"Shit Happens..."

Poor Steve.

Currently under the effects of twilight anesthesia, having his first colonoscopy, little does he know I am busy writing yet another blog about his intestinal activities.  If he had been like the rest of us and only lost three temporary pounds during the fasting part I would have left this alone.  But no, he got to lose ten pounds and I say that is not fair!  Something needs to be done to right the balance.

"It must be public humiliation!" I declare to myself.

The story begins...

Sitting in the waiting room a thought creeps through my mind; one of those big life thoughts.  More important than wondering about where I'll "be" after I die is, "what on earth is it that happens in someone's young life to lead them to eventually declare 'I want to be a proctologist'?" I could ask the doctor when I go back to see Steve after the procedure, but perhaps I don't really want to know.

My thoughts thankfully redirect themselves quickly and I snap back to my present environment.  The waiting room at this joint is not very jovial.  Half of the group is famished and cranky, and the other half, their drivers (aka significant others), are busy staring off into space, thinking about what else they could be doing.  HGTV is on and they're showing a bathroom remodel which most of us could probably use after the past 24 hours of destruction in our own homes.  An elderly lady came tottering out from the back and they called her husband's name.  In her post-anesthesia delirium she started weaving her way back to the procedure room.  Her husband yelled out "Martha! Not that way!  Isn't one time enough for you?"  That got everyone snickering in the waiting room, and suddenly we felt a certain camaraderie as we nodded imperceptibly to each other with a conspiratorial wink.  We all knew why we were there and what we had been dealing with since yesterday.

Our heads all swung simultaneously back to the bathroom remodel on HGTV.  Personally I think the plumbers and designers in town might be in cahoots with the proctologists.  I suspect they've supplied the doctors with a continuous loop of remodeling feed, seeing as they have a pretty captive audience.  Speaking for myself, my takeaway from this show was that I definitely need a marble counter top and two basin sinks now in our master bath.  Plus, of course, cabinets, new tile for the shower and updated hardware for the drawers.  And obviously, a new toilet. Apparently it's not the medical procedures that are so expensive. It's what you end up doing to your home after watching a show like this while in the waiting room; or perusing a high-end decorating magazine while waiting on your significant other to have their colon scoped.  Sounds fair to me.

Before I knew it they were calling me back to the recovery room to see Steve.  The entire procedure went so quickly, from check-in to prep to procedure, I had not even finished my coffee. Initially I was a bit miffed that my time to gather more blog content for this story was being cut short.  I had really been looking forward to at least an hour of alone time in the waiting room, gathering information, observing, eavesdropping on other conversations.  It was not to be had this morning.

As I kissed Steve on the forehead and asked him how he was feeling he smiled at me and, still under the lingering influence of the anesthesia said, "jebba shimsnig finbieng thruby".  Which loosely translated means "I love you Cynthia and I want you to have all of my money".

The PA buzzed around Steve's bed, checking his vitals, making sure he was comfortable and helped him sit-up so we could start getting ready to leave.  Apparently our insurance plan only covers 7.5 minutes in the recovery room and she was on a mission.  She chattered away about how well he had done, everything looked just fine, the doctor would be by in a minute or two to review the results and answer any questions, and then opened a folder and said "would you like to see pictures of your colon?" 

I don't think anyone really knows what the correct answer is to that question, but in trying to be responsible middle-aged adults we felt pressured to say yes.  Steve, still in a bit of a stupor, looked at the images and then said "OMG! It's beautiful! It looks like a sunset!" Obviously switching to coloured images instead of black and white like the old days has a certain value-added entertainment factor.

I, for one, was thrilled at his response.  "That is pure gold, being handed to me on a silver platter" I thought to myself.  "What a perfect ending for my story!"

Poor Steve...and he thought I was going to write about the cats this morning.

 

I'd Like To Buy A Noun, Please...

If I scroll back a few years ago in my blog archives I can find stories from our travels in Morocco.  Pretty much since then it has been about cleaning up cat vomit, lying awake listening to Steve snore, or wondering aloud about the gradual decline of my body, mind and bank account.  And sometimes it's about nothing much at all, which seems to have given me an endless supply of material.

Case in point...

As most of you know, Steve is a pretty awesome guy. He is my best friend, a great husband, loves my family and our friends, a talented artist, and he's a cat whisperer.  However (isn't there always a however?) he was born with one genetic defect (maybe more, but this one really stands out). His DNA lacks the ability to form nouns and use them in a sentence. Most of our married life I have had no idea what we are even talking about which I'm sure has contributed to its longevity.  Back in our younger days, when a lot of you know what was going on, nouns didn't matter as everything was really more about sound effects and the different decibel levels that were achieved.  But nowadays I often think it would be nice to know what's happening.   

Today for example, while biking, all of a sudden he yelled "watch out"!  

As I was moving along at a bit of a clip it's not like I could easily take in every potential danger around me in the amount of time that it sounded like I needed. "Watch out for what?" I yelled back.

"That!" he shouted.

I swerved off the path to avoid whatever it was I was supposed to not run over, and in the process came close to falling off of my bike.

The good news is, whenever something does happen to me I'm going to be the last to know what hit me, and with any luck will be knocked unconscious, oblivious to my crash.

Here's another example that happens on a daily basis...multiple times. 

Steve..."I think that would be a good thing to get."

"What thing?" I ask. 

"You know, the one from yesterday" he says.

Me..."and that would be...?" 

"When we were at Lowe's."

"I'd like to buy a noun please" I say.

"Planter! That big planter in the garden section!" 

"Well finally!  Why didn't you say so?"

"That's what I've been trying to tell you" he says.
  
Good grief.  And it for sure won't be long before I get to go through that again.

Lately, when I sense he is about to start talking, I try and speed things up by shouting out random nouns and then just yell "pick one, any one, use it in a sentence! Here ya go...Jewelry! Car! Pasta! Chocolate!  Please, we've only got so much time left on this planet and I really need to know what's going on.  I could be dead before I know what you're talking about!"

"Pizza!" he yells.  "And wine!"

Perfect.  My plan has worked again...


 

Just another day...

I was in the bedroom folding laundry the other day when I heard some grunting and cursing coming from another part of the house.  I stepped out into the family room and remembered that Steve had put on the newest yoga video given to us by my sister.

Apparently it was not one that would be deemed "Gentle Yoga" because all I could hear was Steve yelling at the instructor telling her to shut the $&@k up.  Within a matter of minutes I was exhausted just from listening to him in the other room.  That instructor had not stopped talking or taken a breathe since she started.

This is what I heard..."Now stand up tall and ster...etch toward the sun. Drop down to your knees, NOW, on all fours, downward dog, hold that position, breathe, now drop into cobra and ster...etch.....now jump up and leg UP into tree position, now wrap your legs and squat into eagle and now back to downward dog and dolphin and chaturanga, cobra, half cobra, warrior one, downward dog, deep breathing, exhale, shavasana, chaturanga, good grief, $&@k off, heavy breathing, torso perpendicular to the floor, lift your chest, fingers perpendicular, up dog, down dog, open the thighs, release the neck, stretching up, inhale, standing arch, sweep with the arms, what the *&#$..my god this is like Twister!  I think I'm going to throw-up".  That was an exhausting minute to be witness to, and I had to stop myself from going back into the bedroom and lying down to take a nap.

At some point during that above rant you probably realized that sometimes it was the instructor, and sometimes it was Steve.  You can usually tell when I'm writing about something that Steve is saying by the sudden use of !@#$% instead of real letters.  That is for my own protection.

And to think this was a gift from my sister!  Typical middle child, always trying to kill off the siblings.  I can't wait to tell mom what she's trying to do to us.  Bet she gets grounded again, even if she is fifty something!

Hashtags for this little event?  #throwup #swearing #$&@k #meanyoga #mysisteristryingtokillus

Morning Jibber Jabber...

Me:  "Steve, will you get the lizard out of the shower, and don't forget about the half a rat that is still in the driveway that needs removing.  Also, I haven't cleaned up the cat vomit from last night so be careful not to slip in it!  It's just outside the dining room.  By the way, do I just look like a total wreck lately?  I cannot stand this haircut.  And wow!  My eyes are so puffy and swollen this morning - I thought wine was supposed to be a diuretic?  Ya know, I was thinking that since we've had fish twice this week already maybe I'll grill some chicken tonight if that sounds good?  Did you see that awesome cat video that (insert one of 87 names) posted on Facebook this morning?  It is even cuter and funnier than the one from last night (or yesterday, last week, last month, last year, 2014, on and on...).

Steve, looking up from his cell phone: "Huh? I'm sorry, were you talking to me? I wasn't listening because I've been researching new vehicles again, and thinking we should look at getting the Honda Pilot, or the Toyota Forerunner, or the Denali, or the Yukon or the Dodge...blah blah blahblah blah blah blahblah blah..."  

I don't know why I can't hear him when he talks about cars.  It could be because I don't care, but then again it could be because I don't care.  My little brain cells are just about maxed out with cat videos, menu planning and my weight, and what little activity is left needs to be dedicated to painting so we can buy food and pay our internet bill due to the high volume of streaming cat videos.

Here are some hashtags I think will work for this particular blog...

#iammuchmoreinterestingthanmyhusband  #carsboreme  #rockonkittycats  #boredboredbored  #icanthearyou

We'll chat again later in the week! 

Friends on Drugs...

If I were still in my twenties the title of this blog would concern me in a completely different way.
 
But I'm not twenty, or thirty, or even in the next category.  So to me, friends on drugs is very normal and has a familiar and friendly ring to it.

These friends are all women and all in their fifties (maybe more).  They are popping pills right and left, like Zoloft, Wellbutrin, Xanax, Celexa, Lexipro and the like.  These are our 'happy pills' and no one better disagree with me.

My gynecologist recently told me that the Women's Health Initiative deems this to be the new approach to menopause.  And who am I to question her?  These are mood altering and spouse saving stabilizers.  Some people are against this type of therapy and I will tell you one thing - don't argue with me or I will slap the shit out of you.  This drug is not 100% effective 24/7 and you don't want to be saying the wrong thing in the moment when the drug is off on a little holiday enjoying a margarita or something.  It deserves a break now and then too.

To be assigned the task of stabilizing a menopausal woman is asking a lot.  And many of us get these pills for free, so it's not like they are well paid for the job they have to do.  Like being a janitor at a psychiatric facility.

Anyway, where was I?  These drugs are supposed to help with memory issues too, but it has been my experience that they are so busy preventing murder there's barely time to help us recall what we've just done, or are supposed to be doing.  Which could come in handy during the murder trial.

I have a feeling this is just the beginning of many more blogs on this subject.  Stay tuned...

Shopping for a rug...

People often wonder (well, actually only one person has) what I will do with the blog name should I turn into the crazy cat lady and get a few dozen more felines. That is an excellent question;  one for which I have no answer at present. But you can be sure I will write about it when I do. 

Meanwhile, since the number of cats has not changed in our household as of my last post, I thought I'd take you out on the town with us as we shop for a rug.  Many of you may recall an earlier post  I wrote, about an exciting day in my life when Steve and I went shopping for a snail (Snail Shopping).  That is about to be surpassed as I share the captivating highlights of our latest adventure. 

First of all, our criteria for just about anything we buy is not like most people.  Take our recent excursion for getting a rug.  Do we want something that will match the sofa, or coordinate in general with the decor in the room?  No, of course not.  We want something that blends well with Hill Prescription Feline CD Diet dry food, after it has been eaten and then vomited.  I guess we're kind of limited to something in the mustard tones, which certainly has worked well for the past 25 years of cat ownership.  But I am tired of it and a change would be nice.  And carrying around a sample of cat vomit while we shop is just not the same as a fabric swatch from a pillow or the sofa.  Do you know how many purses I have had to throw out over the years because I forgot to put the vomit swatch back in its plastic baggie?  Honestly, is nothing ever simple?

I had a brilliant idea however, thinking if we could custom colour our cat food how that could make millions of people happy.  "I'd like to place an order for cat food, tinted to specifications for Sherwin Williams #1211, "Compelling Blue".  Can you imagine the global excitement if this were to come about? Colour-coordinated cat vomit!  Steve refers to that as a first world problem.  I say it's just plain sensible and knows no economic limitations.

Since that has not been invented yet, we were forced to shop in the traditional way, trudging from store to store, looking for something that had enough pattern to camouflage the vomit stains.  If it was busy enough, with only a hint of mustard tones, maybe we could venture down another path with the type of rug.  But then that would not go with anything else in the house, and next thing you know we'd have to buy new sofas (again!) and change out all the mats in our framed pictures.

Finally we got to one store where I spotted a beautiful large rug that made my heart race.  It had blues, a little cream, a bit of pattern and a hint of mustard.  I thought "this is it!"  But when I got up to the rug there was a man standing there, guarding it with his life.  I pretended to look interested in some other rugs nearby, keeping an eye on him all the while.  Finally I realized he was not going to budge so I asked him "Are you by chance guarding that rug so no one else will get it?" 

"Absolutely" he said.  "I have been threatened with divorce if I step away from this rug for even one second before my wife gets back with the store manager."

"Hmmm", I mumbled.  "Let me guess.  You have cats?"  He looked startled and then said, "yes, in fact we have several.  How did you know?"  I opened my purse and showed him our vomit swatch, holding it up next to the rug.  He reached in his pants pocket and pulled out an envelope with his vomit swatch in it.  We commiserated briefly, and then Steve and I left.  We were never going to win that battle.

So, just like before we set out shopping, we continue to remain sans rugs throughout the house.  Fortunately their digested, prescription cat food goes extremely well with our bamboo floors.  But it is hazardous as you can't see it, and both of us have had near death experiences slipping in the cold, slightly chunky slime in the middle of the night while on our way to the bathroom; falling on our knees, wrenching our backs and skidding to the ground as if we had slipped on a banana peel.

I tell you, what's not to love about my life?!  Who wants a nice house when you can have what I have!

Middle-aged Teal

I really envision myself as being a travel writer, but the current budget is not allowing me to do much else besides go to Publix and get gas for the car so I can continue to go to Publix.  There is only so much one can write about that kind of travel, and I guess at this point I have pretty much covered said topic.

So I am resigned momentarily to write about ‘teal’, a colour I’m not really fond of, representative of the chapter of life I have entered.

The concept of teal as a metaphor for my current situation came about several years ago while taking skiing lessons.  Our instructor told us by the end of the class we will have traversed some green slopes and a few blues and could probably consider ourselves ‘teal’ skiers by the end of the afternoon.  That made perfect sense to me, and I’ve been blending colours and assigning them to various phases of my life ever since.

Sadly, teal is where I’m at.  The good news?  Being in my teal phase means I don’t care anymore that I ended the previous sentence with a preposition.  The bad news?  I know better, and I should care.  That’s what teal does to you...it catches you in the crosshairs of caring and not caring which almost sounds like something Lao Tzu would say, but I digress.

Just because I’m not a fan of teal doesn’t mean I have to treat it dismissively.  It’s just being itself, a blend of green and blue, with no other aspirations, having reached its goal in life.

I, however, do have aspirations.  I have conquered the beginner slopes and easy runs of life.  Greens have been mastered too and they have been challenging physically and mentally, but exhilarating and beautiful.  Just now testing the blue slopes.  Scarier and more challenging, but I know that view will be captivating, exquisite, magnificent and full of many additional adjectives.  I will press on until those challenges are conquered and goals are met.

Skiing, a cat and teal-coloured print!  Meme success!

The black slopes sound like they will be full of wrinkles, health problems and bad knees so I’m just going to pencil in that one and let it evolve, or not.  There’s always the bar at the ski lodge as an alternative.

Meanwhile, caught in between green and blue, this middle-aged teal is everywhere, damn it!. It has taken over my brain.  When I think about myself these days I see a slightly hazy version of me in my late thirties and I honestly think that is how I still look.  Until I look in the mirror and see my mom staring back.  And then I clear my throat and my voice cracks and I realize she has moved in. 

Instead of having one bottle of Windex on hand I now have four, and yet I can forget to buy toilet paper for a week running.  Don’t even get me started on back seat driving.  I don’t verbalize as much as I used to, but flinching, small gasps and using the air brakes are getting their message across, and for some reason I perceive the recipient of my care and concern as being highly annoyed.  I’m pretty sure it was cute and endearing when we were dating.  Teal is chipping away at my cuteness.  Where’s my bottle of wine?