Tuesday, November 30, 2010

~The Long And Ramble-y Road

Alright... Only if you really have nuthin' better to do should you start this post. Listen, when even the sharer of the story is tryin' to save you from some oddly appropriate craptastic tale, and the made up word, "ramble-y" is used as a hint in the title, you know you're in for some serious time wasting reading.

You've been warned.

If you're still here, you only have yourself to blame.

Here we go:

Thanksgiving was not as easy or fun as every other Thanksgiving I've had in my life. All these firsts without Papa. Whew. They ain't easy, kids. I know, I'm not the only one in the world to experience such things. But this is pretty much my first experience with such things, so it's all a learning experience to me.

So, here we are doin' Thanksgiving. I pick Mom and her guy up and set off over the river and through the woods to Nana's house. Alright. There was no river or woods involved, just I-70.

Double D was unable to join in due to having to work. Boo. Duty calls and all. Coming from a family of police and police to R.N, and having worked jobs myself where ya worked holidays, it isn't my first day at the somebody not being there rodeo. But still, boo. I don't like when we're apart at all (I know, sappy.), let alone on a holiday, but what can be done, ya know?

After we arrive at Nana's but before dinner, sumthin' was required from the store. Off my Mom's guy and I go. I pull into a parking spot and glance around, as I do, because as you may have already heard, I'm the noticer!! Anyhoo, this trait serves me well because I spy John Legend.

Yup. My crazy assed and adored hometown chocked full o' some of the wackiest cast of characters and situations you have ever seen is also the ol' stompin' grounds of the multi Grammy winning artist.

Now, and this is where you realize, if in fact you haven't sooner, that I am woefully unhip and tragically L7. And really, what says more dazzling square than actually using the term L...7?

My 81 year old Nana is the person who hip'd me to his existence.

Shouldn't by all that is holy, I be the one who is first in on the cool new artist types happening around me? Nope. Apparently not.

So as I say out loud to Mom's guy (who I MUST create a fake name for...), "there's John Legend", as hometown, guy done well puts his grocery cart into the roundup corral. Mom's guy looks over to see him and I say, "...And Nana doesn't like ya!" Not loud enough that Mr. Legend, ney, Stevens heard me. It's not like his head swiveled around and looked my way or anything. But still, it was unnecessary. And maybe a tad Chuck Woolery (aka: mean spirited, wrong, quasi appalling).

(P.S. or, I guess really, M.O.S/middle of script, but that's not really a thing...

Nana doesn't like John Legend. She's told me this on many of occasions in the past. And as recent as a few weeks ago she saw him on sumthin' on TV and tuned in just to see if she'd given him a fair shake or not, and to see if maybe she did like him. Nana's assessment? "I watched 20 minutes or so, and all I learned after what that I still don't like him and that those 20 minutes are now gone and wasted.")

And here's how karma turned right around and immediately kicked me in the ass., for my "And Nana doesn't like you" comment.

My most wonderful umbrella which looks, er, looked like a big ass, bright pink Gerber daisy and made me oh-so happy on a rainy day was all whopper jawed as I opened it.


I really enjoyed that umbrella. Mom got it for me, I remember just where we were that day.

So my mean spirited-ness was rewarded with me losing an item I liked. Perfect. Fuckin' perfect.

Flash forward to later that evening once I'd arrived home. Double D was not quite home yet and I took Uncle John out for his walk to doodle. So there I am, yet again, standing in the rain. Only this time I'm trying to not step on worms in my flip floppy feet (thank you warm Thanksgiving!), while balancing a doodle bag, a smokey treat and my other umbrella, a golf umbrella. Oh, in the dark. So of course I'm wearin' my headlamp (it's dark here by 5ish). Yeah, I'm lookin' like a wackadoo who a random passerby, or noisy neighbor would look at and think, 'well, she shouldn't be in carge of keeping that cute little dog alive!, look.

At some point I give my umbrella a spin and I'm nearly blinded by the two arm that are no longer attached to the umbrella, floating and flinging perilously close to my eye orbs.

So now I started Thanksgiving day with two umbrellas and by 6pm I've go zero fully functional umbrellas. Fanfuckingtastic.

Thanks John Legend and karma.

The next morning I get an early AM call, which is NEVER good. No one ever calls at an ungodly early hour to pass along good news, ya know? It was D calling to let me know that my favorite of she and her hubby's chocolate labs, Gus was going to have to be put to sleep that morning. Apparently she'd uncharacteristically woken up at the ass crack of dawn to find him disoriented and no longer just in an old dog age state that made it apparent that the sad time had come.


Words fail me. It's just another sad thing that's happened this year. There's been a disproportionate of sad things happening both in my life and the lives of some of the people in the world I care most for. And I do not like it.

RIP Gus.

(Gustov ~ October 21, 1997 - November 26, 2010)

Thank you Thanksgiving for being over. Maybe next year we'll have a better go 'round. to run an errand.

Yes. In the rain.

No. I don't have a new umbrella yet.

Again, thanks John Legend and karma.

Thanks a lot.



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