Category: Conversations

Who’s In Charge Around Here, Anyway?

Sleeping peacefully.

Bladder:  Um…..I know you’re sleeping and I don’t mean to be a bother but I’m very full right now.

Me:  Really?  I’m having a great dream.

Bladder:  Yes, I know.  It’s just that the kidneys are being totally douche-y.

Me:  15 minutes.  Just give me 15 more minutes of sleep.

Sleeping.

Lower Back:  Can I bother you to change your sleeping position?  This one is killing me!

Legs:  And punt the cats!  We’re getting cramps.

Neck:  I could use a change, too.  You don’t want to be a Pain in the Neck cliche.

Bladder:  I can’t wait anymore!  If Nose decides to sneeze, you’ll have to bring in a HazMat Team.

Me:  For fuck’s sake!  Fine!

Go to the bathroom without opening eyes and then back to bed.

Feet:  Nice!  The bed is still warm.

Brain:  Remember that time when your sister broke your new Barbie’s legs?

Me:  That was like 45 years ago and you’re bringing it up now?!  Go back to sleep!

Trying to sleep.

Brain:  You know, that Barbie was your favorite toy.

Me:   Seriously!  I don’t give a shit about a fucking Barbie doll.  Go. Back. To. Sleep!

Brain:  It’s 8:30; you should be getting up anyway.

Me:  No, it’s not!

Left Eye:  He’s right.  It is 8:32.

Me:  Fuck!  I’m getting up.

20 minutes later.

Stomach:  Why isn’t there any coffee in here?!

Me:  I’m working on it, already!  Shit!  Now I forgot how many scoops I did.

Brain:  Don’t ask me.  I’m still pissed about your Barbie.

Flops in computer chair and scrolls through FaceBook.

20 minutes later.

Stomach:  HEY!  Where is the coffee?

Right Ear:  I haven’t heard any burbling or grumbling from the coffee maker.

Me:  I’m going.  I’m going.

First slurp of coffee.

Mouth:  Oh my gawd that tastes good!!

Stomach:  Finally!  This whole thing works better when The Viking gets up first.

3 hours later.

Stomach:  I’m finished with the coffee.  How about a Sausage McMuffin with Egg and no cheese?

Mouth:  I second that motion!!  I fucking love those things!

Brain:  If you left now, you could be home with a dozen Sausage McMuffins with Egg and no cheese in 15 minutes.

Me:  Nope!  I will not think about that delicious sandwich – I’m trying to lose a few pounds.  We are going to have an apple and a piece of aged cheese.

Mouth:  I do like the apple and cheese thing but, to be honest, I like the McMuffin better.

Me:  WE ARE NOT GETTING SAUSAGE McMUFFINS WITH EGG AND NO CHEESE!

20 minutes later.

Stomach:  Well, now I don’t have enough room for a Sausage McMuffin with Egg and no cheese.  That’s very disappointing.

Mouth:  I’m disappointed, too.

Brain:  Me too!

Me:  Whatever.

3 hours later.

Mouth:  It’s been a while since you’ve eaten.  Any chance of getting that McMuffin?

Me:  Nope.  You have to wait for supper.

Stomach:  Aaaagh!  But I’m hungry!

Brain:  Did you hear that?!  I think a Dodge Diesel just started up in your stomach!  You shouldn’t eat trucks, lady!

Me:  It’s not a truck – it’s Stomach being crabby.

Brain:  I don’t like that sound.  It annoys me.

Stomach:  I’m starving down here!  Do something, Brain!

Brain:  I’m trying but she is being obstinate.  And my thinks are getting slower.

Stomach:  This is an urgent situation.  I have to pull energy from these fat cells just laying around here.

Me:  That’s the smartest thing you’ve said all day, Stomach.  Also….you all are just Hang-gry.

2 hours later.

Me:  Brace yourselves – it’s dinner time.

Mouth:  Yes!!  Finally!

Mouth:  Uh!  What was that?!  That tastes like a vegetable!

Stomach:  What?!  A VEGETABLE?  What kind?

Mouth:  I think it’s a carrot.

Stomach:  I thought you hated carrots.

Mouth:  I DO!  She’s become evil.  It’s carrots but it has butter, which I like, and sesame seeds, which I like.  I don’t know what to do.

Stomach:  Spit it out!  Hurry!

Brain:  No can do!  I’ve been brainwashed since childhood to never spit out food.  That would earn me a finger thump on my head from Dad.

Stomach:  Gawd!  You are such an ass!

Ass:  Leave me out of this.  It’s not my area.

Brain:  I can’t help it.  Dad had big fingers and those thumps hurt like hell.  I’ve been programmed to avoid those situations.  It’s a Pavlov’s Dog sort of thing.

Mouth:  Somebody make up your mind.  I can’t just chew this shit forever.

Stomach:  Intestines, big and small, prepare for invasion!  We have Carrots!

Mouth:  Holy Fuck Fuck!  Aaaa!  There’s cabbage, too!!

Stomach:  Cabbage?  What the hell is she doing?  Abort!  Abort!  I will send that shit right back at you, Mouth.  Cabbage ferments into methane gas and makes things unpleasant down here.

Mouth:  I can’t.  I’m already swallowing.

Stomach:  Shit!  I’m sending this straight to you, Intestines.  It’s a nuclear bomb for me.

Ass:  Would you please stop with all the ‘Shit’ references?  I’m trying to sleep here.

Intestines:  You won’t be sleeping for long.  Cabbage and carrots are heading your way.

Ass:  What’s the ETA?

Intestines:  Gas will start arriving within the hour and the carrots and cabbage within 3 hours.

Ass:  Really?  How exciting!  I love gas, especially cabbage gas.  It ferments quickly and I can play with it for hours and hours – even after the cabbage and carrots arrive.

Stomach:  This isn’t my area.  I’ll leave all that to you and the Intestines.

3 hours later – pre-sleep review.

Brain:  So, that was a terrible day.  The only one happy was Ass.  We have only one chance left to get any enjoyment before we sleep.

Mouth:  Do you have a plan?  Please tell me it’s a Doughnut Plan.

Brain:  Nope.  It’s a Potato Chip plan because we have those in the cupboard.  I can put the thought into her head and if Mouth starts to drool a bit and Stomach grumbles, there is a good chance we can put a stop to the ‘Diet’.

Me:  Shut up!  Y’all are the reason we’re fat in the first place.  It’s time to pay the piper.

Brain:  Does that mean there is more cabbage and carrots in the near future?

Me:  Yes.  And it’s your own fault.

Brain:  Why aren’t you blaming Eyes?  They are the ones that are always too big for Stomach.  We have no control over what you eat.  That’s Hands, Eyes and Mouth’s doing.

Me:  Wrong.  You, Brain, are in total control of cravings.  That makes you the Evil One.

Brain:  What?!

Eyes, Mouth, Stomach, Intestines and Ass:  Bastard!

Me:  All of you – quit your whining and go to sleep.  If you’re good, I might entertain the idea of French Toast for breakfast.

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Look What The Cat Dragged Home

I’ve been trying to be less of an Introvert lately.  You know, like visiting people and …… well, visiting people.  It’s not really working out for me because the first person to come for a visit wouldn’t leave when I was done visiting.

I should have known better when he came to the front door bearing a big-assed can of coffee.  I was so focused on being appreciative that I never thought about the ironic consequences.  I don’t even know him – Izzie broke into his house and refused to leave until he gave her treats – but I, personally, don’t know him any further than my apology regarding The Queen of Mean’s home invasion.  I’ve only spoken to him once and couldn’t even remember his name.  It’s Peter – I had to ask.

Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t have invited him in the house, but it was cold outside and I’m a responsible user of utilities.  And the coffee; how do you deny a guest coffee when he brings it as a gift? We were at that awkward point where you either invite him in or slam the door in his face and I couldn’t do that because coffee(!) and my fucking cat invaded his home!  Had I known we would be trading Home Invasions, I might not have accepted the gift or extended the welcome quite so fast.

Once inside, I gave Peter a cup of coffee and set a new pot to brew.  The Viking was busy hanging a television on the wall in the bedroom, but he popped out to chat for a bit.  After 45 minutes or so he went back to his job, leaving me alone with Peter.  To entertain him.  All by myself.  She’s not just my cat, you know, Viking!  And speaking of the cat, she just curled up on the side board behind Peter’s back and had a nap.  That’s the thanks I get around here.

I filled Peter’s coffee cup 5 times.  By then, I was just listening without responding (aka encouraging).  The Viking went out to blow the snow off the sidewalks around the entire block and came back home and Peter was still here.  I stood up and started to putter around the kitchen, putting things in the dishwasher, tidying up, that sort of thing and Peter still sat at the table.

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I stopped the refills after the 6th cup.  I was starting to get the feeling that he might be moving in and the coffee was a House Warming gift for us.  He said his house had finally sold and made a point of letting me know he was between residences.  “We have a tiny house, Peter, and you are a big guy!  AND we only have one bathroom!” 

This is the reason I’m an Introvert in the first place, Peter!!!  It doesn’t feel good, it feels like we’re hostages without a ransom demand.  Fucking Izzie!

He wouldn’t even use the bathroom, so I could escape to the garage and barricade us in with a snowmobile.

He must have some sort of space age-y bladder that can hold more than 6 cups of coffee for an insane amount of time.  I considered sneaking my cellphone into the bathroom and calling 911 – Help!  We’re being held hostage by our cat’s home invasion victim!  That would never work anyway because there is no law about how long a guest can stay unless it becomes a Squatter Violation but that takes months!

In the meantime, he’s going on and on about his failed marriage 11 years ago and how much money it cost him and why the political system was the foundation upon which his divorce was built on.

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I realize that he just wanted someone to talk too but I ran out of patience 2 hours ago.  Besides, I’m not even a friend!  I’m just a woman whose cat burglarized his house!

I put the cream back in the fridge after three and a half hours, put his cup in the dishwasher, turned the lights on and said, “Wow!  It’s getting late.”

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I took a moment to wonder if I’m just being selfish, but then I looked at the clock and decided, “Fuck that!!  My entire afternoon is gone! And just because Izzie held him hostage doesn’t mean he can hold us hostage or think he can move in with us – two wrongs don’t make a right, Peter!

The marathon finally ended after 4 hours and 49 minutes – just shy of the 5 hours Izzie held him hostage.  I locked the front door behind him and sagged onto the closest chair.

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Izzie wandered past without looking at me.  “No more dragging humans home!  If you must be a burglar, make sure you aren’t followed.  Seriously.  Do I have to make you watch Gone In 60 Seconds?”

I’m just going to chalk this up to bad luck and a learning exercise.  First things first – I need a front door with a one-way mirror in it and a trap door for those who make it past the front door before showing their true colors.  And then I’ll just go to the visitor instead of them coming to me.*

 

*This does not apply to my 4 top friends.  You can still come for coffee any time for as long as you want.  I’ll make a blanket tent in the family room and have a bowl of Jell-o powder so we can lick our fingers and stick it in the powder (don’t knock it until you’ve tried it).  Sure, it will stain your finger but how important is that compared to the fun?!  Right Judy?

Superman and Spanx

At one point in my life I was an Extrovert.  At least I think I was.  There is a significant amount of evidence to suggest I might have been a badass Extrovert as a youngster.  I’m not that anymore, though and the only explanation is that my inner Extrovert was ambushed, tortured for several decades and killed by my inner Introvert.  The war happened so slowly that I really wasn’t conscious of it.  It took one well-timed meme on Facebook and I was suddenly confronted with the reality that I’m a total and complete Introvert.

Under normal conditions this isn’t a problem.  We work and live at home so there are entire days where I don’t need to see anyone.  It’s lovely.

However, this past month has been filled with occasions where I needed to leave my dark cave and intermingle with other humans.

Mim and Kevin got married on December 23rd and I was forced to dress up and smile and shake hands.  There were a few awkward moments when my brain locked up and I was concerned I may need to run.  Like when Kevin’s Dad introduced himself as Kevin’s brother and I looked at Kevin and then at the guy in front of me and what I wanted to say was, “Get the fuck out of here!  You’re too old to be his brother!”

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And then conflicting thoughts started:

Maybe their parents had too much love for just one kid and by the time they realized it the first love-child was already in his twenties.  It happens and I’m not judging.  In fact, it’s lovely.

Maybe they have different mothers but the same horny father.  This, too, happens and it’s nothing to be worried about.

Maybe the older one fell out of the sky as a baby, making a huge crater in the middle of Russia, and then crawled for months without food until a nice farm couple found him and raised him as their own.  And then he realized he had super powers and logically decided to become a reporter with the Daily News as a cover for his Super-ness.  Maybe I’m standing here with Clark Fucking Kent!  What does one say to Clark Kent?  What’s the etiquette?  I hope he doesn’t expect a curtsey because I am way past the point where a curtsey is a curtsey but rather an awkward slow fall to the floor.  But he’s fucking Superman – he can just pluck me up and put me back on my feet again like nothing ever happened.  And, I bet he can really get the lid off a pickle jar in a hurry, too.  He probably doesn’t even shout about how I managed to get the lid on the pickle jar so tight that only Superman can get it off because he IS Superman so no harm, no foul.

Fortunately, for both of us, Kevin’s Father correctly identified the emotions racing across on my face and took pity on me.

And then there was the woman who looked me up and down and decided I didn’t meet her standards.  So, I frowned and looked her up and down and decided she didn’t meet my standards.  Apparently, she’s not the kind to back down so looked me up and down again.    I retaliated with another look up and down but with a bigger frown.  And then she did it again and I did it again and then The Viking decided he should break up the war before someone’s face got stuck in a sneer for eternity.

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When it came time to dance I was happily sitting at my table, minding my own Introverted business and suddenly Kevin showed up.  I said that Mim promised I wouldn’t have to dance.  He said he didn’t make any such promise and if it would make me feel any better he wouldn’t twirl me around.  I said that was probably the best idea he had ever had in his entire life.  That scenario was full of terrible possibilities, most of them ending with me on my back, my dress up around my ears and my Spanx letting go.

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I ended up in Emergency again, on Christmas Eve.  And the second Emergency waiting room was packed with only two seats available – one squished between two guys and one beside a lady, but her husband’s wheel chair was blocking access.  My Introvert didn’t even pause.  It said “Fuck this shit!  I’ll stand in the hallway!”  But then the lady noticed me and recognized my Introvert because she said, “Come over here and sit beside me, dear.”

I loved her in that moment.

The ultimate test of my Introverted-ness came when we hosted a Julefrokost (a Danish Christmas Feast) on the 30th for my kids and my ex-husband, Stanley and his wife, Mildred.  Stay tuned because that’s my next post.

I’m Not Needy, I’m Demanding!

Teddy:  So.  You’re grounded, huh?

Izzie:  It won’t last long.  They can’t maintain their angst when I pour on the charm.

Teddy:  The Viking seems pretty determined.

Izzie:  Yes, but Mom runs out of patience after a while.

Teddy:  I guess, but why don’t you just come home at bed time like I do?

Izzie:  Because I like the night.  There’s less traffic and fewer people to yell at me to stop pooping in their flower beds.  And, it’s kind of peaceful.

Teddy:  Peaceful?  You are the least peaceful cat I’ve ever met and I lived on the street for nearly a year.

Izzie:  I’m peaceful when I want to be.

Teddy:  Nope.  The only time you are peaceful is when you are drugged.

Izzie:  Whatever.  I like myself unconditionally.  Dr. Phil says that’s what well-adjusted persons aspire too.

Teddy:  Pfft!  You don’t even watch Dr. Phil.  You’re too busy being cranky and needy.

Izzie:  I’m not needy!  I’m demanding!

Teddy:  Well, you’re that too, but still needy.  And what was up with you slapping Mom last night?

Izzie:  She had that coming!  She wouldn’t let me out!  And I didn’t use my claws this time, for your information.

Teddy:  And you thought slapping her would get her to open the door?

Izzie:  I thought that once she understood the true depth of my desire to get outside, she would let me out.

Teddy:  Yeah.  How did that work for you?

Izzie:  You didn’t have to take her side, Momma’s Boy!  You are a cat, and cats are supposed to support cats.

Teddy:  All I did was reiterate…….again……that I don’t want you slapping Mom.  Or The Viking, for that matter.  How many times do I have to tell you this?

Izzie:  You’re still a loser for siding with Mom.  I won’t be leaving you my leftovers anymore.

Teddy:  You haven’t left me food for months.

Izzie:  By the way, why did you show Charlie how to get down from the garage roof?  I was enjoying his pitiful whining.

Teddy:  What is it with you?  You’re always slapping people and hissing at other cats and knocking hats off the customers.  Would it kill you to be nice?

Izzie:  As a matter of fact, yes.  It might kill me.  Germs spread with contact.  And, I like everyone as long as they don’t touch me, don’t talk to me, don’t look at me and don’t bring other cats around.

Teddy:  Charlie isn’t that bad.  He is a bit overly friendly but I think it’s because he’s trying really hard to fit in.

Izzie:  Charlie is an idiot.

Teddy:  Wouldn’t it be nice to have a friend?

Izzie:  I have a friend.

Teddy:  And who would that be?

Izzie:  You, Stupid!

Teddy:  Really?  You’re my friend?  That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me!

Izzie:  And then you had to ruin it!  And no, I’m not your friend.  You are my friend.  I’m not a friend kind of cat – too many responsibilities.

Teddy:  I don’t even know what you’re talking about now.

Izzie:  When you’re a friend, you have to be supportive and kind and give them things and when they do something nice for you, you have to do something nice for them.  And I don’t do nice things for anyone, therefore, I’m not your friend.  You, though, are my friend and it’s your responsibility to be supportive of my causes and be kind to me and do nice things for me.  Like getting someone to open the damned door!

Teddy:  I should have seen that coming but for some reason I just didn’t.  I’m going to play with my squeaky mouse.

 

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I Don’t Want to Alarm You But…

I was once accused, by a boss, of being aggressive.  Once I got over the shock I asked around and found out that I’m not really aggressive*, I’m assertive; which was a description I could live with.  That was years ago though.  Nowadays, I’m not so much assertive as prone to bouts of slight aggressiveness.  If I were Freud, I would say I become aggressive on occasion because I’m not being assertive enough to avoid the necessity of aggressiveness.

I bring this up because I am being stalked by my Gel Nail Technician – Nancy.  She’s really, really terrible at doing Gel Nails but I’ve been going to her because I haven’t had any alternative within a reasonable distance from my house.  But my former Gel Nail Technician is back and she’s amazing, she’s closer and I want good quality work again instead of horrible, terrible work.  But now, Nancy is calling my cell phone and leaving messages.  And since I’ve been dodging her calls from the shop she’s become shifty and crafty and called from her personal cell phone and I answered it because I thought it was someone else.

“Hello Lori!  It’s Nancy!  When do you want appointment?”

Well SHIT!  It should be easy to not go to one place anymore because you would rather go to some other place instead.  But Nancy isn’t playing by the rules and because I’m not assertive enough to explain that I found someone better, it will probably need an aggressive response to get her to stop calling me.  Sigh.

And I bring this up because I went to the salon where my former Technician is to get my nails done.

There was a man at the front desk and three other women puttering around the shop.  When Anne looked at my nails, she muttered something in an Asian dialect and those 3 women rushed over to look at my nails too.  There was a flurry of words and tut-tuts and lots of shaking heads.  One said “Who did that to your hands?!”  I waved in the vague direction of the street.  “Some other place out there.” I mumbled.

Long story short – I have beautiful nails on my Man Hands!**  Woop!  Woop!  I’m pretty sure Nancy isn’t done yet though.

AND….the reason I’m telling you this is because later that day, The Viking said:

“You have Sex Hair!  Why do you have Sex Hair when we haven’t had sex?!”

Of course I went directly to the closest mirror and he was right.  I definitely had Sex Hair!  I’m as mystified as he is.  Before I left the house to get my nails done, I made sure my hair was presentable and the only guy I saw the whole time was the guy at the front desk in the salon.

Me:  “Okay.  I don’t want to alarm you but I may have experienced a Missing Time event.”

The Viking:  What the fuck is that?

Me:  “Well, it’s when you can’t remember what happened in a certain stretch of time.  Like people who are abducted by UFOs.

The Viking:  “You were abducted by aliens?  Is that what you’re saying?

Me:  “No.  Well maybe.  I don’t know!  How do aliens have sex?”

The Viking:  “I don’t know!”

Me:  “Maybe that’s why aliens don’t have hair.  Maybe their sex is so wild it was easier to just evolve into hairlessness.”

The Viking:  “So you think you had wild sex with a hairless alien?”

Me:  “It would explain my Sex Hair.”

The Viking:  “Or maybe you were just playing around in the bedroom today when I was working.”

Me (shocked and insulted):  “I wouldn’t do that!  And if I did I think I would remember it.  Unless I was experiencing a Missing Time event.  Geez!  I wonder if I do that every afternoon?”

The Viking:  “I think I’d better check on you more often in the afternoons.”

Me:  “I have noticed that my right hand aches quite a bit lately.  I thought I was just getting The Arthritis!

The Viking:  “I want to go with you when you try to explain that to your doctor?”

Me:  You know what?  I may not remember doing it but I’m still a little proud of myself.

It occurs to me that I am right in the glory years of menopause, when my body is producing less Estrogen and more Testosterone and we all know that Testosterone can make people a little aggressive, more hairy and a lot horny.  With the plethora of other wonderful things Menopause has introduced to me I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that Missing Time events and sore hands might be in the mix.

But now that I’m thinking about it, it occurs to me that of all the other crap that comes with Menopause, missing time and the possibility that I might be hanging out in the bedroom in the afternoons isn’t so bad.  So, there is that.

*I’m not really aggressive….except when I flush the toilet.  Apparently I am an extremely aggressive Flusher because I broke the handle right off the toilet which set off an entire bathroom renovation because The Viking doesn’t trust me with conventional flushing handles anymore.  Instead, he bought a Push Button Toilet with a flushing apparatus developed at NASA.  If it’s good enough for Aliens it’s good enough for us.  I guess.

**Despite our best efforts and an iPhone 4S (yes, I know it’s an antique but it works for me), we couldn’t get a decent picture of my beautiful nails.

 

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Is That You, Mildred?

So I was at the grocery store yesterday – just picking up a few things for dinner.  It was nearly that time already but I had other things on my mind all day and suddenly I thought “Shit!  What am I going to make for dinner?!  It’s blisteringly hot outside so I’m not cooking inside.  Bar-B-Que it is!”

And everything went really well, almost right to the end.  Because as I was waiting for the scale to verify the weight of my bags I looked up and…..time stopped for a moment.

Is that Stanley’s* new wife?  Can I even call her the ‘new’ wife because it’s been a while since he married her.  I consider myself the ‘old’ wife so I suppose that would make her ‘new’ wife.

That kind of makes us sound like cars, doesn’t it?  I’m the old trade-in and she’s the shiny new one that smells awesome inside.  EWW…!!  That didn’t come out right.  Not that she doesn’t smell good inside…..but how would I even know that?  Geez!  Let’s just pretend I never said that, okay?

So……I look up from the scale and I see her, but I’m not 100% certain it’s her….I’m in more like the 85 percentile of positivity.  It looks like her but it’s been a while since I’ve seen her so maybe I’m wrong.  This store is a little out of her neighborhood and while I don’t mind her shopping at my grocery store, I would like to know if it is, indeed, Mildred* or not, because shopping like a Meerkat is going to get weird.

Let’s put that aside for now though, because there are bigger issues here than whether she is Mildred or she isn’t.  Namely, did she see me?  We didn’t quite make eye contact before I dropped my head and stared at the screen in front of me.  I diligently started scanning my items while my mind kicked into overdrive.

How am I supposed to behave?  What’s the protocol?  Do I wave?  Should I do the Floppy Wave and keep it loose and friendly?  A rigid, proper wave – my fingers straight and squeezed together, and make Wash On, Wash Off movements?  Maybe a Queenly Wave – my hand cupped, palm towards me with kind of scooping motions?  Or maybe she didn’t see me at all and the guy at the cashier behind her will think I’m hitting on him and I’ll have a situation in the parking lot?

Maybe I should just take a deep breath and plunge into the morass of awkward Divorc-i-ness.  I’m not harboring any bad feelings but I have no idea what the other side feels.  Maybe there is an incommunicado policy in place that I’m not aware of.  Did Stanley tell her that I wanted to give him away at their Wedding?  I thought it was a brilliant idea – the old wife officially giving him to the new wife.  That would have started things off on the right foot, in my opinion, but Stanley threatened death and dismemberment.

Even if I do decide to take the plunge, what do I say for an opening salvo?  Do I holler across 6 cashiers and say…..what?

“How’s that husband working out for you?”

Or “Hey Mildred!!  Lookin’ good!”

Or should I be more formal “Felicitations Mildred!”

By the time I finished paying for my stuff, I had decided to just screw up my courage and make an oblique approach and maybe accidentally bump into her cart.  I could pretend that I just saw her at this moment and not 5 minutes ago when I ducked down like a 3rd Grader.

There was a tiny whoosh of relief when I couldn’t see her.  And then I wondered if she was doing the same thing that I was doing because she had no damned idea how to behave in these circumstances either.  Maybe she hissed at her cashier to hurry the fuck up, then ran out of the store like the hounds of hell were at her heels.  Maybe she even squealed tires trying to get out of the parking lot before I made my way out of the store.  Probably not because she’s an adult, but I still wonder if she felt awkward too?

I’m going to blame this entirely on Stanley.  First, because I haven’t done that for years and second, because he should have let me give him away at his damned Wedding.  This wouldn’t even be an issue if we had started this off on the right foot to begin with.

In the meantime, I need a plan in case we bump into each other again.  I need a suave and elegant opener and then hope to hell I did my hair that morning.

 

*I’ve changed his name to protect his identity and privacy.  Because I’m just that kind of person.

*I’ve changed her name to protect her identity and privacy.  Because I’m just that kind of person.  What?!  I like the name Mildred and it goes quite nicely with Stanley.  Mildred and Stanley – see?  It rolls right off the tongue.

A Baby In Each Arm

It’s time for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, the photo provided by Danny Bowman.

 

They stood side by side, the older woman’s arm around the younger. 

“Between those two humps, your great, great grandmother buried 2 children – it was cholera.  Three days later she gave birth to twins in the back of the wagon.  They had to stop when the babies came, then they travelled through the night to catch the other wagons.  She walked the whole time, a baby in each arm.”    

“Really?”

“Yes.  You come from a long line of strong women.  A broken heart might hurt like hell but it won’t kill you.” 

“Promise?”

A long, comforting hug.   “I promise.” 

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VICTORY! or not

It’s time for Friday Fictioneers again, hosted by the stupendous Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.  This time we’re using a wonderful prompt photo by Roger Bulltot.

“HA!  I told you this wasn’t the way out!”  Cheryl crowed, twerking enthusiastically in a well-rehearsed if seldom used victory dance. 

Steve rolled his eyes, studying the map.

“YeeHaw!!”  Slapping her ass and shuffling like she was riding a horse.  “Gawd, it’s great to be right once in a while!”

He traced the map with his right index finger, muttering about medieval architecture.

Cheryl was now trotting in circles chanting ‘LOOOOSER’.

Steve went closer to the wall and pulled a vine aside.  “Hey!  Here it is!” 

Cheryl stopped to stare, wilted in disappointment and let her head fall back.  “Fuuuuuuck!”

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Just Listen Already!!

People don’t listen to me.  I talk and they nod like they are listening and then they go and do as they damn well please!  Like I hadn’t spoken at all!  I believe in doing your own thing and being your own person but when I’m paying for something I’d like them to LISTEN!

I just got home from the grocery store and I’m still a little annoyed.  Safeway sells wonderful collapsible square bags that are actually boxes that stand on their own, can handle a lot of weight and are easy to carry – I have many of them.  So when I got to the cashier, I placed the box in front of my groceries and moved down to the other side where she was packing the box.  She put in a six pack of canned flavoured water and I said….

“Just leave both six packs and the jugs of Cranberry Juice out of the bag.  I won’t be able to lift it if there’s too much weight.”

Her:  I was going to put all the light items in a plastic bag and the heavy stuff in the box.”

Me:  I don’t want a plastic bag.  Just leave the heavy items unbagged and I’ll hand-bomb them into the car.”

She put a six pack of the flavoured water in the box.  I reached in and took it out and put it loose in the cart.  She scans in the second six pack and puts it in the box!  I take it out and put it beside the other six pack in the cart and said….

“Don’t put the Cranberry Juice in the box.  I would like it loose and unbagged, please.”

She scans in some cereal and the fresh produce and deposits them in the box.  Then she scans the Cranberry Juice and puts it in the box!!!  What. The. Fuck?!  She pretends I’m not even there!

I just gave up at that point. I paid for my damned groceries, muttered all the way out to the car and came home.  If that was the only example I wouldn’t have much to complain about, but it’s not the only one.

About 6 weeks ago I went to the dentist and it was a total shit show and the ultimate end product was an incredibly painful TMJ issue.  I went back to the dentist, he took an x-ray and said my TMJ was just fine.  So I went to a physiotherapy clinic and they recommended I see Anne, the Traditional Chinese Massage Expert.  I told her what the issue was:  the entire right side of my face is killing me and the pain shoots up from my neck, through my jaw, up through my temple and across my forehead.  I explained that the dentist said it wasn’t TMD so it must be from the huge lump on the back of my neck.

Her:  Your face hurting but problem isn’t face.  Your face like computer screen that not working.  You think the problem is screen but it not screen.  It hard drive or software.

Me:  Oookay.

Her:  Lay down face up.  Show me where the pain is.

Me (laying down, face up, waving my hand all around the right side of my head):  Everywhere but mostly in my jaw and temple.

Her (poking my jaw):  Here?

Me:  OMG!!!  Yes!  That fucking hurts!

Her:  Ah!  You see?  Like radio.  You hear radio but radio not here.  Is over there.  You have to follow wiring.

She carried on talking about computers and radios and cars and other shit I wasn’t listening too.  I wasn’t listening to her because 1). She’s using her hands to point at the invisible computers/radios/cars, and 2).  I can hear the ticking of the clock and every tick is another minute I’m paying for while Vanna White is NOT fixing my problem!

The next appointment I said my face was feeling well enough for me to feel the lump on the back of my neck stabbing into my brain.  She shook her head at me and said….”Not neck.  You feel pain in neck but neck is not problem.  Your neck like computer screen that not working.  Not screen problem.  Software problem.  Blah.  Blah.  Blah.  Blah.  Blah.”

And she tortured my face some more.

Next appointment – my face is still hurting and now I can’t even touch it because she’s bruised every muscle on my entire head!  AND my neck is really hurting from the big lump.  I take her hand and push her finger on the lump.  Right there!

She smiles and nods.  “Lay down face up.  Neck not problem.  Like radio.  You hear radio here…….”  Blah, blah, blah, blah BLAH!  And she tortured my face in between her Vanna White impressions.  I go for 4 appointments with her not listening to me.  She would torture my face for a little bit, but then she decided to torture my left leg because I have nerve damage and walk with a limp!  What. The. Fuck?!  That’s the furthest place from my neck that she could possibly be and I’m almost certain my damned leg isn’t making my face/head/neck hurt!!

Two can play at this game, you know!!

The next appointment I said my face feels wonderful!  No pain.  It’s very good now.  She showed me a demonstration of how my jaw joint works.  She asked where the pain is and I said….”I have a terrible headache.  It is the back of my head all the way over my skull to my forehead.

She smiles and nods.  “Lay down face up.  Forehead not the problem.  Forehead like computer screen.  You think forehead is problem but it not the problem.  No.  You have hardware or software problem.”

And she finally worked on my neck like I wanted in the first place!!  Gawd!!

And then there’s The Damned Viking!  He only listens to the first 3 words in my sentence, decides what I’m about to say and then starts hollering, like he’s a fucking Clairvoyant!  I stop talking and make the universal sign of WTF by turning my palms face up in front of me with a confused face.

Me:  So, I was thinking that I should get……

The Viking:  WE CAN’T AFFORD ANYTHING RIGHT NOW!!  DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND THAT WE NEED TO SAVE A LITTLE MONEY?

Me:  I was thinking that I should get busy doing the…..

The Viking:  DON’T YOU HAVE ENOUGH THINGS TO DO THAT YOU DON’T HAVE TIME FOR WITHOUT DOING MORE THINGS?!

Me (sighing heavily):  I was thinking that I should get busy doing the laundry.  Your dirty clothes corner is almost touching the ceiling.

The Viking:  I’m almost out of underwear.

And then there are the cats.  They don’t fucking listen either, unless I’m shaking the treat container and then they are listening so hard I’m tripping on them.

I don’t think I’m asking too much for people to fucking listen when I’m talking!  I’m becoming more and more convinced all the time that cranky old people are only cranky because no one would fucking listen to them and they’ve had enough!

I don’t need my cane to walk anymore but I’m thinking of taking it with me anyway, just so I can poke those non-listening fuckers!  And maybe I’ll sharpen the end into a point.  A nice sharp point.

 

Friday Fictioneers – Hotels and Room Service

I missed the last few Friday Fictioneers because The Viking tricked me into marrying him.  Okay….talked….me into marrying him.  So, there was that and then his brother and wife came to visit from Denmark and then a Honeymoon.  All of which kept me from getting too much time with a computer.

But I’m finally back in the swing of things so I have time for FF, hosted by the great and wonderful Rochelle Wiseoff-Fields.  And the photo prompt this week is provided by Jan Wayne Fields.

 

“What was that?”  Cheryl’s legs scissored and kicked inside the sleeping bag.  “There’s something crawling on my leg!!”

Steve rolled his eyes.  “There’s nothing crawling on your leg, Cheryl.  It’s all in your head.”

Scrambling out, sitting heavily on Steve’s stomach (Oooff!), she shook out her bag.  A beetle about an inch long plopped on her pillow.

“I knew it!!  This is why I hate camping!!  There are bugs in EVERYTHING!” 

Steve tossed the beetle outside immediately after Cheryl bolted, taking her pillow and bag to the car.

“So it’s hotels and room service forever?!” He yelled after her.

 

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