What the hell is that?

When I took these pictures I wasn't sure what I'd do with them but I was sure I had to take them. Mom and Erv dared me. I've never taken a picture of a stranger with the soul intent on making fun of them. While mom and Erv provided distracting chatter I snapped the pictures. I'm so going to hell. Now what do I do with them? I could right now explain where, when and why but I thought I'd post them and let you take a guess first. The idea came to me suddenly when I remembered Kathy at The Junk Drawer and her "What's that Wednesday" picture contest. She takes a picture of a small part of a big picture and people take a guess at what it is. She generates around 50 to 100 guesses, I'm shooting for 10. Erv, you are excluded from this contest.

There are no prizes but you will be made fun of in my next post if you come close to guessing what the hell that is.

The certain chain of events that lead to the realization I'm running out of patience.

Where can I get more of that? Because mine is wearing thin and I need some more.
Let me be perfectly clear. (A little Obama lingo there.) At no point during the unfolding of these events were any Senior Citizens harmed in any way, mentally or physically. I, on the other hand, well I have issues now, I probably need therapy but won't seek it.

1.) I went to the doctor's appointment that was almost impossible to get because the office workers hate me. The doctor thinks I'm funny and refilled my prescription and told me to come back in 6 months. I should probably start trying to make the appointment now, but I'm holding out hope that he fires all the bitches there and hires nice people.

2.) I have to pee. And so hungry I could eat the ass of a skunk.

3.) I'm just going to drop off the prescription at the handy dandy drive-thru. Those of us born after 1917 know how a drive-thru works, I'm just sayin'.

4.) There is a car in front of me, I wait. I wait through an entire U2 song. This is where the patience issue comes into play. I jester with the hands in the air.

5.) The car begins to move, then stops. I can't get my car to the drive-thru window, I can't do it.

6.) I raise my hand ready to slam on my horn, when the car in front of me door opens. A very feeble arm attached to it and a Senior Citizen gets out of the car. My jaw drops open and hangs there as I watch this woman slowly get out of her car, walks to the end of her car, waves to me with a big friendly smile and says thank you. Thank you? For what?

7.) Dear God she bent over and picked something up, waved it in the air and said, "Here it is." Still smiling, she returned to her car and drove away. I inched up to the window and the cashiers jaw was dropped as far down as mine. "I almost honked my horn at her. She'd have jumped out of her Depends."

This dear sweet woman, who I almost gave a heart attack, face is etched in my brain forever. I want to take her to tea, give her a hug and I don't know maybe pay her electric bill or something.

I blame my hormones, women can use hormones for just about everything. Mine have been misfiring for months now. But the patience thing, I think I'll work on that.

STELLA!

When Boy #3 had all four wisdom teeth surgically removed, he was presented with a prescription for Vicodin. I'm not sure how to spell it but who cares really. The family can't handle the drug and they are fun to watch when on it. I pretty much moved Boy #3 around the house like a puppet that weekend he was hopped up. I left him on his own when he went to the bathroom, I just waited outside in case I heard a thud. I was willing to help as much as I could but we have to draw the line somewhere. I didn't cross over the peeing line or the feeding of the leopard gecko. You have to touch crickets to feed Sid. Boy #3 insisted he could do it. "I can call your brother."
"I got it."
So I stood there holding him steady while he tried to grab crickets. I hadn't suppressed laughter like that since I was a kid sitting in church and Erv and I tried to make each other laugh. Those crickets were 3 steps ahead of him and he thought they were in his hand. We laugh about it now, well I do, he doesn't remember it.
The husband a few years ago got shingles, pretty sure that's an old person ailment but I kept my mouth shut. He was bestowed a prescription of Vicodin also. Thanksgiving Day getting ready to go to his sisters house I yelled down the hall, "Are you ready shingle boy?" No answer. "Did you take your Vicodin?" I turned the corner with a crock pot of mashed potatoes in my arms and saw him at the end of the hall with a stupid grin on his face and he yelled, "STELLA!"

Well that's just unheard of

Ordinarily I don't drink my piping hot mocha cappuccino from McDonald's with a straw. Actually I think there might be a law against that sort of behavior. You just don't mess around with hot beverages. The pre-printed cups tell us caution contents is hot don't drink with a straw dummy or something like that. So you can imagine my surprise when I got to work, put down the precious liquid some of you call mocha cappuccino, opened my McDonald's bag from the drive through window and found my beloved egg McMuffin, some napkins and huh, a straw. The hell? I don't see the correlation here. What the hell kind of a world does the girl at window #2 live in? She was of middle eastern decent, those are the one you have to watch out for, them and the Russians at the pool. When she handed me my hot beverage straight from heaven she said, "Mocha?" Like it was the first time in her life she's ever said it, which make me sad to think that middle easterners have never had the pleasure of sipping a mocha cappuccino and they have no idea whether to use a straw or not. I thought I had my hands full keeping an eye on the Russians, now I have this McDonald's girl to watch.

Crisis in the Driveway

You should probably read my last post before you read this one, it's kind of a continuation but not, sort of.

Now that I have the Russians where I want them here at the pool, I can write my original post I had planned for today. It's a good thing to continue to write anyway just to keep the Russians guessing.

So imagine if you will Boy #3's car in the driveway with a dead as a door knob battery. Boy #2 has been summoned to help, girlfriend #2 tags along and me in my bathing suit with my pool bag trying to decide if I should leave the 2 hot heads and the nicer than nice even tempered girlfriend in the driveway without a referee. If I stay I'll lose my spot at the pool for sure, but this girl is probably going to have a huge part in picking out my nursing home, since she's a nurse. I stayed. Jump starting this car is not as easy you think. First you have to get the hood open and that involves 2 to 3 people, a screwdriver and a flashlight. Isn't it funny how Boy #3 just started to make payments to us on this car and stuff keeps breaking? A screw driver flew through the air, some swearing took place. "I'm selling this car." He's made 2 payments. The girlfriend tried to introduce calm, logic into the scene and I worried about my spot at the pool.

Let me take another glance at the Russians. I really want to point at my eyes and then to them but I'm not that brave.

The hood opened, the jumper cables didn't reach from the truck so Boy #2 drove the John Deere over and Boy #3's bucket of bolts started right up. I'm going to have to make sure that car has a survival kit in it, screwdriver will be on top of the list. This is about when the husband decided to see what was going on in the driveway. You might ask why I didn't get him involve earlier, easy, he's the original hot head. Three hot heads in the driveway is too much.

The Russians are here

Well it just doesn't get any better than this. I got to the pool minutes before the woman that takes my spot did. Minutes! In your face pool spot stealer. HA! I was still setting up when she walked in. This has been my spot for years, I don't know who the hell she thinks she is. We have had an unspoken fight over this spot all summer. She's even brought a friend of hers into this, some muscle, if you know what I mean. Today is a small victory for me, hooray for me and my awesome timing.
And if this wasn't enough fun, the Russians are here, speaking Russian and everything. They could be talking about me right now and I wouldn't know it. Hell they could be talking about world domination and I'd be clueless. So as I write I keep looking over at them. My reasoning is they'll think I'm taking notes. These Russians will not take over the world on my watch. They talk funny. They have the same house address as we do just a different street. I found this out a couple years ago walking the dog. I suppose getting their mail by mistake would be a post just waiting to be written. But if you are a steady reader of my blog you know that I have foreignpeopleaphobia. I would probably make one of the boys take their mail to them and Boy #1 would do it, he has no fear of foreigners. Catch him in the right mood and I could get him to knock on anyone's door.
Jeez, I wish I could catch some of these words that are coming out of their mouths, it's just a bunch of ishkabibbles. I haven't heard them say vodka yet, they like that right? I'm going to go swim some laps and see if I can catch anything that sounds like, "Our plan is coming along very nicely Victor."

............................

Back....... I got nothing to report to the Feds.

An open letter to all office workers in a doctors office

I'm naming names. Hey guess what? I just snapped.
First of all let me get this out of the way. There are angels that work in doctors office's, I've met them, Cindy comes to mind. That woman worked past closing hours to find me an appointment ASAP when I was dazed and on the verge of tears. So being nice to patients - do-able.
Julie, you can kiss my ass. Thank you so very much for letting me run out of my prescription. We are patients, not a sack of potato's to schlep around at your convenience. We call when we are sick, when we need medicine, when we're ready to cry, when we are trying to get our kids taken care of, when we need advice, help, a caring voice on the other end of the line. Let us talk to our doctor damn it.
Hey you, I forgot your name, when I call you and make an appointment for my kid and tell you he's going to run out of his prescription before this appointment. Don't you dare piss on me and tell me it's raining, bitch. "Oh just call it in and they will see he has an appointment, they'll refill it." Then you leave me a message on my answering machine at home so I can't get a hold of you because it's after hours when I get home. I can't wait to call you tomorrow on your Saturday hours and if you think I won't call the doctors answering service and insist on talking to him to tell him how incompetent you are, think again. I've done it before.

I feel a little better now.
Debbie don't read this to mom.