Thursday, November 3, 2011
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Monday, September 12, 2011
Eavesdropping can be fun!
I'll admit it. I love to listen in on other people's conversations. If you're talking loud enough for me to hear, Mr. Guy at the Table Next to Me, I'm going to eavesdrop.
This habit has allowed me to hear some very interesting discussions. Two come to mind. Allow me to share.
I'm sitting at the repair shop where I took my Expedition to get the CD player fixed. (My battery had died and this somehow caused my CDs to get stuck in the player when a new battery was put in.) The guy behind the counter is a gruff good ol' boy.
A youngish black man walks in and goes up to the counter. This is where the eavesdropping begins.
He says "I'm here to pick up my radio." He has an foreign accent of some sort. Mr. Friendly says "That will be $250.00." The young man says "How much if I pay cash?" Mr. Friendly says "$250.00. (short pause) We ain't sitting under some tent in Nairobi , ya know."
The next one took place in my doctor's waiting room. I'll set the stage. An older man in an undershirt and jeans walks in with a much younger man who has a rockin' mullet. I surreptitiously take a picture of said mullet with my camera phone.
Mullet guy's phone rings. Conversation commences thusly: MG: "Hello?"..........uh, where am I?...uh....uh." The older guy whispers "Tell them you're at the airport." MG: "I'm at the airport." Everyone knows it's easier to explain an early morning trip to the airport than a trip to the doctor office, right?
Ah, but my eavesdropping isn't over yet. The TV is on in the waiting room and it's showing the later "Today" show with Kathy Lee and Hoda. Older guy watches for a few minutes and says to MG "Blah, blah, blah. I never know what theses bitches are saying."
I leave you with a quote that surely justifies my nosiness.
“Stare. Pry, listen, eavesdrop. Die knowing something. You are not here long.”
~Walker Evans
This habit has allowed me to hear some very interesting discussions. Two come to mind. Allow me to share.
I'm sitting at the repair shop where I took my Expedition to get the CD player fixed. (My battery had died and this somehow caused my CDs to get stuck in the player when a new battery was put in.) The guy behind the counter is a gruff good ol' boy.
A youngish black man walks in and goes up to the counter. This is where the eavesdropping begins.
He says "I'm here to pick up my radio." He has an foreign accent of some sort. Mr. Friendly says "That will be $250.00." The young man says "How much if I pay cash?" Mr. Friendly says "$250.00. (short pause) We ain't sitting under some tent in Nairobi , ya know."
The next one took place in my doctor's waiting room. I'll set the stage. An older man in an undershirt and jeans walks in with a much younger man who has a rockin' mullet. I surreptitiously take a picture of said mullet with my camera phone.
Mullet guy's phone rings. Conversation commences thusly: MG: "Hello?"..........uh, where am I?...uh....uh." The older guy whispers "Tell them you're at the airport." MG: "I'm at the airport." Everyone knows it's easier to explain an early morning trip to the airport than a trip to the doctor office, right?
Ah, but my eavesdropping isn't over yet. The TV is on in the waiting room and it's showing the later "Today" show with Kathy Lee and Hoda. Older guy watches for a few minutes and says to MG "Blah, blah, blah. I never know what theses bitches are saying."
I leave you with a quote that surely justifies my nosiness.
“Stare. Pry, listen, eavesdrop. Die knowing something. You are not here long.”
~Walker Evans
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Julie McCoy, please report to the Lido Deck.
My children left for a mid-winter youth retreat on Sunday morning at 8:00am. This is the first time both of my children have been to camp at the same time since Jamie was in the 5th grade. I was looking forward to the time alone and looking fondly toward summer when both would go to summer camp together.
Here's the thing: I'm missing them like crazy! I've thought long and hard about why this might be the case and I've come up with a reason that makes sense to me.
Not too long ago, my counselor (really a therapist but counselor sounds less scary, less crazy-Karen) told me I had "control issues". I put her in a half-nelson and demanded she take it back. No, really, I laughed because this was NOT news to me (or anyone who knows me well, actually). Hey Dr. $150/hr....tell me something I don't know like WHY I have control issues....but that's a blog for another day, isn't it?
Let's get down to the nitty-gritty, shall we? I'd like to tell you the reason I miss them is because I love them so much (which I do) or that they are so much fun to be around (which they are) but I think the real reason is that when they are away, they are NO LONGER UNDER MY CONTROL! Wait....I need to take a few deep breaths...........okay, moving on.
One of the rules for this retreat was no electronic devices of any kind - no cell phones, no iPods, no PlayStations. Seemed reasonable to me until I had not been able to find out what was going on with my children for a full 48 hours. This is not acceptable to those of us who are cruise directors in the lives of those we love. If they don't come back soon, I may need to go the mall and interact with random teenagers. And by interact I mean question their choice in clothes, push their too-long hair out of their eyes and interrogate them relentlessly about their friends.
By my calculations, I have around 7 months to convince my kids that I would be a great summer camp counselor. After all, who's going to decide who sits where on the bus and make sure everyone has a friend if not me?
Here's the thing: I'm missing them like crazy! I've thought long and hard about why this might be the case and I've come up with a reason that makes sense to me.
Not too long ago, my counselor (really a therapist but counselor sounds less scary, less crazy-Karen) told me I had "control issues". I put her in a half-nelson and demanded she take it back. No, really, I laughed because this was NOT news to me (or anyone who knows me well, actually). Hey Dr. $150/hr....tell me something I don't know like WHY I have control issues....but that's a blog for another day, isn't it?
Let's get down to the nitty-gritty, shall we? I'd like to tell you the reason I miss them is because I love them so much (which I do) or that they are so much fun to be around (which they are) but I think the real reason is that when they are away, they are NO LONGER UNDER MY CONTROL! Wait....I need to take a few deep breaths...........okay, moving on.
One of the rules for this retreat was no electronic devices of any kind - no cell phones, no iPods, no PlayStations. Seemed reasonable to me until I had not been able to find out what was going on with my children for a full 48 hours. This is not acceptable to those of us who are cruise directors in the lives of those we love. If they don't come back soon, I may need to go the mall and interact with random teenagers. And by interact I mean question their choice in clothes, push their too-long hair out of their eyes and interrogate them relentlessly about their friends.
By my calculations, I have around 7 months to convince my kids that I would be a great summer camp counselor. After all, who's going to decide who sits where on the bus and make sure everyone has a friend if not me?
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Larry Hagman is Muy Caliente
I had a minor surgical procedure today and was given IV sedation. Turns out it was the same drug that Michael Jackson was taking to help him sleep. I woke up feeling a bit muddle-headed which wore off pretty quickly but I had the almost unstoppable urge to be funny. Or at least what I thought was funny.
This made me think about all the procedures I've had in the last 10 or so years mostly related to my breast cancer diagnosis. Almost every time, no matter the drugs used, I've done or said something stupid or just plain weird.
When I had my reconstruction, I was on a morphine IV for pain. I had a Doppler monitor attached to me to make sure that the surgery site maintained a good blood flow. If you've never heard a Doppler, it goes something like this: Woosh......Woosh.....Wooosh. A bit like a mushy heartbeat. Anyway, I became convinced that I was hearing voices speaking through the Doppler monitor. Specifically, I was hearing Larry Hagman. Why Larry Hagman would decide to speak to me via a medical device never entered my mind but I kept saying to my Mom "Can you hear him? Can you hear him? What was that he said?" I also dreamed I was typing on a keyboard made of feathers. This frustrated me because I kept making mistakes. My Mom told me later that I was typing on my bed covers in my sleep.
My experience with Versed was just as strange. Right before I was given the Versed, a male Hispanic OR tech sprayed my throat with a banana flavored anesthetic. Immediately the Versed was pushed into my IV. Before I went to sleep, I became convinced that I should speak Spanish and decided to tell the OR tech that the anesthetic spray was spicy. The last thing I remember is telling him, rather seriously and urgently, was "Muy caliente." Now, I've watched enough episodes of Dora to know that caliente is the word for heat hot not spicy hot so I'll blame the Versed but why I felt the need to speak to him in Spanish at all shall remain unknown. Just trying to make a connection, I guess.
After one surgery I woke up in recovery and told my Mom, "I'm so hungry I could eat a Kleenex." Another time I kept trying to tell my surgeon what to do. We were in the OR and I had already been given something to relax me and it apparently relaxed my judgement as well. I was sure that he had left some very vital equipment in another OR and kept insisting that he check to see that he had it. The last thing I remember from that incident was an imploring look from my surgeon to the anesthesiologist.
I asked the staff in the OR today to disregard anything I said. My anesthesiologist was Korean so I was worried. They laughed and said they would not ask leading questions but couldn't promise to stop me once I started. As far as I know, I did not try to tell my doctor how to do anything nor did I attempt to speak Korean. I say as far as I know because I don't remember anything after verifying my name and birthdate.....and maybe the post-surgical smirk on the nurse's face was my imagination.
This made me think about all the procedures I've had in the last 10 or so years mostly related to my breast cancer diagnosis. Almost every time, no matter the drugs used, I've done or said something stupid or just plain weird.
When I had my reconstruction, I was on a morphine IV for pain. I had a Doppler monitor attached to me to make sure that the surgery site maintained a good blood flow. If you've never heard a Doppler, it goes something like this: Woosh......Woosh.....Wooosh. A bit like a mushy heartbeat. Anyway, I became convinced that I was hearing voices speaking through the Doppler monitor. Specifically, I was hearing Larry Hagman. Why Larry Hagman would decide to speak to me via a medical device never entered my mind but I kept saying to my Mom "Can you hear him? Can you hear him? What was that he said?" I also dreamed I was typing on a keyboard made of feathers. This frustrated me because I kept making mistakes. My Mom told me later that I was typing on my bed covers in my sleep.
My experience with Versed was just as strange. Right before I was given the Versed, a male Hispanic OR tech sprayed my throat with a banana flavored anesthetic. Immediately the Versed was pushed into my IV. Before I went to sleep, I became convinced that I should speak Spanish and decided to tell the OR tech that the anesthetic spray was spicy. The last thing I remember is telling him, rather seriously and urgently, was "Muy caliente." Now, I've watched enough episodes of Dora to know that caliente is the word for heat hot not spicy hot so I'll blame the Versed but why I felt the need to speak to him in Spanish at all shall remain unknown. Just trying to make a connection, I guess.
After one surgery I woke up in recovery and told my Mom, "I'm so hungry I could eat a Kleenex." Another time I kept trying to tell my surgeon what to do. We were in the OR and I had already been given something to relax me and it apparently relaxed my judgement as well. I was sure that he had left some very vital equipment in another OR and kept insisting that he check to see that he had it. The last thing I remember from that incident was an imploring look from my surgeon to the anesthesiologist.
I asked the staff in the OR today to disregard anything I said. My anesthesiologist was Korean so I was worried. They laughed and said they would not ask leading questions but couldn't promise to stop me once I started. As far as I know, I did not try to tell my doctor how to do anything nor did I attempt to speak Korean. I say as far as I know because I don't remember anything after verifying my name and birthdate.....and maybe the post-surgical smirk on the nurse's face was my imagination.
Friday, October 16, 2009
The Monster of Love
This past weekend my daughter went to Homecoming with a boy she has liked since 4th grade. He is a nice young man who goes to our church. He's older than she is and able to drive which is a whole other issue in itself but that's not why we're here today.
The boy, who we'll call Trent, is a bit shy and as new at this relationship stuff as my daughter is. He hasn't learned "THE RULES" yet; the first and most important rule being "Text back in a timely manner or else the girl will begin to panic".
Okay, but here's the thing: I begin to panic as well! What's up with that??? I am surprised and appalled at the feelings that rise up in me as my daughter makes her way through this previously unexplored land. The other evening my daughter went to bed sure that the boy had changed his mind about her, "second-guessed his decision." After she went to bed, I was changing in my closet and said to my husband "I think I might have to kill Trent tomorrow." And this was based on pure speculation - no facts! I think I've climbed into Mr. Peabody's Way Back Machine and been transported back to puberty!
Thankfully my husband is (and always has been) the more logical of the two of us. He quoted (sort of) "The Princess Bride" to me and said "He seems a nice fellow. I hate that you have to kill him." Nothing like a PB quote to bring you back to reality in a jiffy. I started laughing and said "Who am I? What's happening to me?" Since he does know THE RULES and knew the question wasn't meant to be answered, he just shrugged and walked away.
Remember the Texas Cheerleader Mom who tried to take a contract out on her daughter's competition? To again quote a movie, "I have become what I beheld." (Elliott Ness, The Untouchables) I'm finding it easier and easier to see things from her crazy side of the asylum fence.
The boy, who we'll call Trent, is a bit shy and as new at this relationship stuff as my daughter is. He hasn't learned "THE RULES" yet; the first and most important rule being "Text back in a timely manner or else the girl will begin to panic".
Okay, but here's the thing: I begin to panic as well! What's up with that??? I am surprised and appalled at the feelings that rise up in me as my daughter makes her way through this previously unexplored land. The other evening my daughter went to bed sure that the boy had changed his mind about her, "second-guessed his decision." After she went to bed, I was changing in my closet and said to my husband "I think I might have to kill Trent tomorrow." And this was based on pure speculation - no facts! I think I've climbed into Mr. Peabody's Way Back Machine and been transported back to puberty!
Thankfully my husband is (and always has been) the more logical of the two of us. He quoted (sort of) "The Princess Bride" to me and said "He seems a nice fellow. I hate that you have to kill him." Nothing like a PB quote to bring you back to reality in a jiffy. I started laughing and said "Who am I? What's happening to me?" Since he does know THE RULES and knew the question wasn't meant to be answered, he just shrugged and walked away.
Remember the Texas Cheerleader Mom who tried to take a contract out on her daughter's competition? To again quote a movie, "I have become what I beheld." (Elliott Ness, The Untouchables) I'm finding it easier and easier to see things from her crazy side of the asylum fence.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Nobody likes you.....
This past Friday we celebrated my son's 12th birthday. He decided to have 3 friends stay the night. We picked each boy up and then headed out for the evening's activities.
The conversation flowed non-stop and it was hysterical. Who knew middle school boys could be so funny yet so unaware of just how funny they are ? I'll give you an example:
Son: This boy at school always makes fun of people. I told him "I'd be careful about picking on people. I mean, come on, your name is Curtis."
Son's friend: You're a namist.
Our initial plans had been to go to Kemah Boardwalk but after finding out several rides were closed, we were trying to decide what to do instead. One boy pipes up with an opinion and another says "Be quiet. Nobody likes you." They all laugh and go on with the conversation. I try to imagine this happening in a car full of girls.
Last year my son had these same 3 boys over for a sleepover. We picked each one of them up and then went to Main Event which is an arcade on steroids. Once we got to Main Event I didn't see them until they had used all of the credit on their game cards. It's the conversation in the car on the way home that is memorable.
I had been telling the boys about a woman who confronted my mother in a tire store. Here is the conversation in it's surreal entirety:
Son: How old was the woman who yelled at Momo?
Me: I don't know.....50s I think.
Son's friend: I'll bet she smelled weird.
Me: Why do you say that?
Friend: Last time I saw my grandmother she smelled weird.
Me: When was the last time you saw your grandmother?
Friend: At her funeral.
Me: .............
Friend: Yeah, it was sad. If you think pizza would make you feel better at time like that, you'd be wrong.
The rest of the boys bobbed their heads knowingly. Some statements are so profound they require no more than a simple nod of agreement.
The conversation flowed non-stop and it was hysterical. Who knew middle school boys could be so funny yet so unaware of just how funny they are ? I'll give you an example:
Son: This boy at school always makes fun of people. I told him "I'd be careful about picking on people. I mean, come on, your name is Curtis."
Son's friend: You're a namist.
Our initial plans had been to go to Kemah Boardwalk but after finding out several rides were closed, we were trying to decide what to do instead. One boy pipes up with an opinion and another says "Be quiet. Nobody likes you." They all laugh and go on with the conversation. I try to imagine this happening in a car full of girls.
Last year my son had these same 3 boys over for a sleepover. We picked each one of them up and then went to Main Event which is an arcade on steroids. Once we got to Main Event I didn't see them until they had used all of the credit on their game cards. It's the conversation in the car on the way home that is memorable.
I had been telling the boys about a woman who confronted my mother in a tire store. Here is the conversation in it's surreal entirety:
Son: How old was the woman who yelled at Momo?
Me: I don't know.....50s I think.
Son's friend: I'll bet she smelled weird.
Me: Why do you say that?
Friend: Last time I saw my grandmother she smelled weird.
Me: When was the last time you saw your grandmother?
Friend: At her funeral.
Me: .............
Friend: Yeah, it was sad. If you think pizza would make you feel better at time like that, you'd be wrong.
The rest of the boys bobbed their heads knowingly. Some statements are so profound they require no more than a simple nod of agreement.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
