Yeah, yeah...I know, I haven't been blogging much. That's because I've been shopping and wrapping and drinking and eating cookies. I love Christmas!
I can tell you one thing though...next year, everybody's getting their present with nothing but a bow on it. I love the shopping and drinking and eating business...but wrapping...I'm f*cking over it.
Merry Christmas from your favorite blog!!
(Oh yeah...and Happy Hanukkah or Kwanzaa or Ramadan or whatever other fucking holiday you celebrate this month!)
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Costco Is Dangerous
**It should be said before you read this blog that I despise going to Costco. I also don’t think their employees exist in reality. Think about it…they’re all so damn weird, I’m convinced a spaceship drops them off in the back everyday, and picks them up again later that night.**
Costco is completely fucking dangerous and I feel that it’s my civic duty to warn you all about it. I had the unfortunate experience of going there a couple of Saturdays ago…for one simple container of dip. S was having her birthday/housewarming party and I was on dip duty. How hard could that be…
So off to Costco I go and I just happened to be on the phone with C. I told her the place looked like a mob scene and to let me get off the phone so I could shop. I had surprisingly gotten a nice spot only one row over from the door and I had a good feeling about my impending shopping experience. I spoke to soon. As I get out of my car and go to cross the lane, I see a car coming towards me. But the woman appears to be slowing up...ahh, I think to myself, she's going to be nice and let me cross in front of her. Nope. The bitch was looking for a spot and just as I step out into traffic she floors it in an attempt to find a new one after she realizes the people aren’t leaving. Now she's only a few short feet from taking me out. Cool. I hustle across and jump out of the way as she slams on her breaks. That was fun...how much worse can it get? I’ve spoken too soon…again.
In I go and wave the membership card at the greeter. I pick up my pace, weaving in and out of old people, children and the browsers who take up entire aisles with their carts full of shit. Do you really need 300 cookies and the economy size bag of sausage…I don’t fucking think so. I’m now at the back of the store and it was pretty uneventful. I march right over to the dips…damn it. There’s no Baja Chipotle Lime dip…or whatever the hell it’s called. A friend of mine had it once and it’s delicious. A nice change from the usual Spinach Dip. Ok…maybe the Baja stuff is over by the cheese. It’s a cheese base…it could be. So I walk around the aisle and head to the cheese. Damn it. It’s not
As I’m heading back to the dip section, I feel a thud on my upper arm and I actually lost balance. What the fuck? I look up and some woman, around 60 or so, has full on shoved me out of the way with very little regard for my well being. Sweet Jesus. It was nearing riot like conditions. And in all honestly, I certainly couldn’t push an older woman in retaliation…no matter how badly I wanted to…so I retrieved my Spinach Dip and headed towards the front of the store to pay.
All the lines seemed crazy and I was searching for the shortest one. I spot one with a bunch of people, but very few items. Tada…I found my line. As I approach the register, I realize that they seem to be all in the same family. They’ve got Grandpa and Grandma with them and Mom and Dad and about a dozen kids. Ok…maybe a dozen is an exaggeration, but there was AT LEAST four of the little savages running circles around me. Fantastic! And on top of it, they’re only speaking Spanish. It was mind numbing.
In an attempt to avoid these children, I stand at the back of the register belt thing for where you put your groceries. I was right in the middle of it, one side is for carts and the other side is for members. I just wanted to wait for the giant family to finish up. But in doing so, other customers got in line behind me. One of these customers was a really old lady, definitely late 70’s who was obviously half blind and had her cane with her in the cart. And she lines up right next to me, but with her cart in the member section of the line. So now the register girl has her assistant (Seriously, a fucking assistant? You ring groceries at the Costco and you need an assistant? Whatever.) tell the old lady she has to bring the cart to the other side of the line. This is all well and good, but since she can’t see too well, she slams the cart into my hip in the process and pins me against the register belt. And repeatedly slams the cart into me until I so graciously help her move it…BEFORE I NEED A FUCKING CANE.
So now I have helped the old lady and she’s situated where she needs to be and the assistant (I’m really bothered by the checker outer people having an assistant.) is helping her unload her cart. Old lady was thanking me and thanking me…trust me, it was my pleasure. Unfortunately, with all the commotion, the assistant has already lined up the stuff for the old lady directly behind the giant Mexican family’s stuff. Shit. Now where am I supposed to put my Spinach Dip? I knew this was going to be a problem. I decided to place it down on the side of the conveyor belt thing, directly next to the divider separating the giant family and the old lady.
The (obviously overworked because she needs a fucking assistant) checker girl finally finishes the giant family and picks up the divider to start on the old lady’s stuff. So I quickly pick up the Spinach Dip and hand it to her.
CG: (pointing at the old lady’s stuff) Is that yours?
B: No.
CG: (points at the Spinach Dip and then to the Mexican family as they were leaving) Was that theirs?
B: No.
Checker girl huffs at me and yanks the Spinach Dip out of my hand. Now I’m pissed.
B: (extraordinarily sarcastic) I’m so sorry my dip wasn’t in between dividers like your Costco rules state, but I didn’t want to get adopted by the giant family, party of 27, and I certainly didn’t want to get run into by Helen Keller anymore so I helped her with the cart. Excuse me that I got a little sidetracked with the divider situation.
She just shoots me a look and thrusts out her hand…
CG: Member card
I hand her the card. And now I’m just expecting trouble, because it’s actually not my card. It’s my mom’s. I avoid that place as much as possible, why the hell would I need my own membership.
Thankfully she didn’t notice the picture and continued to cash me out without saying a word. Good. I grabbed my receipt and stormed towards the front door…barely stopping for the the guy to put that stupid Sharpie slash mark on it.
Fucking Costco. I hate it. And I found out after the fact that I could have gotten the same Spinach Dip at Foodtown. Son of a…
Costco is completely fucking dangerous and I feel that it’s my civic duty to warn you all about it. I had the unfortunate experience of going there a couple of Saturdays ago…for one simple container of dip. S was having her birthday/housewarming party and I was on dip duty. How hard could that be…
So off to Costco I go and I just happened to be on the phone with C. I told her the place looked like a mob scene and to let me get off the phone so I could shop. I had surprisingly gotten a nice spot only one row over from the door and I had a good feeling about my impending shopping experience. I spoke to soon. As I get out of my car and go to cross the lane, I see a car coming towards me. But the woman appears to be slowing up...ahh, I think to myself, she's going to be nice and let me cross in front of her. Nope. The bitch was looking for a spot and just as I step out into traffic she floors it in an attempt to find a new one after she realizes the people aren’t leaving. Now she's only a few short feet from taking me out. Cool. I hustle across and jump out of the way as she slams on her breaks. That was fun...how much worse can it get? I’ve spoken too soon…again.
In I go and wave the membership card at the greeter. I pick up my pace, weaving in and out of old people, children and the browsers who take up entire aisles with their carts full of shit. Do you really need 300 cookies and the economy size bag of sausage…I don’t fucking think so. I’m now at the back of the store and it was pretty uneventful. I march right over to the dips…damn it. There’s no Baja Chipotle Lime dip…or whatever the hell it’s called. A friend of mine had it once and it’s delicious. A nice change from the usual Spinach Dip. Ok…maybe the Baja stuff is over by the cheese. It’s a cheese base…it could be. So I walk around the aisle and head to the cheese. Damn it. It’s not
As I’m heading back to the dip section, I feel a thud on my upper arm and I actually lost balance. What the fuck? I look up and some woman, around 60 or so, has full on shoved me out of the way with very little regard for my well being. Sweet Jesus. It was nearing riot like conditions. And in all honestly, I certainly couldn’t push an older woman in retaliation…no matter how badly I wanted to…so I retrieved my Spinach Dip and headed towards the front of the store to pay.
All the lines seemed crazy and I was searching for the shortest one. I spot one with a bunch of people, but very few items. Tada…I found my line. As I approach the register, I realize that they seem to be all in the same family. They’ve got Grandpa and Grandma with them and Mom and Dad and about a dozen kids. Ok…maybe a dozen is an exaggeration, but there was AT LEAST four of the little savages running circles around me. Fantastic! And on top of it, they’re only speaking Spanish. It was mind numbing.
In an attempt to avoid these children, I stand at the back of the register belt thing for where you put your groceries. I was right in the middle of it, one side is for carts and the other side is for members. I just wanted to wait for the giant family to finish up. But in doing so, other customers got in line behind me. One of these customers was a really old lady, definitely late 70’s who was obviously half blind and had her cane with her in the cart. And she lines up right next to me, but with her cart in the member section of the line. So now the register girl has her assistant (Seriously, a fucking assistant? You ring groceries at the Costco and you need an assistant? Whatever.) tell the old lady she has to bring the cart to the other side of the line. This is all well and good, but since she can’t see too well, she slams the cart into my hip in the process and pins me against the register belt. And repeatedly slams the cart into me until I so graciously help her move it…BEFORE I NEED A FUCKING CANE.
So now I have helped the old lady and she’s situated where she needs to be and the assistant (I’m really bothered by the checker outer people having an assistant.) is helping her unload her cart. Old lady was thanking me and thanking me…trust me, it was my pleasure. Unfortunately, with all the commotion, the assistant has already lined up the stuff for the old lady directly behind the giant Mexican family’s stuff. Shit. Now where am I supposed to put my Spinach Dip? I knew this was going to be a problem. I decided to place it down on the side of the conveyor belt thing, directly next to the divider separating the giant family and the old lady.
The (obviously overworked because she needs a fucking assistant) checker girl finally finishes the giant family and picks up the divider to start on the old lady’s stuff. So I quickly pick up the Spinach Dip and hand it to her.
CG: (pointing at the old lady’s stuff) Is that yours?
B: No.
CG: (points at the Spinach Dip and then to the Mexican family as they were leaving) Was that theirs?
B: No.
Checker girl huffs at me and yanks the Spinach Dip out of my hand. Now I’m pissed.
B: (extraordinarily sarcastic) I’m so sorry my dip wasn’t in between dividers like your Costco rules state, but I didn’t want to get adopted by the giant family, party of 27, and I certainly didn’t want to get run into by Helen Keller anymore so I helped her with the cart. Excuse me that I got a little sidetracked with the divider situation.
She just shoots me a look and thrusts out her hand…
CG: Member card
I hand her the card. And now I’m just expecting trouble, because it’s actually not my card. It’s my mom’s. I avoid that place as much as possible, why the hell would I need my own membership.
Thankfully she didn’t notice the picture and continued to cash me out without saying a word. Good. I grabbed my receipt and stormed towards the front door…barely stopping for the the guy to put that stupid Sharpie slash mark on it.
Fucking Costco. I hate it. And I found out after the fact that I could have gotten the same Spinach Dip at Foodtown. Son of a…
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Tattoo Boy
I’m pretty sure you’re all well aware that I’m a big ol’ lesbo. But according to all my gay friends, I’m not very good at it. They give me a list of different reasons, for example, I don’t like other gay people, I only like straight girls, I tell them they’re stupid for going to pride celebrations, and probably the most important reason why they say I’m a bad lesbian is that sometimes I try very hard not to be one.
What can I say? I’d rather just be straight. I think it’s easier and much more socially acceptable. And, I’ve got three aunts who are all stay at home moms, which I think is the greatest job in the world. I think I’m perfect for it actually…get the kids on the bus, clean up the house, grocery shopping, kids off the bus, make dinner. There’s nothing more I’d rather do than cook and decorate. And as for the kids…well, I figure they’ll grow on me. I like them, I’ve just yet to be exposed to them for multiple days in a row. How bad can it be?
Anyway, now that you understand this about me, that I’m always (sort of) looking for a husband, I can tell you about Tattoo Boy. Of course I don’t know his name, because that would involve talking to him. We just have this cute, smile and check each other out relationship at the gym. Oh yeah, I go to the gym a lot lately. I only go because I feel completely out of shape and I’m generally pretty bored in the afternoons, so why not use my time productively. So now back to TB. He’s got a very cute blue collar look about him. He’s a little chubby, which is just the way I like boys…when I do actually like them. TB does have a lot of tattoos though, hence the name. He’s got full sleeves, one on his lower back (which I’ve only seen when he was bent over stretching) and even one on his neck. This little crush I have is completely out of character for me and everyone who hears about it seems pretty confused. This is what C had to say about it when I told her the story the other night…
B: blah, blah, blah…cute tattooed guy at the gym…he’s cute and I like him.
C: He really has that many tattoos?
B: Yup. There not scary, ex con tattoos. They’re cute construction guy tattoos.
C: Are you going to talk to him?
B: Probably not.
C: What’s with you liking a boy anyway?
B: I don’t know, he seems like good husband material…and I’m really sick of working.
Yup. I probably am the worst lesbian I’ve ever met…
What can I say? I’d rather just be straight. I think it’s easier and much more socially acceptable. And, I’ve got three aunts who are all stay at home moms, which I think is the greatest job in the world. I think I’m perfect for it actually…get the kids on the bus, clean up the house, grocery shopping, kids off the bus, make dinner. There’s nothing more I’d rather do than cook and decorate. And as for the kids…well, I figure they’ll grow on me. I like them, I’ve just yet to be exposed to them for multiple days in a row. How bad can it be?
Anyway, now that you understand this about me, that I’m always (sort of) looking for a husband, I can tell you about Tattoo Boy. Of course I don’t know his name, because that would involve talking to him. We just have this cute, smile and check each other out relationship at the gym. Oh yeah, I go to the gym a lot lately. I only go because I feel completely out of shape and I’m generally pretty bored in the afternoons, so why not use my time productively. So now back to TB. He’s got a very cute blue collar look about him. He’s a little chubby, which is just the way I like boys…when I do actually like them. TB does have a lot of tattoos though, hence the name. He’s got full sleeves, one on his lower back (which I’ve only seen when he was bent over stretching) and even one on his neck. This little crush I have is completely out of character for me and everyone who hears about it seems pretty confused. This is what C had to say about it when I told her the story the other night…
B: blah, blah, blah…cute tattooed guy at the gym…he’s cute and I like him.
C: He really has that many tattoos?
B: Yup. There not scary, ex con tattoos. They’re cute construction guy tattoos.
C: Are you going to talk to him?
B: Probably not.
C: What’s with you liking a boy anyway?
B: I don’t know, he seems like good husband material…and I’m really sick of working.
Yup. I probably am the worst lesbian I’ve ever met…
Thursday, December 11, 2008
2009?
As most of you know, Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, was celebrated back in September. Well, a couple of weeks ago I was out for drinks with K and C, and K brings up the holiday…and her confusion about it.
K: You wanna hear something funny?
B and C: (looking at each other with much excitement, due to K’s stories usually being entertaining.) Sure.
K: Ok…I kept wondering why people kept saying Happy New Year back in September…
B and C: (confused) Yeah…
K: So I asked M (M is K’s girlfriend, and she also happens to be Jewish) and she told me that it was the Jewish New Year.
B and C: Ok…so…
K: But I was still really confused about it, so I asked M if that meant it was already 2009 for Jewish people…
B and C: (hysterically laughing) And what did she say?
K: (also laughing) She told me it didn’t mean that…different calendar or something…
That’s K for you. C and I were laughing our asses off because this is the same girl who didn’t know the difference between the atmosphere and a hemisphere. She’s also the same girl who asked if it was going to be dark in a cave. And she’s a teacher…thank God it’s only gym!
K: You wanna hear something funny?
B and C: (looking at each other with much excitement, due to K’s stories usually being entertaining.) Sure.
K: Ok…I kept wondering why people kept saying Happy New Year back in September…
B and C: (confused) Yeah…
K: So I asked M (M is K’s girlfriend, and she also happens to be Jewish) and she told me that it was the Jewish New Year.
B and C: Ok…so…
K: But I was still really confused about it, so I asked M if that meant it was already 2009 for Jewish people…
B and C: (hysterically laughing) And what did she say?
K: (also laughing) She told me it didn’t mean that…different calendar or something…
That’s K for you. C and I were laughing our asses off because this is the same girl who didn’t know the difference between the atmosphere and a hemisphere. She’s also the same girl who asked if it was going to be dark in a cave. And she’s a teacher…thank God it’s only gym!
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Sports Opinions
I’m sure you’ve all heard by now that OJ is going to jail. I practically did a cartwheel. I hate that dirt bag and I think this is a perfect example of Karma. It’s gonna get you one way or another!
And while I’m on the subject of football players, let’s talk about the NFL and their (seemingly) lack of concern to have law abiding players in their league. For instance, Ray Lewis, who was indicted for murder and only convicted of obstruction of justice after various different witnesses changed their stories for the trial. Hmmm…that doesn’t smell like a payoff. And then there’s Pacman Jones, Plaxico Burress and Michael Vick (I especially hate this douche bag), to name a couple more fine upstanding citizens.
Now, to go 180 degrees, let’s talk about the NHL. Sean Avery, who plays for the Dallas Stars, just got suspended for six games last week. You want to know why…because he referred to his ex girlfriends as sloppy seconds. Seriously. Don’t get me wrong, Avery is an arrogant prick, but arrogance isn’t illegal. The NHL thought this was so terribly wrong. Sure, he did sort of have his own little press conference after a practice skate…and it seemed it was solely to announce that other NHL players “fall in love with my sloppy seconds.” What a jerk off, right? But, was a six game suspension really necessary? This is the same NHL that is contemplating banning fighting. You know, because hockey isn’t known for its fights. Pussies. Listen up NHL, this is why more people watch the WNBA…because those lesbos have more balls than you!
Anyway…the moral of this little rant is…The NFL needs to be a bit stricter, the NHL needs to stop being so prude and I’m SUPER EXCITED that OJ is going to jail. And I hope he drops the soap. A lot.
And while I’m on the subject of football players, let’s talk about the NFL and their (seemingly) lack of concern to have law abiding players in their league. For instance, Ray Lewis, who was indicted for murder and only convicted of obstruction of justice after various different witnesses changed their stories for the trial. Hmmm…that doesn’t smell like a payoff. And then there’s Pacman Jones, Plaxico Burress and Michael Vick (I especially hate this douche bag), to name a couple more fine upstanding citizens.
Now, to go 180 degrees, let’s talk about the NHL. Sean Avery, who plays for the Dallas Stars, just got suspended for six games last week. You want to know why…because he referred to his ex girlfriends as sloppy seconds. Seriously. Don’t get me wrong, Avery is an arrogant prick, but arrogance isn’t illegal. The NHL thought this was so terribly wrong. Sure, he did sort of have his own little press conference after a practice skate…and it seemed it was solely to announce that other NHL players “fall in love with my sloppy seconds.” What a jerk off, right? But, was a six game suspension really necessary? This is the same NHL that is contemplating banning fighting. You know, because hockey isn’t known for its fights. Pussies. Listen up NHL, this is why more people watch the WNBA…because those lesbos have more balls than you!
Anyway…the moral of this little rant is…The NFL needs to be a bit stricter, the NHL needs to stop being so prude and I’m SUPER EXCITED that OJ is going to jail. And I hope he drops the soap. A lot.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
My First Guest Blog at Curious Mishaps
First off my heartfelt thanx to B for allowing me to post this here. You see I can’t post this on any of my own pages as I would probably be fired from my fortune 500 company (or at least put in a time-out). I’ll preface this story with the fact that I work for the computer solutions division of my company but we also run a website that sells consumer electronics as well.
Also let me explain that I am a technical engineer, I have a string of alphabet certifications that looks like someone dumped a bunch of scrabble tiles after my name. Some of these certifications require me to do things like resolve DNS addresses by way of doing Boolean algebra in my head. Now I’m not trying to toot my own horn here I’m just trying to give you an idea of what someone with my job title is expected to be able to do. I normally spend my work days doing things like configuring cluster servers for large corporations, setting up massive terabyte storage systems and doing in-depth conference calls with customers about computer networking needs.
Starting this week the powers that be decided I would be placed on a pre-sales email queue and would assist sales people with finding technical solutions. Naturally I protested this move, alas to no avail. So today instead of putting together $100k plus quotes I am doing things like looking up specs on an apple iTouch and finding toner for the office printer when a request comes in from a sales rep . The request is from his customer who wants us to look up the parts on her husband’s Christmas wish list. The customer describes her husband as “having very expensive and exotic tastes”. Ok so right off the bat I am being asked to do someone else’s Christmas shopping! Next I open the attached “expensive and exotic” shopping list to find I am being asked to look up part numbers for...and I’m not kidding…Tony Hawk’s Xbox games and a set of gaming headphones. If this is what the customer believes are her husband’s exotic tastes I’d hate to see what their sex life is like.
Anyway I protest having to answer this request all the way up the chain of command. You might think my management would agree that this is a huge waste of my time and talents not to mention the tens of thousands of dollars they have spent on sending me all over the country for technical trainings, well you’d be wrong. I am told I need to be a “team player “and that in this economy no customer request is too small. While my management congratulates itself on making every customer feel special (not like the Olympics special) I am forced to stop working on a $300k blade server deal to look up part numbers of Xbox games so that this customer’s husband can relive the shredding days of his skateboarding 80’s past.
Well I did complete the request, however I added a few part numbers to the wish list I thought the customer might enjoy such as: The Women of Xbox Calendar, Leisure Suit Larry Hot Tub Fantasy Adventures game, and my personal favorite; The Mangroomer Private Body Shaver for those personal and hard to tame areas. Needless to say I will be looking for a new job soon. Perhaps BestBuy or the local Adult bookstore is hiring.
-X
Also let me explain that I am a technical engineer, I have a string of alphabet certifications that looks like someone dumped a bunch of scrabble tiles after my name. Some of these certifications require me to do things like resolve DNS addresses by way of doing Boolean algebra in my head. Now I’m not trying to toot my own horn here I’m just trying to give you an idea of what someone with my job title is expected to be able to do. I normally spend my work days doing things like configuring cluster servers for large corporations, setting up massive terabyte storage systems and doing in-depth conference calls with customers about computer networking needs.
Starting this week the powers that be decided I would be placed on a pre-sales email queue and would assist sales people with finding technical solutions. Naturally I protested this move, alas to no avail. So today instead of putting together $100k plus quotes I am doing things like looking up specs on an apple iTouch and finding toner for the office printer when a request comes in from a sales rep . The request is from his customer who wants us to look up the parts on her husband’s Christmas wish list. The customer describes her husband as “having very expensive and exotic tastes”. Ok so right off the bat I am being asked to do someone else’s Christmas shopping! Next I open the attached “expensive and exotic” shopping list to find I am being asked to look up part numbers for...and I’m not kidding…Tony Hawk’s Xbox games and a set of gaming headphones. If this is what the customer believes are her husband’s exotic tastes I’d hate to see what their sex life is like.
Anyway I protest having to answer this request all the way up the chain of command. You might think my management would agree that this is a huge waste of my time and talents not to mention the tens of thousands of dollars they have spent on sending me all over the country for technical trainings, well you’d be wrong. I am told I need to be a “team player “and that in this economy no customer request is too small. While my management congratulates itself on making every customer feel special (not like the Olympics special) I am forced to stop working on a $300k blade server deal to look up part numbers of Xbox games so that this customer’s husband can relive the shredding days of his skateboarding 80’s past.
Well I did complete the request, however I added a few part numbers to the wish list I thought the customer might enjoy such as: The Women of Xbox Calendar, Leisure Suit Larry Hot Tub Fantasy Adventures game, and my personal favorite; The Mangroomer Private Body Shaver for those personal and hard to tame areas. Needless to say I will be looking for a new job soon. Perhaps BestBuy or the local Adult bookstore is hiring.
-X
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Genetically Fucked
I’m back from my holiday hiatus and I figured what could be better than to write about my Thanksgiving experiences. There’s nothing better than family bonding and binge drinking.
You’ve heard enough about Crazy Nanny…so I figured I’d let you in on a little secret, my other grandma is out of her fucking mind too! Yeah! She’s actually not really my grandmother…she's my father’s cousin, but he grew up in a big Italian family in North Jersey and they all took turns raising everybody else’s kid. Evelyn never had any children of her own and being over twenty years older than my dad, she’s always just seemed more like a grandmother than anybody else on his side of the family did.
Ev is eighty six now and when you get to a certain age you start slowing down. She can’t deal with this. The fact that she can’t walk too far makes her crazy. She was a city girl and never even had a driver’s license, so she spent every day of her young life walking all over Newark, whether it was to work or the store, post office…whatever. And even after she moved down to a retirement village with her husband (who has since passed away and God bless him being married to her) she still made a habit of walking herself the few blocks to the “mini-mall” in her community.
She’s never been the picture of stability…but lately it seems to be getting worse and worse by the day. And she was extra nuts the day after Thanksgiving…which is weird, because she was in good spirits the night before. She was hanging out at Crazy Nanny’s with us, had a good meal…shit, it’s better than being stuck in her house with nobody to talk to. You’d expect her to be happy. But her schizophrenia or whatever the fuck it is sure did kick in Friday morning. She woke up and instantly started crying about how bad her life is. What? I’m confused. Did she have some sort of nightmare or something? Who knows? After a couple of minutes of crying, she starts yelling and cursing Jesus. I’m not kidding. All I hear coming from the spare bedroom is “Fucking Jesus…he did this to me.” I had to help her down the stairs with her bag and the whole time, each single step, she’d say “Fucking Jesus.” Finally, I explained to her that if she shut up and stopped cursing poor Jesus that maybe she wouldn’t be so out of breathe and the steps wouldn’t seem so complicated. She actually got a chuckle out of that and held off cursing him until she hit the bottom step. All this anti-Jesus crap from the woman who has gone to church regularly for her entire life.
I can see it’s going to be a fun morning, so I go out and get coffee…all the while taking my time in hopes that my mom has left to take her home. No such luck. I go back in the house and Ev’s still at it…crying, cursing, crying, cursing. If my mother didn’t take her home soon, I might have wound up cursing Jesus.
They’re just about ready to go when Ev decides she doesn’t want to go to the grocery store. My mom explains to her that she won’t be down for a couple of weeks and that she should stock up on food.
Ev: (talking like a truck driver, which is obviously genetic if you know me at all) I don’t give a shit. I’ll eat crackers. I don’t want to go to the store.
My poor mother doesn’t know what to say to her anymore so I figured I’d try to help out…
B: What is wrong with you? Is this crazy shit genetic?
Ev: (smirking at me) Just wait ‘til you’re my age. Then you’ll say that crazy old bitch was right.
What can you say to that? My mom just shook her head and laughed. So did I for that matter. But I think we can safely say that I won’t be seeing eighty six years old and if I did, I can only imagine what kind of treat I’ll be…a combination of both Evelyn and Crazy Nanny…sipping Jack Daniel’s and hatin’ on everybody in my sight. I have just decided right now that I’m not going to quit smoking. I want to spare my children (if I have any) from dealing with me considering I’m not exactly a prize at twenty nine.
My mom and her finally leave. And of course my mother took her to the grocery store. And when she got home she told me that Evelyn kept up the crying/cursing routine the entire time. I didn’t expect any less from her.
Ahh…the holidays. There’s nothing like being stuck with your family all day and looking around thinking everybody is insane. And then you realize you’re genetically linked to 85% of them. Fantastic.
On a side note though, while I was out Saturday night drinking like it was my job, I was telling X and C the story. I told them that I’m worried about getting older and going crazy…to which X responds, laughing, “It’s a good thing you’re not showing any warning signs.”
Jerk. I think I’m doing pretty good considering my DNA.
You’ve heard enough about Crazy Nanny…so I figured I’d let you in on a little secret, my other grandma is out of her fucking mind too! Yeah! She’s actually not really my grandmother…she's my father’s cousin, but he grew up in a big Italian family in North Jersey and they all took turns raising everybody else’s kid. Evelyn never had any children of her own and being over twenty years older than my dad, she’s always just seemed more like a grandmother than anybody else on his side of the family did.
Ev is eighty six now and when you get to a certain age you start slowing down. She can’t deal with this. The fact that she can’t walk too far makes her crazy. She was a city girl and never even had a driver’s license, so she spent every day of her young life walking all over Newark, whether it was to work or the store, post office…whatever. And even after she moved down to a retirement village with her husband (who has since passed away and God bless him being married to her) she still made a habit of walking herself the few blocks to the “mini-mall” in her community.
She’s never been the picture of stability…but lately it seems to be getting worse and worse by the day. And she was extra nuts the day after Thanksgiving…which is weird, because she was in good spirits the night before. She was hanging out at Crazy Nanny’s with us, had a good meal…shit, it’s better than being stuck in her house with nobody to talk to. You’d expect her to be happy. But her schizophrenia or whatever the fuck it is sure did kick in Friday morning. She woke up and instantly started crying about how bad her life is. What? I’m confused. Did she have some sort of nightmare or something? Who knows? After a couple of minutes of crying, she starts yelling and cursing Jesus. I’m not kidding. All I hear coming from the spare bedroom is “Fucking Jesus…he did this to me.” I had to help her down the stairs with her bag and the whole time, each single step, she’d say “Fucking Jesus.” Finally, I explained to her that if she shut up and stopped cursing poor Jesus that maybe she wouldn’t be so out of breathe and the steps wouldn’t seem so complicated. She actually got a chuckle out of that and held off cursing him until she hit the bottom step. All this anti-Jesus crap from the woman who has gone to church regularly for her entire life.
I can see it’s going to be a fun morning, so I go out and get coffee…all the while taking my time in hopes that my mom has left to take her home. No such luck. I go back in the house and Ev’s still at it…crying, cursing, crying, cursing. If my mother didn’t take her home soon, I might have wound up cursing Jesus.
They’re just about ready to go when Ev decides she doesn’t want to go to the grocery store. My mom explains to her that she won’t be down for a couple of weeks and that she should stock up on food.
Ev: (talking like a truck driver, which is obviously genetic if you know me at all) I don’t give a shit. I’ll eat crackers. I don’t want to go to the store.
My poor mother doesn’t know what to say to her anymore so I figured I’d try to help out…
B: What is wrong with you? Is this crazy shit genetic?
Ev: (smirking at me) Just wait ‘til you’re my age. Then you’ll say that crazy old bitch was right.
What can you say to that? My mom just shook her head and laughed. So did I for that matter. But I think we can safely say that I won’t be seeing eighty six years old and if I did, I can only imagine what kind of treat I’ll be…a combination of both Evelyn and Crazy Nanny…sipping Jack Daniel’s and hatin’ on everybody in my sight. I have just decided right now that I’m not going to quit smoking. I want to spare my children (if I have any) from dealing with me considering I’m not exactly a prize at twenty nine.
My mom and her finally leave. And of course my mother took her to the grocery store. And when she got home she told me that Evelyn kept up the crying/cursing routine the entire time. I didn’t expect any less from her.
Ahh…the holidays. There’s nothing like being stuck with your family all day and looking around thinking everybody is insane. And then you realize you’re genetically linked to 85% of them. Fantastic.
On a side note though, while I was out Saturday night drinking like it was my job, I was telling X and C the story. I told them that I’m worried about getting older and going crazy…to which X responds, laughing, “It’s a good thing you’re not showing any warning signs.”
Jerk. I think I’m doing pretty good considering my DNA.
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