cigarettes

You’re Probably Doing it Wrong, Screw-Up #432 and “March Madness” is Driving Me Apeshit

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‘sdoing it wrong

“Isn’t that cuuuute? BUT IT’S WRONG!!!”

It’s good that I had the foresight to DVR some old 2 Stupid Dogs episodes.  It would have been better, if I could hear the cartoons and Top Gear episodes over the man-yelpings in the next room.  I know Jerry gambles on just about anything anyone is goofy enough to organize a pool on, and he really gets into that brackets noise.  He is also a big Ohio State fan, so I’ve been having to endure both the football season and basketball season.

I am so glad he has his own TV.

In a twisted way it’s almost nice that Jerry’s so occupied with basketball.  It gives him less time to complain about other things, and that’s almost a relief.  It does not,  however, keep him from his incessant whining over food.

If I fix something nice and homemade such as chicken-n-noodles:

chicken-n-noodles

I even make my own noodles- flour, eggs and a lot of rolling and cutting-

Then Cap’n Happy will decide he wants something salty and processed such as:

06-totinos-pizza-rolls

Admittedly, they’re tasty, but I’m sure there’s not much nutrition going on here.

The only reason why I have even a passing interest in eating for health is because I’ve pretty much been forced into it.  There was a time in my life when the “four food groups” consisted of caffeine, nicotine, sugar and grease, remembering always that alcohol is a sugar.  That worked for me for awhile- until my health crashed in my late 20’s-early 30’s- and I had to pay attention or else.  I really don’t care what other people eat, and I really have no desire to impose my dietary preferences / restrictions on anyone else, but generally it means I get to fix two meals- mine, and whatever junk food du jour that Jerry wants.

I still miss looking at a créme horn as a mid-morning snack and/or lunch substitute sometimes.  I remember days where my eating schedule would look like this:

6 AM: Black coffee, brewed to espresso strength, 32 oz tumbler to get started, another 32 oz to last the rest of the day.

11 AM: Créme horn scored from sales department’s leftover donuts, coffee, coffee, coffee

6 PM: Quarter Pounder with cheese, large fries, coffee

6:30-9:30 PM: Wine coolers and/or Bailey’s & coffee, or Kahlua and coffee

Of course, other days would look even more bizarre, like the two months somewhere in the mid-90s that I lived on nothing but Slim-Fast and coffee.  My abysmal nutritional habits in those days were supplemented by packs and packs of 120 menthol cigarettes.

gross ashtray

Nasty, I know.

So I am the last one on the planet who should be lecturing anyone on health and fitness, except maybe to serve as a warning.

I’ve always been the one to find the exception to prove the rule.  I’ve always found the movie Grumpy Old Men to be hilarious.  Burgess Meredith played the senior John Gustafson.  (See the classic bacon and beer tirade video.) His character reminds me of Jerry- cranky, fussy and of course, enamored of bacon and beer.  These are the guys who live to be 120, like the Russians who swill vodka and toke cigars their whole lives.

burgess meredith

I can’t help to think this will be Jerry in thirty years- drinking up my life insurance.

Maybe when I die and he gets all that cash (if he doesn’t blow it all on Natties and gambling) he might be able to afford real beer, like maybe Bud Lite.

Someone like me, well, I can watch everything I eat, work out 3-5 times a week, and will likely be taking the Dirt Nap by age 60 no matter what I do.   It must be my lovely type-A personality. I’d also speculate that my piss-poor draw in the genetic lottery didn’t help much either.

ohio_state basketball

I’m glad they’re winning, if for no other reason than it makes Jerry happy.  But why does a 1 hour game merit a week’s worth of commentary?

And why can’t they use the Oprah channel for all these damned games instead of TruTV? Or some other channel I don’t watch…like one of the 400 ESPNs?  I understand that there’s not much good on TV right now because all the jocks and wanna be jocks, and people who will bet on anything are watching basketball, but come on!  There is a niche out there called the Non Sports Fan.  It’s OK to pander to that niche, alright?

But just as I thought of my Non Sports Fan category of TV viewer, I thought of something non-sports that I loathe even more than 24-7 sports.  I absolutely can’t tolerate “Chick TV”: i.e. soap opera type fictional shows that do not involve either gratuitous sex or things catching on fire, anything involving non-talented schmucks trying to perform glorified karaoke, anything fictional and designed to make one cry, and worst of all, “improvement” type shows where some jackwagon from either coast tries to tell me how to dress and/or do interior design.

what-not-to-wear

Green shirt and green tie? That blecchy green?  And you’re going to tell me how to dress?

I have the 3 “c” rule: is it comfortable, cheap (as in inexpensive) and does it afford good coverage?

So what kind of programming is left for me?

–Top Gear.  But only the BBC one.  The one with Jeremy Clarkson.

–World’s Dumbest

-Anything on Investigation Discovery

-Most of the programming on The Military Channel, The History Channel and The Military History Channel.

-Some programming on Comedy Central, i.e. Tosh.0, and South Park

-Most of the programming on Boomerang and Cartoon Network except for Pokèmon and some of that other bizzaro anime stuff.

-Most of Adult Swim, except Family Guy.  I just can’t get into that show.

–1000 Ways to Die

If I didn’t pay the big bucks for cable, I would really be going nuts by now.

Better Living Through Technology and Chemistry, and Disturbing Thoughts

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marlboromancomparisonNo one is more anti-smoking than an ex-smoker.

Even though back in the day I smoked the cowboy killers, (yes, I chain smoked the cowboy killers) today I find few of other people’s habits more annoying.  The exception to that would be Jerry’s uncanny ability to spot either puke or shit combined with his complete unwillingness to actually clean up said puke, shit or other noxious mess.

On one hand, since cigarettes are legal and the government makes money on them, people should be allowed to smoke up- anywhere and everywhere- should they so desire.  On the other, I am not a fan of having my airspace polluted by some jackwagon’s cig smoke.

electronic-cigarette_vs_regular-cigaretteI know it’s too complicated for Jerry.  But there may be hope for others.

The above illustration doesn’t mention the damned cellophanes, but then again most smokers don’t just toss the foil and cellophane on the floor to clog up the vacuum cleaner, either.  No matter how you scour the floor for cellophanes, there’s at least one that avoids detection and ends up clogging the vacuum cleaner, which begs one question and one statement.

1.  What’s the bloody point of having a vacuum cleaner if you have to pick up half the shit on the floor before you vacuum so it doesn’t clog the machine?

2. Jerry was raised by wolves, which is why there is unauthorized detritus on the floor that shouldn’t be there to begin with.  I should be grateful he knows how to wipe his ass.

hizzy

I think some of the really weird Victorian artwork actually is drug-inspired. I mean, this dude was even impaired in his fashion choices.  Elton John wouldn’t even wear this ensemble.  When alcohol, opium and God only knows what else were readily available in just about every patent medicine in existence, I’m sure there were plenty of guys who wore bad clothes and thought they were riding around on (stoned) giant white pigeons.

postmortem guess whos deadI’m thinking duct tape would have kept this poor dead kid’s head up for the pic.

I’m assuming the little girl in the very front of this pic is dead by the vacuous stare and the way her head is flopped over.  However, her mother is hanging on to her hair in a manner that would make an old-time Catholic mother proud.  The expression on the mother’s face seems to be one of those “You will sit still dammit,” expressions rather than a mournful pose.  Perhaps the two boys in the background were getting on her nerves, or maybe she was peeved because the dead one kept on flopping over.  Maybe she grabbed the dead kid by the hair just to keep her steady in one place.

I have to wonder how many child deaths buried in the overwhelmingly high infant mortality rate of the Victorian era were actually inflicted by the mothers?

It would be easy enough to cover up one’s crime.  Lots of kids died, and died suddenly from everything from typhoid to a good old fashioned case of the runs.  An autopsy of that time – should anyone insist one be conducted- probably wouldn’t reveal poisoning or suffocation.

arsenicJust put it in their drink.

emetic:

adjective

1.causing vomiting, as a medicinal substance.

noun
2.an emetic medicine or agent.

I can think of a lot of things that have emetic qualities:
OBAMA EGYPTObama.  Just thinking about him and his illegal squatting in the White House makes me want to puke.
plumber buttExposed hairy butt cracks.  Wrong on many levels, and tacky on either male or female.
throw_upI don’t throw up easily, which in this world is probably a good thing.

Everyone Has a Purpose, Apparently Mine Involves Graciously Accepting Others’ Shit

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Suffice to say I’m not in a terribly great mood today.  The pragmatic side of me says that Jerry was a bit overdue for a drunk-n-stupid episode- it’s been almost a week- so I should be happy with conveniently being out of town and missing the Monday Night drunk-n-stupid.  The only problem with that was I got the Wednesday Night make-up round complete with two of the three elements I hate about the drunk-n-stupids.  One, he started in about money, blissfully ignorant of how much I just plain pay out for his skank ass, and also blissfully ignorant that when you sell crap on E-Bay you have to pay a fee on it, and you have to pay to ship it.  Explaining anything involving money or expenses to him when he’s trashed is like nailing Jell-o to a tree.  I should have just nodded my head and agreed with him- because when he’s shitfaced (even more than when he’s sober) he thinks any crazy shit that pops up in his head is Gospel truth, but I was stupid and decided to set him straight on a few things.  Mistake.   

So I got the oat opera torture until midnight and an attempt at drunken groping that was not only futile but just plain disgusting.  The problem is the only time he even gets horny is when he’s shitfaced, and the only thing he can do about it is slobber all over me and wave his nasty cigarettes around and spill beer all over everything.  Blecch.  My standards admittedly are low, but that’s just plain nasty.  There are a few things that can put an old cougar off doing the wild thing with the quickness:

Cigarettes.  Even back in the day when I smoked, I had the common courtesy to wait until AFTER the deed was done to light up.  Now that I haven’t smoked for years, just smelling cig smoke is enough to make me gag- without waving the damn thing in my face, ashing all over the place, and getting way too close to putting burn holes in my sheets and my skin.

Few people are more passionate about their hatred of smoking than ex-smokers.  Believe it.

Being shitfaced.  Natty Lite is not good for the breath.  Especially when you’re belching up used Natties in my face.  Waving the half-full beer can around in my bed, and possibly even spilling some of that embalming fluid swill in my bed sheets while doing so, does not earn any points for charm either.  Go back to your own hole and be shitfaced by yourself.

If you drink your dinner, do the world a favor- sleep alone.

Country music.  Country music has to be the #1 anaphrodisiac for me, save for extreme body odor.  Being that I am nothing to look at, and am proportioned like a mutant troll I can’t be terribly picky.  But start playing that awful song about saving a horse and riding a cowboy and you might as well understand that you’re not getting any action from me until you turn that torture off. 

I may be poor and white and mostly self-educated, but my family tree does actually fork.

Needless to say, even though he hasn’t had a woody since Bill Clinton was president (and probably never will again), last night was not the time to try to resurrect the dead.  It was certainly not a good time to start in pawing and slobbering on me.

Normally his drunk-n-stupids are just part of life, but last night’s really got on my nerves.  Dad is in the intensive care up north awaiting bypass surgery on Monday.  I spent most of the day Tuesday with Mom while the Dr.s were trying to figure out what was going on with him and what to do.   Now that they know what’s going on and what they’re going to do, they’re pretty much just watching him and trying to get his sugar and sinus infection under control before then. I decided he can watch History Channel just fine in the meanwhile without me sitting around up there not getting anything done except exposing myself to exotic germs and various funky assed diseases- whilst sticking to the god-awful uncomfortable vinyl hospital chair. 

Even so, I’m worn out and freaking out at the prospects of Dad having to have open heart surgery and all that, so I don’t need a ditzy assed drunk keeping me awake and being an obnoxious little titty baby.  Granted, I know that Jerry is both a ditzy assed drunk and a titty baby- he is truly helpless -which is aggravating as hell to me.

Shit: one of the most common elements in the universe.  Stupidity is the other.

This is a guy that if one of the dogs gets a case of the shits and unloads on the floor (fortunately the girls are trained, and this does not happen often) the first thing he will announce when I come in the door is, “Somebody shit on the floor and you need to clean it up!”

Oh, how many times I have wanted to rub his nose in it.  I don’t expect him to get the rug cleaner out, but at least make an attempt.  Scrape it into a bag or something.  It’s just shit.  As long as you don’t eat it, it shouldn’t kill you.

I know he was raised by wolves, but come on.

This Old Cougar, Personal Landscaping, and Age Has Its Advantages

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I have to admit I enjoy life a lot more in my cougardom than I ever have previously.  There is still plenty of room for improvement in my quality of life, but over all I am thankful that life in general sucks less than it used to.   My childhood consisted of thirteen years of wearing bad clothes, being a klutzy and nearsighted social pariah, and getting the living thunder beat out of me by my sisters, their friends and the kids at school.  Adolescence wasn’t much better, as I was voted “Least Likely to Get Laid” in the high school Senior Will.  The good part of high school was that I didn’t get beaten up once I had the good fortune to make friends with big girls who could fight.  I looked old enough and usually had money to buy cigarettes, so protection for smokes was a fair trade.  Guys only asked for my phone number so they could call my sisters, but I can’t say I blame them.  I was nothing to look at.

Fast forward into college- that was an improvement mostly in my personal autonomy.  For the most part I could come and go as I pleased, at least as far as my limited finances and the condition of the current tires on my old Subaru allowed.  If I would have had the foresight to have ran, ran, ran away from my ex before I was naive enough to marry him- and went to college in another state- life would have been different.  I don’t know if it had been better, but it would have been different.  Perhaps a better male contributor of half of Steve-o’s DNA would have actually given a shit, and perhaps Steve-o would have gotten better hair.  He managed to get off incredibly well in the genetic lottery with the exception of having bad sinuses and even worse hair.  Coarse, kinky, greasy and mousy brown, just like the sperm donor’s.  Acck.  But hair can be buzz cutted, and when your hair is nasty, the clippers are a beautiful thing.  I am glad he gave up the Robert Plant- sometime- around- 1971  hair style.  I had to wonder what kind of unauthorized insect life was living in that mess.  The only good thing about it is that he didn’t attempt dreadlocks- he has the right kind of hair for it, but Anglo men look absolutely disgusting with dreadlocks even when nature does give them coarse, kinky and greasy hair.  It’s just not culturally congruent- unless you can prove you are related to Bob Marley.

With a good haircut he almost looks normal.  This was not a good haircut.  They didn’t shave it down to 1/4″ or less.  The only good thing about his male parentage is that the sperm donor was 6’2″ .  Steve-o is 6’1″, and he certainly didn’t get height from my family.  The tallest one of us is my formerly sadistic older sister who is 5’9″.  Dad is only 5’6″ and I tower over him if I wear a three inch heel or more.  Then again, the odds are that had I chosen for myself I probably would not have bothered to procreate at all (Steve-o, the illustrious POMC, was not exactly planned) so that’s a bit creepy to mention.

I have to say my 20’s and 30’s pretty much sucked.  Between bad relationships, trying to raise the POMC (mostly alone) and constant work, it was almost all a bad nightmare.  I didn’t make the greatest decisions.  I found myself in some pretty stupid situations.   For a long time I was on a first name basis with day care managers, elementary and middle school principals and guidance counselors, and even more frightening, representatives of law enforcement.  Steve-o did not have a particularly mellow adolescence to put it mildly.  He always had to be the ringleader.  If there was trouble in a communal setting, he was generally right at the center of the action.  Hell, he didn’t need a community to get in trouble.  There’s nothing like explaining to the cable company that the $300 of pay-per-view porn that magically appeared on my statement was procured via the cable remote by my 12 year old.

But finally, I woke up one morning and Steve-o became an adult.  The fact that his first child is due in February might have something to do with it.  I am glad he is being a man and taking care of his obligations.  He even bought a four door car.  I may even dare say he is becoming a responsible adult which scares the hell out of me in a way.  Somewhere in all the chaos I went from young and struggling and constantly moving from crisis to crisis and discovered I became an old cougar.  It seemed the transformation was overnight but as I look back I realize it was by degrees.

There are some things I still find important.  Personal landscaping is a constant challenge.  Women should only have body hair in three places- the top of the head,  thinly sculptured eyebrows, and eye lashes.  Every other bit of hair is unsightly and should be removed.  Nails are another part of the personal landscape.  I like mine big, bold and brightly colored.  In nature bright colors and bold patterns are warning signs.  They say “Don’t Screw With Me.”  That’s why the poison toad is bright orange.

Toe nails must match fingernails.  It’s part of a package.

I refuse to take on the conventional wisdom of platinum blonde hair and boring earth tone makeup for older women.  First of all with my round moony face I look hideous with blonde hair.  Second of all, I like the contrast- dark black hair against my Super White skin.  Third of all I like bold eye shadows and bright lipsticks.  I am taking a cue from nature.  Let them eat the platinum blonde toads- I am brightly and boldly adorned to give the world fair warning.  I am not the average middle aged woman who is content to blend into the wall.

Now that I am in the over-40 set I get to do a lot more observing.  Age has a certain gravitas. I get away with a lot of things that younger people just can’t do. 


I did have a young girl express her dislike of my anti-Obama commentary on the back of my car today.  It was sort of hard to take her seriously because she wasn’t even alive yet when President Reagan was in office.  Too bad she didn’t live through Jimmy Carter.   Then maybe she would have understood where I was coming from.