Climbing trees

Matt’s birthday is tomorrow (I’m so glad he was born).  I asked him what he wanted for his birthday and he replied, “I put some stuff in the Amazon cart.”  Score.

The “stuff” in the cart was some accessories for his 4-wheeler, his Christmas present to himself.  These accessories included a 2500 lb winch, a winch mount and a winch strap.  Place order, wait for box with the Amazon logo and enjoy.

Once all the birthday presents arrived, Matt took them and his 4-wheeler to our neighbor and his friend, Josh, for help with installing.  Josh is a mechanic by trade and very good with things like this.

A night or two later, Matt came into the living room and said, “My four-wheeler is ready.  I know because Josh just sent me this picture.”

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I really like Josh.

The things we do for love, uh, I mean for smoking hotness.

Matt is having a birthday soon, so we drove the hour or so to visit my mom and step-father last night for a pre-birthday dinner.  My Aunt Baby and Uncle Joe were also there and as always seems to happen, I came away from the evening with a good story or two.  Any time that my family gets together, there tends to be at least one good tale that makes an appearance, because as Baby says, “You can’t make this shit up.  You have to live it.”  Indeed.

Last night, we started talking about how my Uncle Joe was getting back into some of the hobbies and interests that he used to have, like wearing cowboy boots and collecting guns.  He had saved a lot of his pairs of cowboy boots that he had bought in the 70s and 80s and is just starting to wear them again (vintage!), so his argument is that this is a cost-effective interest.

Baby said something like “You’ll want to be wearing Sue boots again!” and she and my mom and Joe laughed and laughed.

me:  What are Sue boots?

Baby:  Back in the early 80s, me and your mom and Joe went to the Mt. Airy Fiddlers Convention with your dad while he set up his booth there to sell his Harley panties.  [My dad would go to flea markets and fairs, etc. and sell cowboy hats, t-shirts, leather wallets, etc. and black panties with the Harley-Davidson logo that said “I’m a Harley Honey”.  Classy.]  Joe walked around to check out the competition and saw this Sioux woman selling boots.

me:  Oh, Sioux as in S-I-O-U-X.  I thought you were saying S-U-E.

Baby:  No, like Indian.  Anyway, he thought she was hot, and she talked him into buying these Sioux boots.

Joe:  She was smoking hot.

Baby:  So he comes walking back wearing these boots with fringe all the way down the front and they cost like $40, back in 1982 that was like $100.  I was so mad!

Joe:  She was really hot.

Baby:  I guess I’m glad she wasn’t selling Sioux chandeliers, or I would have one of those in my house now.

Joe:  Yeah, I would have bought one, cause she was hot.

My Dad's Camper and Displays -- A Shopper's Paradise

My Dad’s Camper and Displays — A Shopper’s Paradise

Joe’s story made me think about the crazy stuff people do when they are trying to get someone’s attention or they, like Joe, think someone else is hot.  We all do it, at some point in our lives.  I know we do.  And I think that for the most part it is harmless, like buying Sioux boots.

I drank two bottles of wine pretty much by myself at a restaurant in New York City one time because our waiter was hot and the more I drank, the more often he would come back to the table to refill my glass.  Worst. Hangover. Ever.

My best friend in college got up in the middle of the night/morning, showered, put on makeup, etc., to meet a guy who called her on the phone, not realizing it was a crank call.  When the guy on the phone asked her what she was doing, she asked, “Is this Dominick?”  “Yes, it is.  Meet me.”  Because she thought it was Dominick, she did it because Dominick was hot.  Of course, no one showed up because it was a crank call.

This temporary insanity is giddy and fun and makes me smile to remember.  I think of the scene from Seinfeld where George Costanza said, “I once told a woman that I coined the phrase “Pardon my French.”” to get a woman.  We will do some outlandish things.  And some times we end up with boots, some times with hangovers.  Maybe sometimes we end up with a new love.

What your iPad history could reveal about your mate (or you)

Matt is younger than me.  Not by a lot — only two years.  But he loves to remind me of the fact and ask me things like “How does it feel to be a cradle robber?” or “Do you brag about marrying a younger man?”  To which I very maturely reply, “Ha ha, very funny.”

But I actually may be a cougar, based on this conversation.

me: (looking for a website on the iPad that I had visited the previous day) Where is the history?  I want to revisit a site.

Matt:  Oh, I always erase the history.

me:  Why?  Are you visiting sites you don’t want me to know about?

Matt:  Really?  No.  It’s just a habit.

*pause*

Matt:  If you saw my history, all you would see would be sites related to four-wheelers, cameras and books about tree-climbing.

me:  You sound like a twelve-year old boy.

Hello, Mrs. Robinson

I think that I have robbed the cradle.  Or at least the middle-school.

Matt–XOXOXO!

I’ll take a smile with that shot.

 

I had my annual physical today, complete with blood work.

me:  (as blood starts to flow into little tube) Is that the right color for blood?

nurse:  Yes

me:  What would you do if you saw blood come out of someone that was blue or green?  Would you call the FBI and tell them that you had an alien?

nurse:  (without looking up)  No.

I think I would like my nurse to have a little sense of humor.  A little ability to smile.

Or maybe not.  Maybe your health is one of the areas that you don’t want any joking.  I remember a visit to the OB-GYN in my early twenties.  It was only the second time that I had ever been to see the OB-GYN and during the previous year’s visit, he had found a small “fibrous” mass in my breast.  “Nothing to worry about” he assured me.  The next year, when he found it again, he asked me about it — “did we find this last year?”  “yes”, I said.  “Well,” he said, chuckling, “it must not have been serious, or you’d be dead by now.”  That was not a sense of humor.  That was bad taste.

Maybe this nurse has an excellent sense of humor and she just didn’t think that I was funny.

Nah, I don’t think it was that.

Take that, Texas.

I had no idea that Siri was prejudiced against states, but she is.

I recently sold some stock; not a lot, but just enough to feel a little loosening of the fiscal belt. Enough to book a trip to St. Maarten and buy our bee hives and apiary equipment.

I texted Matt to let him know that I was off to deposit the check from the sale.

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I said “taxes”, but Siri wanted to ensure Texas didn’t get any of the money.

I don’t know what Texas ever did to her, but I find it a delightful state. The opinions if my Siri do not reflect the opinions of me.

2012 — In limerick form

Happy New Year!  One year down and another one to come.  Just like clockwork.  Or the seasons.  Or the calendar.

I have reviewed mine and Matt’s year and I have written a limerick about it.  And presented it in a pictorial (click on the first picture to start the slide show).

There once was a couple from Statesville
Whose 2012 was a year full of thrills
From Dublin to torn rotator cuffs
And dog bites to camping in the rough
The goal for ’13 is no emergency room bills

Happy New Year to you and yours!

Straightening out the nose-mating opossum myth

I love it when you find unexpected information on the internet.

me:  I saw a possum in the backyard when I pulled in the driveway last night.  Wow, they are just ugly.

Matt:  Yes, they are.  (pause)  I don’t think they have any natural predators.

me:  Well, let’s see.  I’ll google it.

Quick Google search and I found a site called “The Possums Pages:  FAQs“.  I found out that 1) in America that they are properly called opossums (true possums only live in Australia) and 2) yes, natural predators are foxes, bobcats, coyotes, dogs and owls.

me:  This guy really must love the ugly little bastards.  There is all kinds of stuff on this site.  Oh, my god, listen to this–

Do opossums really mate through the nose?  This is a myth that has been around for ages and has become so prevalent that I actually have seen a few websites about opossums which state it as a fact.  The truth is, there is no truth to it.  The whole crazy idea seems to have come about because the male opossum has a bifid (forked) penis, and the only corresponding parts on the female appeared to be the nostrils.  The myth states that after mating through the nose, the female later sneezes the tiny fetuses into her pouch.  Rather than indicating what a unique animal the opossum is, this story actually just reveals how bizarre some people are in what they can imagine.  In reality the male has a bifid penis because the female has two uteri (wombs), and sperm are deposited into each womb during copulation.  But mating occurs through the vaginae (sic), not through the nose.

Matt:  Did you just say, “she sneezes the fetuses into her pouch?”  Did I actually hear that come out of your mouth?

me:  Yes, that’s what it said.

(I continue to read opossum facts.)

me:  Here’s the next one:

What are male and female opossums called?  Male opossums are called jacks, females are called jills.  (Sound familiar?)  The young are referred to as joeys, just like their Australian cousins.  A group of opossums is called a passel.

Matt:  A what?

me:  A passel.

Matt:  Are you pronouncing that correctly?

me:  Yes, it says a passel.  A passel of opossums.  That’s hysterical.  Say it.  A passel of opossums.  (laughing)

Opossum guy, I have new respect for the ugly opossum because of your FAQs.  Well done.

Smile! You’ll live longer (or so happy people say…)

I don’t actually have much to say.  I just wanted to share some short videos (1 min or less) that I watch whenever I need a pick-me-up, whenever I need to smile.  And who doesn’t need those little attitude boosters every now and then?

Tucker

I love this sooo much.  The description says that Tucker wasn’t trained to do this (which may or may not be true) but that he just does this everyday on his own.  I love to think that this dog just feels the need to express his artistic side.  If you really want to smile, read some of the viewer comments.

Keep Swimming

When I get frustrated, I tell myself “Keep Swimming.”  Dorie may have sung this, but my friend, Wendy, sent me this clip (*waves* Hi, Wendy), so I also think about her whenever I watch this.  And she is my example of pure energy–she is a dynamo.  That image also makes me smile (and giggle).  It may be dog paddling some days, but I’m swimming, damn it.

Cali Dancing

This is a video of my niece, Cali, dancing.  She had just gotten a new toy bear that sings “The Pina Colada Song”.  She is so happy and so free in dancing and expressing her joy.  It is just all about living in that moment for her.  My heart is gladdened when I see this.  And why shouldn’t it be?  It’s a bear and “The Pina Colada Song”!!  If it were a parrot, say, and “The Pina Colada Song”, eh, I probably wouldn’t dance.  That’s not that worthy of bootie-shaking.  But a bear and pina coladas — worth getting on the dance floor every time!

Feel free to add my videos to your arsenal of favorites.  Or let me know what your favorites are for putting on a smile.

Ghost of Christmas future

I did our weekly grocery shopping yesterday and on the way out the door, I spotted what I thought was an “Angel Tree” for local needy children.  You know, pick an “Angel” with a child’s name and a list of the gifts that they want and / or need for Christmas.

Instead, this was a “Senior Tree”–a tree for needy senior citizens.  I had never seen such a thing.

I am always saddened by the Angel Tree kids that ask for notebooks and pencils, gloves, socks, a winter coat, all those things that seem like necessities and not like fun, playful gifts for Christmas.  I guess one version of Heaven will be a world where kids don’t have to ask for basics but can ask for (and get) frivolous gifts, gifts that they totally don’t need but just want.

The gifts that the Seniors asked for broke my heart as much as a kid asking for school supplies for Christmas.  I picked a senior named Sarah who asked for a sweat suit, some chocolate, some tissues and a soft blanket for her bed.

I went back to the store tonight to buy all the items for which Sarah asked.  And being a contemplative person, I naturally started to think about my (I-hope-I-have-them) senior years.

Matt and I don’t have any children, either with each other or with other people.  For me, a childless state isn’t something that I consciously chose–it just kinda happened this way.  One path taken, another path missed, a spell at this rest stop, and ta-da, before I knew it, I was in my late 30s, still single with no children.  Matt and I met; he reluctantly fell in love with me (I fell in love more willingly with him) and we married, but we both knew that at this point in our lives, we didn’t want to have children.

One of my greatest fears is that I will be old and alone.  I guess I could add at this point the cliché about having 30 cats, but I won’t.  (Well, actually, I just did, but I didn’t mean to.)  Who is going to take care of us when we get old?  Who is going to make sure that we are ok?  If Matt goes before I do, then I’m really going to be alone.  I really hope that I go first.  (Sorry, Matt, if that seems selfish.  It is, but I’ll be dead so you shouldn’t be mad at me.)

I hope Matt and I look happier than this when we're this old...

I hope Matt and I look happier than this when we’re this old…

Matt has wisely pointed out that having children doesn’t necessarily mean that you will have someone to care for or about you when you are old.  I know that.  But my imaginary children that I raise in response to seeing how poorly other people are raising their children are so well behaved that I just know that they would take care of us and love us and feed us and change us.  (My imaginary children also always do their homework, never talk back, obey without question, and respect me unreservedly.  I’m that good of an imaginary mother.)

It is very scary to think that in 20 to 30 years, somebody could be pulling a card off of a Senior Tree with the name “Cristy” on it.  Will they be as saddened as I was by Sarah’s card?  I’m going to start stocking up now on tissues and chocolate so that I can ask for some fun stuff.

Here’s my prayer:

If I ever have a card on a Senior Tree, Dear Lord, please let me have enough friends and loved ones to visit me and provide companionship, remember me on my birthday, buy me sweatsuits and food that I like, send me emails and letters, and remind me that I am loved so that I can ask on my card for:

  1. Dr. Dre headphones (to listen to my 80s-90s Rock w/o disturbing my roommate)
  2. Some exercise bands to stay in shape to fight the other women for the limited men at my age
  3. Good mixer to make mashed potatoes (to fight the other women for the limited men at my age)
  4. Two words:  PLASTIC SURGERY

Amen.