I am not a big planner in life. I admire those people that carry their life in the palm of their pocket. I tried to get inspired by those folks whose lives run on a PDA, but the best I can do is scribble notes on a giant desk calender and forget to look at it again. Or the important data I just documented has a mishap with my cappuccino and is now rendered illegible.
Oh, I have planned vacations and booked flights, but it’s really not me doing the arrangements, it’s the booking agent that gets all the credit. I know everything is handled through the information highway with precise technocality, but I am the person who downloads the material online while talking to the agent. I need the comfort of a human voice that responds back with semi-logic and a peppy emotion who entraps me to commit to a date and hand over my American Express card.
It seems that some of my best laid plans go awry no matter how methodically I manage to orchestrate them in my mind. For example: Last night I planned a great nights sleep with Charly dog nesting at my ankles and wake up refreshed and ready to prance off to the gym to endure a grueling workout sporting my matching Nike attire.
Instead….I woke up to a puddle of pee at the base of the bed.
My first inclination after I yanked the covers off was to replicate that memorable scene from the Godfather where the studio head discovers the horses noggin beneath the bedding.
But…. it was early and I didn’t want to wake the sleeping teens down the corridor for fear of being doused with attitude and rolling eyes; or..worse yet… I believe my quasi adult children may have listed a retirement community on their cell phones……s(pee)d dial…….
It did cross (what’s left of) my mind, that…well….er……did I have and accidental accident???
I know I’m in the drones of menopause and plumbing issues are near the top of the list of things that go bump in the night. I did under go a surgical procedure a few years ago that was performed by a robot harboring arms like a giant spider which has the same name of the artist who painted The Last Supper, and looked as though it was assembled at NASA. This was a procedure that was less invasive and could be executed in under two hours. That is, if there are no complications. Mine lasted five hours because the commander at the controls ripped a hole in my bladder which resulted in a 911 call to an in-House specialist. So, needless to say, that morning I thought I had sprung a leak.
As I toppled out of bed and began to figure out a way to wake my husband and break the news to him that I just might be a victim of the Depends generation I realized:
Maybe it’s time to wake up and smell the urine. No more sailing that sea of denial that age and women don’t mix well in certain genres. Might as well face the future and take it with a grain of cotton and imported materials with a flexible waistline……………
……..and that an over-sized puffy pant, while moderately absorbent and locks in odors, may be replacing my Pink Victoria Secret Lacy Wonder Scanty Panty.
As I climbed off the California King (mattress) my foot touched a breathing furry object semi cowered under the bed. There lie Charly-dog staring at me with guilty big round eyes and shaking as if he were stuck in a winter storm without his coat. He glared with the kind of eyes you see in a Keane painting that boarder on cuteness and crazy. I noticed a dotted trail of pee that flowed in his direction and it didn’t take the Dream Team to figure who the culprit was in this voiding crime. I’m surprised my pup didn’t grab my husbands Bruno Magli’s and leave and imprint in the carpet…..
I was angry at the dog and wanted to reprimand him for the dirty deed that happened during my REM slumber, but I didn’t get mad at Charly for his incidental accident on my dry clean only comforter. I turned my anger into elation because it wasn’t me that suffered the indiscriminate incontinence…… it was my pup.
Oh Halleluja and pass the menopausal plate! I have branded another age defying dilemma and will Prevail with Dignity-plus a Nu-Fit on age that Depends on the Tranquility that life can Pull-Up.
I picked up my shivering puppy and held him tight and whispered in his bobble head that “everything will be O.K”.
Tonight my Plan is to take a Brief interlude and turn a Puppy-Pad into a Huggies Overnite…oh..and..delete the retirement center’s number on my kids cell phones…
spread the humor.
God hates me. I have been blessed with the sarcastic gene in my family. All my life I have worked very hard to be compliant and follow suit with the more serious society,……. but I can not stop my eyes from rolling to the Heavens every time I see something that strikes my feather brain fancy. I’ll need to Iron(y)- out that problem later when I visit the Optometrist…….or possibly a shrink.
I just found out that I have a new hobby that I was totally unaware of until recently: I am an avid SPAM collector. I do not intentionally attract spam, it just seems to coagulate around me of its own choice. I have located spam sitting on my desktop and now it’s following me to my dashboard. I think I may have a hard drive ahead to try and avoid this spam that is lining my mega mother (cup)board, or maybe I’ll just have to Byte the bullet and band with the other network of canned (s)hams…
I decided to open one of the recurring spams whose label spelled out an invitation of flattery. I guess inside this self contained canned junk are ingredients to saturate the eye sites of people caught up in a web of nonsense. I think my spam collection really came to fruition when I started visiting various avenues in order to site see more effectively. Some of the venues I managed to stumble across made me absorb the contents and forced my eyes to roll causing an infused feeling of Ad nauseam.
I also found out that my spam collection is not solely set in a National genre, it has spread it’s little spam
cans..er legs….Internationally as well. I have collected a lot of Love From Russia which scared the Living Daylights outta me when they headline their specialty spam: For Your Eyes Only………
My spam is compiling on a daily basis and I am starting to wonder if I have a problem. Maybe I can try to clean my desktop and rid my cluttered dashboard of all the hazardous spam that I have accumulated from different cities. I thought about setting the spam collectibles on the shelf next to my shot glass collection. It could be quite the conversation piece when I offer my guests a shot of International spam to go with their cocktail weenies…
I was just thinking if there might be a spam headquarters that is operated by a head cheese who controls the outflow of spam. This product is so amass in daily life, that I find myself being unable to avoid collecting it. No matter how many times I empty the spam into the trash it still resurfaces around me and multiplies faster than my sons TI-84 during a Calculus exam….
Maybe I’ll need to join spam anonymous to rid the addictive cycle that burns hard and can d(e)rive chaos onto a pristine dashboard.
Maybe they can get to the core reason as to why I decided this late in life to start collecting spam; or tap into my Blog-havior that attracts this unsolicited call of doody… This is a techno ataxia of a spam-nation. This is a mystery meating of my desktop in cohabitation with a special product of Austin Minnesota that is surely out of my control.
Maybe I’ll just have to acquire a taste for spam since it is so readily available….I could top it off with some drudge and a side of crhackers…
Maybe I’ll find something else that tweets my interest so I stop this spam consumption before I hack-n-eye.
spread the humor