Category: blog

While at Live Longer’s barbecue, some of the guests and I discussed death and ghosts. Several guests shared experiences of their loved one’s ghost visiting them a few days after their death. Sometimes the ghost told them things such as, “Everything will be alright.” Other times, they were just there – sitting in the room, car, funeral home.

This got me thinking about my death and how much fun it would be to hire a bunch of doppelgangers/look alikes to attend my fun-eral/wake. In a sense, I’m outsourcing. I definitely need to adjust my will and final testament to reflect this desire.

I shared my idea with a coworker, who recently attended a funeral. “The service was amazing. So many people loved this guy. I thought to myself, ‘Who would say this kind of stuff about me at my funeral?’ That’s when I decided would hire mourners for my service,” she told me.

Between the doppelgangers and the mourners, our funerals should be a good time – exactly as MC Static Cling and I think funerals should be: fun.

I love hanging out on my stoop. I’ll take my coffee, books, journals, laptop, wine and friends and spend hours out there enjoying the air, my yard and the passersby. Being that I spend so much time out there, I have often wondered what my neighbors can see from their viewpoint.

A few years ago, Not So Little Man and I had stopped by a neighbor’s house across the way and, while there, noticed it gave us a good indication of their viewpoint. Thus, we decided to visit several neighbors’ stoops to get their viewpoint as well. Although some stoops had relatively decent views of my stoop/house, it appeared my space was still relatively private.

That was until my neighbor (who has always been a McCreeper) directly across the street from me lost his job, his dad moved in with him, and they repositioned his adirondack chairs to the spot on his deck that is directly across from the bistro set on my stoop. With nothing but time on their hands, they sit on the chairs – from the crack of dawn until the moon goes down, or until my friends and I go inside – and stare. They don’t drink, read, write or talk, father McCreeper occasionally smokes a pipe or cigar. They just sit, stare at my stoop, me, my friends, and creep us out.

I’ve told several people, “If anything ever happens to me, check them out first. Seriously. I think I’m going to wake up one day to find them standing next to my bed. Staring.” Those who haven’t experienced ‘them’ firsthand think I’m joking. Those who have had the great displeasure of being in the viewpoint of the McCreeper family know the comments are made with merit. Fred Rogers used to sing, “Who are the people in your neighborhood?” Good question, Fred. Good question. The people in my neighborhood, specifically the people directly across the street, are father and son McCreeper.

On My Terms and I quite enjoy bantering back and forth. We also enjoy various forms of communication. A while back we considered installing landlines and having that be our primary form of communication. Fortunately, On My Terms found a lovely avocado green rotary wall phone for me. Unfortunately, the cost to wire her house for a landline was more than she wanted to spend.

So, yesterday, On My Terms came up with a solution: two-way radios. “We could say stuff like ‘yo, what’s your 20?’ or ’10-4,’ even ‘over and out,'” she excitedly told me. I immediately agreed to the idea, “I love ten code. We’ll need a handle.” “I’m already Moods of Mae,” she replied. After much thought, I decided on “Okey Dokey.”

Today, I sent On My Terms a link to radios with a 16-mile radius. She did a little research and ended up purchasing radios with a 27-mile radius. Game on. “I have such an excited feeling about these walkie talkies! I just cannot freaking wait! It’s going to be awesome,” she told me. Within minutes she sent me a link to the ten-code and I sent her an instructional video, “How to Operate a CB Radio.” Unfortunately, there were no “How to Operate Walkie Talkies” videos. Fortunately, in less than a week, we’ll have the tools and the skills to make an instructional video on the stoop. As they say in the two-way radio business, we are 10-76 to some good times.

Each year, Johnny Utah and his work host a fundraising event to help at-risk kids. As an at-risk adult, I try to help out whenever I can. This year, I attended the dinner, purchased silent auction items (one of my risk factors) and, hopefully, helped a few kids out.

In addition, Passed The Sniff Test and I committed to attend the benefit concert which was being held at one of my favorite concert venues. Knowing shows frequently sellout, Passed The Sniff Test and I purchased our tickets as soon as the concert was announced. A week or so before the concert, Johnny Utah advised us there had been a lack of ticket sales so the prices had gone down and the venue was changing.  He offered to refund some of our money, however, I maintained the same policy I had when managing the charity hot dog cart with Tree, “It’s for the kids.” Thus, no refund needed.

Passed The Sniff Test and I arrived at the venue, excited to hear the band (neither of us were familiar with them), and ready to donate more money to the charity. Upon arriving, Johnny Utah greeted us and thanked us for coming. “You guys are seriously awesome,” he told us. “How many tickets did you end up selling?” we asked. He said nothing, looked around, and then held up two fingers. “Only two? The two we bought?” Passed The Sniff Test asked. “Yep,” Johnny Utah sadly confirmed. “Two is better than none,” I said and added, “It’s for the kids.” And with that, we enjoyed a nearly private $50 concert. No refund needed.

It has been one year since Wilson Phillips played, free of charge, at our State Fair. This year, after last year’s great turnout and the success of Bridesmaids, they’re returning to the fair and are no longer free. Wanting to experience the same goodness we did last year, and respectful of the need to capitalize on their popularity, we purchased front row tickets – seventeen of them.

As we discussed whether or not we would dress up for the event – which is very rarely a ‘not’ and most often a ‘what to wear’ – we considered 80s fashion. Being that 80s fashion is an easy go-to, and the fact that many of today’s styles are 80ish, I suggested something a little more formal: bridesmaids dresses. I figured most of us had dresses we have only worn once and there was no point in holding on to that dress for one more day if we weren’t going to wear it. For those of us who didn’t have bridesmaids dresses, secondhand shops were ready and waiting.

Thus, Tree and I set out to find the perfect dress. As we were finding dresses to try on, several patrons were watching and smiling. “Won’t he look pretty in those dresses,” I said. They giggled and kept walking. “I’m so excited,” Tree exclaimed. “I cannot wait to wear a dress to the fair!” After trying on a few dresses I was quickly reminded of how small bridesmaids dresses can be. Fortunately, I eventually found one that, with assistance, zipped up all the way. Turns out Tree had the same problem. “I’ll either figure out how to get it to zip up all the way or just wear it partly unzipped,” he advised. We’re classy like that.  We continued to browse and I saw an exquisite purple taffeta gown hanging on the wall. They took it down for us and I tried it on. It actually fit me pretty good and, deep breathes, was a size 24. “This is ridiculous,” I told Tree and added, “Let’s pay for these dresses and then go get something to eat. Clearly, I’m starving.”

We ended up at a ma and pa Mexican restaurant on the West side of town and, less than a half hour after eating, Tree advised me he had heartburn. Luckily, we both made it home without having to defecate in a sink or on the street while donning our new gowns, but Tree’s stomach was definitely growling, “Release me.”

After Baby Q toppled down the stoop stairs, I figured we would be incident free for the remainder of the visitation. Not so. About 30 minutes before Q arrived to retrieve her we were discussing the idea of visiting the neighbor’s chickens and pilfering their tomatoes. Baby Q was pleased with this suggestion, so I ran to grab her shoes. That’s when I heard the thud and subsequent wailing. I busted back to the room to find she had fallen off of the bed and landed directly on her bum. I immediately assessed her for injuries – broken limbs and the like, held her for a minute, then asked what hurt. “My bum,” she replied. I took a look and advised her, “Uh oh, looks like you have a crack in it. Better get you an ice bag.” We then rounded up the ice bag from the day prior, secured it over her pants with a tea towel, and hurried over to the neighbors. Fortunately, we returned home prior to Q arriving – ice bag still in place and tomatoes ready to be sliced.

Immediately after Q and Baby Q departed, I headed to Live Longer’s house for a Labor Day barbecue. We were discussing various life matters, to include Alzheimer’s, and I advised them of a study that found being bilingual prevented people from getting Alzheimer’s. “Are you bilingual?” one of the guests asked me. “Not really. I only speak a little bit of every language – English included. Plus, with my family history, I’m bound to get it. That said, I’m learning how to say, ‘I’m screwed,’ in several languages, just for kicks,” I replied.

Later, we were discussing Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) when Live Longer’s husband advised us someone was OCM. “What is that?” Live Longer asked. “Occasionally Messy. OCM,” he replied, quite proud of the diagnosis he created. Like me, he’s not a doctor, but we would both play one on TV if asked. In the meantime, we’re just normal human beings who enjoy appearing knowledgeable and occasionally getting the facts wrong – would that be OCGTFW? For example, it turns out being bilingual doesn’t prevent Alzheimer’s, rather, it appears to make dealing with it easier. Oh well, nothing wrong with encouraging people to learn a language – doctors have an obligation to encourage enhanced living. Not so. I just checked the duties and responsibilities of doctors and that isn’t accurate. Like I said earlier, “Jag är Screwed. Je suis vissé. Ich Screwed. Estoy jodido. Ik ben genaaid.”

It’s been one week since the Elite Alumni Reunion and if you stopped by my house today you might think the party was still going.

Baby Q is with me for our monthly ‘visitation’ and stooping was one of our many agenda items. BioMom stopped by to join us and, as we chatted outside, Baby Q tried out her stoop stair skills. She had successfully tackled the stairs multiple times and was about to do so again when she got distracted by something, leaned down to look at it, and the human Slinky began. Luckily, BioMom was standing at the base of the stairs and caught her as she toppled down, head first, and nearly changed our agenda for the day.

I took her inside, pulled the retro ice bag out of the freezer, the VCR out of the basement, and set her up on the couch for healing. BioMom assured me that she did not actually hit her head, “just bumped it,” which reduced my concerns about projectile vomiting – I couldn’t deal with that two weeks in a row.

Baby Q soon fell asleep and I used the down time to clean up her clothes, toys and musical instruments – just like with the Elitists. About an hour later she woke up, smiled and said, “I peed.” She did. A lot. All over the couch. So, like last week, I spent an hour or more cleaning, sanitizing and thinking to myself, “Could be worse.

James Stevenson would be proud to know that his children’s book, “Could Be Worse!” – which I read in high school and still own – continues to help me get through high school and babysitting shenanigans.

There are two places I sleep best: vacation and work. The latter I don’t really do too often (some would say this is because I don’t work too often), but my coworker is very good at it. I’ve seen him sleeping, but don’t necessarily hear him sleeping; rather, I hear him jolt awake because his airways are obstructed.

Last night after watching Bridesmaids – I want to be ready for 1) Wilson Phillips and 2) any upcoming weddings – I decided to go to bed. It seemed like a good idea at the time, however, as soon as I laid down I was wide awake. Being that I had to be up and out before eight AM, I knew I was in trouble. So, I did what everybody does when they can’t sleep – I got up.

While up, I ate a mint chocolate ice cream sandwich, ordered a rug, practiced my francais – oui, oui, je l’ai fait, and washed some dishes. With my belly full, my shopping done, my Alzheimer’s prevented (learn a second language – it’s not just for foreigners any more) and my kitchen clean, I tried sleeping again. Tried being the key word.

Many might suggest I change my diet (no way I’m giving up that delicious ice cream sandwich), exercise (I walked to my bedroom and lifted the decorative pillows off the duvet), avoid alcohol at night (I can’t sleep and drink at work), or see a doctor (I’m lucky to be dating anyone right now, let alone a doctor). Looks like I’ve only got one alternative: vacation.

Alas, I laid my head on my pillow, started planning my next trip and the next thing I knew, it was seven AM and I had successfully powernapped. Where I went on my vicarious vacation, I have no idea, but when I woke my pelvis was hurting – maybe I should see a doctor.

When holding media events, one never knows who may show. So, as we prepped for our event and waited for dignitaries to arrive, I was more than excited to see what I had hoped would be a press prop/visual.

Our event was being held in a local grocery store near the beer cooler, thus, we had several customers frequenting our staging area. One customer, donning a royal blue track jacket and somewhat matching shorts, totally caught my eye. He also caught the eye of several of our dignitaries. In my heart of hearts, I was hoping he would position himself on the sidelines of our event, maybe near some of our poster boards, and be filmed for all to see. “The senator’s mouth dropped in awe,” one of the ad reps told me. This guy was definitely a jaw dropper. Sadly, he opted to grab his “ja-lap-ano” chips, $2 worth of pepperoni, Gummiworms and head out.

Why was he such a big deal? Because he looked just like Randy from Trailer Park Boys. Underneath that royal blue track jacket – which was wide open – was nothing but flesh and gut. Some might think this would take away from our event; I would disagree. His appearance near our posters would not only have made my day, it would have made it so memorable. I can hear it now, “Did you see Randy standing there next to the beer cooler? Survival of the fitness.” Ricky would definitely give us props for that.