Category: Conversations

Tim, Tim, Jim, Tim

I don’t want to alarm you, but I may be having a week-long stroke.  Or a slow aneurism.  Or a lengthy onslaught of dementia.  Or maybe all of them at once.

Last week I confused two customers because they were both named Tim and I called one Tim to come and pay for his machine when it was the other Tim’s bike.  What followed was a very messy display of questions, demands, and confusion where I might have grabbed my head and yelled, “WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE!!”

via GIPHY

The Viking shouted, “HOW THE FUCK SHOULD I KNOW?!”

And the confused customer said, “Don’t worry about me.  I’ll just be waiting at the end of the block.”

After profuse apologies and a full refund, I offered to drive him back home, but during the bizarro events, when he was at the end of the block self-distancing from the chaos, he had already called his Mother, probably telling her to hurry because he might be trapped in an insane asylum.  I apologized to her, too.  Gawd.

Then I copied a customer’s phone number wrong and couldn’t tell him his machine was ready to be picked up.  Also, I changed his name to Tim even though he tried to convince me that he’s actually a Jim, not a Tim.  So, wrong name AND wrong number.  Thankfully, he called this morning and I said, “Thank Gawd, Tim!  I somehow have the wrong phone number for you and your bike has been ready since last Thursday.”

He said, “Shit happens, it’s no big deal and please stop calling me Tim.”

I also had the bad luck for a customer to be named John* Ross and another customer to be named Ross John*.  How the hell is that even possible?  Obviously, the Gawds are bored.  The Viking likes John Ross but he doesn’t like Ross John and so I may have been a little short with John Ross when I should have been much nicer and I was too nice to Ross John which just encouraged him to pester The Viking more.

In my defense, I don’t usually see the customer until they show up to pay their bill, while The Viking sees them both dropping off AND picking up, so of course he has more time to anchor their face to their machine.  I am juggling customer appointments 2 weeks in advance while trying to remember appointments from the last week because those machines are still in the shop and it’s easy as hell to mix names and machines because who can really tell the difference between a GSXR and a YZF600R?   A Viking, apparently.

So, when I walk into the shop and The Viking points at a bike and says, “Call that guy and tell him his machine is ready to go” it’s a guessing game.

“Umm…..Richard Doe?”

“NO!  RICHARD’S BIKE IS A V-STAR!  THIS BIKE IS A VIRAGO!!” As if they don’t look exactly black and shiny the same.

My mind starts going, “V-Star.  V-Star.  V-Star.  If Richard owns the V-Star but doesn’t own the Virago then who the fuck does own the Virago?!”  The Viking stands there watching me blink.

via GIPHY

“Come one, Babe!  Where is your head?  This is Tim’s bike!”

 

*I’m changing the names to John to protect the identities of the two guys because….well….just because.

Talk To My Back, Lady!

We tempted the Gawds with a road trip across provincial lines during the time of Plague.  And while the Gawds couldn’t be bothered with our trivial rebellion, Teddy had a differing opinion.

It’s The Viking’s fault, really.  He’s always wheeling and dealing, trading this thing for that thing.  I can’t keep up.  He is perpetually in the midst of several complicated barter agreements with shadowy people I may or may not know.  And it was one of these transactions, which involved a generator, some sundry motorcycle parts for the seller of said generator and $500.  Now that Weather has decided to indulge in Spring, The Viking wants to get Generator installed in Fifth Wheel Trailer in the slight hope that we might be able to take it camping this summer.

So, we got our shit together – hand sanitizer, disinfectant in a spray bottle, toilet paper*, and non-alcoholic (sadly) drinks.  It was 4 hours to get there, probably an hour waiting/chatting (with 6-foot social distancing of course), and another 4 hours back.  We’d be home for dinner.

And we were.  Right on time.  Izzie shouted** greetings at us but Teddy was nowhere to be seen.  I didn’t think about it much because he’s not the ‘rush-to-the-door’ kind of guy; he prefers to strike a dignified pose by the refrigerator and give me a chin nod and ‘love eyes’.  I just assumed he didn’t hear us come home and would show up on time for dinner.

That didn’t happen though.  The Viking quizzed Izzie….

“Where the fuck is Teddy?”

“Who cares?” was her response, and then, “I notice you haven’t fed me yet.  Tick, Tock!”

While The Viking was dishing out food, I called for Teddy.  “Suppertime, Teddy!”  That’s usually enough because food is extremely important after the year he spent living on the mean streets of Homelessness.

Eventually he wandered close to the back door, studiously refusing to look at me.  “Are you coming in?”  He just sat there looking at the neighbour’s house.  “Okay, fine!  I’m not standing here all night holding the door open.”

I still didn’t realize that Teddy was angry.  It was 3 hours later, when he sat down in the middle of the livingroom without looking at me that everything started to click into place.  His customary entrance in the evening is a chubby trot followed by a full body slam into my lap.

“Are you mad at me, Teddy?”  To be honest, I was a little shocked.  We named him Teddy Bear because that’s exactly what he is.  He’s sweet and gentle and lovey.  He’s the best cat on the planet.  Except for an itty-bitty, teeny-weeny streak of stubborn.

His answer was to deliberately turn his back on me.

I probably didn’t help matters when I started to laugh, but in my defense I’ve never seen him angry before.  “Oh, come on, Teddy Bear!  You can’t be mad at me.”  And yet, he was.

My previous cat would get angry with me but all it took was a cuddle and she couldn’t help herself but forgive me.   Apparently, Teddy is made of sterner stuff.

“We were only gone for 8 hours and 25 minutes!  You can’t be mad about that!”

……

“Seriously?  You aren’t going to talk to me because I was gone for a few hours?”

……

I picked him up and tried to give him a love.  He actually braced his front feet against my boobs and strained his head and shoulders away from me!!  “Oh, come on!  I’m sorry!”

……

I appealed to The Viking.  “He’s mad!  At me!”  The Viking was totally unhelpful and, most likely, secretly amused because the cats never blame me for anything – he’s always the ‘Fall Guy’.  As soon as I put Teddy down, he turned his back on me again but didn’t leave the room.  I suppose this was his version of a ‘lecture’ since I couldn’t help but see him with his back turned, full of indignation.

“It’s not even my fault!  It’s The Viking’s fault!  He was the one that bartered himself into a road trip and forced me to go along.”

……

“I wanted to stay home.  With you.”

……

“I would have cuddled you all day long, but The Viking said it was more important for me to keep him company.”

……

“Honestly!  I cried all the way to Longview!”

……

“He tied me up so I couldn’t get away!”

……

“I was a hostage!”

……

“You’re going to hold a grudge against a Victim?!”

……

Sheesh!  You would think I had pinched his Airmiles Card!

He didn’t look directly at me for the entire evening.  Not a single ‘love eye’ or brush against my leg.  The Viking, on the other hand, was the surprised recipient of many ‘love eyes’ and even a body slam to his lap accompanied by deafening purrs.

I’m not sure who wanted me to notice more – the angry cat or the pleasantly surprised Viking.

 

*I decided to rely on rest area pit toilets and severe liquid rationing to limit my contact with any Plague Carriers.

**Shouting is her permanent speaking tone, with or without swearing and name-calling.

Enemy At the Cat Door

The Viking installed a Cat Door – a move to save my sanity as two cats badgered me relentlessly to open and close the door 179 times a day.  Overall, it’s been a mixed blessing.  The first couple weeks were wonderful as they came and went as they pleased.  Teddy was so happy with the arrangement he felt the need to bring me gifts:  a live bird, a live mouse, a dead mouse, a half-eaten dead mouse, another live bird, a dead bird, and a half-eaten dead bird.

After a year of gifting and slaughter, I have finally convinced both Teddy and Izzie that wildlife is not allowed in the house – dead or alive.  I am proud of them for their hunting prowess, but please leave all gifts on the back step where I can fully appreciate them without stepping on cadavers in the middle of the night as I stumble to pee.

I thought that was the end of negatives issues regarding the Cat Door but this morning I was proven wrong.

It’s a beautiful day, the sun shining brightly on our eastern-facing back door/cat door.  I was just happy to see the sun and didn’t realize there was a problem until I heard hissing.  Izzie hissing, to be exact.  I had my back to her and the door, checking Face Book, so turned around to see what was going on.

Izzie was staring hard at the Cat Door.  And there, just at the very bottom of the cat door, I saw two pointy shadows that I soon realized were Cat Ears slowly moving upwards.

Holy Shit!  There’s an Enemy at the Cat Door!! 

Then, because he must have heard Izzie hissing, Teddy came creeping through the kitchen, watching the cat door.

I sat down between the cats, in front of the cat door.

We sat in silence, watching the Cat Ear shadow rise and lower several times.  And then we had a discussion because this was a crisis that needed to be given careful consideration.

There was little doubt that the cat sitting on the other side of the Cat Door was Slinky – the crazy cat from next door.  Even his owners call him batshit crazy.

Once we decided who we were dealing with, we now considered what actions needed to be taken.  And action definitely needed to be taken or Slinky might misconstrue our lack of response as weakness and launch an invasion right into our home!

Cat Ear Shadow slowly rises.

I could beat on the door and scare Slinky away and hope he would never come back, but Slinky is crazy and who knows what goes on in that twisted mind.  Teddy and Izzie voted against that action anyway as it had a taint of cowardice in the face of aggression at our sovereign Cat Door.

Cat Ear shadow slowly lowered.

Or, we could wait until Slinky poked his head through the flap.  The physics of the Cat Door means that once you embark on a passage through the flap, you can’t change your mind, you’re fully committed.  If you try to back up, the flap lodges behind your head and effectively traps you.  Izzie liked the sound of that immediately.  Teddy, on the other hand, thought we might be flirting with Un-Sportsman-like Conduct and that’s not something to be taken lightly.  So the whole option was turfed before we even discussed what to do with the head once it was trapped – whether we spray it with the water bottle or mock it for not understanding the science involved in Cat Doors.

Cat Ear shadow rises.

At this point, Teddy wondered if someone should go wake up The Viking.  This is kind of his area of expertise, is it not?  There’s nothing quite as terrifying as Vikings in the morning – just ask the Monks at Lindesfarne.  Teddy and I are peaceful Hippies, ill-equipped to deal with aggression, while Izzie is only mean from a distance when it comes to other cats and prefers name-calling and cursing rather than physical violence.  Unless……someone else is doing the violence, like a Viking that’s cranky for being woken up because our perimeters have been breached…..and then she’s all in.  With PomPoms.

Cat Ear shadow lowers.

I thought we should entertain less violent options before we bring in the big gun.

Cat Ear shadow rises.

We could just let Izzie shout derogatory insults – her specialty – through the Cat Door while Teddy and I cheer from the sidelines and hope Slinky doesn’t call our collective bluff.  Teddy asked if that was just a little too close to Bullying?  Fair question.  We don’t want that ugly reputation to stick; Izzie already has a reputation as a Home Invasion Expert and a prolific Car Jacker so we don’t really need more notoriety.

Cat Ear shadow lowers.

We considered barking madly like an insane Mastiff but neither cat wanted to stoop that low.  Because they have standards.  Unlike this turncoat….

By now we were beginning to entertain increasingly implausible defensive actions.  No one had a slingshot or a fishing net and, of course, I’m not allowed to have a Flame Thrower.  We were running out of options.  In the end, I was out-voted.  ME!  Without the slightest pang of conscience, both cats volunteered me to take one for the team.  I was to be sacrificed to the crazy hell that is Slinky.  And while I was arguing against the decision with all the fervor of Atticus Finch…….

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

As one, we turned our heads toward The Viking, standing there in his underpants holding a pair of socks.  We started explaining the crisis…..

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”  He whipped the back door open.

Apparently, Slinky either got tired of listening to our evil plans…..or…..got bored and went home.

 

The Rumblings of Viking Discontent

I don’t really like cooking all that much anymore.  Once was a time when I would chef the hell out of my kitchen, but after 35 years of slinging food, I’ve lost my enthusiasm.  That doesn’t mean I’m not still slinging food, it just means that I’m cranky while I do it.  When The Viking finds me laying on the kitchen floor begging for death to take me now so I don’t have to figure out what the hell to make for dinner for the 5th day this week, he doesn’t need to ask questions.

As luck would have it though, he loves cooking!  Give him a bottle of red wine and a Danish radio station and he’s the happiest damned Viking on the planet.  So, on Saturdays, if he doesn’t have to work in the garage, he makes me dinner.  And he goes shopping for the ingredients, too!

via GIPHY

Unfortunately, last Saturday there was an issue.  It all began when I lost my Airmiles card a couple of weeks ago.  A cashier at Safeway must have forgotten to hand it back to me when I bought groceries and I was, undoubtedly, cranky because I would now have to cook all the crap I just bought and that’s my excuse for failing to reacquire the card.  It wasn’t until my next trip to buy food that I realized it was missing because that’s about the only place I use it.

Anyhoo, I took The Viking’s card to use until my new one arrived.  And that brings us right up to Saturday when he went shopping for the big feast he was making for me.  I happily sat at the computer listening to a documentary and playing solitaire while he was gone.  At one point I thought I heard thunder in the distance but that was impossible because it’s winter.

And then The Viking arrived home.

“Where the fuck is my Airmiles card?!!”

Me:  Oh, I have it because I lost mine somewhere but I’ve ordered a new one.

Him:  Well that’s fucking great!  I stood there looking like a stupid, dumb Fuck, going through my entire wallet searching for my fucking card while 3000 people were waiting behind me!

Me:  Ummm……sorry?

Him:  I was going through the whole store, picking up deals that would give me extra Airmiles!!

Me:  ……

Him:  The cashier was getting all pissed off!  What am I supposed to do?!!  I felt like a fucking dumb fuck!

Me:  ……

Him:  I almost walked away and left it all right there!  I’m so pissed off right now!  I have all these stupid, fucking groceries and NO AIRMILES!!

Me:  ……

He stomped out to bring more stuff into the house, muttering.

Him:  ….so bad if you at least told me you had my card!!  You should have put it back in my wallet when you were finished with it.

Me:  To be fair, I use the card more often than you do and it seemed the better use of the Airmiles card for me to…..

Him:  I MISSED OUT ON 14 MILLION AIRMILES!

Me:  Okaaay.  Since we’re talking about such a tremendous number of miles, it’s clear I made a huge mistake…..

He stomped out again to bring the remainder of his shopping treasures.

Him:  If I had known you were going to fuck me over I never would have bought you these fucking flowers because you certainly don’t deserve them!

Me:  Awwww….you bought me flowers!

Him:  YOU DON’T DESERVE THEM!

via GIPHY

And then I couldn’t help myself.  I started to laugh.  And I couldn’t stop!  He was just so indignant that I “fucked him over” by pinching his Airmiles card.  Tears in my eyes, laughing so hard.  And then I understood that the thunder I thought I heard wasn’t thunder at all but most likely the rumblings of Viking discontent from 4 kilometers away.

In the 12 ½ years I’ve known The Viking, I have never not deserved flowers.  Who knew that pinching his Airmiles card was the hard-line in floral deservedness?

    • I accidentally bleached most of his laundry so he had to wear ridiculous clothes for 3 years until they wore out.
    • I mashed the potatoes when we were serving a Danish Pork Roast to my parents, totally destroying the entire meal.
    • I drove his truck across wet paint when highway workers were painting the centre lines.
    • I smashed his Seadoo onto a big pile of rocks.
    • I forgot to buy his Lottery tickets and we probably would have won a Billion dollars in that draw.
    • ETC.

The list of my sins is lengthy and yet I’ve always deserved flowers.  Until last Saturday.  The good news is that The Viking doesn’t hold grudges against me.  Don’t get me wrong, he’ll hold grudges against anyone else on the planet, just not me.  Because I’m special.

And as impressive as him losing his shit is, it’s not quite as epic as me losing my shit when he forgot to buy Fresca 2 years ago and he laughed his Danishy ass off, right in my face.

So, there is that.

Hello Deer! And Who Was In Charge of The Food?

Spring has finally arrived, if only temporarily.  When you live in Alberta though, you hustle out and enjoy the good weather whenever it happens.  In the case of The Viking and I, we do less hustling and more shuffling, but we eventually get the job done.

Such was the case on Saturday.

The Viking has been searching for the perfect campground for a week-long escape with the Fifth Wheel and he wanted to take a nice drive to a couple of places to see exactly how they rate on the ‘Possible Location List’.  Finding a place isn’t as easy as you’d think.  We have standards that need to be met:

  • Are there actual trees? You’d be surprised at the number of places that have concrete slabs laid out like RV Prison Camps.
  • Is there electricity? We aren’t interested in ‘roughing it’ – we’re too old for that shit.  There are few things worse than battling moths and mosquitoes when you’re huddled around a lantern trying to play cards.
  • Is there a water hook-up? I like to have a shower once in a while to wash off the Bug Spray and smoke residue.  Oh, I know that it is the International Standard Perfume for summer camping but I’m not a fan of ‘Eau d’Smokey DEET’ 24/7.
  • How about a sewer hook-up? We’re human and humans poop and hanging my ass over a pit clogged with nasty is not something I can compromise on.  Just doesn’t happen, unless it’s a matter of life or death.
  • Can anyone walking by see us and think we are happy to chat?  We’re not.  We are Introverts.  We have nothing against other people, we just don’t want to talk to an endless stream of them trying to be neighbourly.
  • Is there a playground close by? If there is, we’ll want a site well-removed from said playground.  We don’t have anything against kids but they’re loud and annoying.  We’ve outgrown that stage in life where every kid is adorable and deserves a homemade cookie.
  • Is there anything of the slightest bit of interest to go see in the general area? Or walking paths?  That’s even better!  We/I get bored easily.
  • A Swimming Pool? The Viking likes being wet for some ungawdly reason and a swimming pool is one of his favourite things.  If there are a couple of chairs so he can booze it up in between refreshing his wetness, he’ll stay there all day and most of the evening.  I sit in a chair with a book, explaining over and over that I’m sure the water is wonderful and No, I’m not interested in wetness.  It doesn’t discourage him at all.

Anyway, there was one campground that we wanted to get a look at before committing, so we jumped in the car for a lovely afternoon drive.  In typical fashion, we didn’t discuss food and we didn’t discuss our route to the campground.  Needless to say, we were in an argument before we ever left the neighbourhood.  Last minute changes to his itinerary has a way of irritating The Viking.  I probably should have filed the proper paperwork in advance.

Since the day was so lovely, I didn’t let a little skirmish ruin the day.  We only went about an hour and a half from Calgary, but that hour and a half is packed with beautiful.

Hello Deer!

We found a gorgeous picnic spot; it’s just too bad we hadn’t thought to bring any food.  I’m not sure who was supposed to be in charge of the Lunch, but they obviously suck at their job.  A sandwich, a cracker, anything really, would have been appreciated.

We’ll have to get the Goldwing out one of these days and go back.  Once the food organizer gets his/her shit together.  We should probably file the proper request in advance with a list of menu options we would like.

As for the campground….well….it didn’t meet the standards*.  Unfortunately.  It was a very nice campground.  If you happen to live in the area and are looking for a great campground that has electricity and drinking water – Sandy McNabb Campground, west of Turner Valley is for  you.

*First world problems, right?  Pampered Queen?  Spoiled?  Unapologetically guilty.  😏

 

Hello Deer! And Who Was In Charge of Lunch?!

Spring has finally arrived, if only temporarily.  When you live in Alberta though, you hustle out and enjoy the good weather whenever it happens.  In the case of The Viking and I, we do less hustling and more shuffling, but we eventually get the job done.

Such was the case on Saturday.

The Viking has been searching for the perfect campground for a week-long escape with the Fifth Wheel and he wanted to take a nice drive to a couple of places to see exactly how they rate on the ‘Possible Location List’.  Finding a place isn’t as easy as you’d think.  We have standards that need to be met:

  • Are there actual trees? You’d be surprised at the number of places that have concrete slabs laid out like RV Prison Camps.
  • Is there electricity? We aren’t interested in ‘roughing it’ – we’re too old for that shit.  There are few things worse than battling moths and mosquitoes when you’re huddled around a lantern trying to play cards.
  • Is there a water hook-up? I like to have a shower once in a while to wash off the Bug Spray and smoke residue.  Oh, I know that it is the International Standard Perfume for summer camping but I’m not a fan of ‘Eau d’Smokey DEET’ 24/7.
  • How about a sewer hook-up? We’re human and humans poop and hanging my ass over a pit clogged with nasty is not something I can compromise on.  Just doesn’t happen, unless it’s a matter of life or death.
  • Can anyone walking by see us and think we are happy to chat?  We’re not.  We are Introverts.  We have nothing against other people, we just don’t want to talk to an endless stream of them trying to be neighbourly.
  • Is there a playground close by? If there is, we’ll want a site well-removed from said playground.  We don’t have anything against kids but they’re loud and annoying.  We’ve outgrown that stage in life where every kid is adorable and deserves a homemade cookie.
  • Is there anything of the slightest bit of interest to go see in the general area? Or walking paths?  That’s even better!  We/I get bored easily.
  • A Swimming Pool? The Viking likes being wet for some ungawdly reason and a swimming pool is one of his favourite things.  If there are a couple of chairs so he can booze it up in between refreshing his wetness, he’ll stay there all day and most of the evening.  I sit in a chair with a book, explaining over and over that I’m sure the water is wonderful and No, I’m not interested in wetness.  It doesn’t discourage him at all.

Anyway, there was one campground that we wanted to get a look at before committing, so we jumped in the car for a lovely afternoon drive.  In typical fashion, we didn’t discuss food and we didn’t discuss our route to the campground.  Needless to say, we were in an argument before we ever left the neighbourhood.  Last minute changes to his itinerary has a way of irritating The Viking.  I probably should have filed the proper paperwork in advance.

Since the day was so lovely, I didn’t let a little skirmish ruin the day.  We only went about an hour and a half from Calgary, but that hour and a half is packed with beautiful.

Hello Deer!

We found a gorgeous picnic spot; it’s just too bad we hadn’t thought to bring any food.  I’m not sure who was supposed to be in charge of the Lunch, but they obviously suck at their job.  A sandwich, a cracker, anything really, would have been appreciated.

We’ll have to get the Goldwing out one of these days and go back.  Once the food organizer gets his/her shit together.  We should probably file the proper request in advance with a list of menu options we would like.

As for the campground….well….it didn’t meet the standards*.  Unfortunately.  It was a very nice campground.  If you happen to live in the area and are looking for a great campground that has electricity and drinking water – Sandy McNabb Campground, west of Turner Valley is for  you.

*First world problems, right?  Pampered Queen?  Spoiled?  Unapologetically guilty.  😏

 

Good Luck With That Prostate Exam

WARNING:  The views expressed in this blog do not necessarily reflect the blogger’s opinions or beliefs – we just find it funny. 

The Viking is a proud guy and he has every reason to be so.  He makes no compromises when it comes to things he does and believes in, has a soft squishy heart under all that cursing and shouting, and he comes from a long line of heathens.  He’s particularly proud of his heathen-ness and Danish-ness.

There is just one little thing – he’s half English……‘God Save the Queen, a stiff upper lip, adorable taxis and double-decker busses’ English.  It muddies his Danish bloodline and is the root cause of his every ailment…..in his opinion.  It doesn’t matter that every English person has a healthy dose of Viking & Saxon, it only matters that his hemorrhoids are English.

The reason I’m telling you this is because his Doctor is a lovely English lady who finds it charming that I accompany The Viking to every appointment so there aren’t any translation and diagnosis misunderstandings.  And the reason I’m telling you this is because The Viking had a Doctor’s appointment on Tuesday morning.

He needs a thorough health check-up and we wanted to talk to her about his heart murmur*.  He is 60 years old, after all, and one can’t be too careful given the amount of cursing and shouting he does.

The appointment was going great – his blood pressure was a little high, but he had been out of meds for a week or so, and she assured us that the problem Erik had with blocked arteries was an entirely different thing from The Viking’s heart murmur.  Then she started talking about cholesterol and that’s when the train jumped the rails and careened, out of control, into the Medical Clinic, taking out 1 patient, a receptionist, and 14 old magazines.

The Viking:  All my sisters and my brother have high cholesterol.  And they aren’t even fat.

Doctor:  Then you really need to start taking those meds I prescribed two years ago.

The Viking:  I started them a couple weeks ago.

Doctor:  Great!  Keep taking them.

The Viking:  It’s that shit English in me.  All my problems are because of my fucking English genes.

Doctor (slow blinks as she processes what he just said):  ….

Me (eyes widening and lips pulling back in a grimace):  ….

The Viking (staring at the floor):  ….

Doctor (looking at me):  …..

Me (looking at everything else in the room other than her):  ……

Doctor:  Okaaaay, let’s go get you weighed.

Later that day, The Viking comes in from the garage and grumbles about his knees hurting from kneeling on the cement to work on a snowmobile.

I collapse into a heap of laughter.  “Are your knees English, by chance?”

The Viking:  Yes!  Fucking shit English knees!

Me (tears have started rolling down my face):  You do realize that your Doctor is English?

The Viking:  I don’t care!

Personally, I think he hadn’t thought of that before the whole hot mess came out of his mouth but once he was in, he wasn’t going to back out. That’s his Danish stubborn-ness.

Me:  You also realize she’s the one that’s going to check your Prostate, don’t you?

The Viking:  Whatever.

The English half of his heritage is also responsible for his quick temper, foul language, buddha belly, sleep apnea, and bad back, but I’m hoping he won’t feel the need to explain this to his lovely Doctor.

And since I’ve known The Viking, his English genes have caught the flu 4 times, his English Appendix almost burst, his English neck glands became irritated and put him in the hospital for a week, his English finger got a really bad cut, his English heart has a murmur, and his English sinuses have caught 13 colds.

His Danish body parts are still going strong without the slightest complaint.  And that, my friends, is the single most important reason Denmark is the happiest place on earth.

*Since we ARE talking about The Viking, I will henceforth call it a Heart Shout.

Sometimes It’s Just So Easy

RING, RING!

Me:  Four Seasons Motorsports

Guy on the Phone:  Hello.  May I speak with Niels?

Me:  He’s not in right now.  Can I take a message?

Guy on the Phone:  Yes.  My name is…..mumbling too fast to understand….

Me:  Who did you say this was?

Guy on the Phone:  JooJoo. And I’m calling from…..mumbling too fast to understand….

Me:  Wait.  Your name is JooJoo?

JooJoo:  Yes, JooJoo and I’m calling from….mumbling….card services…..more mumbling…

Me:  What company are you from?

JooJoo:  ….mumbling…..card services….appointment……4:00 this afternoon…

Me:  Card services?!

JooJoo:  Yes.  I have an appointment with Niels at 4:00 this afternoon…..mumbling.

Me:  You booked an appointment with Niels for what?

JooJoo:  We are having a warehouse sale on credit card transaction fees….mumbling.

Me:  Wait a minute, JooJoo.  You spoke to Niels and he booked an appointment to discuss transaction fees?

JooJoo:  Well, I didn’t personally speak to him.  Clara, from our office, spoke to him yesterday and set up a meeting with me for 4:00 today.

Me:  Are you aware that Niels is a Viking?

JooJoo:  Um…..no.

Me:  The Viking doesn’t discuss transaction fees with anyone.  Ever.  Not even you, JooJoo.

JooJoo:  I’m sure he’s interested in saving money on transaction fees.

Me:  I’m sure he would be interested if he knew what the fuck you’re talking about.

JooJoo:  But Clara….

Me:  I’m afraid Clara might be full of shit, JooJoo.  The Viking wouldn’t know a credit card transaction fee if it hit him with a battle axe.

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JooJoo:  Okay.  Is there someone else who deals with the fees.

Me:  Oh yes.  That would be me.

JooJoo:  Are you the owner of the business?

Me:  You could call me an owner –  I’m bossy enough.

JooJoo:  I would be willing to meet with you today…..

Me:  Oh, no.  I can’t possibly…

JooJoo:  But I can save you money….

Me:  Yes, but I have already done my due diligence on transaction fees and, to be completely honest, I can’t be bothered to wade through another contract with another company in order to save a nickel a month.

JooJoo:  Are you sure I can’t….

Me:  Quite sure, JooJoo.  Have a nice day.

The Viking arrived home about a half hour later and I asked him if he had booked an appointment to meet with a guy to discuss credit card transaction fees?

“Some fucking woman called yesterday and I couldn’t understand what the fuck she was even saying!”

I nodded enthusiastically.  “That’s what I thought.  I told him you would be delighted to meet with him at 4:00pm.”

“WHAT?!”

Sometimes, it’s just so easy……

 

 

Annual Health Review

I had an annual ‘Health Review’ today.  I’m not a fan.  I’m not sure why – there is nothing truly horrible about them but somehow I feel the same way about Health Reviews that I feel about any other sort of review.  Like the ‘Let’s review what you should have done under the circumstances’ or the ‘Let’s review why this didn’t work’ or ‘Let’s review your underwhelming performance at lawn mowing’*.

No one wants to give you a review if you’ve been great at something.  No one ever said, ‘Let’s review how you won that Gold Medal at the Olympics’ or ‘Let’s review how you delivered that baby in the back seat of your taxi’.  They don’t review that at all!  They give you a medal or an award or name a street after you.

At my age, a Health Review begins before I ever make it to my Doctor’s Examining Table.  They send me to be drained of blood, to pee in a small jug and this year a new kind of fuckery called a Stool Sample. And, to make it as inconvenient as possible, you have to go to the Lab to get the kit to get your stool sample so you can bring it back to them when you arrive for the other tests.  And if you don’t want to sit in the waiting room for 23 hours you have to make an appointment, so you only have to wait 12 hours in the waiting room.

This year they made me recite my full name and birth date before they would drain my blood.  I asked if this was a trick or something?  What if I get the answers wrong?  Will you not drain my blood and accept my warm jug of urine?  Apparently, it helps them make sure my body fluids aren’t confused with anyone else’s body fluids but what if that other person’s body fluids pass more reviews?  That would be to my advantage, wouldn’t it?

The Blood Drainer wasn’t amused.  She took all my blood and told me my Doctor (Janna) would be ‘in touch’, but that was a complete fabrication because my Doctor never calls me.  The admirable Natalie, of Front Desk Fame, calls me and tells me when to present myself at the clinic a week or two hence.  I didn’t bother to explain this to The Drainer though because I may have already annoyed her.

As it turned out Natalie called me the following day to say Janna wanted to see me.  Stat.  Thank Gawd I didn’t annoy The Drainer as much as I could have because Natalie sent me for more drainage.

Long story short….Janna started throwing around words like ‘Sugar’ and ‘Diabetes’.  She sent me to see another Doctor (Buki) who sent me for more drainage.  Now I have two Doctors who will, in all likelihood, give me more ‘reviews’.  And Janna demanded my presence today for the regular Health Review that I’ve been dodging for 3 years, because I am more than just my Back and my Diabetes.  Apparently.

After the preliminaries of weight and height, she reviewed my tests, said my blood pressure and cholesterol were great, my heart was a machine and my lungs were stellar.

Me:  Yes, but what about my stool sample?  Did they find anything really interesting in it?  Like a tooth or a gold nugget?

Her:  No, but if there had been any gold in it the Lab Technician would have kept it.

Me:  That’s probably what happened – that Technician looked shifty to me.

Once I was on the table, she went straight to work in the murky depths beneath the sheet.  She’s chatting away about vacations and stuff, but suddenly stops and says….

“Huh.  Your vagina goes to the right and it’s tipped back.  That’s a bit challenging.”

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I’m not sure what I should have said to this.  Several ideas popped into mind:

  • Maybe it’s Strategic Evasion Maneuvers. I almost fell this morning, maybe it was my vagina making a hard right turn.
  • Maybe it’s shy. It’s not like it gets out to socialize very often.  It’s more like an introvert really.  Or….
  • Maybe it’s just a willful and contrary orifice determined to get a bad review.

Whatever the case, after a moment of rummaging she said, “Oh!  There it is!”

When I told The Viking about my vagina, he didn’t seem surprised at all.  He must have known it all along but deliberately kept that fact to himself.  Next time I have a Health Review, I’ll be asking him the state of my vagina so I don’t have any more surprises.  He’s more familiar with it than I am, after all.

So.  To review:  My heart, lungs, blood pressure and cholesterol are fantastic, but I don’t get an award.  My pancreas got a terrible review and is now a subject of ridicule and Organ Bullying.  And my Mammogram gave the boobs an A+.

Still no award though.

 

*I deliberately mowed the lawn terribly because my Mom said, “Don’t do any chore for your husband unless you want to do it forever”.  So, when Stanley asked me to mow the lawn I mowed the lawn….kind of like a crop circle before crop circles became popular.  Now that I think about it though, I should have received some sort of award or recognition for the idea of crop circles because it would have countered the resulting ‘review’ of my lawn mowing skills.

I’m A Fucking Idiot!

I’m an idiot and my idiocy has taken me down the same damned black hole I’ve been in many times before.  You would think that I might have learned from the experience, but it seems not.  Even my horoscope tried to tell me not to meddle.  Did I listen?  Nope!  Because I’m a fucking idiot!

It happens like this:

  • Someone is crying like their heart has been broken into a million pieces.
  • I try to comfort with soft blankets, cookies, hugs and movies.
  • The crying subsides.
  • Being an observer from the sidelines, I try to encourage and empower.
  • They seem to appreciate the message.
  • They appreciate everything I’ve done.
  • They slide back into their situation, again.
  • I express concern.
  • They tell me that now I’m making them feel guilty which stresses them out more so they vow to avoid me for the foreseeable future.
  • I cry buckets for days until The Viking picks me up, dusts me off and helps me grieve.

And there it is.  The complete hot mess.  Someone goes happily on their way, stress-free, and someone hides in their closet for a week.  Repeat.

Except….FUCK THAT!!!  It’s time to start protecting my soul instead of throwing it out there for any dog to drag its ass on.

 

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I haven’t been able to write a damned post for over a month because I’ve been too invested in a bloody debacle that has catapulted me into a full-blown Depression.  And it’s affecting more than just a post – I’ve been bumping into walls and running stop signs as I’m frantically trying to find a solution that no one wants in the first place!

I’m sure there is a Life Coach out there that would tell me I’m not responsible for anyone else’s life, even if I created it years and years ago.  I can’t make their decisions, I can’t change their situations and I can’t solve their problems.  The only thing I can control is me and how I react to these situations.  At the end of every crisis, I’m always standing there like a fucking idiot as I’m being pushed out of someone’s life.  My inner voice is screaming “I thought we talked about this!  You weren’t going to help!  Gawd!  You’ve gone and shot yourself in the damned foot AGAIN!”  The outcome couldn’t be worse if I intentionally engineered it to be an epic failure.

The thing is…..this post isn’t about them at all……it’s about me and how I stupidly deal with these situations.  I’m here because I’m a fucking idiot that is always trying to help when that’s the last thing they actually want.  I’m my own worst enemy and I would be better served by keeping to myself and hope I never get that call in the middle of the night.

TRUTH BOMB:  Their life is exactly as they want it to be.  If they didn’t want their life to be the way it is, they would change it -with or without my help.  So, stop being a fucking idiot and leave them to figure out their shit.

Now, I’m moving forward, trying to put the whole steaming, foul mess out of mind.  I’m making a point of learning the lesson this time though.  No more attempts at assistance.  I promise.

I have no subject for an amusing post (sorry about that) because I haven’t found anything amusing for over a month.  But, I’ll get outside today, maybe take a walk.  I’ll attempt to distract myself and focus on The Viking and me.  Surely, I’ll feel better in a few days.  I’m already feeling better than last week.

Next post will be much less serious.  I promise.