Sunday, December 27, 2009

A Christmas Tale

I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas (or whatever it is that you celebrate).

So let me weave a little story for may seem like I'm making some of this up, but I assure you, everything I'm about to tell you is 100% fact. No embellishment.

We have this "friend", we'll call him 'Bob'. Bob, a few years ago, had some sort of brain event. I want to say it was a stroke, but I am not completely sure on that. Whatever it was, left him not running on all cylinders. Physically, he looks and moves like a man of his age and stature (maybe a little slower than he would have - I'd guess he's about 55 or so), but the change is that he's completely lost his social graces.

For instance, last year, he'd invited himself to our family Christmas dinner. No huge deal as the poor man has 2 children, neither of which invited him to their own family dinner. We are glad to have him, because no one should be alone and lonely on Christmas...but yes, he invited himself. People were called in for dinner, and as we all fussed about who needs to sit where, Bob had dug in and started eating. I'm pretty sure he was about half done by the time everyone sat down for grace. After dinner, we opened our gifts, and my Dad had given him a Hillshire Farms basket (I think it was smoked meat, spread, cheese and crackers - a nice gift). Bob took one look at it and announced, quite loudly, "I don't want this." My Dad (probably a little embarrassed) said that he could take it and give it to someone else if he couldn't use it. Bob pushed it away and said, "No". Alrighty, so we awkwardly moved on with our gift exchange, in the middle of which Bob stated that he was ready to go home. My Dad explained to him that we were opening our gifts, and that he'd drive him home in about 20 minutes. "I want to go home now," Bob lamented.

So we put gift exchange on hold and my Dad drove him home.

Fast forward to this Christmas. He'd invited himself again, and we all discussed what sort of stories we'd be able to tell by the end of the night. No one guessed. Not even close.

Bob arrives, about an hour early. He'd walked, and when he was part way to our house, it'd started spitting out. That's a light rain for those who don't understand...I thought that everyone used that phrase, but I'd been made fun of in the past by some of my US friends, so I thought I'd explain. I digress.

Bob walks in, and he's visibly upset. Myself, my Dad, and my two cousins who weren't around last year for the "Bob Experience" but that had been warned, were all in the kitchen at the time.

My Dad asks how his walk over was, being polite. Bob sighs very loudly and says that it was fine until the "downpour" when he was half way to our house, and that made his pants wet. His frustration is understandable, I, too hate having wet pants.

He exclaimed that he "just needed to get them dry" word of a lie...started for his belt. Right there in the kitchen. My Dad said, "Just give me a sec and I'll drive you home." Bob didn't understand why my Dad wanted to drive him home, he'd just gotten there. My cousin clarified that my Dad was going to drive him home so he could change his trousers.

Bob wouldn't hear of that. He said that he was just going to throw his pants in the dryer. Thank goodness my back was to him and I had an excuse to keep my hands busy because I was DYING. I was biting my cheek so hard that it was bleeding.

"Bob, you can't just take your pants off at the party!" my Dad laughs, trying to keep it light.

"Do you have a robe?" Bob asks.


I had to stick my head in the oven and "check the turkey" because I just couldn't keep it together. My Dad insisted on taking him back to his house (thank goodness) and walked him to the door to get him to put his galoshes and coat back on. The second they walked out the door, the entire kitchen erupted into ridiculous laughter.

Yup. Typical Christmas at my Dad's.

Wednesday, December 23, 2009


You know when you're laying in bed, waiting for sleep to come, and you get the greatest ideas? Then, of course, you're certain you will remember them so there's no need to get up and get a piece of paper...and when you wake up, they are gone?

Yeah, that's where I am right now.

My idea was to move this blog away from the shop and more into, well, a blog...a bit of an online journal where I can share things about my life, which some might say is quite interesting. I always seem to have something weird going on. Hopefully it will entertain someone out there...if not, my loving Mother is one of my followers. She'll always pat me on the back and tell me I'm special.

So what am I up to today? Baking, working, and taking care of Quinn. If you don't know me, you'll learn all about Quinn and what I do as a job, but for this first post of the "new leaf" I will share an odd thing about me. Sadly for you, it deals with the bathroom.

Maybe reading this strange tidbit of information, you will be intrigued enough to want to follow me, to check in from time to time and see what sort of shenanigans I've gotten myself involved in. In subsequent posts, I'll introduce myself and aspects of my life so that you may actually feel like you have known me for years.

I realize I'm probably setting myself up for embarrassment but if there's ever anything you want to know, ask. You may get way too much information, but that's the beauty of blogs, right?

Odd fact #1:
Up until recently, I have not been able to go to the bathroom (I'm talking #2) with the light on. And my cat has to be in there with me. Let me explain further. The light thing stems from those stupid shows that expose perverts that install cameras in bathrooms. At the time this little quirk started, I was living in an apartment in North Carolina. We'd moved onto the floor and only one other apartment of the total of 4 on our floor was occupied, by a really, really creepy guy. I swear I heard someone up in the attic a number of times, and noticed a vent facing the toilet in the main bathroom. That was enough to make me want to turn off the light.

For what it's worth, there was also a perfectly drilled hole in the one bedroom right over where a bed would be. Nothing had ever been screwed into this hole and it wasn't in a place where one would hang a plant or anything anyway. I put masking tape over that hole.

If I left the light on, I'd be all worried that someone was watching me, and wouldn't be able to relax enough to do what I needed to do. Ok, so a sane person would have just opened the grate and looked for a camera, but whatever. I'm not a paranoid person in general, just when it came to that.

The cat thing, that's not for me, it's for her. If I close the door, she scratches and yelps until I let her in. Not relaxing at all...and in the above mentioned bathroom, the door was clear on the other side of the room. Not a good situation.

So, when I walk into the bathroom to do my thang, I call the cat.

There you go. I like to think of myself as quirky rather than frickin insane, but I'm sure, over time, you'll come to the conclusion that there really isn't much difference between the two phrases.

Off to bake cookies. Don't worry, I'll wash my hands first.