This is perfect for a regular WTF moment as seen here:


Or, for a real and truly WTF – are you kidding me moment – as seen here:

Hey, if I attached it to a headband and sported it like a hat – I could just stare for a regular moment, and for those times I’m at a loss?  I could shake my head furiously until it snowed.  *pleased sigh* What a great gift… although my girlfriend’s card, that accompanied this spectacular present, read: The moment I saw this, I thought of you…hmm, that’s not good. :)

As for The Boy and I?  Here’s the classic conversation we had Christmas eve after we got into bed.  Everything was quiet and I’d nearly fallen asleep when I remembered something.  My eyes snapped opened and I said:

“I forgot to tell you.  I spilled some of the potato water behind the sink.”

Silence and then he lets out a deep breath. “Yeah, well I’m packing broccoli in my pants, so where are you going with this?”

I blink.  Umm, I’m thinking… bizarre where was I going with it?  And what the ‘F’ was with the broccoli comment? *drat! Where’s that snow-globe when you need it?  “Broccoli?”

He doesn’t miss a beat.  “Potato water?”

Okay, I saw his point, but I’d never admit it.  I rolled toward him and got all defensive.  “You know I can’t reach that area.  There’s probably a pool of water sitting near the window.  You better get up and check on it.”

He sighs.  “It can wait until morning.”

I sigh.  “If I thought it could wait – I wouldn’t have brought it up now.”

He growls and flicks the covers so hard they nearly fly right off  my side of the bed.  “All right!”

I have absolutely no idea why I feel like laughing when he gets pissed off like this – but I do.  I guess I just love aggravating him.  So, without further ado…

“Merry Christmas,” I shouted at his back and when I got no response and he’d exited the doors of the bedroom, I added in a mutter, “You freak, broccoli in your pants?  Sheesh!”

A few minutes later he comes back to bed.  “Done.  Happy?”

“Yup.”

Silence, a few moments tick by and then he whispers.  “I forgot to tell you.  My broccoli needs some TLC.”

I don’t miss a beat.  “It can wait until morning.”

He doesn’t miss a beat.  “If I thought it could wait until morning, it wouldn’t be up now.”

I waited a second and then I yanked the covers off him and growled.  “All right!” then I dove on him.

He burst out laughing.  “What the…?  He grabbed hold of me – still laughing.  “Hey! For the record? I’m not the freak – you are.”

Yup, he had point.  Hilarious!  Maybe I should keep the snow globe on our night stand.  We seem to have a lot of those WTF moments in bed (anyone remember: God, You Smell Good?) Hmm..again, not good. ;)

Hope you guys had a great holiday and you’re all fired-up for a kick-butt New Year.  I know I am!!!!

M.

You know, they used to say that heart failure was the #1 killer, and I always thought, yeah, well, that was kind of a given, right?  But now, think about it. Death?  Is he really that sneaky fella with the scythe and sporting an edgy black cape ensemble – hey, is that burlap or gaberdine – while he stalks his victims?  I’m not sure, but I do have a hunch.  I’m thinking the potential killer in the end wears white.  So, if this holds true, is Death the final cause or just the end result of an elaborate hoax?  I mean, we’re all watching the one in the cape – fearful and protective in that regard, but no one’s paying attention to those wearing white.   Has Death finally found a direct and easy route to those on the cusp – where he can cut to the chase and happily revel in the senior pool of pickings served up to him?  I don’t know.  But what I do know is that we all better have our final act planned because life ain’t a dress rehearsal.

Especially if you have CRS disease (Can’t Remember Shit).  When this happens to you – you better have someone around who does the remembering for you. Without that advocate at your side, the Grim Reaper and all his minions, will be there to dress you in a costume of their design, and it won’t matter whether you graduated from Harvard University with honors at twenty-two, or lived on the streets all your life.  You’ll be the person they want you to be in that end moment because it’s more convenient for them to get through their workday.

Dignity.  Respect.  Decency.  That’s what I want my final act to encompass…well, that or I’ll be begging The Boy to dig out the pic-axe. ;) And I figure the only way I’m going to get those things when it’s my turn – is to demand them for the people I love – now.

Sure it’s tough, heartbreaking sometimes, because a CRS sufferer says terrible things they’ll never remember, while their loved ones are destined to never forget.

Geez, all doom and gloom, right?  Naw, there is an upside to CRS:

When I say to my dad: “Man, you’re over-the-hill!”

He replies: “Hill?  What hill?  Where?  When?  I don’t remember a hill.”

The point of this mini-rant?  Hmm… remember to laugh everyday, because let’s face it, any day above ground should be a good one.

I do want to say thanks to all of you that reached out to me.  I greatly appreciated the support.  You guys are awesome! Dad’s home and slowly recovering.  Now, if I could only get him to stop equating the thicker newspaper delivery with the day of the week he has to dress for Sunday sermon – I’d be cool with the whole CRS thing, you know?  Because, now as it is with the Christmas ads, I’m dying here! ;)

M.

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