Things Not to Do in a Communal Showering Environment

February 6, 2015Tonya Lanthron 2 Comments

I go swimming at the “Y” in the mornings before work- partially for health reasons and partially for sanity reasons. It’s a stress relief most days, and gets my joints moving.

Most of the time I have a quiet and uneventful morning. I get there at 5:30 when they open so I can do my laps and strength training in the pool. Then I shower, dress and get ready to go to work all right there in the locker room, which keeps me from having to deal with babysitting Jerry in the mornings instead of getting my own stuff done. It’s a lot more efficient than trying to go home and shower and put makeup on while Jerry is doing his morning shitting, showering and shaving in the same bathroom.

Most of the time I am one of the first ones in the shower. I try to be very conscious of those around me. I try to take my shower quickly, efficiently and with the least amount of distraction. All I want is to get clean, get dressed, and get out. I do dress behind the curtain as I believe there are some things no one wants to see in the light of day, things which include my unclad ass hanging out of a towel.

We do have a few rude girls in the showers though, and there are things I observe that I consider to be very poor shower etiquette.

The Moaner:

I know it feels good to take a nice hot shower. The problem is when you choose to articulate your satisfaction with the hot shower by moaning like the girls’ gym teacher in that scene from Porky’s. Did you bring your dildo to the shower? It sure sounds like it. Does being in a communal shower with others of the same gender turn you on? That is creepy beyond words. I have to wonder- but please- keep those kind of noises to yourself.

The Doucher:

Some people do rinse out their hair with vinegar, which to me is sort of weird, but it’s even weirder if that vinegar smell from the next shower over is from someone doing the douche. If your nether parts get that skank nasty just from a morning work out, there is probably something funky going on down there that Summer’s Eve is NOT going to fix. I’m all about feminine hygiene, but that’s one of those kinds of things that should get done at home. Better yet, if in spite of regular bathing, the old cooter keeps on smelling like last week’s catch was left out in the sun,

you might want to seek medical attention of some sort.

The Streakers:

I don’t want anyone in the locker room to see me naked. It’s more courtesy than anything else. I don’t want to see any female naked. I would make an exception for hot, buff dudes. I would assume that most women really don’t want to see other women naked either, and if you are one of those women who like to stare at other women naked, I don’t want to be the one giving you a thrill. So the courteous thing to do is not to run around the locker room “clad in naught but air,” or with nothing on but a towel that leaves your ass hanging in the wind. The little cubby in front of the shower with the curtain is there for a reason. Get dressed behind it after you shower, so nobody has to see you naked.

Of course, bodily noises in the shower are always in bad taste. I know sometimes farts slip out, but it is possible to take a shower without cutting a few big, lusty, long, juicy rippers all during it. It also is possible to get through a shower without hawking up a lung, or blowing one’s nose (that is just a nasty thing to do in the shower.)

The last thing I want to worry about in the shower is sliding around on someone else’s snot. I wear shower shoes, but still.

Self-Restraint is Not One of My Strong Skills, and Isolation is Good for Me (and Everyone Else!)

January 14, 2015Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m having a currently shitty run so far this year. Never mind I’ve been bloody sick with the screaming snots since New Year’s Day and sleeping every moment that I possibly can manage to- when I’m either not at work or hawking up snot. The past two weekends I’ve not bothered to move much beyond my bed.

There is no way I’m calling off for spewing snots, because everyone else (conveniently) already has. I think the guys around here call off for hangnails, zits and even excessive vaginal sand, as wussy as they are.

As long as I can somewhat remain vertical and I’m not puking or having a hate/hate relationship with Montezuma, I will function, even if it is by being jacked up on cold medicine and Sinus Plumber spray. It sucks. At least I did finagle a 10 day antibiotic script, and the sinus infection part of it is starting to clear up. The green snot is going away anyway. The clear, and brown, and bloody snot is still stringing along though.

This stuff burns like hell, but breathing is worth the burn!

Then to add a fantastic steaming hot turd to the top of this phlegmy mess is that I got rear-ended in the Target parking lot last Wednesday. I’m sicker than hell, strung out from another stressful short-staffed day at work, it’s 3º below zero, and then some foreigner rear ends me. I can only imagine the vision of the she-behemoth-bitch-beast that jumped out of the driver’s door on that fateful evening. The only good parts: a.) wasn’t my fault, and the other guy’s insurance (yes he had it) has to pay, and b.) the other vehicle was an SUV and has not even a mark on it.

The bad news? I was in the Corolla and my rear bumper fascia is toast, and the left quarter panel and decklid are damaged. It’s about $2500 worth of aggravation and God only knows how long to get it fixed. I’m consigned to driving the truck (no, a 2010 Tacoma 4X4 is not a bad ride at all) which is not so bad except the interior smells like a dragon’s colon thanks to Jerry using it as a smoking lounge.

Jerry also has no sense of vehicle interior feng shui. I found loser lottery tickets from 2011, various food wrappers from a variety of establishments, including Taco Bell and Waffle House, Pepsi Max cans, used Kleenex, a flannel shirt, an NRA ball cap, and assorted flotsam and detritus. I’m sure he will love the fact that I douched the whole interior really good with lavender Febreze.

I guess I’m just not supposed to have anything nice.

I’m sure this poor foreign guy and his wife probably thought I was some sort of snotting, rabid, foaming-at-the-mouth bitch when I got out of the car. Even though his English skills weren’t the greatest, he was shoving that insurance card at me with the quickness. It probably didn’t help that I refused to move the car until I at least called the police, (and apparently the word “police” is pretty high on the list of words taught in ESL classes… because the guy was really freaked when I said, “I’m calling the police,”) who conveniently won’t come out in inclement weather unless you have to call the squad.

I could have feigned injury, but then I would have been transported to the same hospital where the (hot, but clueless) male nurse in the exam room called me Mildred and asked about my diarrhea, and I would probably rather be dead than experience that particular medical facility ever again. That, and I really don’t want to end up paying for a meaningless and aggravating trip to any ER unless I am near death or already dead, and not just suffering from the screaming snots and the fuming anger that accompanies having to deal with a trashed car. Ironically, any other time in beautiful Central Ohio there would be cops and fire trucks and squads and sirens galore, unbidden, stopping traffic for miles for the least of fender benders, but apparently not when it’s 3º below.

The moral of the story- only get rear ended if it’s a bright, sunny day!

I’m sure my family is sort of pissed at me too because for the past 2 weeks I’ve felt too shitty to make the trip up there. I also don’t want to share my mucoid maladies with anyone up there, especially Dad, who gets sinus infections and pneumonia easily enough anyway. This weekend I probably won’t either, even if I am feeling better, because I’m sure Jerry might like to use his truck for something. I know it sounds bad because I really do miss my granddaughter, but going up north every Sunday is a bit of a pain in the ass, and usually costs me money I’d rather not have to spend. This weekend I might just lock myself in my room and troll for new reading material and enjoy my DVR’d episodes of Brickleberry. Isolation might be healthier for me and for anyone who might surround me for awhile anyway.

I hope so. Because I’m rather despondent at the moment.

Granted, Jerry works at the body shop that is going to be (someday?) fixing my car. The bad part of this is that it’s winter and there’s been ice storms, so every body shop in a 50 mile radius is booked at least 6 weeks out, and this isn’t getting done anytime soon. Technically I can drive my car the way it is even though it looks like shit, but that could make things more complicated to fix, and I really don’t want to screw with it until the other guy’s insurance adjuster approves all the (proper) repairs. This car is a 2014 with less than 10 K on it, and they aren’t going to get away with a half ass job. I didn’t ask for this shit and it wasn’t my fault. I need my car back the way it was before Julio or whatever his name was saw fit to ruin the ass end of it.

A Few of My Favorite Things, and Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

November 21, 2013Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

Most of my favorite things, I’ve found, are in the absence of nasty things.

I like quiet as opposed to blather and noise.

I like being left alone. (usually)

I like it when my head is free of being clogged with snot. (this doesn’t happen often)

I like it when I am not drowning in the snot that constantly drains down the back of my throat. (also doesn’t happen often)

I must be a really simple person when a good day consists of being relatively quiet and snot-free.

Why is there no cure for snot?

Today’s sort of good news is that I don’t have a fever (opposed to the last two days) but I still feel shitty and, as usual for me, am plagued by gallons of draining snot. At least my throat is no longer on fire, which is a plus. I could, however, do without the distinct sensation that someone is driving a rusty spike through my right eye-hole. Even so, I was well enough to drag my sorry carcass back to work, even though another day of swilling hot tea and attempting to sleep probably would have been better for me.

Bailey’s and coffee would be even better, except I know how that would wreak havoc on my sugar.

I wish I could….have a few of these!

I could also do without the pompous ass-pilots of the world, but if they were to suddenly disappear from the face of the earth, about half the population of the planet would be missing.

What would happen to all the Corvettes?

Corvette owners have a reputation for being, uh, not-so-nice. I’m sure there are exceptions to the rule.

I’ve never been a huge Corvette fan (I’d rather have a ’69 Karmann Ghia, or a ’69 FJ40 if I could afford collectible cars) but one has to admit, the new one is interesting to look at. I wouldn’t want the car payment or the insurance premium, but I’m not evil enough to have the that kind of scratch, either.

Perhaps the week would be more interesting if we had “motivational days” that looked like this:

Overall, I’m thankful to be alive and vertical. Sometimes I don’t sound like it, but overall, I am. Even considering dealing with ass-pilots and endless snots and everything else annoying.

Snot, Snot, Everywhere, Interesting to Visit, and Sadness vs. Euphoria

October 15, 2012Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

Interesting to visit, but I don’t want to stay.

The Haunted Prison experience was awesome. I’ve been to some really good haunted houses, haunted hayrides, etc. but this one takes the prize. The bad thing is that you can’t take pics inside the prison- I took this one from the road outside, but we had to leave the cameras and the cell phones in the car. I will say that I was a bit taken aback when I noticed the tickets include a warning that the management is not responsible for anyone losing control of his/her bladder and/or bowels. I remained continent, which is saying a lot probably considering that I was one of the oldest people there, but I am really glad I used the ladies’ before I got in line.

The fact that the Mansfield Reformatory was a working prison for about 100 years adds to the creep factor quite a bit. It’s a huge facility, but only a very small portion of it is used for the haunted prison excursion, and most of those areas are in the oldest parts of the prison. Some of the cell blocks are five stories high. As the building aged, certain parts of it were left to decay while newer additions were built on. I don’t see how it would have been feasible to heat the cell blocks with the five story high ceilings- let alone to work out some sort of plumbing arrangement. Ohio winters can be deathly cold- and summers can be deadly hot as well. Suffice to say without decent HVAC provisions this part of the world is unlivable even if you’re in prison. Some of the cells we saw had toilets while others didn’t, but then it was hard to tell which parts of the prison were shut down when. The whole place was decommissioned in 1981, so all of it’s been sitting around rotting for over 30 years anyway.

As one who is cursed with the respiratory funk anyway, a bloody head cold really sucks.

I hate snot. I hate drowning in it. I hate hawking it up all over the place. Green snot, brown snot, yellow snot, clear snot, I would love to go for a day without choking on it. Even when I’m not suffering from any acute contagion of the respiratory system, the snot drainage down the back of my throat is constant, and I choke on it unless I sleep with my head elevated at a 45° angle. When I am suffering from an acute contagion of the respiratory system, I am a veritable snot Niagara Falls. Elevation does not help, unless I am sitting straight up. Vast quantities of anti-snot medications are required to keep me breathing at all- in between hacking up huge snot balls. Think the Ghostbusters movies and you have it.

No, I am not exaggerating. I wish I were.

Of course I take three days off trying to escape the rat race and all that mess, only to spend those three days (and the weekend too) swilling Nyquil and spewing forth gallons of disgusting, slimy multicolored snot. Today’s a lot better than the past few days, although I’ve got the Dayquil and the anti-snot pills handy should I need them. The snots did have one good side effect though. Jerry pretty much kept his distance and his whining was at a minimum. As I get better that will probably change. I did get some quiet time in between being heavily medicated and hawking up infinitely foul goo to watch some of my favorite movies and chill out with the dogs, so it wasn’t a total loss. I do remember- as if I needed a reminder- why I am almost OCD about being around those with contagions though. The bad part is that no matter how paranoid you are about hygiene and handwashing and all that noise, eventually you will get down and something will get to you. Admittedly in the past few weeks I’ve been pretty stressed out and doing too much and getting run down so I think it was inevitable no matter how much Lysol I spray or zinc lozenges I take. At least today I see marked improvement, which sort of figures, since I have a Dr.’s appointment Friday. Either I will be completely cleared up or one step in the grave by then. I never seem to be able to get in when I’m actually sick. Go figure. Personally as far as the various respiratory funks go, I think modern science hasn’t progressed much more than the patent medicine hawkers (man, I am using the word “hawk” a lot in this post) of the 19th century. I’d probably done just as well and paid less for this:

Of course most patent medicines were either opium or alcohol or both.

Billy Joel wrote a song many years ago called “Summer at Highland Falls.” I sort of wonder if Billy Joel might be bi-polar because the refrain of the song is, “it’s either sadness or euphoria.” I can’t say I can ever remember being euphoric, but then I’m not bi-polar. Living with a bi-polar person did give me future reference on how to deal with unpredictable coke head bosses I would encounter later in life. Mom was never a coke head (thank God) but untreated bi-polar people and coke heads act remarkably similar. I know the sadness end of the equation all too well, but most of the time my emotional state can be described as a quiet, bland sort of melancholy. Unless of course I’m watching Beavis deep fry a dead rat as he’s toiling away at Burger World, or listening to Butthead point out every possible bit of double entendre he hears. I don’t know why I find such puerile comedy so hilarious, but I do. Euphoria, not so much, but I’ll take what amusement I can get.

The pisser is, as I found out right after having all four wisdom teeth chiselled out, I’m highly allergic to codeine, which is a natural opiate…no good drugs for me 😦

I did have a rather fortuitous encounter- actually two of them- as I was returning from the campground. I was stopped in traffic coming back from Lancaster only to get a glimpse of the Romney tour bus. (I got a pic- though somewhat crappy since it was moving- that time.) Then as I was coming home from Kroger’s later on Friday I’m stopped about a block from my house only to discover that Romney and his retinue are chowing at the City Barbeque next door. That was rather cool. I didn’t get pics that time but I did get to talk with one of the Franklin County Republicans who got to chow with Romney and company, so that was somewhat cool. I hope that it’s a portent of things to come. I’d been pissed if I’d had to wait in traffic for Obama and his minions, and even more pissed to think he was chowing next door to my house. Both candidates have been spending a lot of time in Ohio. My condolences- as I’m sure that they’re both used to much more exciting places- but maybe you’ll both see how us ‘po folk live and have a little empathy for us, eh?

Creative Use of Free Speech and Feminine Hygiene Items!

May 8, 2012Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

Every time I go up north I get some kind of culture shock, whether it be the chick in the 5X snowman print jammies (with the thong strap hanging out) attempting to single-mouthedly devour an entire Taco Bell, or the dude in the Walmart with a face full of piercings, and arms covered in various white supremacist tats that I wish I had been able to get a picture of but I didn’t have the courage. I always get to see the cutting edge of redneck culture when I visit my parents, and this weekend did not disappoint.

Dad did wonder why I wanted a picture of that, until I blew it up and he could read what was written on the Kotex. Then he had to acknowledge that it was funny, and worth taking a pic. I am glad that Steve-o never put Sharpie + maxi pad together when he was going through his Puberty Demon visitation. I am sure he would have left Kotex commentary everywhere. I know he covered one of his buddy’s cars in them once, but they must not have had a Sharpie handy.

I can think of better pranks, but this one is fairly harmless.

One of my favorite things about digital cameras is just how easy it is to point, click, upload and share. I know the guys at work have been begging me to get a video camera for the longest time so they can observe Jerry’s antics, but I can’t dig it up in that little emotional stub I have in place of a heart to do it. Just because it is potential YouTube gold doesn’t mean it’s very nice to film it. Admittedly, after last night’s oat opera episode I did feel like getting some sweet, sweet revenge, but I plugged in the Skullcandys (they have some really nice noise cancelling headphones) and enjoyed some favorites from the 80s instead. I don’t know why, but when Jerry gets into his “I wanna crank up bad country music” mode, he goes for the twangiest, most god-awful country station in the area. Even when I used to get shitfaced (and this was years and years ago) I can’t think of a time when I was ever shitfaced enough to enjoy Boxcar Willie- or Willie Nelson for that matter.

Fanny, my behemoth wandering feline, is adjusting much better to her collar, bell and ID tag than I thought she would. I did get a few days’ worth of stink-eye out of it (and cats are masters of the stink-eye) but once it got through her head that the collar wasn’t coming off she has gone into normal Fanny mode which is, “aw, what the hell, as long as I get food.” I should also say catnip, because she goes apeshit over that. Every cat I’ve ever had except Forrest (and he had major Issues) has positively adored the stuff. Isabel rolls and thrashes in it, as does Fluffy-Butt, but Fanny (who normally is not a fighter) will swat the other two away and actually attempt to box them. It’s hilarious to watch.

It’s almost sad that I’m reminded of poor Forrest. He was half-Siamese and had the most beautiful blue eyes. However, the poor guy also had feline herpes, and had been kicked in the face by his previous owner, so he had a broken jaw that never healed right, and most of his teeth were missing. Feline herpes is not a social disease in the way we think of social diseases in humans. It is a disease that can be prevented with a vaccine, but the vaccine has to be given before the cat gets herpes for it to be effective. The herpes infection is present in many cats that never show symptoms, but for some cats, like Forrest, it weakens their immune systems and predisposes them to wicked eye and respiratory infections. The first time he got sick he was dehydrated, blowing snot, had to get sub-cu fluids (this is not a fun process) and had to be force fed with a syringe. Then he had to take the l-lysine supplement for the rest of his life, which did give him several years until he got sick again and he died almost as soon as he got sick the second time. Poor guy was only 12, which isn’t all that old for a cat, but he had suffered a lot before we got him, and he had a weak constitution.

Oh, well. Poor Forrest. And yes, he was named after Forrest Gump, because when we first got him he was terrified of everything and it seemed all he did was run.

Any Color (As Long As It’s Black,) Medical Curiosities, and Dark Despondency

April 12, 2012Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

I’m not sure if “Any color as long as it’s black” is a direct quote of Henry Ford’s, but I mention Henry Ford because I can sort of identify with him. He was the type of person who thought outside the box- to a degree- and then defined the box according to his own personal boundaries. All Model T Fords came from the factory in one color- black- because that was the most economical color of paint available at that time. I dye my hair black for pretty similar reasons- I don’t end up with dark ends from trying to match the original mousy brown, nor do I end up looking completely ridiculous with platinum blonde hair- and dark roots. Black is black and that is easy to match. It prevents me from having to go to a salon twice a month for color, which I can’t afford. Then again I wonder what I can afford. Not very damned much. I can’t even afford the farking nasal spray to treat my incorrigible sinus problems that costs $120, but in theory would prevent me from choking to death on snot. So if I drown in my own snot, the world knows why.

Yesterday I got to see my new primary care Dr. (after going to the same one for 17 years it really sucks to have to switch) and as far as I can see, he’s OK. I will discern more as time goes by, and I know that he will probably want to play around with my meds once he gets my labs back. Joy and rapture- and I’m already bracing for the medication-induced narcolepsy, because that’s often what happens when my blood pressure meds are changed. There is nothing like an involuntary nap at 2PM to make one realize just how befuggered their internal clockwork really is. I feel sorry for the guy. I did notice a bit of bewilderment as he perused my current scripts. Yes, I know the combinations and dosages of just my blood pressure meds alone are enough to kill a normal person. It’s been that way for years. In dog years I’m dead, and I often wonder exactly why I’ve been left on this earth to consume valuable oxygen, but it’s not my question to ask. Maybe I should just stop taking all that shit and see how long it takes for me to drop dead. The only problem with that is knowing me, I wouldn’t just drop dead. Something else would fail or go wrong- enough to make me deadly ill, but not enough to kill me. It would be just enough to keep contributing to my suffering.

It seems the snots have been around for a long, long time. Catarrh is the old time word for “hacking cough.” Apparently that shit didn’t work either.

I feel sorry for any medical professional who has to deal with me given my funky assed history. I don’t fit- not even remotely- into anyone’s definition of normal. Science can provide few clues as to what to do with my sorry carcass except to comment when there are medical students nearby to observe, and to make sure I get billed for everything they can possibly bill me for. I can only imagine, but they should be paying me for getting to enjoy the freak show.

If anyone could be the poster child for medical anomalies it would be me. I think it would be cool if I could observe my own autopsy and see just how bizarre my physical body really is. That’s what I get for watching too many episodes of Dr. G. I may be twisted, but Dr. G is the shizzle. I bet she would have fun with my autopsy.

I know what it is! I’m WHITE! I need a cure for being WHITE!

As long as we look to legislation to cure poverty or to abolish special privilege we are going to see poverty spread and special privilege grow. – Henry Ford, from his autobiography, My Life and Work.

I’ve said the same thing myself only in a slightly different way: You get more of whatever you subsidize. Lyndon Johnson’s “War on Poverty” has actually become subsidized poverty. Why are people going to bother to work to provide for themselves when the government takes what they earn away from them so that other people can have what working people can’t afford- for free? Socialism doesn’t work. Eventually those of us who do have some sort of work ethic will get demoralized and just say, “aw, screw it,” like the rest of the denizens of the trailer park. Then no one will get anything for free, because the ones who used to pay for their freebies decided it wasn’t worth it anymore.

I sincerely wish that the entitlement crowd would take a good hard look at the people like me who are driven into the ground as we are forced to finance their pork projects. I’m sure they are, as they’re laughing their asses off, enjoying free health care and government cheese on my dime. I can’t even afford my own scripts.

Admittedly I’ve not been this depressed in a long time. I think it might have to do with whatever this interminable head cold? allergy hell? chronic sinus drainage? is. I always have some degree of snot and drainage from my sinuses, but ever since a week ago Monday the back of my throat has been a snot Niagara Falls. I choke on it sitting up. I’ve gotten maybe three hours of sleep since a week ago Monday between the snotting and the hacking and there is no medication out there so far (antihistamines, Nyquil, cough syrup, be it OTC or scripts, etc.) that will touch it. Both the urgent care joint and the new Dr. I saw yesterday claim that this noise is all allergies and is nothing I can spread to others, but that is cold comfort. I can suffer, but buck up- no matter how miserable I am, at least I’m not going to spread the joy? As if hawking up a gallon of snot won’t clear a room?

Then to add some icing to the cake I can’t find my damned debit card. I am hoping like hell that I left it in my pants pocket and I don’t have to report it lost and go through that noise again of getting it replaced.

Observations of the Great Unwashed, and The Mind is the First Thing to Go

April 4, 2012Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

I’ve always been a bit scatterbrained. My brain does not generally work like a flow chart. Somehow I go from point A to point F and it usually ends up making sense in the end, but where I got the idea to skip all the points in between I don’t know. I make some really strange connections that are logical to me but to no one else. I wouldn’t call it ADHD, because I can truly focus and be detailed- perhaps too much so- when necessity calls for a high level of detail. I get lost in details very easily if I’m not careful. But in the normal course of life I have my own personal scribbled mental shorthand that serves as a sort of guide to daily activity.

This tendency to skip ahead in the logical progression of things sometimes leads to forgetting and/or misplacing things. I know I should probably slow down or write things down or something like that, but I am not a very good planner by nature. I always have way too much to do and I wonder how I get any of it done. I know how easily plans get screwed up and then you end up having to improvise anyway. For good or for ill, most days I’m winging it. I think Steve-o has inherited the same characteristic- forgetting those little details, like socks. Few things are funnier than an adult male (with birdy narrow feet) in purple Hello Kitty socks:

At least someone had a spare pair of socks that didn’t smell like fermented cow shit like the ones he had worn the previous two days.

I’m sort of pissed off that I lost my Skullcandy headphones that I’ve had for about 3 years (a record for me and headphones, as I lose them often) and I had to buy a new set. The new ones are nice- but I have no freaking clue where in the hell my other set ended up.

Then there’s the Fanny incident. I know Fanny tries to get out, and I usually have no problem keeping her in because she’s both big and slow. Yes, I was sleep-deprived in a bad way and just plain crispy Thursday night, but it’s no excuse. My ineptitude and oversight is not worth a dead cat. I know the next time I go to the pet food joint (probably tomorrow) that I am going to have to get her a collar and tag- with a bell- and she will wear it even though I know she hates collars and I will get several weeks’ worth of stink-eye over it. Cats are vindictive creatures, and Fanny is no exception. If she were like the other two cats who have absolutely no interest in the World Beyond the Door, then I wouldn’t need to do it. Perhaps with a bell on I will be able to hear as well as see her.

Sometimes I go digging either in my room or in my purse and I find stuff I didn’t realize I had. That’s just plain wrong. I don’t know if I am becoming forgetful simply because I have been chronically sleep-deprived and constantly running at full bore for such a long time, or because senility is setting in. I don’t sleep well and haven’t for years because my sinuses drain 24/7. I have to sleep on a 45° angle (picture a large wedge pillow, because this is what I have to use) to keep from choking to death on my own snot. It’s better to live with the constant drainage, because if they don’t drain, they get infected and inflamed and I can’t breathe at all.

NNo one should ever have to worry about choking to death on snot, but I have to.

I guess choking on snot would be a better way to go than ODing and croaking on the crapper like Elvis, or ODing on dog anesthetic like Michael Jackson (Propofol is actually one of the better dog anesthetics because it is metabolized quickly, and can be used on dogs that are sensitive to other anesthetic agents, BUT, even in dogs respiration has to be strictly monitored because one of Propofol’s side effects is that it can stop breathing) or ODing and drowning in the bathwater like Whitney Houston, but I really don’t want to go that way. I don’t think I’ll be ODing on anything voluntarily, but one of my deepest and most primal fears is being suffocated to death. I blame my sadistic oldest sister for that one, as well as for my inability to eat or drink after other people- especially blood relatives. No I will not take a bite off the fork that you stuck in your filthy mouth and slobbered all over. Not until it has been duly sanitized. To this day if you take a swig off of my pop bottle, you own it. I don’t want it back. Ever. Even if you swear you don’t backwash. I refuse to consciously swap saliva (and whatever else is in the backwash you leave behind) with anyone. Not the old man, not my son, and probably not even Steve Perry, should he ever have the opportunity to hijack my Diet Dr. Pepper.

At least I am not as OCD as Mom. She is one of those people who refuses to touch the inside door handle in a public bathroom, and she still believes you can get VD from a toilet seat.

Maybe not so much VD, but let’s hope that is some sturdy plastic going on there.

I had to take a picture of this sign the other day. It was sort of depressing though, because as I thought about it, no I can’t remember when the last time was, and I am not talking about flowers. I’m not sure if Clinton or Bush II was President. I am a pathetic specimen for sure.

Truly Tasteless Holiday Decor, Stupid Parenting, and Gratuitous Self Pity

November 8, 2011Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

I have a pink Christmas tree, complete with pink lights. Mom got it for me last year. Believe me, I am putting it up. Watch me go.

Like most people, I have a deep ambivalence toward the holiday season. I enjoy the decorations – especially tacky ones– but I sincerely abhor crowds, especially when all I’m trying to do is get basic grocery staples or scripts and I have to fight off the unwashed hordes.

I don’t like feeling as if I have to do all kinds of shopping either. My relatives already have way too much crap they don’t need. I do too. Please forgo the kitschy crud and either give me a gift card (Target, Kroger’s or Speedway, especially) or even cash. That way I can get something I need rather than another hideous green sweater, or hinky nasty dinky earrings that I will never wear. I hate shopping unless I can do it online. Whoever isn’t happy with a gift card and/or what I can manage to get ordered online, sorry about your luck.

The cooking business is actually something I enjoy as long as I have the time to do it. My grandmothers ensured that I was proficient with the culinary arts (at least the old-time redneck version thereof) so there will be no shortage of such holiday favorites as pumpkin, apple and chocolate cream pies, scalloped potatoes, turkey-and- dressing, homemade gravy, homemade noodles, baked mac and cheese, cheeseballs, etc. I like to serve the old-time comfort food. If other people want to bring funky stuff like spinach casserole (not bad, really) or hummus (got to love the extra garlic version) that’s cool- I am not a food snob and will try just about anything once, but make sure the staples are covered. I would hate to see Dad disappointed because there were no scalloped potatoes or reduced sugar chocolate cream pie, or have the nieces and nephews wonder why I didn’t bring the baked mac-n-cheese. Lasagna is lovely (I made both red and white lasagna Sunday night that is divine if I say so myself) but it’s not a substitute for turkey with homemade dressing and gravy.

Although I have rather diverse and eclectic tastes in food, there are some items commonly served around the holidays that I can do without. I find fruit cake to be just plain vile. I can’t eat it. Fruit cake might as well be head cheese or pigs’ feet, which are two items that I have also tried and find positively gut-wrenchingly disgusting. I’m also not a real big fan of green bean casserole. I like the stuff that goes in it, but there’s just something about the combination of green beans, mushroom soup and deep fried onions that doesn’t thrill me. I can eat it, but it isn’t something I find imperative to serve. Sweet potatoes (some people call them yams) are another item that I can do without. Since I am diabetic I can beg off the candied yams (gross, gross, gross) without too much trouble.

Yesterday’s news proved yet again that there is no shortage of the second most common element in the universe: stupidity. Suffice to say that anyone stupid enough to leave one’s offspring in one’s (running) car whilst running into a convenience store to get smokes really shouldn’t be left alone with children. I am glad the mother got her little boy back safely, but I’ll bet that’s the last time she will leave him alone with Baby Daddy for a long time. I was certainly no shining example of superlative parenting, but I never left my kid alone in a running car regardless of whether or not he was strapped into a car seat- no matter how bad I needed smokes.

Ironically, Steve-o, in preparing for his upcoming role as Baby Daddy, seems to be a tad bit on the OCD side of things. He’s reminding me a bit of Mom and her Clorox obsession. When Steve-o was a newborn (and a large, robust one at that) Mom tried to Clorox everything that came remotely close to him. I swear she bathed him five times a day and changed his (freshly Clorox’d) clothes on the hour, every hour. His dire concern with everything being Just Right and Super Clean for his little girl is not only reminiscent of Mom and her fussiness with the POMC, but it’s also richly hilarious- considering that he ran from Mom screaming bloody murder when she chased him down in her feeble attempts to cut through all the little-boy crusty filth with wet wipes and/or Kleenex. He is in for a rude awakening. Tee-hee.

I am wondering just how long it will take him to realize that his little girl is not made of porcelain, that baby puke and poop both stain and reek, and there is no known medical explanation as to why a two year old can extract an infinite length of thick green snot streamer from his/her nose.

I wouldn’t want to spoil the fun, but I can’t wait until my grandchild showers him in a spray of snot, spit and half-eaten Cheerios. Children are many things, but filthy is universal. You just haven’t lived until you have been showered, caked and drenched with the offal emanating from your offspring.

I must really be becoming my mother now that I am taking delight in the same phrase she liked to use: “Wait until you have kids.” I have to remember to send Steve-o a copy of the news article above as a cautionary tale. Never leave the kid in the car (especially with the car running) when you run to the shop-and-rob to get smokes.

Parenting taught me a few interesting lessons, above and beyond the average toddler’s infinite capacity to generate toxic waste of divers kinds. I learned you can drown out a screaming kid pretty well by cranking up Led Zeppelin and/or Ozzy. I also learned that until the kid’s about sixteen or so, while it’s rude, it’s often necessary to wheel the grocery cart down the middle of the aisle, and to inspect the contents often- unless you want to explain to the cashier why you don’t want the 15 boxes of Pop-Tarts, the economy pack of extra-heavy duty disposable douche, the “For Her Pleasure” multi-colored condom assortment, and the six tubes of Prep-H that magically appeared in your cart.

I guess I really shouldn’t feel too sorry for myself. It could be a whole lot worse.

Potty Trained and Literate, and Other Parenting Goals

February 10, 2011Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

Dad always said that he enjoyed children once they were potty trained and literate. Mastering these basic skills can occur for some children by the age of five, but I do not have a whole lot of confidence in a young child’s toileting accuracy, and few children gain reasonable command of the written word until about the age of eight or nine. I can understand why Dad is rather uncomfortable in the presence of infants, toddlers and preschoolers. He’s sensitive to smells, and he has an almost phobic reaction to the bodily effluvia of others. After the age of eight or nine kids are a bit less messy. It is far less likely that they will pee, poo, puke or snot all over you by that time. They understand using the toilet, and hopefully before they hit puberty, they will understand snot is not a condiment, and they should also have a rudimentary knowledge of how to use Kleenex.

Steve-o has been potty trained and literate for about ten years, which for a male is pretty good. When I say “potty trained,” I mean fully trained, as in (for males, anyway) we aim and achieve our target without spraying the entire bathroom floor, AND we both wipe and flush every time, after dropping a deuce. He could read relatively well by the age of seven, but it took a long, long time for him to get “wipe and flush every time” down.

There are few things more disgusting than walking into the bathroom to find a huge corn-loaded turd floating in the toilet bowl, coiled up all alone, without any paper to keep him company. The only thing worse than walking into that sensory gag-fest every time young Steve-o pinched a loaf was his “science” experiment involving Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. I will comment a bit on this. If you eat nothing but Flamin’ Hot Cheetos for three days straight, your feces will be exactly the same color as Flamin’ Hot Cheetos.

I do have some standards. If you want to see hot red-orange poo, go troll about on Rate My Poo for awhile. Trust me, there you will find all things poo and then some.

We are working on the Holy Grail of parenting right now, which is: Gainful Employment and Independence from the Parental Units.

Steve-o did work at Taco Bell during his last two years of high school, but for some reason he either can’t seem to find a job or (my personal suspicion) doesn’t want to find a job while going to college. This is vexing to me- and a major contributor to my constant state of poverty. The only thing I can hope for is that when he graduates he finds gainful employment and becomes an independent, self-sustaining, meaningful contributor to society.

Some people hold lofty goals for their children, but I’m a realist. So far Steve-o’s done pretty well, especially when one examines the lame track record of his age cohorts. He’s stayed out of jail, and as far as I know he doesn’t have a horde of baby mamas after him, nor has he fathered any offspring that I know about, anyway. I am not opposed to the whole grandmother thing- I’m old enough for it and I like kids well enough as long as they’re not mine and I can send them home- but he’s got to be able to pay for his own rugrats. I’d also like to request that he be married to the potential baby mama, although these days that’s a lot to ask.

In some ways Steve-o is better trained than Jerry is. Jerry is gainfully employed which gives him the overall advantage, but Steve-o is getting close, and he has already surpassed Jerry in matters of etiquette. While Jerry generally does wipe and flush, aiming is still a weak area for him, especially after a twelve pack or so of Natties. Older men should sit and pee anyway, because it’s a long, long time and a far, far distance to have to keep that stream steady, and I’m getting too old to have to keep scrubbing dried up stale pee from the toilet and vicinity.

Jerry does reasonably well when he’s sober, considering he was raised by wolves. When he’s wasted of course, all decorum goes right out the window and he has the potential to piss in the closet, moon the picture window, run outside in nothing but whitey tighties and a smile, and to play horrible old country music at obscenely loud volumes. I’ve tried to socialize him somewhat, but in practical application, I’ve had better luck with Sheena. Sheena has learned to sit and be polite if she wants a munchie, she will go to her crate on command, and she knows her name. She is also very affectionate and sweet. This is no small accomplishment for a dog who has only been with us for about 90 days. Granted, Sheena is not the most intelligent dog I have ever encountered (Huskies can be a bit stubborn and dim-witted, and Sheena is no exception) and her physical coordination is abysmal, but she’s a lot easier to manage than Jerry when he’s 15 beers or so into it.

Dogs are easier than kids by a long shot- the worst thing a dog might do is to drop a deuce on the floor or knock something over. Kids can get into all sorts of trouble, cost all kinds of money, and can end up in jail. What really sort of sucks is that even after they turn 18 and you should technically be done with them they still cost a boat load of money, hence my anticipation of the day that Steve-o truly takes on his own adult responsibilities for himself.

The main problem with breeding is the wrong people are doing it. I was watching an episode of The First 48 (yeah, I love cop shows) last night and one of the murder suspects being interviewed admitted to, “well I have about five baby mamas and two on the way.” The same scum bucket was found to be guilty of capital murder and received a life sentence. Guess who’s paying for those seven kids? Daddy certainly isn’t, that’s for sure.

I don’t believe in abortion or infanticide or anything Godless and evil like that- it’s not the kids’ faults their parents are scum. I find it ironic that the same people who advocate mollycoddling violent criminals and murderers oppose the death penalty, but have no problem with abortion. Isn’t that more than a little backward?

I do, however, believe in preventing ill-advised conceptions in the first place, and I have absolutely no problem with society carrying out its obligation to preserve public safety and to deter crime by executing violent criminals (murderers, rapists and child molesters) swiftly and publicly.

Helpful Hints I’m Glad I Don’t Need, a Geezer-Friendly World, and I Just Need Some Cheese!

December 14, 2010Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

Since I knew pretty much from the start that the illustrious Steve-o was going to be an only child, I gave my maternity clothes away as soon as I could fit back into regular clothes. This is a good thing not only because the thought of enduring pregnancy and/or childbirth at my age (fortunately for me a moot point since the hysterectomy- yay!) is absolutely abominable, and because I can visualize Jerry as the “don’t” illustration in the instructional pic. It’s fortunate I was not able to have any children with Jerry as he is worse than a toddler himself and he would have been absolutely no help. I will grant that for some women a hysterectomy is a tragic event. I have all the sympathy in the world for someone who has to have one because of cancer or trauma, or who has to have a hysterectomy in spite of wanting more children, or someone who ends up having to have a hysterectomy at a very young age. But each individual is different, and for me the hysterectomy was one of the best things I’ve ever done to preserve my sanity and improve my health. Had I known what I know now I’d have insisted on having it done 15 years ago or so as the repair work after my c-section was completely messed up (hindsight of course is 20/20) rather than suffering through years of interminable miserable visits from “Aunt Flo” along with pretty much constant pelvic pain. Also remembering hindsight is 20/20, I’d been better off had my c-section turned into a c-section and hysterectomy at the same time. Even if I had ever wanted to get pregnant again it would have been pretty much impossible given the way I was pieced back together after the c-section. I spent 18 years in accumulating and intensifying misery and there are no words to describe my relief at not having to endure the pain and the infernal mess. So for me- at age 40- the hysterectomy was a happy event. I wasn’t using it any more anyway.

I do have a lot of empathy for pregnant women though. I would not want to have to deal with all that noise today- the expense, the car seat hassles, the late night squalling, all that. I don’t know if it’s because I’m old or because I’ve been through it before or a combination of both, but kids are fine as long as they aren’t mine- and their parents exert some sort of discipline and control over them in public. I absolutely despise people who let their rugrats scream all the way through Target or run around like they are being raised by wolves or something. Perhaps that’s the problem right there. Steve-o is at least past two major hurdles- he is potty trained and literate- but we need to work on the “gainfully employed” part of the adulthood equation. All in due time I guess, but I really hate society and government’s cute little expectations that we should extend adolescence far beyond the teen years. If kid is supposed to be an adult at age 18, then why does the government think parents should pay for extended schooling and health insurance until they’re 26? What the hell is Congress smoking? Obama, granted, is a Marxist nut job, but come on! When I was 26 I was working 12 hour days and trying to support my four year old son. The government sure as hell didn’t help me with that- nor did I expect them to.

I do notice that more and more this is becoming a geezer friendly world and it’s a bit disquieting. Every time I turn around there’s all these commercials trying to entice seniors to change their Medicare coverage. Now there’s even a delightful little device for those too lazy to wash their feet which I find hilarious. I also get a catalog full of all kinds of medical and other notion type things marketed toward the over-sixty set.

Somebody shoot me if I get too lazy to bother to wash my feet. I may not be perfect- by a long shot- but I do take some pride in my personal hygiene.

Last night I had to make a run to Target to get some cheese. I had forgotten I didn’t have enough cheddar cheese for both Jerry’s tacos and the taco dip I am taking to the luncheon tomorrow. Normally I would have gotten it at Kroger’s but Kroger’s is out of my way on the way home from work. Target has shredded cheddar cheese and is on the way. So does WalMart, but the WalMart on Morse Rd. is not suitable for civilized people to enter at any time, (that place is a freak show from hell) let alone after dark and during the holidays. So, knowing that all the department stores are dens of insanity this time of year, I bravely enter the Target store on my quest for cheese.

While Target’s clientele does not contain nearly as much of the criminal and/or governmentally dependent crowd as WalMart’s, the crowd last night was by no means a pleasure. I truly wish people would either teach their rugrats how to behave in public or leave them at home. Duct taping their big yaps shut is also an option. It seemed as if I were playing dodge-em all the way through Target. Why do people think the store is a place to stand around and socialize or worse, talk on the phone? I am capable of walking and talking on a cellphone. If someone as ill-coordinated as I can do it then anyone can do it, I assure you.

Some helpful hints for parents of toddlers/preschoolers:

Do NOT give your three or four year old any package to carry through the parking lot. He/she will only drop it and then start screaming and stomping his/her feet. Worse yet, they may decide to roll around in the greasy parking lot slush which is going to be nine kinds of hell getting out of their hair and clothes.

Do NOT let your child munch on items you haven’t paid for yet. That is sending your child the wrong message. If Sammy or Sadie is going to get the munchies bring something from home. Better yet, teach them to wait until scheduled meal times so that others don’t have to watch your kids smear used Oreo cookie all over the cart handle.

Do bring LOTS of Kleenex. Nothing is more gross than looking over and seeing someone’s rugrat smearing copious gobs of snot all over his/her face, the cart handle, the stuff in the cart, etc. and so on. Control the snot. Nobody needs that visual.

All I needed was some cheese.

ELYSIANHUNTER, ALWAYS INCITEFUL:

Because comedy is the flipside of tragedy

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