My Father, Part 2

One day a couple years ago, my dad got up, got dressed, and started his morning futzing. At some point mid-day, he started bitching about how he couldn’t find his wallet. (NB: My father can’t find anything. Ever.) After a while, my mom asked him where and when he had it last.

“Right in the back pocket of my jeans last night!” (He was wearing yesterday’s jeans again, of course.)

My mom went over to a pair of jeans that had been draped over a chair and pulled Dad’s wallet out of the back pocket. “Here it is,” she tells him.

Dad looked down at his pants and said, “Well, what jeans am I wearing?”

Mom took one look and replied, “Mine.”

And It Clears Up Acne

I did a sleep study at UNC Hospitals Sunday night (more on that later).  I was talking with my friend Erika about the ideal outcome of it.

Me: I hope they say, “You have a very rare condition called blah blah blah, but it’s easily treated.”

Erika:  With a pill.

Me:  That comes in a generic.

Erika:  That you only have to take once a year.

Me: The only side effect is weight loss.

When in reality, they’ll probably say, “We don’t know what’s wrong with you. Go do some yoga.”

Zzzzzzzzzzz what the?

In addition to my ridiculous night-time teeth-grinding, I also conjure wild and woolly, fantastical tales in my dreams. The other night, Sharon, who played tuba in the middle school band with me (and whom I haven’t thought of since 1990), was going to be beheaded for a crime she may or may not have committed. Two nights ago, the company I worked for(?) was going belly-up, and my co-workers and I were trying to decide if we could keep our laptops. Last night, my dogs chased after a guy who was riding his horse alongside five-lane Blowing Rock Road, you know, there in front of the credit union; I was terrified they’d be hit by a car. I’m tired all the time.

Redfordyev

So Redford had his man-surgery today, poor wretch. He came out looking even sweeter and dopier than usual, which is some feat. The discharge sheet said to keep them from licking their wounds and that, if you don’t have an Elizabethan collar, sometimes a pair of boxer shorts backwards with their tail out the hole will do the trick. I got a pair of my boxer-briefs. (What? Fat girls wear shorts under skirts so their thighs don’t chafe.) But of course they were too big. I had to fold them over and wrap duct tape around them to get them to stay on him. Then I duct-taped around the legs for good measure. He looks like a little Russian folk dancer. Hey!

A Theme

My sister L. and I saw ‘Julie & Julia’ yesterday. (LOVED IT.) It made me think maybe I should have a theme for this blog. I thought about that before I set it up, but I kept waffling and figured I could waffle forever and never begin to write.

So. A theme…something I know a lot about, right? Teaching. Compulsive overeating. Pit bulls. Dance. Being single. Auntiehood.

I don’t know.

Dust Bunnies & Peanut Butter

I swept my house today.

I almost wanted to take a picture of the pile because it was so gargantuan.  It was just hard to believe that all that crap could’ve been ON MY FLOOR.  I’ve had a similar experience when looking into an “empty” peanut butter jar before busting out a rubber scraper (some weird people call it a ‘spatula’, but that’s what you flip burgers with) and ending up with enough peanuty goodness to make two sandwiches.

Health Schmealth

I guess I just don’t understand how anyone can think that health care is an economic good, to be traded and competed for in the open market. I’m sure there are people out there who don’t believe in social goods at all–that there should be no government-provided services, that citizens should have to pay to use schools, roads, etc. But it boggles my mind that anyone who believes in public education could possibly think that basic health care is less important for the masses.

The only reason to oppose it is money. And I get it, some people have built their fortunes and lifestyles in the medical or insurance industries. It’s not fair that they should have to adjust to a lower standard of living or find another line of work. But it’s also not fair that I, a very fiscally-responsible public school teacher, regularly skip well-patient, preventive care appointments so I can use the co-pay to buy dog food instead. Don’t get me started on specialist visits. Yesterday, I paid sixty bucks to chat with a PA about my sleep problems.

Beans

I’m always disappointed in the liquid to bean ratio in the La Costeña cans. I mean, I understand that potato chip bags have air so the chips don’t get smashed, but I have a hard time believing that my pinto beans might get bruised in their aluminum can even if it’s not half-filled with liquid.  I wish they weren’t so good so I could switch to another brand.