It Creeps Up On Ya

It started slowly. First, I got an email. I didn't think anything of it. I get tons of emails from groups asking me to write to someone or make a pledge about something or send money. I read the email, agreed with the cause and sent a letter to my congressman. I said that they could contact me with other "action alerts" if need be.

Then I got an email asking me to submit questions for the (then) upcoming presidential election. I wrote some questions. Some of them were smarmy and I didn't expect them to be used. Some were thoughtful and I thought they might be used. They weren't.

Then I received a "voter guide". I thought it was nice that they would include me into their group, even though I wasn't "one of their kind". It didn't actually tell me how to vote, it merely wanted me to ask myself (and the candidates) certain questions before I cast my ballot. I had already sent in my ballot, but it was nice of them to remind me how to vote responsibly.

Then yesterday happened. Yesterday they sent me a membership card. I knew it must be a mistake. I am not one of them. I certainly support them, for the most part. But I AM NOT ONE OF THEM! I checked their website and I was correct, I do not qualify to be a member.

Yesterday, I was sent an AARP membership card.

It hurts. It really does.

Canine Vulgarity

Mr. Misha and I were sitting on the couch the other night watching TV. Both of the dogs were on the couch with us; the pug was nestled in Mr. Misha's armpit and the cocker spaniel was stretched out between the two humans. At one point, Mimi decided to stretch out and struck a pose much like this one:
Since her head was on my lap, I stroked her ears and told her she was a vulgar little girl. To which Mr. Misha replied, "She's just showing us her petunia."

In nursing school, I was told it was called a vulva....but forever more, it will now be known as 'The Petunia'.

Who Knew? (Misha is mad about ballroom, again)

The first time I ever saw Mr. Misha dance was on our wedding day. It never came up during our courtship. I knew he loved music, I knew he had rhythm, but I was a little worried that I would dance with him once on our wedding day and that would be it.

Little did I know that I had married a Dancin' Machine. With the first song, he was out on the floor shakin' his booty and having a great time. Even 4 years later, people still talk about how much fun they had dancing with Mr. Misha. It was great.

Monday night was the season premire of Dancing With The Stars. As usual, Mr. Misha retired to the Man Cave while I watched the first show of the season with glee. Every once in a while he would come out and take a peak, but for most of the evening, he stayed away. I loved the show. One of my favorites was retired NFL Defensive Tackle, Warren Sapp, "The Quarterback Killa". I have a thing for big, bald guys with big smiles. I voted for him, hoping I would see him dance on Tuesday night.

Last night, I had to work. It turned out that my patient was a fan of DWTS too. Since she was resting comfortably after her epidural, she turned on the show. While I charted and titrated her IV drips, she and her family oohed and aahed over the costumes and dance moves. I saw snippets of the show, but I knew I had set the TiVo, so I made sure my main focus was the nursing care of my patient.

Then suddenly, my pocket started to vibrate. I excused myself from the room and took out my iPhone to see who was texting me so much. I had multiple text messages from girls who had been at our wedding that simply read, "Warren Sapp reminds me of Mr. Misha". That explains why he is one of my favorites this year!

For those of you who didn't see DWTS, here are Warren's two performances:

The Cha Cha

The Quickstep

Close Encounters Of The Joan Kind

I know that most of you have enjoyed reading stories about my mother, Joan. Well, there is one story I would like to tell you, but it would lose something if I just typed it out here on the interwebs. So, I asked my mom if she would like to start making little videos that I can post on my blog. She agreed. I decided to start with her stories about her theory on how she contracted Acquired Type 2B Von Willebrand's Disease.

Check out this video: Joanie and the Aliens

Now tell me, do you think she is joking or is she serious? I am not sure. She tells it so seriously.

Why Are You Yelling At Me?

Products I will never purchase because their commercials annoy me:
American Taxpayer Associates, Vonage and Nutrisystem- their commercials are significantly louder than the ones that precede or follow them. These commercials are so loud that they have actually waked* me up from a sound sleep. It pains me to say, that Bare Minerals commercials are too loud also. But since I bought their product before their commercials tried to deafen me, I will forgive them. I LOVE MY Bare Minerals!

Enzyte- that fucking whistling is annoying. But if you turn off the sound- the visuals are kinda funny in a Bevis and Butthead kinda way.

Products with doorbells in their commercials- Swiffer Wet Jet, Windex and Domino's Pizza. Every time these commercials appear on my television and the doorbell sound goes off, both Harley and Mimi become ballistic. Barking, running to the door, spinning in circles. When they realize that no one has come to visit them, they look so forlorn. It's a wonder why both of my pooches are not psychotic by now.
Viagra- the Viva Viagra song. Ruined the Elvis original for me permanently.
Liberator Medical- I am a nurse. I put urinary catheters in all the time. But for some reason, the way the woman in the commercial says catheter and urinary infection, skeeves me out.
Liberty Medical with Wilford Brimley- Dude, it is pronounced DIE-A-BEET-EASE, not DIE-A-BEAT-US. I want to smack him when he says it that way. It could only be worse if he said, "I got the sugar problem or I got The Die-a-beat-us".
Tony Little and his Gazelle- To quote in late, great musician, Wesley Willis, "Cut the mullet". It's like he is trying to be the macho version of Richard Simmons.
The Sham-WOW guy- seriously, he is very patronizing to the camera operator. And he yells.

Speaking of yellers, The Oxyclean, Orange glow, Kaboom and now Health Insurance hawker.........Billy Hayes- the king of the cranked up, screaming TV Hawkers. Dude, layoff the Red Bulls and Starbucks!

So, what's bugging you lately?

* I thought I should use the word "woke", but grammar check says "waked" is the correct one. Any opinions on that?

Another Conversation With My Mom.

I sent my mom a copy of this picture.

She called me as soon as she read the email and told me she loved it.

She said, "How nice it is to have such a clever husband that can do such clever things. Are you going to send it to Barack Obama?"

I told her I thought he was a little busy right now to appreciate Mr. Misha's photoshop skills. She then told me she was going to show it to my Uncle John. I groaned and said "Why?" I really didn't want a late night phone call from my redneck uncle giving me shit about my politics.

She said, "Don't worry. He's all Democrat now. He said the other day that he was making more money and having more fun when the President was getting blowjobs in the oval office. Now that there is some retard from Texas in there shooting his mouth off and blowing countries up, his business has not been as good."

I laughed and replied, "Yeah, blow jobs aren't usually lethal, are they?"

My mom replied, "Nope. Good thing, since people are just going around sucking dicks like they are just shaking hands nowadays."

"Really?" I replied. I wondered what kind of crowd my mom was hanging out with these days. "So does Miss Manners have a book out on proper blow job etiquette now?"

"Well, I don't know if there is a book. But I know that people are doing it all the time now."

I started to tease her a bit and said, "So in China or Japan, instead of bowing to each other, do you think they are blowing each other?"

"I don't know about over there, but here...well, they say that here everyone is blowing everybody."

"Mom, that must be what Paul is doing wrong in his job interviews. He should be putting penises in his mouth instead of shaking hands. I'll tell him you said he should be blowing perspective employers."

"Michele! I did not say that. That is not for boys. Boys don't give blow jobs, girls do."

"What about Aunt Jon and Uncle Tom?"

"That's different."

"I am going to tell Paul you want him to give blow jobs."

"Don't you dare."

"I am. I am going to tell him right now."

"Michele Marie! Do not tell your husband we were talking about oral sex."

"Mom, I am gonna tell him and then I am going to write about it. Everyone will know that you were talking about blow jobs."

"Well, just make it clear that I only TALK about them."

Mother Daughter Profanity.

Thursday my mom came up to visit me. She helped me with some straightening up so when the girl comes to clean my house, she can actually clean. I kept reminding her that she did not need to give the house "The German Scrub-down", merely help me get stuff out of the way for the cleaning lady. She wouldn't listen. This is the conversation we had in my kitchen:

Me: Old woman, if you don't stop sweeping the floor I am going to kick your ass.

Her: Oh yeah? You with your gimpy neck and arm? How are you going to kick my ass?

Me: You are old, you have a pain in your ass from your sciatica, only one eye, a torn rotator cuff and two swollen feet. I have still have one good arm, two eyes and two good feet. It won't be a fair fight and I'll kick your ass. So quit sweeping the fucking floor!

Her: Shut the fuck up you ungrateful child!

Me: Now Joan, be nice to me. I am the only child. Not only will I pick the nursing home you'll get put into, I will also be writing your obituary. You've seen what can happen with that!

Then we both starting laughing so hard, I started to cry and she peed her pants. In my kitchen. We had to mop the floor anyway.

Lessons Learned From An Obit.

My mom, like many seniors, reads the obituaries in her local paper each morning while sipping her cup of coffee. She often calls me and reads them to me on the phone. I normally tune her out and play on the computer while she reads them. This latest one was different. Here is how our conversation went:

Me (hearing my mom read yet another obit to me): "blah, blah, blah, yadda yadda, Dolores...never had a kind word or deed..."

Me: "Mom, shut the fuck up! What was that?"

She read it again.

Me: "No way. This is a joke. Give me that chick's name and I will google it while you read the rest to me!"

The lessons I have gleaned from this:

1.) Be careful how you treat people, one of them might be writing your obituary.

2.) The death of someone hurtful doesn't erase the hurt.

3.) Therapy and forgiveness are good things.

Things my mom and I discussed about this obituary:

1.) It is one sided. A cheap shot towards someone who cannot defend herself.

2.) Her family needs therapy or something to get over these feelings of anger and hurt.

3.) We would never air our family's dirty laundry in the newspaper.

For more info on how this got into the paper, click here.

Comcast Sucks

While I was at the doctor, some dude from COMCAST CABLE came to our door and asked Mr. Misha if he could come into our backyard. Apparently, the box, or pole or whatever, for our entire street is located in our backyard. Mr. Misha said sure and secured the doggie door to keep the dogs in the house. When I came home, the COMCAST CABLE dude had left, so we opened the doggie door. I went to the bedroom to go on the myspaces and Mr. Misha went into the man cave. A few minutes later, I hear a man outside my bedroom window yelling "Harley!" I thought it was Mr. Misha. Then I hear it again. I holler to him, "Why are you yelling for the pug?" He hollers back, "What?" Then I hear the front door open. I go out to the front of the house and our neighbor is walking back to his house. He told me that both of the dogs were running around in front and he let them back into the house and closed our back gate. I thanked him and went back into the house.

I was LIVID. I got on the phone and I called COMCAST CABLE. I told the poor woman that answered, "I don't have comcast. I don't want comcast. I am very happy with my current company. I wanted to tell you that one of your workers came to our home today...blah, blah, blah...AND HE LEFT MY GATE OPEN. My dogs escaped and were running around out in front of our house! If anything would have happened to them, I don't know what I would have done! These dogs are our children. I would be inconsolable. No amount of money could ever compensate me for the loss of my dogs. Please inform your worker what he did. Please find away to fix my neighbor's cable without coming into my backyard. I have been letting your company come into my backyard for years. I have been awakened while sleeping during the day, even though I have a sign that says 'Daytime Sleeper, Do Not Disturb". This is the last straw. COMCAST CABLE will no longer be allowed into my backyard, ever!" Then I said thank you and hung up. Mr. Misha just smiled and went back into the man cave.

Lancelot, Eat Your Heart Out

When Mr. Misha and I were newlyweds, he worked for a company located about 2 1/2 hours away from our home in Napa. The commute was too grueling to do everyday, so Mr. Misha started looking for a cheap room to rent close to his office. I was amazed how quickly he found a place. He would be sharing a house with two guys named Rick and Dan.

He told me he found them on craigslist and that they were both single, gay men. He said he thought they would be the most appropriate housemates for a newly-wedded man. He didn't want me to worry about late night keg parties or girls hanging around the house all the time. I could have cared less because I trust him, but his intent was sweet. It was a pretty nice arrangement. Mr. Misha's room was just like his "Man Cave" at home and the rest of the house was clean and orderly. The three guys got along well. Dan had a big Bull Mastiff named Tess. She and Mr. Misha became fast friends. Mr. Misha helped the guys with their computer problems and they fed him. I was looking forward to meeting them.

Around Christmas time, I went down to the Silicon Valley for Mr. Misha's company Holiday party. I was greeted at the door by Tess and Rick. As I rubbed Tess' belly and scratched her ears, Rick went on and on about how much he loved having Mr. Misha as a housemate. He became extremely animated as he told me how Mr. Misha "saved" him.

"One evening I was cooking a little something in the kitchen, a little something, not too heavy because it was late. Anyway, I must have been clarifying butter or something but all of a sudden, this horrific loud squealing noise started in the kitchen. I was so scared; I had no idea where it was coming from! I just froze. I was about to faint from the horrible sound when, like a night in shining armor, your gallant husband came out of his room, grabbed a broom and jousted some contraption from the ceiling and the noise stopped! I don't even want to think what would have happened if my knight, your husband, hadn't been there to rescue this damsel in distress!"

That's Mr. Misha: Rock-n-Roller, Reverend, Computer Genius and Jouster of smoke detectors.