Dawn's Rant of the Day

Why is it considered a compliment for someone to tell you you've lost a "ton" of weight? All that communicates is that, at some point in the past, the person weighed more than a ton. What's wrong with "wow, you're looking terrific"? Specifics are not at all necessary in compliments.

And on that note, one shouldn't assume because a person goes to the gym every day that they are trying to lose weight. What if they're exactly where they want to be and trying to maintain?

Here's my advice for a pat response to "you look like you're losing weight" - -

"Really?!!! I'd better go see my doctor then. Golly, I hope I don't have cancer".

Then just walk away.

Busting balls at Tipitina's

Dawn's man Sam was all hepped up to see the Mother Truckers at Tip's the night before Mardi Gras (Lundi Gras). The band was good but the music was much too loud and the room entirely too smoky so Dawn and I left Sam inside and tripped outdoors to hang out on the picnic tables to talk and catch up.

An inebriated frat boy type stumbled onto our area and drunkenly slurred a question. I could tell it was a question by the way his voice went up at the end but in no way could I translate his garbled request. Drunk boy repeated himself.

Oooohhh, you want tickets to the show?
Yes.
The show has already begun so you can get in free now. Just go to that door and walk in, I say.
He is so excited. Free?
Yep.
Which door?
That one.
He walks off in that drunk spaghetti leg fashion that we've all done at some point of our drunken careers.
"You know that's the backstage door, right?" Dawn asked.
"Shit yeah, I know. I just wanted to see if he'd do it", I answer.

Dawn smokes her cigarette and I drink my beer as we watch Drunk Boy open the backstage door only to get pushed back and yelled at by the bouncer. The bouncer points toward the ticket window and entry door and shuts the door.

Drunk Boy apparently doesn't have enough energy to walk toward the ticket window and returns to us.

"They wouldn't let me in. I think I had the wrong door," he slurs.
"Hell no, son! They don't know who you are. Go to that door. Act like you own the joint and walk in. If you act as if you know where you're going, they'll let you through," I instruct him.
"Sssssshure, I can't wait to sssshhhee THE MOTHER TRUCKERS!!! I LOVE THEM, MAN!"
"I don't know . . . ." heard from Dawn.
He's off.

This time, he rips the door open so hard, it bounces off the outside wall, hits him in the back and sends him flying smack dab into the already aggravated bouncer. Dawn and I are laughing so hard we're crying but we feel the need to muffle ourselves so we're not thought to be in cohoots with the rabblerouser.
The bouncer is pissed. The door opens and a blast of sound comes with it. We can't hear the bouncer's words but we see his index finger hitting Drunk Boy's chest many times as instructions are repeated to go to the ticket window.
Drunk Boy actually gets to the ticket window and pulls out his pockets to find not enough funds. He is dejected and of course, comes back to our picnic table.
"I lost some money. I had lots of cash earlier but I don't have it now. Damn! I really want to see the show."

In a moment of tenderness, Dawn asks where he is from.
Ohio/Iowa/Utah.
(I forget, one of those four letter states beginning with a vowel.)
Where are your friends?
I don't know.
Where are you staying?
At some guy's house.
Do you know where?
No.
You don't know the address?
No.
How will you get back there tonight?
I'll find it. I was real messed up last night and found it so tonight's no problem.

He walks off toward the entry door and is gone awhile. They must have let him in, how about that, I think only to see him coming back with a beer in his hand.

Drunk Boy tells us he ordered a beer at the bar but when they noticed his lack of a wristband, he's thrown out.

"I'm gonna go see that band", he avows as he stands up and looks toward the backstage door.
"I wouldn't . . ." Dawn attempts to warn.
He gives her the shut-up-arm wave and ambles toward the door and opens it.
The light and sound streaks out on the sidewalk and the bouncer is on him. The bouncer grips Drunk Boy's shirt but Drunk Boy is headed inside like a cow returning to the barn. With a couple heaves, the bouncer gets Drunk Boy outside and shouts toward the entry door for assistance. No one hears him over the din of the Mother Trucker's 18 minute guitar ride and Drunk Boy detaches himself from the bouncer hug. I'm laughing so hard, beer comes out my nose.

Guess where he heads?
You got it.
Towards us.
The bouncer now has the attention of the uniformed but off-patrol NOPD officer sitting at the front door.
"Get the hell out of here NOW!" we both tell Drunk Boy, "They're gonna take you in."
"They can't arressss' me. I didn't get to see the Mother Truckerssssss!"
The bouncer sees Drunk Boy and points the cop toward us. Here comes the fuzz.
"Go!" we hiss with clenched teeth.
All the sudden, Drunk Boy catches a snap and bolts down Napoleon Avenue like a sprint runner. A cab passes him, brakes and we hear a car door open and slam. Drunk Boy escaped!
New Orleans Finest approaches and asks, "He's gone?"
We shrug. Seems so.

Drunk Boy, wherever you are, we hope you made it back to whatever vowel letter state you're from. We hope you had a good time in New Orleans and a fun Mardi Gras. We wondered if you were the tourist that woke up in an ice-filled bathtub, without a kidney. We want you to know your antics still make us laugh when Dawn and I get together. That was some Funny Ass Shit.

Fats Domino and memories of New Orleans

Just watched Fats Domino: Walkin' Back to New Orleans documentary (2007) on PBS and loved seeing his history and post-Katrina performance at Tipitina's. Guess who was in the documentary? My buddy Allen Toussaint! The documentary induced a few New Orleans memories.
Back when I was working in chilly Gentilly, in the early 1990's, a co-worker mentioned passing by Fats Domino's neighborhood at lunchtime. He told me where to find it and I planned to surprise my mom and aunt with a scenic tour during their upcoming weekend visit.

We left for the day's activities and I drove Mom's car. Getting deeper and deeper in the Ninth Ward, I finally had to reveal where we were headed. Aunt Jan was excited and pulled out her brand new fancy schmancy camera. --photo, post-Katrina

Of course, three white ladies in a shiny brand new Lexus attracted a bit of attention in the 'hood so when Aunt Jan requested another drive down the street for a better photo, I was a bit nervous.
When I turned the car around, the milling characters in the street took notice. Aunt Jan rolled down her window and pointed the camera towards Fats Domino's childhood home when a voice asked, "You ladies need some help with that camera?" Yikes! Fats Domino's music is in the soundtrack of my childhood but photo or not, we scrammed.

-check back tomorrow for page 2 of music and NOLA-

Mardi Gras games

Dawn and I watched many a New Orleans Carnival parade and almost always while drinking. Most high school marching bands are local and, as you can imagine, the marching groups feature many a plus sized dancer, cheerleader, flag girl, what have you. One year, in our boozy bleary eyed self-amusement, we pointed out an exceptionally small framed dancer. Dawn yelled out, in a voice like you would use in a pet store when you spotted the cutest puppy in the world, "Look at the itty bitty one!" Thus began our favorite game to find the smallest member of each marching band. We haven't shared the game with others. Why, I dunno. Maybe it is only fun while tipsy. If you want to give it a try, remember to always say it loud and proud but in the cutesy puppy voice.

Jackin' with celebrities is another amusing Carnival pastime. Big mega krewes hire celebrities to ride in their parades. It is part of the crowd's experience to note if the celeb seems to be having fun and enjoying the Carnival experience. The more fun they seem to have, the more validation the crowd feels. Here are some celeb moments I remember.
Billy Crystal looked positively terrified for his life.
John Goodman was drunk drunk drunk. I shot him with my super powerful water gun disguised as a soda can. Bam, right in the face. He looked like a Stooge in the steady stream. He wiped his face and then grabbed his nearest buddy and pointed in the direction of the incoming water. His buddy leaned over to see what was happening. TAG! Steady hands and battery operated water stream in his friend's face. His friend Timothy Hutton. Two fer!!!!
Glenn Close seemed to enjoy her ride. Folks were screaming "Glenn Glenn Glenn!". We aimed our cameras but she was waving to the opposite side of the street. My friend John waited until the crowd took a breath and then yelled clearly, "Glenn, I will not be ignored!" Glenn snapped her head back to our side, zoomed in on John and laughed her ass off. Good times.
Camryn Manheim held a fistful of pearls, taunting the crowd. They screamed in bead starved delirium. Next, she held a the strands and ran her tongue over the pearls. A collective "ewwww" could be heard . . . then nervous laughter. The crowd seemed embarrassed that we all thought and said the same thing.
That Steve Guttenberg Police Academy dude liked our super duper water gun. He opened his mouth and received the flying fluids like a pro. The crowd laughed.

Val Kilmer. Oh Fuh Gawd. He was messed up. The parade slowed and Mr. Cool just sat in his spinning tea cup chair and and smiled. We screamed "Valerie Valerie Valerie!" and to our amazement, he laughed and waved. Movement ~~ he's alive! The krewe handlers handed him a wrapped po' boy and he scarfed into it while we watched. It was kinda like watching animals eating at the zoo. Interesting but not all together pleasant. All the sudden, Valerie decided to stand. He listed. He swayed. The crowd oohed and aahed as if they were watching the Flying Wallendas. He made his way to the hidden can under the float. We couldn't see him but geez Louise, everyone knew where he was. I mean, what must it be like to go to the bathroom with a whole crowd just feet away? He took so long that the crowd started chanting his name. The float started rolling as he tumbled out. Good times, good times.

Smart ass cop

A couple years ago, Dawn and I were sitting on a 8 foot high wall overlooking St. Charles Avenue, drinking gin and juice and watching folks walk by after a Mardi Gras parade. Dawn was proudly taking credit for knowing that the young actor that portrayed Harry Potter (Daniel Radcliffe) was gonna be hot when he got older and I was raggin' her for having a thing for young bucks.

We drank more and laughed more and eventually two of New Orleans Finest walked by. I waved them over. Dawn hissed at me and told me to can it.
"Naw, they don't mind answering questions, do you, Ociffer?'
"What seems to be the problem here, ladies?"
"No problem, Ociffer, I just wondered if you would be able to tell me and my friend Dawn what the legal age of consent is here in Louisiana."
The uniformed policeman looked at me for a minute and just when I thought he'd forgotten the question, he said "Forty-two or so" and walked away.
Dawn laughed so hard she almost fell off the wall.
I yelled "You're a smart ass! A wisenheimer, I tell ya!"
He lifted his arm and waved without even turning around.

Turn that frown upside down

I am SO not a sunshiny always happy girl so I really like learning how others cope with minor annoyances and pet peeves.
Louise is a bit of a Luddite and the last person to NOT own a cellphone. She stood in line at the DMV for an hour listening to a guy talking loudly on his cell. Frustrated, she opened her magazine, matched his volume level and began to read aloud. He stopped his call and asked her, "Do you mind?" She said no, I've listened to you for an hour so I thought it was my turn. He returned to his call. She again began the oral story time. He said, "Look, I'll call you back. I can't hear you because some crazy lady is reading out loud. I know, right? Rude." He glared her. She smiled and put away her magazine.
My gal pal Dawn told me the story about her first week working at a very starchy bank where she would greet co-workers entering the elevator. And she was so amazed and taken aback when they wouldn't acknowledge her. I said, "Fuck 'em! What's their deal?" But Dawn has a bit more tenacity. The second day she went forward with the assumption that they didn't hear her the first time and greeted them with a little more volume. Third day, a little louder. Fourth day, the second the elevator doors opened, they greeted HER before she could open her mouth. And she just laughed inside.
It made me a better person to hear that story. Instead of instantly getting mad and writing off someone as rude or inconsiderate, I give them a second (and maybe third) chance for a first impression. A chick in my volunteer organization always seem to shun me. After the third time, I asked her, "Hey, what's the story? Every time I wave at you, you ignore me." She told me that even with eye contacts, she cannot see more than 2 feet away and is constantly trying to pick up the wrong children at the school pick up car lane. Without Dawn's lesson, I would have just chalked her up as a bitch.
Now, if they still aggravate me, I am most definitely gonna jack with them. Like this,
Jennifer Worick of Things I Want to Punch in the Face ranted about those too numerous little subscription cards that fall out of every magazine. I didn't even know there was a name for them: blow-in cards. Here is MY suggested way to cope:

I write the most awful, horrible jokes on them. Jokes I would NEVER say aloud. Then I mail them, all the while laughing that the publisher just paid for the postage and one of their employees will be scarred for life or at least the afternoon. I figure eventually a lawsuit will happen and the employees will get special pay for having to read hateful bile. It's a win/lose/win.

Here's hoping you take that peeve and turn into a perk.
Have a great weekend!

Driving (Great) Aunt Fay

After Dawn watched last week's Mad Men episode where young Sally Draper drives Grandpa Gene's Lincoln at his urging, Dawn sent me an e-mail note.

"Remind me of that story when your dad made you drive."

Well, it wasn't my dad, it was my great aunt Fay. She made me call her GREAT Aunt Fay with an emphasis on the great. And she was great.

Anywho, she and I were driving to north Louisiana to pick up her daughter at college. I loved those trips because Great Aunt Fay treated me like an adult and seemed to enjoy my company. Plus campus trips were a treat to a small town girl. A 10 or 11 year old girl like me.

It was a 4 hour drive and at some point Great Aunt Fay said she was sleepy and pulled over on the side of the road. She got out of the car, walked over to the passenger side, opened my door and instructed me to trade seats. I thought she was going to take a quick nap and wanted to be more comfortable.

I walked around and sat in the driver seat. The car is still idling.

"You know how to drive?"

No.

"It's easy. This is a straight road. Just drive straight."

I thought she was pulling my leg. GREAT Aunt Fay was also a GREAT prankster.

"See this number right here? The 50? Don't go past that. If someone gets behind you, slow down so they can pass."

She pointed to the seat adjustment lever and I pushed the seat as close as possible. She reached over and pulled the transmission shifter to DRIVE.

We travel about a mile down the two lane highway. "You're a good driver. It's easy, isn't it?"

I am too petrified to speak. The steering wheel seems ungainly in my hands. I don't know how to smoothly move it side to side like experienced drivers do naturally so I perform my best version of how I've seen mom and dad steer.

We move down the road with no more conversation and when I finally get the courage to look over at her, GREAT AUNT FAY IS ASLEEP!

Holy guacamole! Now I know there are only 2 eyes on the road so I remain vigilant and don't look away again. No messing with the radio, no awareness of hot or cold or air vents - just drive.

After awhile, I relaxed my death grip on the wheel and actually enjoyed the drive.

What seemed like hours, GREAT Aunt Fay opened her eyes and declared she had a great nap and asked where we were.

No clue.

"Pull over and stop and I'll drive."

Able to speak again, I asked "How do I pull over?"

Funny people

Mom and I decided a long time ago that we both go for "funny people." If you keep us amused, we'll hang around. My bestest friend Chrysanthemum says mean stuff all the time but dang, she is some funny. And when I told Dawn that I couldn't marry a guy without a sense of humor, she corrected me and declared that I should marry a guy that thinks I am amusing. No, she wasn't complimenting me, she was saying that life is too short to be with someone who thinks they are funny.
Anywho, today I am reading old blog entries on Misadventures in Maturity site and chuckling over the antics of house sitters.
Last night, I read a chapter in PJ O'Rourke's book Driving Like Crazy: Thirty Years of Vehicular Hell-bending, Celebrating America the Way It's Supposed To Be -- With an Oil Well in Every Backyard, a Cadillac ... of the Federal Reserve Mowing Our Lawn where PJ mentions a friend with cancer, down to 90 pounds and walking on 2 canes. The friend has taken to wearing a XXL t-shirt emblazoned with "I Am A Vegetarian" -- just for kicks.

Funny shit I've seen/heard lately:

• Rescue Me episode "Carrot" - Sean has a new medical problem.
• Dawn said she needed a new pedicure and thought her "cocaine toenail" was due for a trim.
• Tropic Thunder movie - Robert Downey Jr's character Kirk Lazarus says to annoying platoon mate "What? You been talkin' to me this whole time?" It isn't that funny out of context but Dawn and I decided immediately that we are gonna start saying this to every one that bores us with blather.
• Chrysanthemum's doctor and insurance company requires photos of her chest before approving a breast reduction. We laughed and laughed when we imagined their reaction if she went in the waiting room with Mardi Gras pearl necklaces and drink cups and then pretended she was on "Girls Gone Wild".

New baby mediations

My married friends are expecting a child and Eileen wonders if we can continue to be friends since I have been quite vocal in my dislike of children. Kay also. And Dawn too. But we like Eileen and Ernest enough to consider that concessions should be made by both the breeder and childless-by-choice folks. We feel these considerations should be discussed now before feelings are hurt later.

Here is our preliminary* trade-off list:

We promise to give ample notice of outings so you can get a sitter. In other words, get a sitter. Kids are a buzz kill at parties and dinner.

We won't tell stories about getting drunk and where we wake up if you don't tell baby stories. Save those for your breeder friends.

We won't share gross stuff about our own bodies if you zip it on the gross baby stuff.

If you don't contribute toward our rent or mortgages, don't expect us to fund your baby needs. Breeding is no reason for a handout of expensive gifts.

Don't bitch about the cost of in vitro. Birth control pills cost even less but often aren't covered under insurance.

Our houses are not baby-proofed nor you should not expect them to be. Watch your children and teach them some boundaries! We will, however, put away the crack pipe and razors if you visit.

Decide ahead of time which spouse will carry the screaming brat out of the room. We don't want to witness an awkward argument but we will discuss it afterwards.

Really, it all boils down to: know your audience. Your mom wants to hear every doggone thing about Baby Precious. Us? Not so much.

*List to be amended under the comment section. Add yours, please.

Redneck Pranksters, my favorite kind

Remember a few months back when all the network news programs were airing YouTube clips of kids performing the fire in the hole prank? One part of me felt sorry for those poor minimum wage folks that received a shower of biggie drink full of cola but the other part of me kinda snickered at the prank.
I just remembered about the redneck version of this prank:
--------
Pig-tossing is the newest trend among redneck pranksters.
West Point, Mississippi has been seeing a rash of animal-tossing episodes, the Associated Press reports.
The most recent episode was the toss of a 60-pound pig over the counter of the Holiday Inn Express by Kevin Pugh, 20. No one was hurt, including the pig.
Pugh was fined $279, and given some very strange looks by police, who find the trend very bizarre.
"This was the silliest thing I've ever seen," McCaskill said. "Almost every officer we had was involved because the incidents kept happening at different hours."
McCaskill said there have been four late-night incidents involving animal-tossing at West Point businesses. Twice a pig was tossed; two of the incidents involved possums.
"He [Pugh] said it was a prank," McCaskill said. "It must be some redneck thing, because I haven't ever heard of anything like it."
All four of the incidents took place between 2 a.m. and 4 a.m., according to McCaskill.
Pugh is accused in another animal-throwing incident at a Hardee's restaurant.
---------
My friend Dawn thinks they got this idea from the "Squeal of Fortune" episode on Sesame Street. Guy Smiley is the host and the "Count" is his Vanna White type assistant. They put a pig prostrate on the wheel and spin it really hard to see how many times it squeals before the wheel stops. The "Count" keeps tally by saying "ONE.....ONE SQUEAL, TWO.....TWO SQUEALS....ETC..." They never actually show the pig barfing but it appears that it is definitely woozy. It's awesome and makes me laugh.

That's some pig.

Would you have liked Al Gore in high school?

My friend Dawn introduced me to her own version of a bar game. She would speak with someone for a few minutes then lean over to inform me just exactly what this person was like in high school. That and a few beers was quite entertaining.
Anywho, found this old e-mail from 2000 in my file yesterday and it still makes me laugh.

------------------------ from me to Dawn--------------------------
Hello Dawn,
I now subscribe to Dawn theory of "High School Image Reflecting on Today" school of thought. After watching a Presidential debate this week, I wanna play the game.

• So tell me, do you agree that Al Gore was a teacher's ass kissing pansy boy
• that hung around with your crowd all the time, occasionally shooting off his mouth?
• And it would be required to kick his ass on a regular basis just to make him bearable?
• And the home room teacher thought he was "such a nice boy"?
• And the only reason you LET him hang around was because he had a car or a swimming pool?

I am interested in your test of the Theory.

Skitzo Leezra

---------------------Dawn answers-------------------------

• Ass kissin' cocky smart guy
• with his nose in the air,
• on the debate team
• was the lead in the school plays,
• sang in the choir who had a group of nerdy girls that thought he was THE SHIT, who he would only abuse
• only hung out with teachers because he felt that the teachers understood him
• felt none of his classmates could communicate on his level
• other than that herd of nerdy groupies, he had no male friends
• none of the rest of his classmates knew he was alive
• in his mind, he was the most popular, well-loved kid in school

I can totally see the car/pool angle but I'm guessing that he would think he was too good to associate with a pack of immature teengagers who he'd eventually show his superiority to by becoming President.

Either way, he needed an ass-kicking!!

Sincerely,

Dawn

Let the in-law angst begin!

Dawn sent me this e-mail of venting:

I need to vent about my mother-in-law if you care to listen. I'm just friggin amazed at these people! I think I'd already told you about my wonderful husband Andrew driving all the way to North Carolina to pick up his mother who'd changed her mind and decided she didn't want to come, right? So he ended up driving back home alone. Well, she's here now because Andrew's rich and important brother-in-law drove up to get her in his big, fancy car which his mother apparently found suitable enough for her Highness. Two days later, Andrea (Andrew's rich and important sister) phones Andrew and tells him that he needs to drive their mom back home after the holidays. I told Andrew if he did drive her home, I would divorce him. What kind of jerk picks someone up and doesn't figure out how they are getting them home before they do it???? SO, The Byatch is here and she went to lunch with Andrew and Andrea, his dog-loving sister. I couldn't go because I committed to attend a Christmas party that day and wasn't cancelling. Plus, I don't like his mother or his dog-loving sister. Both of whom are downers. Andrew told me later that his mom said that I am "all about money" and "unappreciative because everything she's ever given me I've returned". I have no idea where these ideas came from. Was it the 13 years of living in a home without heat? The 10 year old squeaky truck, or the Wal-Mart clothes????? This being stated while the woman is dripping in diamonds and gold. Plus, I've never returned not one of her presents and have written her thank you cards every year lying about how much I loved whatever crappy dime store junk she bought me! She also said at the end of lunch, "Please thank Dawn for taking the time out of her busy schedule to come see me" (I'm picturing it being said in sort of a Queen Elizabeth fashion). The dog lover Andrea chimes in that she's not getting Andrew anything for Christmas because last year she gave us a movie gift card and we never used it. I'm almost positive that I did use it but if I didn't, I'm wondering if she's psycho enough to have periodically checked the balance on it. Either way, she's a whack job! OH, and his mother made a comment about how disappointed she was that neither Andrew nor the other brother Anton had a suitable home for her to stay in when she's in town. Understandably, that was a dig on Andrew's 10-year "renovation" but Anton's house was literally blown away in the hurricane! I'm not lying, down to the SLAB! What an insensitive cow! Plus, what she doesn't know is that no matter how suitable our home is, there will never be enough room in it for her to stay!
Whew, that felt good to get off my chest. Thanks for listening. Anyway, that's pretty much all the Christmas drama. Any with you?
-----------------------------------------------------------
My counsel to her:

Gee D,

No drama here. Guess it is the lack of in-laws.

I am just in awe that this woman drops all this crap and no one seems to call her on it. Did Andrew tell you these things in the attitude of "get a load of what my crazy mom said"? Or was he looking to you to say "yes, it is okay for you to drive her home"?

She is a bully. She gets away with it because no one bucks her.

Give me her phone number. I am ready to perform a boxing of the ears, via phone lines.

Will you see her while she is in town? Here are some phrases to practice:

* Why do you ask?
* What an interesting thing to say.
* Do you really feel that way?
* Wow, do you realize how that sounds?
* Oh, you are SO funny! (when she says something completely untrue)
* Are you being so sarcastic? You were serious? Wow.
* Mother Theresa - you ain't.
* You know we can hear you, right?
* Better hope I am not the one that selects your nursing home, you miserable crone. (say this in a whisper)
* Start the discussion about how no matter how much plastic surgery a lady gets, her hands always give her away. Mention that even if a woman's face looks like Heather Locklear, you know she is old if she has crow hands. Then sit there while she surreptitiously looks at her own hands. Then giggle. Let her catch your giggling. Then give her the stink eye.
* Bring up the nursing home comment again.
* Repeat the stink eye.

Hoping that I have been an assistance to you,
The very single,
and very happy,
but ready to go ape shit on your mother-in-law,
SkitzoLeezra

Transcript of DIPP meeting (Drooling Idiot Prevention Plan)

Discussion begun by SkitzoLeezra:
Hello All,
I have not much of a rant today but more of an observation. God has LET me believe that I don't desire children. I think it is part of his plan to keep me from harming "our future".
(Thanks to Kay for "Raising Children is like being Pecked to Death by Chickens" refrigerator magnet!)
They should rename Target the "Store of Screaming Brats". Last night, every doggone aisle had screaming, whining and loud talking children. I couldn't escape them and am one step from crazy lady status because I caught myself murmuring "shut UP, shut up".
Then this morning I walked right into a closed door. Sprang out of bed with the clock alarm blaring and bounced off the door. Thank goodness I didn't break my nose but I bet that was a funny sight.
Which brings me to this, I need to make a pact with a couple of you. Need to find a partner to make sure that I off myself before I become a drooling idiot. I will start stockpiling medication and pills if you assure me that you'll help me make sure that I ingest them before I get too senile to remember.
My seamstress lady told me that you know you are getting old and losing it when you put unrefrigerated items in the refrigerator. Ruh ro. I did that. Recently. THEN yesterday I hear that Alzheimer's may begin DECADES before obvious symptoms appear.
It is matter of months before the cat ends up in the 'frig.
Childless, by intelligent design,
I am,
SkitzoLeezra
---------------
The floor recognizes Miss diephenna:
RESOLVED: Since the women in my family kill their men young and live to a ripe old bitter age, imposing on remaining family, and
RESOLVED: since I, too, am childless by well-considered choice and
RESOLVED: consequently will have no family on which to impose when I hit my 90's (with another decade or two to go until the Final Reward),
THEREFORE I'm totally in on that Drooling Idiot Prevention Plan (that would be DIPP).

Hey, if we can gather up enough folks who are game, we could throw a party with Jim Jones Kool-Aid and make an afternoon of it! Medicated Jell-o shots, anyone?
Can someone shout, "Amen"? (amens heard)
Did you know that mad cow disease (or KJD, whatever the human version is) can masquerade as Alzheimer's? Maybe, Leezra, you're feeling decrepit because all that bone meal you've been gardening with has given you mad cow disease. Pwwwaaaaa haaaaaa aaaaaaa. (Laughing at the idea of you gardening with bone meal; NOT the idea of you with mad cow disease, and certainly NOT the idea of a cat in the refrigerator, which would be a very very bad thing.) But come to think of it, mad cow disease WOULD explain the bumping-into-doors thing.
Miss d, who stands to live, unwillingly and incompetently, into triple digits

Discussion continues with Kay's time at the podium:
I'm keepin' it simple since you bitches articulate on a much higher level than me. See? . . . I don't even think that makes since!

1. I'm in for digesting any kind of pharmaceuticals to avoid DIPP.

2. Personally, I want to "free" myself way before 90 . . . my cue will be when I start getting over-ripe tomato peel skin. You know . . . the kind that bruises way too easy.

And Leezra - I see nothin' wrong with keeping your pussy cold.

With a show of hands, Dawn concurs with the recommendation:
I can't agree more with the DIPP plan, I'm SO IN!!!
A guy in my band works for a cyanide plant (not sure if I'm making that up but I remember asking him if he could get me some for my future). He looked at me confused and told me all I needed was a .38. I thought he was being insensitive. The last thing I need is a clumsy spasm that leaves me alive and faceless. Nah, I want to do it right.
Will begin the garage sale hunt for the perfect DIPP jar. I think I should start soon because, like Leezra I'm showing early signs of senility.
Have any of you seen (Grey Gardens) that documentary about Jackie O's crazy aunts? You've GOT to get it. It proves that you can be crazy with other crazy people and live in harmony. Leezra, get your sofa bed ready!

Skitzo Leezra clarifies the proposed DIPP plan:
Ya know how old ladies collect loose buttons in a jar? Well, us bitches need to start a DIPP med jar.
LOVIN' the idea of us slurpin' up some Guyana juice Jell-O shots. What a way to go.
I'm gonna leave my goodbye message etched on the lawn, spelled out with gasoline.
Crepe-y eyes,
not yet watery,
I am,
SkitzoLeezra

Miss diephenna assigns tasks:
Hey, let's start an agenda:
Step One: Dawn scours garage sales for DIPP jar.
Step Two: Everyone saves appropriate medications for DIPP jar.
Step Three: Set DIPP JellO date. (We can delegate specific JellO tasks as the date nears.)
Step Four: Stop by gas station for lawn message
Step Five: Suck down the shots and TGIO ("O" = Over)

Lynn provides seal of approval:
Leezra, I will happily be there with you in our twilight years, wearing a gorgeous satin bed jacket and sipping sherry. Who cares if we are drooling....we will be free of dependents.