Amazing Zippered Woman

Heads Up World - The Tree Stays

A Sign From Above

Today began just like any other day. I awakened, splashed water on my face, said my morning prayers, and went outside to gather the morning paper. I poured my usual breakfast and headed for the deck. I kinda stumbled going up the stairs because I was trying to peruse the morning headlines as I ascended. When I opened the sliding door, a fairly large bird (it might have been a condor) flew over and deposited a gigantic whoopooties directly on my Garfield slipper. As I was washing and disinfecting my slipper, I accidentally got alcohol-based hand sanitizer in my left eye. Oh well, not to worry. I can easily read with just one eye.

I seated myself at the table and was just beginning to read all the pro-Bushie vitriol on the editorial page (I use these articles every morning to awaken Perpetua and get her really pumping.) I could feel my righteous indignation building to a crescendo. Suddenly, my breakfast splashed from the glass - as though it had a life of its own.

When I dared to open my eyes, I found that a large rock had landed in my martini (I mean breakfast.) I had no choice but to believe that this object had fallen from the sky. I COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED.  But I wasn’t. My glass didn’t even break.  I started thinking……. “Maybe it’s a sign from above. Maybe I need to rethink some things. My political views are brilliant and perfect in every way, so it must be something else. What message should I receive from this very rare experience?  Maybe I’m supposed to rethink my choice of breakfast beverage.” Suddenly, as if by magic, the answer came to me. The mystery message became clear.  I’M SUPPOSED TO PUT 3 OLIVES IN MY BREAKFAST MARTINIS - NOT JUST 2. I feel like I’m a new woman - now that one of life’s mysteries has been solved.   

BURNING QUESTIONS - Volume I

I’m currently searching for the answers to several BURNING QUESTIONS. (BURNING QUESTIONS as opposed to EXTINGUISHED QUESTIONS) This activity is keeping me up at night. Perhaps you can help me find some answers and put these fires out.

1.  Did you ever wonder about those people who spend $2.00 apiece on those little bottles of EVIAN water? Have they ever bothered to spell EVIAN backwards?

2.  Isn’t making a smoking section in a restaurant like making a peeing section in a swimming pool?

3.  If 4 out of 5 people SUFFER from diarrhea, does that mean that 1 person ENJOYS it?

4.  If people from Poland are called POLES, then why aren’t people from Holland called HOLES?

5.  Do infants enjoy INFANCY as much as adults enjoy ADULTRY?

6.  If a pig loses its voice, is it DISGRUNTLED?

7.  Why do croutons come in airtight packages? Aren’t they just stale bread?

8.  Why is a person who plays the piano called a PIANIST, but a race-car driver is not called    a RACIST?

9.  Why isn’t the number 11 pronounced ONETY-ONE?

10. If lawyers are DISBARRED and clergymen are DEFROCKED, then why doesn’t it follow that electricians are DELIGHTED, musicians are DENOTED, cowboys are DERANGED, models are DEPOSED, tree surgeons are DEBARKED, and dry cleaners DEPRESSED?

So if you’re just chatting with friends in the hot tub - throw out some of these questions.

Or please spend a few minutes cogitating on my questions during your morning constitutional.

Or maybe after you finish your morning work out, you could hit the library for some research.

Please get back to me ASAP.  

Just Call Me “Grandma Goddess”

I think the time has come for you to meet my grandchildren. Scott and Meghann have two, and Katie and Henry also have two. Each is a very special gift. Their little personalities are very different, but they are all very loving, absolutely adorable and incredibly brilliant - if I do say so myself.

This is a picture of Eleven Marie Roberts (nicknamed Ellie) and Leonardo Marie Roberts (nicknamed Nardo.) They also both have a Swahili name. Ellie’s Swahili name is Kiddah - which means “she who rips carpet.” Nardo’s Swahili name is Swaggler - meaning “he who hates his mother.” This particular photo was taken on the top of Mount Hood during a family mountain-climbing trip last summer. I just want to mention that the tent was a gift from Grandma. Never let it be said that I don’t spoil my grandchildren. Ellie and Nardo are typical kids. Nardo loves to read, but Ellie struggles with some of the larger words. Most afternoons you can find them playing chess and eating vast quantities of vanilla wafers. They are both looking forward to moving to southern California because they will be closer to both Grandmas - Grandma Goddess and Grandma Sissy.

On the left we have Tess Marie Johnson and on the right we have Darby Marie Johnson. Are you beginning to see a pattern? They all share the middle name “Marie” to honor my mother, Esther Marie Johnson. She loved animals more than any other human being I have ever met. Tess and Darby also have Swahili names. (I’m not sure why both couples chose to do this Swahili thing, Maybe they know something that I don’t.) Tess’s Swa. name is Dahmonk - which translates to “not the brightest bulb on the tree.” Darby’s is RooBoo - meaning “she who whithers.” I think of all my grandchildren, Tess looks the most like me, and Darby really resembles her Grandfather Johnson. Darby wins all the spelling bees at school and loves to wear pretty clothes. Tess has more of an artsy personality. She loves to eat clay and draw with mud. Both girls are very involved in Youth Theater. This picture was taken right before they went on stage for the opening night of “Fiddler On The Woof.” 

Grandpa Tom and I are very proud of all our grandchildren. We can’t wait until they are old enough to spend summers with us.

DO YOU THINK MAYBE I NEED REAL GRANDCHILDREN?   

A Good Time Will Be Had By All

Huge preparations are underway at our house. Mary Lou and Esther are frantically getting everything organized for the annual Saint Patrick’s Day Doggie Cotillion. This will be the third year that Mary Lou has intended, but the first for Esther.

Mary Lou has invited a boxer named Beauregard. He is a personal trainer and has recently moved to Phoenix from Georgia. M. L. has been talking with a fake southern accent for days. Beauregard has even called to inquire about the color of M.L.’s gown, so apparently he is planning on presenting her with a corsage. Esther has chosen a fine young gentleman named Gonzo. The invitation has been extended, but we are waiting for his acceptance. Rumor has it that he is also dating a young beauty named Lucy. Just in case Gonzo declines, we have Cousin Roger standing by to fly in from Iowa or Vinny from California.

Esther will be wearing a lavender frock. It is tight fitting, but flares out at the bottom. The neckline is decorated with seed pearls and rhinestones. She has silver sling back pumps. (Buying two pairs of shoes for each daughter gets very expensive, but the girls don’t think they can walk on their hind legs for a whole evening.) Mary Lou’s gown is quite spectacular. It is red satin with a silk over-skirt. It has an empire waistline. (hides the chubbies) The over-skirt is covered with tiny jeweled dog biscuits. She has chosen gold lame tennis shoes because she has so much trouble with her paws. We found the cutest little red evening bag to match her dress. 

The limo is ordered and we made dinner reservations for both couples to have dinner at the Hyatt Regency. The food is fabulous and because the whole restaurant revolves, we’re hoping that people will get dizzy and just not notice that the girls don’t use utensils. We have repeatedly lectured Mary Lou about the evils of alcohol. Last year she drank too much and threw up all over her dress. I had planned for Esther to wear this dress for her first Cotillion, but she refused to wear “the puke dress.” I guess I can understand her refusal.

I think I’m going to let my girls borrow some of my good jewelry. It should make their evening much more special. I think pearls and diamonds for Esther and rubies for Mary Lou.  Esther is adamant about wearing her hat that says, “Do it in the dirt.” I have told her over and over that this particular hat just would not be appropriate. She continues to insist. I think I’ll let Tom handle this crisis. Mary Lou is wearing a tiara. I sure hope the girls act like young ladies. I have done my best to teach them right from wrong. I guess I just have to trust them. Well, I must sign off. The girls are due at the beauty shop to have their fur styled - sort of a “dry run.” Wish them luck. We’ll take lots of pictures.     

Guns and Dogses

Guns and Dogses - get it? - like Guns and Roses. OK, probably not my best title, but if you have suggestions, I’ll be happy to change it.

Esther and Mary Lou have really enjoyed Tom’s elk. Several times I have returned from running errands, only to find them busy in the kitchen preparing elk. They have even created some of their own recipes - pate de fois ELK, spaghetti and ELKballs and, my personal favorite, ELK Wellington. Esther dices and chops and Mary Lou stirs and pours. They are actually a great team. Every night, at bedtime, the Big Irishman reads his doggie girls a story. For the last several weeks, the usual story has been replaced by a rendition “the big kill” - the story of how he tracked and killed the poor beast. They never tire of hearing all the gory details.

Well, unbeknown-st to us, our doggie duo, applied for and were granted a “big game” permit. Elk season is officially over. So when the girls set out this weekend on their first hunting trip, much to our dismay, their specific target was MOOSE. They carefully packed all their gear (sleeping bags, kibble, food bowls and etc.) and left early Saturday morning - with Mary Lou driving and Esther reading the map. There were supposed to keep us posted by cellphone, (Esther got a cellphone for Christmas) but we didn’t hear one word. Late Sunday night they pulled into the driveway, creating a cacophony of horn-honking and shouting. Sure enough - tied to the hood - a dead moose.

We drug the poor thing into the house and I took several photos of “the carcass.” We stayed up until 2:00 a.m. hearing all about their adventure. Apparently, Esther did the spotting because Mary Lou has really bad eyesight and had forgotten her glasses. Mary Lou was the trigger-puller. (a gun term) The story is that they downed their prey with one shot. The force of the blow totally knocked off one ear and one antler. The body was still oozing guts as we carried it in. Yesterday morning they left early to take Moosie to the meat processor. The fiber-fill is being made into summer sausage. My suspicion is that it will be very dry. They have informed me that I must find a place on the fireplace to mount Moosie’s head.  I DON’T THINK SO.   

Robert Frost I Ain’t

'Twas the week after turkey day, and all through the hood

Moms and Dads were so busy, hanging lights as they should.

The tree was chopped down and brought in through the door.

Decorations and "To Do" lists littered the floor.

Kids were trying so hard not to be bad.

Smiles shined on all faces. No one was sad.

Dad in his sweatpants, and I the "big meanie,"

Had just settled down to sip a martini.

When out in the front yard there was such a clanging.

We chugged down our drinks and ran to check on the banging.

On the way to the window, I stumbled and fell,

Which gave the Big Irishman reason to yell.

The glare of the street light fell on pebbles and sand.

As I opened the window and injured my hand.

What to our wondering eyes should appear,

But a limo and driver holding a beer.

I knew right away it must be some trick.

As Tom jumped in the limo and yelled to "Come Quick."

He whistled and shouted and called kids by name.

Slowly, but surely even dogs came.

Come Katie and Henry and Meghann and Scott.

On Patrick, on Esther - he called the whole lot.

The limo was filled with gifts shiny bright.

Meghann and Katie started to fight.

The driver was able to stop the small spat.

He smiled so sweet with his tummy so fat.

He threw it in gear and away we did soar.

With the children all screaming, "Give us some more."

I looked at Tom and he looked at me.

We then asked the driver to please set us free.

He stopped at a bar and we made our escape.

The kids  just kept tearing through ribbons and tape.

The evening was over before we could say,

"Our shopping's all done and HAVE A GOOD DAY." 

Bad Girls

You have all heard that old theory that every woman secretly wants to be involved with a “BAD BOY.” Well, I’m going to expand on this theory. I think that way down deep, almost every woman, at some point in her life, really wants to be a “BAD GIRL.”

You know the type - garish eye shadow, teased big hair, a push-up bra worn under a tight, skimpy top, a flashy mini-skirt, and 5 inch spike heels worn over fishnet tights. A ”BAD GIRL” usually talks tough with a cig hanging out of her mouth, and hits on guys in bars always with a drink in her hand. She dances wildly and frequently utters sexual innuendos and her conversation is peppered with foul language. A “BAD GIRL” is overly confident, afraid of nothing, and lives life in the fast lane.

I have no desire to live every hour of every day of my life this way because I find many of these qualities deplorable, but every once in great while I have thought it would be fun to be a “BAD GIRL”  for a day. Soooo I decided to try it.

I applied massive amounts of bright green shadow and silver eyeliner to my eyelids. Unfortunately, gravity seems to have tucked my lids under rolls of collapsed, upper-eye skin - so very little of the look was visible to the casual observer. I had better luck with the teased hair, although I did have to use one of Tom’s brown socks as a support structure. The push-up bra pushed and pushed, but my “girls” love their present location down around my waist. The skimpy top seemed to accentuate my tummy rolls and the mini skirt kept riding up and revealing my old-lady underpants. Spike heels are out of the question - I fell twice walking out of the bathroom. My orthopedic loafers worked just fine. The fishnet tights really irritated the skin on my thighs. I don’t know how those fish can stand it. 

I can’t smoke because of Perpetua, so I substituted one of those short golf pencils for the cig. After several attempts I was actually able to talk with  the pencil hanging out of my mouth.  Tom was working late so I was free to hit the bar about two miles from our house - THE 929 TAP. When I arrived, I ordered a drink, put my pencil in my mouth, and settled onto a bar stool next to a gentleman in his seventies. I figured I’d start old and work my way down to the younger guys. I looked at him, batted my eyelashes a few times, and said, “Hey sailor, wanna party?” He promptly laughed, picked up his keys, and left the bar. Not to be discouraged, I stepped onto the dance floor and began dancing wildly, flailing my arms and making short jumping leaps. About every 3 or 4 seconds I yelled, “Sex” or “Do it in the dirt.” (sexual innuendos) I was starting to get some attention, so I ramped thing up a bit by yelling, “Rats, Poop, and Butt-Head.” ( foul language)

After about 10 minutes I was so exhausted from wild dancing and shouting, I got in my car, went home, brushed my hair, washed my face and put on my flannel nightgown. When Tom got home, I was in bed and sound asleep. I AM A BAD GIRL AND I HAVE A SECRET LIFE. Perpetua disapproved of the whole adventure.     

WHY ME?

I awakened this morning with an incredible feeling of pressure on my chest. Mt first thought was - WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME? When I fully opened my eyes, I discovered a huge black cat sitting on my chest staring at me. I wondered to myself - How in the world did a huge black cat gain entry to my house when all the windows are screened and the doors were closed. In an instant I glanced at the window only to see a large bird sitting where the screen was supposed to be. Upon further inspection, I determined that all the screens were missing. And yes - the cat and the bird got into a huge confrontation. Suddenly the phone rang. It was my next-door neighbor telling me to turn on the TV for some breaking news. It would appear that in the night, terrorists,  had stolen every screen in the Phoenix metro area. Authorities suspect that they plan on constructing and launching a deadly “screen bomb.” WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME?

I made my way into the bathroom to brush my teeth. As I was brushing several of my teeth began to fall into the sink. Of course, none of the cascading teeth were back teeth that remain hidden from view. They were all front teeth. My smile looked like a huge black hole. WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME? As I was entering the shower, I became wedged. For some reason my butt had expanded during the night to about five times it’s normal size. The scale confirmed my suspicion - 412 pounds. WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME? Then I remembered. Today is Friday the 13th. I’m going back to bed for the rest of the day. I’ll talk at you tomorrow.

GBP

Sorry that there was no attempt to blogulate yesterday, but I spent most of Monday night and all day yesterday in Intensive Care. I fell victim to GBP - Gut Bomb Poisoning. The gas that was created by my first gut bomb in 142 years caused me to swell up like that cute little Pillsbury Dough Boy. Only I was decidedly uncute. My weight, when the paramedics loaded me into the semi (I didn’t fit in an ambulance) was a mere 317 pounds. That’s a lot of gas. Can you believe I’m discussing gas on the World Wide Web? First they pumped my stomach. That was a wonderful experience. Then they decided to administer a gut bomb antidote. Of course there was none available in the valley, so it had to be flown in from Chattanooga, Tennessee. By the time I finally received the shot, my weight was 594 pounds.

Now let me share Perpetua’s reaction to her first and last gut bomb. You’ve heard of heart burn! Well, Perpetua actually started a protest fire under my breast bone. I could smell the delicious scent of barbecued ribs and hear the sounds of sizzling fat. It took me a few moments to realize that it was my ribs and my fat. Six quarts of Maalox put the fire out, but there was severe smoke damage.

NOW I REMEMBER WHY I DON’T EAT GUT BOMBS!