daily life

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Geriatric Fight Club

Spoilers!  I am about to break the first rule of Fight Club.  I would apologize, but I just can’t help myself.

Costco is an oasis of peace (okay, okay, just give me a minute, it will make sense) with affordable groceries, and samples around every corner.  It is the store of choice for many value-minded customers, including those with huge families, restaurant owners, and senior citizens who like to hoard canned goods and toilet paper like there’s no tomorrow.

When our beloved seniors aren’t shopping for pants with waistlines that reach their chins or a detergent bucket the size of a cement truck, they are checking out the free samples.  I mean, Costco is known for their samples. You can have a free lunch just on samples if you time it right. And a damn fine lunch too!

Well, what happens in this world of huge quantity packaged food and delicious free samples when seniors attack?

Here, we see the fallout when one senior felt he was more entitled to a free cheeseburger sample than the other seniors in the line.  He had already cut in front of his opponent earlier in a line awaiting a free cheese sample.  The love of cheese and cheesy products makes people do crazy things, of that there is no doubt … and as to be expected, there was a smack down of antique proportions involving slow motion, arthritis-riddled violence.  The authorities were asking to see the surveillance video, and I confess that I’d eat a free popcorn sample and watch it, too.

How in the world did the responding police department keep a straight face writing this report?

It could be that the gentleman who started the assault felt, at age 72, that he earned his rightful place at the front of the cheeseburger sample line in front of the young 70-year-old upstart already waiting there.  Words were exchanged, hats flew, and glasses were shattered as the overly aggressive 72-year-old delivered the final slap to his opponent.  Safe to say, no cheeseburger samples were had by either party this day.

I’ve always known one simple fact in life:  do NOT mess with the elderly.  They have raised kids and grandkids, they have lived through a time when the US added two states to the Union, many have witnessed The Depression and several wars, lived through an era of dial telephones, had to change TV channels by hand, and they possibly smoked pot at Woodstock.  Rest assured, a fight over a cheeseburger sample is a walk in the park for these folks.

The worst part of the Great Cheese Fight of 2018 is knowing that both of the participants probably had to leave their homes hours before to make it to the Costco, given the guess that the Costco is 10 miles from home and an assumed driving rate of 2 to 3 miles per hour.  To make it worse, once inside the Costco there were hours of meandering aimlessly with their cart up and down the aisles.  They probably had worked up quite an appetite.

One good thing to come of it: this fight can be the basis for new advertising campaigns.

  • Klondike Bar: What would you do for a Klondike bar?  Hit my elderly neighbor in the face.
  • Cheetos: Dangerously cheesy.
  • Wheaties: The breakfast of elderly fight club champions.
  • Pringles: Once you pop, you can’t stop.
  • Centrum Silver: Always complete from “K” to “O.”

Now don’t misunderstand me, I love and respect the older members of society.  Hell, I’m on track to becoming one myself.  I can only hope that when I’m 72, I have the strength and spunk to butt in front of people in line and deliver a smackdown to anyone who opposes me.  There are many perks of being older, but to me, the best one is a complete lack of f**ks to give anymore.

If you have a hard time believing that anyone would go this far to get a free sample you have never had Costco samples, and if you don’t think anyone who is elderly would smack down someone over a sample, you never met my Grandma Mooney.

For me, I will live in the dreams of slapping people for silly reasons as I age.  I am making the list now and if you have ever wronged me, rest assured, I will find you when I am 70, even if I have to search every Costco in the United States.

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Derailed: Caught Again

He was smiling as he explained the details of my new phone.  His eyes were bright and clear, his hair something out of a fantasy novel, and teeth whiter than nature had ever intended.  My gaze fixated on his teeth, my mind wandering the way it always does.

“Are they real?  What toothpaste does he use?  What would our kids look like?  What the hell is he saying?  Oh, crap, I have no idea how to upload photos on this phone.  I’ll just smile and nod and look it up on Google later.  Wait, did I just agree to an upgrade!?”

Derailed again.

I have kind of a fascination with beautiful features, and I always notice hair, eyes, and teeth every time I meet someone.  It’s not crazy, folks, it’s the stuff sappy love songs are made of.  No one ever wrote a poem about greasy hair, grey teeth, and dull eyes, although I may take a crack at it later if you’re all interested.

I’ve been known to trip over air when I spot a gorgeous set of chompers, captivating eyes, and long flowing hair.  I’m not picky, it can be a guy, a girl, or a Collie … especially the Collie, if I’m being honest.

I’m not alone, either.  Clear, bright eyes and healthy hair and teeth are the markers of good health, and that’s why we, as humans, are hardwired to notice them.

Unfortunately, I get caught staring frequently. Sometimes, it’s a legitimate stare because I am fascinated by someone’s features.  Other times, however, I get caught staring and I swear, I wasn’t even looking at someone. They just got in the way as my train of thought derailed. Daydreaming and being lost in thought often results in a blank stare, a goofy look on my face, and occasionally, light drooling.  I cannot count how many times (okay, so I can, but for argument’s sake … ) I have had to thwart a flirtation attempt after a daydreaming episode.  What can I say?  I’m an unintentional stalker heartbreaker.

“Hey, there!  I couldn’t help but notice you were staring at me.  I feel the same.  We should hang out sometime.”

“Do you think otters know they are cute?”

“Whaaat?”

“Do chickens feel embarrassed that they can’t fly very well?”

“Ummm…”

And another heart broken by my profound thought process.  Sorry, I can’t help it you just got in the way of my deep brain exercises.

If you think my posts are bizarre at times, you should walk a day in my mind.  I guarantee you’ll be exhausted.

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A No Good Horrible Very Bad Day … That Went to the Dogs

So. We had a lovely downpour of rain and wintry mix all day today making the trees shine but the roads slick. Not fun. In case you were wondering, tonight everything is frozen solid. And I mean everything … the yard, the trees, the newly blossoming daffodils, the power lines (fingers-crossed that they hold), the roads. Plus it made my internet flaky all day which caused issues with getting my work done. Also not fun.

Another bonus: my town is going through some infrastructure repairs, replacing water pipes through town, under the roads, to be specific. I guess I should explain that we have one road in to town and one road out of town, both one-way for obvious reasons (i.e., we’re a small town in the middle of nowhere and for no reason whatsoever, the powers that be decided to make travel throughout town as difficult and as annoying as possible so poof! 99% of the roads throughout town are one-way, including the two major thoroughfares). To complete said infrastructure work, one of the main thoroughfares has been closed to traffic and the second has been turned into a two-way road which in turn has played havoc with the side roads (since they are also one-way), all of which makes any trip anywhere right now an adventure in endless detours, made even more precarious by the aforementioned wintry mix.

Unfortunately, after work, I had to venture out into the mess and maze to run a few errands. More not fun. You could say that for the most part, my day was less than pleasant and this was simply the cherry pit on top of a brussels sprout sundae.

Then … then … my trip through the labyrinth of hell ended in a visit to the local library (to pick up a long-awaited book that finally came in) when lo and behold, I met not one, but two amazingly friendly and cute-as-buttons dogs attending an event I had no idea was happening at the library.

Needless to say, it was a good day. A good day, indeed.

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A Toast to Toasts

I love to be validated. I mean, who doesn’t, right?

Things I would love to find out I am right about include:  tofu not only tastes bad, but it is bad for you, being a couch potato adds ten years to your life, and drinking regularly is good for you.  While the jury is still out on tofu, a study published here gives me reason to dream again.

Yes folks, it is true.  Drinking two drinks per day will allow you to live to 90+ years.  Read that again, my friends.  Drinking two drinks per day is “more likely to extend life past 90 than exercise.” All this time, I’ve been doing it right.  Take THAT, health fanatics!  While you’ve all been out doing healthy things like “walking,” “working out,” and “getting up from the couch on occasion,” I’ve been sipping wine, with the remote by my side, on the sofa and adding years – years, people! – to my life.

I wonder how many other things we will find out are good or bad for us that we never imagined.  My dream list would include:

Housecleaning is dangerous for your health:  Think about it.  You are inhaling dust, subjecting your body to strange chemicals, and moving.  The moving alone, per the study above, is obviously not that good for you after all.  And talk about physical harm?  I have tripped over the vacuum cleaner cord many times in my quest for a clean house; dear God, I could have died!

Fast food is good for you:  GMO vegetables and fruit…why bother?  With a good old fashioned #3 from your favorite fast food menu, you know exactly what you are getting.  Well, sort of.  It may or may not be meat that may or may not have been from a farm animal, but you get the gist. I’m not even sure about those fries. Don’t be lazy, though; get out of the car and walk up to the counter to add some moderate exercise to your fast food routine (I’m told this also helps in getting one’s order correct).

Laundry is a bad idea:  From water waste to chemicals, laundry surely is bad for both you and the environment.  Disposable clothes made from biodegradable material is the answer here.  No need to fold, put away, hand wash, put away, separate, put away, or put away your laundry ever again.  Also, you never need to put away your laundry ever again. Just so you know, I keep track of this stuff, so no-one better steal my ideas.

Paying bills is bad for you:  This, of course, is a big one. The anguish of money pouring out of your account.  The possibility of stolen identity with each online bill paid.  Surely, paying bills has to be a danger to your mental health.  Let’s band together and just stop paying those pesky things; our lives will be longer, happier and stress free.  Hey, who turned out the lights!?

Chocolate is an undiscovered food group on that omnipresent pyramid:  I think the Aztecs and Mayans had this one right. One day, scientists will figure out that chocolate is its own food group.  They will study it and assign it a place on the food pyramid.  Health coaches and nutritionists will recommend five to six servings a day.  It will also be discovered that chocolate has the side effect of weight loss.

Rest assured, I will be scouring the news in search of more vindication of my border-line slovenly lifestyle.  Until I find more proof that my way of life is healthy, I will be knocking back a few glasses of Pinot Gris Health Juice and watching reruns on the couch.

Cheers!

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Happiness is Fuel for Life

After leaving my parents’ house the other day, I figured I ought to stop for gas so that I didn’t run out right at the top of the bridge I have to cross to get home. I mean, I’ve seen that happen to other people and it does not look fun. Being low on funds, however, I only had so much money in the bank to use for this annoying purchase (I hate pumping gas, I hate paying for gas, I hate everything about the transaction). At the same time, every single pump at the gas station had these huge notes on them: SUPREME ONLY. Of course, right? Why did I think this exercise would be easy. As it turns out, supreme gas is much more expensive than the bottom of the barrel fuel my car is used to getting from me…another “go figure” moment. Because of the jump in price, I couldn’t get as many gallons as I could have otherwise. But I felt as though I had no choice because I really, really, really did not want to run out of gas on this bridge and since I had put off the dreaded purchase prior to getting to this point on the highway (because I am a stupid procrastinator), there was nowhere else to go.

Then this happened. And all was right with the world again.

 

 

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Morning Cup of Something

My coffee pot died a few months ago. We had a funeral and everything. It was very sad. I loved that coffee pot like it was my own child.  To add insult to injury, I haven’t had the chance lately to visit the store in search of a few staples (half & half, sugar, a new coffee pot, blah blah blah) AND there was no time this morning to hit the McDonald’s for a fresh (semi-fresh?) cup of joe. It’s the one thing I miss about the very early way too early schedule during the school year. I could swing by the local golden arches and get my coffee before starting work. But not today. So, everything in my coffee this morning, including the sweetener, comes from a tin. Blech.

At least the cup is cool.

 

 

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Our Deep Fried Life

Running some errands this evening, and came across this food truck. Well, it’s not really a food truck, because it’s pretty much a permanent, or at least, semi-permanent structure, but it appears to be based on the same “quick, cheap, but better than fast-food” premise.  Among other things, this parking lot establishment specializes in polish sausages, shell pizza, and sweet treats of the carnival variety. I’ll be honest, it was the abundance of fried confections that caught my attention. I mean, come on!  Deep fried Twinkies and Oreos!?  Deep fried peanut butter and jelly!?  Be still my heart.

My first thought was damn, I bet those are scrumptiously delicious…admittedly with a tad bit more excitement than is probably normal for someone over the age of 5.

My second thought was “what the hell is wrong with us?”  The “us” of course being people, the community, our society, and country as a whole. Seriously, what is wrong with us? Is it possible that it’s just because everything is better when it’s deep fried? I’ve seen deep fried cheesecake on a menu. Deep. Fried. Cheesecake. So yeah, I wouldn’t argue the idea that deep-frying has the potential to make most foods even more mouth-watering. But really? Is this what we’ve come to?

I don’t know whether to embrace our descent into decadence or hang my head in shame. I suppose whichever stance doesn’t get peanut butter and jelly in my hair.

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Shoo Fly

I have window air conditioners that blow…and not in a good way.  They work to keep the place tolerable, at least to a point, but the monthly cost to keep from living in a sauna is quite high. So I open my windows at every opportunity, especially on particularly windy days and evenings, like it is here now — a storm having just moved through. The problem IS, is that somewhere, somehow, there must be a hole in a screen or some tiny crevice in a frame where all manner of creepy crawlers and buzzing flyers are gaining entrance. I’ve looked at all the windows and can’t SEE any holes in the screens, but something is amiss, otherwise we wouldn’t be living in a frog’s paradise.

Oh, my cat, Shaylee…she makes short work of the larger creeping critters. Being a good hunter of the bug variety, and apparently having no shortage of an appetite for the little buggers, she has a field day, I must say.  Flies are her favorite. It’s actually quite impressive to watch her in action. Awe inspiring to see someone so dedicated to their craft, truly.

But the smaller bugs, and unfortunately the truly frightening ones — the ones that look prehistoric or as though they’ve somehow mutated due to alien interference — THOSE she has no interest in. Maybe she knows something we don’t.

More often than I care to be doing so, I find myself up on a chair, glass or tissue in hand (we catch as many of them as we can and let them go outside rather than just arbitrarily smooshing them), trying desperately to catch a fast-footed whatchamacallit without it springing into defensive mode or simply losing its grip on the wall and landing on ME.  It’s a sight to behold, I’m sure, and I have no doubt my neighbors must wonder just “what the hell is going on over there with all that noise and screaming??”

Knowing my luck, it’s these very same liberated bugs returning over and over again, ungrateful for their shot at freedom…or as I have often dreamt in nightmarish color, perhaps they are rising up, staunchly determined to stage a coup and take over the house altogether.