Victory Over Grilled Cheese

Today I passed a Sonic without stopping to grab a grilled cheese sandwich.  Hooray for me.

Woman Behaving Badly

Yesterday, I threw a temper tantrum.   It reminded me of the great “Hair Clip Blowup” of ’95.  You might not have heard of it.  I scared people with that one.  Most friends had gotten used to seeing me as a usually sweet, non confrontational, people pleaser – which I generally am.  But, every once in a while, I get irrationally mad about something and go completely ballistic.  It’s never about anything important or serious.  Those things I let ride, which is, of course, why I subsequently throw these inappropriate wall-eyed fits.

Take the hair clip blowup.  It happened on a hot, muggy summer day in Texas sometime in 1995.  I was visiting friends, and we were preparing to go out, do some sightseeing, and pretend that the weather wasn’t as awful as it really was.  Suddenly, sometime between the time I got up that morning and the time we headed out the door, my hair got too long.  I couldn’t stand it.  It was touching my face.  This was untenable!!  This was outrageous!  I simply could not go on.  Never in the history of woman had anyone suffered this kind of pain, this kind of assault.  “I have GOT to get a hair clip, ” I suddenly announced to my friends.  “Do you hear me?  I can’t go out without a hair clip.  You cannot ask me to go anywhere without a hair clip.  Does anyone have a hair clip?  Quick, get me a hair clip.” I swept my half inch bangs off my forehead dramatically and felt I was about to swoon.  “Is anybody else hot,” I asked?  This hair is making me so hot.  My God, I’m melting.”

I had not brought my own car that day, so I was at the mercy of my friends, none of whom seemed to realize the magnitute of my discomfort.  None seemed willing to make a trip to the drug store for a measly old hair clip.  What was wrong with these people?  I began to cry.  Just a little at first.  I was about to go into heavy wracking sobs when someone finally took mercy on me, raced to the drug store and came back with an asssortment of hair clips, hair bands, hair nets and shower caps. (They weren’t taking any chances.)  As soon as I grabbed a big old hunk of hair (hard to do with hair as short as mine), I was my old self.  It was an amazing transformation.  Even I was dumbstruck with how quickly all that temper and indignity resolved itself.  It left me with the vague unsettling feeling that I was just a tiny bit unstable.

But, I digress.  Back to yesterday afternoon, when I had my most recent temper tantrum.  This one started outside a doctor’s office, where I had gone to retrieve some medical records.  As soon as I turned the office door handle and realized it didn’t budge, I was outraged.  “Incredible,” I thought to myself.  I had called ahead just that morning to make sure the records were ready and to find out if the office was closed for lunch.  (I felt so efficient.)  The receptionist told me the office was closed between 12 and 1, so I made plans to get there before noon.  Here it was – a quarter to 12 and these dastardly fiends were closed! 

I just knew there was someone inside.  Some receptionist, some secretary or medical assistant, just sitting there, eating a bad sack lunch.  They’d hear me knock and come to the door, for sure.  Who am I kidding?  What alternate universe am I living in? 

I knocked on the door, not too loud at first, but loud enough to be heard. Nothing. No response.  I knocked louder, then louder, then louder. Then way loud. I mean really loud. And my knocking had taken on a fast, staccato pace that surprised even me. I noticed that my knuckles were beginning to hurt just a little. 

I switched strategies then and called the office.  “No kidding,” I screamed when a recording informed me that the office was closed.  I was given a string of options about what to do if I were in a medical emergency, if I were a doctor or hospital, if I needed directions to the office, etc., etc.  Finally, I was able to leave a message.  My first message was relatively calm.  “I’m outside,” I explained sweetly to the impersonal machine.  “I came to get my medical records.  Please let me in.”

Subsequent messages (I left five) became less and less polite (although I am proud to say that I did not resort to profanity).  Further knocking became more and more frantic.  Heads popped out of office doors up and down the hall.  My knuckles were beginning to bruise and swell slightly.  Sweat was running down my back, and my face was starting to flush.  “Wow,” I thought.  “What the hell am I doing?” 

I decided it was time to get out of there, before somebody called the police. I mustered all the dignity I could find (which was precious little, I must admit.) I pretended not to see the small group of people on the first floor who undoubtedly heard my lapse of composure. This was only a two-story, atrium style office building, after all.

When I made it safely to my car, I realized that it was now 12:45. If I waited 15 more minutes, I could go back in and get my records. I decided against that, though. I was mad, and I wanted to stay mad.

Lies I Tell

My lies started small.  You know:

“Yes, I’ve done my homework.”  ”No, I didn’t take the last cookie.”  ”I would never hit my little brother.”

Then, they became lies to save face (mine or someone elses’).  As in:

“I did not know my hose had a run in them.”  ”No, that dress doesn’t make you look fat.”  ”Of course, I RSVP’d.  I don’t know why you didn’t get it.”

Lately, though, I’ve started telling lies about really stupid stuff.  Here’s an example.  My neighbor started raising chickens so she could get fresh eggs.  Months ago, she brought me five or six of these recently laid eggs.  For some reason, I never ate them.  But when she asked me how they were, I just waxed poetic about their fresh taste.  Of course, she started bringing me eggs all the time.  Soon, I had an ice box full of eggs, which I never ate and which I would throw out under cover of night.  Why?  Why don’t I eat the eggs?  I don’t know.  Why do I say I like them?  Again, I don’t know.  But, due to my early lie, I’ll be getting fresh eggs until every last one of those hens goes to its heavenly reward.

I’m in a quandry about dog bones, too.  Some friends once babysat my dog, Jake, and fell in love with him.  They gave him some bones, and, of course, he was ecstatic.  So, my friends brought over more bones.  Then more bones.  I can’t see these people without them giving me a bag of bones.  Here’s the problem.  I don’t want my dog eating bones.  He drags them through the house and always hides at least one bone to enjoy during the dead of night.  He feels he must bring the bone into my bedroom and chomp on it so I can’t sleep.  I’ve read that small slivers can get stuck in the dog’s throat and hurt him.  Why did I thank my friends so heartily for filling my house with bones?

But, here’s the real corker.  A really stupid lie.  Even stupider than the eggs and the bones. It started with my dentist.  His office called one day to remind me of my appointment the next day.  Even so, I forgot!  So, the office called when I didn’t show up.  The call went something like this:

(Me.)  Hello.

(Office:)  This is Dr. Smith’s office.  Is this Kitty?

(Me.)  No.

(Office:)  This is the only number we have for Ms. McKinney.

(Me:)  Hum . . .

(Office:)  Do you know how to reach her?

(Me:)  Uh, no.

(Office:)  Why are you answering her phone.

(Me:)  Because it rang.

Mercifully, the office representative finally gave up asking questions.  Now, you know as well as I do that she knew I was the party to whom she was speaking.   So, now, I am too embarrassed to go back to that dentist.  I’m going to find a brand new dentist.

All of this brings me to my New Year’s resolution, which is to think carefully before I tell a lie.  I will always ask myself this question:  How long will this lie haunt me?

 

 

 

 

 

Seniors: How to Avoid the Holiday Blues

I know it’s too late to have a nice holiday this year, but you can save these tips for next year.

1.  Try to pretend the holidays aren’t happening;

2.  Wear blinders and ear plugs from mid-October through mid-January;

3.  Drink heavily in moderation.

4. Never underestimate the power of forgetfullness, as in:

a.  Sorry – I forgot to get you a gift

b.   OMG, is it Christmas?

c.    OMG – I was supposed to cook Thanksgiving dinner?

5.  Eat heartily before you go to a big buffet or other holiday food event.  This will prepare your stomach to overeat at the dinner.  It’s important for the host/hostess that you enjoy your food.

6.  Drink heavily in moderation – again!

7.  Have a baby around the holidays.  (I don’t mean have a baby yourself, but arrange to have a baby around for the holidays.)  You can watch them ignore their pricey gifts and focus on the cardboard box it came in.  It’s fun.

8.  Don’t send holiday cards.  This will cause you not to get any in return.  Thus, you will miss all those “My Year In Review” letters tucked into holiday cards.  You can skip all those lies people tell about their overachieving kids, their lavish lifestyles, and their exuberant sex lives.

My list could go on and on, but this list will get you started on your own ideas for enjoying the holidays in 2012.

Funny Famine

I’m going through a dry spell.  I don’t think I could be funny if my life depended on it.  (Thank God, it doesn’t.) 

Usually I can think of something that strikes me as absurd and worthy of a good laugh.  Something in the news will catch my eye, or a friend will tell me a good story, or I’ll find something amusing on the internet.  But, right now, it’s like a vast wasteland of unfunniness out there.   I guess I’ll just have to wait for this famine to pass and for life to cycle back to where even the most serious of matters gives me a chuckle!

A Trip to the Store

Why does it end up costing $60 at Wal-Mart every time I head out “just” to get dog and cat food?

The Tree

I should be doing things.  I started the day with a list of 11 items I needed to complete.  I’ve done three of them:  I exercised;  I checked to make sure I am up to date on my COBRA payments; and  I put in a payment request to the Texas Employment Commission.  

Other than doing the three chores mentioned above, though, I haven’t been able to do a darn thing except sit here at my computer and stare out the window at a tree.  Seven years ago, when I moved into this house, somebody gave me this tiny little sapling.  It stood about two feet tall.  Now it has grown higher than the roof of the house and its branches spread out about eight feet.  I don’t know what kind of tree it is.  My sister called it a “trash” tree, and my friend swears it’s an oak. 

I don’t really care what kind of tree it is, I just like looking at it.  It gives me a sense of calmness, even if it doesn’t get the chores done!

Roller Coaster

Last week, I had an interview.  I thought it went very well.  I’d been referred by a friend, and (thanks to other friends), I had great references.  It sounded like an easy job.  It was only part-time.  I knew I could do it.  I fired off a well-written thank you note and sat back

My Dog and His Bone

I have some great friends who send me home with bones for the dog from time to time.  They gave me some this past weekend.  Jake, my dog, could smell them the instant I stepped inside the house.  He was ecstatic.  At least, he was until he realized I did not want him eating a bone inside my house.  I put the sliding door down over the doggie door, and let him out the back.  Only then did I give him the bone.  He immediately raced from the back door to the doggie door, where I heard a loud thud as he whacked himself in the head on the sliding door.  Then it was over to the back door.  Back to the doggie door.  Another whack.  Back to the other door and on and on and on.  (He did realize, after about the third try that he should forego the whacks on the head!)  I wish I had had a video of the whole thing.  I don’t, but I think this picture gives you the general idea of how Jake felt about eating that bone in the yard!

These Are The Days, My Friend

I like this stage of my life.   At my age (the number of years of which I am not going to reveal, as a lady never reveals her true age, but which age you can probably guess, having seen the photo that accompanies this blog and having read the entries in this blog) – well, anyway, at this age, things seem pretty easy.

A lot of the hard stuff is over