Old People

     I was always raised to believe that older equals wiser. I mean they say it all the time: older and wiser. Why would I not believe this to be true? But it's not. It started with the news people telling us during the last heat wave to "watch your elderly." Huh? Watch them do what? But apparently when one gets to a certain age, one forgets how to push the 'on' button of one's air conditioner. Or fan. Or whatever cooling methods one's house is equipped with. Really?
  
   Now, before you get all upset about what I'm going to say here, let me clarify. I'm not talking about low income elderly or otherwise disabled elderly who actually do not have air conditioning or cannot afford to run it. These people should be helped, and there are places they should be able to go. No, I'm talking about financially secure, perfectly sane people who refuse to turn on the air. I've heard a few reasons why, and will tell you why they aren't good ones. 1. "I get cold!" Hey, right next to that 'on' button is an 'off' button. Don't die of heat stroke because you're afraid of being a bit chilly. Set the thermostat accordingly. Wear something. It will be OK. 2. "I'm afraid of blowing a fuse." Mind you, this is  from a woman who unplugs the clocks because she read about the energy vampires that might raise that $12 electric bill. You don't have fuses, you have breakers. And hey! Go ahead and blow one! Call the electrician. They will come and fix it for you. And you have somebody to talk to for a few hours while they do. It will be OK.  3. "If you stay in air conditioning all day, then when you go outside the heat will get you!" You are a retired widow. Where do you need to go in hundred degree weather besides your air conditioned car? And by that logic, shouldn't we keep the heat off in the winter just so you won't freeze to death if you need to go outside then? Turn on the air and be cool. Stay inside for a few days. It will be OK.
   
      My other old people concern is the scam where a "grandchild" calls or emails, saying they are traveling abroad, have run into some trouble, need bailed out. Can you wire me some money, Grandma without telling my parents? I don't want them mad at me! OK, first of all, if you aren't close enough with your grandchildren to know if they are really traveling abroad, you aren't close enough with them to give them money! And second, what kind of devious person would bypass their own children to sneak money to a grandchild without them knowing? You should be ashamed of yourself if you have fallen for this scam! Talk to your children! Don't give their children money without permission! Wow, these elderly really do need to be watched!
   
      This all did make for a good teachable moment, though. The 23 year old smart ass at work was being really nice to me (40 something) and my work neighbor (50 something) all week. Are we feeling all right, is the fan hitting us ok, do we need anything to drink, would we like a popsicle? Finally I asked what his deal was, and he said "Well, they said on the news to watch your elderly. Just wanna make sure you guys are all right." I don't care what you say about this younger generation. They are good kids.

Ninjago!

     Cartoon Network has this show on, starting its second season, called Ninjago. Not Ninja-go, like one would assume, pronounced NinJAAAgo.  Basically, it is Lego people in a Lego world who are both Ninjas and kids. Cartoon Lego people. Yes, you read that right. With their little pop off  Lego heads, you know, the ones hanging out in that other dimension with all of Barbie's shoes and half your damn socks. And their little Lego "C" shaped hands. They do almost have knees in the cartoon version, so they can like run and stuff. And dragons to fly around on. If you have not sat in a room while your children watch this show, you need to. Actual conversation:
  
   One kid, yelling at the TV: "Dude! Why are you fighting them off all by yourself? Why not call for help?"
  
     Different kid: "What's he gonna do, text? He has no thumbs!"
  
    Original kid: "Oh yeah. Right."
 
     Me: "This show is great! Haaaa!"
   
     Now, "Leroy" has this thing, he always has to "be" somebody in whatever he's watching, which makes us have to "be" somebody, too. Like "OK, Mom. I'm Dash, you're Elastigirl, and Dad is Mr. Incredible." Or "OK, Mom. I'm Stewie, you're Lois, and Dad is Peter." You get it. I am always the girl, since I'm the only girl in the house. In this case, I'm Nya, which is OK because she's pretty bad-ass. She's the smartest of the group, and travels around in this robot samurai thing that's pretty cool. But in order to remain the cool mom, I was watching the opening theme trying to learn everybody's name and who's who.
  
   The one who always wears red is named Kai, OK, like Cayenne peppers, they are red, got it. The one who always wears blue is Jay. Total gimmee there, blue jay. Cool. The one who always wears black is Cole. All right, change the spelling a bit and you have black as coal. I have got this down! Then the one who always wears white. Zane.     Zane?      Zane. I guess it was the whitest name they could think of. Well, what I really think is that someone suggested Trevor, but since everyone else only has one syllable they thought the white guy should, too. Then somebody said "What's the whitest one syllable name we can come up with?" and Zane was created.  None of the boys wants to be Zane when they play. See, even they know.

Stupid Genes!

     I always try to look on the bright side. Married to a disabled man, I get the good parking. At least when he's with me. I get to have a career, guilt free, while he is my stay at home Dad. It works for us, and mostly is good. Except for Cub Scouts. More specifically, Cub Scout hikes. He can't go, so I have to. Now, I've never been a girly girl. I touch frogs and toads, I'm not afraid of snakes or spiders, some good old mud never hurt anybody. And back before I got fat and couldn't get myself back up off the ground, I've been known to sleep in tents and pee in the woods. If I have to. But hiking for fun seems to me kind of like jogging. You know, useless. But it gets the kids beltloops and pins, so I do what I have to do. Today's hike reminded me of a phenonomen that started years ago.

     Many many moons ago, back in the last millenium, my husband was not anyone to me except my boss. That's right, years before we ever considered dating, I worked for him. In a shop. As anyone who works these places (and most others) knows, employees' cars (or other items or services) are always put on the back burner. Other customers come first, and they kind of assume you'll be back tomorrow. A co-worker's car was in for repair, and of course not finished yet. I passed within a mile of his house on my way home, so naturally I was the one he asked to take him home. I was at the time clock waiting, when boss man asked why. I told him since Ed's car wasn't finished yet, I was taking him home. This is the important part. He actually looked at me and said, in a questioning tone, "Taking him home?" Of course my smart ass nature kicked in, so I answered.

     "Yes. He will get into my car with me, at which point I will drive him to his house. Then, he will get out of my car, and I will continue driving until I get to my house. Then I will park the car and go inside." His whole response to this? "Oh."

     Throughout our working, then dating, then married relationship this pattern has continued. Usually when I'm asking about something he doesn't want to talk about. Example:

     Me: "How about you clean up the dog shit in the hallway?"

     Him: "Dog shit in the hallway?" Like he's never heard any of those words before.

     Me: "Yes. In the long room that leads to the other rooms, there is a pile of fecal matter, presumably canine. Hopefully canine. I don't think it would be a good idea to leave it there, and since I'm currently (fill in the blank of the 12 things I'm currently doing while he's watching TV) I would like for you to clean it up, please."

     Him: "Oh."

     So today was a Cub Scout hike. I figure that maybe "James," a step-son who was never allowed to be a Cub Scout might enjoy it. So I say to him: "Today is a Cub Scout hike. Would you like to tag along?" And what does the little brat say? As if he's never heard the word before, "Hike?"

     Me: "Yes. Hike. It's like a walk, but it takes place in the woods."

     James: "I know what it is!"

     OK, A: Then why did you ask? And B: The response is always supposed to be "Oh." Nothing more, nothing less. Just "Oh."  Definitely my husband's child though. Stupid genes.

Body Art

     Ah, the local swimming pool (or Aquatic Center if you want to be precise.) The perfect place to check out everybody else's body art. And to realize how different your life outlook is than your significant other.

     Very rarely can I get "Cleveland" to go to the pool with us. He can swim (I can't), he has more days off a week than I do (all of them), we get passes for all of us every year. But he pretty much refuses to go. Ever. I did get him to go opening day this year, we had to get our pictures taken for the passes. He sat with me, watching the kids swim and slide and dive and all that good stuff. We were also checking out the tats. Why? Because they are everywhere, and you can actually see most of them in swimwear.

     He sees a guy walk past that I didn't notice. I read. He mentions that dude must be really into Legos. That got my attention. Why?

     "He has a Lego wall tattood across his back."

     "Oh, like a colorful Lego wall, or some other kind of Lego structure? I think if I was going to tattoo on Legos, I wouldn't choose a wall."

      "I don't know, it's in black and white." Which makes me wonder if it's really a Lego wall after all. I mean, Legos, sure. Black and white Legos? What kind of a freak is this guy? Then it hits me, and I finally ask:

     "You're sure it's not just a regular wall? I mean, maybe he's just a big Pink Floyd fan, not unnaturally obsessed with Legos." That made him think for a few minutes, then he decided there was just no way on earth it could be anything except a Lego wall. I mean, after all, why would anyone tattoo any other substance on themselves but cheap plastic, right? He seriously refused to even consider any other explanation. They had to be black and white Legos. On a grown man's back.

     Well, obviously I had to hunt down the dude and get a sneaky, sunglass hidden look at his back. Three guesses what I found there. Yep, Pink Floyd. The Wall. Great work, actually. Looked just like the album cover. I do realize not everyone goes straight to the Pink like me. I get it. We can't all be Comfortably Numb all the time. But straight to Legos? On a tat? Yep, I am married to a freak, who obviously does not get out enough. Or listen to decent music.

Getting Started

     So, as I was ranting to myself the whole drive home from work the other day, it occurs to me that I need a healthier outlet to my opinions than my windshield. Don't get me wrong, I love my windshield. It protects me from the wind, rain, snow and bugs. If I turn them on, it has built in squeeges that keep it "clean." (Or at least clear of debris in the places where they scrape.) It is quiet and kind of a great listener. But it doesn't talk back. I can't bounce ideas off it. I can, they just come back the same way I threw them. Really. And if your windshield changes the ideas before they get back to you, call me. I need to borrow your car.
     Simply put, I am a working Mom, Stepmom, and wife who has opinions. Those who know me normally don't ask for most of my opinions, for I am more than willing to share them. Sometimes loudly. Sometimes with colerful language. Always with humor. Never to cause other people pain. Or shame, unless they deserve to be shamed.
     I am fortunate to have a wondeful family, great co-workers, and even an OK if not disfunctional extended family, for the most part. I'm also honest enough to admit that sometimes these wonderful people drive me bat shit crazy with their demands and stupidity. And sometimes I don't handle it well, as my windshield could tell you. If it could talk.
    I am very new to the blog concept. I don't know how to make people read this. Or if I want them to. Or if this is just a sort of  "online diary" that I can add to when I get bored. Or how to find this later. But please, let me know what you think, and I'll check in later.