HalfAsstic.com

The electricity went out for a bit tonight and we all found ourselves outside with the neighbors.  Everyone came over and re-introduced themselves to H.  The general attitude is that she is so incredibly old she MUST not remember who anyone is.  Sometimes she doesn’t.  They are all just being very nice, and I know it.  Anyway, she kept saying how hot it is and seemed amazed that you could “feel the heat rising up…”.  Keep in mind that she is extremely agoraphobic.  It is very hard to get her to go outside the door, either front or back.  I bet it has been three months since she has left the house.  But with no light or TV she really had very little choice.

Keelan was showing me a message she got from someone on her Myspace page and telling me what she was saying back to him.  She is kinda excited about this kid and hasn’t seen him since school was out.  So she is telling me what she is typing and she said, “…and a smiley face.  You know about that don’t you?  Smiley faces?  You know, semi-colon for a wink and then close parentheses?”  I thought I was being uber cool and said, “Smiley faces? Yeah…been around since the dawn of the typewriter.  Only you forgot the dash for a nose.”  She had the audacity to just bust out laughing hysterically and tell me that I am soooo old and ‘out of it’, “NOBODY puts a nose, Mom!”

WHATEVER!

How do they take the tiniest things and try to make you feel so stupid with them?  Lucky for me, I have rino-hide and it is impossible at this point.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Henrietta did a poo in the bedpan earlier and I took it over to the cedar chest to set it down by the door to be taken out in a minute to dump in the potty, while I put the diaper on her.  However, this time when I set the bedpan down there was so much crap in the way on the cedar chest it didn’t get completely on there and fell off,  The poo is quite soft and a bit runny and it…splattered out and hit my thong clad foot.  Besides being extremely grossed out I was immediately furious with all of her relatives who keep bringing her STUFFED ANIMALS.  They are all over the place now and there is little room for anything else.  Her room has gone from being a lovely haven to looking like a nursery.  WHY do people think children’s toys are good to give to old people?  I mean when they clearly don’t have the minds of children.  They don’t play with dolls, don’t throw balls, don’t play make believe in any form, shape or manner.  She won’t let go of any of it, either, because it was given to her.  Spoken just like someone raised in the depression era.

Anyway, I did some rearranging and made enough room on the cedar chest to sit the bedpan while I finish up with the diaper and dressing and whatnot.  But, the next time the people in her family that show up, (about twice a year, they come to visit),  and bring something ridiculous to her I am seriously considering saying something like, “Oh!  A child’s bear?”  OH!, for Henrietta!  Well, I don’t know how much she’ll play with it, but it’s really cute….”  Would I be a horrible person?

Yes.  I would.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I just saw a Twitter from Ree over at Hotfessional that reminded me of a conference call that I sat in on with John, Tuesday on his day off.  On of his buddies he used to work for called him and told him he might want to get in on it just because it was a pretty big deal.  The grocery store chain he works for was recalling ALL the ground meat that wasn’t sold in prepackaged tubes.  THREE DAYS BEFORE JULY 4th.

So I sat there and listened to all these different speakers talk about exactly what was being recalled and what wasn’t and how to handle it and sanitize the meat cases, coolers, floors, walls, ceilings, armpits, what have you.  These people aren’t fooling around.  Then there was endless questions from people that had to be the STUPIDEST people I can imagine knowing how to form a question.  “Err, yeah, this is Bob Schmob over at store 998.  When we sanitize the coolers and the knives, and the grinder and the blades and the prep tables and sink do we also clean the counter tops where the meat is cut up?”  Yes, you dumbass.  You clean everything the meat has ever touched in the history of the store.

I don’t know how many times this particular kind of question was asked and how many times the, either incredibly patient, or unbelievably stupid upper management people would once again tell them that, yes, they needed to clean and sanitize everything.

After the conference call had gone on for 65 minutes it ended and would you believe NO ONE EVER SAID WHAT THE PROBLEM WITH THE MEAT WAS.  I mean, you can guess it is probably e coli, but, for gawd’s sake, it seems like the managment yo-yo’s would have used the word ONCE.  Or someone would have asked.  No.  Of course it was on the recall site on the internet and it IS e coli, but I think it is PRETTY funny that the corporate big wigs can talk on and on for over an hour and not ever come out and say what the problem actually IS!  Typical. At least for this company.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Earlier tonight I came in here and Keelan was on the computer doing, Gawd knows what.  I sat and waited for a bit and watched her and my eyes have gotten so bad that I could have sworn she typed “racial farts” into the googlie search thing.  No.  It was Rascal Flatts.  Do I need to get my eyes checked out?

I am sorry there was no post for “Fecal Friday”. I was not here and, truth be told, I dealt with no poo yesterday. How did I escape the poo? I will tell you.

I left with my daughter about 6:00AM to drive to downtown Houston for the second day of Orientation. AND I am happy to report that I didn’t get separated from the herd. However things didn’t go smoothly to start off. We were running on schedule and Kes went out to start the car while I collected my purse or put on earrings or some such thing. She came back in looking stricken and said, “My car won’t start. MOM, MY CAR WON’T START!” At this point John, (who was sleeping in and trying hard to get over the virus I gave him), woke up and came outside. “Kes, are you sure it’s in park?” Check. She tried to start it and it was evident it was either the battery, the starter or alternator. You know that noise…errrrrerrrrerrrrrerrrrr, nothing. So we looked under the hood and saw that one post on her battery was completely covered with corrosion. I ran in the garage and got a wire brush and came out and attacked it. With the first stroke of the brush a tiny, evil particle of…corrosion? battery acid? whatever, flicked straight into my right eye. OH MY GAWD! I have never felt anything burn that bad in my life. Not in my eye. Anyway, while I am in the house rinsing my eye out, Kes and John come to the conclusion that Kes will drive us there in John’s car and he will take our pickup to work. We were running a tad behind at this point and Kes was having an apoplectic fit to leave. (Have I ever mentioned that she is a bit… high strung? Tightly wound? Oh hell, she’s a stereotypical, type A personality. Not a lot of fun to live with sometimes.) So I run out and climb in the car with ALL the eye makeup missing from my right eye. I swear, she glanced at me, started to comment, made this microscopic head shake and started the car and backed out almost all in one move. I waited until we were almost there and the burning had subsided somewhat, to reapply some mascara. The red, swollen eye combined with my chapped red nose from the SINUS INFECTION FROM HELL, had me looking particularly…what…hungover? disgusting? I am not sure, but it was bad.

I should have taken a box of Puffs Plus with me because I sat through hours of one professor after another stress THE EXACT SAME THINGS, OVER AND OVER, while I repeatedly blew my nose into a red paper cocktail napkin. (UH Cougars, colors-red and white.) By the end of the day there was no way to tell if my nose was red from constantly blowing it into sandpaper a paper napkin, or if the color on said napkin ran and stained my nose. I lived though. Maybe because I knew that by the time I got home John would be at work as would younger child and H would have already been pooped and diapered, washed and dressed, drug into wheelchair and rolled into living room. OH! And fed!

That’s right, people. Behold. The power of the federal government, finally put to use for good and not evil. It is paying for a company named Home Health Providers, or HHP, to send a “Caregiver Provider” to our house TWO, (2) times a week! Note the title says “caregiver provider” as in providing ME, the caregiver with help. LOVE the concept. This lady does the same thing the aide for Home Health Care did as far as the bath and dressing, twice a week, BUT! WILL STAY FOR THREE, (3!) HOURS WHILE I LEAVE AND GO WHERE EVER THE HELL I WANT. WOO-HOOOOOO. So don’t call me on Tuesdays or Fridays between the hours of 1:00PM and 4:00PM. I WILL BE GONE. Probably. At the very least I will be in the bathtub. FOR 3 HOURS!

So far today, John has gone to work and he has a “close” shift, which is ironic because his store is open 24 hours. To “close” just means work the late shift. He goes in at 1:00 and will get off about 11:00 or midnight.

Gil, who is Kes’ boyfriend is upstairs with her and they are watching some creepy movie. I will never understand their fascination with horror flicks. But, hey, if they enjoy it…

H is, (true to life), on the shitter. So I am in a holding pattern until I hear the cowbell ring and then I am off to ahem, clean up her nether regions and get her dressed if she wants to get up by then. It is currently almost 3:00pm so, she may not want to get up today. She’s been obsessing all day about all the coughing she did last night. I have tried over and over to tell her that it’s just her allergies and her sinuses are draining. This tickles her throat and she coughs. No. She is having none of it. She announced that “I have a fever in my stomach because I keep drinking water.” Well, if ever there has been a good reason to invent some mysterious, abeit impossible malady I say drinking water should be it. I have an ingrown hair on my leg and I’m sure that that’s why I’m thirsty right now. Hey, at least an ingrown hair is possible. Fever in her stomach? What kind of old Mexican wives tale is that? Better yet, how on earth do they justify it? Someone swallow a thermometer and barf it back up after 3 minutes to prove it?

Ya just gotta wonder where this stuff comes from and why anyone would buy it.

Nope! That’s not a typo! If you have ever seen the play or DVD called Greater Tuna, you’ll know what I mean. This is a HI-sterical act that these two guys do, mostly dressed in drag. They each play a number of different people in a very, small southern town, named Tuna. I believe it is supposed to be in Texas, although I’m not entirely sure about that but it’s fictional. I’ve just forgotten. Anyway, ever since my mom and I first saw it back years ago, I have called her Mither because one of the characters in the thing is a teenage girl that calls her mom Mither. This chick embodies everything that is evil about teenage girls. I cannot begin to tell you how funny this guy is playing this girl. And not because there is a guy playing her. You forget about that almost immediately. But, what happens is priceless. This is my Mother’s Day gift to all of you. you can get it via Netflix and you need it! It will lighten your spirits. I should have watched it a number of times in the past few days. But, hey, I never have been one to listen to my own good advise!

Cast of Greater Tuna in just two of the many characters they play.

<*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*>

Moving right along.

Kes just brought in flowers and some clothing for me . I believe her exact words were, “Mom. I got you some clothes.” Picture this with a look on her face like, I am going to break this to you gently, Mom. Then came, “Cause you really need some cute clothes, Mom….Cause yours are… not cute.” I just laughed and she pulled out a trendy little skirt and shirt and I went in and put them on. The skirt is actually a little bit too big, I think, and we will just go back and exchange it. The top fits though, and hey, I have gotten to where I love to try on things and announce that they are too big. “Old age” thing? Probably just “getting fat” thing…

Other child, Keelan, is at work and will do the requisite sucking up as soon as she gets home.

About MY mither:

My mom had me when she was 26 years old and married to my natural father. He was an alcoholic and, from all that I have gathered it was a very rough ride. I had an older brother that was killed in a car accident when I was 3 months old and he was 22 months old. My father was driving home drunk from somewhere he had gone with Kurt, my brother in the car with him when he had a wreck and Kurt was killed. My mom ended things then. I think she had been trying to hold everything together for quite a while, but I also think the effort was mostly on her part. Anyhow, she raised me alone until I was 5, when she reconnected with an old friend from her high school days. My daddy. They dated for a while and got married and before the ink was dry on the marriage certificate, he asked me if he could adopt me and I was thrilled. My natural father was out of the picture and I didn’t remember ever seeing him anyway. Not a real stand-up guy. He had never come to see me and wasn’t paying his child support, so it wasn’t hard to get him to agree to give up his rights. An easy out for him.

Sooo we lived quite happily as a family until my bratty baby brother came along when I was 8. Not really. I adored Cam. He was the best thing ever. Until he wasn’t anymore. About 5years old, I think. Then it was pretty typical sibling shenanigans. Mom was thriving as a wife to my dad and a wonderful mother to both of us. She was involved in ALL school functions and charity stuff as often as she could find it to do. Which was all the time. She “adopted” families and was forever looking for things for a family with 7 or 8 children that was about to have a birthday or around Christmas. These people would send wonderful letters that were written at about a 2nd or 3rd grade level and tell her what was going on and what was needed. She kept lists of the children and their sizes in her purse at all times. If there was a sale at a toy or clothing store, she was there with bells on. This mostly all happened while we were living in Louisiana, as we were there for a few years while I was growing up. There was an abundance of poverty there also. This was something she could never turn a blind eye to. My dad made good money and they made drastic home improvements on every house they had ever lived in, (several), and made a good deal of money on each one when they moved out. I learned all about house flipping from my mom long before HGTV. She and my dad are the definition of “handy”. Anyway, “the buck” actually didn’t stop there. It was passed on to those who needed it far worse.

Henrietta’s ringing the bell. Poop! There must be Poop! More later. Remember! She never got one out yesterday, so this is a big event! BIG!

You know, some people have their lives completely centered around money. Some, (Mostly young horny guys) can think of nothing but sex. Some are so co-dependent, (you know who you are… no, I guess you don’t…), they can’t do anything without involving their co-dependents. Some people are career driven and totally obsessive about getting ahead. Me. I am completely ruled by this little old lady and a damn bell. I think I am hearing it in the middle of the night and wake up and have to become alert before I can determine if she has rung it or not. And to make matters worse it is a cowbell. Not the most pleasant sound at any given time. My whole day hangs in the balance when she is on the pot, because nothing can move forward until she is done. It is almost 4:00pm and I don’t feel like going out and weeding now. I am tired of planning and wanting to do it and it is hot as blue blazes out there and I feel… deflated.

Yes. There have been exciting developments on the poop front. At 2:45pm H rang the bell for me to get her off the bedpan. I went in there and she said she hadn’t been able to do anything and she thinks she just needs to lay on her side for a while and then try again. So, rather than get frustrated that the whole day is slipping away and she isn’t even out of bed yet, I am hopping that in about 20 or 30 minutes she will decide she can shit and we will be done with that. Then I will get her cleaned up, dressed, hauled into the wheelchair and rolled into the living room where she will sit happily in front of the tv the remainder of the day. Then I will go out and frantically weed, weed, weed! Just waiting for that bell to ring. Could be aaaany minute……

At 3:17 I was finally rolling her into the living room and she announced that she wants to make some phone calls. So I snatched the phone up and dialed the number she handed me. Disconnected. Henrietta-”Oh, that’s so sad!” Me-”Why’s it sad?”. H-”Well, she’s dead or in a nursing home!” (like, you ninny, anybody can see that!). Me-”Or she moved in with someone else.” H-(acting like she didn’t hear me), “Yes, she’s in a nursing home.”

Next number on her list. Me-”That’s the wrong number, Henrietta.” H-”No, I copied it down!” Me-”Yeah, well, it’s wrong. I got another family.” H- “Do they know Thelma?”

Me, right now-God, please let me just get outside.

3:33pm.

At 1:50 H rang the bell for the bedpan. Yeah! Now we are just waiting for her to get done and I am off to WEED!

it doesn’t take a lot to excite me.

Well, it all started harmlessly enough. John was scurrying as fast as he could all day at work trying to get home at a decent time to take me out to eat. This is no small feat when you work for a gigantic grocery store chain and it is 2 days before Mother’s Day. He went in at 6:00am and was tearing home at 7:00pm. Typical 13 hour day. Whatever. Anyway he was driving behind one of our good friends when he got close to home so he called him and asked if he and his wife wanted to go out to eat with us as it was my birthday. To which he said they probably would if wife hadn’t cooked anything. She hadn’t so we met up with them at their house and were going to leave as soon as their son showed up to pick up their grand-baby. He came along in about 20 minutes and had a friend with him. My girlfriend then asked if the three of them would like to come too . Oh well.

It turned out pretty well. We really did have a nice time and the baby is much better behaved now than he was the last time we were saddled with trying to eat with him. He is really a cute, sweet little boy, but it is just too easy for my friend to give him ALL of her attention. Apparently that wasn’t necessary last night and I guess he is past that point now. We were seated so that the 4 of us were at one end, (Along with the baby of course.), and her son and friend were at the other, so we got to talk and it was pretty close to old times. We had margaritas and some really good Mexican food and we all went home happy.

<*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*>

It is 1:30pm and if I don”t get out side and WEED THE FLOWER BEDS today, well, there may be no tomorrow! Just waiting for the old lady to poop and I am outta here! There is a light misting, (misting?) of clouds and it won’t be that hot. This is me thinking positively.

COME ON POOP!

<*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*><*>

I want to know what is up with my eyelashes. They used to be long and curl up, especially when I put on mascara. Now, like in the past year and a half, they are significantly shorter and are straight as a board. Even with mascara. I have tried to curl them with one of those torture devise looking things and they are very stubborn, now. They just go back straight almost immediately.

Is 45 really that old?

I am in a cranky mood and everything is getting to me today. Stuff that I usually just ignore. I took H in to use the bedpan and when I was leaving the room she said, “I’ve got my bell here, I’ll call you when I’m done.” I felt like yelling, “Of course you’ve got your bell! I have never hidden you bell! That is where your bell lives and it is always there! Yes, I know the drill because for three and a half years I have been depositing you on the bed pan and getting you off when you ring the bell. I KNOW YOU ARE GOING TO RING THE BELL WHEN YOU ARE DONE! WHY MUST YOU ANNOUNCE IT AS IF I DON’T KNOW THE RULES TO THE GAME AND HAVE NEVER PLAYED BEFORE. ARE YOU AFRAID I AM GOING TO RUN IN HERE AND YANK YOU OFF THE POT MID-SHIT? CAUSE, HEY LADY, I CAN ASSURE YOU THAT THAT IS THE EXACT KIND OF MESS THAT I HATE TO CLEAN UP AND I WILL DO WHATEVER I CAN TO KEEP IT FROM HAPPENING! YOU COULD MAKE THE GAME SOOOO MUCH MORE ENJOYABLE BY RESPECTING THE FACT THAT I KNOW WHAT I’M DOING AND AM NOT A COMPLETE MORON. not completely.

Then I went upstairs and…eh, “picked up” my 17 year olds room. I took out a metric ton of trash and threw the duvet up on the bed and piled up all the clothes she needs to sort through to determine clean/dirty. Some stuff was still carefully folded, (by ME), and other stuff was obviously worn. Not my problem. But I basically got the room ready to be organized. I might point out that she has had another little girl living here with her for a couple of weeks and that has significantly added to the mess problem. This chick is not going to be here for that much longer and the room had better not ever get in this condition again.

But, anyway, she and same girl came flouncing in after school and trotted their happy asses up stairs to change clothes for work and trotted back down and left and NEVER SAID ONE WORD TO ME. NOT “HI.” NOT, “BYE.” NOT, “KISS MY ASS.” NOTHING.

Today is my birthday and the little brat didn’t even wish me happy birthday. I may kill her, clean up her room, and take it over for…something, for me. Yes. That’s the new plan.

And who, amongst us, hasn’t had one? (Please understand that if you cannot even begin to “get” where I am coming from, I really don’t want to hear how you resent being subjected to poop stories…)

Ever heard anyone say they have had a shitty day? I bet you have and I also bet you have immediately pictured them running late for work or getting chewed out by a boss or customer or them spilling coffee on their clean white shirt. But, did it ever occur to you that they might mean shitty day? There are those of us who are not in the septic tank business that deal with a good deal of it. Shit, that is. Some people are paid to deal with it, as in hospital orderlies, and some of us just get stuck with it. Sometimes there is a lot of it. Henrietta has a Miralax habit that borders on addiction. She cannot do a poo without it. And if the stars are not aligned exactly right she may be gonna be plugged up even with it. She doesn’t usually go too long like this and isn’t too terribly uncomfortable. But, after not going for three days, Katy bar the door. We are trucking back and forth to the bedpan over and over, with false alarms. She is working fervently at it and will not stay in bed to do it. So I am stuck hauling her in and out of the wheelchair and bed over and over and picking her lower half up over and over and am out of breath all day. There is always an implied urgency with this whole operation that suggests that there will be a shit explosion if I don’t hurry fast enough. Though, to be fair, there has been. Well, virtually.

The other day John came in and we were doing all the running back and forth and he began to feel badly for me and wanted to know if he could do anything. This was toward the end of the waiting period and close to payload time. I was flustered and tired and I whipped open the door to H’s bedroom and shouted down the hall for him and asked him to come and get the bedpan and empty it. Now understand that no one on earth is as squeamish as John. He started down the hall towards me and stopped abruptly and looked horrified and said, “It smells like shit in the hall!” At this point I was walking toward him with the bedpan and I said, “If you don’t take this from me right now, I WILL dump it over your head.”. I think he realized I meant business and he pulled his tee shirt up over his nose, grabbed the bedpan and ran for the bathroom.

I got flowers the next day.