Pragmatic and Loving It, More Things I Need to Do, and Aging (Crankily)

I don’t know why, but it seems I’ve been on the theme lately of history and real life (thanks, WildBill for pointing that out.)  I think most of us have a really good idea what our own personal utopia would and would not contain, (I know I would not pre-empt World’s Dumbest on TruTV in order to televise basketball games and the endless commentary on them, for starters)  but the practical application is that we have to live in the dystopia we find ourselves in. 

I wish I knew where to buy the Darth Vader condoms.  I would have an econo-box shipped to Steve-o, anonymously of course, as if he wouldn’t be able to figure out who was behind such a practical gift. 

I don’t condone pre-marital fornication, and in my ideal world Steve-o would save himself for marriage.  Reality is not my ideal world.  I try to maintain an open dialogue with my offspring, even when I don’t agree with him or condone what he does.  I have to love him regardless of what he does or how he screws up.  I would rather know the truth, and I would rather for him to feel safe to be honest with me. The worst thing I can do is to go into an apoplectic fit whenever he does something I don’t agree with so he feels motivated to hide things from me.  My mother still does that, (she is very Catholic, after all) and I’ve never felt comfortable sharing anything in regard to my love life with her for that reason- even back in the day when I did have juicy tidbits to share.  I still remember Mom’s epic tantrum when she found my evil sadistic sister’s birth control pills.  I was glad that firestorm was not pointed at me.  I knew to hide mine better than that- and to keep my escapades to myself.   Although I’m not a huge fan of situational ethics, I don’t want Steve-o fathering offspring he can’t afford to support.  If that means strongly recommending he use prophylactics when he fornicates, that’s what it means. Of course, if he were to slip up and surprise me with an unplanned grandchild, I would hope that he would trust me enough to know that I would help him do the right things to support that girl and that child in any way I could.

So far, so good.  I should go ahead and send out those condoms though, even though at the current moment he’s living in a sausage farm.  I should pay him that surprise visit to his apartment in Lima too, just to satisfy my own curiosity at how nasty any domicile with three young men living in it can be.  I’m visualizing something along the lines of the Delta House.  (Remember, from the movie Animal House?) I am sure Martha Stewart would not approve.

I know enough to understand that reality is dystopia.  If I had any say in how the world works, I would be six feet tall, 120# , look like Demi Moore, and Jerry would be transformed into a non-drinking, non-smoking doting husband with the body (and libido) of a scrumptious young boy toy.   Obviously, there are a lot of things in this world I have no control over.  How I deal with the fact that reality doesn’t always follow my rules is going to determine my effectiveness and my happiness in life.  I think Clint Eastwood said it in the movie Heartbreak Ridge: Improvise, adapt and overcome.

I improvise and adapt quite a LOT.  Overcoming, well, sometimes that’s a crap shoot.

Tonight I need to Nair my face and dye my hair again.  Tomorrow night it’s time to re-do the claws.  I have to do what I can with what I have, which is sort of a scary thought.  Reminds me of the days when I held that old Subaru together with duct tape, pop rivets and bumper stickers.

I still have some of the pink glitter polish.  That’s always fun.

The main reason why I even bother with acrylic nails (other than my natural nails are flimsy and don’t grow well) and funky nail polish is that longer nails sort of offset my big, meaty man-hands.  I’m proportioned like some sort of bizarre troll.  I’m all upper body and torso with really short arms and legs.  My feet are normal sized (7B, which these days is actually considered small) but my hands are behemoth, which makes no sense.  I usually can’t wear womens’ gloves, which is a source of frustration because I like nice leather driving gloves in the winter.  I found a pair that fit well a couple of years ago, and miraculously, I haven’t lost either one of that pair.  I will play hell replacing those, although I have to say I do like the Isotoner gloves Mom got me, even though they are not leather.  They do fit well. 

From the waist up (except for the shortness of my arms) I look like I should be 6′ tall.  From the waist down, I have very short legs.  God has a sense of humor.  All I have to do to see that is to look in the mirror- or try to find pants that are the correct length.  Petites are high-waters, and “Average” length pants scrape the ground.

Jerry had his happy fun bi-annual Dr. appointment today.  I wish I could have been a fly on the wall for that one.  He wanted me to make him a list of stuff to bring up to the Dr. so that he wouldn’t forget. I did, but it was a pretty tame list.   I should have sent my version of the list, but I would have to have written it in very small print and then hid his glasses.

Here’s my version of “Things to ask the Dr. Regarding Jerry’s Health”-

Which blood tests are you doing today and why? 

Please schedule a colonoscopy and prostate exam.  With Extreme Prejudice.

Is drinking a 12 pack of Natties 3-5 nights a week normal?

Does Jerry still have a liver? Or lungs?

Is there any medication that stops incessant bitching?  Dilaudid worked pretty good for this when he broke his ribs.  He slept good, and he was so quiet he didn’t bother me much at all.  That was Good Stuff.  I haven’t slept so good since.

Do you have any free samples of Viagra?  Can Jerry have a few of them?

I should have sent my list.  I did put “depression” on his list but I bet he won’t have the balls to be honest about it.  In all seriousness, Jerry is depressed, and he has been for so long he thinks being depressed is normal.  I used to think that too, but somehow I know better.  Again, it’s that difference between what my utopia would look like and the dystopia I live in.  Jerry hasn’t got the clue that he will never live in a perfect world and he is unwilling to adapt to the one he lives in.  Maybe Prozac would help.  I know it helps me. 

Then again, I have to admit I really enjoyed that week when he was on the Dilaudids.  It’s never been so quiet.

6 thoughts on “Pragmatic and Loving It, More Things I Need to Do, and Aging (Crankily)

  1. I think it’s a terrible mistake to not live/sleep with the person you’re going to marry. It has ruined many marriages and even lives. Sexual compatibility is critical. (I’ve been living unmarried with my partner for 12 years and have no wish to get married again.)

    I’ll never forget an older woman telling me her mother’s advice to her on her wedding day: “Sex is something you’re just going to have to put up with.” What a crappy deal. Yes there’s a lot of indiscriminate sex going on but if you’re planning on spending the rest of your life with one person, there’s important stuff you need to know.

    I think you’re funny and do enjoy your posts, but Jerry is hard to take and I don’t think babysitting a selfish person for the rest of your life is funny at all. You seem like a down-to-earth person so it’s hard to understand.

    I rarely get personal with other bloggers, but your posts are very open and personal. Just delete my comment if you want.

    • I do struggle with this issue, and you’re right, it’s not funny. I don’t have the answers, but step by step I have made it a point to seek autonomy where I can and find humor where I can. The reality for me is I can’t afford divorce (been there done that once before- and was financially devastated for years.) I would not have anywhere to live, and especially would not have anywhere for my dogs and cats to live. I work but I don’t earn enough money to afford rent unless it’s a one room apartment in the drive-by shooting districts that aren’t fit for man nor beast.

      It’s about survival. Admittedly other than having a very cranky 54 year old toddler as a roomie, it’s livable. Not ideal, but livable when the alternative is having to live in a roach infested unsafe hole. Jerry is a better roomie than crack heads, roaches and assorted thugs with guns.

      Perhaps it is the devil you know is better than the devil you don’t. I do appreciate your concern and yes, it is disturbing to me. But on the survival continuum living in a decent part of town in a relatively safe neighborhood where my dogs and cats can live in comfort trumps babysitting a very selfish drunk. That’s why I deal with it. It’s not ideal but better than the alternative.

      • Thanks for explaining and not getting defensive and yelling at me (unfortunate but common response to questions to bloggers).

        I do understand. I’m in a similar situation in a way, live with someone who has an auto-immune disease but can’t get a disability and spends way too much time playing video games. With bloody headphones on which makes him somewhat uncompanionable. I know he has his problems, but don’t we all. I sometimes think of that exact proverb about the devil you know.

        Someone told me once that if a group of people threw all their problems into a pile and you could choose someone else’s, you wouldn’t, you’d take back your own. True, huh?

        And yes there’s the “kids” to consider, always. Sometimes I think they keep me alive and functional because who would care for them? I couldn’t bear to be separated from them.

        That post you wrote about men, get over humiliating exams really hit home.
        http://findanoutlet.wordpress.com/2011/01/10/pat-down-vs-pap-smear/ Such babies!

        Good to talk to you.

      • Before I would get defensive with someone I have to look to see if there is truth in what he/she is saying. If there is, I need to confront that truth and deal with it rather than to “kill the messenger.”

        Jerry is difficult. He acts extremely stupid when he gets drunk. He is high maintenance. He does have ED and won’t do anything about it and that is a major source of aggravation for me. But believe it or not, he has good qualities. He loves animals and is good with them- and not too many people would be comfortable living with three large dogs, three cats, and two snakes. Granted, the snakes were his idea. I am not too enamored of his six-foot red-tailed boa (she is cranky and has an attitude) but I don’t mind the ball python. He (the python) is pretty easy to handle and deal with. When Jerry’s sober he’s OK to be around for the most part. His drinking and his behavior when he’s wasted does wear on my patience, but I’m sure I couldn’t be easy to live with either with all of my eccentricities.

        It’s all about the devil you know.

        Thanks again for stopping by.

  2. Jimmy is difficult. He is high maintenance. But he has good qualities, he loves animals—and I’m hard to live with. See it could be me writing this! Do you think women rationalize? I think a little of both—-part the honest truth, and part making allowances for those less-than-ideal souls we become attached to. You think?

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