OY VE SURVEY

 

OY VE SURVEY

 

I seldom answer a phone call from someone I do not know.  We have a land line which will display a caller number or ID.  My cell only rings for numbers in my contact list, if it is important, I will see a message. 

Occasionally I will pick up on an unknown entity.  It gives me a chance to yell at a stranger.  I know it won’t stop these asshats from calling, but it sometimes just feels good.

Today the land line rang and I felt the need to yell at someone.

“Razzafrast.” (I never answer hello, I try to catch them off guard with a mumble.)

“Hi, this is your Congressman, Frank Malone.  Tomorrow I will be voting in favor of the Presidents bill to end inflation and climate change, boost the economy and ensure our Democracy will not be dismantled.  Please hold on to answer our constituents survey on this historic bill. “

I was not sure why he would be taking a survey on a bill that he has already said he is voting in favor of, but as he wanted my opinion, I hung on, even though I don’t know enough about the bill to give an educated opinion.

“Thank you for waiting:

Press one if you believe this bill will stop inflation.

Press two if you believe this bill will stop climate change.

Press three if you believe this bill will add jobs to the economy.

Press four if you believe this bill will save our democracy. *

Press five for something else.”

Well, that is a bull shit survey! 

I’m sure I will read somewhere that 40% of Mr. Malone’s constituents believe this bill will end inflation, 30% believe it will end climate change, 15% believe it will add jobs, 10% think it will save our democracy, and 5% are too stupid to have a real opinion.

I decided to cast my opinion by hanging up on this important, informative survey.

Later tonight, Mrs. C chastised me for not taking out the garbage last night.

“You should have taken the garbage out last night; it is beginning to stink up the garage!”

“Let me ask you a question:

Did I not take out the garbage last night because

Press one for My wife did not remind me.

Press two for I should have been reminded by my wife.

Press three for It is the wife’s job to nag her husband about the garbage.

Press four for no one reminded your husband about the garbage.

Press five for something else.”

 

She hung up on me!

 

*I will save the one asshat the lecture and interject here that we have a representative republic, not a democracy…I don’t know the difference either but someone always has to point this out to me.  And by the way, democracy was congressman Malone’s word, not mine.

 

NAME THAT BOAT

                                                           NAME THAT BOAT

                                                               

My daughter just informed me they named their new outboard fishing boat "Valkyrie," something about a Germanic chooser of the slain who guided the souls of deceased soldiers.  As her husband is a West Point grad who served several years for our country, it seems an appropriate name.  It did remind me of this post from 2011.

                                                           a very old Cranky re-run

I passed a car the other day that was towing a 28’ cabin cruiser named “You Only Live Once.”  What were they thinking?  I know it is a cute name and sure to get a few laughs along the waterway, but why not put in big lettering under the name I AM NOT A SAILOR!

Boat names should not be cute.  They should honor a loved one (preferably a lady) or perhaps tell something about the owner.  Growing up there were several boats in our family.  My Grandfather ran a business processing waste fabrics into polishing cloths and industrial wiping rags.  His boat was named “ETSAW” (WASTE backwards).  My uncle worked in the business; he owned a boat named “Rags”.  My brother, his wife and their three children all graduated from Duke University in North Carolina.  Their boat is the “Blue Devil.”

My parents named their small cruiser after my Mother’s favorite aunt, “Mable H.”  Dad had a small crabbing boat on the Eastern Shore Maryland named the “Crab Ali” after Alison his first granddaughter. He named an eight foot sailing dink “The Merry Bee”, after Mary Beth, his other granddaughter.

Cute names like “Momma’s Mink”, “Dad’s Cad” and so on are good for a quick laugh, but nautical they are not!

One thing to consider when naming a boat is how a distress call to the Coast Guard will sound:

“Coast guard station, coast guard station, MAY DAY, MAY DAY, this is motor vessel the “Momma’s Mink”.  We are without power and taking on water, May Day May Day!

“This is coast guard station calling motor vessel “Mr. Ming” over.

“Coast guard station that is “Momma’s Mink”.

“This is coast guard station, did you say “Momma’s Mink?  Over.”

“Roger coast guard station. Over.”

“This is coast guard station….What were you thinking? Over.”

“Coast guard station…It was my wife’s idea! Over.”

“This is coast guard station; we are on our way “Momma’s Mink” hope we get there before you sink!”

                                                          OR

"Coast guard station, this is sailing vessel “Hang On Sloopy.”  We are without power and are taking on water. Over.”

“Vessel ‘Hang On Sloopy’ this is coast guard station, are you a sloop? Over.”

“…..Yes, over.”

“This is coast guard station calling sloop ‘Hang on Sloopy’….er…. Hang on ‘Hang on Sloopy’ sloop just hang on….hang on hang on! ……Sorry Sloopy….I had to do it.”

Please people, think.  Do you really want to make a distress call with a boat named “You Only Live Once?”

MRS. CRANKY’s FALL

 

MRS. CRANKY’s FALL

This last week we were visiting my sister-in-law and her kids at a lovely house only a few yards off of Boothbay Harbor in Maine. 

While I was on the porch watching boats, ducks and eagles do their thing on the bay I heard a loud crash followed by several panicky  “Are you ok’s?” from inside.

Mrs. Cranky had been moving a chair from one room to another and she slipped on the small stepdown between rooms.  She was afraid to move, was experiencing nausea, and was on the verge of fainting. 

It was a pretty hard fall.

When we could finally get her up and seated, and the nausea and near fainting passed,  her ankle blew up like a tick in two places and was changing colors like a neon sign. 

It was not good. 

There was no way that she could walk on this swollen miscolored ankle.

I called the closest urgent medical care center.  Their protocol, since they had no ex-ray machine, was to not even see her if she could not put weight on her ankle.  

They said to call the emergency room.

I called the emergency room and they said to go to the urgent medical care center.  Told that we did that, they informed me they could not even suggest she come to the ER over the phone without a referral.

“Well, hypothetically if someone was carried in with a swollen discolored ankle, would you look at it?”

“I am not allowed to say, but hypothetically…probably.”

This was not an encouraging conversation, and as the pain was apparently a notch below excruciating, it was decided we could wait until the next day.

The ankle was iced and I purchased a pair of crutches and an ankle wrap at the local Walgreen’s.

Interestingly the sales person at Walgreen’s thought that the crutches might be on sale, so it took a bit of research while I was chomping at the bit to just get back to the injured Mrs. C.

“I’m kind of in a hurry, I don’t mind paying full price.”

“It will only take a minute sir, I don’t want you to miss out on a sale.”

Why any store would offer a sale on crutches is beyond me, but this was Maine, and you do not rush Mainiacs.

The crutches were not on sale.

Anyway, back at the house, the ankle was even more swollen and discolored, and Mrs. C had to use the facilities.

We wrapped her iced ankle and she was off on the crutches to take care of business.  She damn near fell on her butt once again.

“Don’t you know how to use crutches?”

“I’ve never had to.”

“You never messed with the crutches of some friend who needed them as a kid.”

“No.”

Mrs. C would move her good foot up to the level of the crutches and stop leaving her with no forward point of balance.

“Move the good foot forward past the crutches and then swing the crutches ahead always leaving  a three point stance, like a stool.”

“I can’t.”

For the rest of the day it was hop-teeter-hop to any destination with me behind to stop her from falling.  She did get better at it, but not much.

The next day the swelling was down a bit and there was no pain if the ankle was kept immobile.  We iced it all day and I was an on-call errand boy.

By dinner she could actually limp around without the crutches, which was a relief because her trying to move on the crutches was potentially as dangerous as trying to navigate that between-rooms step the day before.

We were back in New Jersey on the third day after the fall.

Mrs. C insisted on driving, (she claims I drive too slow) and she did not have any issues with the ankle.  The following day, our NJ urgent center does have an ex-ray machine, and we it was confirmed that nothing was broken.

Still limping, Mrs. C should be fine in a few days. 

Good thing, because she is not a good patient, and I am an even worse errand boy.

I Would Never Buy That

 

I Would Never Buy That

 

What is the perfect gift for someone? 

There is the gift that the receiver needs and cannot afford, and then there is the gift the receiver does not need, can afford, but would never buy because it is stupid expensive, even though they would really like it.

Years ago, I remember my father telling me about the steaks in Japan.  I mean this would be back in the fifties.  My Dad often went to Japan on business trips and he raved about the Japanese steaks.

He told me, “They are fed the finest meal every day along with buckets of beer to increase the fat, then they are massaged daily to break down the muscle tissue to be extra tender.”

I don’t know if that is the regimen for Japanese beef, but that was the story as told by my dad.  End story is, I was told the beef in Japan is the finest anywhere in the world.

Apparently, this Japanese fed beef makes the very best steak.  Full of flavorful fat and tender as can be.  It is also stupid expensive.  Not take- a-loan-from-the-bank stupid expensive, but more than an average cranky old man would spend on himself.

For Father’s Day my son from California sent me a Wagyu Steak.  It came in a large Styrofoam package and was kept frozen by dry ice.  A package larger than a bowling ball to deliver about 14 ounces of steak…Wagyu Steak…from Japan…the kind my father raved about 60+ years ago.

Not sure what it cost.  Within my means I suppose, but beyond my frugal sense of value.  A gift I would never buy for myself, but one that I would damn sure appreciate.

I left the Wagyu in the freezer as we left for a three week stay at the Jersey Shore.  I was waiting for the perfect time to enjoy this treat. 

Last night I let it thaw and tonight after a lovely round of golf I grilled the Wagyu.  Oh, I did some internet research to determine the best grilling method.  There was some pressure to not screw up this piece of meaty gold.

Lightly oiled and salted, three minutes a side at 500-degree heat on the grill, and it was done to perfection.

I plated the Wagyu with some home-grown tomato slices, some Cranky style Rice-a-Roni and a glass or two of a nice Merlot. 

It was as good as advertised. 

I am now recovering from a meat coma.

Yes, I did share a small amount with Mrs. C.

I am not an animal!  

We’ve Got 99 Problems, but Woke Ain’t One

 

We’ve Got 99 Problems, but Woke Ain’t One

 

*If you are offended by a politicly incorrect thought or idea, please do not read this post.  

 

A few years ago, there was a RAP song, “I’ve Got 99 Problems, But a Bitch Ain’t One.”  It was a catchy tune as I recall, and for some reason, perhaps it was an “un-woke” time, people did not have an issue with the misogynist use of the “B” word. 

Do I have to say the “B” word? Afterall it is Bitch in the title, so why need to refer to the actual titular word, Bitch, as “The “B” word? Nevermind, don’t ask, just do.

Maybe we could just change the title to “I’ve Got 99 Problems, But Woke Ain’t One.”

I mean, we have inflation higher than I can remember.  (Well, it was even worse at some point in my life, I just can’t remember.) 

There is a recession looming, drugs are pouring into the country and hundreds of people are poisoned and killed from them every day.

Our borders are open to who knows who, Covid is still not under control.

Russia is destroying a country and murdering its citizens and I don’t think anyone really understands why.

Crime is rampant and it is not just in cities, it is coming to a place near you.  Pull up to a stop sign and someone just taps on your window with a gun and takes your car.  Happened near me in the middle of the day on a nice rural street.

Nut jobs with high power rifles just pick off innocent people, shoppers and school kids for no apparent reason (see Russia/Ukraine).

Racism is more prominent than any time I can remember (once again, it was even worse at some point in my life, I just can’t remember).

We have Government leaders who don’t seem to understand leadership, which just leaves us with government.  Government kind of works best with some leadership.

I could go on and on… (actually I have run out of stuff, but with a little help I could probable get to the 99 problems.) 

Is woke one?

If we lose he, him and his, she, her and hers, and replace those with they, them and theirs, did we fix any problem? 

In light of 99 problems, is it really important that we replace “Mother” with “Birthing Person”?  

Do we change  "Father" to "Sperm injecting Person?

I was recently chastised for referring to Meryl Streep as a great actress.  Apparently, they is now an actor.

Having been so enlightened, I now feel much better.

Does changing a pronoun help a person with a penis that prefers to have a vigina feel any better?

Is it important to bend over backwards and change our language so as to not offend maybe 3 percent of the country? And, if we do, does that really improve their life?

LGBTQIA+

How many people can identify what those symbols stand for?  I’ll spot you LGB and maybe T, but I bet most non LGBTQIA+ persons have to Google the QIA and +. 

BTW, the Q stands for Queer which used to be the “Q” word.

Could we just use NTGP for non-traditional gender persons?

I can and I will.

Now we have 98 problems, and woke ain’t one.

 

*The Cranky Old Man is in favor of legislation that keeps guns out of the wrong persons hands, is against Capitol Punishment, hates racism, has no objection to gay marriage, believes that abortion with limits has a place in our legal system; yet is considered by many to be a despicable conservative, possibly even a Republican abomination, due to occasionally daring to say the unsayable.

SORRY

 

 

 

 

Thoughts About God

 

Thoughts About God

I am not a religious man.  I believe there is a powerful force that is responsible for life.  Based on the beauty around me this force could not be evil. 

I was raised Christian.  Do I believe all I was taught?  Truthfully, no.  What I was taught came from other humans.  I believe Jesus was a human.  A very special human.  Son of God?  Maybe…what do I know, and why do I believe just because I have been told so?

I do believe in a powerful force.  Let’s call it God.  No matter what science can explain, eventually all answers come to God.  The first molecule…where did it come from?  Has to be God.  That molecule evolved into the world as we know it?  

God apparently has lots of time and lots of patience.

Anyway, that is my religious belief.  I hope there is an afterlife, that would be nice, assuming of course I have lived well enough to go up and not down.

So, I do believe in God, but beyond that I have no idea what he has in mind for us or if there is anything else beyond what we currently know.  I was fine before I was born…I guess...so, when the time comes…

I do pray, or try and talk to God from time to time.  Recently I have been asking for help to get a few friends through some difficult times.

Then I have been reading about people in cultures that have difficulties which make problems of mine and my love ones seem like less than nothing.

If God chooses to help the truly unfortunate, my friends, family and myself need to pick a number which is not likely to be called…EVER!

I had this thought as I was enjoying some nice wine, and a fine cigar, while sitting by the ocean and watching my grandson try and catch fish in the surf.

What am I asking God to do for me?  I have had some difficult times.  I have been kicked in the teeth a few times, but on the whole, I have all that most people could ever want.  What nerve for me to ask God for anything.

And so, my prayer turned from “Please help this person” or “Please get me through this issue” to:

THANK YOU!!  Thank you for all I have and for all you have given me.  I’ve done nothing to deserve what I have while so many have so little, so THANK YOU!

I grew up hearing “Ask and you shall receive” and I think for many that sentiment should really just be “Thank you for what you have given me!”

Maybe I’ve just had a bit too much wine.

 

A CRANKY PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT

 

A CRANKY PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT

 The following endorsement is unsolicited.  This cranky old man has received no remuneration for this post.

For 15 years I have had an arthritic hip.  It was not medically diagnosed, so maybe it was something else, after all, I am not a doctor.  However, I am also not a meteorologist but I can tell when it is raining…so…I think the condition was arthritis.

My hip issue was not debilitating, but I could not run, sometimes walked with a limp and especially noticed it when walking up or down stairs.  I learned to live with it.  I could still play golf and bowl, I seldom needed to run anywhere and, so I limped going up and down stairs not a big deal.

About one year ago, Mrs. C saw an add for a pain relief product, “Hempvana.” Mrs. C will purchase just about anything she sees on TV.  UPS has our address on speed dial.  Most of the stuff she buys is crap.  Sometimes she finds a winner.

I tried the Hempvana.  I applied it several times a day for a week.  Then I stopped.  I stopped because I didn’t think about it.  I didn’t think about it because my hip never bothered me.  I did not limp.  I could go up and down stairs without issue and if chased by a bear, I think I could even run.

Why it is called HEMPvana I am not sure.  Hemp does not seem to be the major ingredient.  Applied topically it does not give you a “Mary Jane high” it just makes pain disappear.

My hip is basically cured.  Sometimes I use it on my neck and I have one knuckle and a big toe that is arthritic…works for them as well.

I assume the stuff either works or it provides a placebo effect.  Either way, who cares.

I have since mentioned it to several friends who complained about similar aches and pains.  My son, who is a physical fitness teacher and health fanatic, complained about a shoulder problem. 

He tried the stuff.

Three times a day for a week.  Problem gone!

Best I can tell the stuff is just a topical application of aspirin that gets to the joint.  Who knows…it works for me.

As several people upon my recommendation have found relief from joint pain, I am offering this endorsement as a public service.

Friends who have spent lots of money on chiropractors and physical therapists have found real relief from this stuff.

For $10 a jar it couldn’t hurt.  It is sold all over, I think Mrs. C got it at Walgreens.

If you try the stuff and it doesn't work, sorry I may have cost you $10.

If you try the stuff and it works; You're welcome!

 

 

FISHING WITH FROG one more time

 

FISHING WITH FROG one more time

Frog, Catfish, Cranky, Marty filling in for Joby (we're not so good at taking pictures.)

Readers of this blog that have been with me since the beginning may be familiar with the “Fishing With Frog” series.  These posts detail the many annual fly-fishing trips with old, and I mean old, fraternity brothers in various Western Maryland streams.  There have been several characters, but every year includes Frog, and Catfish.

My last trip was in 2016, I have been missing due to previous engagements, aching bones, and Covid, but in 2022 I returned.

If you have any interest in previous posts, and they are actually reasonably entertaining if you have no life, go to the upper left corner where the little spyglass thing is and type “Fishing with Frog.”  All the posts along with their links will magically appear.

 

This years trip, along with Frog and Catfish was Joe to most, Joby to us and Mr. Cady to neighborhood 8-year-olds.

We left on Wednesday morning for a 5-hour drive and stayed at a very nice soup to nuts condo/cabin that Catfish found.  It took twenty minutes and a lot of cussing before Frog mastered the complicated 6 numeric entry code and we were in.  I did say we were old, didn’t I?

As soon as we unpacked it was off to the first stream.  I caught no fish; I did manage to lose my wading stick which made getting back to dry land a bit dicey…I survived. Frog caught three rainbow trout, and Catfish nailed two fish, one a very large rainbow. 

Joby had little luck.

The next day we tried a new stream.  It looked nice, but there were no fish.  I know there were no fish because Catfish did not catch any fish.  Frog sometimes does not catch a fish, if Catfish gets skunked, it is because there were no fish.  That afternoon we retuned to the first stream.  No bueno. I think Catfish caught one.

Friday, we tried a stream a bit further away that Catfish, based on previous trips, was convinced would not have any trout.

Catfish was wrong. 

There were fish.  He caught several, even an elusive golden trout, as did Frog.  I believe Joby got a few as well, me not so much.  I did however manage to not lose a single fly either by a birds-nest cast or a snagged tree branch.  This was a victory for me. 

Before we broke for lunch, Catfish called me over to a productive spot, demonstrated a new technique, and tied on a new fly.

With his tutoring I caught three small mouth bass and a croaker.  Actually, Catfish caught the first fish while demonstrating how to present the fly, but he quick handed me the rod to reel it in, promising not to tell any one I did not hook it. 

We did get a picture.

There is too a fish in that net!

As many times as I have gone fishing, I am always shocked to actually catch a fish. 

We left the stream for a lunch break and returned later.

Frog and I tried a new spot on the stream.  It was not very deep.  The rocks were slick.  I know it was not too deep because the damn slick rocks caused me to do a full-on face plant into the stream…twice.  That was the end for me.  I returned to our car and climbed out of my waders and tried to dry off…not very successfully.  Oh, BTW I lost my driving glasses on the second slip.

I finished the day while the others ran into some very good dry-fly fishing, with a nice cigar which I smoked down further than a hobo and listened to the Yankee game on the radio.

Later, a shower, some scotch and a steak never tasted so good.

That is the thing about fishing, especially fly-fishing.  Part of it is fun, much is really hard and tiring, a whole lot is frustrating as heck, especially for a nubie like myself; but a shower will never feel better and a cigar, scotch and steak could never taste as good.

Will I do it again next year?  

Kind of like a woman who just had a baby…no way…

Then, you forget the difficulty, the frustration and the unplanned-on swim.  Eventually the thought of actually catching a fish, and the taste of a steak, scotch and a good cigar kicks in.

Like a woman who amazingly enough will have another baby, I suspect I will do it all over again. (The fishing trip that is!)    

 

 

  

Stop the World, we want to get off

 

Stop the World, we want to get off

Written by we, ourselves and us.

I recently read an article about a protestor who tied themselves to the net during a French Tennis Open match.  The article said they were an environmental protestor.  I found something about the article confusing…I must be getting old.  

Of course, I was under the impression that pronouns are to be used based on a person's choice, but apparently the media is now deciding that if not specified, the accepted LGBTQIA+ pronouns should be used.

I shouldn’t be confused about the new use of pronouns.  Nothing wrong with political correctness.  I am learning; for instance, this happened the other day:

We were shopping at the market by ourselves and we started to talk to the person behind us.  They were only buying a few items, so we asked them if they wanted to step in line in front of us.  We were alone as were they and not in a hurry.  My wife was at home and they weren’t waiting for us for anything, so we figured we could let them step in front of us and it would not bother my wife who was home alone by themselves.

Anyway, this person replied that it was OK, they were not in a hurry so they could wait.

While the two of us were chatting, the cashier asked us for our store card while they rang up our groceries.  We then bagged our groceries, we paid and left.

The person behind thanked us for our gesture and we told them they were welcome.

If this is confusing, at least it does not offend, after all, that is very important.

 

That "Called to see the principal feeling"

 

That "Called to see the principal feeling"

 

This cranky old man is a law-abiding citizen.  I have not been given a speeding ticket in 58 years… (OK, one but that was a turnpike speed trap where I was one of 8 cars pulled over at a time for speeding in a “construction” area.  Every car on that highway was exceeding the limit.  It would have been dangerous to drive the “construction” area limit.)

I have never been in jail, never been in trouble.  (I did steal a .30 yo-yo from EJ Korvettes when I was 11, but I got away with that one.)

Anyway, I am your basic “goody two-shoes.”

So, why do I often get that “called to see the principal feeling”?

Is it just me?  Why do I suddenly feel like I am guilty of something whenever a police car happens to be behind me? I check my speed, start signaling for no reason, and break out in a cold sweat.  It is a wonder I don’t get pulled over for

“Looking guilty of something!”

I get that feeling whenever I have to make a banking transaction.  Wells Fargo, a bank that has had their own corporate wrists slapped several times recently, always makes me feel like I am doing something illegal.

This is the bank that asked for a thumb print when I deposited money into my own account.  This is the bank that for a year charged me $2 every time I used a non-Wells Fargo ATM machine and never disclosed that information to me. 

I would use a different bank; except I like their on-line system and don’t want to learn a new one.

Anyway, today I had to deposit money from my account at a different bank into Mrs. C’s Wells Fargo account.  Mrs. C generally makes this monthly transaction, but today she was busy and it had to be done for bill paying purposes.

I was carefully instructed in the process.

“Make your check out to cash, sign the back “For deposit only to Mrs. C” and write my account number on that side.  Hand it to the teller along with a deposit slip with the date, and the amount.   The account number is on the deposit slip.”

I did as instructed and went to the bank.  Approaching the teller, I felt like George Costanza ordering a “medium turkey chili” from the Soup Nazi.

“May I help you?”

I slid the check and the deposit slip under the window and stepped aside.

“Is this a deposit?”

“Um hum.” (I would have thought the deposit slip was a dead give away but was still, for some reason, intimidated.)

“Is this for someone else?”

Why is she asking me this, do I look like a Mrs. C?

“Yes, that is my wife’s account.”

Now, Mrs. C never took my last name as she did not want to change 873 different forms and identifications.

Peering over lowered reading glasses, “She has a different name?”

“Yes.”

She looked at me up and down.  I tried not to flinch and look guilty.

Finally, after much stamping and filing she handed me a receipt.  “Have a nice day.”

I left feeling as if I pulled off the crime of the century, and didn’t even get detention.

I should probably see a therapist. 

 

  

Things That make me Cranky

 

Things That make me Cranky

 

I’m old.  I don’t like most new things.  I don’t like most new trends.  Nothing wrong with new things.  Nothing wrong with new trends.  I just don’t like most of them.  I’m old.

The following is a list of new things and new trends that particularly are the aluminum foil on my dental fillings.

 

“My mom house.”  Umm, (‘S)!  What happened to the possessive?

“I had went to the store.”  I get tense over tenses.  Went, or had gone, “had went” is a splinter under my fingernail.

“You guyses.” I’m pretty sure the plural of guy is guys.

"I borrowed him some money" Umm, do you mean you lent some money to him?

At this point let me say my grammar is far from perfect, and I am a lousy speller, but how did people get past second grade with “My mom house.” “I had went to the store.”  “You guyses.” and "I borrowed him some money"? I’m pretty sure these people have NEVER been corrected.  Are teachers today afraid to correct kids on grammar? WHY??

Anyway, on with my list.

People do not know how to cross the street.  You might want to at least look first.  Hell, I look both ways crossing a one-way street.

Personal pronouns!!!  ARRRRGH!! Burns like fresh cheese pizza on my palate.

Literally/Actually/Awesome.  ARRRGH!!!

Cell phones  OK, actually I often literally think they are awesome...sometimes.

Things that “trigger” people.  Send me a list and I will try to avoid the 187,264 things that “trigger” people today.

People with crazy eyes that are allowed to buy guns.  Need I explain?

Alexa. Just because.

Music blaring from a car with windows down.  If you turn the music down and roll up the windows you can enjoy it and I won’t hear it…I get it, you are cool.

Strangers who tell me to “smile things can’t be that bad!”  You don’t know that…FUCK YOU!!

People who brag about not watching TV.  I don’t go to OPERA, and I’ve never seen or desire to see “Hamilton” but I don’t brag about it…WTF?

People who need to tell me that Golf is just a stupid game where you chase a little ball around the grass.  Yeah, and Nuclear Physics is just splitting an atom.

Lists of stupid things that annoy…wait…

OK, I’m done.

 

 

 

Get Out Of My Head!

 

Get Out Of My Head!

 No, this is not about a battle over bathroom time on a small boat, this is about Mrs. C and I at home.

Mrs. C’s mind and mine are often on the same wave length.  This is probably not uncommon for couples who have been together for a long time, but we have had this phenomenon from the first day we began dating.

While watching a movie on TV:

(Simultaneously)

“Where do I know that guy from?”

“Where do I know that guy from?”

“Get out of my head!”

“I don’t know, but it will come to me.”

Ten minutes later.

“Leave it to Beaver?”

(Simultaneously)

“Gilbert!”

“Gilbert!”

“Get out of my head!”

This happens all the time.

Just this morning when I realized it was going to get real hot in the afternoon, I set the air for 80 and went upstairs to close all the windows.  The plan was to turn the air to 75 when the sun goes down and then later open windows for the night air. 

As I reached the bedroom, Mrs. C called out,

“Can you close all the windows and set the air for 80, it is going to get hot today.  We can turn it to 75 when the sun goes down and then later open windows for the night air.”

“OK, good idea!”

 (Thinking) “Get out of my head!”

Like I said, this happens all…the…time.  So much so that “Get out of my head” is a running joke.

And yet.

We are challenged when it comes to Mrs. C giving, and me understanding directions.

From the kitchen yelling upstairs:

“Kare, where is the left-over chicken from last night?”

“In the fridge.”

“I know in the fridge, DUH, where in the fridge?”

“On the shelf.”

“There are four shelves!”

“The second one.”

“Second from the top or second from the bottom.”

“Yes.”

Yes what?”

“Second from the bottom.”

“I don’t see it.”

“It’s in the clear Tupperware.”

“The clear Tupperware has potatoes.”

“The other clear tupper…never mind, I’ll get it.”

She comes downstairs.

“Right here, behind the clear Tupperware with potatoes and under the blue Tupperware with the peas!...

And don’t tell me my directions suck!”

“Get out of my head.”

 

 

WET BLANKETS

 

WET BLANKETS

 

Just when I think I am done with this blogging thing, something hits my anger bone and I have to vent.

What is it with people that are so anxious to let you know that your good news might not be what you expect?

A person who is getting married:

“I am so happy, I just got engaged!”

“You know, marriage is not always what it is cracked up to be, and 40% of all marriages end up in divorce!”

Why thank you so much, isn’t that helpful information.

Why do people do this?  Why must they take the wind out of someone’s sails? What do they expect in response?

“Oh, thank you very much for that information, I guess I’ll just call the whole thing off.”

Just found out you are pregnant.

“I am so happy; I am going to have a baby!”

“You know babies are a lot of work and they are expensive, diapers, braces, college and don’t expect to get much sleep for the next few years.”

Great information and so helpful.

Here is another one I personally experienced a few years ago.

“Finally, after so many years I am retiring!” 

“Oh, you know retirement is not all it is cracked up to be.  What are you going to do with yourself and all that free time?  Maybe you could volunteer for things.” 

I got this kind of helpful advice from several people.

Not really that helpful, especially as my retirement was not actually voluntary.

By the way if any of those dopy-downers read this, Retirement is FRIGGIN GREAT!!!

What is wrong with people that they can’t wait to throw a wet blanket over anyone’s news.

News flash: (I hate that opening, and yet here I am doing it)

Most people that are getting married have given it some thought.  If you think they are making a mistake, it is a mistake that they are going to make with or without your big mouth so S…T…F…U!

People that announce happily that they are having a baby have given it some thought and they are happy.  Your big mouth is not going to send them to an abortion clinic, so S…T…F…U!

Most of the working world looks forward to retirement, they have thought about it and planned for it with great expectations…in what galaxy is your frigging comment going to be helpful?  S…T…F…U!

Most people are aware of the possible downside to any event in their life, and most times the event can not be reversed. 

Here is a suggestion for when you are told of any such event.

“That is wonderful, I am so happy for you!”

Otherwise just S…T…F…U!

I feel better already.