to. Anyway, the whole book exchange didn't really pan out.
Fortunately for us Old Chix, Dr. Norman wasn't nearly as weird as WW. He's still weird, but in a good way, not Twilight Zone weird.
Back in the day, we worked in the basement of an old government building. At one time it was an evacuation shelter and it had dorm rooms, showers, etc. Our little area had its own "break" room off to the side complete with a toilet in a closet. When you turned on the light, in the toilet closet,there was a huge exhaust fan that automatically started.
You could hear the exhaust fan back at our desks it was so loud, so imagine our surprise, mine and Scari's, when Dr. Norman went into the bathroom and we could hear him farting over the sound of the fan clear out in our office!!! Never in my life have I heard such a sound. And it lasted for-evvv-er...I'm pretty sure it was the longest fart in the history of mankind.
Scari & I looked at each other in bug eyed shock...
Me: "Do you think he knows we can hear him?"
Scari: "I don't think so."
Me: "You should tell him."
Scari: "I'm not gonna tell him, you tell him."
Me: "I can't tell him, you tell him." And so on, and so on...
Neither one of us had the guts to tell him that night. I don't know how we found out later that he just didn't care if we heard him or not. No big deal. And it wasn't, except to us.
Unlike men, who feel free to let loose whenever the urge hits them, most of us "women" have been trained from toddler age that it's not polite to fart in front of people. So instead of expelling a wee bit of methane infused rectal breath, we endure excruciating stomach cramps until we can finally get somewhere where nobody can hear or, God forbid, smell us farting.
But the incident did manage to confirm, without first hand knowledge of any appendage, that the good Dr. is a real man after all. No one but a man would be able to fart like that so unconcerned about anyone hearing him...I wish I could be more like that...it's the stoopidist thing.
P.S. I wonder if Caitlyn Jenner farts like a man now or a woman???
We have two "Unofficial Old Chix" who are men...to be fair, they're kinda girly men, but appendagely speaking, they're men. Or so I've been told. Although now that I think of it, none of us "Officials" has personal knowledge of said appendages actually being present...at least not that anybody has confessed to.
Dr. Norman and Randy, who, in true Fuddian Fashion I always call "Wandy", are the "Unofficials".
Dr. Norman, was the first to come work with us. He had a wife and a son and in his former life was a bus driver. His wife was a little on the weird side. Somehow I got involved in trading books with her because we both liked to read. What I didn't know was that I was going to have to "discuss" said books. Weird Wife (hereafter referred to as WW) came to bring me a book or bring one back, I don't really remember, but she asked me about the book she had given me. I don't even remember what she asked, all I remember is her comment.
WW: "It made me feel all dark inside."
Me: Crickets...I have no response...I think I may have come up with "Oh".
I didn't know I was going to have to give a fucking book report when I agreed to this whole book exchange deal. I'm not looking for some hidden meaning in anything I read. I read purely for entertainment. Well sometimes I read if I want to learn about something, but that's kinda for entertainment too, since I'm doing it by choice, not because I have to. Anyway, the whole book exchange didn't really pan out.
Fortunately for us Old Chix, Dr. Norman wasn't nearly as weird as WW. He's still weird, but in a good way, not Twilight Zone weird.
Back in the day, we worked in the basement of an old government building. At one time it was an evacuation shelter and it had dorm rooms, showers, etc. Our little area had its own "break" room off to the side complete with a toilet in a closet. When you turned on the light, in the toilet closet,there was a huge exhaust fan that automatically started.
You could hear the exhaust fan back at our desks it was so loud, so imagine our surprise, mine and Scari's, when Dr. Norman went into the bathroom and we could hear him farting over the sound of the fan clear out in our office!!! Never in my life have I heard such a sound. And it lasted for-evvv-er...I'm pretty sure it was the longest fart in the history of mankind.
Scari & I looked at each other in bug eyed shock...
Me: "Do you think he knows we can hear him?"
Scari: "I don't think so."
Me: "You should tell him."
Scari: "I'm not gonna tell him, you tell him."
Me: "I can't tell him, you tell him." And so on, and so on...
Neither one of us had the guts to tell him that night. I don't know how we found out later that he just didn't care if we heard him or not. No big deal. And it wasn't, except to us.
Unlike men, who feel free to let loose whenever the urge hits them, most of us "women" have been trained from toddler age that it's not polite to fart in front of people. So instead of expelling a wee bit of methane infused rectal breath, we endure excruciating stomach cramps until we can finally get somewhere where nobody can hear or, God forbid, smell us farting.
But the incident did manage to confirm, without first hand knowledge of any appendage, that the good Dr. is a real man after all. No one but a man would be able to fart like that so unconcerned about anyone hearing him...I wish I could be more like that...it's the stoopidist thing.
P.S. I wonder if Caitlyn Jenner farts like a man now or a woman???
Saturday, December 5, 2015
The Cucumber Test
Someone sent me a cat video that showed cats being scared by cucumbers. When the cats were eating, they'd turn around and find a cucumber or two laying on the floor behind them. When they saw them, the cats would go straight up in the air...apparently scared out of their wits by a motionless cucumber. It was really funny and there were several different cats in the montage so it's not like it was just one cat who had a phobia about cucumbers being scared over and over. That would be kinda cruel to scare your cat over and over just for you own personal amusement...like putting tape on their feet to watch them walk around shaking each leg individually trying to get the tape off. Not that I've ever done anything like that...
So I was wondering if I could scare my cats, Wilson the Wonderful, Hudson the Horrible, and Lilli Mowbean just by putting a cucumber on the floor.
I set the stage...the kitchen floor...freshly swept of excess cat hair. The bait...stinky wet cat food...the kind they can't resist...all is ready.
Everybody has their back to me and each is intent on his/her plate of stinky fish parts. I surreptitiously walk past and place two cucumbers on the floor...and I wait...and I watch...and think "crap I should have had a camera ready"...too late.
As it turns out, I had plenty of time to get a camera because it took them fucking forever to eat the piddly little spoon of food I gave each of them. But who knew??
Finally after hours of waiting they turn around...one by one...Lilli was first...she didn't even look at the cucumber. Wilson was second...nada. I hope against hope that Horrible Hudson will reward my efforts as I wait an eternity for the little pig to finish his food...and Lilli's...and Wilson's. Finally he's done.
And it was all for naught. None of my cats even noticed the cucumbers laying on the floor. WTF???
How come my cats didn't get scared? They acted like it was a normal everyday occurrence to see cucumbers laying on the floor. I'm no Susie Homemaker but I really don't store cucumbers on the floor of the kitchen. I put them in the food rotting section of the refrigerator where they belong. You know that special little drawer where fresh fruits and vegetables turn liquid? Except for oranges and lemons. They turn into little orange and yellow rocks.
So my little experiment in cat frightening was a total failure. Maybe God was punishing me for intentionally trying to scare my cats. Maybe one of them has a weak heart or would have been severely injured trying to escape dangerous cucumber territory. Apparently I'll never know because MY cats don't seem to get scared like everybody else's stoopid cats.
So much for cat scaring experiments...guess I'll just have to see how long it takes the cucumbers to turn liquid...it's the stoopidist thing.
P.S. The Cool Cucumber Cats
Wilson the Wonderful
Lilli Mowbean
So I was wondering if I could scare my cats, Wilson the Wonderful, Hudson the Horrible, and Lilli Mowbean just by putting a cucumber on the floor.
I set the stage...the kitchen floor...freshly swept of excess cat hair. The bait...stinky wet cat food...the kind they can't resist...all is ready.
Everybody has their back to me and each is intent on his/her plate of stinky fish parts. I surreptitiously walk past and place two cucumbers on the floor...and I wait...and I watch...and think "crap I should have had a camera ready"...too late.
As it turns out, I had plenty of time to get a camera because it took them fucking forever to eat the piddly little spoon of food I gave each of them. But who knew??
Finally after hours of waiting they turn around...one by one...Lilli was first...she didn't even look at the cucumber. Wilson was second...nada. I hope against hope that Horrible Hudson will reward my efforts as I wait an eternity for the little pig to finish his food...and Lilli's...and Wilson's. Finally he's done.
And it was all for naught. None of my cats even noticed the cucumbers laying on the floor. WTF???
How come my cats didn't get scared? They acted like it was a normal everyday occurrence to see cucumbers laying on the floor. I'm no Susie Homemaker but I really don't store cucumbers on the floor of the kitchen. I put them in the food rotting section of the refrigerator where they belong. You know that special little drawer where fresh fruits and vegetables turn liquid? Except for oranges and lemons. They turn into little orange and yellow rocks.
So my little experiment in cat frightening was a total failure. Maybe God was punishing me for intentionally trying to scare my cats. Maybe one of them has a weak heart or would have been severely injured trying to escape dangerous cucumber territory. Apparently I'll never know because MY cats don't seem to get scared like everybody else's stoopid cats.
So much for cat scaring experiments...guess I'll just have to see how long it takes the cucumbers to turn liquid...it's the stoopidist thing.
P.S. The Cool Cucumber Cats
Wilson the Wonderful
Hudson the Horrible
Saturday, November 14, 2015
Simplify Whenever Possible
I've come to a point in my life where I want to simplify things...all things. I don't want to make ten trips to town when one will do, but I don't want to spend a lot of time planning. Therein lies the rub, or is it lays the rub? I can't remember and in an effort to simplify, I'm just going to go with whatever sounds right to me at the moment so I don't waste time looking shit up. Undoubtedly this will cause horrendous moans and groans from the Scari One, but so fucking what???
Although now that I think about it, it may be simpler to look shit up than spend hours of my life listening to the self appointed Grammar Queen lecture me on the proper usage of lay and lie. I may have to adjust my levels of simplifying...
When I started writing this blog, I was all paranoid about using my "regular" Yahoo email account...because what if I said something that hurt somebody's feelings? I don't intentionally try to hurt feelings but sometimes the way I see things isn't the way other people see things...and lots of stuff I think is funny doesn't seem funny to the one it's happened to. (It really is funny though.)
The whole "secrecy" thing started with a fake Facebook page I started to use for work. So, I had to create an email account for that...on Gmail...I didn't have to use Gmail, but I figured it would be more "secret" than Yahoo. But then I told someone about it and ended up with Facebook "friends" who now knew that it was my account so I couldn't use it for work anymore. BUT, I still had the Gmail account.
So originally I used the Gmail account when I started the blog. At some point, and I don't remember when, it got switched to another "new" Yahoo email account. Then I had two Yahoo accounts and one Gmail account.
It wasn't really a problem at first because if I used Google Chrome, the blogger dashboard would pop up and I could just click on and start writing. But alas, Google wanted to "simplify" things for me. I had to create a "profile". Somehow, through operator error no doubt, I used the "secret" Yahoo email address instead of the original Gmail one. The level of confusion deepens with each email address used because I have to have "passwords" for each one...which means I have to "remember" said passwords.
Somehow I ended up with a second "Gmail" address linked to this blog. Maybe I thought it would be simpler to have and address with the title in the address, i.e, thestoopidist@gmail.com. Who knows???? I can't remember.
So now I have two Yahoo addresses and two Gmail addresses...and only one logs into this site...and this morning I couldn't remember which was which so I ended up wasting time resetting passwords.
Now when you reset passwords on Google and Apple, they won't let you use a password that you've used "recently". So I can't use old standby's that I've used in the past...ones that I can remember. Nooooo, now I have to make up new ones...ones that I know I'm never going to remember. I'm sure they're trying to keep everything "secure" and all that, but why can't I use whatever password that I want to use? And now they make you use at least one capital letter and one number or "character". I would call Google and Apple "Password Nazis" but then, someone would get all inflamed about me comparing them to Nazis...because now everybody is supposed to be so fucking politically correct.
Computers were supposed to make everything "simpler". When they first came out everything was going to be more efficient. And don't get me wrong, the Internet is a great thing if you need information on something. I mean, you can find out anything on the Internet. But except for a word processing program or spreadsheet, I don't really think they're that much more efficient.
Every program at work has to have its own "password"...which has to be reset every so often for "security" reasons. And you're told NEVER to write down your password in case someone sees it and uses it for nefarious purposes. Hell, you're not even supposed to trust the people you work with. They even make you sign a "Computer Policy"...acknowledging that you "know the rules".
But if every program has its own password and you're never supposed to write anything down, how do you ever remember ALL THE DIFFERENT FUCKING PASSWORDS?
Answer: YOU DON'T!
You know what you do? You simplify...you go back to the old pre-computer standby that we all know and love...which is why I now have Post It notes with all my email addresses and passwords taped all over where they're in plain view so I never have this problem again...it's the stoopidist thing.
P.S. I violate the computer policy at work regularly...and so do my co-workers.
Although now that I think about it, it may be simpler to look shit up than spend hours of my life listening to the self appointed Grammar Queen lecture me on the proper usage of lay and lie. I may have to adjust my levels of simplifying...
When I started writing this blog, I was all paranoid about using my "regular" Yahoo email account...because what if I said something that hurt somebody's feelings? I don't intentionally try to hurt feelings but sometimes the way I see things isn't the way other people see things...and lots of stuff I think is funny doesn't seem funny to the one it's happened to. (It really is funny though.)
The whole "secrecy" thing started with a fake Facebook page I started to use for work. So, I had to create an email account for that...on Gmail...I didn't have to use Gmail, but I figured it would be more "secret" than Yahoo. But then I told someone about it and ended up with Facebook "friends" who now knew that it was my account so I couldn't use it for work anymore. BUT, I still had the Gmail account.
So originally I used the Gmail account when I started the blog. At some point, and I don't remember when, it got switched to another "new" Yahoo email account. Then I had two Yahoo accounts and one Gmail account.
It wasn't really a problem at first because if I used Google Chrome, the blogger dashboard would pop up and I could just click on and start writing. But alas, Google wanted to "simplify" things for me. I had to create a "profile". Somehow, through operator error no doubt, I used the "secret" Yahoo email address instead of the original Gmail one. The level of confusion deepens with each email address used because I have to have "passwords" for each one...which means I have to "remember" said passwords.
Somehow I ended up with a second "Gmail" address linked to this blog. Maybe I thought it would be simpler to have and address with the title in the address, i.e, thestoopidist@gmail.com. Who knows???? I can't remember.
So now I have two Yahoo addresses and two Gmail addresses...and only one logs into this site...and this morning I couldn't remember which was which so I ended up wasting time resetting passwords.
Now when you reset passwords on Google and Apple, they won't let you use a password that you've used "recently". So I can't use old standby's that I've used in the past...ones that I can remember. Nooooo, now I have to make up new ones...ones that I know I'm never going to remember. I'm sure they're trying to keep everything "secure" and all that, but why can't I use whatever password that I want to use? And now they make you use at least one capital letter and one number or "character". I would call Google and Apple "Password Nazis" but then, someone would get all inflamed about me comparing them to Nazis...because now everybody is supposed to be so fucking politically correct.
Computers were supposed to make everything "simpler". When they first came out everything was going to be more efficient. And don't get me wrong, the Internet is a great thing if you need information on something. I mean, you can find out anything on the Internet. But except for a word processing program or spreadsheet, I don't really think they're that much more efficient.
Every program at work has to have its own "password"...which has to be reset every so often for "security" reasons. And you're told NEVER to write down your password in case someone sees it and uses it for nefarious purposes. Hell, you're not even supposed to trust the people you work with. They even make you sign a "Computer Policy"...acknowledging that you "know the rules".
But if every program has its own password and you're never supposed to write anything down, how do you ever remember ALL THE DIFFERENT FUCKING PASSWORDS?
Answer: YOU DON'T!
You know what you do? You simplify...you go back to the old pre-computer standby that we all know and love...which is why I now have Post It notes with all my email addresses and passwords taped all over where they're in plain view so I never have this problem again...it's the stoopidist thing.
P.S. I violate the computer policy at work regularly...and so do my co-workers.
Wednesday, September 30, 2015
Caspers Hot Dogs...With The Bird
I went to my brother's house for dinner a week ago. The Brother, nicknamed "The Bird" when he was a wee little scamp, is now a gray haired middle aged old guy. I still call him "The Bird" sometimes. Mainly because he still calls me "The Toad" or "Toadly", a name lovingly graced upon me by my late father. Apparently I was pouting about something at one time and my dad said I was puffed up like a toad...and it stuck...even though I'm sure I don't puff up and pout anymore...or do I?
When my favorite SIL (Sister In Law), Michelle, called I figured it was a good day to go visit. They live about an hour to an hour and a half away, depending on traffic, and since the next day was a holiday I didn't have to get up early & go to work. Side note: In an effort to be truthful, whatever SIL I happen to be talking to at the moment is the "favorite" SIL...because I really love 'em all...equally... I mean it would be really shitty to have a real "favorite" wouldn't it? It would be kinda like having a "favorite" child...and everybody knows how strictly forbidden THAT is, don't we? Just thought I should be totally clear on this because heaven forbid...I certainly wouldn't want to ever be accused of FAVORITISM.
SIL 'Chelle: "Hey, haven't seen you for awhile and wanted to see if you want to come down for dinner"
Me: "Okay".
SIL'Chelle: "We're just having hot dogs". "Casper's hot dogs. Bird says they were your dad's favorite." "It's just going to be us & Gabriel (The Grandson of The Brother)." She said some other stuff too, fave SIL 'Chelle is a little chatty, but I don't really remember what it was. I don't remember Casper's being my dad's favorite either but apparently The Brother does. Funny how everybody remembers things differently.
Me: "Okay". I'm not quite as chatty as Fave SIL "Chelle.
I futz around until it's almost time to leave, jump in the shower, and hit the road.
I actually didn't hit any traffic and made it in record time.
Fave SIL 'Chelle was in the house when I got there along with a new black Chihuahua...and an old Chihuahua, Pigitha. They're actually not bad for Chihuahua's...they don't do that shaky thing that most of them do. I don't really know what that shaky thing is but bigger dogs and even small dogs that aren't Chihuahuas don't do it.
The Brother is in the backyard with The Grandson. He's younger than me and, me, he has grandchildren. The Husband and I have kids who've failed to reproduce. Sad but true...but we have cats instead!! We have to feed 'em & clean up their poop so it's kinda the same thing...on the plus side, we can leave them alone overnight. I really want grand kids...but back to The Brother.
After a hug The Brother starts giving me three flavors of shit about the town I live in. Seems there's some list of the most redneck towns and mine is high up on the list. This is also the town where The Brother grew up...just sayin'.
The whole time he's making fun of where I live I look around and notice he's standing between his doughboy pool with a torn liner and an old hot tub that he's converted to a planter box that's filled with dying tomato plants...then he points out the latest acquisition...a plastic toadstool table and chair set. As Arsenio would say..."it's one of those things that make you go hmmmm?". Since it was really hot outside we went inside, where he'd rigged up a fifty pound block of ice in a metal washtub sitting in front of a fan to cool the place off. Hmmmm...
(Okay, I just made that part up...the doughboy doesn't have a torn liner...and he has A/C...everything else it totally true.)
Time for dinner...
So in my pea brain, I just assumed we were going to BBQ hot dogs...which is how I like 'em. It's pretty much the only way I eat them anymore. Looking back, I don't know where I got that idea. But imagine my surprise when Fave SIL 'Chelle put a big ol' pot of water on the stove...to boil some dogs.
I know a lot of people are hot dog purists...steamed old fashioned dogs in a bun loaded with sauerkraut, relish, mustard and all the other stuff. I just don't happen to be one of them. My current favorite is Costco Beef Dinner Franks. I used to be a Hebrew National fan and I still like 'em but I like the Costco ones better. I like 'em grilled but not charred...and I like the bun a little toasted. A little mayo and a little thin line of mustard all along the dog...that's all.
I want mayo but if I don't have it I won't die but NO MIRACLE WHIP!!! Under no circumstance is Miracle Whip a substitute for mayonnaise. The Bird remembers Dad loving Casper's but I remember him loving Miracle Whip. Yuck...which just so happens to rhyme with...???...you know...the big "F" word...and, please note, I haven't felt the need to drop a single "F" bomb yet. Maybe I'm getting more mature after all.
Fortunately Fave SIL 'Chelle made some chili so I was able to put a spoonful of that on my dog. When I took the first bite I felt a slight crunch...kind of a pop. I don't know if Casper's uses some kind of sausage casing or if the skin is just different. It bothers me because I don't really know what that lining is made from. My dad used to say cat gut but I don't really think it's made from cats. I think it's some kind of other animal intestine which totally grosses me out.
I was hungry so I ate the whole thing. I'm not sure if it was because I was really, really hungry or because I didn't want to hurt Fave SIL 'Chelle's feelings. I mean, she's sooooo nice, it would be like kicking a puppy to hurt her feelings. Whatever the reason...I did it. Then I went into the bathroom and barfed it all up.
(Okay I made that up...I didn't go to the bathroom and barf...but I wanted to...I kept thinking I just ate intestines...like one of those Walking Dead zombies.)
After a feast of intestinal stuffed meat remnants and the new knowledge that I'm a redneck I headed for home...
When I finally got back and turned onto the main street in town I suddenly got a hankerin' to pull into 7-11 to get a Big Gulp and a giant bag of pork rinds...
I don't ever remember wanting pork rinds or a Big Gulp in my life, and I don't think I've ever used the word hankerin' either...I guess now that I've been informed I'm a redneck my life's gonna change...it's the stoopidist thing
When my favorite SIL (Sister In Law), Michelle, called I figured it was a good day to go visit. They live about an hour to an hour and a half away, depending on traffic, and since the next day was a holiday I didn't have to get up early & go to work. Side note: In an effort to be truthful, whatever SIL I happen to be talking to at the moment is the "favorite" SIL...because I really love 'em all...equally... I mean it would be really shitty to have a real "favorite" wouldn't it? It would be kinda like having a "favorite" child...and everybody knows how strictly forbidden THAT is, don't we? Just thought I should be totally clear on this because heaven forbid...I certainly wouldn't want to ever be accused of FAVORITISM.
SIL 'Chelle: "Hey, haven't seen you for awhile and wanted to see if you want to come down for dinner"
Me: "Okay".
SIL'Chelle: "We're just having hot dogs". "Casper's hot dogs. Bird says they were your dad's favorite." "It's just going to be us & Gabriel (The Grandson of The Brother)." She said some other stuff too, fave SIL 'Chelle is a little chatty, but I don't really remember what it was. I don't remember Casper's being my dad's favorite either but apparently The Brother does. Funny how everybody remembers things differently.
Me: "Okay". I'm not quite as chatty as Fave SIL "Chelle.
I futz around until it's almost time to leave, jump in the shower, and hit the road.
I actually didn't hit any traffic and made it in record time.
Fave SIL 'Chelle was in the house when I got there along with a new black Chihuahua...and an old Chihuahua, Pigitha. They're actually not bad for Chihuahua's...they don't do that shaky thing that most of them do. I don't really know what that shaky thing is but bigger dogs and even small dogs that aren't Chihuahuas don't do it.
The Brother is in the backyard with The Grandson. He's younger than me and, me, he has grandchildren. The Husband and I have kids who've failed to reproduce. Sad but true...but we have cats instead!! We have to feed 'em & clean up their poop so it's kinda the same thing...on the plus side, we can leave them alone overnight. I really want grand kids...but back to The Brother.
After a hug The Brother starts giving me three flavors of shit about the town I live in. Seems there's some list of the most redneck towns and mine is high up on the list. This is also the town where The Brother grew up...just sayin'.
The whole time he's making fun of where I live I look around and notice he's standing between his doughboy pool with a torn liner and an old hot tub that he's converted to a planter box that's filled with dying tomato plants...then he points out the latest acquisition...a plastic toadstool table and chair set. As Arsenio would say..."it's one of those things that make you go hmmmm?". Since it was really hot outside we went inside, where he'd rigged up a fifty pound block of ice in a metal washtub sitting in front of a fan to cool the place off. Hmmmm...
(Okay, I just made that part up...the doughboy doesn't have a torn liner...and he has A/C...everything else it totally true.)
Time for dinner...
So in my pea brain, I just assumed we were going to BBQ hot dogs...which is how I like 'em. It's pretty much the only way I eat them anymore. Looking back, I don't know where I got that idea. But imagine my surprise when Fave SIL 'Chelle put a big ol' pot of water on the stove...to boil some dogs.
I know a lot of people are hot dog purists...steamed old fashioned dogs in a bun loaded with sauerkraut, relish, mustard and all the other stuff. I just don't happen to be one of them. My current favorite is Costco Beef Dinner Franks. I used to be a Hebrew National fan and I still like 'em but I like the Costco ones better. I like 'em grilled but not charred...and I like the bun a little toasted. A little mayo and a little thin line of mustard all along the dog...that's all.
I want mayo but if I don't have it I won't die but NO MIRACLE WHIP!!! Under no circumstance is Miracle Whip a substitute for mayonnaise. The Bird remembers Dad loving Casper's but I remember him loving Miracle Whip. Yuck...which just so happens to rhyme with...???...you know...the big "F" word...and, please note, I haven't felt the need to drop a single "F" bomb yet. Maybe I'm getting more mature after all.
Fortunately Fave SIL 'Chelle made some chili so I was able to put a spoonful of that on my dog. When I took the first bite I felt a slight crunch...kind of a pop. I don't know if Casper's uses some kind of sausage casing or if the skin is just different. It bothers me because I don't really know what that lining is made from. My dad used to say cat gut but I don't really think it's made from cats. I think it's some kind of other animal intestine which totally grosses me out.
I was hungry so I ate the whole thing. I'm not sure if it was because I was really, really hungry or because I didn't want to hurt Fave SIL 'Chelle's feelings. I mean, she's sooooo nice, it would be like kicking a puppy to hurt her feelings. Whatever the reason...I did it. Then I went into the bathroom and barfed it all up.
(Okay I made that up...I didn't go to the bathroom and barf...but I wanted to...I kept thinking I just ate intestines...like one of those Walking Dead zombies.)
After a feast of intestinal stuffed meat remnants and the new knowledge that I'm a redneck I headed for home...
When I finally got back and turned onto the main street in town I suddenly got a hankerin' to pull into 7-11 to get a Big Gulp and a giant bag of pork rinds...
I don't ever remember wanting pork rinds or a Big Gulp in my life, and I don't think I've ever used the word hankerin' either...I guess now that I've been informed I'm a redneck my life's gonna change...it's the stoopidist thing
Friday, August 21, 2015
I Was Only Trying To Help
So before The Husband's mother passed away I tried to go to the old folks home early in the morning to see if she'd eat. At that point she'd stopped eating & drinking pretty much anything.
On a side note, I don't know why nobody says "died". Because that's really what happens isn't it? But nobody wants to say it. They want to sugar coat it to make it sound more appealing...we're so worried about how things sound that we even want "death" to sound good. Sometimes people just say someone "passed". I don't like this because it always makes me think they passed gas. Then I start to laugh which is always the most inappropriate thing you can do when someone is conveying that a loved one has just died. And if I manage to suppress the laugh I get that weird scrunched up face that people get when they're trying hard not to laugh. Kind of like the "ugly face" you get when you try not to cry... only for laughing.
Oh, another thing people say is "they crossed over the rainbow bridge". I don't hear this much anymore...probably since the rainbow has become a gay symbol and it could have an entirely different meaning.
But back to my original story... The first time I went, the little aide was sitting at Alyce's bedside trying to feed her. She got up and I sat down. The feast was three piles of mush. One pile of scrambled egg mush, one bowl of oatmeal mush, and another pile of mush that I had no idea what it was. It looked exactly like the stuff in the oatmeal bowl but it was on the plate beside the scrambled egg. It was also drizzled with some kind of red droplets of what I assumed to be some kind of jam in an attempt to make it look appealing. An attempt that failed miserably...just saying.
So I started in with the oatmeal. I'd take a spoonful and hold it up to Alyce's mouth and was instantly overjoyed because she acted like she wanted to eat it. She kind of sucked a little bit off the spoon. At least in my mind that's what she was doing. In hindsight she was probably trying to tell me to "take that fucking shit away from my mouth". Only I'm pretty sure, she would have left off the "fucking shit" part. Even I feel the need to sugar coat things... in my own way.
So after numerous attempts to get her to eat a minuscule bite, I started on the apple juice. One of the nurses told eldest daughter Kathi that it was easier to get Alyce to drink by putting your finger over the top of the straw while it was in the glass, put the straw in her mouth, and then take your finger off, thus allowing the liquid to drain out of the bottom. And it worked!!!! Woo hoo...she was drinking.
When eldest daughter Kathi got there I was so happy..."She's eating and drinking" I told her. (At this point it hadn't occurred to me that she may have been trying to tell me to take the fucking shit away.)
The next day, Brother John was there when I got there. He was sitting next to the bed with his iPad on his lap.
Me: "Did she eat anything?"
Brother John: "No."
Me: "Did she drink anything?"
Brother John: "No."
Me: "She drinks it if you put it in her mouth with a straw, like this"...
And I proceeded to show him how you could put the water in her mouth with the straw. And it worked...sort of. The first few straws full went well. I should've quit while I was ahead. Which is kinda the story of my life...
But did I quit? Fuck no...if one is good, two is better, right? So it stands to reason that if four is good, five is better.
That fifth straw was the clinker. Alyce started to cough a little so I put the straw back in the glass and wiped her mouth with the ever ready wash cloth. She kept coughing a little more. Not big coughs, but she couldn't really cough big because she was so frail. And because she was so frail, it's not like I could roll her over on her side more and thump her on the back. The whole reason she was being spoon fed in a semi reclining position was because she had so much pain in her back. So back thumping was out of the question. And because it hurt her so much to turn her over I couldn't even try turning her.
Brother John was standing behind me. Thank God...otherwise he would have seen the look of sheer panic on my face. All I could do was silently pray..."Please God, don't let me kill her...especially with Brother John standing behind me". In hindsight, just the fact that I killed her should have been horrific enough, but I was more worried about having Brother John watch his poor old bedridden mother choke to death after being "nursing home water boarded" by some well meaning schmoe...namely me.
Fortunately for me, and more importantly, Brother John, Alyce quit coughing and all was well...at least as well as it could be considering her circumstances.
Someday...maybe I'll learn to quit while I'm ahead. Probably not. In any case I think it's another fine example of my theory that "God watches over fools and children".
Lord knows I'm no child...it's the stoopidist thing.
On a side note, I don't know why nobody says "died". Because that's really what happens isn't it? But nobody wants to say it. They want to sugar coat it to make it sound more appealing...we're so worried about how things sound that we even want "death" to sound good. Sometimes people just say someone "passed". I don't like this because it always makes me think they passed gas. Then I start to laugh which is always the most inappropriate thing you can do when someone is conveying that a loved one has just died. And if I manage to suppress the laugh I get that weird scrunched up face that people get when they're trying hard not to laugh. Kind of like the "ugly face" you get when you try not to cry... only for laughing.
Oh, another thing people say is "they crossed over the rainbow bridge". I don't hear this much anymore...probably since the rainbow has become a gay symbol and it could have an entirely different meaning.
But back to my original story... The first time I went, the little aide was sitting at Alyce's bedside trying to feed her. She got up and I sat down. The feast was three piles of mush. One pile of scrambled egg mush, one bowl of oatmeal mush, and another pile of mush that I had no idea what it was. It looked exactly like the stuff in the oatmeal bowl but it was on the plate beside the scrambled egg. It was also drizzled with some kind of red droplets of what I assumed to be some kind of jam in an attempt to make it look appealing. An attempt that failed miserably...just saying.
So I started in with the oatmeal. I'd take a spoonful and hold it up to Alyce's mouth and was instantly overjoyed because she acted like she wanted to eat it. She kind of sucked a little bit off the spoon. At least in my mind that's what she was doing. In hindsight she was probably trying to tell me to "take that fucking shit away from my mouth". Only I'm pretty sure, she would have left off the "fucking shit" part. Even I feel the need to sugar coat things... in my own way.
So after numerous attempts to get her to eat a minuscule bite, I started on the apple juice. One of the nurses told eldest daughter Kathi that it was easier to get Alyce to drink by putting your finger over the top of the straw while it was in the glass, put the straw in her mouth, and then take your finger off, thus allowing the liquid to drain out of the bottom. And it worked!!!! Woo hoo...she was drinking.
When eldest daughter Kathi got there I was so happy..."She's eating and drinking" I told her. (At this point it hadn't occurred to me that she may have been trying to tell me to take the fucking shit away.)
The next day, Brother John was there when I got there. He was sitting next to the bed with his iPad on his lap.
Me: "Did she eat anything?"
Brother John: "No."
Me: "Did she drink anything?"
Brother John: "No."
Me: "She drinks it if you put it in her mouth with a straw, like this"...
And I proceeded to show him how you could put the water in her mouth with the straw. And it worked...sort of. The first few straws full went well. I should've quit while I was ahead. Which is kinda the story of my life...
But did I quit? Fuck no...if one is good, two is better, right? So it stands to reason that if four is good, five is better.
That fifth straw was the clinker. Alyce started to cough a little so I put the straw back in the glass and wiped her mouth with the ever ready wash cloth. She kept coughing a little more. Not big coughs, but she couldn't really cough big because she was so frail. And because she was so frail, it's not like I could roll her over on her side more and thump her on the back. The whole reason she was being spoon fed in a semi reclining position was because she had so much pain in her back. So back thumping was out of the question. And because it hurt her so much to turn her over I couldn't even try turning her.
Brother John was standing behind me. Thank God...otherwise he would have seen the look of sheer panic on my face. All I could do was silently pray..."Please God, don't let me kill her...especially with Brother John standing behind me". In hindsight, just the fact that I killed her should have been horrific enough, but I was more worried about having Brother John watch his poor old bedridden mother choke to death after being "nursing home water boarded" by some well meaning schmoe...namely me.
Fortunately for me, and more importantly, Brother John, Alyce quit coughing and all was well...at least as well as it could be considering her circumstances.
Someday...maybe I'll learn to quit while I'm ahead. Probably not. In any case I think it's another fine example of my theory that "God watches over fools and children".
Lord knows I'm no child...it's the stoopidist thing.
Thursday, August 20, 2015
Saying Goodbye
The Husband's mom, Alyce, went into a care facility last year. She'd developed pneumonia last winter and ended up in Intensive Care at a local hospital. Nobody thought she'd make it until Christmas but she did...and then some. Slowly but steadily she kept getting better until finally she was released to a long term care facility.
Alyce had her share of physical ailments but who doesn't when they're 87? Arthritis, broken hips, breathing problems...comes with aging, right? So does dementia. For the lucky ones it's mild, you forget where your keys are or can't remember why you walked into a room...for the unlucky ones it's worse...a lot worse.
Before she came down with pneumonia Alyce lived in her own home with the help of her daughter, Penni. The pneumonia left her so physically frail that Alyce needed professional care and her family had to make the decision to leave her in the care facility. It wasn't a bad place...it was nice...there was a recreation room, a dining room, physical therapy...and a big room for parties and family gatherings. It was clean, the staff was caring, but it wasn't her home...and even though they knew it was the right choice for their mom, it was tough on all of them.
When she first got there, Alyce was able to wheel herself around in a wheelchair, chatting with the other patients, mostly talking nonsense...at least that's what The Husband called it. But then, The Husband is pretty hard of hearing so it's entirely plausible that they were making perfect sense and he was only hearing every other word. In any event, it wasn't nonsense to them.
Since her dementia was progressing I don't think anybody really knew for sure if Alyce was aware of what was happening to her. Occasionally she would cry, but most of the time she was smiling. Anybody that spoke to her got a smile. She was just a sweet lady.
After awhile, the pain in her back got so bad that she couldn't wheel herself around anymore. The staff would help her into the wheelchair but she wasn't mobile and eventually even being put in the wheelchair became too painful and she became completely bedridden. As her pain got worse, medication got stronger and she spent more and more time sleeping. She barely ate or drank anything. God only knows why she kept hanging on. But she did.
Alyce was one of the few old folks in the home whose family visited daily. There were pictures of her kids and grand kids on the nightstand. The walls of her side of the room were decorated with bright butterflies flanked by warning signs of what the staff was and was not to do. The warning signs were designed, posted and updated frequently by eldest daughter, Kathi. Woe unto the slothful staff member who came under her scrutiny. The eldest daughter was fierce when it came to the care of her mom. Every mother should be so lucky.
When he came home from visiting his mom I'd ask The Husband how she was doing. "About the same" was the usual reply. But sometimes he'd say "She recognized me". He always seemed a little more cheery on those days. The Husband isn't one to wear his heart on his sleeve but you could tell that seeing his mom like this was hard.
Brother John, the youngest son, wears his heart on his sleeve. I think it bothered him most when his mom didn't recognize him. Your head knows it's the natural progression of the Dementia, but it still hurts your heart.
The last week Brother John wore dark glasses a lot when he visited his mom. He puts on dark glasses and thinks nobody knows he getting all teary eyed. Nobody's really fooled but nobody says anything about it.
Alyce took her last breath a few days ago...and she wasn't alone. I don't know why, but it bothered me to think she might be alone when she died.
Kathi and I talked about it later trying to make sense of the way her life ended. We wondered why God would let a woman like Alyce suffer so much. She & her husband raised five great kids, The Husband, Kathi, Brother John, Pam, and Penni. These are some of the most wonderful people I've ever known.
Kathi thought maybe she really left a long time ago. I kinda like this. It's comforting. Maybe the reason she didn't recognize anyone was because it wasn't really her anymore.
I thought maybe it wasn't even really about her. Maybe she was hanging on for someone else. Maybe someone in the family wasn't ready to let her go. Maybe it was so someone at the home might learn about kindness in caring for her. Maybe it was so someone could see how a family loves and takes care of each other. Who knows?
Maybe next time we see her we'll find out...it's the Stoopidist Thing.
Alyce had her share of physical ailments but who doesn't when they're 87? Arthritis, broken hips, breathing problems...comes with aging, right? So does dementia. For the lucky ones it's mild, you forget where your keys are or can't remember why you walked into a room...for the unlucky ones it's worse...a lot worse.
Before she came down with pneumonia Alyce lived in her own home with the help of her daughter, Penni. The pneumonia left her so physically frail that Alyce needed professional care and her family had to make the decision to leave her in the care facility. It wasn't a bad place...it was nice...there was a recreation room, a dining room, physical therapy...and a big room for parties and family gatherings. It was clean, the staff was caring, but it wasn't her home...and even though they knew it was the right choice for their mom, it was tough on all of them.
When she first got there, Alyce was able to wheel herself around in a wheelchair, chatting with the other patients, mostly talking nonsense...at least that's what The Husband called it. But then, The Husband is pretty hard of hearing so it's entirely plausible that they were making perfect sense and he was only hearing every other word. In any event, it wasn't nonsense to them.
Since her dementia was progressing I don't think anybody really knew for sure if Alyce was aware of what was happening to her. Occasionally she would cry, but most of the time she was smiling. Anybody that spoke to her got a smile. She was just a sweet lady.
After awhile, the pain in her back got so bad that she couldn't wheel herself around anymore. The staff would help her into the wheelchair but she wasn't mobile and eventually even being put in the wheelchair became too painful and she became completely bedridden. As her pain got worse, medication got stronger and she spent more and more time sleeping. She barely ate or drank anything. God only knows why she kept hanging on. But she did.
Alyce was one of the few old folks in the home whose family visited daily. There were pictures of her kids and grand kids on the nightstand. The walls of her side of the room were decorated with bright butterflies flanked by warning signs of what the staff was and was not to do. The warning signs were designed, posted and updated frequently by eldest daughter, Kathi. Woe unto the slothful staff member who came under her scrutiny. The eldest daughter was fierce when it came to the care of her mom. Every mother should be so lucky.
When he came home from visiting his mom I'd ask The Husband how she was doing. "About the same" was the usual reply. But sometimes he'd say "She recognized me". He always seemed a little more cheery on those days. The Husband isn't one to wear his heart on his sleeve but you could tell that seeing his mom like this was hard.
Brother John, the youngest son, wears his heart on his sleeve. I think it bothered him most when his mom didn't recognize him. Your head knows it's the natural progression of the Dementia, but it still hurts your heart.
The last week Brother John wore dark glasses a lot when he visited his mom. He puts on dark glasses and thinks nobody knows he getting all teary eyed. Nobody's really fooled but nobody says anything about it.
Alyce took her last breath a few days ago...and she wasn't alone. I don't know why, but it bothered me to think she might be alone when she died.
Kathi and I talked about it later trying to make sense of the way her life ended. We wondered why God would let a woman like Alyce suffer so much. She & her husband raised five great kids, The Husband, Kathi, Brother John, Pam, and Penni. These are some of the most wonderful people I've ever known.
Kathi thought maybe she really left a long time ago. I kinda like this. It's comforting. Maybe the reason she didn't recognize anyone was because it wasn't really her anymore.
I thought maybe it wasn't even really about her. Maybe she was hanging on for someone else. Maybe someone in the family wasn't ready to let her go. Maybe it was so someone at the home might learn about kindness in caring for her. Maybe it was so someone could see how a family loves and takes care of each other. Who knows?
Maybe next time we see her we'll find out...it's the Stoopidist Thing.
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