Surviving “Slug Week”: A Primer

That week between Christmas and New Year – purgatory on the calendar.  We are recovering from an overdose of sugar, sweets and exposure to extended family.  With the start of a new year literally just around the corner, we know we’re going to try to get ourselves right with our bodies.  But not just yet… We need transition.  Gentle movement away from mindless gluttony and sloth –  toward our newfound resolve of sacrifice, or at least moderation.
 
“Slug Week”
 
i  always work the week between the holidays, for a wide variety of reasons.  i  prefer to take my vacation when the sun is shining, not when faced with 18 hours of darkness and massive frigidity.  It’s also generally very quiet at work.  Most folks are gone, and those that are working are either in “fuck off” mode, or sleeping politely at their desks.  In either case, no one is sending me work, and i’m just fine with that.  No one notices if i show up late, then leave early to make up for it.
 
Despite all these wonderful things, a few tips are in order.  A list of suggestions for Slug Week.  Making the transition from “reckless self-abuse and gluttony” to “positive outlook for becoming the best person i can be” must be somewhat gradual.  Holiday recovery is not for pussies. 
 
DO bring all of your leftover junk food into the office.  Pack up the rum balls, shortbread cookies dipped in chocolate and even the partially emptied tubs of frosting leftover in the fridge.  By New Year’s Day, there should be nothing decadent left in your house.
 
DON’T sit at the Admin Desk and eat the shit you just brought in to work.  It was for THEM, dumbass.
 
DO continue with your exercise regimen during Slug Week.  It will help you kick-start your January fitness routine.
 
DON’T leave your sweaty gym clothes in your car overnight, when it’s going to be ball-numbingly cold.  Putting on a frozen running bra can stop your heart, or as a minimum, wake you up.  We can’t have that.  Transitions must be gradual…
 
DO start watching your calories.  Slimfast, or other meal replacements, can come in handy.  Bonus tip:  i keep a can in my car, so it is convenient – even when i’m on the run.  And this time of year? It’s always chilled!
 
DON’T mix a Slimfast with Bailey’s Irish Cream for lunch.  Drink the Bailey’s straight to cut calories. 
 
DO use the quiet time in the office to knock out a few things that have languished on your “To Do” list for months.  Take advantage of the abandoned workplace to do your most creative thinking…
 
DON’T bother even pretending to try the item above.  i  tell myself that i’m going to write that tech report, or knock out the big bad spreadsheet, or generate a new process description, or some such bullshit every year.  Invariably, i end up reading newspapers online, yakking with my equally sluggardly colleagues, or simply fighting to stay awake for six hours.  Skip the guilt.  Instead, go here and play games.  These are unlikely to be blocked by your IT department.  It’s NORAD!  What’s more important than National Defense?

Happy Slug Week!  Get out there in those sweat pants and baggy shirts and start thinking about preparing for getting ready to kinda start getting shit done next week…

No Parenting Awards: Holiday Edition

Scores and highlights from a very pleasant four-day weekend…

– Vegetative:  At least two full days of just getting “jammied-up” and expending the least amount of energy possible.  Two half-hearted trips to the gym (Thursday and Saturday) for a couple hours of cardio, but other than that?  Fuck it.  i’m eating cookies and fudge.  Really enjoyed the down time, playing pool and darts with my children and friends.  We watched movies until our eyeballs damn near fell out.  Perfect holiday.

–  Going to hell:  If there was a hell, i’d have reserved seating.  As would my children.  The Boy picked up a lovely decorative item for me, which looked like a tombstone when wrapped.  Making a rookie religious holiday error, he pasted the “R.I.P. Jebus” tag on it.  i had to explain he was born on Christmas, and died on Easter… Regardless, it made a fine addition under the tree.

– Retaliation:  Not to be outdone, The Girl crafted a pretty brilliant response in the style of wrapping for The Boy’s gift.  We’d gotten him pool cues.  Naturally, they lend themselves to a suitably blasphemous holiday wrappage.  This was mildly complicated by the fact that i attempted to wrap them on Christmas Eve.  After damn near a half bottle of single malt scotch had disappeared into my gullet.  But wrapped it was….

– Trailer Park Christmas:  Wasn’t horrible.  Best part was visiting with my niece, JS* and her partner RE.  They enjoyed the “pimped out rollator” i’d prepared for Mom.  RE had some fabulous additional suggestions.  Her first question was “Did you get her a matching helmet?”  A “Dukes of Hazzard” horn, undercarriage neon, tubthumpin’ bass speakers and spinner rims… perhaps something i can add next year.  Mom liked it, plus the bag of home made treats i brought her…  Will continue the war-gaming in January, but for now?  A holiday truce…

* JS is technically a “step-niece”.  She is the only daughter of my sister, S’s second husband, G – from his first marriage.  The “skinny transvestite stoner” dude who commited suicide in a deer stand, after first killing his fucking dog.  Yeah.  But despite the obvious challenges of her life, JS is a loving young woman!  Amazingly, the “trailer park” clan is the most stable influence she’s had in her life, and she considers us her family.  She and her partner, RE, rescue cats – and may well have successfully pawned one off on me…

Time Traveling

daisyfae at 7:  [bouncing up and down beside my sister’s bed] “C’mon!  Get up!  GET UP!  He’s been here!  It’s CHRISTMAS!”  i remember when i still believed in Santa Claus.  My friends were skeptics, but i wanted him to be real, so i resisted.  i didn’t give it up until my older brother spilled the beans a year later – leading my two older sisters to bark at him for being such an asshole. 

At seven, i remember getting a “Chatty Cathy” talking doll from Santa.  It scared the living shit out of me.  “i don’t want it!  There’s a SCARECROW inside it!”  Mom orchestrated the ritual overindulgence – only stockings could be opened on Christmas morning, and we could investigate the “Santa Gifts”, unwrapped presents for each of us under the tree. 

She wanted Christmas to last, so we had to have nutritious breakfast first – often a treat of Strawberry PopTarts.  One of us would be an elf, and presents were distributed in piles to each of us in the cramped living room.  As Maestro, she then instructed us on which gifts to open – one at a time, waiting so that we could see others open their gifts.  Directed chaos.  i was happy.
 
daisyfae at 16:  [slogging down the hallway, looking for coffee] My older sister and brother were already married with babies.  These marriages were already showing signs of implosion, but it was cool to have little kids around for the holidays.  Mom’s orchestrated ritual continued, but didn’t start before sunrise – my older siblings showed up later in the day, sugar-buzzed and over-stimulated children in tow.  Stockings?  Treats and plastic toys were replaced by deodorant and lip balm, but they were still overflowing. 

It was during the teen years that i finally let my sister, T,  know i’d figured out that “lesbian” thing, and that my best friend, JW, was gay too.  The gift i left for her under the tree was a pile of 35mm film*.  But the day before, i’d given her a couple of books – “Rubyfruit Jungle” by Rita Mae Brown and “The Front Runner” by Patricia Nell Warren. Good teen gay-lit, given to me by my friend JW.  It was a turning point for us as sisters.
 
daisyfae at 21:[waking up in a strange bed, alone] It was my first Christmas away from home.  i’d been living with EJ for a couple years, and agreed to make the “parent trek” to Florida.  My first dinner with his family was memorable.  It was so quiet i could hear myself chewing!  A sound i’d never heard before at a family dinners because my clan yelled, threw dinner rolls and argued everything from music to philosophy over meals.  His parents were very sweet. 

Their house was perfect, uncluttered and understated.  i found myself missing the chaotic Christmas mornings of my childhood.  Just a little bit… Returning to the homestead for a Christmas visit the next week, i was comforted when i dumped out my Christmas stocking to find travel-sized toothpaste, shampoos and deodorant, along with candy and a smattering of cheap plastic crap.
 
daisyfae at 30:  [dragging ass outta bed as my young children tumble excitedly down the stairs, after i’d been up until 2am assembling kid toys]  We kept some of the same rules – no presents opened until we were all there, but stockings and “Santa Gifts” were fair game.  Breakfast of cookies and milk was perfectly acceptable.   i was in my “Super Working Mom” phase, and generally exhausted myself the weeks before Christmas with shopping, baking, decorating and wrapping – but i truly enjoyed it! 

The downside was always the travel.  My husband and i agreed – “As long as we have parents to visit, we will travel on Christmas.”  And so we did.  Never mind the fact that we never went ANYWHERE when we were young, our parents expected to see us for the holidays. 

Every other year we went wherever his folks were – usually Florida.  Palm trees with twinkie lights, Santa wearing shorts.  Waking up in strange beds on Christmas morning – for us and our children.  Typically driving 16 hours, we’d always have to anticipate weather challenges – dodging ice storms in the mountains of Tennessee. 

Alternate years?  Home for Christmas morning, but on the road to The Trailer Park by noon for the family visit.  Mom had taken the “directed chaos” to an entirely new level – attempting to pull off the same “one-at-a-time” gift opening ritual with a crowd now numbering close to 20, and in a living room more cluttered (and far less organized) than the interior of the International Space Station.  We returned home reeking of cigarette smoke, hauling trash bags of mostly “off target” gifts and generally very crabby.
 
daisyfae at 47: [bouncing up and down beside my children’s beds] “C’mon!  Get up!  GET UP!  He’s been here!  It’s CHRISTMAS!” Not an over-abundance of gifts, but they are thoughtful.  Sometimes disgusting, but thoughtful.  Santa still shows up, reliably delivering ‘scratch off’ lottery tickets in the stockings.  We just hang out.  We eat junk food, watch movies, drink and nap.  Friends drop in to eat junk food, watch movies, drink and nap.  “Dog Wrasslin’” is the sport du jour.  i am happy.
 
It’s just another day, but it’s an annual pinning point.  Tripping us backwards through the joyful, the broken and empty.  The sweet and the bittersweet. 

The New Year has us looking forward…. but Christmas makes us time travelers.

~~~~~~~~~~
 
* i worked at Photo Bug and used my employee discount to buy gifts for all of my friends with cameras.  Like a FotoMat, it was a drive-up photo-processing facility.  We shipped film out and promised “next-day” service.  It causes me great pain, but i have been COMPLETELY unable to find photographic evidence of a Photo Buggery.  A 15’ x 15’ box with windows in a parking lot, and a 5’ tall smiling bee on the roof, spinning merrily while holding a camera.  Surely someone, somewhere, has a picture?!?

In the name of justice…

It’s not often that i end up at a “Chamber of Commerce” event in my little suburb, but the planets aligned last Thursday.  i had been out with my ‘breast cancer drinkin’ grannies’, and one of them suggested we crash the Chamber event in order to eat dinner and drink for free continue our holiday celebration.   

Seemed a grand plan to me…  

As i was stumbling making my way towards the bar, i literally stepped on the legs of a man, kneeling in order to speak to people seated at a table.   

Kneeling Man:  Ah-HA!  You fell for me!  

daisyfae:  Not so fast, buddy.  Stand up and let me get a better look at you…  

And so the flirtation began… An attorney, running for judge.  Which in my part of the world means “Republican”, as there hasn’t been a non-Republican elected official in the county for decades.  We chatted.  Once he realized i was on the prowl single, he proceeded to launch through the “pick up” questions… enquiring about my tastes in music, film, etc.  

Even a social moron like me could track this one:  He’s considering asking me out…  

In order to deliver my son and a friend to a holiday party, i excused myself early, but gave him a business card on the way out the door.  i relayed my adventures to my son and his friend in the car, en route to their party.  

daisyfae:  So, i think i’m going to get asked out by an attorney, who is likely to be elected as judge this year…  

The Boy:  You should absolutely go out with him… you don’t have a lawyer in your stable.  

daisyfae:  Yeah, but i’m not sure i could fuck a Republican*.  

The Boy:  But Mom, it might mean the difference between “Ten to Life” and “Probation”…  

daisyfae: …..  

If the dude looked like Billy Flynn? My kid would have been hitch hiking...

  

 * For what it’s worth, i have no issues with thinking conservatives – and no, it’s not an oxymoron.  i know a few.  It’s the folks who have co-opted the Republican party, and revel in their “narrow-minded, bible-thumpin’, intolerant and proud of it” way of existence that make me cringe….

Oh, that’s different. Never mind!

While in the process of getting decked out for a holiday party tonight, i was leaning heavily on The Girl for advice.  She’s got great fashion sense, and has yet to steer me wrong…

Black and red halter dress, black stockings, high heeled pumps.  Topped off by a santa hat… red with black fur to match the outfit.

daisyfae:  How does it work?  Do i need the solid black tights?

The Girl:  It looks good.  You look a little “tardy” though…

daisyfae [confused]:  “Tardy”?  Huh?  Like a “tard”?

The Girl:  No, “TARTY”.  Like a “tart”.

daisyfae [scooting off to brush teeth]:  Oh…  cool…

It’s OK! I’m a Scientist!

AB* has his mother on life support. At home.  He is the Romanian Physicist in my new research group.  At the end of a group meeting today, where AB was presenting his latest research results, he showed a photo from his recent business trip to the UK.  i had been dozing thinking deep thoughts up to this point, but the photo of AB standing between two smiling London police officers startled me from sleep my cogitation. 

Note: this is how he speaks – say it fast and with a nice, eastern European accent.  If you can get some spittle going on your lips and flail your arms around in the process, please do.  i make a habit of sitting at least four chair-lengths away from him in meetings in order to remain spittle-free… and i cover my coffee mug when he comes into my office.

AB:  “So I was taking a picture of a sign outside the convention center and the police lights, they came on behind me and two officers came up to me and told me I was in trouble for taking pictures that they thought I was a TERRORIST [big arm flail] so I knew I was in trouble and since there were two of them, I knew I couldn’t just RUN into the hotel since I was outnumbered so I surrendered and…

The Boss [freaking the fuck out]:  You didn’t tell me you were arrested in London?!?!?

AB:  No, no, no… not arrested.  They thought I was a terrorist, but when I told them I was a SCIENTIST they just gave me a warning.

Science rocks. Fully.

 image found here.  and i might be just a little in love with mike the mad biologist…

* He’s awful cute, in a wiry, passionate “It Puts The Lotion On” sort of way… but alas, Coma Mom likes to watch….

Trailer Park War Gaming

On the bright side?  i had a chance to see Mom’s ridiculously hot cardiologist* today.  And she was delightful, as always.  Mom’s health?  Heart and lungs are ok, but she’s put on a few more pounds, pushing close to 200 pounds, which is a bit much for her 4’10” frame…

During my roadtrip to take Mom to the doc today, i slogged through the increasingly murky quagmire that characterizes my familial Trailer Park.  It’s a fucking mess, and i need to do something…

Mom has been encamped on a bed in my niece, DQ’s, living room since pacemaker installation in July.  It was to be a short-term arrangement, but the ensuing angioplasty a few months later meant Mom needed more care, and DQ was willing and able** to provide it, so she stayed…

Originally, i wasn’t on the hook for today’s appointment, but over the weekend i learned that DQ III (2 years old) has been sick.  More than willing to blow off my office Christmas party, i left work at 1000 and made the trek south to meet them at the cardiology office.  i had a clear afternoon, so offered to just take Mom home afterwards, freeing DQ to run errands, or just go home for some time off…

Talking with Mom over lunch, she complained about how long the renovations would take on her house.  She complained about the lack of privacy, and that Christmas would be strange this year because of her circumstances.  Once again, i reminded her that there are alternatives to waiting another six months – at least – before BJ (DQ’s handy, hardworking husband) can start on the renovations.

daisyfae:  i can hire contractors to come in and start the work now.  We can get the place habitable and excavated and you can go home.

Mom:  Oh, I don’t know…

daisyfae:  We can also scout some of the assisted living apartments nearby.  You said they were too expensive, but we’ve never really priced them, or gone to visit…

Mom:  I don’t want to cause trouble.  Besides, people tell me that I’m better when I have other people around…

daisyfae:  Mom, it doesn’t matter what other people tell you.  All that matters is if YOU think you are better with people around.  If you don’t want to live alone, then that’s ok – just say so.  But it changes your options… and there’s no free lunch.  The price for having people around is that there is limited privacy, and a lot of activity*** going on around you all the time…

Now, if i had a dollar for every time we’ve had this conversation, i could purchase a brand new double-wide trailer for the whole entourage….  But she never really seems to want to DO anything to change things, so i’ve always just let it ride.

She thanked me for lunch, and mentioned how tired she is of fast food, which seems to be the main fodder at the Trailer Park table. 

Mom:  I’m so sick of pizza, I couldn’t eat another bite.  Can’t eat hamburgers any more, and I’m just sick of Chicken McNuggets…

daisyfae:  Doesn’t DQ cook?

Mom:  Well, with BJ working late most nights, she said she doesn’t feel like making a big meal, so we just go through the drive-through, or call for pizza. 

In the car, we talked about some healthier choices.  Some things she could get at the grocery that would be easy to fix as an alternative.  Some of the bagged frozen veggies and “lean” meals that are available… as well as just cottage cheese, fruit and a bag of lettuce…

Mom wanted to stop by her house, to feed her cat****.  i went to take out the trash, clean the litter box and try to do some pick up around the place.  Within minutes my nose was running like a champion sprinter and my eyes felt as though they were covered in sand.  i have no idea what sort of muck has been dredged up from the preliminary excavation that was started (and abandoned) a few months ago, but it’s pretty clear that to do any substantive work in there, i’m going to need a dust mask, if not a full respirator. 

Rushing through my project list, i hauled Mom back to DQs next door.  To find DQ shopping on-line, with DQ, Jr***** (the 14 year old), while the baby took a nap.  Going over the prescription list, the new instructions from Dr. Monica, and future appointments, we did the “hand off”. 

i hauled ass out of there.  Drove damn near 80 miles an hour all the way home.  This is not the quality of life Mom deserves.  i’m starting to think that if Mom continues to eat nothing but junk and is sleep-deprived on a routine basis, she won’t last the year.  i need to do something.

In a one-hour therapy session with one of the smartest women i know (my hairdresser), i realized i need to kick up the heat.  Mom clearly doesn’t want to live alone.  What she wants is for the renovation schedule to ramp up so she can get her own nice little apartment set up, and can get home with her cat.  Mom is also worried about “trouble” – as it is, my sister in Florida has already written off the entire mess, my brother and his wife are standing back because they’re not sure what to do either…

A strategy emerged.  i’m going to start investigating “assisted living” centers in the area.  Perhaps have some informational brochures sent to the house.  In order to help with transportation, i’m also going to get information on the local “Council for the Elderly” services, and see that we get some information shipped in as well.  Oh, and the church is happy to provide “meals on wheels” – maybe arrange to have something sent over every week so that Mom can get healthier meals at least occasionally.  And as the coup de grace?  i’ll talk to some friends from high school, still in the area, and get referrals for general contracting…

If my guess is right?  That fucking addition will get underway just a wee bit sooner… Let the games begin….

~~~~~~~~~~~~

* It’s probably my imagination, but the lovely Dr. Monica seemed genuinely pleased to see me, after a few months.  She commented, as always, on how much weight i’ve lost, asked how my workouts are going, and if i’d been on any travel adventures of late… (sigh).  Not only is she gorgeous, and wicked smart?  She dotes on Mom… i think i adore her as much for that, as i do for her deep brown Bambi-esque eyes, hidden behind her cutey-pie designer smart-girl glasses…

** She has a 14 year old and a 2 year old, and takes care of Mom.  That’s enough to fill a day.  If you do it right…

*** Mom tells me of midnight trips to WalMart, people stopping by at 2 AM, and the constant buzz of activity at all hours of the night…

**** The cat was nasty before Mom moved in with DQ next door.  The cat now is a nearly feral thing… i tried to pet it and the hairy little fucker hissed and damn near bit me.  DQ has been trying to pawn this animal off on me for a few months, saying “We won’t be able to keep her, I’m afraid she’ll bite the baby…”.  Mom wants to keep her, and is worried that she’ll have to give up her cat once the renovations are done.  My guess?  The cat is going to have an “accident” or “sneak outside” sometime during renovations… 

***** This kid is in 9th grade.  This is not the first time i’ve been there – on a school-day – and found her home.  Not sure what’s up with that, but i know that school isn’t over at 1:30 in the afternoon…

Baby Monkey at 21

We are a strange crew, The Girl, The Boy and me.  i was only a year older than The Girl, now 23, when she popped* into my life.  The Boy appeared two years later to complete our rag-tag hippie family. 

He’s a December baby, born on the 14th.  His first act of defiance, in fact, was to ignore his “due date” of December 3rd.  Smaller than his sister**, he was always the cuddly kid.  As a little dude, he’d hang on me, arms wrapped around my neck, clinging like a baby monkey.  Probably stopped this sometime around three years old, it was his favorite way to be carried.

Tomorrow?  He’s 21.  A milestone birthday for sure.  Our family tradition is fairly simple – the birthday kid (or parent) chooses a restaurant and we go out for an evening of silliness.  Tonight was the night, and it was much less shitty*** than last years event…

Before dinner, though, we had the goofy present bash.  The Boy isn’t much on “stuff”, really has simple needs, so finding an appropriate gift is a challenge.  Asking what he wanted or needed?  A book, a DVD… but then it finally hit him.  “You sort of owe me a knife, for the one that got stolen last summer…”. 

He had me there.  When i was in “Trailer Park Musical”, my character needed to strap a 6″ hunting knife to her leg at one point in the show.  Not being a “weapons” person, i borrowed a knife from The Boy.  There was a breach of security during rehearsal, and my knife was stolen.  Once i’d acquiesced to the knife, The Boy pushed the envelope a bit. “Well, how about a cross-bow?”.  When that was met with a glare, he replied “So, I guess shotgun shells are out of the question?”

The best gift of all, though, was one that didn’t cost much.  Living alone, about an hour away at the university, The Boy sometimes gets a little lonely.  He’d casually mentioned that he’d even thought about getting a cat for company, but wasn’t sure if his lease allowed pets.  i was one step ahead of him – having already ordered live companions to soften his lonely nights.

An ant farm!  The perfect gift for the isolated college student!  Discussing it with The Girl, she decided to pick up the perfect companion gift… a magnifying glass****!  When he tired of his pets, an even better way to pass the time!

Naturally, we’d been screwing with his head over these gifts.  Taunting him with hints, raising his curiosity.  Opening the magnifying glass first, we tested him.  “C’mon, guess what the other gift is!  They go together perfectly!”  He struggled… coming up empty.  Until i said “What’s the best thing you can do with a magnifying glass?”

The Boy:  Set shit on fire?

daisyfae:  [smiles, nods head… encouraging him onward…]

The Boy:  An ant farm?

My baby monkey.  All grown up… sort of…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

* Wasn’t no “poppin'” about it… She was 11 pounds 2 1/4 ounces at birth.  No, it was NOT a “natural” delivery.  There would have been nothing “natural” about that…

** He was the little guy, weighing in a a mere 10 pounds 8 ounces.  Despite his diminutive size, he was also a ‘fillet’ delivery.  And though they were getting smaller, i said “Fuck This Shit” and had my tubes tied, cut, super-glued, stapled and duct taped shut a few years later. 

*** The shitstorm from last year was epic…

 **** The Girl works in a bookstore, and bought the magnifying glass there.  A customer asked her about it – and she explained that she was getting it for her little brothers birthday, to go with his Ant Farm.  The customer, a little surprised, asked “How old is your brother?”  He was even more surprised when she said “Twenty one…”

How to die

She’s 80 years old, and weighs less than her age.  Pound for pound?  The toughest woman on the face of the planet.

Edna was my admin assistant when i did my reluctant tour as branch manager a few years back.  We joked at the time about her diminutive size, but no one was ever going to deny her a request for documentation, signature or assistance.  Bottom line:  Shit got done.  We were at the top of the admin heap in a large research organization simply because of her knowledge and tenacity.

Her trials and tribulations would have destroyed most mortals.  Pregnant with her second child, her husband was struck by lightning and killed on a golf course during a Father’s Day outing, throwing her into the ranks of “single mother” before the days of affordable child care.  She continued to work, and her children never went without necessities, discipline or love.

Tough as nails, she also demonstrated solid home defense skills. A dumb bastard attempted to take advantage of her situation for his own benefit.  He entered her garage late one night, and attempted to break into the house.  She heard him.  “If you open that door, you’ll regret it”.  He did.  She shot him in the thigh, and watched him bleed while she called the police.

While handling the necessary and potentially crippling administrivia that daunted my organization, she also battled a chronic form of leukemia.  But Edna was no stranger to cancer, having survived breast cancer (double mastectomy) in her 50’s, and colon cancer in her 60’s.  For her?  Another annoyance.

She kept working part time for a few years after i’d moved on to the new job, but finally retired for good two years ago.  At 78 years old.

Last summer, i got word that she’d been hospitalized with pneumonia.  They found metastatic cancer in her lungs.  She decided to try some “gentle” chemo for a bit, but it made her weaker, so she told them to shove it.  Her son and daughter-in-law lived near by, and were providing daily care to help her maintain independence.  It was the hip-breaking fall in the bathtub in October that set the final showdown in motion.

Her daughter-in-law and son moved in to provide round-the-clock care.  Hospice was notified, and home medical care was kicked into play. 

Today?  A pizza party at her house, with a few of us from work.  The people she liked.  Edna never suffered the office fools with much humor, and was quite specific on who she didn’t want to darken her doorstep. 

Worried about the needs of her son and his wife, she insisted that they take next weekend off… and invited a neighbor to come and stay with her so they can return home for a little respite care themselves.  Her neighbor, a gentleman in his early 70’s, was glad to assist.  Edna informed him in no uncertain terms that sex was out of the question… mainly due to the fire hazard from the oxygen!  Sparks would be bad…

Speaking of fire, she’s still smoking.  With an oxygen hook up, i did a quick safety check.  Separate room for the oxygen and the smokes.  As she said “What’s the point of quitting now?”

Weighing in at 61 pounds, the cancer gets more nutrition than she does when she eats… and she’s too stubborn to feed the cancer.  Perhaps a month or two before she’s gone.  The toughest broad i’ve ever met tackled life Edna-style.  And is taking on death the same way…

Tiger Woods’ Penis and You

i have absolutely no interest in where Mr. Woods has placed his dick.  Nor Mr. Letterman before him. 

Sex addiction?  What fucking planet are you people on? 

We are a nation at war.  Students are rioting in the streets of Tehran.  Bodies pile up in Baghdad, and we are ripping another 30,000 young souls from their families for target practice in the mountains of Afghanistan.

Oh, and can we take a moment to consider that there’s some pesky international meeting about the future of climate on the planet?

Domestically?  10% of the available workforce still seeks employment, and faces an uncertain future.   Gall bladder surgery can drive a family into bankruptcy because we have no health care safety net.

And yet all i can find on the news this morning are reports on the whereabouts of Tiger Woods’ penis.

Idiocracy.  It’s not just a movie.  We’re livin’ the dream, bitches….

~~~~~~~~~

NOTE:  To all of you nimrods who landed here because you were searching the terms “Tiger Woods penis”?  Seriously.  What the fuck were you thinking?  Don’t you have something more important to do?  Jeeeeeebush H. Roosevelt McGee Christ…. It’s the end of the world.    Oh, but the dude googling “shark pimp”?  That’s funny….