Okay people, I have become obsessed with this animal.
Seriously.
And here’s why…
The ‘Honey Badger’ doesn’t give a shit.
He just takes what he wants.
And, he’s a real bad ass.
Oh…
And, I honestly believe if I just had one gay teacher that cussed like that? I definitely would have learned a lot more in school.
* PS: The only difference between Meleah and the Honey Badger – is that Meleah doesn’t leave any scraps!
So tell me boys and girls…
What’s YOUR favorite unusual animal?
My one and only child turned 15 years old.
TODAY.
Every year I have tried to make a big deal about my son’s birthday. In fact, I usually let him stay home from school so he and I can spend that day doing something fun together. I’ve thrown outrageous parties for him. And, I’ve been fortunate enough in the past, to have been able to afford most of the presents he’s ever wanted. But as he’s gotten older, I’ve also given him things that were much more ‘meaningful’ and a lot less ‘materialistic.’
Like for instance…
When my son turned twelve, I wrote him THIS letter.
When he turned thirteen, I made him THIS video.
And when he turned fourteen, THIS happened.
That being said, I’ve thought long and hard about what I could give to him this year, or how I could make this birthday as special or as memorable as other birthday’s gone by.
I thought about embarrassing him by posting old photos.
But that might make him mad.
So then, I thought about publicly thanking him, for FINALLY cutting his hair!!!
But again, that also might make him mad.
So then, I thought about sharing the book report he wrote, back when he was 10 years old, regarding King Arthur. But I’ve already done that.
And I then thought about sharing the story when he got into trouble at school after completing the 12-week D.A.R.E program, simply for speaking his mind. But I’ve already done that too.
And then for a split second, I considered writing him another letter, or making him another video.
Because I really wanted to tell my son just how proud of him I am. I wanted to tell him how he amazes me every single day. I wanted to tell him that even though sometimes I really miss seeing his tiny little fingerprints all over my freshly cleaned glass tables, windows, and mirrors, and, as much as I’d like to remind him about learning the difference between ‘hot candles’ and ‘regular candles’, I have never loved him more than I do today. I wanted him to know that he has surpassed anything I ever imagined. I wanted him to realize that he is becoming a truly wonderful man in this world. And I wanted to tell him how much I love his brilliant sense of humor, his gorgeous smile, and his infectious laugh.
But he’s a bona fide teenager people, and he really doesn’t give two craps about things like that anymore.
So…
Instead of doing any of that, I am going to do the unthinkable.
I am taking my son to the store to buy him YET ANOTHER brand new guitar.
Because that’s all he really wants.
And he totally deserves it.
Happy 15th Birthday, Whosteen!
[* The complete set of birthday photos can be found right HERE!* ]
Happy Mother’s Day to all of the Mommies! I hope everyone has a totally-super-awesome day!
I read this poem somewhere, and it seems especially fitting today.
The Things My Mother Taught Me:
My Mother taught me about ANTICIPATION.
“Just wait until your father gets home.”
My Mother taught me about RECEIVING.
“You are going to get it when we get home!”
My Mother taught me to MEET A CHALLENGE.
“What were you thinking? Answer me when I talk to you … Don’t talk back to me!”
My Mother taught me LOGIC.
“If you fall out of that swing and break your neck, you’re not going to the store with me.”
My Mother taught me MEDICAL SCIENCE.
“If you don’t stop crossing your eyes, they are going to freeze that way.”
My Mother taught me to THINK AHEAD.
“If you don’t pass your spelling test, you’ll never get good job.”
My Mother taught me ESP.
“Put your sweater on; don’t you think I know when you’re cold?”
My Mother taught me HUMOR.
“When that lawn mower cuts off your toes, don’t come running to me.”
My Mother taught me how to BECOME AN ADULT.
“If you don’t eat your vegetables, you’ll never grow up.”
My Mother taught me about SEX.
“How do you think you got here?”
My Mother taught me about GENETICS.
“You’re just like your father.”
My Mother taught me about my ROOTS.
“Do you think you were born in a barn?”
My Mother taught me about WISDOM OF AGE.
“When you get to be my age, you will understand.”
And my all time favorite… JUSTICE.
“One day you’ll have kids, and I hope they turn out just like you. Then you’ll see what it’s like.”
[PS: I do not know who the original author is. So, if you do, please let me know in the comments. Thanks!]
*I wrote this letter a few years ago. But, every so often I like to repost it so my mother and I can re-read it.
Dear Mom,
I am writing you this letter to express to you just how much I admire, respect, and look up to you.
I always hear women always complaining about their mothers, and doing everything they can to avoid growing up to be like their mothers. Well, not me. If I could be anyone in the world, famous, rich, dead or alive, I want to be just like you.
Your grace and style are second to none. Your loving and giving nature is such a natural part of your character make-up, it’s awe inspiring. Your spirituality has given me faith when I had none, and has helped me grow immensely.
You have made the ultimate sacrifices for your children. You have defended and protected me when I was most desperate. You let me go, and make my own mistakes, only praying with extreme heartache that the outcome would be successful. You have rolled the dice and taken your chances with me time and time again, without ever taking away your love from me.
You have taken care of my son, like no other grandmother I know. You have taken him into your heart, and you helped to heal my son’s scars. You undid damage inside of him I thought would never go away. You let my son be a kid. You taught him that it was safe, you gave him an adult he could trust, when he had no one else in the world to turn to.
No matter what emotional pain you suffered from decisions you had to make regarding your daughter, you made those decisions based only on what was best for ME, never what would be easier for YOU.
I respect you more than you can EVER know. I admire you in ways I don’t know how to express. I am PROUD to have you as my mother. I am LUCKY to have you as my mother. I am GRATEFUL to have you as my mother.
I really love the way our relationship has evolved over these past few years. The ride has been long, difficult, and hard work, but worth every single step. I love that I trust you. I love that I can tell you virtually everything, with safety, honesty, and sometimes I’m even willing to listen to your advice. I love that we can TALK everything through to the other side of the problems, and get to our solutions. Solutions that work for the BOTH of us. I love that we don’t STAY in the problem.
Without you, without your love, and without your faith, I have no idea where I would be today.
I love you Mommy, more than the whole sky.
Forever,
Your Daughter,
Meleah Rebeccah Hawthorne.
I have to say, my mother and I enjoyed probably The Best Mother’s Day – EVER!
You can see the complete set of photos HERE!
Have you ever written a blog post that was merely intended to get a few things off your chest so that you could move on with your life, because you were having an internal Pity Party, and you just needed to vent? But you didn’t really understand exactly how depressing it was until everyone commented on it. And you truly loved all of those comments, just as much as you love Rainbows and Unicorns, maybe even more. And, you genuinely loved hearing how much your friends love and support you – way more than you love Bacon, and Cheese, and Chocolate, and Vodka. Especially because you had NO IDEA that kind of honesty would be received so well, by so many people.
And then you felt like the luckiest girl in the whole wide world – to have the most amazing friends on the planet. Because not everyone, has the kind of friends that are willing to stick by your side, no matter what.
But then you suddenly felt badly for even having a ‘Pity Party’ in the first place, because let’s face it, most of the time your life is pretty freaking awesome. And seriously, there are people out there with much bigger problems and issues to deal with.
And then you momentarily consider deleting that last super-depressing-blog-post, because you really don’t want to look at it anymore. But, you have never deleted any blog-post you have ever written. And maybe there’s a part of you that really wants to save all of those wonderfully supportive comments for the next time you’re having a ‘Pity Party’. So instead of deleting it you start racking your brain for NEW blog-post ideas, just to get that last super-depressing-blog-post further down your home page.
Except that you can’t come up with any ideas.
Why?
Because you’re way too busy planning family functions including: ‘Mother’s Day’ and obsessing about your son’s upcoming 15th Birthday. And you can’t even THINK about your son’s upcoming 15th Birthday, without freaking the fuck out, because holy shit, where does all the time go? And then you find yourself reminiscing back to the days when your son was still a little boy, and you were the center of his universe. And for a split second, you wish you could turn back time, because these days, it’s obvious your teenager wants as little to do with you as possible. And even though you know that’s perfectly normal behavior, that doesn’t make you any less sad. And then you realize you only have a few more years left before he’s going to be off on his own, to face the world, without you. And that kind of realization only leads to eating copious amounts of ‘Comfort Food’ otherwise known as Bacon, and Cheese, and Chocolate, and Vodka.
So, instead of writing a new post…
You finally decide to simply try and distract your readers with a funny photos like this:
So. Yeah.
Has THAT ever happened to you?
No?
Me either.
————————————-
PS: * On a personal note: I thought you’d like to know that I’ve been able to exercise again. I’ve been able to write again. And I even played golf, and colored my hair. So, it’s safe to say I am no longer sick, or depressed. And that’s a good thing. Hell, I’m almost done with my ‘To Do List.’ And ya’ll have NO IDEA how much better that has made me feel, mentally, emotionally and physically. I’d also like to thank my friend, Jim, for sending pictures to me when he knew I really needed a belly laugh. You, rock.
Okay, people. I am feeling SO MUCH better.
Thank you everyone, for all of the well wishes.
First, I’d like to say there were plenty of good things about being laid up, and sick in bed all week, with a sinus infection and bronchitis. I played on Facebook. A lot. I read and commented on all of your blogs. And, of course I got all caught up with my favorite Television Series.
I managed to watch Every.Single.Episode of Season One, Two, and Three of ‘Breaking Bad‘, along with a new show ‘The Killing‘ on AMC. Now, I may have mentioned before that I do NOT like to watch anything scary. But apparently, I DO enjoy watching all things disturbing. Oh, and I also finished watching every episode of the new series on Showtime, ‘Shameless‘, along with an old favorite ‘Nurse Jackie‘.
However, the bad things about being laid up, and sick in bed all week, with a sinus infection and bronchitis, was feeling useless. And worthless. I was unable to exercise, or write, or accomplish anything substantial on any of my To Do Lists. I had way too much time on my hands to over-think everything little thing. And being stuck inside my own head is NEVER a good place for me. Plus, I was supposed to take a ‘Road Trip’ up to ‘New Hampshire’ to visit with my best girlfriend, Leslie, of 25+ years. Obviously, much to my disappointment, I had to cancel those plans. Of course that just inevitably sent me into one of those good old fashioned downward spirals filled with all that glorious self-pity. So, it’s only fair to warn you that this post isn’t all rainbows and unicorns. If you’re looking for something short, sweet, and funny to read, you might want to come back later this week.
Anyway, just when I was feeling completely miserable, and after watching one too many television shows, I figured a really good movie might lift my spirits. And even though I heard really mixed reviews, I decided to go ahead and rent the movie ‘Love And Other Drugs’.
All I can say is, “Wow, wow, wow, and wow.” And not just because I *love* Jake Gyllenhaal and Anne Hathaway. And, not just because I think the two of them should be the new ‘Tom Hanks’ and ‘Meg Ryan’ for all of Hollywood’s Romantic Comedies.
But because it was a movie that really spoke to me on a very personal level.
About the movie:
Maggie (Hathaway) is an alluring free spirit who won’t let anyone – or anything – tie her down. But she meets her match in Jamie (Gyllenhaal), whose relentless and nearly infallible charm serve him well with the ladies and in the cutthroat world of pharmaceutical sales. Early-onset Parkinson’s adds to Maggie’s mistrust of attachments. Jamie starts to fall for her about the time Viagra hits the market and makes him a sales superstar. When he becomes her knight errant in quest of a cure, she makes it clear that pity, entangling alliances, and being defined by her disease are off the table. Maggie and Jamie’s evolving relationship takes them both by surprise, as they find themselves under the influence of the ultimate drug: love.
[For those of you who have not seen the movie, don’t worry, I am not going to give away any spoilers in this blog post *insert pinky swear*.]
Moving along…
As I was watched the movie, I completely identified with the lead character Maggie. I understood the way she thought, I understood the way she felt, and I understood why she behaved the way she did. I saw a lot of myself in that character. When the movie ended I began thinking about my own dating life [or lack thereof]. And then I thought a lot about illnesses, mostly because of my own ‘Annoying Medical Conditions’.
I like to say that I am single because I am not interested in dating. And for the most part, that’s true. I mean, I really have no desire to put on ‘Real Pants’ or ‘Make Up’ just to sit through that uncomfortable silence that is the awkwardness that comes with any ‘First Date’. And I also don’t want to wait around for six months for that person to finally reveal their true colors. Because, let’s be honest here, no one acts like themselves in the beginning.
I have been pretty great, single. Happy even. It’s been nice with no one else demanding, wanting or needing things from me. When I am not writing, I’d much rather hang out with my girlfriends, spend time at my county club, or play golf. And it’s positively agreeable that any man in my life could become a major distraction from reaching my goals.
The best part of being this single, besides not having to shave my legs, has been the sheer freedom; to do what I want, when I want, with who I want, and not answering to, or considering anyone else’s needs or feelings. It’s one less person to clean up after. It’s one less load of laundry, and I never ever have to share the remote, or my blankets, or fake interest in sporting events.
Except that sometimes, it’s NOT always super awesome to feel lonely.
And there are days when I feel incredibly lonely.
Painfully. Lonely.
And yet, I am not willing to do anything to change that.
There is a part of me that doesn’t even want to TRY dating – simply because I don’t want to subject anyone else to my brand of crazy.
Let me explain…
Much like the character Maggie, I have some serious health issues.
And much like her, I never want my medical conditions to become someone else’s burdens.
It’s one thing for my family to have to take care of me. That’s their job. They’re screwed.
But I wouldn’t want to put anyone else through this. And just like the character in the movie, I certainly don’t want to be responsible for holding someone else back from achieving their own goals.
There is a scene in the movie that better explains what I am trying to say here. And it goes like this:
Maggie: I’m going need you, more than you need me.
Jamie: That’s okay.
Maggie: [crying] No it’s not. It isn’t fair. I have places to go!
Jamie: You’ll go there. I just may have to carry you.
Maggie: I can’t ask you to do that.
Jamie: You didn’t.
It has taken me YEARS to come to terms with the fact that my ‘Quality Of Life’ has been hijacked as a direct result of my health problems. It’s also taken me VERY along time to accept that I will forever have to live within certain limitations. And I refuse to ask, or remotely expect, ANYONE to take care of me, the way my family does.
You see, I have Crohn’s Disease, Celiac’s Disease, and Two Ulcers. In addition, I also have severe Food Allergies. If I eat the wrong food, I can go into Anaphylactic Shock and die. My most recent tests showed that I am allergic to everything on this list.
Did you read that list?
Good.
Now can you imagine being on a date with me, and trying to order something from a menu?
Or constantly reading labels on food containers in the grocery store?
Or always making sure there is enough Benadryl and Epi-Pens on hand?
Or being forced to drive to the Emergency Room?
And countless doctors appointments?
All. The. Time.
No.
Me either.
But I have to, because that IS my life.
And let’s not forget that I also have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder when it comes to cleanliness. When I am nervous I twirl my hair uncontrollably. I am high-anxiety and high-maintenance. I am self-absorbed and very selfish. I don’t like to share. Anything. I will never be able to hold down a full-time job again, not like I used to. I drive too fast. And, I am loud. In 2007, due to my health issues, I had to move back in with my parents. Oh and did I mention there’s a pretty good possibility that I will eventually end up with Alzheimer’s disease just like the other women in my family?
Any takers?
I didn’t think so.
There’s another scene in the movie, where Maggie says something along the lines of, “I wouldn’t want to date a sick person.”
And I totally got that too.
Seriously, people. I would NOT want to date someone like me, either.
I guess that’s why I spend so much time keeping people at arms length. I’ve built up so many walls in the interest of protecting myself that I doubt I’d be willing to tear those down and allow myself to be truly vulnerable with another person.
Maybe there is some one out there, who will love me unconditionally and all that jazz, just like in the movies. However, I am well aware of the sacrifices my own family has had to make and how much my disease has negatively affected them. Like how worried my mother was when my weight plummeted to under 90lbs. How my son used to refuse to go to school if I was sick, so that he could stay home and take care of his mommy. And all of the times my father’s missed work because he was too busy driving me around to a million doctors.
And I always end up feeling so incredibly guilty.
And, I always end up feeling like I am broken, damaged goods.
So why would I ever want to subject, yet another person – to all of that?
I don’t.
And I guess that’s my point.
And I guess that’s the real reason I don’t want to date anyone right now.
Besides, I don’t handle rejection very well.
Or maybe, I am just hiding behind my medical issues and using them as an excuse so that I never have to get crushed again?
I don’t know.
* So tell me boys and girls, would YOU date and/or marry a really sick person?
First of all, Happy Easter, to those of you celebrating.
Most of you already know that my beloved Grandmother Evelyn sadly passed away back in February. What you might not know is that this Easter is the VERY FIRST Easter [since I was 17 years old] that I will NOT spending with my Gramma Evelyn.
And quite frankly, I am really sad about it.
My heart is so heavy today that I can barely lift my head to type these words.
I miss her.
A lot.
Gramma Evelyn was more than just outspoken. In fact, I thought she was so entertaining that I would often follow her around with my video camera. Because you never knew what ‘Words Of Wisdom’ would come out of her mouth. And by ‘Words Of Wisdom’, I mean F-Bombs.
In honor of her memory, rather than sulking in sorrow, I’d like to share with you ‘The Best Of Gramma Ev’ because laughter is the best medicine, and because ‘Everyone Needs A Little Evelyn’ in their lives.
Please enjoy listening to her on various topics including but not limited to: Senior Citizens, Whores [yes people, whores] Random Celebrities, Facial Hair, Parking, Cooking, Politics and much, much, more.
Happy Easter, ya’ll.
Not too long ago, I wrote a blog post about Celebrity-Look-A-Likes. That very post included a few of my own family members. Well, long story, short? I received several comments regarding my ‘Aunt Bea’ and her resemblance to Jane Fonda. And that’s precisely when I realized I’ve never really written about my Aunt Bea on this blog.
And, considering I just had the pleasure of spending, Passover 2011 with her, I figured now would be a wonderful time to share her story, with you fine people.
First let me start by saying that Aunt Bea is 80+something years old. And she’s still very active, and quite lucid. She is always impeccably dressed, complete with matching shoes and jewelry. And she never leaves the house until she is entirely made-up to perfection. I don’t think I have ever seen her without lipstick. And neither has anyone else.
Speaking of her appearance, Aunt Bea only buys, and wears, St. John’s clothing. And you will NEVER see her in the same outfit, twice. Her finished basement is filled with ‘Rolling Racks’ of clothes and luxurious fur coats. On each outfit there is an index card attached, detailing which jewelry, purse, and shoes, belong with that particular outfit.
Most of the time she looks amazing.
I mean, c’mon! She’s like a freaking Rock Star in all leather!
She’s a true lady that exudes high class from every pore of her skin.
Except for that one time, when she looked liked she was working for an airline.
Aunt Bea and my Uncle Sol are pretty well off, financially. They always contribute money towards family functions to help defray the cost of food, and they even paid for my expensive boarding school education. But they can also be very cheap. And by that I mean, they still don’t have cable television, and they use a Dial-Up Internet connection. As such, sometimes we lovingly refer to them as ‘The Howells’ from Gilligan’s Island.
Aunt Bea’s house is cleaner than a hyperbaric chamber, and she’s never cooked a meal in her life. She’s famous at her Temple for raising the most money buy selling $25.00 advertisements door-to-door to restaurants. She goes to the gym three days a week to exercise, and she maintains an extraordinary garden.
Whenever Aunt Bea and Uncle Sol come over for Family Holidays, Aunt Bea brings a list of topics, written down on a piece of paper, which she checks every-so-often just in case the dinner conversation fizzles out. She tries her best to stay on top of current affairs.
Most of her topics are about celebrities, or her favorite television show ‘Dancing With The Stars’ or notes about whatever book she’s been reading.
But I will never be able to forget this one particular day.
A few years back, in the middle of dinner, while dressed in all of her fabulousness, and dripping in diamonds, out of NOWHERE, Aunt Bea blurted out:
“Do you guys really think Howard Stern has a small penis?”
It was as if the sound of a record needle had just been pulled violently across an album, and everything came to a screeching halt.
Everyone’s jaw hit the floor.
And the room fell silent.
Except for me.
I died laughing.
DIED.
But, then I quickly came back to life – and laughed even more.
*So tell me people, what’s the most outrageous thing anyone in YOUR family’s ever said at the dinner table?
My good friend, Lisa, author of the blog ‘That’s Why’ recently wrote this blog post. Lisa shared intimate details with us regarding her family, her writing process, how she’s evolved as a writer. And she gave us an inside look, through out time, where she does her writing, complete with photos. At the end of the post she asked her readers to show her where we write.
And I am more than happy to oblige.
I believe I started writing when I was around nine years old. That’s when I received my very first diary, and thus began my love for the written word. I don’t have any photos of that time in my life, and I have since lost all of those journals.
I really took to writing, while I attended a private boarding high school. From the ages 13-16, I was 3,000 miles away from home and I missed my brother, Abercrombie, terribly. I hand wrote at least three letters per week – and I also kept a journal which I updated every night before going to bed. Again, I don’t have many photos of that time in my life either, but I do still have all of those journals.
Then there was that time in my life I spent hitchhiking across the country, following the Grateful Dead for one year. Very sadly, I don’t have many photos of that time in my life either, but I do have all of those wonderfully detailed journals. I kept track of every show, every set list, every place I stayed, and all of people I encountered. Maybe one of these days I should go through them?
From the ages 18-27, my life was a complete whirlwind of craziness that I’d rather not discuss, here, today. But, I never stopped writing. In fact, I probably wrote more than ever. I am currently in the process of going through those very journals in the hopes of transforming them into something substantial.
When I turned 27, I finally got my life together. I made incredible changes and beat all kinds of odds, when I should have been nothing more than a statistic. And that’s when I moved into my very favorite condo. The first thing I had to do was set up was a working space where I could really write. I spent countless hours at this desk, organizing old journals, and writing until my fingertips bled.
And then, in 2006, one of my closest friends, Leslie, who’s known me since I was all of thirteen years old, and knew all about my love for writing, told me about the world of blogging. I immediately signed up and I’ve never looked back.
I became addicted to blogging, instantly. I started meeting incredibly funny people, and totally-super-talented writers.
Here I am in my favorite condo, sitting on my favorite sofa, blogging, with my very first Apple Computer.
Since then…
I’ve written while on vacation in the Dominican Republic.
And while on vacation in Mexico.
And…
I’ve written in hotel rooms.
I’ve written while sitting on the floors of Hospital Waiting Rooms.
And….
I’ve even written while trapped in the bathroom for hours, suffering from a Crohn’s Attack.
My love for writing, and my computer, has become so strong over the years.
Once, I even took my ‘Apple’ out on ‘The Best Date I’ve Ever Had’.
But sometimes in life – there are things you can’t control.
And at the age of 33, I moved back home with my parents, for the first time, since I was 13.
These days, this is where I spend most of my time, writing and blogging.
And, when I am not at home, you can usually find me at my local Country Club, often referred to as ‘KHCC’ – writing in my other ‘office’.
And there you have it.
So tell me boys and girls:
Something awful happened the other day. And I’m not very proud of myself. I am hoping that confessing my terrible sins to you, my dear readers, will help to absolve me. And if that doesn’t work, I guess, I’m just going to have to download this particular application to my iPhone.
Do you know what drives me completely insane? Do you know what pushes every single one of my buttons – at the same time? Do you know what makes me so angry; I’m willing to set myself on fire, just to make it stop?
Unsolicited. Advice.
Delivered daily, by the truckload.
Before I go any further I need to preface this blog post.
Let me start by saying that I absolutely LOVE my grandfather, Poppa Sye. He is the sweetest, nicest, kindest man. He’s the first one to help a stranger in need. He is a true sport with a great sense of humor. He’s always willing to lend a helping hand. He is a gentleman in every essence of the word. And, he spends 99% of his day consumed with reading articles from outdated Medical Journals, in search of obscure cures, for various aliments.
That being said, some of you already know about my ‘Annoying Medical Conditions’. And not too long ago, my grandfather took it upon himself to: read, print, photocopy, and share every piece of information he’s ever discovered regarding my Annoying Medical Conditions.
And I used to think it was very sweet.
And, I used to find some of his methods of delivering such information very entertaining.
And it was.
Like for instance:
Once, he went to our local pharmacy and discovered a Benefits Program that helps people save money on prescriptions. However, that program is specifically designed for people over the age of 55. Nevertheless he proceeded to give me 15 different forms to fill out, because even though I’m clearly NOT eligible, I should try to apply anyway.
Another time he suggested I call the AARP 800 hotline, via the sticky note he left on my bedroom door. Yet another program, only eligible for people over the age of 60.
My loving grandfather also launches what I like to call ‘Blitz Attacks’. That’s where I’ll find a barrage of pamphlets, packets, magazines, photocopied paperwork, shoved underneath my bedroom door, or put on my dinner plate. He’s like a walking spammer, pumping out notices, and erroneous information.
Usually, I have to sneak those stacks of paper and thousands of sticky notes, outside of my house. I try to bring them to a safer location for disposal. Because, if I attempt to throw away this useless information – Poppa Sye inevitably finds it in the garbage, feels offended, hits me with the stink eye, and then he scowls at me for weeks.
Now, please don’t get me wrong. I know that my grandfather means well. I know that he’s only looking out for my best interests. And, I know that he’s just trying to help. I am positive with ever fiber of my soul that he is only trying to find ways to ‘Cure Me’ even when he suggests all things ‘Holistic’ and ‘Herbal’ – most of which I am highly allergic to.
I am well aware of the fact that I should just be grateful I even have a grandfather, let alone such a caring and concerned grandfather. I also know that he likes to feel important, and needed, or at best, useful – in some way shape or form.
Which is precisely WHY I feel like the biggest SHITHEAD, ungrateful, spoiled, little, bitch. EVER.
I was already at the end of my rope over here. Because, let’s face it. There’s only so much one person can do to placate another.
I’ve tried nodding my head complete with a fake smile simply to appease my grandfather.
I’ve tried telling him, “No, thank you”, in the politest ways possible.
And, I have graciously accepted a minimum of 16,978,532,569,787,413,356,498,752.9 articles, just last week.
I feel absolutely terrible for thinking (and feeling) that my grandfather’s steadfast efforts are nothing but a waste of my time. I feel even worse for being pissed off about the whole scenario. I feel incredibly guilty for being ‘mad at him’ when I know – I KNOW – he is only trying to look out for me.
But seriously people.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
So…..
I snapped.
I hauled off and I knocked him out!
KIDDING!
KIDDING!
I AM KIDDING PEOPLE!
Of course, I did NOT punch my grandfather in the face.
Unfortunately, he fell.
Again.
Luckily, it wasn’t as bad as this time.
But now, I get to be the one to find, photocopy, and deliver mountains of information on balance, slip and falls, and how to treat subsequent injuries.
And this is going to be fun!
* So tell me people. How do YOU handle receiving ‘Unsolicited Advice’? Because I am fresh out of ideas!
