More Country Cousin Quotes

I LOVE this one.

FoF Husband was in town last weekend. He was taken aback by all the homeless people with signs begging at highway overpasses.

He was irritated that they seemed to mostly be able-bodied people. He said, "Well, this one feller, he din't have nothin' wrong with him. "Cept maybe a little bald patch on 'is head -- but, hell, that ain't nothin' a hard hat won't fix"

Airborne

In 8th grade science class, I learned that we humans constantly shed dead skin cells. And, really, it is notable that I was able to learn anything in my 8th grade science class because I was so completely stoned every day.

I was thoroughly horrified by the idea that dead, shriveled, flaked-off microscopic skin cells were swarming and swirling madly in the air I was sucking down my throat. My best friend Jennifer Palazola used to make me scream like a girl by chasing me around frantically rubbing her arms with her hands. I was sure she was exciting huge clouds of invisible sloughed-off skin cells that would clog my airways, my pores, my eyes….

I hate to fly for this very reason, and others of a similar vein. Being shut up in that small space, breathing that same air, with those, those…VECTORS. Yes, my fellow airline passengers are reduced to nothing more than vectors in my estimation.

Today on a flight to Austin, I was seated in the center seat between two men. During the approach, the one by the window began to rub his hairy, beefy arm. I began to steal furtive glances at his arm while trying to concentrate on my book.

But he started to worry this one spot. He was no longer just rubbing; he was picking and scraping and straining his fat face around to peer at the backside of his meat-slab arm. I was horrified. By now, I was most assuredly inside a maelstrom of cells hurtling through MY airspace, frenetic and shimmering all around my head like so many noxious fish scales and fumes.

I was distraught. I could not prevent myself from stealing increasingly frequent sidelong glances at Mr. MeatHooks and his eczema escapades. I wanted to shout at him, to put a stop to it. But even I was incapable of such boldness.

In desperation, I began my silent (and ineffective) attempts to engage the guy on the other side of me – to somehow foment in him the same indignation I felt at this obvious personal affront to our common airspace. He was not swayed by the energy I directed his way. He didn’t see my imploring glances at him, then towards MeatHooks. He couldn’t feel my fervent need for his support, for us to unite against our common enemy.

He was dumbly flipping through the dirty, dog-earned (and clearly infectious) Skymall Magazine, and was oblivious that we were choking on Mr. MeatHooks’ airborne effluent.

I was unwittingly recoiling in horror, and by the time I realized that I was visibly shrinking away from MeatHooks, I was pressed up against SkyMall Man, nearly crowding him to the far side of his own seat…

I was left with no choice but to stare with open hostility at Mr. MeatHooks long and hard until he realized how offensive he was. But, just as I firmed my resolve, we pulled into the gate and he started to gather his things to deplane.

Dating Lite with Yours Truly

So, I've been dating a few different people lately. And I use the term "dating" very loosely considering I haven't kissed a single one of them!! Since this is really "Dating Lite" and is not really Dating Dating, I don't think I have to tell any one of them about any of the others of them. What do you think?

I mean, after all ... how do you tell someone that you aren't even dating that you aren't even dating someone else at the same time?? What do I know about Dating Lite?? This is all new to me… I used to just hop in the sack with ‘em and sort it out later.

Anyway, I've also been watching this television show called Rockstar: Supernova. Anyone who knows me knows that I don’t do TV, but my friend Patrice Pike is on it and is kicking ass, incidentally. On RSN they have an elimination round each week where one contestant (rocker, as they are referred to on the show) gets sent home.

I was all set to have my own elimination round this week on Dating Lite with Yours Truly. But Mr. Incredible, as we will refer to him here, narrowly escaped elimination today by sending me these fabulous flowers.

Tidbits from My Country Cousin Weekend

Okay. So, as I've said, my dad is living in Purgatory with "friends of the family," while I get things ready for us here. These Friends of the Family are, in fact, (hold on to your seat): related to Trailerpark and Little Chief (see previous postings for more background).

So, anyway, the Friends of the Family with whom he is staying are interesting in and of themselves. Allow me introduce:

F.o.F. Husband: His notable quote of the weekend pertained to his desire to “go to the dentist this hitch.” (NB: a “hitch” in this context refers to the one week spent at home between two-week stints on an offshore drilling rig). When I inquired further, I learned he wanted to go to Mexico to get his remaining teeth extracted.

Apparently, it is well-known in certain circles that one can go to Mexico for low-cost tooth extractions…

F.o.F. Wife: We went to the auto parts store to buy a new battery for my car (another long story). She bought some GoJo and some shop towels. She then proceeded to apply it liberally, IN THE PARKING LOT, to her arms and hands, explaining that she “ain’t got all the oil off since ma’ last shift.”

I would point out here that her last shift at the refinery was three days prior.

I’ll update later with more on the prodigious children and dogs.

Communication Breakdown

My dad and I never have been able to communicate. We don’t understand each other. Never have. Looking back, I think we communicated best when we were silent. But maybe I am wrong about even that…

He’s still down in Purgatory while I am getting things ready (running around with my ass on fire) for him to come live here with me, thereby launching my official spinsterhood.

Some examples of our stellar communication skills:

About ten years ago:
Me: (Proudly, looking for approval) Dad, I am going to go to law school.
Dad: (Bewildered and Disappointed) But, why?

About twenty years ago:
Me:
Dad:

About ten minutes ago:
Me: You are baby-sitting her children while she’s at work? Maybe we should ask your doctor if that’s a good idea.
Dad: What do you think I am going to do? Rape them?

Whooahhh! Did that just happen? Did he really just say that?

If I thought we couldn’t communicate before, well Alzheimer’s has a lot in store for me!

He actually thinks that my concern is that he will affirmatively harm those kids. He can’t see that my concern is really that he will not supervise them closely enough to prevent them from harming themselves, and that if one of them does get hurt, that he won’t be able to react in the appropriate way.

His neurologist told me at our last visit that I should just go ahead and accept that I will NEVER EVER win another argument with dad again. I think now I understand what he meant.

There’s no logic and reason.

There’s only us. And what’s more, we have never liked it that way. It has never felt right. And I am afraid that it never will.