Category Archives: Uncategorized

Karma…another name for Mother

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IMG_1539Anyone who knows me and my sister, knows we love to tease our Mama about her “ditziness” and the way she can mess up stories and calls things like assisted living-“assistant living” or Dinty Moore Stew-“Dainty Moore”….stuff like that.  Our sleepovers always end up with Mother saying she is never going to come again cause we are mean to her.

Well Karma showed up this week and it was a b*tch.

I was driving to our business and as usual my phone was in my purse.  I cannot multi-task anymore so talking on the phone and driving are a no-no for me.  I am 3 minutes away from the business when my hubs calls me (I know it is him cause he is on a special ringtone).  I am thinking he just wants to know if I am on my way so I ignore it as I will be there before I could dig out my phone and answer it.  One minute later he calls again, which ticks me off because if I didn’t answer it one minute ago, why should I answer it now?  So I am thinking of all the reasons he might be trying to get me and I turn right on to what I thought was old Hwy 61 and I see a woman in the lane that I am supposed to be in and  I stop and I am thinking, “What a moron….she is in the wrong lane” and she looks at me with the exact same look on her face and starts starts waving her arms and shaking her head, “NO”.  So I am thinking, “WTH, lady?” and then I see the NO ENTRANCE sign.

I was trying to go up the EXIT ramp of I-35!

The next day I have a doctor appointment for a pre-op physical and my clinic has moved since my last visit and I THOUGHT I knew where it was but at the exact minute I am supposed to be there, I am sitting in the Hobby Lobby parking lot…lost.  So I call and get an exasperated receptionist (they must get a lot of these kind of calls and probably think we are idiots and why didn’t we leave home sooner if we don’t know where in the heck we are going).  She tells me they are located across the street from Hom Furnishings.

I don’t get out much and I am not exactly sure how to get from Hobby Lobby to Hom but I was not about to ask….I knew it was somewhere by Walmart.  Is there anything more frustrating to be able to see a place from the road you are on and not be able to find the damn road to get there.  Finally after pure luck, I pull into the clinic parking lot and race in where the receptionist tells me in a very cool (and I don’t mean “awesome”) voice that she will have to try to squeeze me in since I was LATE.  I thought about telling her that I was lost but since this is a very small town and I have lived in it my whole 62 years and getting lost is just not that easy,  I just sat down quietly.  Much to my surprise, I was called in very shortly and then began to worry that my blood pressure would be high because of all the stress of getting there.

So the nurse has me sit down and asks a few questions and then takes my pressure.  Normally when they do that, I can feel when the cuff deflates to the upper number of the pressure, since it sort of throbs…..but not this time.  I figured she didn’t pump it up high enough and holy crap, it will be sky high but instead she tells me that she thinks it is 106/72 but it is very soft and she had a hard time hearing it.  This is a first for me.  My pressure is never that low even on drugs.  Which made me start to wonder if I really did get on that exit ramp and had been killed and now I was in hell and I would have to go the doctor, get lost and have no blood pressure for all of eternity.  She asks if it would be OK if she tried the other arm.  (Now, if you are a dedicated reader, you will remember that I “broke” the blood pressure machine in the day surgery when I was in for my hysterectomy and they could not find any pressure in either arm for awhile) so I am thinking….here we go again…my personal “aura” is screwing up another thing and sure enough…..she can’t really hear my pressure in the other arm either.  I know my arms are fat, but still…..

To make this story even longer….the doctor comes in and we go through everything that is on the computer ending with my last operation….the hysterectomy.  Then she has me get up on the table and she looks in my ears and has me open my mouth wide and looks down my throat.  When she is done, she looks at me quizzicality and says, “Where you born without a uvula or did you have it removed’?

Now remember, we had just been talking about my hysterectomy and I think, “Holy sh*t, I knew they removed everything including my cervix but why on earth would they have taken my “Vulva” and could she really see that from looking down my throat?  So I say, “Well, I just had a hysterectomy but why would they take that”?  And she looks at me like, “What the he!! kind of moron are you”?

Mother, I sincerely apologize for everytime I laughed at your expense.  Now, please tell Karma to back off or go visit your other daughter who also has laughed her fool head off at you!

Moral of this story is….What you laugh at will come back to bite you on your uvula or vulva…..and it won’t be pretty!

Your penitent Queen,

Robyn

Just A Spoonful of Sugar or Is It?

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Once upon a time there was a delusional woman who thought she could make freezer jam.  Seemed simple enough.  Strawberries, pectin, sugar, cook it up and put it in cute little canning jars and freeze.  Yup, even she could do it.

So she went and picked strawberries….who knew that you have to be there EARLY in the day and that you are to bring your own containers…these things should be in the newspaper ads (this was before Al Gore invented the internet and we used to have these things called “newspapers”….can you say….. news…paper….good job) so those of us that had never picked before could come prepared….not everyone knows these kind of things,  you know.

Picking strawberries seems like such an idyllic endeavor; there you are in your bonnet and strawberry-picking basket and the birds are trilling away and you are feeling like Ma Ingalls….but in reality, you are all bent over and mosquitoes are buzzing around your face and biting you everywhere they can find your pink flesh and gnats are getting into your eyes and ears and you are cursing Ma and the strawberry farm….there ought to be WARNING signs up so you know what you will be facing.

After a horrific  20 minutes you check your berry basket to find that you have picked a grand total of 43 strawberries and you decide to say the devil with picking your own and head off to check out and buy the stupid berries.

Having never bought fresh strawberries before, there is a bit of sticker shock at the price of one flat of berries.  But hubby will be so pleased at having homemade strawberry jelly that certainly spending half of that week’s food budget won’t bother him once he bites into a piece of freshly baked bread (another delusion) slathered with strawberry jam made by his wife’s tiny hands (delusion…they are like tiny stuffed sausages stuck on ham hocks).

So she drives the 50 miles back home and gathers all her supplies and reads the directions for Easy Strawberry Freezer Jam (liars).  One must sterilize the canning jars before beginning (are they neutered or spayed?) So she loads them up in her giant canning pot and cooks the hell out of them and then gingerly lays them upside down on an equally sterile dish towel.  Now to de-stem the ruby-red jewels that lay helter-skelter in the wooden flat.  After all that work, now they need to be rinsed off and chopped up.  The little woman decides that this is a one-time deal and old hubby better damn well bow down and kiss her feet (or at least rub them) for doing all this work for some stupid jam.

When the woman was gathering her supplies, she grabbed the Tupperware container that held the sugar and proceeded to pour in the correct amount into the berries and the pectin and cooked them all up into a mouth-watering thick confection of strawberry gooeyness.

Next, she ladled the mixture into her sterile little jars and sealed them tight and was delighted to hear the little “pops” of the tops sealing.  She felt so proud of herself as she looked over the dozens of little jars, all popping away.  Oh, her husband would be so proud of her and even though she would never speak of it, she was kinda proud of herself.

The next day, she put all those precious, ten dollars a half pint, jars of jam into the freezer to await a special occasion when she could bring one out and exclaim, “Why, yes, I did make the jam myself”!

A few days later, her nephew was visiting for dinner and it was time to bring out a jar of jelly.  Every one was seated and grace was said and the woman heaped jelly onto a hot bun and took a big bite just as her nephew was doing the same…..but instead of a mouthful of delectable sweetness, it was poisoned and the woman screamed to her nephew, as he was just opening his mouth to take a bite, “Don’t eat that!!!  It’s poisoned!”  (She just knew if she canned she would end of giving her family botulism because her mother always warned her of the dangers of home canning and dang, if she hadn’t almost killed her nephew!!!!)

All that beautiful and expensive jam had to be thrown away because as she figured out days later, she had accidentally grabbed her husband’s CANNING SALT instead of sugar.

Moral of this story…..label your Tupperware.

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Give Me a Lift…..

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img_1355I never knew I made noise getting up until my first grandchild was about two and everytime he got up from sitting or moved something or did any kind of lifting, he would make these sounds of extreme effort.  I thought it was quite odd in such a young child until one day when I was lifting my fat arse off the couch, I made a sound very similar to Jack and then the proverbial light bulb went off in my head.

Jack was imitating the noises he had heard me make whenever I had to “move it, move it” (did you just sing it like the King Lemur Julien from Madagascar?)

How long had I been doing that?  Do I do it in front of others?

Getting older has not been pleasant for me in terms of both my physical limitations and my mental state.  I just cannot wrap my mind around being in my early 60’s…it just seems impossible for the young girl inside me to be that age in body.

But my body is certainly trying to convince my brain we are the same age.

Besides the huffing and puffing (you would huff and puff too, if you were carrying the extra weight of a full-size human around), it seems every part of my body that could sag or hang has decided to give up the ghost of fighting gravity and is racing towards my knees….even those things that are supposed to be stationary inside my body.  My bladder has decided it would like to see the light of day and it is fighting like hell to get out and since I have gotten rid of my lady parts in my Southern Hemisphere, it has clear sailing to someday pop out and say, “Surprise”!   Not that it will really be a surprise as it is certainly giving me clues as to it’s trajectory.  I am afraid I will soon be asking my youngest granddaughter for her Dora the Explorer pull-ups.

Is there truly any way to tighten the bat wings which have now become my upper arms?  I would trade a kidney (tho, I better hang on to both since they are not working up to snuff and two bad kidneys I suppose are better than one bad kidney) to get an upper arm lift. Actually I need a full on body lift.  Like how “Egger” from the first Men In Black movie just grabbed the top of his head and lifted all his excess skin.  Why is there not a need for more human skin.  I would be first in line if they needed it.  Go ahead, cut a slab off here and there….just make sure you cut both sides the same….liposuction ain’t gonna help me none since once the fat is gone, I would have miles and miles of defatted skin…..

If I had known I really would live this long, I might have taken better care of my body…key word here folks is: Might.   Because when you are young and everything is where it should be and nothing is hanging, you never give a thought to how fast you will age and if it hangs at 35, watch out at 62….

People will tell you that “you are never too old to start getting healthy or in shape” but that’s a load of crap.  Which is harder on a body, staying the same or starting to stress it out by not eating your favorite foods, giving up drinking, and taking long walks when the thought of falling is paramount in your mind and you just shuffle down the road in your crocs, hoping against hope that your bladder will stay put, you won’t sneeze or cough, and nobody you know will drive by.  I don’t think my heart could handle that kind of stress.

I just want to wake up some morning fit as a fiddle and as long as I am feeling delusional, I might as well wake up with a taunt neck, unspeckled skin, with upper arms like Michelle, and a body like JLo and legs like Taylor.  And a Kim K. bank account ( I would have said an Oprah bank account but that would be just crazy thinking).

I would love to continue chatting but I must go pluck those eyelash hairs that have transplanted themselves to my chin….how do they do that?

Keeping my chins up till next time,

Your aging Queen

Lost? Who? Me?

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J.R.R. Tolkien wrote, “NOT ALL WHO WANDER ARE LOST”

I beg to differ.

Never do I park my car and remember exactly where I parked it.  If you total up the number of hours I have spent wandering around parking lots and garages, it would add up to be years.  Years I could have spent doing something else….like cleaning my house….(as if that would ever have happened…hahaha…I kill myself)

Someone needs to take a day and just video people coming out of stores and looking for their cars.  As much as I love my sex, I would have to guess most women get that look of semi-panic when they try to remember which parking lane they are in.  Men don’t seem to have as much trouble as we do but neither do they have as much on their minds as we do.  A man goes into a store for three items and he comes out with three items.  Boom.  In and out.  A woman goes in for three items and hours later we come out with 26 other items, a new purse, some make-up, and three pieces of clothing that we couldn’t pass up because THEY WERE ON SALE and if we didn’t have a list of the three things we went in for, there is a distinct possibility we forgot to get them (what with so many things to look at and those dang CLEARANCE SALE banners, it’s no wonder we get distracted!) so as we are leaving the store our minds are fully engaged in three thoughts:

1. How did I possibly spend so much money?  I better check my receipt cause I know I must have been overcharged.

2. Should I go back in and get those matching pants, after all they are ON SALE!

3. How will I get all these packages into the house without being seen.

So where we parked the car is not a high priority in our brain space at that moment.

We schelp our carts up and down the lanes, trying not to look lost but just knowing some man who is in a car waiting for his wife is watching us with a look of wry humor.

I used to remotely start my car and sometimes that helped unless it was winter and half the cars in the lots were locked but left running.  I was always tempted to use the “panic” button so my car would call out to me but I was always more terrified of not being able to turn it off and then a crowd would gather and see my shame (but all the women would thank their lucky stars it didn’t happen to them because they, too, had thought about hitting that panic button!).

So sisters, the next time you see a woman wandering aimlessly around a parking lot, give her a big smile and a “thumbs up”.  She will appreciate that gesture of solidarity!

Till the morrow,

I remain your ever-wandering Queen

Musings for a New Year

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Today I was in my new “bedwomb” sitting in my lazy arse chair reading a book called, “At Knit’s End…Meditations for Women who Knit Too Much” by Stephanie Pearl- McPheeimg_1133and on the top of each page was a famous quote and because I have AADD, I think of tons of other stuff as I read, it occurred to me that I could do some posts on the quotes she used.  So let’s get this year started off with this first quote:

THERE IS A CERTAIN MAJESTY IN SIMPLICITY WHICH IS FAR ABOVE ALL THE QUAINTNESS OF WIT.       Alexander Pope

This started me thinking about my house which is the antithesis of simple but how I yearn for the calmness of a house devoid of clutter and dust and visual cacophony.  I can sense my inner stress lessen when I look at photos of homes decorated in a harmonic color scheme of creamy whites with just a slight pop of a sedate sage green here and there.  My soul seems to long for that sense of serenity that oozes out of the  photos.

But my reality is just the opposite.  My house is as loud as I am.  I must be my own twin.  How can one person have such diametrically opposed color passions?  Could I be “duel personalities”?  A quiet, calm soul and a wild, let’s just add another color to the mix soul?   Oooo, I would love to hear a psychologist take on that!  How that the older I get, the more color affects my life.  Same with noise…..I want less and less noise.  I could wear earplugs 24/7.   Hmmmm….anybody out there with a degree in Psych who wants to give me an armchair diagnosis?

And speaking of wit….ya, I know we weren’t but I would be remiss to not mention it since it too was in the quote….I use wit to cover up my lack of simplicity skills.  I will tell you stories of my pet dust mice; explain to you that dust is just a decor accent that I excel at; put up signs saying, “My house was clean yesterday. Sorry you missed it!”  All the while I am berating myself for not having the energy or social embarrassment to be concerned that there is probably dust from the last century sitting on something.  My mother would tell you I was not brought up this way…(oooo, more fodder for the shrink, me thinks).

So this is the kind of stuff that runs through my brain as I read….my husband once said he would love to be able to be inside my head for a day.  I told him he would be screaming to get out in less than five minutes!

Until tomorrow,

I remain your most colorful queenimg_0126

THE THREE STOOGES CREATE

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I Don’t think I ever posted what we did the last time we three stooges were together besides dyeing my hair purple.

I like always having some kind of artsy-fartsy project for us to do or Mother makes us play “Farkle” for countless hours and then proceeds to tell us the rules every twenty minutes.  I can only take so much “Farkling”

I saw a project on Pinterest many months ago that I thought would be great fun and easy for Curly and Larry to do since they have a tendency to whine about doing anything new (one whines a whole LOT more than the other but I won’t tell you which one….tho her name does rhyme with “boobie”) and so I have been saving the cardboard egg cartons for months to do this project.  I think Scott was worried he was going to come home some day and find out we now had chickens.

So I gather up all my supplies and call Curly and Larry to come to the table (they were sprawled out on the couches as my husband had made them a breakfast fit for Queens, and no one bothered to wake me up, so I got stale leftover cold French Toast…but far be it for me to complain….) and of course, The Farkel Queen starts whining about having to cut out the cup part of the egg carton.  So I tell her I will cut her egg cartons for her and then give her my ipad to keep her occupied (just like my grands…) and Jodi and I get to cutting out the cups.  The project we are doing is making a lighted flower garland so after the cups are all cut out, then they needed to paint them.

Now if you have ever taught any kind of craft class you will know that there are two kinds of crafters….those that jump right in and those that have to question every decision they make.  No matter how many times I tell them there is really no right or wrong way to paint these, they have to have confirmation that they are doing it right.

And I am not going to risk losing my inheritance by telling you which was which but half-way through painting them, the blonde one says to me, “ok, I have half of them painted pink and turquoise and now I want to paint the rest green so do I have to paint them all one color?   I looked at her and said, “Do you even LISTEN to what comes out of your mouth”?   “What?”, she replies.  I said, “IF you want all the rest to be green doesn’t it make sense that you have to paint them ALL green?”

Then the other one pipes up and says, “How are we going to get these flowers to go on the lights near the plug in”?   “Won’t they get all ripped when you try to slide them down”?  Mind you, she had seen a picture or two of the finished product AND we had poked holes in the top of the cups to pop the flower ON the light bulb and yet no matter how I tried to explain to her that we would not be sliding the flowers down the string of lights she just wasn’t getting it.  So she bets me $5 that it won’t work.  Even the blonde one understands how these are going to work!  So I take a flower and pop it over the bulb and continue on down the string and boy is she mad!!!!   I told her that I did not want her money but being a Van Wave, she insists I take it.  Meanwhile, the blonde one has strung a few flowers on her string and she plugs the string in to show the other one how easy it is to do, and lo and behold, she has her’s on BACKWARD!!

By now, I am hysterical.  And praying so hard that I really am adopted……

Here are Curly and Larry and the finished product…..I never got a chance to even get my egg cartons cut but I did finish mine later in the week and they are hanging over one of my windows in my greatroom and they are AWESOME!

BATTLE OF THE BATHTUB (NOT TO BE CONFUSED WITH THE BATTLE OF THE BULGE WHICH I ALSO STRUGGLE WITH)

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It sits….taunting me.  In all of it’s shining glory.  Teasing me with visions of how it could be between us.  Tempting me with thoughts of bubbles and candlelit nights, sipping cold, dark red adult grape juice.  Zen type music softly playing on the Bose.  All the cares of my life slipping away in chest-deep water (which isn’t hard to do since my chest is a lot lower that it ever was).  image I know it’s song is a lie.  I still have the aches and pains from our first tryst.  I try not to listen to it’s siren call for I know it is evil and will do harm to me if I give in.

But it is not the only entity in my bathroom.  My shower has taken on an attitude of it’s own.  Can you spot the smugness in it’s glassy look?imageIt’s smug face reminds me that I will have to use it if I don’t wish to stinketh.  Once again I will subject myself to it’s claustrophobic belly and odd smell.  It will assail me with daggers of ice cold water when I turn it on and then scald me before I can adjust the one-armed demon.  It will laugh it’s hollow laugh, when I drop the soap and struggle to bend over without hitting parts of me along it’s angled bones. It conspires with the metal basket full of scrubs and soaps and razors to suddenly drop from the side of the shower wall and nail me on the head and cause my heart to momentarily stop at the randomness of the assault.  And it will claim victory when I can no longer stand it and have to bail out not completely finished with my “toilette”.

If that wasn’t cruel enough even the small tools of the “toilette” mock me.  My safety razor has taken on a demeanor of a gigolo sunning himself at a pool in the South of France.  Can you see his arm thrown back and his long, lean body just laying there thinking, “Ah zee ze fat womanz….ze thinkz I am going to shave zee legz but ze iz wrong.”imageAnd my electric razor is giddy with delight since he knows I must go back to his cutting ways since I can not manage to shave both sides of my legs in either demonic torture chambers.  He buzzes with anticipation of our next session.  He is tightening up his coils as I type, ready and waiting to cut me and give me his famous razor burn thighs.  He has a hellish metallic laugh.  Somewhat on the maniac scale. Notice his face…. does it not have the look of a crazed monster?image

So here I sit.  Held hostage by my bathroom appliances.  If I want to go anywhere, which is the worse of two evils?  Do I want to go into the Shower of Horror or do I want to chance being like President Taft who (as legend goes) got stuck in his claw foot tub because of his great girth and had to be rescued?imageOr be publicly humiliated on the 6 and 10 news casts as this poor woman was when she had to be rescued by emergency personnel.  (You can tell this really isn’t me by her hair color…I wouldn’t be caught dead in that color!)imageI need to grow either more arms (so I can spread the force needed to hoist my buttocks out of the tub)imageOr get a tub like this…..image.jpegBut since I would be terrified of getting locked in there and the water rising above my head, I doubt very much that this is a viable option.

I guess I will have to give it more thought and load up on sponges and wet wipes or just stay home rotting until I get it figured out.  Stay tuned.  You just know I will share it with you all!!!

Queen’s Question for Today….are you a tub person or a shower person and can you share a funny/scary experience using it????   I can not really be the only person in the world who has adventures in their own bathrooms?

Your Queen who is on her way to looking like a Yeti……