I don't know why, but Grandpop finds it necessary to tell us every single time he gets up from the table, that he's headed to the bathroom. As if we didn't know that it had been 20 minutes since he last hit up the WC, and was obviously due for another sad attempt at a pee. Or, maybe he needs to go #2 again, which is quite often, as I can tell from the demonic sounds that come out of him on a semi-hourly basis. You would think that maybe he might wonder why he's not had a solid BM in a dozen years. I might be able to give some insight into this realm of "fluffy" stools. First off, let us analyze Grandpop's liquid diet.
Upon waking up Grandpop will consume: several cups of coffee
For lunch Grandpop will consume: several more cups of cold coffee
Anytime after 4 pm-ish Grandpop will consume: Yuengling Lager, by the can, approx. 3-4 cans
At no time during the day will Grandpop consume: water
Funny that he was a doctor for all those years, yet he never, ever drinks water. There have been several times that Grandpop has asked me to use Grandmom's diabetic insulin monitor because he says I'm obviously diabetic, since I actually let pure H2O into my body on a regular basis. One time, just to get him to shut up for a few days, I took my blood sugar- and of course it was fine.
Anyway, it's probably a good thing Grandpop has to get up and pee/go #2 so much during the day; the walking probably makes up for a good 30% of his daily exercise. And, he's keeping the economy going strong by using up lots of American made TP.
And on to other exciting topics.
Several weeks ago when Dana was visiting Grandmom got on to the topic of babies with colic, and apparently(uncle) Lief (1st born out of 8) was one of those wonderful babies. A hilarious discussion about colic ensued, and although talks with my Grandmom can never be duplicated, I can try my best to repeat her stories with enthusiasm.
So, Lief is born and he doesn't stop crying. He cries, and cries, and cries some more. Colic is supposed to go away somewhere around 3 months, but after 3 months the crying doesn't stop so Grandpop declares that Lief will stop crying by the 6 month mark. Another 3 months pass, and although Grandmom hasn't pulled her hair out, she's on the verge of doing so, since the kid is still crying- ceaselessly.
After 6 months of crying Grandpop says that maybe Lief will stop crying in a few months more. (I don't know about you, but I can barely stand a baby crying in the store for more than a few minutes- let alone months, with an "s", on end.) About 9 months in to this never ending sob session Peg and George decide to go visit Aunt Shirley in Wisconsin. This was back in the days before super highways and fast food. Somewhere, about 1/2 way into the trip Grandmom and Grandpop are getting gas and ask the attendant if he could suggest a good place to eat. He gives them the address of a club nearby, and tells them to drop his name so they can get in. Now this is a really nice club, and the baby is actually quiet for once so they go in and place their order. And then Lief starts wailing. Since they've already placed their order they can't just get up and go, but on the other hand, this is a nice place and people are giving them looks. Luckily, the waiter enters the scene to save the day, and works his magic as Jesus would if he were present.
"May I take your baby?" the waiter asks.
"You can do whatever you want with him," my Grandma replies.
The crying baby is whisked away to the kitchen, or what Grandmom assumes was the kitchen, she can't quite recall. What she could recall was solitude, for once.
She said she could hear faint cries from the back, but the food and peace was too good to care too much about her first born son.
After finishing their meal the waiter promptly brought the baby back, wherever it had been, and they were on their way again.
On this same trip Grandmom and Grandpop spent the night at a hotel/motel of sorts and were trying to relax for the night but this goddamn baby still wouldn't stop with the crying. No matter what they did; be it rock him and pat his back, or sing to him and smile and "coo," this kid wouldn't shut up. They ended up taking his crib and shoving it in a closet. She remembers that the door wouldn't shut all the way, but it was enough so that it wasn't unbearable to fall asleep.
I took Grandpop to the doctor's office for a check-up after he had several spots removed from his face. The surgeon who does these procedures is a cosmetic surgeon and he has 3 sizes of breast implants sitting on the secretary's counter. On the wall there are also an array of pamphlets offering information about how you can fix all of the ugly things on your body. Laser hair removal, nose jobs, male breast reduction, veneers/ tooth bleaching, face lifts, Botox- anything you can imagine about yourself that's ugly- they can make it better for you.
So as I'm waiting for Grandpop to get his post-op check out, a girl comes in with two friends; a girl, and a gay guy.
The 20 minute conversation summed up into several main highlights goes as follows:
"So, as soon as you recover, we've got to go out to the bars and get all the free drinks from guys that we can handle."- says girl friend
"I didn't really think it would hurt so much." Says boob job recipient. (Of course it's not going to hurt when you get gigantic sacs of goo inserted into your tits, followed by stitches.)
"I went over to this guy's house the other day and I ended up spending the night. In the morning we saw this lizard with RED EYES looking at us from across the room. I was so fucking freaked out that I got up on the couch and started screaming, because I knew that that fucking lizard was crawling all over me last night. I knew that that lizard was crawling on my face and was giving me scabies. I jumped up and ran outside and down the driveway and just balled. He came outside and told me I needed to grow up, since it was a plastic lizard someone had put there. He found that out after he tried to kill it by smashing it with a fly swatter, but it wouldn't die. I was SO scared you guys. I was scared for my life."- Girl friend of boob-job recipient
"So now that I got my boobs done do you think you're finally going to get your nose job that you've always talked about?"- Says boob-job recipient
"Well, Tara and I always talked about getting our noses done together, but now that I think about it, I might want to get veneers or something, or maybe laser hair removal. It's so hard to decide."- Friend of boob-job recipient
The more these people talked, the more I wanted B101 playing on the radio to kill me before I had to do it to myself. As if Celine Dion, John "Cougar" Mellencamp and "Botox and You!" pamphlets weren't enough to deal with in this disgusting, sterile office.
I have no idea why the gay friend was there too. All I heard him say the whole time was, "So, do they feel natural?"
"Well," she said, "they feel kind of hard, and I can't really feel them at all. But, as long as they're bigger that's all that matters."
True that girl friend.
And on to matters of hats...
The other day after going to the lawyers Grandpop couldn't find his hat. He kept asking everyone if they had seen it, and everyone kept telling him to relax- that it would show up.
I was doing work on the computer and Grandpop comes in and tell me, "John, I'm looking for my hat. Someone has put it in a drawer somewhere and the brim is getting bent. They told me not to put it in the closet, so they hid it, and now we can't find it."
Of course I know that 98% of what he's talking about is completely insanity. The only truth to all that he said is that he can't find his hat.
Peter hears him talking to me about the hat so he goes outside and finds it in the van. He brings it to Grandpop and tells him to relax- the hat is fine.
Grandpop comes in and tell me, "John you can stop looking for my hat. (Not that I was anyway.) I found it in the bathroom."
On the news the other night there was a story from Iraq, accompanied by pictures of usual life from Baghdad. Grandpop asks, "Is this a picture from space?"
Grandpop hates eating any food that requires prep at the table. This means he despises Mexican food of all sorts: tacos, fajitas, burritos, etc.
We had fajitas the other day and Grandmom made a fajita for him, knowing he would be lost doing it himself. She gives him his fajita on his plate and he asks,
"Is this food, or is it cotton?"
In regards to the news of the government giving out rebates to bolster the economy Grandpop asks, "Are they talking about a horse race?"
"No George," Grandmom replies, "It's about getting money from the government."
"If they give out that money then they're gonna run out of beer and they better hire more people for the ER," Grandpop says.
"You're saying everyone's going to go get drunk if the government gives people money?" Grandmom asks him. "George, you see the gloomy side of everything- and you don't even know what the hell is going on."
And she's right.
And this is just a glimpse into the average day at 326 Spalding Rd. Hope your days are just as much fun.
PS- I'd love to hear some comments.