Month: September 2018

You’re Neglecting Me

 

I’ve been missing Mim lately.  She lives 7 minutes away but she’s so damned busy fixing up her new house and working full-time that there isn’t much time for visiting.  So, I was thrilled, naturally, when my phone rang yesterday and it was her.

She caught me up on her house projects and how much she likes her new job.  I let her ramble for a bit before I said….

“You’re neglecting me.”

She laughed.  “I don’t mean to neglect you, it’s just that I’m really busy.”

“It still feels like neglect.  I only have The Viking for daily companionship and you know how much he enjoys listening to me talk about the challenges of shopping or why I need a tiny pony and two geese or why I should call him Maurice from now on.  I can’t even get him to tell me that supper was more than just ‘fine’ or ‘alright’.”  I keep hoping that one day he will take a bite of food and say ‘Holy Fuck that’s good!!’

Being receptive to my needs, Mim immediately asked me if I’d like to come to Home Depot after dinner.  “We could browse around and maybe pick out some colors for your house………

Annnnnd, that’s where she lost me.  While she was still talking I was cringing in something close to horror!

“Wait.  Tonight?!  You want me to leave my house tonight?!”

“You can ditch The Viking for a couple of hours, can’t you?”

“Yeess.  But (tipping my head way back and howling to the Gawds) I hate having to go out after dinner!”

“I thought you wanted to spend time with me.”

“I do!  I just didn’t think it would involve leaving my house.  After dinner.”

“You could come for some tea and see what I’ve done with the house.”

“Does that involve me leaving my house after dinner?”

“Mom!”

Through intense negotiations we decided she would come to me one evening this week (I had to sweeten the deal by offering wine) and next week I’ll go to Home Depot with her after dinner.  I’ll just have to postpone our nightly Netflix binge for another night.  It’ll be fine.

Now that I’m thinking about it, I’ve never been much of a socializer; I paste a Happy on my face and make jokes hoping no one notices that I have a run in my pantyhose or a stain on my boob because I dropped a stuffed mushroom en route from my plate to my mouth.

Public get-togethers are fraught with perils:

    • Please don’t let my pantyhose fall down around my ankles as I’m going for another drink.
    • Please don’t let me slip and fall on my ass as I head for the washroom.
    • Please don’t let a pair of panties stuck in a pant leg fall out as I’m crossing the dance floor. Don’t ask.
    • Please don’t ask me to dance because I WILL step on your toes. Probably all of them, multiple times.
  • Please don’t let me get flatulent from the Broccoli Salad. And if I do get flatulent, please don’t let them stink unless I’m standing beside The Viking and people would just assume it’s him.  Especially if I point a finger at him while wrinkling my nose.
  • Please don’t let my hair fall from a Hot Flash – Menopause sucks.
  • Please let me remember where I parked the car.
  • Please keep the catty bitches away from me because I can never come up with a witty insult on short notice and I won’t sleep for days just thinking about it.
  • And, finally….please don’t have a swimming pool anywhere in the vicinity because The Fucking Viking always has to get into the pool which means I’m obligated to get into the pool. In a bathing suit.

An actual video of The Viking near a body of water no matter the size:

Versus me in water:

I suppose what I’m trying to say is that I’m an Introvert that becomes a Super Introvert after dinner or at a social function, particularly if that social function involves dinner*.  You would think Mim would know this by now.  And she probably does but she thinks it’s good for me to face my fears or some fucking thing (she’s probably right but don’t tell her I said so).  And, I’m the first one to admit that once I’ve been dynamited out of the house I generally have a nice time, as long as there is lots of booze and only three people.

So, while you’re not telling Mim, I’ll try to work on my Introvert-dom.

*I’ve made it a hard rule to never eat spaghetti or ribs when dining out – the potential for disaster is just too great.

 

 

 

Bird Flipping, a Birthday Party and a Hospital

My parents turned 80 this year and, as befitting such an accomplishment, my older sister organized a combined Birthday Party for them.  At least I think it was just her, but it may have included up to two other sisters as well (there are 4 of us after all).  I never thought to ask and now I feel slightly horrible because I had no responsibility other than showing up at the best restaurant in town at 2:00pm.

It’s slightly more than 400km (250 miles) from my house to the best restaurant in Barrhead so I had to use math, my fingers and reverse counting to make sure my arrival was early enough but not too early (Dad’s a stickler about timing).  So it went kind of like this:

  • I have to be there at 2:00pm so I had better be there at 1:30pm.
  • It takes about 4 hours to get there so….12:30, 11:30, 10:30, 9:30……
  • Give yourself an extra half hour for traffic jams, speeding tickets and assholes who drive the exact speed limit in the fast lane.…..9:00am.
  • I’ll put some make-up on and since I haven’t done that in like 8 months I had better give myself a good 45 minutes in case I have to start all over at least once (and I did have to start over once)……8:15am.
  • I need 20 minutes for a shower (thank Gawd I don’t need to shave my legs because that would have added another 15 minutes to my prep time)…..7:55am.
  • I’ll make the coffee and it can brew while I’m in the shower…..7:45am.

I ripped through every article of clothing I own on Tuesday in an effort to find the perfect combination of nice but not too nice – it’s a Birthday Party, not a Royal Wedding.  After two hours, one crying fit, one rage against the designers of womens clothing, eloquently fat-shaming myself and a serious consideration of just showing up naked….I found an outfit I considered understated yet classy.  To be honest, it included Yoga Pants because 9 hours in a vehicle wearing dress pants makes me cranky.  The shirt was nice though and I found an old pair of Opal earrings that were perfect.

I went to bed Tuesday night knowing I had everything under control.

And I really did have things under control.  Right up to the moment I hit the highway.  You see, I was driving The Viking’s truck, not my Rav 4.  I couldn’t take my vehicle because The Viking found a crack in one of the tires and some scuffs on the rim.

Him:  Did you hit a curb?!

Me (avoiding eye contact):  No.  Why?

Him:  The rim is scratched, and the tire has a big crack in it!

Me:  What?!

Him:  Did you let someone else drive your car?

Me:  No.  I mean Yes.

Him (giving me the stink eye):  Was it Junior?

Me:  No.  Yes.

Him (very loudly but not yet loud enough for him to call it ‘yelling’):  You let Junior drive your car?!

Me:  Yes.  I mean NO!  NO!  I didn’t let Junior drive my car.

Him:  …..

Me:  Oh for fuck’s sake!!  Yes I hit a damned curb!  Twice actually.  The first time it was bad city planning, and the second time it was Mim’s fault because she distracted me by talking while I was driving.

So.  I was driving the big 1-ton dually and it has significantly more horse-power which turns me into a shouting, fist-shaking, finger-flipping, hair-tossing Harpy.  I’m the sweetest driver on the planet when I’m driving my RAV, but Tina the Truck brings out the worst in me.  And someone taking 20 minutes in the fast lane to pass someone in the slow lane drives me bananas.  In the following 2 and a half hours I was forced to flip the bird to 4 drivers.

via GIPHY

And then one other driver flipped the bird at me.  As a matter of fact, they almost missed their exit so they could flip me the bird and that made my day.  You have to admire such commitment.

I was telling my one sister (she drives the big transport trucks) about my finger flipping and she said she’s had to use both of her flipping fingers so much they’ve become Arthritic.  She showed them to me.  “See?  Look at that poor little fucker.” (pointing with her other flipping finger).  True story.  A cautionary tale, if you will.

Due to construction and two freight trains my half hour buffer was toast, as was my early arrival allowance and I was forced into passing several vehicles that I normally wouldn’t bother with.  I could just see my father waiting at the door to the restaurant, tapping his watch.  “Cutting it a little fine, aren’t you Lor?”  So, imagine my surprise when I arrived at precisely 1:54pm to find no one was there.  Please, dear Gawd, don’t let me have the wrong day!  I asked a waitress and she assured me there was a reservation for 10 at 2:00pm.  But that’s only 5 minutes away and no one has arrived.

As it happened, everyone in the family is much better at nailing the time perfectly because at 1:59pm Mom was carefully exiting my older sister’s vehicle while everyone else was waiting for 1:59:59 before stepping into the building.  Well…..I think that’s what they were waiting for.

Guess who wasn’t standing at the main doors tapping his watch?  That’s right…..Dad.  We all milled around wondering what could possibly have kept him from making inappropriate comments to waitresses, arguing with his daughters and being the center of attention?  Those are the main sources of his life’s joy so it caused mass confusion in the herd.

It turned out he had to be taken to the hospital.    He wasn’t doing well and we were all quite concerned.  Thankfully, he was fine – an infection and some COPD – and after annoying his roommate and, more than likely, annoying the nurses for two days, they sent him home.

As for my drive home, it was far less eventful because there wasn’t any pressure to be perfect.  No one was at home tapping his watch and shaking his head.  The Viking was happily playing computer slots and enjoying the solitude when I finally got home.  And…..he had a kiss on deck.