Well, really not that busy. Just busy not getting anything done, if that makes sense. Lack of sleep coupled with pain and mobility issues seem to keep the wheels spinning but I get nowhere.
Dad had his 85th birthday yesterday. I took him out for lunch since he says he doesn’t need anything. We had a fried shrimp basket with fries at one of our favorite places. I finally figured out the best time of the day to go there. It’s always so busy and being a small space, it’s just too damn loud to enjoy a meal when it’s crowded. Around 2pm is perfect except for one thing. Employees are cleaning during the slower hours and normally that doesn’t bother me but yesterday, one of the workers was cleaning the legs of the tables and chairs. It seemed like he was pissed because everytime he grabbed a chair he turned it upside down with a great loud bang on the table top. Then when he finished wiping down the legs of that chair, he’d pull it down onto the floor with another great loud crash. Then he’d move on to the next chair. The restaurant is very small and so we were right there within 10 feet of what he was doing. It was hard to even have a conversation! I wanted to drop kick the little shit but I behaved my damn self. When the guy finally finished Dad and I had a nice lunch and conversation. I still can’t believe Dad is 85 years old! Shit, that makes me…well, too damn old.
I’ve been trying to get my “book” ready for printing. Remember my series of posts called The Ex Files? When my ex passed away in December of 2020, I decided to stop the blog series and compile them all into a book of sorts for my children all about their father. It’s been over a year now that I’ve been editing and proofreading…and perfecting every paragraph. I want my adult children to know about my relationship with their father and why I had to leave him; why I had to get them away from him. At the same time, I want them to know that he did have good qualities.
Anyway, I do a little work in the mornings on the book and then try and catch up on sleep. By the time I wake up, it’s lunch time and then I have chores to do around the house. Chores aren’t easy for me. The house looks like ass. That’s something I picked up from my sister. Snort.
As soon as my book is finished for my kids, I’ll be moving on to my cookbook. I will probably try to recruit a few people to test recipes and take photos. There might be a free cookbook in it for those who choose to assist! Who knows how long it will take me to finish that project!
Next week, I hope to get back to writing in this blog. Writing steadily is hard for me. I always think I’ll write a bunch of posts ahead of time and schedule them but then I just never get to it. Sorry if you miss Friday’s Funnies. I miss doing those posts, too! Maybe next week I’ll have the time and energy to put into it.
Also, I’m so far behind on reading the blogs I follow that I will never catch up. I do miss reading them!
Happy Birthday to me! Yesterday I turned…nevermind. I’m still under 60, let’s leave it at that. I’m old enough to have experienced some major bullshit that no woman should ever have to go through but I’m still kicking! That blasted menopause and all that comes with her and old age can kiss my ever lovin’ ass.
Yay me, another birthday.
It’s not bad enough I have arthritis but I also have bone and joint damage in my knees so that makes exercise nearly impossible. I can barely walk, or stand upright for fuck’s sake. Thanks to my doctor at the time, I didn’t get any help early on to slow the progression, so it just got worse and worse. When I finally found a good doctor, the damage was done.
Groaning and creaking is now the language of my people.
Then menopause marches into my life. That bitch. I was happy to no longer have a monthly cycle but I can do without the continued hot flashes, chills, night sweats, weight gain, moodiness (Who? Me? Moody?), not to mention the weight gain and sleep problems. I’ve already had enough of that but why not add more? While you’re at it, Ms. Menopause Bitch, you might as well slow my energy and metabolism down even more than it was already. I just have one question: When will you be finished with me?
If menopause had a face…
Getting older has its perks; discounts, grand kids, wisdom, more empathy, clearer priorities, less drama, knowing our worth, and not putting up with less than we deserve, etc. But I don’t think I deserve all the crap splattered on me as I’ve grown older.
Perks include drinking all the damn alcohol you want!
I’m even starting to look like an old lady. My youth is gone. I’m a grandmother. Thanks, kids. YOU made me old. Just kidding. But seriously, I look in the mirror and I don’t recognize the person looking back at me. All those wrinkles and the sagging jowls make me look like someone else! The gray hair I can cover – that is, I used to cover. I haven’t been to the hairdresser since early March. I don’t see myself going anytime soon, either. Stupid 2020.
I swear, I have looked in the mirror and acted this very same way!
My bladder is a royal pain in the… bladder. I have to get up every 2 hours at night and it’s pretty much the same during the day. Before coronavirus, every time I left the house, the trip was planned around where the damn bathrooms were located! I think I know of every stinkin’ handicap accessible bathroom for 100 miles in all directions!
Doesn’t work that way!
It’s hard enough having to rely on a cane or crutch to get around but using them leaves me with only one available hand for carrying things or doing a quick task. On top of that, my hands are clumsy. I knock shit over, drop things on the floor, spill every stinkin’ time, and I swear if I drop one more thing today, I’ll scream! I can’t open packaging of any kind without scissors. I miss the trash can every damn time. I’m shocked that I can still crochet!
This isn’t far from the truth!
I have age spots and calcium deposits starting to pop up. My skin is drier than the Mojave Desert, regardless of the brand or type of moisturizer I use. It doesn’t even matter how much I slather on or how often! Ugh!
I swear, if my skin gets any drier, you’ll be seeing particles swooshing on the surface like in the desert wind.
I have CRS (Can’t Remember Shit). My brain can’t seem to stay focused because it’s focused on my pain and getting me from point A to point B without falling, so by the time I get to point B, I’ve forgotten what I was going to do. I shit you not. I try to remember everything in one trip but it never fails, I forget something. I’ve been told to write things down, make a list. You think I haven’t thought of that? I have lists all over the damn house!
I swear, I write down everything and still forget!
My eyes are going kaput. I need new glasses but I’m not going to the eye doctor until this virus is gone or we have vaccinations. I remind myself of the old-time glasses for people who couldn’t see their hand in front of their faces. Remember how thick the lenses were? I see myself wearing those eventually.
I might be able to see again someday!
I’m sick of crazy hair growing in the weirdest places. Like one solitary hair growing out of the middle of my forehead…or the one that grows out from under my chin. Wtf is up with that? I’m constantly looking for them but I seem to only find them when they’re an inch long. Then there are the ingrown and course hairs that grow above my lip. It’s like Mother Nature thinks I’m a man and that I need a mustache to keep my lip warm.
Good thing my ‘mustache’ isn’t this dark!
I’m shrinking. I was never very tall in the first place. Well, in Elementary school I was one of the tallest kids in school at 5’3″. The problem is, I never got any taller than I was in the 6th freakin’ grade! I have lost a little over an inch. I can’t reach, even on my tippy-toes some things that were never that big of a deal before. I can’t even get the laundry out of the washing machine because the drum is too deep. I just can’t reach!
I’m not quite this short!
On the bright side, I still have my own teeth, and my hearing is still somewhat okay; unless of course, you try to tell me something from the other room facing the opposite direction, while the tv is turned up, the water is running because I’m washing dishes, and the washing machine and dryer are also running. Then I can’t hear for shit. Just ask Dad.
Are you talking?
I write this with much exaggeration and cynicism but I know it’s just the way it is and there’s nothing I can do about getting older. As much as I despise my body for turning on me so soon, I still like the person I have become. I’m strong, and I’m smart. I know how to do a lot of things; I just can’t do many of them. I’m honest. I’m grateful. I’m a loyal friend but I’m not afraid to let go of friendships that harm my mental health. I’m a good person. I’m still not going to act my age, no matter how old I feel. I’m still going to laugh at inappropriate times at inappropriate things. (Like farts. Farts are funny.) I like my sense of humor. I might be old but I still have a lot to offer. I’m still fucking awesome!
I can only hope to be as cool as Betty White!
A good friend told me the other day, “Embrace your battle scars. You’re a survivor.” She also told me to not dwell on the bad stuff. Good thing she doesn’t live close or she’d kick my ass after reading this post! In all seriousness though, I am a survivor; I don’t feel like one most days but I still manage to pick myself up and give another day a good run for its money…
So, Happy Birthday to me! Maybe I’ll make it to 102 years old and still be laughing like this old gal!
Today is the day I first met someone very special in my life. My first-born child, born on Friday the 13th, March of 1987. She’s 31 years old today!
Image Copyright Being Aunt Debbie
S.R. was due on the 6th of March, but leave it to her to be stubborn from the very beginning! When she was a week late, I went into labor. I suffered through 18 hours of hard, back labor. That child was so stubborn she refused to come out! Joking aside, S.R.’s head was too wide for my narrow pelvis. I was relieved (and scared at the same time) when the doctor decided to do a C-section.
Image Copyright Being Aunt Debbie
I was so happy to meet my baby for the very first time! She had a cone head for a few hours but “ain’t nuttin’ wrong with her head now!” She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen…..I know, all moms say that, right?
Since S.R. was born on Friday the 13th, the nurses tried to pull one over on us and list her birth date on her birth certificate as the 14th, which was not accurate at all. I made them change it. Maybe it wasn’t intentional as I can’t believe people are that superstitious!
My Dad, being the huge comedian he is, pegged S.R. with the nickname Jason, from the Friday the 13th movies. He still calls her that from time to time and it still makes me laugh.
My dear, beautiful daughter has been through some hard times, bad decisions, and heartbreak but she has come out of it stronger than ever. She has grown into a strong, independent, and responsible young woman. She’s a great mom and I’m proud of how far she has come. I just wish she didn’t live so far away! (I’m told it’s just a 5-hour drive and 10 years ago I could have done it, but not now.)
Image Copyright Being Aunt Debbie
The problem with S.R. turning 31 today, is that I too am growing older. No one told ever told me how old I would have to get to see my children grown and living their own lives!The years keep adding up and I keep getting older… Soon, but not too soon, S.R. will be my age and wondering where all the years have gone! She will be feeling old and nostalgic just like I am right now.
My beautiful daughter, if you’re reading this please know how much I love and adore you. I am proud of the young woman you have become. I hope you’re having a wonderful birthday celebration today! When you come visit, I’ll make your favorite cake and we’ll pig out like we used to! Happy Birthday!
Today, is my eldest child’s birthday. 24 years ago I gave birth to an 8 lb. 7 oz. baby girl. She had chubby red cheeks, hair as dark as coal, a “cone head” and regardless of that temporary deformity, I thought she was the most beautiful baby girl I had ever seen. She still is. She was born on the 13th of March, a Friday the 13th. Her Grampa called her Jason for years…and occasionally he still does! Many people are superstitious about Friday the 13th and fear the worst when that day comes around. Not me. Friday the 13th will forever be a day of good luck for me because that’s when I met my baby girl.
I have had the pleasure (and sometimes headache) of watching my grandson grow this past 2 years. It’s been 2 years of ups and downs, fun and laughter, with very little peace and quiet. As I look back, I know I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
In less than a month, S.R. and my grandson will be moving out. I will miss them very, very much and hate to see them go but at the same time I’m happy for them to be able to move on and live their own lives. We’ve had many of S.R.’s “obligations” to tend to over the last year and soon they will be over. The stress of working around those “obligations” has overwhelmed me at times. I hope that S.R. can make it in this world and be happy with her life. I hope she knows (and she should because I’ve told her) that boyfriends sometimes come and go but her family is forever. I’m not happy with her choice in men and it doesn’t really matter what I think. I just hope they are happy and that things work out. We all have great expectations when we’re young; I just hope she’s not disappointed or hurt in the end.
I do hope they will visit often and that D.M. will want to spend the weekend with Gramma sometime. I will miss him dearly.
Tonight we had S.R.’s favorite cake, and I have to admit it’s my fave too. We have it every year for her birthday. If you’ve not tried it you really should! The recipe for HEATH CAKE is below:
Heath Cake
1 box chocolate cake mix
1 can sweetened condensed milk
1 jar caramel sauce
1 8 oz. tub whipped cream
3 Heath bars, crushed
Mix cake and bake according to package instructions. While cake is in oven, mix together the sweetened condensed milk and caramel sauce.
When cake comes out of oven, and while still very warm, poke many holes throughout cake. (I use a metal skewer.) Pour the caramel mixture over the cake and let it seep into the holes you’ve poked. Once it has cooled down, smooth whipped cream over top. Sprinkle crushed heath bar pieces all over top. Chill cake before serving. Enjoy!!
Dad turned 73 this month. He was sick on his birthday. We decided to wait until he was feeling better to celebrate. He’s been much better for the last couple of days so today, we decided it was time to celebrate! Nothing major, just a nice dinner, cake and a shopping spree.
S.R. is making a chocolate cake; can’t be anything but chocolate. Dad doesn’t like white cake and yellow cake is out of the question because he says it’s like eating cornbread with frosting. Whatever Dad. Chocolate on chocolate. I’m not complaining; that’s my favorite anyway. It’s just funny how Dad thinks. Cornbread with frosting. Ok. As long as it’s chocolate frosting I wouldn’t complain!
C.F. is here today doing laundry. He will have dinner with us. A.B. is at the college taking care of something — when she should be home resting after the car accident. She has a pretty bad concussion. Her mom took her (since A.B. totaled the car and she shouldn’t be driving anyway) and Doodle Bug is with them too. I miss her so much!
We decided to go out for dinner, maybe Chili’s or Ruby Tuesdays. Dad’s birthday, Dad’s choice. Dad wanted Chili’s, so off we went. Thing is, we live out in the boonies more or less. We have to drive 20-30 miles no matter which town we go to. Dummy me though, I got confused and we ended up going to the wrong town — a town with NO CHILI’S! Cripes. We ended up having Ruby Tuesdays, which was good but it was an aggravating dinner.
Dad complained from the get-go. The lighting was bad. The booth was too small. The silverware looked dirty. The waiter was a girly-boy, LOL. Dad ordered the Louisiana Fried Shrimp, then complained because he didn’t know it was breaded shrimp. How else do you fix fried shrimp? He ordered the house wine because it was the cheapest and then complained because “they could’ve at least filled the glass to the top.” The meal was good, but to hear him talk it was the worst meal he’s ever had.
Being Aunt Debbie 