Aging Gracefully

Let's face it we have to have a sense of humor to get older or accept the fact we may grow grouchy and cold. A woman's body can easily change with each passing year. The last day of May I turned fifty-four and by golly this year has brought lots of changes. Let me just share a few of the drastic ones.

If you even think about food it seems to go straight from your mind to your belly or your chest.  Poor Mark truly married a sailor's dream- the girl with the sunken chest. Oh yes, I barely filled out a 32AA. Be careful what you wish for! As Grandma Mason said, "One day you'll blossom like popping popcorn! You'll have so much up there you'll wish they would go away."  Grandma was right! Just like she said I have blossomed like a huge bowl of popcorn.

My belly-well goodness, there's just not much hope for that pouching problem. I'd ask God to push it up but Lord have mercy I may end up bobbing up and down like a drinking duck just trying to stay up right.

Along with that there's always the facial crinkles and wrinkles. Thankfully they're mostly laugh lines and not Groucho or pouty marks. Have you ever met anyone that looks in the mirror and says, "Oh wow, isn't that the cutest crows feet you ever seen?"  Like all my friends I work at trying to hide the signs of aging.  After researching the "best cover ups," I reloaded my make up bag which now has grown into a small suit case.

So this afternoon after a shower I get out my Mega Bag of Tricks. Buckarooed there I stand in front of the mirror. First, I sharpen my eyebrow pencil and create a nice "mirage of eyebrows." Next I pull out the mega 4 shades of concealer. Oh Shit-the sharpener just fell down the drain!

I pull all my goodies out from under the sink as the Plumbing Momma kicks into gear. I need a bucket to put underneath the "U" pipe to catch any water that might be in the trap. Thinking like a true plumber I never thought twice about running through the house in the buff at 3:30 in the afternoon. Just as I round the kitchen island I hear the squealing stop of the UPS truck. Oh Shit, shit, shit.

Too late there's the UPS lady with my package that I thought would never come tucked under her arm. Naturally, she's right in full view of the naked lady with an ostomy bag. (Let me tell you...that could give any sane person bad dreams.) Startled I jump straight up yelled, "Oh No!" Bless her heart- she jumped too. She turned right around and didn't even leave my new dress. 

After I finally got the bucket outta the utility room I went back to remove the pipe from under the sink, still in the buff. After fully unhooking the pipe, I remove the sharpener from the pipe and begin to put the pipes back together. Keep in mind I've carefully put all the "stuff" on the floor close to where I'm working never anticipating problems getting the pipes back together.

But of course, the pipes don't go back together as easily as they came apart. So I'm wiggling around trying my hardest to get the dang thing back together. What cold can should get knocked over and roll next to my bottom? Why a hairspray can of "Big and Sexy" of course. That was good for a laugh so me in my warped mind imagine this can with a French accent something like, "Hey Baby, having trouble with those pipes? Would you like me to give it a try?"

Alas, I finally did get the pipes back together and I finally made it out the door and down the road to look  For Sale by Owners. Heid and Butter Bean called while I'm on the road. I'm trying to watch my language better than I did as a mom. But of course I am still just a sinner saved by grace.

Something happened and of course my by words as my mother calls them came out again. The next thing I heard was ha-ha, ha-ha "Well Chit." Goodness gracious now I've passed that phrase down to the 3rd generation.

I am so thankful for God's Grace. I need it Every Day!

Paradise on this side of heaven Always has its Poo

My parents are celebrating their 50Th anniversary on a little trip. Although they're away somethings never change. Like the rest of us, they have their little morning routines. One of them I call the first and second cup of coffee, for obvious reasons. Dad's "window of opportunity" happens with the first cup of coffee, followed by my on her second cup. They work like clock work, sharing a bathroom for 50 years.

They were staying in a lodge, on top of a bluff, with an awesome view over looking mountains and a very big lake. Mom couldn't wait to make that first pot of coffee and drink it with Dad perched high above the lake and mountains below, just basking in the sun. But what would life be without its little adventures?

Half way through the first cup, Mom says, "Would you like a blueberry muffin to go with that?"

"Sure"

So mom gets up and goes to the patio door. She tries pushing it open, but you guessed it, it was locked. By this time, dad's coffee is almost gone, and the urge to poop is heightened as she turns around, "Butchy, I can't get the door opened."

His eyes widen like two big brown saucers, "Great Balls of *^%%#@- $%!#. Judy, what do you mean; is it locked?"

"Don't holler. Yes, it's locked."

":!!!!!-@$#$#, What the H*LL do you want me to do?"

"I don't know, but you better do something. All that catfish I ate has gotta go some where, and these 2 coffee cups will not hold it all." ( In the excitement, it didn't take 2 cups to move my mother that morning. When Mom has to go, well all I can say is, there better be a place she can relieve herself. Ready or not here it comes.)

"You better start hollering for help."

"What are you gonna do?"

"I'm gonna stand here and squeeze and hope to God I can hold it till somebody comes!"

So my dad starts hollering, "Somebody, please help us." He yells til a man in the next room steps out on his balcony.

"Are you alright?"

"No, my wife locked us out and she has to go to the bathroom." By now his "window of opportunity" has come and gone. He'll be walking around constipated the rest of the day, unless he "looses his plug," which is a whole nother story.

The stranger gets his phone, walks back out on the balcony to call the front desk. "Yes, the guests in room 384 have locked themselves out on their balcony. Can you help them? Okay, so you'll send someone right up to unlock the door from the inside. Thank "

"Wait just a minute, fella."

"Judy, is that dead bolt still bolted?"

I can almost see my mothers brown eyes roll as she says, "Well yes-you know it is!" (No doubt they enjoyed a Cialis moment before going outside. :)

"Great Balls of %^@@#!- $#*#! She'll $#6# all over." My dad shakes his head. "We're doomed."

"Excuse me Miss, the inside door is also bolted." No doubt this guy is about to bust a gut laughing inside.

"Okay, you better hurry. The lady needs to use the bathroom."

Shortly after all that a maintenance man had to jump from one balcony to my parents balcony to unlock the door with a screw driver. The moral of this story: Really consider whether it's worth it or not to always lock all the doors.

(Parts of the story above what I imagined happened. They did lock themselves out. The stranger next door did call for help. Knowing my parents as I do, I'm sure those phrases were used. :) Wouldn't it be great to be a fly on some of these long term anniversary walls? Bet we'd laugh our hinnies off.

An evening with the Poppers

Do we need more or less fiber as we get older? Well I guess that depends who you are.

My husband and I generally end up "spooning" to fall a sleep at night. I've always been a cuddle bug, but as I age I'm declining to snuggle as much. It seems the warmer his back gets the more gas he produces. Whew, he's turned into a snoring, farting machine, but so have I.

Shortly after falling a sleep last night, there arose such a clatter. As I arose from the bed to see what was the matter. The stench of his fart seemed to reveal all the clatter. There laid the rippling, roaring, snoring old guy.

His belly so bloated, and his mouth and nose just a snoring and puffing. With each breath in, out came a huge puff from both ends. No wonder they say old men smell like dirty gym socks. Sure enough half of it is probably coming from their butt.

"Good grief, roll over before the methane gas kills both of us." I shouted.

Soon I was back to sleep. Just a few hours latter I was awaken again. My eyes bugged as the covers fanned up. "Gees oh peat's, he's at it again." As I laid there hugging the covers to avoid the smell, I heard and felt my bag blowing up. Sure enough, I was popping like a darn pop corn popper. The great thing about wearing an ostomy bag is what's known as "blow by." The best description of blow by is, you may hear it, but you can't smell it. No one smells the fart, until you empty or open the bag.

The United States has really missed this secret weapon. I'm convinced people with ostomies could be gathered together to collect the methane gas coming from their bodies. This gas could be bottled and released to choke the life out of our enemies. Let me tell you, Osama Bin Laden wouldn't have a chance in one of those green clouds!

Any way, you guessed it, I had to make an inevitable trip to the bathroom. As the toilet flushed, Mark woke up, "What in the world? My Gosh, did you die, or are you molting a pot mustard gas?"

Ah, such is life. Thank God for bathroom windows. Without them we all may pass away in our sleep.

So you think you want a Tatoo....where?

The other day I was listening to this "young lady" talking about getting a new tattoo this weekend. She wanted to know what a few of us thought, so of course I wasn't afraid to tell her.

Most of us in our forties realize that this package called the human body never stops changing. Therefore, boredom with your body should never be a problem. We arrive small, and most of us die much larger and completely different looking than when we arrived. Women pop new parts, like pop corn, as puberty sets in, little boobies turn into popped out moving melons.

This youngin' thought getting a tattoo on one of those parts would be an attractive thing to add to her ever changing parts. "Ah huh," I said with a grin.

"Well my dear, consider this, from someone who was once young and not so old, your boobies are ever changing parts. You no longer have what you started with, and I promise by the time you reach your mid forties, they will not look like they do now."

She was quick to remind me, "Well not everyone gets old and fat! I'm going to stay thin and perky!"

What a jerky little turkey, "Ah huh, well they're gonna do one of three things my dear."

"What's that," she said with a grin.

"Your mamie jammies by the time you're 45 will either, bloom and fall down, wither and shrivel, or they will be perky and firm laying in the ground. If your alive at the ripe age of 45 they will have changed. There is one other possibility, you may loose them to breast cancer. If that happens, well then you've paid for a tattoo that so doctor simply cut off."

Her eyes grew big, as a couple of older ladies giggled, one of them gently told her, "Miss Kathy is right. I got me a rose on my Bobbie when I was about 25. I was a young, sweet sexy thing! But after a couple of children and a few mammograms, well that rose gives new meaning to a long stemmed rose."

Ain't that the truth, after mammograms I'm surprised they even look anything like they did after they release them. I remember the first mammogram I had. As the tears ran down my cheeks, I asked the nurse to fling my boobs out the 7Th floor window when I reached the ground. I was just hoping for a bungee effect, maybe they'd go back to a similar form. She laughed and said it won't hurt so much next time. I was thinking, "Next time my ass, if I ever get out of this machine you will not see me back here again!"

Do you really need a tattoo? Think about what that butterfly just above your hinnie is gonna look like at 65. On your ankle you think, well okay when you're 80 and your ankles swell up bigger than the tops of your knees, how pretty will that be? Come on, think about what you're doing.

The Lake Lanier Memo I'd like to write:

To: Residents living and drinking water from Lake Lanier

From:Kathlene Fisher

Subject: Help maintain the water levels in Lake Lanier

Date: 7/26/09

It has been brought to our attention that the governors of both ALA. and FL. are demanding several thousand gallons of drinking water be sent down the Chattahoochee River daily to maintain the luxury life styles of play in a man made recreational area in ALA. and the harvesting of muscles in FLA. It is also obvious to water consumers and residents around Lake Lanier that the Forefathers of Lake Lanier, failed to provide a clause covering residents and water recipients in the event of drastically low Lake Lanier levels. Therefore, I propose the following to help maintain our lake levels for drinking and playing, since Lake Lanier is in our own back yard not ALA or FLA.

First, we all know "creamy crack" seems to be a horrible problem if you play,work or exercises when the temp. in GA goes above 85 degrees. I propose you go head work, play and exercise until your hearts content. Find out when the dam will be releasing down stream in your county; record that time a week in advance if possible. Find out how long it would take you to get above stream 15 minutes prior to that scheduled release. After you know all the facts and times let your hinnie get as Briny as possible, jump in an old vehicle, (preferably one with leather seats you can clean up,) and soak in Lake Lanier 15 minutes prior to the scheduled release. By the way it would be great if you could drink at least 16 oz. of your favorite beverage while you're soaking.

Second, as the warning for the dam sounds, run way down stream, and relieve all that pressure from your last 16 oz. drink. If you see any of those water wasters from ALA or FLA. make sure you smile as you tell them, "We sure love providing water for your muscles and entertainment!"

If they demand water from our only water source, well alrighty then, we will provide it. I guess you know where we rank on the list of priorities: Number one goes to ALA for their Resort Water fun, Number two belongs to the mighty muscles in FLA. (After all where would we be if there were no clams in FLA.?) And last but not least, ranking third on the charts are the residents and water consumers around Lake Lanier in GA. With that in mind, "Do you think the water will oxidize before it gets to FLA and ALA? " ;)

What's a little gas in Class?

I love Bannana and peanut butter sandwiches, especially with an icy cold Coke Zero, add a little fruity yogurt and I'm one happy fat camper. That's basically my favorite thing to eat especially before math class. But you guessed it, it gives me the tuity, fruity, farts.



Ironically, the math instructor demands everyone sets at the front of the class. Heaven forbid if you get there late. Of course our class, always fill in the middle of the room first, so if you're late you may end up in the front and center row, right behind "Mr. Ponytail," as many of my classmates call him.



(Actually, he's a really nice guy. We all just wish he would roll out of bed and shower before noon. Something, he has yet to do prior to class. The class starts at 12:45, but he strolls in somewhere between one and one-fifteen.Usually his hair is a mess, his shirt maybe half in or half out, depending on how you look a it. He is obviously, just waking up-after sleeping in his attire. Some find it funny, others just find it disgusting. But, I think we've all come to think of him like a little brother who can teach us "the dreaded math" that we just want to pass.)



Anyway...because I stayed outside chattering too long, I arrived after the class had filled up way beyond the middle; to my dread, I ended right smack in the middle front row. My stomach began churning, then the little trumpet farts began, right behind them came the gushing of chunky peanut butter mixed with gassy coke hitting the ostomy bag. Two of my girlfriends started giggling. They tried to keep it down, but then I started laughing and all the bodily noises grew worse.



The teacher whipped around. We all tried to stop laughing, but couldn't. "What in the hell is so funny?" He asked as he glared at the three of us.



Stephanie points at me and blurts out,"Well Tooty Fruity here, ate another one of those Peanut Butter and Banana Sandwiches and drank a Coke. She has gas so bad, that, she's making all kinds of funny sounds."



The class just roared with laughter. The teachers face turned three shades of red as he said,"Oh." After we all calmed back down, the teacher continued writing on the board and talking, but seemed to stop and smirk as I gurgled and growled and spurted through math class.



A few days latter, there were really strange sounds coming from the class next door. The teacher turned around, "Kathy, is that you?"



Giggling I said, "Well if it is, I'm in a lot of trouble." The whole class roared with laughter again. Math can be fun, with just a little humour! :D

Remember Mr. Moefart?

Do any of you remember Mr. Moehart, our 8Th grade Michigan teacher? Always a bit insulting, actually you could compare his demeanor with Simon Powell, usually crude. I can't recall anyone who liked his class. He had a way of making all of us who were already geeky, feel even worse.

For example he had a way of knowing whether you read your assignment, or not the night before. Michigan history was never my favorite subject. One afternoon after a late tennis match the night before he called on me, just before I fell asleep.

"Miss Mason, are you awake back there?"

"Yes Mr. Moefart." The whole class busted out laughing.

"What did you call me?"

"Mr. Moehart."

"Yes, I thought that's what you said." As he crinkled his eyebrows and rapped my desk with his map pointer. "Miss Mason, could you tell us the names of dinosaur fosils that were found in the Great Lakes after the ice age?"

I was thinking, who give a rat's hindy. But couldn't resist replying, "Well Sir, obviously the ones who couldn't swim, and the ones that couldn't take the frosty cold waters. Honestly, I really don't know."

He taps his map stick. "You didn't read your assignment did you Miss Mason?"

"No sir."

"People, you're going to have to read your assignment if you're going to pass my class!"

A few weeks went by and we were ever so close to finishing that dreaded class and we'd finally be moving on to High School. Everything in me wanted to have just one more laugh. I took some balloons to school on a warm May day. Several of my girl fiends and I spent our lunch hour filling them up with water. We were in the bathroom, not far from Mr. Moefart's class, on the second floor.

We scurried to the banister, over looking the steps. Ironically, Mr Moefart had finished his lunch, and was prissily moving up the steps on his way to Michigan History Class. What joy filled my soul, as I quickly popped up and drooped a big red one right on the old farts head!

I squealed like a little pig! "OH MY GOSH."

My friends quickly grabbed me, and we scurried back to the bathroom. We all were laughing so hard; some of us wet our pants. I couldn't believe it, that was a 110% drop. But then the fear over came me. Mr. Moehart was screaming, "Which one of you little brats did that?"

I heard some of my guy friends saying, "We don't know."

I was so glad they didn't rat me out, but what was I going to do? I knew I would start laughing as soon as I seen Mr. Moehart. There was no way I could go to class. So I asked some of my friends to lock me in a stand up hall locker just outside Mr. Moehart's class.

I stepped in, and they shut the door. One of my girlfriends said, "We can't do this she'll suffocate." Steve Riesbig stuck a lunch room straw in through one of the vents. "Kathy, breathe through this if you run out of air."

I laughed and said, "Okay, just don't tell."

As far as I know Mr. Moefart never knew who drooped that water balloon on his head. :)

Sometimes it's necessary to just blend in!