Picture of the DAY: Best Actress in a Leading Role

I’m getting positively teary watching my MIL Ru sit there all humbly (as if) in her recliner.. thanking the ACADEMY for awarding her these.. TROPHIES. Cue the music. 

Hairy

Dear Diary,

Once in awhile, a girl.. we’ll call her my MIL Ru, feels the pressure n-e-e-d to switch up the old hairstyle a bit. You know.. because come onnn. She needs to stay current with the trends of the TIMES. Of course one never knows what time it actually IS here on the ole floor DEMENTIA. But I’ve noticed the trend these days starting to lean towards something reminiscent of a look I like to call.. DISTURBING. It’s this bushy, tosseled, overly texturized screaming 1974, I’M A CUTE LITTLE TROLL DOLL LOVE ME WON’T YOU, look:

So what do I do? Just like I did with MY troll doll (sigh). I bring her into the bedroom, close the door, pull out the scissors and hack away. Then when I’ve given aforementioned troll a Mohawk and I get busted, I simply go and do what any ONE of you would do in a heartbeat.. blame it on my sister.

“Ru.. I want to make you look fresh and snappy— make the eyes POP and your cheekbones crackle” I say, as I’m running my fingers through a head of hair TO. DIE. FOR. Thick, delicious, crispy.. Crap. Ignore me. I’m hungry. I’ve been standing over Ru for like an hour and forty-five minutes trying to cut flakey CHUNKS into her hair. At least I think that’s what they said I should do during my 5 minute 56 second instructional hairdresser licensing video on You Tube. Ummmm. Uh oh. Now I’m thinking the “flaky chunks” reference might have been bandied about by Ru and her table-mates while enthusiastically shoving tuna fish in their mouths. Feh.

I’m telling you guys— you HAVE to see this video but be warned.. it’s in Japanese only. So in case you don’t recall your quarter of High School language class.. You might be confused. I’ll help you out. First they’re all, “THIS is how you put your willing volunteer in the chair..” Wait. Bu-hut what if I don’t H-A-V-E one of THOSE.. “a willing” what you said? I refuse to resort to administering meds for PERSONAL reasons.. so will you be addressing THAT? Apparently I’ll need to turn towards OTHER methods to entice my “client” to be willing. Which brings us to the OFFERING of the beverage of her choice.

“Ru..?”

“What do you want me to do now? Jump out the window with my bat cape on?”

“Ha ha. You’re sooooo funny. Just sit down here Madam and make yourself comfortable. May I bring you a drink.. some tea? Maybe a nice chilled prune juice..or judging by that LOOK on your face some.. STOOL SOFTENER. KNOCK IT OFF granny. Don’t you trust me?”

“I’ll have the tea.”

and I’LL have..

Once I got Ru in the chair, it became all about my stance behind my “models” chair. You have to make sure that you have the correct posture and stance in order to do a superior cut I found out. Alrigh-ty. Left leg slightly turned out like THIS and the right foot kind of behind the left leg.. ummmm.. like urrrrr… like this. Ohhh. It’s like a lunge. Yeah. So I need to bend the left knee EVER so slightly. Voila! I see how this is going to SO set me up for absolute FAILURE. But I comfort myself in the knowledge that I’m so DRAT blessed with my UBER supportive and forgiving MODEL who at this very second is craning her neck around to comment that HER regular “guy” doesn’t do a dance before HE cuts her hair. As if I care what he does because I (snip) am going to ROCK (snip) his world (snip snip) with my natural GAWD given talent (snip). Can I have you hold my scissors while I run to the potty?

“Ru.. look down at YOUR lap.. not my lap. Turn around.”

I’d like to blame the amount of time it took to create my masterpiece on the problems I had with my VOLUNTEER not following directions. Like when I say, please Ru.. I’d prefer if you didn’t shout at passers by, who have popped in to see if you’re.. dead here, “HELP! HELP! She’s scalping me.. can you find someone?” Now, what are they supposed to do with that? I have FEELINGS too. Besides.. It’s not like you’re going to TIP me now is it? Sit still.

I must admit.. at about the hour mark I chose to spit in the eye of caution and completely approach Ru’s head as a (6 year old) artist approaches his coloring book— reckless, wild and totally outside of the lines of REASON. Big bold strokes of the scissors saw hairs floating hither thither. I became one with my inner (hungry as all get out.. beeotch) to chip away as the higher powers that be saw fit. Until.. at last. I stepped back (out of my lunge in fifth position a la ballet kindergarten) to see this..

And who’s going NEXT? Heading home to pull my boys out from underneath the couch..

A

Copyright © 2009-2010 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

Picture of the DAY: Everything’s coming up ROSES

I have problems.. Oh you guys stoppppppp it. As I was saying— I’m having a problem convincing my MIL Ru that it’s still WINTER when certain indicators brought to you by Mother Nature are messing with her head (as if I don’t have enough to contend with) and causing her to think to the contrary. As we were driving home from having Ru’s corn removed at the foot doctor. Who by the way.. was so ADORABLE that we hardly minded at ALL that after he clipped Ru’s nails.. he completely spaced and forgot to file or apply polish. What’s with that? I KNOW. Ga. Medical schools.

Ru was noticing that we were sure having a “nice hot summer” because first YES.. the sun was out, but I also had the heat cranked up to EIGHTY and I was all.. OK. No. Would you believe it’s actually STILL winter? Then she’s “Well.. if it’s w-i-n-t-e-r, explain why that fella in the car next to us has his convertible top down?” Oh you mean the gentleman trying to peer over the steering wheel why he peals down the street going 25 mph with his stylish comb over blowing in the wind? That guy? How the heck should I know?

As we pull our car up to Happy Daze Assisted I caught the most amazing scent wafting past.

“Ru.. did you smell THAT? It smells like HAWAII.”

Yup. That was dumb because.. HELLO? You KNOW exactly what’s coming next don’t you?

“Is THAT where we are? Hawaii? I can’t REMEMBER the last time we were here.”

I said it SMELLLLLLS like Hawaii.

Ru looks at me and without missing a beat says, “What do you expect? You dumped half a bottle of gardenia perfume on me. Rememberrrrr?

I WILL tell you this.. Summer will be here soon enough so stop and take time to smell the.. ummm.. ROSES?

Sugar Lips

Dear Diary,

I’d like to see you top MY day. There we were.. my MIL Ru and I sitting in the car on our way to the oral surgeons office for our (eyes looking at spot on the ceiling) unscheduled BOTOX session. Oh COME ON you guys! What would’ve you HAD me tell her? Here Ru. Now we’re going to stick you on this really cozy couch that only RESEMBLES a cosmetic surgery lounge but in fact is a place that you’ll have a needle the size of someones something (nothing nothing) injected into your facial.. FACE.

You know darn well that if YOUR MIL had dementia and she had this craggy rotten half a tooth waiting to get extracted— you would SO tell her she was going in to have some work on her lip lines with some dramatic plumping of the Nasolabial fold area, followed by a fair amount of swell.. ummmm enhancement to the right side of her mouth region. Sorry.. there has to be some big pouty lips associated with the procedure or No. Can. Do.

In order to pull this off I’m obligated by chapter three, section five of the full disclosure to “old persons with cognitive impairment who will be pissed if they find out the truth” act, to reveal that the “procedure” might have some slight discomfort and residual numbness and drooling associated with it. But who cares right? Bah.

Ru.. d-u-d-e. EVERYONE slobbers up at your place. Who the HALLE’S gonna notice if you’ve joined right in for the day? I promise.. it will be so worth it (wink).

“But why are you telling me they’re only doing the RIGHT side of my lips?”

Ah yes Ru.. that is the million dollar question isn’t it. Why?

“BECAUSE.”

“Yeah..?”

“Because— EVERYONE’S wearing them that way. It’s like a come-hither smirky trout pout thing. Men LOVE it.”

The thing is.. we couldn’t HELP but be put completely at ease, as we walked into the office because A. It was a luxurious office and B. we were encouraged to help ourselves to these yummy peppermint pillow candies sitting on the receptionists counter. UUURKKKK. Wait. A thought doth cometh. Isn’t it kind of o-d-d that a dentist or for that matter a PLASTIC SURGEON would offer sugar laden treats to his victims before he pulls out there TEETH? Except maybe if that’s all part of the BIGGER PLAN. Odd that the dentist would frown on my perfectly sound idea to hide in granny’s bedroom and scream her name and when she shuffled to her room (eventually) I’d jump out of my hiding place causing her to turn around, jumping real high (ankle height) thus smacking her face on my head and OUT would fall the tooth. We’ve done it like a HUNDRED times people.. it’s not THAT big of a deal. But THEN someone (eyes narrowing) might not be able to afford pepp-er-mint pil-lo-ws.

My MIL has a habit of becoming observant (for lack of a better word) at all the wrong times. Like when she senses I’m messing with her mind more then I usually would. Could it be possible that because all the OTHER pathways in her brain have “road closed” signs on them that suddenly the part responsible for smelling.. DECEIT— ramps up a notch? Or perhaps it’s the antiseptic saturated sponge being swabbed around her gum area while her calm and rock like DIL shrieks, “If it looks like she’s in any kind of pain in the slightest.. you have my permission to knock her senseless. Got that.” Yup. That could’ve tipped her off.

“Do you have something to give her?” asks my dear Ru as she gazed compassionately upon her OUTSTANDING shiny example of advocacy, hiding her face in her sweaty hands and rocking back and forth mumbling.. urrrrr. Let’s see if I can even remember what I was blubbering about. Oh yeah.

1. Did you stab her with the thing yet?

2. Is she gushing blood?

3. OH GAWD THE PAIN. THE PAIN.

Apparently I wasn’t NEEDED in the room for comfort measures and shortly after my outburst was hastily dismissed. WHATEVAH. I’m just going to sit in the fancy shmancy living room (that I paid for) and eat tons of candy— while tweeting all kinds of updates to my dear followers who will totally lend waves of support and prayers for my.. SELF.

Not five minutes had passed.. when the dental hygienist comes marching in to inform me of my patients stats.

“So. Is she.. alivvvvvve? Because she would so kill me if she had to go through all of this for NOTHING.”

Don’t you hate when people in the KNOW, just figure you have some sort of.. intellect? It’s not my fault Ru has all her teeth and we’ve never had to do this before. The girl ushers me back to the exam room and I swear to you— all I could see were two stabby furious eyes and these mega HUMONGO lips (on the right side) protruding out of my MILS face.

“Angelina? Is that youuuu? Oh my heavens (slaps self’s cheek). I forgot. You were gonna have your tooth pulled today.”

Then for effect I add..

“remember?”

It was amazingly insightful thinking on my part to clean out the entire stash of Earl Grey and Chai tea bags from the “free cookies and tea” room at Happy Daze Assisted Living. Because according to an authority named Selma.. who also happens to live on the ROAM (Random Occasional Accidental Memory) floor with Ru and is adamant that she was THE dental hygienist behind George Washington’s wooden bridge work. I know..right. She says— what you want to do is shove one of these puppies into Ru’s rather large gaping head gaping HOLE to help ease the pain and swelling. Naturally.. if one is to suck on a tea bag you want to choose your flavor. So.. I begin to get my bags ready by wetting them both and presenting Ru with the option.

“I don’t WANT tea right now. I want to go to my hospital room and lie down. Doctor.. can you DOOOOOO something?”

“Now Ru.. Selma says this will help you.” (Prying miffed Ru’s lips apart)

“Utts ELMA ot ewww ewww iff it?”

“Shhhhh. Don’t talk. Here.. let’s give you CHAI (shoves wadded up tea bag in). No? You don’t like Chai? Here’s the Earl Grey option.”

Yeah. Ru had quite the look going on as we returned to the halls of ROAM trying our best not to careen into Beth the Bawler who was dragging an eighty pound mahogany dining room chair behind her into oncoming hallway traffic. Um. Beth. Entertaining? Just be careful when you move the table sweetie.. wouldn’t want anyone to trip over it. Beth looks up at me.. then shifts her attention to Ru and snidely remarks, “Maybe she’d like a cup of WATER to go with her Earl grey? Ever think of that? Excuse me ma’am.. She’s gagging.”

What’s the matter with Earl Grey Ru? I thought you liked it?

“Yeah. But not to CHEW on.”

So I did what any compassionate member of My Sandwich Generation WOULD do. I shoved the Chai one in instead and took my drooling MIL to show off her pouty lip look at lunch.

Another HOT look.. off the runways of ROAM

-A

Copyright © 2009-2010 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

Picture of the DAY: Stunning

I’m going to completley stand by my decision to go running onto the dementia floor with my iphone lightsaber app. set on Rahm Kota the Jedi Master and start zapping away like a total lunatic all the while shouting, STAND BACK or I’ll blast the crap out of you bwhahahah. All the commotion MAY have caused some s-l-i-g-h-t paltry increase in confusion for a few individuals who were startled awake and started shrieking, “GAWD! They’re letting in ALL kinds up here aren’t they? Who are you supposed to be.. BATMAN? Hey batman! Why don’t you make yourself useful and help me find a bathroom PRONTO.

Awwww. TAKE THAT Selma (zap) and THAT (zap zap).

“What about me?” came the familiar cry of my MIL Ru.

“What about YOU? You wanna try.. is THAT it? Why don’t you wait a minute and when I’m done shooting Roger.. I’ll put the SPIN ART app. on. That would be fun.”

Aren’t you gonna let ME tase her?” Ru is patiently waiting her turn and it is then that I notice all the residents start to roam (quickly) toward the hallway with pushing and shoving and shouts of  “we’re all gonna die and we haven’t had lunch”. The lightsabre had fallen into the wrong hands.. of none other then— the ultra scary.. Darth Ru.

Excitedly grabbing the weapon out of my hands granny starts to furiously wave it around till she finds her mark.. Selma. Then she’s all “Selma.. the front seat on the bus belongs to WHOM?” and Selma get really nervous and starts to sing like a baby, “I didn’t know you were coming back from the bathroom when I took it (zapppppp) (zappppp) (zapppp).

“Is she gone yet?”

Way to add a little excitement through the wonders of technology to an otherwise dull day. You know what THIS proves.. forget the Happy Hands class’ people. The iphone applications are easily used by people with ALLLLL sorts of declining cognitive abilities and can be a useful learning tool (Angry Birds and Brick Breaker Revolution on EASY).

There was one problem.. Ru was concerned that she might cause serious injury to someone.. when she throws it.

DELICATE ISSUES

Dear Diary,

Oh ho hum. Just your average incredibly dull and boring day up on my favorite dementia floor of ALL. FREAKIN. TIME.. ROAM (Random Occasional Accidental Memory). Why yes. Yes— I do believe that IS the shrill pleas for help I hear emanating from somewhere in the vicinity of my MIL Ru’s bedroom. Now shhhhhh. If I listen really carefully from where I stand at the faux bookcase door I can almost make out what she’s s-a-y-i-n-g..

“I NEED TOILET PAPER. I NEEEEEEED TOILET PAPER! COULD SOMEONE BUY ME TOILET PAPER OR AM I JUST GONNA STAND HERE ALLLLLL DAY AND DRIP DRY?”

Yup. That was my girl.

This is the part where you look at me and say.. don’t just be all lolling around. Do what any normal person would do and FIND a roll of Charmin and get on with the rest of your unbelievably life affirming DAY. Hey, there’s a staff person. Ask THEM if they can perhaps SELL you a fist full at black market price. Ahhh— if it only were that easy. You see.. there WAS no toilet paper on the dementia floor at Happy daze Assisted Living. You heard right. They were O.U.T. I mean it’s only toilet paper right? It’s not as if it’s actually something NECESSARY like.. hand soap or DEPENDS.

Meanwhile Ru is getting tired of the same PEOPLE magazine she’s been reading for… GA. I don’t know.. the last thirty, maybeeeee FOURTY minutes. I catch her sneaking looks at the stack of brown paper towels generica in the holder next to the sink reserved exclusively for wrapping up last minute hostess gifts (for the neighborhood all night shindigs) or shoving residual food stuffs in for future nourishment.

“Granny.. I talked to the head guy and he said that they had a supplies ordering glitch and the toilet paper you requested should be here anytime.. within two to three working days. That gonna work for you? Now I k-n-o-w this might be a slight inconvenience but the nurse said we have to be flexible. So please carefully maneuver back here (walking straddle legged) and sit down and let me think this out.”

Breathing heavily and sweating profusely I nervously motioned for the male nurse to join me in the deserted back kitchen area. First, making sure that no witnesses existed.

“Mildred. Pssssst.. Mildred. You mind (tilting head towards the door)?”

“No. I don’t mind at all. I mixed Metamucil in there so be careful..it’s POTENT (handing me her glass).”

You’ve HAD enough prune juice.. please don’t make me do something (else). Take your walker and make yourself scarce would ya?”

I explained our situation calmly. One might even say that I appeared to be RATIONAL.

“What the (KAPow!) d-u-d-e is going ON in this joint? I need you to score me some good sheet man. I’m willing to pay you major (KAPow!) cash. (pulls out a dime with gum smooshed on it and Kleenex fuzzies adhering) Think you can get some? I’ll be your best friendddd.”

After the goods arrived and were put to use— Ru and I hastily pushed our way through the unruly throngs that had formed at her door. Stopping only momentarily to nod, smile and collect.. the mandatory SUGGESTED tax-deductible donations from each and every one of the girls (and Walter) who had been dancing in line— BEFORE dashing out to purchase bulk TP for our new start up venture.

Have a square to spare?

-A

Copyright © 2009-2010 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

Picture of the day: Shove your balls in your pockets

One more reason why it’s so important to have your children spend quality bonding time with their granny. The learning of some incredible life skills they might never have the opportunity to explore.. with someone who actually HAS boundaries.

Touchy-feely

Dear Diary,

There is nothing more exciting to my MIL Ru then the thought of getting a massage.. not performed by me. That’s not to say that I don’t give awesome massages to her and ALL the residents up on ROAM (Random Occasional Accidental Memory) because well.. I DO. Just ask Selma. No. Don’t ask Selma. She’ll just tell you what you want to hear— some completely fraudulent story about how I pulled her arm out of the sweater she was wearing in such a way as to make her flash her navel and surrounding fleshy parts to all the men in the room—causing gawkage and shouts of “IS THIS HOOTERS” by Walter and his posse.

I recommend that if you’re going to try this in your own home or favorite dementia floor you make sure that everyone knows the RULES first. That means you line up the victims the residents in their chairs, asking politely if they wouldn’t mind signing a little WAIVER on some (stolen from front desk) sticky note paper, by dipping their thumbs in the butterscotch “mousse” the minute they’re done using them to finish up their entrée and pressing them on a binding contract: If something should go wrong with my SPECIAL DELUXE arm and hand massage i.e. a reaction to the canola spray, bruising (new) or LEGITIMATE r-e-a-l breaks or sprains (as opposed to the pretend ones used to garner extra attention.. you know who you are BEV)  then you must suck it up like a man, because.. will you EVER get an opportunity like THIS again? Nyet.

“You have to add the crunchy bits in it to make it tasty. It’ll give it a nice texture on the paper.” My MIL is standing over me directing the assembly of the pudding as if I’m not perfectly able to figure it out myself. “Yeah. Thanks Ru. Hey.. Harriet! You wanna go first?”

“Where am I going?”

To which my assistant Ru answers gleefully, “To a massage parlor.. THAT’S where. It’s going to feel soooo nicccce. When was the last time you visited one of those Harriet?”

Yeah WHEN Harriet? Tell us. Here— let me just GENTLY pull your.. tugggggg.. ARM out of.. urrrrrrr this ugly boiled wool sweater that may have to DIE to free your limb. Come on arm. Let’s go ughhhhhhh. Got it.

OUCHHHHH What the HALLE are you doing to me? H-E-L-P! Nurse! She’s breaking my arm.

Feh! That doesn’t hurt you. Does it Harriet? Now calm down and chill. K? Getting my client all comfy with her arm lying on a nasty disgusting pillow from, GAWD only knows where.. I begin to spray her down with the canola oil cooking mist (I like organic) that I’ve purchased specially for today’s activity. Being the professional that I am.. I make sure FIRST that the spray is a nice and toasty temperature to avoid any (more) shocks to the now rigid body sitting in her wheel chair in front of me. Thanks to my assistant Ru who’s been sitting on it for ohhh.. fifteen minutes or so while I was removing Harriet’s article of clothing.. it’s now perfect. Just remember you guys— it’s all about technique. You want to use a gentle yet FIRM (choke) hold on the resident while you achhhh (sounds of struggle) try (more sounds) to get close enough to actually TOUCH her arm to begin the massage. Quit that thrashing or you go to the back of the line. You got that?

“Hey girl in the Abercombie and Fitch tee.. wanna go out for a little m-a-s-s-a-g-e today? Heh heh. I said FITCH not FISH Blanche sit down would ya.”

My decision to take Ru out to a special spa for HER Lomilomi treatment came from the desire to give her an experience she would remember (while she was having it) plus the fabulous benefits only a trained masseuse can deliver.. a-n-d I wanted to sneak into the ladies spa lounge and sample the seven headed shower with heated towel rack while granny was indisposed. OMG.. they come at you from all sides and this huge sprayer deal on the ceiling. If you haven’t had the experience.. then I suggest you find someone on a dementia floor and march them in to get a massage and totally go try it.

“Is it Valentines Day today?” Ru asks me, as we’re driving to her appointment. The correct answer always is.. OF COURSE it is. Why if YOU feel it should be Valentines Day.. then it SO is. Then reaching in the back seat I produce a bag of these yummy pecan chocolate caramel dealies from Sees and dump a few into the lap of my overjoyed passenger. Who cares right? I’ve already knocked off the bag of almond buds and eaten my way through HALF of granny’s red heart box.. might as well finish off the remainder and then hit the Sees store on the way back.  So you see people.. Dementia has its up-side. I can finish off an entire ONE pound box of nuts and chews with an odd ball cream thrown in for good measure (in case Ru’s toothless neighbor might like a bite) and leave Ru with just the brown papers and she’ll be, “Oh..I LOVE it. Papers! I needed brown paper cups with a single half of a cherry cream chocolate left in it. Thannnnnk youuuuuu.” She KNOWS doesn’t she? Yeah. I knew it.

“What you’re going to want to do is run and JUMP up here on this thingy and shove your FACE in HERE on this little hemorrhoid cushion shaped pillow. OK. Now GO! Now JUMP. Higher. Here— let me help push.”

Trying to finesse Ru onto the massage table through words and mime is not as easy as I make it look. Not only must she get ON the bed, tummy down.. she must place her FACE in the HOLE of the headrest.. as opposed to say—some OTHER body parts hanging down in there, due to miscalculation and alignment issues on my part. Unfortunately granny repeatedly landed with her upper body hanging off the front part of the bed eating up about twenty minutes of massage time. But.. it was so worth it. Ru wouldn’t have been comfortable up-side down with blood rushing up to her brain.. when it’s not used to it.

My Sandwich Generation friends, if there could be ONE action above all others that you might do for your senior.. let it be a massage. Putty in the hands folks. Touch doesn’t happen enough on dementia floors, assisted living facilities or even in some homes. Just a little loving stroke from time to time, maybe a nice back rub, brings all kinds of wonderful side effects to your older family member and makes a happier experience for all involved. If I may warn you.. there are some naysayers out there who don’t WANT you to give certain OTHER people back rubs because they are jealous. Jealous and bitty.. Marion. They will scream at you to TAKE YOUR hands off of Wilbur because you can’t be trusted. Don’t listen.. just know that everyone needs to be kneaded.

Feel the love!

-A

Copyright © 2009-2010 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

Picture of the DAY: HOLE PAIN

As you all know I love my MIL Ru VERY much. That being said— it is this VERY deep unflinching (pffffft) DEVOTION that makes it near impossible to refuse her the opportunity to do whatever she likes.. whenever she likes. Including making some audition tape for American Idol when the idea hits (rises up from the murky depths).. in the back alley of her dentists parking lot. For the entire 20-minute drive to the dentist office I got to hear the melodious strains of THIS song over and over. Ru singing her heart out.. in the pathetic HOPE that I might be the one to make the suggestion FIRST about the Idol tape. Oh I HAD ideas all right— in fact my one single thought was to pull the car over and extract the tooth MYSELF so we both would suffer. Maybe a slightly PITCHY howling, rather then the off key moaning is just what the song needs to give you the ticket to HOLLYWOOD baby. Honestly why do we even need to fix the “hole in your HEAD that your tongue keeps playing with” Ru? You lose the hole and THEN you’ve got nothing to do for fun in your down time.

I know what you’re thinking and I promise neither one of us had any drugs what so EVER.. at this point. My only hope is that Simon will pardon Ru’s song choice.. when you have dementia you tend to go with the first thing that pops into your head.

Something UP her.. sleeve

Dear Diary,

Whoa! So, there I am.. just sitting with granny Marnie, completely minding our own business and focusing intently on each others lovely faces.. as we stuff cinnamon roll into them with wild abandon. In all fairness it so happens that the Start Your Day off DEAD Right: Morning Joy Sweet Roll appeared to be, at first glance, the lowest calorie option on the Killjoy Senior Living menu. I suppose if I hadn’t been in such a terrific amount of haste to get through the wasted PRECIOUS time of menu ordering and get right down to the important bonding experience with Marnie.. I might have noticed the Egg White Omelet choice in that small teensy four inch bold print in the lower left hand corner of the menu entitled “Spartan Martyr Cuisine”. Oh who cares— the time should be spent engrossed in quality conversation and reflection that I’ll remember a lifetime without worrying about the crap we’re shoving in our mouths.

“Don’t look now.. STOP. I t-o-l-d you not to look. Just sit there and pretend I’m telling you a joke. (Looking at Marnie and hitting her arm ) Ahhhh hahaha ahhhhhaaaaaaa.. K.  Stop now and swallow cuz that was just nas-tay looking— all in there gross. Who’s that lady with the ugly bright pink acrylics (nom nom) I thought you told me they went out of style around here (gulp) and that’s why I’M giving you a French manicure every week?”

Then Marnie cranes her neck around and lifts her entire body out of the electric scooter about a FOOT to see who it is I’m trashing before she contributes eagerly. Talk about some serious upper body strength to pull off THAT Yoga pose. Picture granny doing a modified peacock meets the Pommel Horse, without wearing the unitard. Heh. Nice. What did I tell you? Lifting MORNING JOY rolls to the mouth on a regular basis builds good strong upper body fat.

Turning back to me, Marnie assumes her, I’M GOING TO BE REALLY SUBTLE AND WHISPER IN YOUR EAR head position.Then quietly, like a little mouse into a PA system..

“OHHH. The lady with the TRASHY VULGAR PINK PRESS-ONS? Is THAT who you’re looking at dear? Don’t you remember her? (from the Hitchcock thriller) I think—Didn’t she babysit you when you were an infant?”

O M GEEEE! You are r-i-g-h-t Marnie. It’s all coming back to me now. It. Was. Her. A young girl of 70 or 75 then, my mother caught her entertaining boys and smoking GAWD only knows WHAT in our fireplace— while I was in my crib (chewing on the lead railing) screaming for HOURS on end, without anything to eat (shoving cinnamon roll in mouth). I weep for the YOUNG me.

After Marnie so kindly got her neighbors attention, I then was forced to mouth HELLO and gave her one of my Macy’s Parade float waves with adorable smile plus cutesy nose scrunch in the hopes of softening the BLOW. Yup. I said it. Then I start with the shaking of my noggin in the affirmative, and some stupid fake laugh in the lady’s direction. So she can see that, YES.. there’s really something wrong with me— so it’s all good. Cripes. Marnie why don’t you finish up smooshing that wad of doughy delight between your cheeks and gums so I can get the HALLE out of here without anymore incident.

As we were mid-sentence analyzing all this startling new bogus information of my childhood.. Thus explaining fully a whole HOST of odd behaviors according to Marnie that were linked to inhalation of second hand cigarette smoke that could not make its way up my parents fake chimney— this really clean and marginally well dressed gentleman approached our table. Thinking that it might be a very SMART thing to invite him to join us and get back at Marnie for making me look like a bigger ARSE (If that’s possible and obviously it SOOOO is) then I already am. I invited.

“Oh won’t you come sit and (OUCH) have some (OUCH) breakfast with (scowling at Marnie driving her scooter into my leg) OUCH.. US?” Obviously SOMEONE had a problem with this particular youngish (in his late eighties) guy joining ONE of us who is poised to have fun and get kind of wild and crazy then let her hairpiece fall down where it may. Not so fast granny. As it would be inexcusable to pass up an opportunity like this– On behalf of all your grandchildren who have suffered HUGE embarrassment in their PAST, at your crooked hand.. Bwahahaha.

So dude. Wanna take a load off? We aren’t in a rush at all. Are we Marnie?

“Well. We have to go now.”

ME: Where do we have to go?

MARNIE: To the thing. We HAVE to go really fast to the t-h-i-n-g.

Ah yes. The THINNNNNNG. Oh how I love my life. La!

ME: Marnie.. what will we do at the thing, once we get there? Maybe we should invite mister? Uhhhhh. What did you say your name is?

MARNIE: It’s something with a body part.. Hisbutt

GUY: Herbert

MARNIE: Close enough..

Herbert, would YOU like to have breakfast with us and then go to the THING? I’m sure we won’t be there long.. then the two of you can hook up after and go over to Marnies place. Get snookered out of your heads, have wild somethin somethin and.. What? It’s not like I don’t know how your mind works Marnie. WOW! To think— my MOTHER might even get a new baby brother out of the deal. Heh. Feel pressure much?

Marnie made the correct choice to fess up that SHE actually already has a “friend” who’s closer to her age and he’s a DOCTOR. Every mothers dream.. a doctor who practiced when they still used leeches. I’m so proud and excited. Unfortunately we’re still in the playing HARD to GET stage so I wouldn’t be all holding your breath to get a wedding post anytime soon. The best is yet to come!

Here are my digits. Don’t call me.

They’ll call YOU.

-A

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