Friday Frivolity: Is this my bathroom?

I have lost my bathroom.  No, it’s not that I have forgotten the way to my bathroom.  I just don’t recognize it when I get there.   This is clearly the result of having 3 house guests.  Chelsea and Xavier are visiting from Georgia and Amara is hanging out also.

When I step in to take a shower, there are eerie shadows on the walls.  There are towels draped from most every horizontal formation in the room.  I can understand why there might be 4 towels.  Sue’s, mine, Amara’s and Chelsea’s.  Zay isn’t big enough to need much more than a hand towel.  That is, if he ever wants out of the tub.  If I sat that long in the water, my fingers would have a permanent shrivel and there would be an sediment ring around — which is exactly why I no longer languish in the tub.

Anyway, there are a lot more towels than we have guests.  I’ve always thought that a shower was a cleansing event.  Stepping out, the body should be clean.  Wet, yes. But no dirt to soil the towel.  Dry off and drape the damp towel over the towel bar…or shower door frame.  By the time you need another shower, it will be dry.  Oh, but, wait.  The extra towels are for Chelsea who seems to consider towels as markers for how many showers she has taken this week.

Forget the towels dangling outside the shower.  What’s the half dozen wash cloths doing inside.  I haven’t used a wash cloth since I was 5 years old.  Even then I didn’t wash with it.  A 5 year old easily imagines a monster snake swimming about the tub mustering up the courage and speed  to perform an amazing, tail flapping, Water World gyration.  So, I’ll grant one cloth for Zay’s snake and one for Amara.  That leaves 4 for his mom, who wants one-a-day to match her towels.

Also within the shower enclosure there is are 3 shampoos plus a pre-shampoo.  Wait there are 2 conditioners competing for space on that short shelf.  Are you kidding me?  They condition their hair pre-shampooing and after?

The flat surfaces of the tub are also crowded.  There resides no less than 5 cleaning agents.  I’d say soap, but I’m the only one who would even consider soap.  Sue opts for Shower Gel.  Shea enriched, no less.  Seriously?  African tree sap oozing all over your body in the shower.  What’s it do, stick to the dirt then drizzle down the drain?

Or maybe clog the drain by sticking to the shed hair swirling there.  Typically, the drain has more hair than I can afford to lose.  I’d bet I could salvage enough in a week to make a Barbie wig…one with varied highlights from the females in the house.

Oh, and the gel fragrance is Midnight Pomegranate.  Who’s knows what that smells like?  Sure there are sensitive noses that can differentiate the aroma of various fruits.  But, does a pomegranate smell different during a midnight snack run?

Why isn’t there a Sunrise Prune shower gel?  Lots of folks know what prune juice smells like in the morning.  Okay, I can see how that would significantly reduce the demographic population interested in that scent.

Coming out of the shower, I noticed NUK on the vanity.  Is that instruction to heat it before application?  No!  It’s toothpaste.  I have never seen that toothpaste before.  A closer look.  It is Fluoride Free.  Hold on a second.  When I lived in the city, I paid taxes to put Fluoride in the water.  It’s not Sue who spends a premium to keep fluoride off of the kids teeth.

Lastly there are two curling irons cooling in the sink.  They are not mine.  Even in my teens when I had a hair that could grow 5 inches without falling out, I sported a very nice “wave” atop my head, but did not use an iron to form it.  Suave maybe, but not heat.  And now?  I don’t have enough hair to form a ripple.  I’m sure it is one each for Chelsea and Amara.  Zay’s curls don’t’ need an iron.

It certainly does seem that the bathroom has taken on a new persona this week.  However, I am thrilled for the reason.


Happy Thanksgiving


? of the day:  If you swallow your pride, will your stomach roar?


Friday Frivolity: No Exorcism Needed

A few weeks ago I reported there may have been gremlins inhabiting my skull.  Yesterday, I had a Cranial Angiogram to investigate the sightings an MRA photographed.  I am happy to report that I am not getting estimates from exorcists in the area.

No exorcism prescribed by my Neurologist.  Nor will there be a candle lit séance, prayer vigil, ritualistic purification or demon casting ceremony…though there is still evidence of a mischievous imp influencing my mind.

It was quite evident in yesterday’s encounter with nurses.  Upon my arrival in the Cardiac Care Unit, I met the nurse who was to be my primary caregiver.  And a very pleasant nurse she was.  Pleasant yet quite business like in her introductory comments about my preparation which included disrobing and putting on the Hospital Gown.

Why don’t they make those gowns for 6’4”, 250 pound guys.  Mine fit more like a moo-moo.  When seated it closely resembled a long T-shirt.  And a shirt which no amount of tugging could close the gap at the back.  No matter, I wasn’t getting out of the bed until time to go home.

The nurse returned to conduct an inquisition about my medical history and medications.  I saw this as a good time to allow the imp in me to interject a bit of humor.  When she inquired when I had last received my Lovenox shot, I honestly told her yesterday morning.  Then I added that I had been used to getting them every 12 hours and was feeling some withdrawal symptoms.

She acknowledged that she would soon give me a fix for that by inserting my IVWhen she got around to asking about domestic abuse, I showed her the Lovenox injection site bruising and claimed Sue had done that to me.  Gee, you’d think she could have given me at least a sympathetic look.

With all the questions completed, she put all the stuff for an IV on my lap and proceeded to provide relief for my expressed needle need.  Both Sue and I advised her that my veins are needle dodgers.  She investigated several sites in my right arm, finding one she deemed the best.  A few minutes later she patched up her first swing and miss to try a second site.  Strike two.

She apologized.  I was not surprised that she had missed twice.  Of course, I was surprised that she seemed to believe me that I had a fixation for getting poked with needles.  Between strike one and two, a second nurse came in to ask if there was anything she could do to assist.  My wonderful caregiver suggested that she go get the “long needle” in case I gave her any more trouble.

Nurse number 3 is soon to appear to try my left arm.  I think I mentioned all the IV paraphernalia on my lap — sterile adhesive site cover, gauze, tape, shunts, and an odd looking tube with a balloon type end.  I picked it up and asked if it was a condom for a very tiny person.

I really should not attempt humor when someone is inserting an IV.  Her quick burst of laughter might have caused a twitch of the needle.  Blood gushed from the wound…Code Blue…I’m bleeding out.  Okay, so I exaggerate.  The pad they put under my arm wicked the few spurts of blood to look like a Bounty® ad.

IV in place, blood wiped up and nurse 4 comes in.  “I am here to transport you to the Lab”.  Yes, Lab.  That’s what she said.  Whew, that conjured up a vision of Dr. Frankenstein awaiting me down the hall.  Before I got that vision dismissed, the nurse had gotten my gurney out of the waiting room.  Suddenly, from behind my head she exclaimed, “Oh, Shoot!”  Yikes!  Hold on just a second.  Needles are one thing, but shoot is certainly not what I wanted to hear.

I don’t know.  What do you think?  Would I have been better off with an exorcism?

Friday Frivolity: Daylight Savings

I have never been a particularly enthusiastic supporter of Daylight Savings.  After all, what we save at one time of the year is lost at another.  If anything is actually saved or lost.

In a humor sketch from the 50’s, Gracie Allen tried to convince George Burns of the savings she realized in buying a very expensive fur.  George wished to use the money to go out to dinner.  Gracie thought it a great idea.  Soon their savings account would burgeon.  Wow, I cannot imagine how much light we’ve saved since the 1908 beginning of the practice.

Regardless of the irrational conclusions of where all this saved light is stored, it is difficult to reconcile the time changes.  However, now the Energy Commission has created an extra bounce to the Spring Ahead.  Oh, boy…I don’t lose an hour in April any more.  I actually gain three weeks of daylight, with the change coming now on the 2nd Sunday in March.  Yippeee!   Plus, we don’t switch back until the 1st Sunday in November.  That’s a net gain of nearly four weeks of sunshine.  I wonder if Bob Dole has calculated the effect of all this added sun on his global warming forecast?

What the heck do I need Daylight savings for anyway.  I’m a morning person.  Oh, fine…I’m now gonna get another hour of darkness.  I was just getting used to the fact that I don’t need lights on to get to the computer when I get up.  Now I’ll be turning on lights for another 3 weeks.  Yeah, right, big savings there.

I must admit it’s a good thing I don’t have a dog.  I’d likely stumble over him ’cause he’d still be sleeping…mutts can’t tell time.  Dogs have a biological clock.  I think it’s in tune with the sun not the Energy Commission.  They save energy by not getting up until the sun does.  Smart move.  I could probably save at least a dozen stubbed toes if I waited too.

Of course, Daylight Savings also creates massive headaches for us old fogies.  Digital clocks are a nightmare to change.  Invariably when I try to reset the microwave my next cup of tea is defrosted for 2 hours.  Why is there a clock on the microwave anyway.

I gave up on my watches.  Who keeps the instruction book on watches.  I could never push the right buttons in the right sequence to keep the day, date and time synchronized.  So I just keep one watch in the drawer that’s an hour different than the one on my wrist.  Bad news when the battery goes dead on the current-time watch, though.

But you know, I love listening to that twisted chick on my answering machine while I reset the time.. “Sunday…Mon..too…weh…Wednesday, Twelve A M, wa… tw… th… fo… fi… si… se… seven A M.”  Then comes,  “oh one oh two oh three oh oh oh….”  Hey, baby…that’s exciting.  But don’t go past the correct time.  Otherwise you’ll be wasting the Daylight you’re supposed to be saving.