Thursday, June 30, 2011

More perverts, and congrats


Yes, it's another post about being a perv! I am on a roll, but if you read, you will understand why.

I had a periodontist appointment today.

I swear, every time I see this guy something that sounds really dirty comes out of one of our mouths.

So after several weeks of dreading getting both sides of each tooth measured under the gums with a pokey metal stick (I am not making this up), it dawned on me that I could request topical anesthesia.

But the request came out like this:

"Before you poke me, could you get me numb?"

And then later, when he rinsed the piña colada-flavored (I am not making that up, either) anesthesia stuff out of my mouth, holding the water-sucker-upper (that's the technical term), he said, "Now suck on that."

I couldn't laugh only because I would have choked.

Anyhow, I can't let this day go by without posting a very public CONGRATS! to my good friend Darth Weasel. He worked his tail off and today it paid off handsomely. (That is what the pic is for, btw, not my appointment...my mouth now hurts like a bitch.) I'm not going to go into details in case he isn't going public with his news, but no, it has nothing to do with porn.

That announcement is for the next post.

Monday, June 27, 2011

And now I know where I get it


I was super worried about my grandfather after Grammy died last fall, but silly me! He is happier as a single man than we have ever seen him.

Every day, he goes out to brunch and then, for dinner, to a pub with friends from church for fish and chips. He has a cat. He bought a new car. Imagine a religious version of the Fonz, but age 85, sans the leather jacket.

Thing is, this once super-prude guy has had his social editor switched off. My dad is constantly embarrassed because, well, he has kind of become a dirty old man.

The last time my dad saw my grandfather, he had to apologize to the clerk at Barnes and Noble, because my grandfather said her hoarse voice came from "kissing your husband too much." That's mild. My grandfather told my dad about an excursion to a Catholic bookstore the other day.

"I just wrote about my marriage with my late wife," he told two older woman at this store. "The Bible says that when a man marries a woman, the two become one flesh. Do you know what that means?"

(I am cringing as I write this, even as my dad cringed when he told me the story.)

"That means, A MAN'S PENIS GOES INTO THE WOMAN'S VAGINA! ONE FLESH!"

(Admit it, you're embarrassed too, and you don't even know him.)

I am amazed that 1) he was not physically removed from the store, and 2) neither one of these poor old Catholic women (who could have been nuns, come to think of it) had a heart attack.

My dad said, "DAD! Not everyone wants to hear about that!"

My grandfather: "I'm just explaining the Bible."

We agreed that one of these days, he'll be 1) arrested for disturbing the peace (he lives in a town of about 300 people), or 2) he'll get slugged.

Now, mind you, this is a guy who could not even say the word "penis" when explaining the birds and bees to my dad and his siblings when they were growing up. He would literally whisper it.

What the hell happened? I wonder if somewhere in the back of his mind he is doing this because he knows he's old and can get away with it.

If I last that long, maybe I will, too.

Friday, June 24, 2011

Obviously, I'm just a pervert


I had lunch today with a hospital executive who wants to get more involved with what we do at work. He mentioned that he had to watch what he was eating since he was doing Jenny Craig.

"But this is OK today," he said. "I got laid last night."

Um. WHAT?

I turned about 50 shades of red and he said, "What? I just said I got weighed last night."

Then we both burst into uncontrollable laughter.

Earlier in the day I almost choked on a cookie when one of our volunteers, referring to someone on the sponsor prospect list for an event said, "And when Dick comes in..."

OK, I'm just a pervert.

My brain will always twist things I *think* people are saying when they're totally innocuous. Is there a medical explanation for this? And am I the only one that does this? Inquiring minds want to know!

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

One more reason I'm glad I am not single...


I have friends of all ages. Among my single friends, I hear a lot about how much it sucks to date (been there, totally understand.) But I cannot keep up with my 20-something friends and their dates.

I'm thinking of two female friends in particular - we're like a classier version of Sex in the City (I know, not hard to do) and I'm Samantha, because I'm old, compared to them. Literally a week can go by and I'll ask about the latest Mr. Fantastic (not his real name), and the reply will come back (via text, of course), "No, this is another guy. Mr. Fantastic turned out to be a douchebag!"

I'm guessing they'll both go through many douchebags, because that's how dating is. (Note to all of my exes out there who are douchebags: I hope you all found those bottles of conditioner.)

Prior to meeting Mr. RK, I had dates where (and I am not making this up):
- Someone was so forward that I made sure he would never call me again by telling him I was into bondage.
- A divorced someone made me dinner and then pulled out his wedding album.
- Someone mentioned that he wanted to date (read: sleep with) me AND my best friend. At the same time.
- Someone flatout said he wanted me to be his "trophy girlfriend." (Guess who went home and slept alone that night?)
- Someone said he could never get serious about me (this, on the first date) because my hair wasn't a dark enough shade of brown. (He also said he liked Vanilla Ice, so this was no big loss.)

So glad I am not doing it. I have told Mr. RK that, God forbid anything happens to him (or if he decides he is gay), I'd never date again.

I'd just get a lifetime membership at Mr. Peeps.

Saturday, June 18, 2011

Mr. RK's Guide to Boys


So every time I go with Mr. RK to a particular restaurant, one of the guys who works there - his family owns it - scurries around like a mouse and hardly says anything to us. But when I am there with female friends, he never shuts up.

We went there for brunch this morning and he hardly said two words to us. So, driving back home, I asked Mr. RK, "Why would he be so quiet around you, and so talkative when you're not there."

"N from work wouldn't say the stuff she says to me if you were there," he replied. "N" is a raunchy woman who is the age of Mr. RK's mom.

"But," I noted, "N wants to get in your pants. This guy is a dozen years younger than my friend L and I. I'm sure he doesn't want to get into our pants."

"How old is he?" Mr. RK asked. "21 or 22? He wants to get in everyone's pants!"

Mr. RK continued to present his Guide to Boys, which is outlined here:

When you're 15, you just want a good magazine.

When you're 17-33, you just want to get into the pants of anyone of your gender of preference who is breathing.

At around age 33, you become more discriminating.

(Good thing, then, that I met Mr. RK when he was 33.)

So, boys, I ask: is this true?

Friday, June 17, 2011

Y(not)2K? (Ward, this is for you.)



To my dear late friend Ward~

Wherever you are, I want you to know that I remember your birthday is on Monday. I plan to eat some cheesecake and think of you. I'm sorry you're not hear to eat it with me, and for quite awhile now, I've been wishing you were here for me to sit down and tell you just how much of a difference you made to me, even though you left this world almost eight years ago.

Three years ago, I started working in mental health advocacy. Little by little, I learned what a fucked up system we had - the same system that treated you like a guinea pig, and never got you appropriate care.

It - and you - gave me a burning desire to make change.

This has not just been a job, but a turning point in my life.

Every year, I have walked in your memory to raise money to help people from falling through the cracks. Our walk team is even named after you.

Each year I have gotten more ambitious about my goals - raising money, rounding up people to raise awareness - and every year, I've been scared that I would not reach those goals.

But I have.

This year, with the support of family and friends (some of whom are reading this), I raised $2,000 for this cause which is so dear to me.

You have been the inspiration on days when I want to walk out, when I think I cannot take one more person who is angry on the phone, or because our budget is always being threatened and people could literally die because of that, or when I think I will start crying because there is no magic wand I can wave to make things better for someone.

Even in absentia, you have been my greatest strength. From you, I learned that being patient and kind is not being weak; that recovery really is one day at a time; that a true friend will always be there.

I thought, if you were here, you'd probably say something like, "Why *not* $2K?" You were always so funny, and so good at cheering people up.

Wish you were here, amigo, but in many ways, you still are.

Thursday, June 16, 2011

I may be juvenile, but...


A friend wrote that I hadn't posted much lately...I have been out of ideas and things have been stressful for some of the people in my circle. (No, not that kind of circle, perverts!) Mr. RK says I have a "super empathy chip."

Plus a couple of tough anniversaries - my cousin's death (last Monday) and my late friend's birthday (next Monday.)

However (don't laugh), the meditation exercises have been absolutely amazing, and I haven't even really started yet. (A friend said she thought my last post was a joke at first!)

What has really made my week, though - and this may be really juvenile - Rep. Boehner (pronounced "boner") asking Rep. Weiner (pronounced "weener") to resign!

It would be even better if the attorney general - Holder - had asked him to step down.

Friday, June 10, 2011

5-Minute Friday


No, this has nothing to do with Rep. (or soon-to-be-ex-Rep.) Weiner and said weiner. My friend Claire gave me this idea - you pick a theme for a post and have five minutes to write about it.

And today's theme is...meditation. GO!

If you've been reading this blog for awhile, you know I'm pretty high octane. But I really do want to relax more...and overloading on exercise, mochas and cheese enchiladas is not making it happen.

So despite the fact that I hate any kind of new agey crap (sorry, that was redundant), I got talking to a volunteer about meditation.

Read: I am desperate to stop waking up at 4 a.m. worrying about things. They're not even my things! I am very close to my family and when they stress, I stress, which doesn't help any of us.

Years ago my acupuncturist recommended yoga. Mr. RK noted, "You'd probably be in class saying, 'Hurry up!'"

I am not patient enough for yoga.

So I went to the dreaded meditation" shelf at the local bookstore, which also had shelves on many other topics I can't even pronounce, let alone understand. I eschewed everything that made my skin crawl and found a book for beginners. This author noted that the reader "won't have hours each day to spend" meditating, nor should you think it's necessary to spend years learning how to do it. Who the hell has that kind of time anyway? (Speaking of relaxing, it's not so relaxing being timed, but what the hell, this is a good creative writing exercise.)

One minute to to! So wish me luck. I'm going to give it a try.

Nowhere on the back of the book did it say I had to stop saying the word "fuck."

But maybe I can become a not so riot Kitty.

Monday, June 06, 2011

Headaches and Weiners


First off, sorry I haven't been to visit blogland in the last day or two - I had a volunteer retreat (oxymoron) all day yesterday, and today I stayed home with the longest-lasting headache I've ever had.

Nonetheless, I just *had* to come online to post some advice for a certain New York congressman.

(This may be juvenile, but is it me? Or is it hilarious that someone who posted a picture of his dick online, then lied about it, has the last name Weiner?)

So, following the very lewd public lies and gaffes of U.S. Rep. Weiner of New York, here are a few things you might want to think about if you consider a run for office, or being in the public eye:

1. If you post a naked picture on the internet, someone will find it.

2. If you lie about it, in a profession of righteous indignation, it will backfire.

3. If you are a public figure, it will rain down on you 10 times harder (no pun intended) than it would have if you were an obscure soybean farmer in Missouri.

4. So in sum, your dick will always catch up w/you.

Out of all of the stupid moves this guy has made (so far - there's still time for more), I have to say the most idiotic thing was his comment that about none of this being his wife's fault.

HELLO! Um, you think so? You mean she wasn't holding a gun to his head saying, "Take pictures of your penis and send them to college students, and then lie about it!"

Rep. Weiner, you are a first-class pig.

Thursday, June 02, 2011

Dr. Seuss day


Do you remember that Dr. Seuss book, "Oh the Thinks you can Think!" ?

One of the lines from it that I really laughed over as a kid was, "Oh the thinks you can think up if only you try!"

Translate to my life and it would be, "Oh the things you can fuck up if only you try!" That would have been my subject line, but the last time I used the word "fuck" in a post one of my friends took me off of her blog roll so as not to offend some other friends. (Don't worry, I understand.)

So yesterday was a prime example of why my life is *really* a sitcom. I was so embarrassed afterwards that I e-mailed several friends about it (sorry for those of you who are re-reading it here), just to make them laugh, so I could get *some* good out of it. And also because I was so embarrassed I just had to tell someone!

In the morning, I had coffee with a new volunteer at my work to discuss some ways he could get more involved. We were meeting at a coffee shop that I hadn't been to before.

About a block away, I see out of the corner of my eye a guy who looks like him, sitting right by the front window. I wave enthusiastically and go in and this happy guy says, "Hi, I'm Steve!"

Which is not the name of my volunteer.

I felt like a complete idiot. Especially because he looked really disappointed when I said, "Um, it's not you."

My volunteer said, "Hey, you probably made his day!"

Why? Did he think he was going to get lucky? Don't answer that.

Then I get home and realize the maintenance guy has been in to fix the sink and all of my underwear is hanging out to dry.

Yep.