Let's Do the Time Warp

I made the very stupid mistake of telling Gru that 'The Rocky Horror Picture Show' was one of the greatest movies of all times. Because he is a pop-culture hermit he had never seen nor heard of it when we started dating back in 2001 and agreed to watch it (mostly because he was still trying to make a good impression at that time and pretend to be interested in the same things I was...I mean why else would he have agreed to watch 'Chicken Run' on our first date? There is nothing funnier than British chickens plotting against their chicken pot pie making owners...unless it's the Scottish physics-savvy hen...she was hilarious...) with me. Probably a plan to get me in bed as well- you know, "Oh, if I appease her by watching what she likes she'll think I'm cool and want to sleep with me"...it worked.

Anyway, so The Rocky Horror Picture Show (herein known as 'RHPS' because I am too lazy and sleep-deprived to type the whole thing out)- yes, I told him it was like the BEST movie ever and I couldn't believe he had never seen it! "Oh my gawd, it's hilarious! You haven't seen it? It's the BEST I watch is every year!! You don't know what you're missing!" So we rented it and somewhere between Dr. Frank-N-Furter dressed as a slutty transexual and the creepy blond guy wearing a diaper Gru called my movie selection skills into question.

"Megan, what the fuck is this? What in the hell is going on? This is stupid, are you kidding me right now?" demanded a very irritated Gru.

"What? This is a classic, Gru. Honestly, Meat Loaf as a delivery guy? Are you kidding?" defending myself as I got up and started bopping around the room singing 'Time Warp" and stepping to the left and then the right with my hands on my hips (with my knees pulled in tight...).

Needless to say I watched the rest of the movie by myself. Yes, Gru still got some action that night but mostly out of my guilt for his not liking the movie not because he wooed me by watching and getting into it like he should have.

Guilt sex.

Anyway.

That is not at ALL what this post is about. What it is about is Vapid Vixen asked if there was a way to follow me- not something most of my friends ask because as they know 1. I never know where I'm going and 2. because they are tired of making U-Turns and chancing that 'it's OK'- and I was all like, "Ummm, I dunno, back in the 2000s when I used to blog we used a blogroll," to which she was probably like, "Oh lord, I'm using an iPad and she's on a Radio Shack Tandy" (not to date myself of anything but are you now seeing how the Time Warp thing ties in? I'm all like old school and had to be brought up to modern day blogging tools by warp speed...and that, my friends, is how you rebuild a carburetor- ba-BAM!).

So I pull on my big girl panties and looked...there's some kind of Google + thing of something so I tried to sign on/in/up for. It took me awhile and I got all bewildered having to add a new profile picture (sheesh), then I had to choose things to follow (like celebrities, or science or current events)- I couldn't figure out how in the hell to get off that screen without choosing and I got all panicky. That was a big commitment- to follow someone or something as a spur of the moment decision (not to mention I'm still not sure what all is involved in 'following'- am I like going steady with celebrities because I'm following them? if so, which ones? do I get to make the selections? if so I choose Adam Levine...and Jason Statham...Adam on even days of the month, Jason on odds).

Then, in true old-person-out-of-touch-with-technology-fashion after I finally committed to following the celebrities I realized that had I simply scrolled down to the bottom of the pop-up menu I could have just skipped that.

Oy vey...what a morning! Then shit! I realized I had left the ice cream out on the counter that I bought at Piggly Wiggly (yes, we really do have one in our town- and yes, I really do Shop the Pig!) and it was more than 'softened' as the recipe I was about to work on had asked for- it was now liquified. This is partially why I had to quit blogging back in the day- I would get so wrapped up in writing and reading that I forgot about my two kids at the time and they would wreak havoc on my kitchen cabinets and their dresser drawers while 'mommy was busy' and then there would be a pile of tampons (clean, out of the bathroom cabinets- I'm not THAT negligent) that they were playing with and throwing at each other (or wearing my thongs on their heads).

Now they're in school though and I have much more time to waste and fuck around on the internet. Amen!

And the moral of this whole story is that I think now people can follow me (it still doesn't mean I have any idea where I'm going so in choosing to keep up with me you are doing so at your own risk...you have been warned)...which is dangerous because much like Edith I work heavily on positive reinforcements (i.e. Comments) which is how I got all obsessed with blogging back when I was TKW.

Finally, because you have been ever-so-patient and held on with my through this maze of random, yet somewhat related thoughts, I will show you what the 'softened' ice cream made...

Yummmmo- that would be chocolate covered Rice Krispies for the crust and softened mint chip ice cream for the filling...OHEMMMMMMGEEEEEE!

SS, who is very excited about (eating this ice cream pie) writing again...and meeting new friends (and reuniting with old) in the Blogosphere...

The Messy Art of Dying

So G'ma is dying.

It's a fact, jack.

Last Easter we met her and G'pa for Easter Brunch and they were mostly with it...she was driving, he was still mumbling on about his 13 brothers and sisters and life was normal for the most part. She had already started accusing G'pa of having an affair with another woman (he's like 88 and *maybe* straight...and that's a big maybe) and rolling around on the living room with with this lady (ack, ack, ack...please let me erase that image from my mind).

But then the summer came and don't you know that a bus pulled up in front of their house and all these people got off the bus and came into their house and took all their things.

The fuck?

Yeah, that's what my dad said too. Off to the geriatric-psych ward she went for a little evaluation. As you might have guessed she's delusional and was suffering from dementia. Sad. She totally believes all these things (the rolling around on the floor, the bus-load of people, etc., etc.) to be honest to God truth...and that's messed up. To be that far into la-la land (and still be driving...you're welcome other safe drivers in the state of Wisconsin...) and have no idea that this shit isn't real? Fuck my life...if I ever get there take me out in the backyard and shoot me.

Into a home she went. At first she was mad, frustrated, pissed, angry, depressed and irritated. But after awhile she realized she was away from G'pa (who for some reason is on her every last nerve for reasons probably including but beyond the 'affair') and that made her happy.

And then she had a stroke. And two days later she had a massive stroke and that's about it. Pretty much Game Over.

Three weeks later we're still waiting and watching her.

I've seen her more times in the last two weeks than I have in the last year (BAD grand-daughter...let's not even go into the amount of insane guilt that I have). Honestly she's always been somewhat of a badger (for those of you who aren't aware, badgers are not pleasant animals...at all- not just honey badgers that have been made so famous by You Tube in recent years but like the old fashioned Wisconsin wild badgers- nasty as fuck they can be)- she's never made it a secret that she's not a fan of girls which made me feel awesome growing up. She also mentioned repeatedly that it would have been fine (OK, not just fine...MUCH BETTER) if all of my children were boys when they were still in utero. Truth be told though, since I've moved here and we welcome she and G'pa into our home when my parents bring them up she's been very nice to me. More importantly she's been nice to my girls and THAT'S what makes me fine with her.

I don't remember my mom's mom dying. I was only 14 at the time and for me that was a lifetime ago.

Last week when I saw her for the first time I was haunted by the image I saw. A shell of a woman I once knew. Vacantly staring out the window, mouth gaping open, unable to move the right side of her body or talk and jerkily moving the left as if in an infant-like state. It was rough seeing a woman who, only months ago, was capable of living on her own, cooking, driving (again, scary but true), talking and being a 'normal' member of society.

This weekend I've been to see her twice and I'm becoming more immune to her physical appearance but my heart is breaking for her having to live like this waiting for death. I held her hand and rubbed her arm for a long time yesterday and cried. A lot. I gave her the what for about causing me to snot up and how that isn't polite. I think she thinks I'm funny because I'm not afraid to talk to her like she's still a fully functioning person. The one real conscious effort she made yesterday was taking my hand and (squeezing the bejeezus out of is) putting it to her mouth to give it a kiss.

Today Margo brought her a photo album that I gave her for Valentine's Day to show G'ma. Even though she dozed on and off (my narrative was apparently not as entertaining to her as it was to me) she managed to make an actual effort to grab at the pages and turn them (not only was I boring her with my commentary but I was also moving to slow...I guess with her, at this point, time IS of the essence).

I'll be going back tomorrow with Agnes. I don't know how many more times I'll get to see her but I can't imagine sitting in that room day and in and day out alone. It's bad enough she's unable to move around, talk or do anything on her own but then to be alone? The facility is gorgeous and the staff is really amazing but still, I have to feel that somehow in that head of hers she knows when we are there and appreciates it. Or maybe I'm just doing it more for me. It's hard to tell.

SS, who has kind of a little wish that she is with G'ma when she does take that last breath so I know she was with someone who loves her

As it turns out...

...I think I'm going to like the idea of being gluten-free.

I'm drinking wine right now and it's gluten-free. Actually I'm drinking Prairie Fume which I think technically counts as wine- I mean I've been to the winery where they make it, seen the vineyards where they grow the grapes, taken the tour, mocked the tour guide- pretty sure it's real wine.

It's not in a wine glass but even if a kitten is born in an oven it isn't a bun, right? Therefore even if it's not in a wine glass it can still be wine? Right.

I know it's working to calm my shit down because this shitstorm-

-is currently on my kitchen table. Usually this table is clear of EVERYTHING otherwise my OCD makes me tremble, shake and rock back and forth mumbling about everything being OK and as you can clearly see, I'm good...I'm even able to type in complete, mostly coherent, sentences.

This week has been big for me. First of all it's the middle of February- this is usually the week when I have my annual mental break-down (I'm already on meds so if I have that annual break-down this year I'm pretty sure they're going to have to commit me which...sounds appealing since I can sleep in a clean, quiet room without children for a few days). So far so good and it's even been a doozy of a week. I found out that my poor G'ma is on the outs- officially on THE outs. Like the hospice people are willing to let her stay on because they're pretty sure she's got less than a month. In her current state I wouldn't want to live much more than a month anyway- poor woman- just stares out the window oblivious to life. And to round out this amazing week I found my first true love, let's call him Chip- not because that's his name but because he always looked like a chipmunk when he was younger- full cheeks and lips. He was the Ultimate Bad Boy and I was the Good Girl. Anyway, Chip and I had what could most easily be described as a volatile relationship. Mostly during our supposed 'on' times he was grounded- worked out great (note sarcasm).

One such time he couldn't call me because ***say it with me*** He Was Grounded. A mutual friend of ours asked me to accompany me to his homecoming dance. Because I knew this mutual friend was gay and I loved and respected him I agreed to go. No biggie- he's gay, right? We're obviously going as friends. Chip got wind of this and went off the deep end. Not pretty.

Anyway, that was the last I heard of him except for a phone call I got from him a few years later after he got out of rehab (did I mention he was a Bad Boy?- rawr!) and that was it. He vanished off the face of the earth for the last 20 years. Because I was the Good Girl I always wondered and worried about him- did he makeit through college, go to jail, get married, stay 'clean'? When I was working for a law firm I tried to use some software to hunt him down- but to no avail. I contacted his high school reunion coordinator but of course, being the Bad Boy, he wouldn't be attending a reunion. Another dead end.

Of all the mainstream, common places to locate someone, I found him on Facebook. Figures- what the FUCK did we do for information before the internet? Appears he's found his place in life and is doing well. I keep thinking maybe I should drop a line to say hi but then I think that nothing good can come of that.

Alright...it's over. The wine is gone and I need to go to bed because these little monsters will be up before I can count to 10...and after two glasses of wine counting to 10 might be a seriously challenging task.

TKW, who is pretty sure now that she's found Chip and purchased plaid bras (also once on my 'Bucket List'...I have low expectations, what can I say?) it is safe for me to die...I have pretty well accomplished the things I needed to get done...