monday chex mix

This past weekend, Charlie and I had some friends down to visit. They rolled in around 2:30 on Saturday.  We went out and shot pool and  another friend joined us. Later, we all ended up back at the house for a cookout and late night party. It’s been awhile since I stayed up that late. (well, healthily stayed up not coughing or retching). Sunday, Charlie made breakfast of eggs, bacon and biscuts and they took off after that. My sister was coming in that night for a week long class and weekend visit. We  ran around the house cleaning up, doing laundry and getting the guest room ready for her and after that we decided to go out and to the range and shoot the new pistol I got on Saturday. (I wasn’t going to bring up to my sister I’d purchased one and didn’t want to wait a week in order to shoot it.)

Later, it was pouring rain and we decided to just lay around and watch movies until my sister rolled in. So, that was our weekend in a nutshell. The poor dogs didn’t really get to do much because of the rain. One of these days they’ll get to go to the park again…..perhaps we’ll take them to the dog park tonight and let them run around if the weather ever looks up.

Both Charlie and I are taking Friday off to do something with my sis. Her class gets out on Thursday so we’ll have Friday and the weekend to do stuff. We already have plans to go out to eat, of course. I know the weather is supposed to get stupid again but I’m hoping that the 30% chance won’t go anywhere.



I knew you were trouble when you walked in

I had a class this past weekend. It was one of my Harley Davidson classes that start in the classroom at the dealership Friday evening and goes through Saturday and Sunday on the range at Honda. I usually enjoy these classes and most of the time the people can read I get have ridden somewhat.

Friday evening I still felt a bit ran over. I’ve been battling cold/allergy stuff. (Still am and I’m so over it) I sat in the classroom and waited for everyone to arrive. I wished I’d had stayed over at Moe’s a little longer lingering over dinner. Everyone trickled in with Harley bags and boot boxes. This is so typical and why the dealership wants to start class there on Friday evenings – so everyone can run out and buy a bunch of sh*t before class. Most of the stuff is just fashion no function, it amazes me. The price someone spends on one pair of boots they could probably buy a three season riding jacket online.

My co-instructor, Dan came in and we caught up. We hadn’t taught together in awhile. I went around the room and took everyone’s drivers license and checked them in. One guy- no kidding had a 15 character first name, he was from India. We went around and did introductions after that. As I listened to the three women I started to become concerned. One was very young, a Venezuelan princess wearing fury, Ugg boots, another was there with her husband, the last was an older woman who already had a Harley but was practicing on her smaller Yamaha in a parking garage to get ready for the Harley.

This slays me. People run out and buy a 20k motorcycle they don’t know how to ride, have never ridden and don’t even know if they like to ride. It’s all about image – “I want to look cool. I want a Harley.”

My thoughts: I’ve been riding for over 15 years and most of the Harley riders I knew didn’t look cool. They looked like big, fat, hairy men and my worst nightmare.

What people don’t know is that when you first start riding you make a lot of mistakes and……look pretty stupid. (Believe, me I speak from my own personal experience) It takes years of practice to be smooth on a motorcycle. Smooth even with a passenger on back.

They ask if they can wear their brain buckets half helmets on the range this weekend. I say no they can’t in the class but we’ll provide a full face helmet. They groan.

People also don’t realize that not wearing any gear isn’t cool. They want to wear their brain buckets with no face protection. Half helmets only provide 35% of the protection of the brain and that’s only if you land straight up on your head, which, is very rare and if you did land like that you’d probably break your neck and be dead anyway.

I think these things as I look around the room at the class who two of them have Harley’s sitting in their garages not ridden, two of them are in their late 60’s and early 70’s wanting to fulfill their bucket list (why not take a cruise to Italy instead?) the woman who’s only there because it was her husband’s idea, and 15-character who I know can ride because he admitted that he’s ridden his whole family on a bike (all 5). The rest is a crap shoot. It could go either way. Still, I’m worried about the women and my worries are confirmed when the princess approaches us on a break and asks if her Ugg boots are sufficient (well, she didn’t say that word – I doubt she knows it) we said, no they must go up higher and have more protection. She also wants to know if we can let class out at 4 because she has to go to work. We said, no. Class let’s out at 5 or later depending on the day.

Trouble, trouble….

My guts sometimes wrong about these things and I’ve had plenty of women in my class be great riders. But, most of the time…….it’s right.

The next morning everyone was there except the older woman [Judy] and princess. Dan called princess and she was just turning into the facility. Judy needed extensive directions and even got lost at the parts distribution warehouse parking lot next to our facility. My concerns were getting deeper. Judy was one of the current Harley-hardly-know-how-to-ride-but-own-it club members.

We finally went out to the range and started. Dan and I swapped off every two exercises one of us would read the cards and explain the exercise and the other rode the demonstrations. In the MSF world (Motorcycle Safety Foundation) we call it C1 & C2 positions. In the rider coach world we call it “You wanna talk or ride?”  Most of the time, I like to talk first because I want to drill neutral into their pea brains be very thorough in the first exercise so maybe later they won’t f*ck up as much.

So, I talked first. The first four exercises went well and we broke for lunch. Sitting around the table with the other two instructors Pete and Jeff having lunch we said, “How’s your class doing?”, “Ok, how’s your class?”, “Ok, too.” “Good, good!”

That was the end of that, though. We all met back up on the range after lunch and all hell broke loose. I was talking again and had them start up after the instructions and demo except I couldn’t get all three of the women out of staging (where we park the bikes on the range). All they had to do in this exercise was ride around the mutha-f*cking perimeter of the range in 2nd gear and after awhile do a loose (very f*cking loose) weave around some cones. No biggie. They started out of the parking area and one ran out of gas because she forgot to turn the fuel valve on, another went off to the side because she got stuck in neutral shifting up to second and it wouldn’t go anywhere and the third DID shift to second but didn’t ease out the clutch and was left just drifting off to the side revving going “It won’t go nowhere.”

Dan and I finally got them going. He was at the opposite end of the range from me. I was closest to Pete and Jeff’s range and they were running the same exercise. When they started theirs the second rider out of staging was a rather large African American woman who popped a wheelie and went crashing down. I had had my back to them while watching my riders but instantly leap around and backed up when I heard the rev. (It’s a rider coach instinct – we hear a rev and we immediately think we’re going to get ran over so we leap into the air and dive 20 feet away like there’s an explosion)

I then saw out of the corner of my eye one of the other women go off to the side near Dan. Pete and Jeff had gotten their girl up and was riding again. Then, almost exactly the same spot on our range one of our bucket list guys went down. I heard a rev and then a crash (very similar sound as when someone gets spit out into the ditch in the movie “Being John Malkovich”  – especially, if they happen to go through the fence). This was almost the exact place on the opposite range as the earlier woman went down. Pete stepped over onto our range and turned the guy’s bike off. I stopped our people and walked over. The guy was laying on his back holding is left side. I told him to just lay there a minute and try to breathe. Dan came up and we called 911. It had been awhile since I had a 911 class. Jeff and Pete were trying to run their exercise and get it finished before emergency came because we knew we’d have to shut both ranges down while they were here. Just as the fire truck pulled up the woman from before crashed in the exact same place again and was directly across from our guy who was already down. The emergency people went to her first with a backboard and we were like “Hey, hey – we called for our guy.”

You can’t make this sh*t up.

Later, after they’re gone we started the exercise back up again. Dan had been lecturing telling the class the whole break under the shade tree about squeezing the clutch if they felt out of control, using the brakes with the clutch to stop, etc. We get back on and do two laps when princess goes off to the side near the curb and fence revving her bike.

It’s always this amusing yet alarming thing to watch. Someone has the clutch squeezed in so they’re not going anywhere but they have the throttle rolled on all the way and it’s screaming out RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR and it’s so loud, you can hear it a mile away, even the instructors on the other range jump at the sound thinking it’s going to run them over and the person on the bike is just sitting there with eyes the size of silver dollars thinking “What’s wrong with my bike? “ and they think it’s the bikes fault, like it’s POSSESSED, like it’s the Stephen King bike version “Christine” or something.

“No, it’s just your dumb @ss rolling the F*ck on the throttle and being an idiot!” – is what I’m thinking, watching it happen.


There’s no time for him to go running down there, flailing his arms, shouting “Roll off the throttle.” [Plus, we’re not allowed to run because that shows panic. We do walk very briskly, though, and jump really far] We’ve seen this hundreds of times and think they’ll just figure it out and go on.

I’m watching and she does it – she pops the clutch, making the bike jump up and hit the fence – BAM and then she slides down the fence. It wasn’t a hard hit, just a Blam and Slide. John Malkovich flashes in my brain. Dan went over. I was glad he was dealing with her. I kept the class going. They were finally weaving the cones. Would this exercise ever end? He finally got princess back onto her bike after lecturing her for 15 minutes about the clutch and throttle. He went back to his position down range. I watched her. She was looking over her shoulder trying to merge back in with the class. She merged and then hit the throttle again – RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRR and crashed right in front of Dan. At the same time Pete and Jeff’s woman crashed for the third time in the same place.

Will this exercise ever end?

It did finally end – I think we ran it for an hour which is a record for me. The princess was coached out of the class because she was visibly shaken. She couldn’t have ridden across the street from a serial killer at that point. After she left her Dad called Dan yelling at him about why we couldn’t teach his daughter to ride and that he was going to speak to Harley about us. Dan told him that we’d already had taken a guy out on a backboard and that his daughter was going to be next if we hadn’t have stopped her. I was like whatever, dude. Go F yourself. If you think you can do better then YOU teach her to ride. [It was a good thing he didn’t talk to me.] Jeff and Pete were standing in the shade talking to their 3rd timer coaching her out.

Our other two women seemed to cave after that. We finally made it to the last exercise  of the day – stopping quickly. Both Dan and I knew we could have a disaster on our hands. I sent them out of staging, splitting the group in half. At that point we were down to 11 so 6 on my side and 5 on Dan’s. Judy was in Dan’s line and she no more made it out to the lineup and did a stop and flop. Dan was already all the way downrange, too, and we were getting ready to begin the exercise. We both looked at each other and sighed. Would this day ever end? Then, we’re almost done with the exercise and he motioned me “one more” raising a finger. I nod. I wanted to get this day over before anyone else crashed. Then, Rosanna comes down, stops and crashes right next to him. Great. I decided to call my next one while he was dealing with that and it was Judy who – you know what’s going to happen –rode down and crashed next to me.

“How many accident reports do we need to write up?”

“Two for each woman and the [geezer] who went away in the ambulance.”

“Let’s do it tomorrow.”

“Yep, it’s Miller time.” Slapping his hand and walking out. Some days I never want to see that place again or look at another motorcycle.

The next day, Rosanna didn’t show up [Thank Goddess] and Judy didn’t pass. Guess that Harley’s going to keep collecting dust for now. She said she was coming back to take a dirt bike class but I’ll believe it when I see it. Dirt bikes aren’t cool – even if they do help you work on your basic skills. But, it’s not about that to them, is it? Having skills. No.

It’s about looking cool.

jazz ritz

I all the time sometimes don’t know what to write until I open a blank document and start writing. So, I’ve been thinking about writing a post all day after writing several official letters for the grand po-ba to sign. That’s what I do – I draft letters for very important people on the matters of real estate or property. I’d really not a bad gig but it could pay a lot more.

I no more recovered from my near death experience last week that landed me in the ER when my allergies hit big time (the pollen has been off the charts here) and I spent the first part of the week sneezing my head off and being a huge snot bag. Instead of waking Charlie and the dogs up in the middle of the night heaving I was coughing. Great. I even called the doctor and made and appointment to come in. I was tired of feeling like dog doo-doo and wanted to sleep through the night for a change. (I think Charlie and the dogs felt the same).

Finally, this morning I woke up and had slept the night through (for the most part) and felt better (Mucinex DM is a godsend!). This is April and supposedly jazz but we have yet to go because the last two Thursdays the weather has been bad. So, today is a nice, sunny day, short wearing weather and we’re going. I already ran to the store at lunch and got stuff to nosh on. After I get home and let the dogs out we’re going to ride up to The Growler and pick out a growler. (They love going there because the owner lets them come into the store) Then, once Charlie’s home we’re heading out to jazz. The dogs know about it, too, and have already requested Ritz crackers.


“Did someone say Ritz?”

weekend warriors

Well, despite the hellish week of being sick Charlie and I managed to have a great weekend going to the concert in Athens, GA.

Saturday, we left around 3 and made it to the hotel by 4:30. We took the long way there but I hate 316 and going that way. I could only find us a Microtel to stay at since all the other hotels were booked back when I got these tickets last October. We parked and got out of the truck at the same time all these other women who had on dresses and cowboy boots. We found out all too soon that dresses or daisy dukes and cowboy boots seemed to be the thing to wear to a country western music concert.

“Let’s get in there and get checked in before they do.”

There were three people at the desk and all ignored us when we came in. Finally, the woman sitting at the computer finally asked if she could help me. I gave her my last name and handed her a credit card. She checked us in and the man standing next to her handed me our room cards. We headed for the stairs and went up to our second floor suite room. When we got to the room the door was cracked. This didn’t look good. I expected to find a dead body and was disappointed to only find no sheets on the bed, one towel in the bathroom and a hair in the bathtub.

“Honey, call down there and tell them they need to make this room up.”

I did so and the man who had handed us the cards headed up with sheets in his hands. I mean, WTF? Why couldn’t they just give us a room that was already made up? Maybe none of them were. He said he was going to personally make up our room. I was like, “Have at it.” We left and went downstairs and asked the woman to call us a cab. We were headed downtown to have drinks before the show.

We went outside to wait on the cab because all the women from before who were in the parking lot were monopolizing the waiting room area. I hoped that their room wasn’t next to ours. There was a couple standing there waiting for a cab that we chatted up and decided to share with. The two women on the other side of us had also called a cab and when theirs showed we all decided to pile in. It was a party already. The drive to downtown only took about 15 minutes with traffic. Once there we bailed out of the cab paying as we left.

Charlie and I went to follow the first couple who were in the van. They said they were going to a bar called “Sideways” but we lost them and ended up at Walkers. We sat outside with beers watching people walk by. It was definitely hopping for a Saturday afternoon. We finally went in search of Sideways and found it closed. We found our friends next door but the bar was so crowded we went to Bourbon Street. This place was your typical bar where you drink Miller Light by the gallon and have fireball shots. The tables were littered with plastic cups and shot cups. I asked for two drafts and was told that they only served Miller Lite draft in a pitcher. I managed to talk her into single drafts but the next time I came back I ordered PBR tallboys and poured half into Charlie’s cup. We sat on this bench window seat and watched the sea of blondes with daisy dukes and cowboy boots come in.

“Look at her! Her @ss cheek is hanging out and it’s red!”


There was a throng of blondes in the corner with two men who were trying to get somewhere with one of them. They all looked exactly the same. All had the DD’s on, long, straight blonde hair, cowboy boots and slinky sleeveless tops.

“Was that the one with her check hanging out?”

“No hon. – that one had tassels on her shorts.”

“Oh yeah.”

“Hell, they all look the same.”

One already drunk girl dropped her glasses and the lens popped out. She started walking away and I had to chase her down to give it to her.  Finally, we’d had enough and started to do the walk to the stadium. If I’d have known that there would be no alcohol there then I would have at least snuck in a flask. As it was there was no way they were able to check every boot before letting people in. It was a sea of people. More people that I’d seen in one place since the Cher concert I went to in ’02 (the last tour, I mean, the very last tour, no this is it, no shitting we’re done after this tour). We got to our seat as Jake Owen was playing.  The sun was setting behind the stage so it was like being in an interrogation. Name, rank, serial number, I mean it was brutal. By the time he finished it had gone down behind the stage and there was a collective sigh of relief.

Luke Bryan came out and gave a really great show. Very upbeat, we stood through most of the show and clapped along with the music. Then, when he was done we sat for 45 minutes before the main headliner came out. I was tired and wanted to either drink or go to bed. It was going on 10 o’clock. Finally, he came out. The first four songs were popular upbeat ones then he went into some slow ones. He did “Night Train” off of his new album and I leaned over and told Charlie it should have been named Sleeper Car. He started to sing “Don’t you wanna stay” ,and they brought Kelly Carkson in for a virtual duet which, was really cool then Ludacris on stage to sing “Dirt Road Anthem.” When he hit the last song and went off stage to wait for an encore Charlie and I decided to lit out. We had to beat 60,000 people to the bar for drinks. I texted my friends Stacy and Nicki and we headed to Trapeze.

Once there we shoved into a circular booth and ordered craft beers and caught up. I hadn’t seen Stacy since we both worked for the awful man together. We drank beers and then Stacy took Charlie and I next door to Highwire Lounge that served whiskey. We ordered some to share and this wonderful drink called Pims. After that we all decided to go to the 80’s bar down the street. By then, two of Nicki’s friends had joined us and we all walked the block to the bar together. Inside it was packed with drunk people dancing to Footloose. I felt like we should have been in a barn with balloons swirling around. We made our way to the bar and Nicki shouted that she needed to go to the restroom and that she’d be right back. While she was gone some guy grabbed Stacy for a dance and then bought her a drink and a shot. Charlie and I were dancing near the edge of the dancefloor and we both got grabbed by one guy to dance. We shut the place down and staggered out to the street.

“I haven’t been touched by so many strangers in my life.”

We headed across the street to Stacy’s car and went to Waffle House. Both Charlie and I hadn’t eaten since noon that day and were starved. Afterwards, they dropped us off at our hotel at 3:30 and we went straight to bed not caring whether there were sheets on the bed or not. (there were but we were still left with one towel) The next morning Charlie and I headed out for home after taking showers and sharing our towel. The dogs were glad to see us but hadn’t been alone long as the sitter had just left. We spent the rest of the day sipping whiskey and ginger ale sitting in the carport and listening to the rain.








Well –

I feel like I’ve been run over. Tuesday night I woke up in the night and immediately went to the bathroom and threw up.

“Hmm, this is weird. I’m not drunk.” I almost never throw up. In fact, I have a strong aversion to it – like most people I know. But, later after I had been throwing up every 20 minutes then it seemed welcome because that was the only time my stomach calmed down. Then, it would start again. I originally thought that I had eaten something bad and had food poisoning. These were the same symptoms.

Finally, at around 8 in the morning I’d had enough and Charlie drove me to the hospital. The first one I went to was very sad but it was by the house and I thought if I could get in they’re quickly then it would be ok. No, it was like take a number in a soup kitchen. I looked at all the other people in the waiting room and they were sitting there reading magazines, one was arguing with her boyfriend who looked fine to me. I asked them when they could take me back and they kept telling me to take a seat. I was getting that crazy white woman look.

“Common, let’s go to Emory.”, and left left. F-those people.

They had valet parking that didn’t cost anything if you were in ER. They took me right in and the triage nurse found me heaving my guts out in the waiting room. [Such a lovely sound, too.] She took my vitals and then another nurse came in and got me and took me straight to a room. Now this was more like it!

Charlie was following me back to the room. Once I got settled on the bed the male nurse wrapped an elastic band around my bicep. I had only a tank top on and it pinched my arm and hurt.

“This will hurt a bit more because you have a tank on.”

Fine if he was going to stick the needle in right away. But, he was messing around with the packages that contained the syringes. He even left the room at one point and I took the band off.

“Ooops, how did that happen?” I said when he came in and saw the band off. He put it on and tightened it even more.

He finally put in my port for the I.V. and left saying the nurse would be in a minute. I couldn’t wait! Then, the nurse, doctor and another woman who was taking notes on a laptop came in. This was better; I was surrounded by all women who were very nice.

“What’s that?” my nurse asked pointing to my thumb. It had just healed enough where I didn’t have to wear a bandage.

“Oh, that thing? Cut it on a glass vase.”

“When’s the last time you had a tetanus shot?”

Nurses love to ask these questions. Like you’re supposed to know that exact date and time you last had a tetanus shot? Plus, those things last ten years – I can’t even remember what I did yesterday let alone that. I think they should give you a card to carry in your wallet when you get one of those – just like a firearm carry permit. You’ve got tetanus? Yes, I do. Got it back in ’06 when my dog bit me. My mean cat, Judy, had been responsible for keeping me up to date on those for years but she’s been dead for several years.

“Uh, I can’t remember.”

“Well then, we’re going to get you one.”

Great, I thought – my arm always hurts for days after a shot and she stuck me right in the tattoo. You’d think she could go in-between the ink or something. It is a skeleton after all. But, then I bet tetanus is worse. Like lockjaw or something. I’ve never known anyone who had it.

They hooked me up to an IV and put pain and nausea meds in it and I went to sleep. Charlie ran home to let the dogs out and grab some clothes. By the time she got back I was on my second bag and felt a million times better. She fed me ice while we waited for the other bag to finish. My mouth felt hot like lava and I pictured the ice sizzling and melting on my tongue.
We checked out of the hospital and went to get a prescription with a stop for Gatorade on the way. Gatorade was my friend, I felt like I could drink a gallon of it. I ended up with a 7up in one hand and Gatorade in the other.

“Hon, take it easy on those.”

It was all I could do to sip them. We got home and I took a hot shower. It was amazing how much I stank. I lay down and slept the rest of the day while Charlie bleached both bathrooms and did yard work. I woke up to the smell of fresh cut grass. I finally got up and dragged on my shorts and t-shirt. My head was pounding like I’d had the worst hangover ever. I went outside and sat on the porch with her and the dogs. We were waiting for the new pet sitters to come. We’re going out of town on Saturday to a concert [sold out, I’ve had tickets for forever, great seats, etc] and they’re going to stay at the house. That is – if Charlie doesn’t get this bug I had. The doctor told us that I had an upper GI virus. Great.

The couple that is dog sitting are very nice –they pet sit and foster. Right now they have about 10 puppies they’re fostering. One of them will stay the night at the house on Saturday while we’re gone and the other will take care of all the dogs they have at home and other dog walking duties. One is the butch – I had stereotyping but she has the shorter hair, cargo shorts [like the ones I had on] and flip-flops. The other a flowing hippy-ish skirt and blouse – definitely the fem. The dogs sucked up to them and like them. They had met previously at the dog park when Charlie and I were trying desperately to find a dog sitter for this concert weekend. They got into a conversation and, viola, it was like fate that they met.

Next day:

I still feel a bit hungover. I ate a piece of toast this morning and have been drinking the Gatorade and ginger ale. Later, I’m going to Wal-Mart and buying Clorox bleach cloths to keep everything wiped down. Tomorrow when I go in to work I’m going to wipe every surface with those things and tell no one to touch me or get near me although, the doctor said this was probably only a 24 hour virus. I hope Charlie doesn’t get this – especially, when we’ve had this weekend planned for months. I hope I can at least drink a beer by Saturday.

“At least your jeans will be lose now.”

“Yeah, exactly. It’s the 24 hour virus diet. First you throw your guts up for 12 hours, getting in that ab workout. Then, you only drink Gatorade – G2 mind you. Then, you only eat ramen noodles and drink smoothies for three days.”


I read this post that struck a [huge] chord with me. I’m not going to call anyone out [and, you know I’m dying to link but I won’t] but I’m going to tell a story.

In 1994 my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer, although, I didn’t know about it until later – almost a year later. She came to visit me for my 27th birthday and to tell me she had breast cancer. You can imagine what a wonderful birthday that was. I thought after that -that I didn’t want to have birthdays anymore. In fact, my family could F-up a holiday like no others. On Thanksgiving the dog died, Christmas the oven blew up and Mom threatened a divorce if Dad didn’t get her a new one. Various holidays things happened. That’s why I am often gun shy on holidays – like, what’s next?

So, Mom cornered me and told me she had breast cancer on my birthday but that it was ok. That she’d had a lumpectomy and that everything was fine now. It was in remission. At the time she never got in to any detail on when it was diagnosed but I surmised that it must had been at least six months prior for her to have had a surgery and any kind of chemo or radiation. [And, hospitals and treatment programs weren’t as on the ball in Indiana and back then] She had hair, she seemed fine and I was already suspicious that this had been going on for longer than anyone would ever admit -going on without anyone in the family telling me.

Years, later her cancer came back but this time I was told she had the flu. “Mom’s in the hospital because of this awful flu virus.”

“Can I talk to her?”

“Oh, she’s asleep right now. I’ll tell her you called and have her call you.”

She never called nor would anyone let me talk to her. It was all her doing – she didn’t want them to tell me that she was sick, that her cancer had come back. After weeks and weeks of this I finally was told that yes, her cancer had come back and even metastasized into her brain, liver and lungs and that she only had only months to live. I flew home to try and see her but they wouldn’t let me. She wanted them to keep me out. She didn’t want me to see her like that. I did manage to get in to see her and she wouldn’t even look at me. I kissed her on the forehead and told her I loved her and that I would be back to see her in a few weeks. When I did go back to see her I saw her in a casket.

I was sad but also I felt very angry. I was angry with all of them for keeping this from me. Oh yeah, they were trying to protect me but instead I felt gypped. I felt like had I known I could have spent more time with her. Gone home more, prepared myself more. But, no – I was thrown right into the shock she was gone.  No one else in the family had done any kind of preparation, either (well, except for my father dragging her to a crockpot attorney when she was sick to make sure she willed everything to him) and I had to do everything.

Funny how the person they were trying to protect was the one doing everything that needed to be done for her service. People she worked with [she was VP of a large bank] had no idea. They thought she just had the flu, too, and would be back at work in a few weeks. They showed up at her service devastated. They closed the bank for her service (this was a very large bank that did business internationally so it was a big deal). People quit after that because they liked working with her so much.

Yeah, funny and – I still feel gypped and I still get angry about it at times. I constantly wondered why she didn’t tell me. Why she wanted to keep it from me. It made me feel I couldn’t handle anything. I was discredited and I was kept out of the big secret. Other people in the family got to be around and handle it, why not me and I could have been there more than my F-ing jack@ss father.

So, yeah – I had to get that off my chest after reading this post. I hope the author of it reads this and sees another point of view and to all of you – let the people who love you handle it. Don’t just make a decision that will eventually affect them after it’s too late. Give them some kind of credit and please, make a plan. The person that is kept in the dark could be the one left picking up the pieces.

Like I was.


sunday-er-wednesday bloody wednesday

I ran out at lunch to get a few things from the pharmacy and the grocery store. This is prime shopping time for me as I hate to go after work. The pharmacy I tend to shop around and see what kind of good deals I can find. The grocery – not so much, although there are some things that are a better deal there.

I ran into the grocery and took my cart immediately over to the restroom. I parked it next to a shelf of glass vases and grabbed one to put in my cart (maybe if someone saw that I put a vase in my cart they wouldn’t steal it) and dropped it. Shattering it into a million fine pieces as well as slicing my thumb open almost a ½ inch up the knuckle. I started bleeding like a mo-fo. This always seems to happen to me – cutting myself in awkward public places and not being able to stop the blood, getting it everywhere.

Same scenario in Vegas one year. I was there with B and we were watching a [lame] show. We had been drinking and gambling all day (of course) and were blotto a bit tipsy by the time we got to the show. After the show began I had to pee like a racehorse and we couldn’t get out of our seats until intermission. Ok, I loathe going to any show where I can’t get up if I need to. F-that.

So, I held it until intermission and right when the lights went up I jumped up and took off for the restroom. Once inside, I dropped my drawers and went to do the “hover” and fell backwards. I threw out my hand and caught myself on this metal shelf bolted on the wall of the stall and sliced the top part of my thumb. I started bleeding all over the place and could barely get my pants up. I finally managed to do so at the same time ripping sheets of toilet paper off the roll – in one-piece sheets. Putting those on the cut was like trying to sop up the ocean with a – well, a piece of public bathroom toilet paper. I left the stall hoping for a paper towel dispenser and found air driers on the wall. Great. I cracked the door open and spotted a security person. I said, “Psssssst!”

This guy looked both ways before coming over to the door. I think he thought he was going to get lucky or something. I asked him if they had a first aid kit. He looked at me funny like, what’s that? Until, I stuck my thumb out the door that was dripping blood all over the carpet. He sprung into action and got on his radio and said, “I need a first aid kit up here stat!”

Just then, three other guards came running down the hall and we all went into the restroom. I stuck my hand under the faucet while they tore off sheets of paper towel to dry it and soak up the blood. By the time we were finished I had about twenty feet of gauze wrapped around my thumb and it was huge. I went back to my seat and B was like, “Where have you been? You’ve almost missed the whole show.” I showed her my thumb but she didn’t seem the least bit concerned. She even got impatient when I wanted to stop off at CVS on the way back to the hotel to get hydrogen peroxide.

I finally got out of the grocery store – doing self-check so I wouldn’t freak out the cashier with my bloody hand. I got everything in the cart  – including Bounty paper towels and yes, peroxide. Wheeled it out to the truck and took off the temporary band aid Starbucks had given me and doused it with the peroxide. I finally got it wrapped up good enough to drive to the office where, again, I took off the band aid, put peroxide on it again with antibiotic ointment and wrapped it in gauze. Thankfully, it had stopped bleeding by then and I was able to get the ointment to stick.

I don’t know what it is about cutting my thumbs in public – this one probably could have used stitches (like the one in Vegas) but why would I want to be sitting in some ER waiting a century and paying $800 when I could be sitting here writing you good people? Or drinking a beer? Hey, or even whiskey – maybe it’s a whiskey night……