Time Wasters

<Credit SEO Blog>

Gonna try this blogging thing one more time.  It's Sunshine and Happiness' fault I haven't written.  She got invited to join Pinterest and I got invited to a new addiction.  I don't yet have my own account but I puruse hers daily - usually more than once.  It's kind of like when I stalked everyone from her Facebook account years prior to actually creating one of my own.

But Pinterest is more insidious because its got all those pretty pictures and I don't have to even read if  I don't want to.  I've gotta stop looking at sunrooms, gardens, shihtzus, funny shit, recipes and the like or she and I are gonna end up on an episode of  Hoarders.  The housework it is a -piling up.  As it is I hardly have any time to update my Facebook status, play Word Shaker and check my tweets. 

Just kidding.  I never joined Twitter.  I couldn't say anything in 140 characters if you paid me.

Acceptance



Ummm, 17 actually.



OK, I made it to my first water aerobics class, participated, got my heart rate up and didn't die, though I wanted to.  When you hide from your body for as long as I have and pretend that you don't have one, it's kind of a shock to realize that yes in fact you do have a physical self and yes you have somehow become middle aged and yes you are going to be REALLY sorry if you don't wake up and start moving ASAP. 

 My body is a TRAIN WRECK.

But pain is a great motivator and I'm moving again for the first time in, oh, a decade and a half, I kid you not.  I swear I looked in the mirror the other day and thought to myself, holy crap, I'm not just a floating head.  Where did all of  THIS come from?  I have enough ass, belly and boobs to create a lifetime supply of soap.*  (Barb - that's a Fight Club reference.  See still Dark and Twisty!)

 

No one clued me in though that I was going to have all sorts of unpleasant reactions once I began to move again. (I can't even call it working out because I can barely keep up with the 80 year olds) But I am almost 20 years on the wagon and I kind of remember sobriety didn't feel so good at first either.  The key I think is to accept where I'm at and not judge or beat holy hell out of myself, which in the end will not be effective and will only keep me from doing what I need to do. This is how far down the scale (or up as it were) I've gone and I just need to accept it.

 

By the by, the last time I went with S&H to the gym, in addition to the water aerobics,  I attempted to ride a stationary bike.  This particular bike had a computer screen upon which one could see a virtual track and a pacer bike with the idea being to pedal and steer and STAY ON THE TRACK.  First Sunshine and Happiness had to help boost me onto the seat and then I couldn't keep my feet in the little footie thingies  (which reminds me of the last time I had my gyne exam and I almost got my foot caught inside the stirrup because instead of placing my heal on it like you're supposed to, I tried to shove my foot through it.  My doctor almost pissed herself.  She was like, "it's not a damn bicycle.")  Anyway I digress.

Turns out I wasn't able to pedal and keep myself on the track while watching my heart rate and rpms and I had to keep stopping to pull my shorts out my ass due to the friggin seat being up my anus.  Soooooo, I don't expect I'll be riding a real bike anytime soon.

 

It seems this whole getting my body to move thing is going to be an adventure. 

A really, really, long one.

D&T's Natural State

* It's possible to make soap from liposuctioned fat (just in case you didn't see Fight Club.)

I Never

As God is my witness, I will never be hungry again

I walked everywhere when I was young.  My family never owned a car so unless where I was headed was on a bus route, I walked.  To school and to the store.  To the homes of relatives and to church.  Up and down the avenue with our bags.  On display to all of our neighbors. My father the Bagman and his brood.  Man, I HA-ated that.

It was though good exercise.

Because my family never owned a car, in addition to my constant fear of running into someone or something, due mostly to perceptual problems and frequent drunkenness, I never learned to drive.  When I was 30 and sober however, I thought that perhaps it was time to face my fear and finally learn.  However, as I've mentioned before, I don't know my left from my right, am directionally challenged and am  phobic about someone like me controlling a 2000 pound machine.  So I did what anyone would do and I went to a therapist.  There I practiced with a paper plate in place of a steering wheel as  Kathy, my therapist would yell out "left," "right," "right" "left" "left" and I would try to turn the paper plate in the correct direction.  Kathy also taught me how to deep breathe  when I got paralyzed because, you know, it's not good to be going 60 mph and suddenly freeze.   Eventually over time with the help of said therapist I was able to call the Will Rogers School of Driving.  Will Rogers in turn sent me a young woman who was a driving instructor by day but made her real money stripping in a club at night.  This 19 year old would regale me with stories from her evening gig while I would muddle through our driving lesson, hitting curbs, driving in the wrong lane, turning the wrong way and practically totalling the car while she completely ignored me, while telling me about the tips she earned at the Cricket the night before.  I didn't care though because no sane person would let me use their car and the Will Rogers School of Driving provided me with a vehicle on which to learn and my stripper/instructor would pick me up and drop me off for each lesson.  Also, did I mention STRIPPER INSTRUCTOR?

One day out of the blue, my stripper finally decided she'd had enough and that she and I should go and test for my license.  We drove to New Castle and wouldn't you know it, I pulled the big butch state officer as my test instructor.  You know the one who scares the crap out of all the high school kids and flunks them for not coming to a complete stop.  This though was fortuitous because she had an affinity for me.  She passed me even though I botched the parallel parking and forgot to brake going down the hill at the end of the course sending us flying into the parking lot.  In the end I got my very first driver's license and Officer Krumpky's phone number.

Anyway, afterward I bought a second hand Chevy Beretta  built like a tank.  All the better to protect me when I ran into things.  And long story short, this is why I relate to Scarlett O' Hara.  Because on the day I got my license and picked up my car I said to myself "As God is my witness, I will never walk anywhere I can drive to again."  And I haven't.  For oh, like 17 years. 

I also haven't exercised in those 17 years because, you know, IT HURTS and as a result I have become fat.  Really fat. 

I don't say this with pride, far from it but someone once said, "the truth shall set you free but first it's gonna piss you off."  So yeah I'm fat.   

Until now being fat never really hurt bad enough for me to do anything about it.  Unfortunately, no one told me that if you are fat, when you reach middle age you feel as if you are going to break in two.  My joints are so stiff and my cartilage so worn that I creak like a mo fo every morning when I get up out of bed.  I used to laugh at my Gram and my mom when they complained about their arthritis.  Let me tell you, I'm not laughing anymore.

So...though I once said I would never walk (or exercise) or put on a bathing suit again, I joined a gym and have registered for water aerobics.  I was told that water aerobics is good for fat, arthritic people.  I attended my first class on Sunday and again received a dose of humility. 

When I registered for water aerobics this is what I had in mind:

However, when I arrived at my first class, this is what I found:

Reality.  It's a bitch.

I Am the Neighbor Who Won't Give the Ball Back When The Damn Kids Next Door Hit It Into My Front Yard

Actually I don't even have a front yard.  Truth be told, I have no next door neighbor kids who play ball on the front street.  My Dark and Twisty self  just woke up cranky today and out of sorts.  For all intents and purposes, today I am a crank, crankity, crank crank.

There is a game plan worked out though for when this happens (just in case you ever want to borrow it.) 

And it goes something like this....(take me by the tongue and I'll know you.  kiss me when you're drunk and I'll show you) Oops. Sorry.  Got a little carried away.

Obsessively sing Maroon 5's Moves Like Jagger.  Check Facebook.   Post inane comments.   Surf  youtube and look for clips from the Hunger Games.  Get  Rickrolled.  Read email., skim blogs.  Check FB again.

Avoid housework.  Step over laundry on floor and think briefly about meditating.  Put tea towel over dishes in the sink and step down on garbage in can so as not to have to empty it.  Shove  recyclables that roll out onto the floor when cabinet is opened precariously back inside on top of the pile where they will immediately roll back out the next time.  Look at the dog bowls and wish to God they knew how to get their own food and water.  Think briefly about showering.  Decide not necessary.

Procrastinate.  Look at clock.  Limit self  to 15 more minutes on computer.   Think briefly about using weights to exercise.  Think briefly about meditating.  Steadfastly ignore healthy thoughts and give self another 15 minutes. Blog.  Look at clock.  Give up all pretense of doing anything productive. 

Oh, and I almost forgot -  Complain.

Me:     Kids today.  Pop culture. Technology.  Music.   I don't get any of it.  Grumble. Grumble. Bitch moan.    Holy crap. We need to move.  Have you read the paper?  The neighborhood is going to pot.  Pout. Fret.  I think I'm getting a migraine.  Did you see the wind blew Carla's  gutters off and down the street.  It's supposed to be like that again tonight. God I hope nothing happens to our roof..   Wait, what?  What did you just say?

S&H:  I have never in my life met anyone who loves to complain as much as you do.

Me:  It's true. 

If there's one thing I am masterful at, it's complaining.  I am a champion.  Maybe the all-time champion.

Because I am cranky, and when I am cranky I can be self-destructive (and fritter away an entire day) when S&H left for work she made me promise  I would be good to myself .  So I promised and then proceeded to go upstairs and waste time looking up every melancholy song I could find.

Melancholy Song

But now I seem to be running out of steam.  I'm finally tired of being cranky.  So I'm  rethinking that shower, those weights and maybe even some meditation.  It's time to get my ass in motion. Yeah. Yeah.  Take some action.  Move my body.  Have some face to face social contact..  Perhaps put on clothes and redd up the house.  Yeah.  yeah.  That's what I'm gonna do.

In just about 15 minutes.

LOST

HAVE YOU SEEN THIS PERSON

DARK AND TWISTY BLOGGER

 DISAPPEARS FROM BLOGOSPHERE

Christmas

(We had this exact tree when I was a kid only we sprayed snow from an aerosol can all over it. And pretty much everything else.)

OK, so I just elfed myself.  And posted it on Facebook.  Good Lord, I'm not sure what's going on with me.  But it was fun and made me laugh.  So go.  Now.  Get thee to the Office Max website and elf yourself.  I highly recommend it.

(Tiny cardboard churches, houses, trees and stores with cotton for snow underneath.  Just more things to spray with aerosol snow)

I've been thinking a lot about Christmas's past (past Christmases? Christmas' past?) Oh  hell, you know what I mean.  And I've found myself getting all choked up and teary eyed.  Eh?  Who is this and where have they put Dark and Twisty?  It's unsettling is what it is.  Because you know, sniffling and snuffling are not conducive to being Dark and Twisty.  AND because was a time I hated the holidays.  That's pronounced Haaaaa-Ated by the way.  Emphasis on the Ate.

HOWEVER. 

This past weekend I was at the mall with Sunshine and Happiness strolling (that's right strolling) from store to store and oh, hey, is that Bing Crosby singing White Chrismas?  And all of sudden my throat tightens up and I'm fighting back tears.  Thank God it wasn't Loo loo loo Night from A Charlie Brown Christmas or I'd a been done for.  I managed to pull it together and we next wandered into Roxanne's Dried Flowers and BAM, right there in front of me laid out beautifully were all of the holiday ornaments from when I was a kid.  Only now they're called vintage and they cost a royal mint. 

Vintage Ornaments from my Childhood that Cost a Royal Mint

And ho, wait, there it was again.  Again.  That twist in my gut and a twingy bittersweet feeling.  What the????  Then on the way home we were looking at the houses decked out in lights and came upon a house that was decorated with those really old and heavy, lead paint covered Christmas bulbs we used to have on our live tree way back when and I seriously thought about calling my therapist.

Poison Lights

BUT,  I think I know now what's happening to me.  God help us all, I think I'm actually starting to LIKE Christmas.

Sunshine and Happiness

Not So Dark and Twisty

And maybe, just maybe, my heart's even starting to GROW a few sizes.  Merry Christmas everyone.

The Funny Papers





                                                                                                                                                                          Stephan Pastis

   Bwaaaaaha ha ha!  Touche'

The Old Neighborhood

Kanai Funeral Home - Greenfield Ave

Doesn't the above building remind you of a haunted house?  I've always been afraid of it AND it contains dead people which just makes my point. 

So this is where I spent last weekend. 

My dad's father died and the viewing and funeral were on Friday and Saturday.  My grandfather was 96, married 73 years and died with his wife by his side.  He lived long and well and though I am sad for my father and my grandmother it was the longest weekend of my life.  And I have had some long weekends. 

I don't mean to sound callous.  I know I needed to be there for my father and to pay my respects.  It's just that revisiting the old neighborhood and spending large amounts of time with my family falls on the scale just below having needles stuck in my eyes.

So this is what it was like.

Conversation overheard as I was kneeling in front of the casket.

Senile family member:  "Who's in the box?"
Unknown relative:  "That's your husband."

Conversation between Sunshine and Happiness and my Aunt Helen:

S&H:  "Hi I'm Sunshine and Happiness, Dark and Twisty's partner.  Good to see you again."

Aunt Helen:  "Oh, I remember you."  Sharp heal spin giving S&H her back, abrupt end of conversation.  I don't think she's big on the whole gay thing.

Discussion early on at the funeral home.

My mom:  "Would you be comfortable doing the eulogy? "

Me to myself: "Wait a minute, my grandfather has 3 sons and 2 daughters.  Why is she asking me?"

Me outloud:  "Why are you asking me this?  Shouldn't Daddy or one of the kids be doing it?"

My mom:  "None of them know enough about your grandfather to write one."

Me:  "So why are you asking me?"

My mom:  "Because they asked me to do it but I don't know enough about him to write one either."

Yikes.  No eulogy for Grandpap.

 In making the arrangements for the wake my family tried to reserve this place.

Formerly Mike's Bar

This just so happens to be the bar where I became an expert on alcoholism.  My own.

Luckily, it wasn't available so here's where the wake was held.

Rock Bottom.  A dueling piano bar.  And appropriately named.

As evidence of this I shall relay one final ditty.

When we entered the bar, we sat down, settled ourselves and ordered a coffee.  Suddenly with no warning a wild eyed, wild haired woman sat herself down right beside us.  I had no idea who this woman was but she started inserting herself into each and every conversation and making absolutely no sense at all.  It was obvious that she had some kind of mental illness and so I just assumed she was related.  Then as S&H was fixing her coffee,  the woman turned and looked at her and asked her for several packets of sugar.  S&H  passed them to her at which point she promptly tore them open, threw her head back and poured them down her throat.  Then she started mainlining Truvia.  I kid you not.
Now I can be a bit slow so S&H had to clue me in that this crazy woman was a junkie who apparently was detoxing.  Come to find out she lives across the street from my grandparents and just decided to show up.  So I spent the rest of the buffet guarding S&H's  purse.

Rock Bottom indeed.

Purple Rain

This video was posted on a friend's Facebook page.  She asked if we could do the hand motions with her and all of a sudden I was 19 again.

I don't have many good memories from my drinking days but this is one.  It was a hot summer night, my friends were back from college, we were together and acting all goofy and drunk.  I remember the movie theater having those old red velvet seats and I think we were in Monroeville.  The movie onscreen was often fuzzy and the acting absolutely horrible but Prince, Lisa, Wendy and Apollonia were yummy to look at and the soundtrack was AMAZING.   I also remember my gaydar spiking when I saw Lisa and Wendy onstage.  Oh AND Prince. 


Due to my drunkenness I didn't quite follow the story.  You'd have thought I was watching Memento or something but  I didn't care because it was one of those perfect drunks.  You know the kind where you stay just crushed enough not to lose your buzz but not so much that you're puking out the car window.  I was happy.   The group of us, my younger sister and her boyfriend, (I remember he had on a Big Pecker's Bar t-shirt,)  my friend THE RINGLEADER and her boyfriend, a redheaded guy named Flame, and an assortment of other folks from the Island of Misfit Toys thought we were being sneaky and chose a row off to the side of the theater against the wall where we were sure no could see us pouring vodka into our pops.

Partway through the movie, BP, (the guy in the Big Pecker's bar shirt) became totally pissed with me because as I was passing him an extra large Pepsi doctored so that it tasted just like turpentine, I somehow managed to drop the entire thing  in his lap along with my popcorn. Not sure how THAT happened.  I think neither of us wanted to let go of the alcohol and were pulling in opposite directions when the whole thing went down. He then refused to speak to me for most of the night.  Big baby!  He didn't get that wet.  Later that night he and said friends stood outside my bedroom window at 2 in the morning and howled like wolves until my mom (who could be quite scary) went out on the porch and threatened to throw a pan of water on them.  Or come down and kick their asses.  I can't quite remember which.

During the movie we stood up in our row, (I think my sister was standing on top of one of the seats) danced and did the hand motions to I Would Die for U.   I was 2 moves behind throughout the entire song and it felt like I was playing Head and Shoulders, Knees and Toes and was losing.  I may have fallen down afterwards.  I don't know.  Later we went to McDonalds and bought like a bajillion cheeseburgers singing "let's go craaaaaazy, let's get nuuuuuuts" over and over and over.  Maybe I did puke out the car window after that.  Hmmm. 

It was one of the happiest times of my life.

Thanks for the memory Donna.

Knowing Your Limitations

I would be the goat.

Sugar

This is my cat.  Her name is not Sugar.

My wife, Sunshine and Happiness is from the South.   Down under, below the Mason-Dixon line, everyone is sugar, sugar pie, darlin or some such.  Waitresses, shop owners, the person standing behind you at the bank.  They're all in on it. There's no discrimination.  It doesn't matter your age, looks, relationship to the person speaking. If you visit North Carolina, Virginia,  Miami (OK not Miami) someone is going to call you sugar.  In Pittsburgh there are no such affectations unless you happen to be like, oh, 80.  I was mortified recently while dining at Lonestar.  S&H needed extra something or other and couldn't get the waiter's attention.  So she yelled across the dining area, "hey  hon, can you come here for a second."  It was like suddenly I had skyrocketed out of middle age and  directly into my "golden years."   

But that's not what this post is about.  

It's about sugar.

Years ago, S&H eliminated all sugar and flour from her diet, started weighing and measuring her food and added karate.  She lost a shitload of weight and now looks like Kim "Sugar Free" Couture.

Do you have any idea how many products contain sugar or flour?

Ummmm, all of them.

I freaked out when S&H decided to try this food plan.  I mean FREAKED.  What did that mean for me?  Was I gonna have to eat that way too?  I have given up alcohol, drugs, cigarettes and bad relationships but I REALLY like my carbs.  In fact I've never met a carb I didn't love.  What to do?  What to do?

Did I mention I am also a Chub Scout?

So I took the plunge and for the past few years I've managed to not eat any sugar, dextrose, fructose, corn syrup or evaporated cane juice.  I also gave up any and all processed flour.  This state of affairs suddenly became very tenuous this afternoon.

S&H and I have a unique filing system called "throw everything into a bankers box and leave it there."  Because of nerves and fears of an audit, I decided to tweak this system and organized all of our important documents by category, (taxes, credit card bills, receipts, marriage license, etc.) and then put them in a bankers box.  Works well, this system. 

For convenience sake I keep the bankers box on the floor of our extra bedroom which doubles as the cats' bedroom.  Around 3:00 PM I went to get a receipt from said bankers box and found ....my cat had puked all over/in it. By the by, cat puke is extremely acidic, just in case you didn't know.  Ate right through the damn manila folders.

What I wouldn't give for a Twinkie.

Fame

Pittsburgh Auditions

According to the American Idol website there are 446 bridges in the City of Champions.  As a lifelong Pittsburgher you can't miss the fact that there are a lot of them but I never bothered to count.  It is a myth though that native Pittsburghers don't cross the rivers although it is true that we prefer our " own side."  As a true Northsider would say "if you ain't from the North Side you're from the wrong side."  It is also true that "once a Pittsburgher, always a Pittsburgher."  Seems lots of Pittsburghers who have relocated to see if the grass is really greener migrate back home to raise their families.

Forward now to my thoughts on/of fame.  Auditions for AI Season 11 are being held here today at Heinz Field.  Registration has been ongoing for the past 2 days and the talented, the weird, the hopeful and the bat shit crazy looking for their 15 minutes began lining up and camping out at around 3:00 AM Wednesday.  Due to the age cutoff none of my crazy friends can try out but some are auditioning for the new Batman movie being filmed here. They'll make great extras.

 In 2006, Jude Law's old flame Sienna Miller referred to us as "Shitsburgh" while filming Michael Chabon's  The Mysteries of Pittsburgh.  Let's see, that movie did what box office?  We may not be sophisticated or rise to her standards but my we are pretty.  And we have the Steelers, Penguins and the Buccos of Suckitude (h/t Pittgirl).  My only gripe is we don't have enough sunshine.  On the days we do though there's no place I'd rather be. 

But back to American Idol, I do have a personal story about this show.  When I was younger I sang and played guitar and friends would say to me, "you really should do something with that, audition for a group, play book stores and coffee shops, put yourself out there." Then they would  say, "'cause, you know, you have potential."  At the time  I was too self conscious and socially backward to ever attempt to play publicly and used this as ammunition to prove I am a failure.  That is until this conversation with Sunshine and Happiness:

Me:  "I have wasted my life."

S&H:  "How so?"

Me:  "I'm a coward and too scared to risk anything.  I should've used my talents.  Everyone  told me I had potential."

S&H: " Hmmmm. (musingly) Potential for what? "

Me:  "Well you know, like my guitar playing and my singing. Friends always told me what a good voice I have and how well I play."

S&H:  "Uh-huh.  Well what?  (Huge smile) You think they were telling you you should try out for American Idol or something?"

Me:  "Um, (sheepishly) well yeah."

S&H:  (With unnecessary eye roll) "Oh, honey, they were just paying you a compliment.  You're not that good."  (hysterical laughter)

Me:   "Are YOU sure?" (harrumphing)

S&H:  "Trust me honey."

Of course I never thought to consider that my friends were just being nice.  I truly am an egomaniac with an inferiority complex.  Although, I suppose I could give the "Pants on the Ground" guy a run for his money.

A Special Kind of Crazy

WARNING: Dark and Twisty ahead.

OK so bright and shiny didn't last very long.  Frequency, intensity, duration, that's what Sunshine and Happiness always says.  The dark and twisty isn't as frequent, it's not as intense and it doesn't last as long with scattered periods of bright and shiny in between.  Some days are only slightly dark and twisty with a large dose of bright and shiny. On rare occasions it is completely bright and shiny.  Some days though not so much.

My mom who is 67 broke her leg on Sunday.  Ouchy.  This is not good news as my father, age 69, is having a hip replacement the first week in August.  Neither of my parents drive and must walk EVERYWHERE  so I am sad to see them hobbled.  Especially sad because I am the family wheels and as we all know I am unable to give freely.  Mix in my awe inspiring driving skills and voila',  a recipe for disaster.  Let me paint the picture for you.

I only learned to drive when I was 30, that's right, 30 years old.  I cannot park to save my life and am impossible if unfamiliar with the route.  Ask me about how for years I drove only the bus routes to get to where I was going because I knew them by heart (you know because I had to ride buses my entire life) until one day a flabbergasted passenger said in exasperation," you do know there is a shorter way to get there from here."  I can't use a GPS because it's too dangerous (for me) to attempt two things at one time.  Upon buying my first car there was always a scraper and a rag in the front seat  for when the windshield  fogged up or froze ON THE INSIDE because I didn't  know about defrost.  Finally there's  my complete lack of spacial  awareness so my current car which has lasted 11 years looks as if it has participated in the annual school bus demolition at the Big Butler Fair.  When Sunshine and Happiness drives, if I am along for the ride and she happens upon a median barrier (on either side of the car), I will wildly shout "WALL!" until she changes lanes so certain am I that we are going to whack into it, crash and burn.  But I digress.

We took my mom to the doctor to be xrayed after she fell and turns out her tibia is fractured and she will be in a  walking cast for awhile.   Now my parents are really good hearted people,  I love them and it's nice to be able to help but I'm having repercussions from being with them twice this week.  Most of my squirreliness comes from the fact that my mother is crazy.  Not batshit crazy but more  "I'm so anxious all the time I can't help acting like a loon" crazy.  The doctor's appointment was scheduled  in a building located right next to the hospital and we weren't exactly sure where but we knew we'd find it.  My mom however, was a nervous wreck (and in pain) and so  talked the entire trip.  This wouldn't have been so bad if she didn't constantly talk about people we don't know, have never met and can not possibly know no matter how much she may insist otherwise.  It's been about 25 years since I've lived at home and S&H has never lived in Greenfield so I don't know what she is thinking.  In her world if she continues to give us excrutiatingly minute details we will suddenly, magically know exactly who she means.  This is what it's like

My Mom:  "I just saw Karen.  You know, Karen whose daughter is in a wheelchair.  She waits for the bus at the corner of Kaercher Street." 

Me:  "No mom, I don't know her." 

My Mom:  "Sure you do, she's related to, what's that girl's name you went to the 8th grade with who has the bright red hair?" 

Me:  "Lisa Yourick?"

My Mom:  "Yeah her. She's Karen's third cousin twice removed.  Or is it once?  Remember I used to babysit them both?" 

Me:  "Nope, still not ringing any bells."

 My Mom:  "Yeah, yeah you do.  We used to see her down at the swimming pool when you swam for swim team." (when I was 12!)

Me:  (exasperatedly rolling my eyes at S&H)  "Oh yeah, now I do.  I don't know what I was thinking.  I remember her now."

You get the idea.

As we approached the hospital we were still unsure of the exact location of the appointment so we stopped a woman in scrubs crossing the street who obviously worked at the hospital.  My mom rolled down the window and asked "where is 1350 Locust Street?"  The woman pointed it out but instead of thanking her my mom began arguing that she wasn't right and that 1350 was the building on the right end of the street not the one in the middle.  Then this poor woman, who didn't know us from Adam and was only looking for a cigarette and some lunch, got to hear about why we needed to know exactly where 1350 Locust was because my mom had broken her leg, couldn't walk up steps and absolutely had to have an elevator.  She would have proceeded on with every small detail of the accident if S&H hadn't pulled the car away with my mom mid-sentence.  As we drove off the woman in scrubs shot us a look of relief and I bit right through my lip. 

Inside the hospital, my mom felt the need to explain to

1.  the guy at the information desk
2.  two elevators full of people
3.  the patients in the waiting room
4.  the receptionist  and
5.  the homeless man on the corner 

about how she had stepped in a hole, fell down, and could not, just could not, get back up.  Thank the Lord Joe Brown, a neighbor on Windsor Street was home and heard her cries for help, picked her up and drove her to the house because she had no idea how she was gonna crawl home.  You know Joe.  You went to elementary school with his daughter.

 It's a good thing my Dad is a quiet man.

Anyway, after getting the entire geneology of Greenfield, we finally got her home and settled.  Now she's making herself crazy worrying about how she's going to get her boot off and on while making sure she fills it with just the right amount of air from that little button pump, cause you know, Jim Gregg, your brother Mark's old basketball coach had the same kind of walking cast and he had trouble with it.  We left her still talking as we jumped in the car and left.

My poor mom.  It makes me sad that she is so neurotic.   I'm just grateful to be nothing at all like her. Ahem.  Now if you'll excuse me I'm going to go jump off a bridge.

Kant Died in the Cornfield

zazzle

I had a friend in high school who always said "Can't died in the cornfield"  if I whined or said I couldn’t do something.  I never had a clue what she was talking about but I knew it had something to do with my negative attitude.  I gathered she was encouraging me to not give up before I actually tried.  The whole cornfield thing threw me off though.  Plus cornfields creep me out.  I looked at a bunch of images for this post and when I was done I had the heebie jeebies.  Too much Stephen King as a child I suppose.  Just sayin.

Later in college part of the curriculum was Philosophy 101.  I never bothered to go but I did purchase Immanuel Kant's The Critique of Pure Reason.  I cracked it open, didn't understand a thing and promptly stuck it on a shelf.  But the guy's name caught my eye.  Being from Pittsburgh I pronounced it can't (like pant) as opposed to kahnt, which just sounds dirty.  Ah, po-tay-toe, po-tah-toe, to-may-to, to-mah-toe.  Let's call the whole thing off. 

Now I have been told that I live in "Georgie's World" which is to say, my own head.  Therefore, if I think something is real then it absolutely is.  The kicker is then, if something is real for me in my world  it must be real for you too.  Because I never understood  the expression  "Can't died in the cornfield" I decided that the expression must actually be "Kant Died in the Cornfield".  However, from the one and only Philosophy 101 class I did attend, I learned that Kant did not actually die in a cornfield but in Königsberg, Russia.  So I changed the expression (in my own head) to "Kant Didn't Die in a Cornfield"  because, you know, he didn't. And I knew that it didn't really matter if Kant died in a cornfield because I knew that I couldn't.  I just wasn't capable or competent. So why try.  And in my world this is what you thought of me too.

Much later in my life when I needed to get sober I started going to meetings.  I never spoke to anyone, came alone and ran out the door as soon as the meeting ended. This is not, by the way, how one is supposed to do it.  One evening a woman who had been watching all this approached me and asked  if I really wanted to stop drinking.  Hmmmmm.  No I just thought this would be a  fun way to spend a Saturday night.  But what came out of my mouth was yes.  So she told me I needed to stand by the door, welcome folks as they came in, shake hands and introduce myself.  Oh and clean the ashtrays and the coffeepots when the meeting was over.  Wait a minute.  Me?  She couldn't mean me.   I'm shy.  I'm self-conscious. I'm awkward, I'm scared and I thought to myself there is NO WAY I'm doing that. Sheesh!  Didn't she know I was dyspraxic?  Did I happen to mention I'm just a tiny  bit self-pitying?

So I said to this lovely woman, "I can't." (Whine) She paused momentarily.  I think it was the whine that got her. And then she said rather harshly in my opinion, "stick out your arm."  So I did, because she scared me.  Next she said  even more harshly (in my opinion) "move it up and down," and I thought to myself, c'mon what is this Simon says?  But I did it.  Did I mention that she scared me?  Finally when I stopped moving my arm up and down like a loon she looked at me and said, "Your arm works.  Your mouth works.  So it's not you can't.  It's you won't,"  and she turned smartly on her heel and walked away.  Oooh, how I hated her at that moment because 1) How dare she?  Didn't she know how hard it was to be me?  and 2) She was right.  Soooooo,  I went over and stood at the door, put out my hand, moved it up and down and said  hello.  After the meeting I cleaned the ashtrays AND the coffeepots. And that folks was the day that Kant really did die in the cornfield.

Simplicity

Some Reasons I.......

Am Not on Facebook:  Look, I don't even like your annual Christmas letter updating me about your life.

Don't Have a Twitter Account:  140 characters?  Once when a friend asked me what time it was she told me not to tell her how they made the clock.

Am not on LinkedIn:  I am a kept woman

Hate Texting:

BBQ?  Really? 

Won't Buy a Kindle (or any other eReader)  It doesn't feel like escaping.  It makes me anxious and tired. (h/t Emma Robinson) Plus I don't  have to worry about the battery life of my copy of BossyPants.

Don't own a DVR:  $9.00 cable

Don't have FIOS, Xfinity  See above.

Don't Own an ipad, itouch:

Don't use an ipod:  Click to read about the earbud incident.

Hate ipods anyway:   No DJ's and no commercials make me claustrophobic.  All evidence to the contrary, I actually like to hear a human voice now and again.  As long as I don't have to interact with it.

  

Still have a 56K DSL line: 

Don't own a smartphone:

The above choices make me feel like I am part of the simple living movement. Click to learn more.  Well, all except the anti-consumerist, ecological footprint, more quality time with people, sustainable development, self sufficiency part.

Oh let's face it.  I'm just cheap.

Exhibit 3, 4, 5, 6.....

My Loserdom is legendary.  As a result, I have always told anyone unlucky enough to be within earshot about how "it's hard to be me."  No one has ever paid  me any mind. Boo hoo.  However after the earbud thingy Sunshine and Happiness looked at me with wonder and exclaimed, "It really IS hard to be you."  See, I told you so.  Validation.  Affirmation.  Finally.  I've only  lived with her for 12 years. She's quick like that. 

I must admit I have asked myself more than once why I make so many stupid mistakes.  So I decided to dig deep within myself and go where I knew there would be an answer.  I googled it.  I typed in "why do I make so many stupid mistakes?"  and sites popped up.  I kid you not.  Other folks had asked themselves this question.  On google.

And wait...... what the effie? There's an actual name for this?

Yup.  

 Dyspraxia - an impairment in the development of movement,  language perception and thought problems beginning in childhood and continuing into adolescence and adulthood. . The condition results in gross and fine motor difficulties caused by perceptual problems, especially visual motor and kinesthetic.  Dyspraxia can be associated with behavioral, physiological and emotional problems.  Those with dyspraxia may have difficulties with handwriting, learning to drive a car and self care tasks.  Other symptoms include difficulty forming relationships with others, low self esteem, avoidance of sports and physical activities and social awkwardness..  Dyspraxia is a learning disorder often categorized with dyslexia, ADHD, and the autism spectrum. 

Hmmmm.  Let's see

• I never learned to skip or jump rope much to the chagrin of my kindergarten teacher
• I still cannot tie my shoes, much to the chagrin of my mother
• I cannot tell my left from my right (I have a freckle on my left hand which is how I get around it)
• I did not learn to drive until I was 30 and needed the help of 2 driving schools, a support group AND a therapist.  My first driving instructor had a heart attack which I credit myself for, after my first lesson thank you very much.  Part of the problem is that when given directions and a right turn or a left turn is indicated I get really confused.  My therapist (God bless her) had me use a paper plate as a mock steering wheel and would yell out, left, right, right, left,  and I would have to turn the paper plate in the correct direction.  I also cannot understand traffic signs that indicate direction.  Yes, I am that person.  The one you all are always flipping off.
• I can NOT walk in a straight line.  I was at a funeral the other day and helped a crotchety old woman (shout out to Sue Raymond) to the church entrance.  As we walked I was unaware that I was pushing her off the sidewalk and into the grass.  All of a sudden she boomed "for Godsakes can ya give me a little bit of sidewalk?"  (Love ya Sue)
• I am extremely shy and self conscious, introverted and socially awkward.  Not even alcohol can lubricate me enough to be at ease in social groups.  And I imbibed enough of it to know.
• I struggle with depression/anxiety/OCD behaviors. Seriously I get songs stuck in my head and they will play in the background of my mind, over and over for days.  Even in my sleep.  Fuck you Taylor Swift and your goddamned catchy hooks.  Also, for awhile I thought I might be bipolar because my mood swings happened so frequently and intensely. S&H never knew what she was gonna get.
• I break everything I touch.  Actually if I just breathe in the direction of any type of machine it dies.  Not exaggerating.
• I hurt myself constantly by bumping, tripping, falling.  My mother nicknamed me Grace.  Compassionate woman, she.
• My biggest fear is that I will someday electrocute, maim, drown or blow myself up and in those few seconds right before I die think to myself, "oops."   
• I cannot dance and cannot follow any exercise routine that requires me to execute a series of movements.  When I try it is just painful for everyone involved.
• Additionally, I can be neatly dressed, pressed and ready to go and inevitably by the time I leave I will be rumpled, wrinkled, look like I have slept in my outfit and have a stain right smack in the middle of my shirt.  Never fails.

Now, let's look at the symptoms of dyspraxia:  difficulty telling left from right, sloppy & poor at dressing, messy eating and drinking, tendency to fall alot, bump, trip, hurt self,  prone to emotional unpredictability, anxiety and depression, fluctating often between good and bad days, obsessive behavior, phobias, clumsiness, memory problems, poor spacial awareness, isolation from peer groups, poor sense of direction, trouble with grip holds things tightly causing hands to ache, poor handwriting, poor posture, poor balance, poor muscle tone, fatigue, overly sensitive to sound, may dislike being touched, problems with pain, smell, heat and taste,  light sensitivity, difficulty using equipment and tools that require fine motor or manipulative skills, organizational difficulties, difficulty styling hair, shaving, putting on makeup, tying shoelaces, difficulty with pitch and volume of voice, slow to adapt to new situations, impulsive, stressed, easily frustrated wanting immediate gratification leading to addictive behaviors, insomnia, As a result of dyspraxia, individuals may avoid physical activity and social involvement.  Treatment for dyspraxia includes occupational therapy and counseling for emotional/behavioral issues.  There is no cure.  Most dyspraxic individuals make adaptations in order to function.

See. It's a brain problem people.  It's not my fault.

The New Poster Child for Dyspraxia

Born Loser

Anyone who knows me can attest to how clumsy I am.  (I have had my nose broken 3x attempting to participate in sports) Additionally, Sunshine and Happiness can tell you that when it comes to me and just about anything, Murphy's Law applies. If something can go wrong (and I am involved) it absolutely  will.   You scoff?  Nay, I shall prove it.  Here are just some quick tidbits.

EXHIBIT ONE
 I attempted to plan our last vacation.  Mind you, the criteria I was given was this:

• It must be warm (high 70's, low 80's is acceptable)
• There must be an ocean
• It has to be dog friendly and
• We had to be able to visit with S&H's family in NC on the way 
• Oh, and it had to be the week of April 16 -April 24 because she needed a week off RIGHT NOW. 

That gave me exactly one week to plan, find, book, budget, and prepare to leave for fill in the blank.  S&H......, she's nothing if not clear about what she wants.   Sooooo I spent days, DAYS, (did I mention it was days?) researching locations, calling folks, emailing, and checking the weather to make sure it met to my love's liking.  I finally found some houses with various and sundry combinations of the above requirements.  S&H intensely reviewed my labor and then  flat out said to me "I'm not going there.  It's not warm enough and I just have a bad feeling about it."  Hmmmmmm. Interesting.  I wasn't pissed or anything.  And then in approximately 30 minutes, 30 freakin MINUTES, she had our Seabrook vacation lined up and booked.  If you have read my previous posts you know how glorious our trip was.  Now, if we had gone with my plan we would have ended up, oh, right in the middle of the storm system and twisters that hit the outer banks and caused NC to be declared, mmmm, a DISASTER AREA. 

EXHIBIT TWO
Also, anyone who knows me will be able to tell you how I ABHOR exercise.  One, because I am out of shape and I fatigue easily and two, HELLO because it hurts!  However, in recent days I have become more amenable (my pants won't button) to giving some kind of physical exertion a whirl.   S&H suggested we go to a local high school track and walk.  I grudgingly said OK.  We headed out.  Both of us brought ipods to listen to because we knew that once we started I would be left in the dust.  We arrived, plugged in and started off.  Soon after, S&H drew up beside me and started to talk. Now I can't hear without ear buds and am always frustratingly having to yell loudly (because I can't hear myself or modulate my voice) I CAN"T HEAR YOU, so when she started to talk to me I was a bit annoyed.  I whipped out one of my ear buds and turned to her but as she spoke to me, her voice was still really muffled.  I thought to myself, am I really this deaf?  And just then I noticed that the inside of my ear felt funny.  Really funny.  Turns out when I whipped the ear bud out of my ear, the little skootchy thing that covers the end of the ear bud for smooth comfort had not come out of my ear with the rest of the contraption.  And man, it was lodged in there.  And I had only done like 2 circles around the track.  (which was really alright by me) I was though PA-AN-ICKED.  (ask me about the time a bee crawled in my ear while I was sleeping and lodged in there, buzzing around the inside of my head while I held my breath and waited to see if it would sting me while my sister tried to drown it by using a dropper to dump water inside my ear canal) Anyhoo, S&H spent the next 15 minutes using her long, manicured fingernail to pull it out. It did eventually dislodge although it was a bit skeevy.  I was just grateful it was out.  Thank God S&H is a lipstick lesbian.

Tomorrow - EXHIBIT THREE

My Life