Wednesday, October 28, 2015

Clarification of Things That Go Bump in the A.M.

Something happened this morning that instantly clarified the difference between first – men and women and second – morning people and night owls.

Heads up – I am the woman and the morning person.

6:45 am: As per our normal schedule my husband rises from his slumber and wanders in to the living room to kiss me good morning. I get up between 5:30 am & 6:00 am so I am usually on the couch watching the news.

6:46 am: As per his normal schedule he trundles into the kitchen to take his ‘morning meds.’

6:46:15 am: The refrigerator opens and he takes out his bottle of Perrier (‘Perrier - it just isn’t for rich people anymore!’) to wash down those ‘morning meds.’

6:46:25 am: Not as per normal I hear a BAM – then “SHIT!”

6:46:26 am: I barrel into the kitchen to see what has happened.

To the right I see my husband standing there just staring at the floor. To the left I see one of our cats (his favorite) crouched in horror behind the trash container. And in the middle of them both is the Perrier bottle on the floor surrounded by about a ¼ of its carbonated contents.

It didn’t take me 2 seconds (6:46:28 am) to figure out what had happened. The cat, in a vain attempt to gain extra treats, had jumped up onto the top of the trash can, misjudged, and slid headlong into my Perrier holding husband – who was not quite expecting this maneuver so was ill prepared for this sudden onslaught – and had knocked the Perrier out of his hand, so that it fell open on to the floor.

Here is where the clarification comes in:

Women know what I am thinking, “Quick get a towel!” (After snickering to themselves)

Men are thinking, “What the hell just happened?”

Morning people are thinking, “Why is he just standing there looking like a deer in the headlights? Let’s move people! Let's get this cleaned up!”

Night owls are thinking, “Shit, why did I even get up this morning?!”

There you have it. Differences you may have wondered about explained in a matter of minutes – in an easy to understand format. It doesn’t get any better than that.

Tuesday, October 27, 2015

It Has To Be The Age - Or The Booze

Today I officially turned 58. I hate it. I loathe getting old. When I was younger I loathed the THOUGHT of growing old and now that it is here my loathing has not diminished but intensified. Now granted, I am always told that the alternative is worse than getting old – but I don’t know anymore…. 

I also have heard that getting old involves losing cognitive functions. You hear and see that talked about everywhere. But not in my family. We just grow old – and older – and older – and then we die. Brain cells and bones intact. 

However, a dream I had this morning between 5:15 a.m. and 6:17 a.m. is making me question whether my brain cells are starting their mutinous decline – or whether I need to stop drinking. The answer could go either way – or both ways – I haven’t decided yet. 

 I want to tell you just how bizarre it was: 

It started with me going to college and I was going to live in the dorm – AT MY CURRENT AGE (a few years shy of 60!). 

No one seemed shocked about this and I was given a roommate assignment, a room assignment, and given a key. I moved a few things in and then got my purse and keys and went out to the ‘quad’ to see if I could find anyone I knew. (Because so many 60 year olds go to college?! What the what?) 

While wandering around I came upon a RV – our RV. (The RV my husband and I own and by the way – where is he?) 

So I think, ‘Hey, I have the weekend since school doesn’t start until Monday and it is only Friday.’ and I hopped in the camper (because I have the keys remember) and drove to a campground. 

I set everything up, the day ends and I go to bed. Alone. 

The next morning I awaken to a storm. I got up and started checking the camper out because I was kind of feeling soggy. It was then that I discovered that the RV had mutated overnight into some weird multi-level camper/tent thing and it was leaking horribly from the tent roof part. I checked everywhere to try to find a way to stop the deluge from continuously spilling inside and ended up finding some awning kind of a thing that I pulled over the tear that seemed to solve my problem.  

Relieved, I went back into the RV part of this RV/tent monstrosity so that I could make some breakfast and THERE WAS MY EX-HUSBAND!! What the hell??!! What was he was doing there? Of course I immediately wanted to bolt out of there – which I did. Thunder, lightning, rain and mud be damned! I had no idea what was happening and I wanted no part of it.  

Next thing I know I had somehow gotten back to the college and realized I had forgotten my purse in the camper and I couldn’t get into my dorm room (Shit). I was a mess! I needed a shower and non-rain soaked/muddied clothes! I turned around so that I could go find the RA to let me in my room and there was Drew Scott! (Yes that Drew Scott – HGTV – Property Brothers) 

Even in the dream, my mind went – WTF??!! 

But he appeared like he wasn’t shocked in the slightest at the situation and acted like he knew me! He asked if there was anything he could do for me. (Of course looking at him made me lose any thought of searching for an RA – who needs some college student to help when you have someone FAMOUS asking to help you!)  

I told him I was locked out of my room and that I needed to go get my keys so that I could come back and take a shower. I also stated that I would like to go to a CVS to get Goody’s powders. (Seriously? That is the best I could come up with?)  

He graciously said he would take me. We got into his car and started talking like we were old friends. I told him about what had just happened in the camper and he agreed about how odd it all seemed. But he assured me he would be more than happy to take me back to the campground (if we could find it) and that he would get my purse for me so I wouldn’t have to see my ex again. (I knew he was a gentleman!) 

We went to CVS and it was at that exact moment I suddenly decided I needed to shower and change my clothes immediately! I didn’t have time to get my keys and I didn’t have time to go to some campground that I had no recollection of how to get to!  

Courteous as always, he offered to take me back to his place, (WHOO HOO!) while patting me on my back to try to calm me down, so that I could shower. He added that he probably had some clothes that fit me. (What? Large old lady clothes? Where would he get something like that? But then again – he is rich!) 

That is when I finally asked him – “WHAT THE HECK? Why are you helping me? I know you are famous and have a skinny girlfriend (whose clothes would NEVER fit me) and you are probably in town doing a show! Why are you even here and making time for me???!!!” 

He calmly turned to me, smiled and said, “Well you seem fun. I like your sense of humor (had I even said anything humorous?) and the TV show is at a point that I don’t have to be there so I am bored.” (Giant WTF is happening here?) 

We drove to this house and he said he was going to Google the campground – but I couldn’t remember the name. (This totally makes all kinds of sense, right?) 

Drew looks sweetly at me and tells me not to worry that we will find the campground no matter how long it takes and then tells me where the bathroom is and provides me with a very nice bathrobe. (Those with money ALWAYS have nice robes) 

So, I go into the bathroom and turn on the shower to get the temperature correct and in walked a guy I work with!! I casually say, ‘Hi Mike! Are you visiting Drew too?’ (Like this is all perfectly normal) and he answers, ‘Yes! I just came in to brush my teeth.’ So he proceeded to brush his teeth and after he left I got into the shower… 

The end. 

I have nothing clever or witty or poignant to say here – except WTF. That really is all I have. 

It has to be the age….

Friday, October 9, 2015

Proof? There Will Be No Proof...

For years now I have been shaving my arm pits almost daily because I think pit hair is gross – even under men’s arm pits. But I was not made the boss of other’s armpits – in THIS universe – so I keep silent.  

But sometimes, I actually want to confront some stranger by walking up to them and yelling – “HEY BUDDY! You need to shave your pits!” I imagine that if I did though, that later as we were talking to the police, I would mutter, “And that is when the fight started.” The thought of being hauled off to jail over pit hair is ridiculous, so I pretty much keep my pit hair thoughts to myself. 

But, because I am Lord and Master of my own underarms I have lately started to wonder about them. I haven’t seen any hair under there in years! I haven’t felt any hair under there in years either! Nor has any pit hair clogged up my razor in my recent past. Probably because of my aforementioned impeccable hygiene routine, but I wonder… 

I kept thinking about our neighbor, Mrs. McCormick, who lived across the street when I was growing up. She once told us, at one of her tea drinking sessions with mom, that she did not have arm pit hair. My sister & I were amazed. We had never heard of such a thing! We were a hairy lot and the thought that one could go through life and have to never so much as graze an armpit with a razor was akin to actually finding out you were a princess, raised by someone in a far off country because as a child a witch threatened to do away with you before your 16th birthday, and that you were now fabulously wealthy and going to rule a country.  

We knew how improbable BOTH scenarios must be - but it must be possible. We had human proof sitting right in front of our very own eyes, but we knew WE would never be so lucky. 

But time has passed and I began to wonder, if one person had no pit hair, maybe there were others – maybe she was a member of some larger secret group! A group that has to keep their affliction under wraps (so to speak) because if the world was privy to their mutation, they would be treated like aliens! Those free of the hair would be hunted down, poked and prodded, tested, and locked away in Area 51 while the government tried to discover their secret. They would never be allowed to rest – never be safe – never be normal – because all of humanity wanted to be arm pit hair free! Mrs. McCormick had entrusted us with information so monumental it reverberates in my mind to this day. But we kept her secret. We kept her safe! 

Mrs. McCormick had been armpit hair free all her life, but I got to thinking that maybe there was another group in the arena; a secret society that you could join as you aged. Maybe as you got older your pit hair thinned and died and generally gave up. If that was possible, I might be on the threshold of becoming their newest member! 

I had to know! Since it was the beginnings of fall and a time of sleeves, perhaps I could find out! I could get away with this stunt and no one would know since no one would see my pits because they were hidden under a cocoon of material! I could find out if I was one of them and still keep their secret. 

So last week I stopped shaving. I went cold turkey.  

It has now been a full 7 days later and as I perused my pits in the mirror – I.Saw.Nothing! I was elated! I was ecstatic!  

Now I am not going to definitively state that I am now a card caring member of the SHAP (Society of Hairless Arm Pits) – but I am closer now than I have ever been! 

I told my daughter today and she replied, “Lucky jerk.” Yes – yes I am. She was then sworn to secrecy. 

You who read this must keep the secret. Even if you don’t though, you will have no proof of this society – because – this post will self-destruct in 10 seconds. Close it now – before this happens. I don’t want you to get hurt. 






Thursday, October 1, 2015

I Lived

Hello All!

I just wanted to let everyone know that I lived! By the time the Cat-Scan was scheduled - I no longer felt the need for it.

I worked for doctors for 10 years. I know when the procedure scheduled will just waste your hard earned cash.

I may never know what really happened inside - but if it doesn't cost money to get better - does it really matter?

I am sure I will live to 100, after all, it is genetic in my family; and genetics beat medical procedures any day.