Old folks are a riot to watch, dontcha think?
The older I get, the more I enjoy watching them for the humor and the humility it brings to me. It wont be long before I'm in the same position. There are already plenty of days where I'm off my rocker and damn screwy!
I wonder how nutty I'll be?
If I will make it into my late 60s?
Recently while geezer watching at a buffet in town, we had the real treat of having a whole table of Depends reliant seated next us. It was an outing which looked like Ron Howard's old farts from Cocoon (Don Ameche and Wilford Brimley) and they were deeply enthralled with the variety of treats to be found on all the hot tables in the center of the room.
I could barely hold a conversation with the husband because I wanted to catch every word that this group of prune dependents had to speak about. They had close to 500 years of combined wisdom in the accumulated years amongst them and I was the fly on the wall to gather Intel.
What fascinating stories ...what sagas to soak my mind in...I would be clueless if one boastful fellow told another a canard, just as long as it was juicy!
The time we spent listening, we spent giggling at the group. They found such joy over the variety of food, trying to hear one another (calling in their outside voices that we'd ask children to never use inside), and even using potty humor when it was time to start saying goodbye.
Literal potty humor because one gentleman had a day nurse that demanded he go use the restroom now or she'd make him piss on the curb where she'd pull over because she wasn't going to stop at any gas stations or restaurants along the way.
The genuine affection they had for one another really brought a smile to me, it reminded me of the irascible behavior of my father in his older age.
If by chance I get to be an old fogy,I really hope that I have the same zeal for life PLUS I hope I look great when I'm ancient.
My sense of humor; I doubt it can be dented... there's far too many funny things going on to slow me down.
But gravity is a bitch and it's already yanked a few other things down so please, try not to pull my face down and make me look like an American Bulldog!
It's bad enough I have tits like a cover of National Geographic.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
In the Gutter, again
Soused in sangria we sipped and celebrated being together, being women.
Some women have a biological clock that ticks, the need to have children burns in them and the ache starts to swell; before too long their 20s slide into their 30s...and those 30s start to inch into 40s and their womb hasn't been filled with fleshy beasts.
My clock is missing the mainspring (believe me, my pendulums are still there) and I have no need for children but I have a mothering instinct; but it stems with my desire to feed.
I enjoy being in the kitchen, the counters strewn with saucers and bowls, knives and forks and all sorts of spices. Knowing that my creations are going to soon land onto the plates and shortly thereafter into the waiting mouths and tummies of my friends.
My girlfriends were over and I was delighted because they were satisfied, we sat and laughed and told stories over pasta.
I serve our meals in a very casual way, despite my love of cooking I have a great hate of cleaning up afterward, so I will set out picnic plates and cups instead of sticking my hands into another sink-full of sudsy water.
If anyone wants to wash dishes and eat off of the good plates...by all means they can certainly get out the scrubbie and have at it. However, we all know that no one wants to wash dishes so let's just get sloshed and contribute another paper plate to the landfill.
The plan for this little party was dinner, drinks and then to hit the local bowling lanes. Originally we were going to attend a local festival for a margarita contest but it was in collaboration with some country music, the tickets were ridiculously priced and we opted to find something a little more affordable to do!
Heck, I can make some mean 'Rita's at home if need be for a fraction of the cost and play lousy country music on the radio, we'd only miss out on the cute cowboys in their tight Wranglers...however all of us ladies are married and faithful to our own cowboys.
Once dinner was cleaned up, we decided it was just about time to get it over with and we climbed into our cars and headed out to the bowling lanes. Bowling is definitely going to be an experience unlike any other I've had recently because it's a physical situation I haven't put myself through in quite some period of time.
Let me remind the reader that I'm asthmatic, fat and happen to have a tumor growing inside one of my lungs. Not conducive for hefting a 10-12 pound ball down the lane, prancing like a dork in rented two toned shoes that some other smelly out of shape housewife wore prior to me.
(I am grateful to be an Amazon when it comes to shoe size and believe that the set of clod stompers loaned to me where fairly new; rarely rented! Many years ago, I spent a few weeks with my sister when she lived in the Ozarks. There was a series of commercials running on the radio or the television but she kept making reference to them and really giving me Hell. Apparently there were girls used that had large feet, a phrase was stated that a good woman was the type that a stiff wind wouldn't knock them over with those feet planted firmly onto the ground)
After a lane is given to us, we traipse over and realize we're only 2 hops and a skip away from the bar AND then only 1 more hop farther from the restroom - we set to getting those shoes on.
The bartender comes over, lord help us all. She has about 6 teeth in her head and Crystal Gail hair, probably to detract from her face. The thing about living in this lil' country town is that everyone's very nice, very kind but the degree of education versus the degree of inbreeding...well you get the idea which one is higher.
She takes our order, believe it or not the Lanes have these nice laminated menus with pictures of fancy mixed cocktails like you'd see at a restaurant like Applebee's or Chili's. The girls order 'Rita's, the man orders a beer and since I'm a fish I order a Long Island
We set into the grand game, encouraging one another to go for strikes but barely picking up spares let alone hitting anything at all. my closest friend is pigeon walking across the boards, stopping short right at the line and then flipping her wrist so that she gets mad spin action on the ball.
The spin doesn't do shit for her, the ball goes careening from one end of the waxed surface all the way down the lane to the other side of the surface straight into the gutter and never once kissing the pins.
The 4 of us high five, scream and WOOT WOOT with excitement for another failure and then take heavy slugs on our straws from our tasty beverages. The same beverages that took a minimum of 30 minutes for our delightfully dumb mixologist to prepare because she kept coming over to let us know that she did not have this or that ingredient to make the particular flavor of margarita the girls had ordered.
The girls finally settled on anything she could find enough ingredients for, just so long as we were drinking and before our Sangria buzz was worn off.
The lights were dimmed the next thing we knew, we were glowing in the dark! The white laces of our shoes were alight, our bras were glaring through our blouses like beacons in the dark...one minute I was Rebekah the next I was a Buick with it's headlamps on.
The 10th frame was upon us and I urged our girls to go for a turkey! dancing behind them gobbling..."gobble gobble gobble"...Don't think they KNEW what a turkey was, but it was still great fun dancing around anyhow. I have my hands planting on my hips, flopping my bent arms to and fro with my knees slightly bent and waggling my backside..."gobble gobble gobble".
Then I step back to let my other friend take her chance, grabbing my cell phone and setting the camera on and get the warning from her, "you better not take my picture...I better not read about my big butt in your blog". to which I am laughing and snapping pictures and plotting away.
When it's finally my turn, I switch on the charm because I should let y'all know that I am secretly in my own heart, a bowling champion. On the overhead, my theme song has come on from Queen "Fat Bottom Girls" to which I'm gyrating. Dropping it like it's hot, sashaying it, flipping my hips from side to side, ya, that's right - my big ass is the center of attention tonight.
Balancing my ball(a twelve pound beauty in tangerine orange) in my right hand while cradling it with my left I ponder my next move.
Bowling is a solo dance with props. I take my initial step out and quickstep my way towards the line, hurrying until I'm nearly there and raising my arm I start my swing but I've already put too much hip into my step...I start to slide...
I raise my arm, flick my wrist and release the ball and feel my balance go totally wonkers!
Since I'm already a goofball this is the opportunity to really go for it, as I'd been taking this attempt to impress everyone with my bootie shaking dancing I go with the slip and start windmilling my arms and fall into the lane, my foot goes into the gutter!
Down for the count? No way, I stay in for the show and with hands down, fingers splayed I twirl myself around so that I'm now facing back towards the seats I belly crawl like Tawny Kitaen in a Whitesnake video.
You know what really sucked? Everyone laughed (which I loved) but I got a strike which didn't count because I fouled!
Damn it all to hell, I'm always in the gutter!
Some women have a biological clock that ticks, the need to have children burns in them and the ache starts to swell; before too long their 20s slide into their 30s...and those 30s start to inch into 40s and their womb hasn't been filled with fleshy beasts.
My clock is missing the mainspring (believe me, my pendulums are still there) and I have no need for children but I have a mothering instinct; but it stems with my desire to feed.
I enjoy being in the kitchen, the counters strewn with saucers and bowls, knives and forks and all sorts of spices. Knowing that my creations are going to soon land onto the plates and shortly thereafter into the waiting mouths and tummies of my friends.
My girlfriends were over and I was delighted because they were satisfied, we sat and laughed and told stories over pasta.
I serve our meals in a very casual way, despite my love of cooking I have a great hate of cleaning up afterward, so I will set out picnic plates and cups instead of sticking my hands into another sink-full of sudsy water.
If anyone wants to wash dishes and eat off of the good plates...by all means they can certainly get out the scrubbie and have at it. However, we all know that no one wants to wash dishes so let's just get sloshed and contribute another paper plate to the landfill.
The plan for this little party was dinner, drinks and then to hit the local bowling lanes. Originally we were going to attend a local festival for a margarita contest but it was in collaboration with some country music, the tickets were ridiculously priced and we opted to find something a little more affordable to do!
Heck, I can make some mean 'Rita's at home if need be for a fraction of the cost and play lousy country music on the radio, we'd only miss out on the cute cowboys in their tight Wranglers...however all of us ladies are married and faithful to our own cowboys.
Once dinner was cleaned up, we decided it was just about time to get it over with and we climbed into our cars and headed out to the bowling lanes. Bowling is definitely going to be an experience unlike any other I've had recently because it's a physical situation I haven't put myself through in quite some period of time.
Let me remind the reader that I'm asthmatic, fat and happen to have a tumor growing inside one of my lungs. Not conducive for hefting a 10-12 pound ball down the lane, prancing like a dork in rented two toned shoes that some other smelly out of shape housewife wore prior to me.
(I am grateful to be an Amazon when it comes to shoe size
After a lane is given to us, we traipse over and realize we're only 2 hops and a skip away from the bar AND then only 1 more hop farther from the restroom - we set to getting those shoes on.
The bartender comes over, lord help us all. She has about 6 teeth in her head and Crystal Gail hair, probably to detract from her face. The thing about living in this lil' country town is that everyone's very nice, very kind but the degree of education versus the degree of inbreeding...well you get the idea which one is higher.
She takes our order, believe it or not the Lanes have these nice laminated menus with pictures of fancy mixed cocktails like you'd see at a restaurant like Applebee's or Chili's. The girls order 'Rita's, the man orders a beer and since I'm a fish I order a Long Island
We set into the grand game, encouraging one another to go for strikes but barely picking up spares let alone hitting anything at all. my closest friend is pigeon walking across the boards, stopping short right at the line and then flipping her wrist so that she gets mad spin action on the ball.
The spin doesn't do shit for her, the ball goes careening from one end of the waxed surface all the way down the lane to the other side of the surface straight into the gutter and never once kissing the pins.
The 4 of us high five, scream and WOOT WOOT with excitement for another failure and then take heavy slugs on our straws from our tasty beverages. The same beverages that took a minimum of 30 minutes for our delightfully dumb mixologist to prepare because she kept coming over to let us know that she did not have this or that ingredient to make the particular flavor of margarita the girls had ordered.
The girls finally settled on anything she could find enough ingredients for, just so long as we were drinking and before our Sangria buzz was worn off.
The lights were dimmed the next thing we knew, we were glowing in the dark! The white laces of our shoes were alight, our bras were glaring through our blouses like beacons in the dark...one minute I was Rebekah the next I was a Buick with it's headlamps on.
The 10th frame was upon us and I urged our girls to go for a turkey! dancing behind them gobbling..."gobble gobble gobble"...Don't think they KNEW what a turkey was, but it was still great fun dancing around anyhow. I have my hands planting on my hips, flopping my bent arms to and fro with my knees slightly bent and waggling my backside..."gobble gobble gobble".
Then I step back to let my other friend take her chance, grabbing my cell phone and setting the camera on and get the warning from her, "you better not take my picture...I better not read about my big butt in your blog". to which I am laughing and snapping pictures and plotting away.
When it's finally my turn, I switch on the charm because I should let y'all know that I am secretly in my own heart, a bowling champion. On the overhead, my theme song has come on from Queen "Fat Bottom Girls" to which I'm gyrating. Dropping it like it's hot, sashaying it, flipping my hips from side to side, ya, that's right - my big ass is the center of attention tonight.
Balancing my ball(a twelve pound beauty in tangerine orange) in my right hand while cradling it with my left I ponder my next move.
Bowling is a solo dance with props. I take my initial step out and quickstep my way towards the line, hurrying until I'm nearly there and raising my arm I start my swing but I've already put too much hip into my step...I start to slide...
I raise my arm, flick my wrist and release the ball and feel my balance go totally wonkers!
Since I'm already a goofball this is the opportunity to really go for it, as I'd been taking this attempt to impress everyone with my bootie shaking dancing I go with the slip and start windmilling my arms and fall into the lane, my foot goes into the gutter!
Down for the count? No way, I stay in for the show and with hands down, fingers splayed I twirl myself around so that I'm now facing back towards the seats I belly crawl like Tawny Kitaen in a Whitesnake video.
You know what really sucked? Everyone laughed (which I loved) but I got a strike which didn't count because I fouled!
Damn it all to hell, I'm always in the gutter!
Monday, August 31, 2009
Find my 20
Wednesday was the last day I remember getting a full night of rest (for me that's 4 hours of continuous sleep). Once I woke up Thursday morning I was awake all of that day, into the next and kept on trucking until 11:45 Friday night when I crashed and burned simply because of the necessity of medical intervention (damn it I was chewed on again by a bug).
Friday, I have the car ....it must mean that I have my check in the mail which gives me the day to run all of the errands that I try to cram in for the entire month. Bank, two grocery stores, the pet supply and since I've nabbed the car I'll be required to return to luncheon with hubby because he doesn't have wheels to get his own.
Needless to say I am running on fumes and this can either make me giddy or it can make me cranky but either way I'm not hitting on all my cylinders and somethings going to crack.
I start my shopping through the store, heading this way and that willy-nilly. First trying to hit all the dry goods and then going back through to get the cold items like meat and dairy. I honestly should plan my shopping trips like the little old ladies that push their buggies one handed while clutching scraps of paper with flowery scrawled lists of items that are must-haves for their pantry.
They are diligent wives that plan the meals for the week, knowing exactly what they are going to prepare or worse yet - they probably prepare the same meals week after week, year after year.
More than likely the list is reused once monthly and another 3 lists are picked out..for the other 3 weeks of the month.
I head into the store and start thinking of menu items off the top of my head usually by proteins that I want to eat, almost always these involve chicken and beef. I hate fish products but buy at least one for the man since he adores the swimmy critters.
Once I know what flesh I'm going to consume, I start to add vegetables and the necessary goodies to compliment them.
Closing up the trip, I've pretty much filled the basket and chatted to everyone I know and some that I don't. I then added up in my mind what I figure I can afford in my budget I head to the lane that looks the shortest.
The lane I've chosen is being headed by a retiree, she's a sweet grey-haired gal and her bagger is even older and looks a bit like the Crypt Keeper but I'm reserving my opinion that they can handle the job for the moment and I start unpacking my shit onto the conveyor belt watching it trolley forward into the wrinkled hands of my cashier.
"How are you today?" she greets me and I respond with my usual cheerful howdy and we exchange pleasantries including how she was impressed with my amazing steal on the chicken (I found 4 bags of chicken quarters for $3.00/8# bags!!!)
Before too long it was time to pay, I attempted to use my debit card which was declined -- always fun and a moment of enjoyment do I either laugh at this or find mortification. I'd just deposited my check; so obviously it hadn't hit the account yet, I'd have to suck it up and use the cash I had.
She says, "that comes to $159.24"
I count up $160.00 in twenty dollar bills and she watches me (so does the Crypt Keeper) and I hand it over and then go back to looking inside of my purse because my cell phone just lit up from a new text message (CHRISTINE!).
When I glance over she's just finished counting the 20's and she says, "This is only $140 and I watch her count it again and sure enough I see her count seven bills.
Well this makes me fly off the handle. I go from white zone to red zone immediately and I state to her, "Well you'd better find that $20.00 right this instant because I am NOT leaving this building until you do. OBVIOUSLY you've dropped it somewhere because you and I both know that I gave you $160.00 and I am NOT going to return any items, I am not going to leave the store without my groceries and I did not short you any money. So start looking around lady"
The look of surprise, the gasp of breath she took in and the immediate action she took was not a surprise because I was pretty damn firm with my demands. She quickly bent down to the floor and start scrambling about looking under the register, behind the bags even lifting the floor mat - which by the way, theres absolutely no way for it to have creeped under but I think she was desperate to find it before I punched her wrinkled face in.
Then I start in and say, "Maybe it's slipped in between the belt and the other side of this partition, look down between there."
Whatever happens, I'm not leaving and the bagger is even starting to make antsy movements as if she's about to come around to assist in this scavenger hunt for my Andrew Jackson.
She's apologizing all over herself, "Ma'am I don't know where it has gone, I can call a manager but its disappeared are you sure you gave it to me..?"
to which I said, "I'm certain but just to make sure let me look inside my bag..."
There between my debit card which I'd just had declined and my drivers license which I had just shown to her for the 2 bottles of wine purchased (my ever so young face gets me in trouble with the older cashiers)...sat...Mr Jackson.
He was folded tightly not once but twice, tightly, snugged between and hiding like a naughty school boy.
As if to say, NO please don't make me go away. You need me, in these desperate times you need me most of all.
So chagrined, I had to dig in and say - "Well I suppose I have to say I'm sorry because it appears I've counted one of those twenties 2x and this was hiding all along. Please accept my sincere apologies.."
She gave a small nervous laugh and said, "Don't you worry one bit because I watched you count that money and saw you count $160.00 the first time. I just had to count it again because its my job. If I hadn't and my drawer was short I'd lose my job!"
To which I replied..."I think both of us pooped our pants today"
"Yes, I sure did" she said....
"and so did I" the bagger said..."so did I"...
I really should get some sleep before going out in the big world
Friday, I have the car ....it must mean that I have my check in the mail which gives me the day to run all of the errands that I try to cram in for the entire month. Bank, two grocery stores, the pet supply and since I've nabbed the car I'll be required to return to luncheon with hubby because he doesn't have wheels to get his own.
Needless to say I am running on fumes and this can either make me giddy or it can make me cranky but either way I'm not hitting on all my cylinders and somethings going to crack.
I start my shopping through the store, heading this way and that willy-nilly. First trying to hit all the dry goods and then going back through to get the cold items like meat and dairy. I honestly should plan my shopping trips like the little old ladies that push their buggies one handed while clutching scraps of paper with flowery scrawled lists of items that are must-haves for their pantry.
They are diligent wives that plan the meals for the week, knowing exactly what they are going to prepare or worse yet - they probably prepare the same meals week after week, year after year.
More than likely the list is reused once monthly and another 3 lists are picked out..for the other 3 weeks of the month.
I head into the store and start thinking of menu items off the top of my head usually by proteins that I want to eat, almost always these involve chicken and beef. I hate fish products but buy at least one for the man since he adores the swimmy critters.
Once I know what flesh I'm going to consume, I start to add vegetables and the necessary goodies to compliment them.
Closing up the trip, I've pretty much filled the basket and chatted to everyone I know and some that I don't. I then added up in my mind what I figure I can afford in my budget I head to the lane that looks the shortest.
The lane I've chosen is being headed by a retiree, she's a sweet grey-haired gal and her bagger is even older and looks a bit like the Crypt Keeper but I'm reserving my opinion that they can handle the job for the moment and I start unpacking my shit onto the conveyor belt watching it trolley forward into the wrinkled hands of my cashier.
"How are you today?" she greets me and I respond with my usual cheerful howdy and we exchange pleasantries including how she was impressed with my amazing steal on the chicken (I found 4 bags of chicken quarters for $3.00/8# bags!!!)
Before too long it was time to pay, I attempted to use my debit card which was declined -- always fun and a moment of enjoyment do I either laugh at this or find mortification. I'd just deposited my check; so obviously it hadn't hit the account yet, I'd have to suck it up and use the cash I had.
She says, "that comes to $159.24"
I count up $160.00 in twenty dollar bills and she watches me (so does the Crypt Keeper) and I hand it over and then go back to looking inside of my purse because my cell phone just lit up from a new text message (CHRISTINE!).
When I glance over she's just finished counting the 20's and she says, "This is only $140 and I watch her count it again and sure enough I see her count seven bills.
Well this makes me fly off the handle. I go from white zone to red zone immediately and I state to her, "Well you'd better find that $20.00 right this instant because I am NOT leaving this building until you do. OBVIOUSLY you've dropped it somewhere because you and I both know that I gave you $160.00 and I am NOT going to return any items, I am not going to leave the store without my groceries and I did not short you any money. So start looking around lady"
The look of surprise, the gasp of breath she took in and the immediate action she took was not a surprise because I was pretty damn firm with my demands. She quickly bent down to the floor and start scrambling about looking under the register, behind the bags even lifting the floor mat - which by the way, theres absolutely no way for it to have creeped under but I think she was desperate to find it before I punched her wrinkled face in.
Then I start in and say, "Maybe it's slipped in between the belt and the other side of this partition, look down between there."
Whatever happens, I'm not leaving and the bagger is even starting to make antsy movements as if she's about to come around to assist in this scavenger hunt for my Andrew Jackson.
She's apologizing all over herself, "Ma'am I don't know where it has gone, I can call a manager but its disappeared are you sure you gave it to me..?"
to which I said, "I'm certain but just to make sure let me look inside my bag..."
There between my debit card which I'd just had declined and my drivers license which I had just shown to her for the 2 bottles of wine purchased (my ever so young face gets me in trouble with the older cashiers)...sat...Mr Jackson.
He was folded tightly not once but twice, tightly, snugged between and hiding like a naughty school boy.
As if to say, NO please don't make me go away. You need me, in these desperate times you need me most of all.
So chagrined, I had to dig in and say - "Well I suppose I have to say I'm sorry because it appears I've counted one of those twenties 2x and this was hiding all along. Please accept my sincere apologies.."
She gave a small nervous laugh and said, "Don't you worry one bit because I watched you count that money and saw you count $160.00 the first time. I just had to count it again because its my job. If I hadn't and my drawer was short I'd lose my job!"
To which I replied..."I think both of us pooped our pants today"
"Yes, I sure did" she said....
"and so did I" the bagger said..."so did I"...
I really should get some sleep before going out in the big world
Sunday, August 23, 2009
oops ...my bad
Why are the cup-holders at the movies never the right size for the drinks available?
This sincerely pisses me off and it frequently leaves me in a sticky situation.
Yesterday afternoon we took a daytime date and saw a matinee film (YEEHAW! Quentin Tarantino you did a fine job, I could pick on a few items but it was genuinely entertaining).
Now the theater we went to is the better of the 2 available here in Hillbillyville, but we'd forgotten that the less attractive and updated one has the more comfortable seats.
We should have opted for the older building, the movie was nearly 3 hours long and my buttcheeks are still singing from the numbness they started to feel after sitting for so long.
Most movies I'll get up and go to the restroom and not worry about a few lost moments, but I didn't want to miss a single second of the action on this film as I felt that each section was going to be integral to the next.
We saved several dollars coming at lunch, always a good feeling. Then with the frugal heart I have, I emptied everything out of my purse prior to leaving the home-front and then restocking it with Milk-duds, Reeses-Pieces, M&M's, 2 Dr. Peppers and even a bottled water. You'd be quite surprised how well I jammed all of this and still managed to get my wallet in there also.
All of these snacks would have run about $20.00 but because of my penny pinching ways I only spent $3.89 for the lot of it!
Now let me preface this story a little bit more with the fact that this WAS a noontime film and I have a strange sleeping schedule, oftentimes not shutting my eyes until 10 a.m. and sleeping until 2 or 3 in the afternoon.
This day was no different, I'd gone out for my morning walk - which was quite eventful I will add (should I make a blog...? ) and basically did not find myself snoring until nearly 9:30 and awoke to hear the hubby heading to work. LATE I might add!
I say to him, "so I guess we're not going to that noontime movie after all?"
he said, "yes we are I just have to go to a meeting at 11 and then I'll go back after the movie".
He slipped out the door and my eyes SLAMMED shut again for another hour+ only to realize that noon was right on top of me. Where was that man? He's full of shit I think to myself, not taking the time to look at the movie schedule online.
Fiddling around, reading email and generally just nursing the aches and pains I suffer I let time start slipping by.
A few minutes shortly after twelve my mobile rings and it's the man to announce he's on his way, make sure I put on my 'boob bag' which is the furthest most degree of getting dressed up I suppose. (maybe its just his way of protecting the innocent from these dangerous pendulums)
No sooner did I hang up the phone and start moseying to the bathroom to run a toothbrush over my teeth and try to get rid of my morning stank breath then I hear the front door bang shut and a call, "Hullo, HULLO - Let's GO!" and the bathroom door opens and he's standing there with hands on hips with a look of expectation as if I should already be dressed and fit for a dance.
I sputter, foam from my toothpaste dribbling off my lower lip and lightly splattering forward onto my nightshirt.
He gives me THE LOOK as he has in the past prior to our jaunts out during lunch hours, and then comments, " are you going to wear your clown pants?" to which I smile and consider it just for a moment but opt to switch to some grey slip on's. My clown pants are these fantastic flannel pajama bottoms that are predominantly pink but with vertical stripes in lime, hunter, white, royal, teal, royal purple and robins egg blue.
They are TERRIFIC!
Clown pants? nahhhh comfort pants! I really don't see a big issue going out in these pants, the night before I saw a pair of girls in the same garb walking around WalMart with nearly the same thing on sporting wife-beaters along with the pants.
He says to me that the movie actually begins at 12:50 so we have a few minutes before we have to get there and the drive isn't far but the dilemma is that I'm HUNGRY now that I'm awake. Let's not forget that at 4:30 this morning I hoofed around the neighborhood for 2 hours with the dogs, swallowed a liter of water and that was it. The last time I inhaled a meal was around 8 the night before so by now at 12:15 my stomach was starting to sound like the rumblings of a thunderstorm in the high mountain reaches.
Little known fact about me, well known fact with husband and a few close friends. If I don't eat when I'm good and hungry, when my blood sugar starts to get low...I get mean. Not like a little bit crabby mean, but down right cat-piss, burn your eyes ammonia lit by a match; mean.
I'm so mean that I am likely to start chewing you out faster than a cop chasing a doughnut down a hill. I snap like a crocodile and don't often go back to apologize, my need to stuff something into my mouth (food you fuckers) and have that instant rush of sugar to my bloodstream is absolutely necessary to make me a halfway normal and decent person, otherwise I'm absolutely intolerable.
Pants & a clean T on as well as my favorite sandals - off we go (donning my huge Jackie O style sunglasses) and the man says, "are you going to have a dog at the theater?"
to which I reply, "nope, not unless you want me to miss half the show while I sit in the can crapping out mechanically recovered meat that's been squashed into sheep's intestines? However, I could choke down a burger or taco."
We manage to find a Taco Bell (God help me), order a pair of tacos and inhale them in the parking lot of the theater - literally it's a race to see if we can get them done in 3 bites or less and sprint to the ticket counter.
Amazingly enough we have 3 more minutes to spare, since it's common knowledge that the show times are just for when they start the previews - and we have time to get that beloved bag of popcorn and even laden it with the much desired and unnecessary 'butter' please tell me, what IS IN THE butter in all actuality?
Just to be safe, since I've discovered the length of the film and against my tight-wad ways I've opted to buy an extra bottled water (sigh) and off to the first screening room we head.
I open one side of the doors with a sweeping motion and in grand game show fashion I beckon the husband to enter the door with a flourish and we walk in with excitement and confidence.
The room is pitch black and the final rolling of the last preview is on hand, which hastens our step! Oh boy we have to hurry because our favorite seat in the house is straight up to the top, where we like to perch like a pair of eagles.
Gripping the mucky steel handrail with one hand, my bag of corn in another I shuffle up the stairs and pray not to trip and fall flat on my face in the dark. While heading up the steps, there's is a blink of brightening light a moment here and there and I can scan over the rows of seats looking to see if a pair of seats might be available at least 40% into the middle of the row.
We are lucky enough to get that spot but I end up next to a singular fellow - and I fear he might be rather odd...which proves to be right. He spends the next 45 minutes of the movie giggling at EVERY humorous and semi-humorous bit. His snickering becomes so hard to take I'm ready to pop him in his nose.
However luck would have it....I chase him off after this little fiasco!
I've just swigged down the last delicious gulp of my purchased water, Oh it's cool and refreshing swish slithering down my throat so yummy. I really don't want a lot of soda while at the movies, it just makes me need to pee and therefore you take the risk of missing a lot of the film running back and forth. Let's not forget that I'm sitting in the nosebleed seats so that doubles the amount of time to take purchase back into my seat and settle back into the groove of the story.
My last gulp of water consumed, a rather dark scene of the film beginning I fumble in the dark looking for the over-sized plastic cup-holder and try to place the cylinder within it's confines but, alas I miss completely. I might as well have been trying to make a 3 point shot from half court.
I fucking miss, the bottle tips, hits the side of the holder, falls to the floor with the loudest plastic to concrete clang and of course the theater is absolutely silent in a moment of silence in the film.
Not only does it hit the concrete, but then it rolls....whirrrrrrr....CLANK....CLANK..and it hits the row below us...and then one more row below that before finally coming to a stop, most likely from coming to rest at someone's foot.
Ahhh SHIT I say just a bit more than a whisper. My giggling neighbor looks to me, snickers and even has a little snort and returns to the film. However...a few minutes after the drop, clank...whiirrrr - he sits up and moves down the row about 15 seats and remains there alone where I can still hear his giggles drift down to where we sit.
I'm not so much embarrassed as I am just pissed that it happened and try to forget it but the husband is looking at me like I've just sharted my pants.
WHAT? it's not my fault that these cup holders don't fit the drinks they sell!
Hasn't anyone stopped to consider making the type of cup-holder that has the expanding rubber mouth that grips anything that's inserted which will snugly hold whatever has been jammed within?
This sincerely pisses me off and it frequently leaves me in a sticky situation.
Yesterday afternoon we took a daytime date and saw a matinee film (YEEHAW! Quentin Tarantino you did a fine job, I could pick on a few items but it was genuinely entertaining).
Now the theater we went to is the better of the 2 available here in Hillbillyville, but we'd forgotten that the less attractive and updated one has the more comfortable seats.
We should have opted for the older building, the movie was nearly 3 hours long and my buttcheeks are still singing from the numbness they started to feel after sitting for so long.
Most movies I'll get up and go to the restroom and not worry about a few lost moments, but I didn't want to miss a single second of the action on this film as I felt that each section was going to be integral to the next.
We saved several dollars coming at lunch, always a good feeling. Then with the frugal heart I have, I emptied everything out of my purse prior to leaving the home-front and then restocking it with Milk-duds, Reeses-Pieces, M&M's, 2 Dr. Peppers and even a bottled water. You'd be quite surprised how well I jammed all of this and still managed to get my wallet in there also.
All of these snacks would have run about $20.00 but because of my penny pinching ways I only spent $3.89 for the lot of it!
Now let me preface this story a little bit more with the fact that this WAS a noontime film and I have a strange sleeping schedule, oftentimes not shutting my eyes until 10 a.m. and sleeping until 2 or 3 in the afternoon.
This day was no different, I'd gone out for my morning walk - which was quite eventful I will add (should I make a blog...? ) and basically did not find myself snoring until nearly 9:30 and awoke to hear the hubby heading to work. LATE I might add!
I say to him, "so I guess we're not going to that noontime movie after all?"
he said, "yes we are I just have to go to a meeting at 11 and then I'll go back after the movie".
He slipped out the door and my eyes SLAMMED shut again for another hour+ only to realize that noon was right on top of me. Where was that man? He's full of shit I think to myself, not taking the time to look at the movie schedule online.
Fiddling around, reading email and generally just nursing the aches and pains I suffer I let time start slipping by.
A few minutes shortly after twelve my mobile rings and it's the man to announce he's on his way, make sure I put on my 'boob bag' which is the furthest most degree of getting dressed up I suppose. (maybe its just his way of protecting the innocent from these dangerous pendulums)
No sooner did I hang up the phone and start moseying to the bathroom to run a toothbrush over my teeth and try to get rid of my morning stank breath then I hear the front door bang shut and a call, "Hullo, HULLO - Let's GO!" and the bathroom door opens and he's standing there with hands on hips with a look of expectation as if I should already be dressed and fit for a dance.
I sputter, foam from my toothpaste dribbling off my lower lip and lightly splattering forward onto my nightshirt.
He gives me THE LOOK as he has in the past prior to our jaunts out during lunch hours, and then comments, " are you going to wear your clown pants?" to which I smile and consider it just for a moment but opt to switch to some grey slip on's. My clown pants are these fantastic flannel pajama bottoms that are predominantly pink but with vertical stripes in lime, hunter, white, royal, teal, royal purple and robins egg blue.
They are TERRIFIC!
Clown pants? nahhhh comfort pants! I really don't see a big issue going out in these pants, the night before I saw a pair of girls in the same garb walking around WalMart with nearly the same thing on sporting wife-beaters along with the pants.
He says to me that the movie actually begins at 12:50 so we have a few minutes before we have to get there and the drive isn't far but the dilemma is that I'm HUNGRY now that I'm awake. Let's not forget that at 4:30 this morning I hoofed around the neighborhood for 2 hours with the dogs, swallowed a liter of water and that was it. The last time I inhaled a meal was around 8 the night before so by now at 12:15 my stomach was starting to sound like the rumblings of a thunderstorm in the high mountain reaches.
Little known fact about me, well known fact with husband and a few close friends. If I don't eat when I'm good and hungry, when my blood sugar starts to get low...I get mean. Not like a little bit crabby mean, but down right cat-piss, burn your eyes ammonia lit by a match; mean.
I'm so mean that I am likely to start chewing you out faster than a cop chasing a doughnut down a hill. I snap like a crocodile and don't often go back to apologize, my need to stuff something into my mouth (food you fuckers) and have that instant rush of sugar to my bloodstream is absolutely necessary to make me a halfway normal and decent person, otherwise I'm absolutely intolerable.
Pants & a clean T on as well as my favorite sandals - off we go (donning my huge Jackie O style sunglasses) and the man says, "are you going to have a dog at the theater?"
to which I reply, "nope, not unless you want me to miss half the show while I sit in the can crapping out mechanically recovered meat that's been squashed into sheep's intestines? However, I could choke down a burger or taco."
We manage to find a Taco Bell (God help me), order a pair of tacos and inhale them in the parking lot of the theater - literally it's a race to see if we can get them done in 3 bites or less and sprint to the ticket counter.
Amazingly enough we have 3 more minutes to spare, since it's common knowledge that the show times are just for when they start the previews - and we have time to get that beloved bag of popcorn and even laden it with the much desired and unnecessary 'butter' please tell me, what IS IN THE butter in all actuality?
Just to be safe, since I've discovered the length of the film and against my tight-wad ways I've opted to buy an extra bottled water (sigh) and off to the first screening room we head.
I open one side of the doors with a sweeping motion and in grand game show fashion I beckon the husband to enter the door with a flourish and we walk in with excitement and confidence.
The room is pitch black and the final rolling of the last preview is on hand, which hastens our step! Oh boy we have to hurry because our favorite seat in the house is straight up to the top, where we like to perch like a pair of eagles.
Gripping the mucky steel handrail with one hand, my bag of corn in another I shuffle up the stairs and pray not to trip and fall flat on my face in the dark. While heading up the steps, there's is a blink of brightening light a moment here and there and I can scan over the rows of seats looking to see if a pair of seats might be available at least 40% into the middle of the row.
We are lucky enough to get that spot but I end up next to a singular fellow - and I fear he might be rather odd...which proves to be right. He spends the next 45 minutes of the movie giggling at EVERY humorous and semi-humorous bit. His snickering becomes so hard to take I'm ready to pop him in his nose.
However luck would have it....I chase him off after this little fiasco!
I've just swigged down the last delicious gulp of my purchased water, Oh it's cool and refreshing swish slithering down my throat so yummy. I really don't want a lot of soda while at the movies, it just makes me need to pee and therefore you take the risk of missing a lot of the film running back and forth. Let's not forget that I'm sitting in the nosebleed seats so that doubles the amount of time to take purchase back into my seat and settle back into the groove of the story.
My last gulp of water consumed, a rather dark scene of the film beginning I fumble in the dark looking for the over-sized plastic cup-holder and try to place the cylinder within it's confines but, alas I miss completely. I might as well have been trying to make a 3 point shot from half court.
I fucking miss, the bottle tips, hits the side of the holder, falls to the floor with the loudest plastic to concrete clang and of course the theater is absolutely silent in a moment of silence in the film.
Not only does it hit the concrete, but then it rolls....whirrrrrrr....CLANK....CLANK..and it hits the row below us...and then one more row below that before finally coming to a stop, most likely from coming to rest at someone's foot.
Ahhh SHIT I say just a bit more than a whisper. My giggling neighbor looks to me, snickers and even has a little snort and returns to the film. However...a few minutes after the drop, clank...whiirrrr - he sits up and moves down the row about 15 seats and remains there alone where I can still hear his giggles drift down to where we sit.
I'm not so much embarrassed as I am just pissed that it happened and try to forget it but the husband is looking at me like I've just sharted my pants.
WHAT? it's not my fault that these cup holders don't fit the drinks they sell!
Hasn't anyone stopped to consider making the type of cup-holder that has the expanding rubber mouth that grips anything that's inserted which will snugly hold whatever has been jammed within?
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
celebrate gas
I farted on a kid at the mall Saturday.
Friday night we indulged since I give myself the chance to really eat garbage on the weekend and Friday I had an all meat pizza.
Saturday I was dying with gas and heartburn.
I warned my girlfriend that I was jet propelled first thing and throughout the day.
We're in one store *the first of the day*, thankfully it was so loud from the music playing no one would hear me tooting along with the beat. They were playing tunes from the 80s which was perfect because my girlfriend and I were cracking up with the resurgence of all of the 80s clothing which has come back with a vengeance.
There were colorful headbands and leg warmers which I'd piled on and was doing little dances among the aisles while singing "Madonna's- Like a Virgin".
Inside the store towards the back just outside the dressing room area there was a settee, that's where there was a teenie-bopper sitting waiting for her mom as she tried on her clothing.
The dressing rooms were very dark, a bit Gothic and the rooms were barely big enough for one person let alone two. I varied positions from going inside the room, cramming my ass inside with my girlfriend so that we could comment on how her outfits looked to standing just outside the door and appearing like a slightly creepy peeping Tom(ette) and then heading back out to the settee and having a squat and waiting for my friend to give a lil holler.
We'd finished our mission, which was to try on as many naughty pieces of lingerie as possible (believe me this is another blog in the coming) and then to head to the register we would go...
as I goosestepped passed the young girl sitting at the settee I blasted one Hellofa Fart that felt like I'd squashed one of those novelty fart bags. you know the ones, "WHOOPIE cushions". The rubber pink ones that you can buy from the backs of most cartoon magazines.
This fart was the real flapper style.
The kind you can feel burn and the stink punches you in the nose instantly
I'd gotten the girl immediately because the line to the register was so long and we had to stop right there in front of her. She knew it was me also, I'm the last in line and I did a shimmy shake to wiggle it out just in case I'd left a skid in my pants.
She instantly had her hands fly to her face and grabbed her nose, pinching it with thumb and forefinger. Nose wrinkled up under her tightly gripped fingers. She has her lips curled up exposing her pearly whites, reminding me of how my cats will continually keep sniffing something that stinks like the worst kind of shit but they sniff it anyhow.
Don't you find it interesting that no matter how bad something smells a cat will go back again and again to sniff it. They shove their nose in as far as they can, sniff sniff sniff - face squinches up and then back to sniffing again.
Her eyes squinting as though she'd just smelled a freshly cut onion - tears rushing to her eyes.
She even shook her head in quick succession as if to say NO NO ...holy shit NO
I'm not one to feel worried about blasting one.
Everyone has to fart
I'm the queen of belching. I can out belch just about anyone I've met
but farting is a rare commodity for me therefore I celebrate them and bring to you this story.
Celebrate today - and have yourself a merry fart.
Friday night we indulged since I give myself the chance to really eat garbage on the weekend and Friday I had an all meat pizza.
Saturday I was dying with gas and heartburn.
I warned my girlfriend that I was jet propelled first thing and throughout the day.
We're in one store *the first of the day*, thankfully it was so loud from the music playing no one would hear me tooting along with the beat. They were playing tunes from the 80s which was perfect because my girlfriend and I were cracking up with the resurgence of all of the 80s clothing which has come back with a vengeance.
There were colorful headbands and leg warmers which I'd piled on and was doing little dances among the aisles while singing "Madonna's- Like a Virgin".
Inside the store towards the back just outside the dressing room area there was a settee, that's where there was a teenie-bopper sitting waiting for her mom as she tried on her clothing.
The dressing rooms were very dark, a bit Gothic and the rooms were barely big enough for one person let alone two. I varied positions from going inside the room, cramming my ass inside with my girlfriend so that we could comment on how her outfits looked to standing just outside the door and appearing like a slightly creepy peeping Tom(ette) and then heading back out to the settee and having a squat and waiting for my friend to give a lil holler.
We'd finished our mission, which was to try on as many naughty pieces of lingerie as possible (believe me this is another blog in the coming) and then to head to the register we would go...
as I goosestepped passed the young girl sitting at the settee I blasted one Hellofa Fart that felt like I'd squashed one of those novelty fart bags. you know the ones, "WHOOPIE cushions". The rubber pink ones that you can buy from the backs of most cartoon magazines.
This fart was the real flapper style.
The kind you can feel burn and the stink punches you in the nose instantly
I'd gotten the girl immediately because the line to the register was so long and we had to stop right there in front of her. She knew it was me also, I'm the last in line and I did a shimmy shake to wiggle it out just in case I'd left a skid in my pants.
She instantly had her hands fly to her face and grabbed her nose, pinching it with thumb and forefinger. Nose wrinkled up under her tightly gripped fingers. She has her lips curled up exposing her pearly whites, reminding me of how my cats will continually keep sniffing something that stinks like the worst kind of shit but they sniff it anyhow.
Don't you find it interesting that no matter how bad something smells a cat will go back again and again to sniff it. They shove their nose in as far as they can, sniff sniff sniff - face squinches up and then back to sniffing again.
Her eyes squinting as though she'd just smelled a freshly cut onion - tears rushing to her eyes.
She even shook her head in quick succession as if to say NO NO ...holy shit NO
I'm not one to feel worried about blasting one.
Everyone has to fart
I'm the queen of belching. I can out belch just about anyone I've met
but farting is a rare commodity for me therefore I celebrate them and bring to you this story.
Celebrate today - and have yourself a merry fart.
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