Just Call Me Quasi

I slept in my lift chair last night…I mean, this morning. I had a Mudslide and was up until after 3am. I don’t know how long after 3am because…umm…the Mudslide. I decided my chair would be a better place for me because when alcohol enters the picture, I’m more apt to fall on my ass trying to get ready for bed.

I slept well until about 6:30am. Not a lot of sleep but I did sleep better than I do in my bed. I’m walking better as well but I have a kink in my neck and an ache in my upper back. When I looked in the mirror, I noticed my hair was sticking straight up…in the back. I looked like Quasimodo for fuck’s sake.

I have to apologize, my friends, for not posting Friday’s Funnies yesterday. I promised myself that I would try harder but time just got away from me yesterday. When I looked in my file for memes I realized I never saved one meme all stinkin’ week anyway! I just haven’t been on social media much lately. It’s actually been nice. I’m thinking of deleting a couple of my Facebook pages and maybe my Instagram account. I don’t use that one much anyway.

I crashed at about 10am, as I thought I would. I was falling asleep sitting up. I dreamed that I looked out my bedroom door, which was on the opposite wall than it really is, and saw the back door. Under the back door, I saw a huge gap between the bottom of the door and the floor and thought, “No wonder I get so many bugs and critters in my bedroom.” I then Googled (still in my dream) ‘Why do I see a gap under the door?’ and Google’s answer: ‘Perhaps you see something that really isn’t there.’ Lo and behold, I looked again, and there was no gap under the back door. See, Google is always helpful. Even in dreams. Then I woke up and realized only an hour and a half had passed. Maybe I should Google “Why is Debbie losing her mind?”

I crashed again at 2:30pm. Another hour and a half of sleep. Still looking a bit like Quasimodo, I realized sleeping in my lift chair at night instead of my bed probably isn’t the best place for me, Mudslide or not.

Have a great Labor Day weekend, and be safe and not sorry.

AG “Woofie” (Not A Political Post)

I won’t even discuss my opinion of the Attorney General at this point because it would likely piss a lot of people off. I don’t really care but that’s not what this post is about, not really.

Dad watches the news continuously and I get so sick of hearing the same stories over and over again. Sometimes, it’s like the earworm songs that get stuck in your head. Same nauseating voices. Same lies. Same bullshit. You get the picture.

I guess the current events of the past week have been embedded in my brain because in the wee hours of the morning I dreamed that I was watching the AG give a speech on the news. In my dream I remember thinking, I wish this dildo would shut up. About that time, his voice turned into the sound of a basset hound, “woof, woof, woof,” matching the movements of the AG’s mouth perfectly.

As I started to wake up, I realized there was actually a damn dog in our yard barking incessantly. I really wish people would keep their AG’s…uh, I mean, dogs locked up!


Photo Credit: Pixabay.com

A Weird Dream, An Asthmatic Cat & A Lost Clock

Tuesday started out with me waking from a weird dream about my purse and car being full of medications and getting a ticket for not having those medications in bottles. Where does shit like that come from?? It left me wondering if there were any laws that restrict a person from carrying medications without proper labeling and if there were limits on how many could be carried without that labeling. It’s not like I take that many prescription medications. THREE. TRES. 3. That’s it. The rest are vitamins, supplements, and over the counter medications like pain rubs and Mucinex. Sometimes my dreams leave me scratching my head.

First thing as I came out of my bedroom this morning, Dad asked me where the wall clock was that we purchased a few weeks ago. He had been complaining about the clock in the living room losing time and that we needed to replace it. So, we bought a new one. Last week, I ran across the clock when I cleaned and organized the shelves in the living room. I took the clock out of the box and I swear, I stuck it somewhere handy. Where? I haven’t the foggiest clue. In my defense, if Dad would have replaced the old one with the new one, I wouldn’t be wracking my brain trying to find that damn clock now!! It is literally driving me insane! I looked for hours this morning, in every nook and cranny I could think of. I’m beginning to think one of the cats hid it. (Not really, but it’s not my fault. Someone else must’ve done something with it.)

Jack had a recheck appointment with the veterinarian this afternoon. He had a serious lung infection, perhaps caused by allergies originally, BUT now the consensus is that Jack may have asthma. I’ve never had a cat with asthma. I never thought a cat could even have asthma! Poor Jack will stay on his steroid pill for a couple more months, just a couple times a week, and we will revisit the issue in March. Perhaps he can eventually get off the medication and we’ll just keep some on hand just in case of an asthmatic episode. Poor Jack was exhausted when we got home. He started out on the desk in front of the computer draped over my arm but now has relocated to the bed.


Image Copyright Being Aunt Debbie

He was a bit stinky when we got home. Poor little guy pooped and puked all over his carrier on the drive to the vet’s office. Dr. Missy said he just released all of his demons.

We hadn’t been home more than 10 minutes when Dad asked me if I ever figured out what I did with that blasted clock and, up until then I had forgotten all about it. I’ve been wracking my brain ever since. Ugh.

Crossed Wires

The other night, Dad and I were outside walking towards the house. I heard him say something and turned to ask him what he said. He repeated it.

“Do you want me to scrape the house for the pancakes?” He asked.

“What?” I replied because I didn’t understand what he just said.

He repeated himself with more emphasis. “Do you want me to scrape the house for the pancakes?”

Again, I replied but with a little unbelief in my voice, “WHAT? Dad that doesn’t make any sense.”

He was getting angry now. “Oh, Goddammit,” he said with a raised voice.

“Sorry, Dad. I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.” I replied. I was thinking our wires must be crossed, as they say.


He repeated the same thing again, except this time he used hand motions to convey his message. “Do you want me to scrape (hands motioning like a window cleaner cleaning a window with a squeegee) the house for the pancakes (motioning his hands as if he was bouncing a ball)?

Now I was thinking does he have full-blown Alzheimer’s or is it me? Do I have dementia? Good grief!

About that time I woke up and thought to myself, thank the heavens it was just a dream!