humor Archives - Adulting: Second- Half

Like Father, Like Son

Our son almost lost his wedding ring on his honeymoon. He was working out in the hotel’s gym, and not being used to wearing the ring, he slid it off his sweaty finger and set it on the particular machine he was working out on. He then proceeded to go up to his hotel room, pack up his things with his lovely new bride, and was about to enter a ferry boat to the next island on their itinerary, when he looked down at his hand and he realized, in a panic, that his wedding ring was gone. Frantically he called the front desk, who thankfully found the ring and had a courier get it to the newlyweds, before they entered the ferry boat. We are all so relieved for this happy ending.

My own husband is on his third wedding ring. He also lost his wedding ring on our honeymoon. The good news is, I have been with my husband, both times he has lost his ring. The bad news is, we’ve had to pay for both replacements, and my husband has very large hands. The first time my husband lost his wedding ring (on our honeymoon) was probably both of our faults. He kept saying that his ring was too big and that he would have to get it sized when we got home. However, being a young, romantic, new bride, I didn’t want him to take it off. So guess what fell off during our snorkeling adventure? We went to a jewelery store on the little island of St. Martin and purchased a replacement the very next day (did I mention that I was a young, romantic, new bride and should I say, perhaps, a little bit “possessive”?). The second time my husband lost his wedding ring, was when we were boating together, after a period of time that he had lost some weight. Since then, whenever we are around a large body of water, my husband changes out his gold wedding band for one of the black silicone plastic bands which so many of the young men seem to sport around with these days, with their active, hands-on lives.

To be clear, I am not writing this in judgment. I have already confessed to almost losing my own (and much more expensive) engagement ring in this story from the archives:

From the “No Horse Pucky” Archives

Our family has been a little careless with our wedding rings over the years. The more important thing is, we’re not careless with the love and the loyalty and the steadfastness that these rings represent.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Head Condom

I was going to wait until tomorrow to write this, but I am in “writing mode” and I just have to get this out . . . like a confession.

Yesterday, I got an MRI. I have been experiencing trouble with my neck and cervical radiculopathy for over three years now. This MRI was long overdue, but I am extremely claustrophobic. And so, truthfully, I have tried every alternative therapy in the book (including 20 minute sessions of constant, sharp shocks from electroneedling), for my problem, versus getting another much-needed MRI.

I first discovered my claustrophobia when I was a little girl at an amusement park. My sister and I were on a ride called “The Caterpillar.” The Caterpillar was a circular type of roller coaster that took you round and round, and while this was happening, a tarp-like covering came over the top of the entire roller coaster train. It was dark and musty and so tight that it brushed the top of your head. The olive green tarp would come on and off, and on and off, as the ride was going on and on. Now, I am a thrill seeker. I have loved roller coasters my entire life, but every single time that musty old tarp enclosed us in our small, dark space, I white-knucked the handlebars until my hands were numb. I prayed and prayed that the ride would be over, as we endlessly went round and round with the ominous tarp always threatening to close us in again. When the tarp was off of us, I gasped at the light and the air, like a little newborn bird, like these were my last breaths, before I was buried again, underneath the tarp, trapped in my tiny seat. Needless to say, I never went on that ride or anything like it again.

Claustrophobia brings on instant panic and high levels of anxiety that are hard to explain to others who don’t experience this. It’s hard to be rational when you are in the throes of panic. Before you go into small spaces, you logically and rationally explain to yourself why you are safe, and free, and unlikely to be harmed, but it is astonishing how fast all of that goes out the window, when the familiar, instant terror sets in. All of the breathing exercises, and meditative exercises you have practiced for years, disintegrate into a madness that screams, “Get me out of here!! Get me out of here!!”

I’ve tried to work through this problem of mine. I once decided to bravely take my four small children into a cave tour, in Tennessee, only to start hyperventilating and having to abandon them five minutes in (thankfully, their grandmother took over from there). I’ve had to talk myself off of a cliff in crowded elevators, and yes, I have had a couple previous MRIs that are among some of my most embarrassing memories. One time they had to pull me in and out of the machine so many times, that the radiologist came in, looked at pathetic me, with sad, frustrated eyes and said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t think this is going to happen today.” He stopped short of, “You need help.”

So yesterday, I hyped myself up. I took extra gabapentin (which is prescribed for my neck pain). I whined to my husband. I warned everyone in the entire clinic that I am claustrophobic, and therefore not responsible for my actions. However, this time, I had a new trick up my sleeve. I remembered that at my last “in and out, in and out” MRI, it helped (kind of) to cover my eyes with a towel, so I decided to take that concept up a level.

Years ago, a friend of mine texted a hilarious picture of herself, in her daughter’s pink migraine cap. There is no kinder way to say this, other than a migraine cap looks nothing short of a giant condom on top of your head. It is tight, pink, and it fully covers your eyes, with a notch for your nose. It’s not pretty. It looks fairly ridiculous. But because I suffer from migraines from time to time, I bought one. And I use it. It works. And in the privacy of my own home, no one sees me wearing it (except for my dear husband, whom after more than 30 years together, nothing about me, surprises or shocks him anymore). Yesterday, I already knew that I was likely to embarass myself anyway, so I brought my migraine cap to the clinic. And I put it on, and I asked the technician to lead me to the machine, while I was wearing my head condom, so I wouldn’t have to see the tiny tube I was about to enter. She was kind and accomodating. She did not laugh or call any authorites. I’m not sure if this was a first for her, but I’m pretty sure that I might have made her dinner conversation last night. However, I can proudly say, the technician did not have to pull me in and out of the machine, like a novice, impatient baker who can’t stop opening the oven. I successfully made it through my MRI.

These are the true stories of my life that I have dubbed as “no horse pucky.” (You can find others in the archives of the blog.) It feels good to get them out. The truth is always stranger than fiction.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Brows

The other day, I had an appointment in a part of town I don’t normally spend time in, but I needed some groceries, so I went to the chain grocery store in the nearby strip mall, and then the multi-tasking part of my brain kicked in, and me, knowing that I’ve needed my eyebrows waxed for weeks (okay, if I’m honest here, a lot of parts of my face needed waxing. In fact, lately, my face actually feels like it’s falling off of my face, like off of a cliff. Therefore, waxing my entire face seemed like a good idea to give it any kind of hair-free lift I can get. At least in my mind . . . ) On a whim, I decided to enter a nail salon, like you find in every strip mall that has a major grocery chain store it, and I asked them if they do waxing, so I could get yet another thing checked off of my list. A woman took me right back to their little waxing room in the back of the store.

I had never been to this particular salon, nor had this particular practioner ever done my waxing, so I started in with my emphatic lecture that I give every waxing professional I go to, about how I love my hairy caterpillar eyebrows and I want to keep them as thick as possible, and please err on the side of thick, heavy Brooke Shields, even Frieda Keilo eyebrows, yada, yada, yada, yada . . . .

“Yes, yes, just clean them up,” she nodded, clearly having heard these particular instructions from many clients in the past.

“I’m sorry,” I said with a chuckle. “Can you tell I have PTSD?” I said this off-handedly, thinking back to a time in my thirties when I just started getting my eyebrows waxed, and clearly my waxer, had just started waxing the art of waxing herself, and I lost half of one of my eyebrows. (and that was back at a time that I could count on my facial hairs growing back, in the right places)

My waxer did one of those half smiles that did not mask some deep pain. “Oh, I know PTSD,” she said. “My ex had PTSD from being in wars. He would wake me up every night, yelling and screaming. He kept two guns in the night stand.”

“Oh, wow, I’m so sorry. I was wrong to use ‘PTSD’ so lightly,” and I could feel my face turning red, not from the waxing, but from shame. And then the vain, self-centered part of me, started panicking, thinking that this practioner might just wax off half of one of my eyebrows to teach me a well-deserved lesson.

But of course, she didn’t. My waxer was lovely. She did a great job with my waxing, and she even did a sort of facial massage that felt absolutely wonderful. Clearly, my waxing practioner was a pro at what she does. And also, clearly she knows a hell of a lot more about PTSD than I ever have known.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Park It

I’m sorry for the late post today. We were at a major amusement park all day yesterday. I’m out of practice with amusement parks. The last time I was at this particular park I was a chaperone for a school trip – middle schoolers. Ugh. It was quite stressful back then, trying to keep track of hormone-filled tweens with all different interests (and/or lack of interests) in rides, and who also had especially keen abilities to disappear. I remember being on the bus on the way home from that trip, smiling to myself, as 12 Rod’s “Glad That It’s Over” played loudly in my headphones.

Yesterday was truly wonderful though. My husband and I smiled at each other, thrilled that we were still able to handle some of the major rides (without getting sick), but also able to be the human coat racks for our kids who were going on some of the major, major rides. My husband commented that the marvelous thing about theme parks is that they make it so that many generations can be together, and still have great fun together. There is usually something there for everyone in theme parks, even if it is just to vicariously see, and to feel the joy that occurs in a day of “escape” for everyone together in the park. We left the park (at closing time), exhausted but in a good way. I looked at all of the other people leaving the park with us, and everyone looked weary, but also utterly satiated. All of our muscles were clearly rubbery and spent from walking all day, and from holding tenseness on the rides, but our smile muscles couldn’t stop working for all of us, as we peacefully made our way to our cars, knowing that we were all headed to a good night’s sleep.

Question for the Day from 3000 Questions About Me:

1119. What keeps you optimistic?

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Monday – Funday

(credit: @woofknight, X)

Okay, this meme really resonated, especially for me on a Monday morning (okay, truthfully this resonates for me, during most of my mornings, but especially on Monday mornings). My brain cells do not seem to be allowing the coffee to permeate. And I’ve already watched a video of a quokka kissing Robert Irwin, made half of my bed, and put part of the laundry into the washer. Now, I guess I’ll circle around and finish up all of the tasks which I have half-started.

Have a great week!! Oh, and did you know that quokkas are considered the happiest animals on the planet?

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Tuesday’s Tidbits

+ I’m relatively new to the iPhone and the thing that I could do without is Siri’s attitude. When I say, “Hey Siri”, she says “Um-hmm” in a tone that I read as slightly condescending, distracted, “fake” cheerful and annoyed. It’s almost as if “uh-hmm” is short for “What do you want now? I’m kinda busy out here in the ethersphere. ” I think that I would prefer something like, “Hi, beautiful! How can I help you?”, in a delighted, enthusiastic, tail-wagging, eager tone. I find Siri’s “um-hmm” almost as annoying as women who are at least 35 years younger than me, calling me “honey.”

+ In the beginning of the year, I found myself chomping at the bit to get back to “normal.” Our four adult children, overlapping their holiday visits, between them all, kind of like a Venn diagram, were here at home, for a total of about four weeks, in various counts and measures. Towards the end of the holidays, my adult children said that I started repeating the same questions which I supposedly have always asked during every school break since they were little ones, “When do you go back now? Is it almost time for you to go back?” (Our kids do an interesting mocking impression of me asking these questions. They find it quite amusing.) So yesterday, was my first full day entirely by myself. And the house was soooo quiet. And my grocery cart looked pitifully empty with just the groceries for the two of us. And I only had to do one load of laundry. And so, when I got home, I texted to the family chat, with a myriad of cry-face emojis, a question which I also often ask of my kids, “I miss you. When are you coming home again?”

+ As I write this, I am wearing a V-Line Double Chin Reducer face mask, which I saw on Amazon, as the hopeful side of me focused only in on the positive reviews. It fits over my ears and under my chin and I have hopes that my jowls will magically disappear after only a few wearings. Ha. My dogs find this unique mask quite disturbing looking. I know and I understand on a logical level, that this is yet another gimmick which I have fallen for that most likely will not work with any great noticeable measure, and all of the while, it cost me time and money, and it makes me look ridiculous, and vain, and pathetic, and also frightening to my fur babies. And you can laugh at silly old me, but I know that there are a few of you out there, just like me, who while reading this are perhaps wearing a gold flake mask, or trying out a teensy-weensy dollop of that new anti-aging cream from that teeny, tiny $453 jar of “The Emperor’s New Cream” that you insisted on getting for Christmas. The global anti-aging market is now said to be worth almost 60 billion dollars. Sigh.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Monday-Funday

credit: @andymewborn, Twitter

I think that the above meme has become particularly more applicable to me as I have gotten older. It really does stress me to have more than one important thing to do on any particular day. I have the tendency to over-exaggerate the importance and the relevance on any “big, BIG, BIG” event on any one specific day. Interestingly, my twenty-something sons and I are complete polar opposites in this regard. My sons try to pack in as much other stuff that they possibly can before “The Appointment” and then to come screeching into “The Appointment” huffing and puffing, breaking speed limits, with no seconds to spare, all of the while trying to pull off an air of complete badass nonchalance. It makes for a really fun family dynamic amongst us at times. If this sensation were a perfume it would be called, “Tension in Ze Aire.”

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

My Pleasure?

“Customer service is just someone on the phone telling you to do it yourself.” – Erica Rhodes (comedian), Twitter

I love Erica Rhodes. She is brilliant. I highly recommend watching one of her comedy specials, if you need a laugh today. Yesterday, after spending at least ten minutes banging on my keypad, trying desperately to not have to converse with a pointless robot, I finally got to a customer “service” person. At one point the customer service person at the other end of my phone literally said to me in a flat, disinterested voice, “with everything that you have going on with your bill” as if her own company had nothing to do with the graffiti art that is my cell phone statement every month. I honestly just started laughing, slightly maniacally, and she sounded confused but then started laughing along with me.

In all fairness, the other day, after opening up an oil soaked box from Bath & Bodyworks because whoever packed the box seemed to think that 2 inches of bubble wrap, total, was more than enough for 25 fragile glass fragrance bulbs, to be shipped in, all the way across the country (and this being the second time that I had experienced this fun-filled phenomenon in a row), I spoke to a Customer Service representative who was honestly, incredibly awesome. This CSR had probably started her career at Chick-Fil-A. (did you ever notice that everyone, at every company now says the Chick-Fil-A original line in a perky voice – “It’s my pleasure!”?!?) She was trained right. She had me diffused quicker than my stress-relief fragrance bulbs ever could. (on an aside, my family loves to watch me get all wound up and fiery, talking to customer service reps. I usually start out with, “Look I’m not being a “Karen” here . . . ” And then I hear snickers and whispers from my family, “But you kind of are . . . “) Seriously, this woman was so kind, so understanding, so good at listening and she went above and beyond, in order to rectify the situation. I honestly was stunned. I couldn’t believe that I was actually experiencing good, reasonable customer service. It had been so, so long since I had experienced excellent customer service. So, that’s when I asked to speak to her manager. I, of course, got her manager’s voicemail, but I left a long, enthusiastic, glowing review about my experience with this customer service person. My thought was, if I made the effort to let my unhappiness be known, I should also have the time and the decency to let my satisfaction be conveyed, as well.

Here are some of the more witty, relatable replies to Erica’s on-point tweet:

“Can I help you” has always been a funny opening line to me. -@CharlesScheer

Best ones are when you use a service’s website for guidance, but it makes no sense or is counterproductive. You get in touch with them and they send you the same link on the web chat or by email ? – @BotondHamori

Or transferring you back to the person who transferred your call to him/her. -@JPReisender

And then asking if you are satisfied with their help, and asking if there is anything else that they can help you with today …@nattybumpercar

If you’re lucky enough to get an actual Fking human! I almost always get Siri’s dropout cousin . . . . @BenekeBc

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

One of Those Random Thought Days

+ I once fell in love with a slouchy, soft, voluminous leather handbag and I promptly bought three more of them (in slightly different colors and variations) to have waiting in the wings. At that time, I told myself I have reached the age when I know what I like, and there is nothing better than a large, butter soft handbag, especially with all of the stuff that I (and my family) tend to jam into my purses. Then, one day, I saw a super stiff, shiny, molded handbag, but it was in the perfect, jaw dropping shade of aqua blue, with red accents. And aqua blue is my second favorite color, right below red. (True Confession: I once purchased a bottle of perfume that I didn’t really even enjoy the scent, because it had an aqua blue bottle with a red lid on it.) I couldn’t resist this purse. Now the truth is, I hate putting my hand in the back pocket of this stiff, inflexible bag, to retrieve my lipstick, because the bag is so hard that my hand tends to get a little cut up from the zipper as I try to carefully and slowly and strategically slide my hand into the pocket, but still . . . . the color. I honestly get more compliments on this purse than any purse I have ever carried. And it turns out that it is easier to find my stuff in a rigid, ungiving purse. My soft purses are almost like infinite, dark, dank caves, where you dip your hand in and you just never know what you might pull out of it. These slouchy bags are almost like snake charmers’ bags. So what’s the point of my story? I don’t know. Variety is the spice of life? Everything has its merits and its flaws? There’s good in being in soft, and there’s good in being firm? Maybe I should try to find a soft leather bag in aqua blue, or just stop wearing lipstick? Maybe this is an example of the ridiculous amount of time I spend over-thinking about things, that in the scheme of things, really do not matter? Who cares, right? You are probably thinking, “Wow, I just wasted a few minutes of my precious time, reading your nonsense about nonsense, Kelly. Do better.”

+ I was spending an infinite amount of time standing in a post office line the other day, so I got to talking to the woman in front of me, in line. She appeared to be around my age and it turns out that her two kids were around some of my kids’ ages (early to mid twenties). She was saying to me, that she was concerned with this pandemic happening that her kids have become too reclusive and too sensitive to noise and to boisterous activity. Having worked from home for this long, her kids can’t stand crowds and commotions. She had taken them to a chic, popular, food market type eatery for dinner the other night and they couldn’t take it. Her kids suggested leaving the hotspot immediately, and getting take-out from Chick-fil-a instead. I said, “Well, at least you got off cheap,” but inside I was starting to wonder if my family was having the same distress and discomfort with noise and action. But my concerns were easily put to rest last night, when all six of us, surrounded by our three boisterous dogs were playing a competitive game of Farkle around our dinner table, and at that moment, I wondered if we were going to break the sound barrier. I wondered if our windows were going to start cracking. I wondered if our neighbors were going to call the police with a noise complaint. And at that moment, I realized that for all of the things that I worry about in regards to my family, worrying about any of them, not being able to handle loud noise and melee can easily be crossed off the trouble doll list. Half the time my family is the noise and the melee. We are usually the ones causing visceral pain to everyone else. And right about now you are probably thinking, “Ugh, is this story your idea of “doing better”, Kelly??? Get out of your head. Go walk your dogs.”

+ “I don’t know why, but all the strangers I met today were extra nice and that can make a day so much brighter.” _ Erica Rhodes, Twitter

I read this Tweet this morning and I thought, “That’s how it seems to go in life. People, on any particular day, are either especially nice or on other days, all people seem to be especially grumpy.” There never seems to be much of an in-between. And then I thought about how many times I have heard the proverb about “seeing people not as they are, but as you are. . . ” and I thought, “Wow, I must have some heavy pendulum, menopausal mood swings.”

You: “Enough. Shut down your thought train, Kelly. Shut down your computer. Go take your hormones.”

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Monday-Funday

My daughter has to take another COVID test today because someone at her work came down with it. Luckily, my middle son got to come home for the holidays. He tested negative for COVID right before heading home, despite his roommate catching it. His roommate was vaccinated and boosted and still came down with it. And now his roommate’s plans to visit his 95-year-old grandfather for Christmas, are ruined. His roommate only had mild symptoms for one day, and now he is left all alone at their apartment for the holidays. I will never turn this blog into a political or controversial or an inflammatory tirade, so all that I will say is “Sigh.” I don’t have the answers. “Sigh.” I (like everyone else) am so sick of this sh%t. “Sigh.” Deep breath. “Sigh.” “Sigh.” “Sigh.”

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.