Hot Tubs, Yuppies, and Dogs

I don't like hot tubs.

First off, I don't even particularly like water.  Oh, it's fine to drink, but I have a preference for hot tap water if I'm drinking the stuff.  Frankly, most of the time I'd rather have gin and juice.

Large bodies of water scare me.  I'm fine with a bubble bath, but I don't swim.  I don't like the ocean and lakes terrify me.  I don't even enjoy a shower because it feels like the water is trying to drown me.  One wrong turn and the water is in my eyes and up my nose.

I know people who have hot tubs.  (These people are primarily yuppie types.)  They all seem to think I want to get in their nasty hot water with them.  I do not.  Sometimes, yuppie people who have hot tubs want to get into them nekkid.  That's fine for them if they are home alone, but don't even think about getting in a hot tub nekkid with me.  That is gross.

Nasty stuff lives in hot water.  Believe me on this one.  If you go in, wear a wet suit just to be safe.  All those bubbles can hide a multitude of sins.  I'm just saying.

My dogs, Harry and Zoe don't like water either.  Harry (the big guy who looks like a bear in this photo) likes chasing ducks into the water, but only up to his elbow joints.  He also stays next to me when I am in the bathtub because he thinks I may be in need of protection from bad people if they should walk in while I'm bathing.  He has a point.

I take my Kindle and iphone and regular telephone with me into the bathroom with me.  But I never take guns,grenades, or knives.  Harry thinks I'm being foolish not to, but hey.  That's what he's here for.  My former dog, Willie, a German Shepherd, loved the water.  He would race into the waves at the ocean, jump in the lake, or splash into the tub with me at any given chance.  Harry just lays down next to the tub and looks bored when I'm in the bath.

Zoe will not even walk into the bathroom if I am bathing. She hates water with a passion.  Zoe will not even wade in after ducks.  She's a girl after my own heart.

If I come to visit you, and you are a yuppie, and have a hot tub, I will sit on a chair next to your hot tub while you are in it and have a gin and juice.  But don't invite me in because I won't do it.

The Church People Next Door

They moved in next door when my kids were young.

I was renting an apartment in the Richmond District of San Francisco.  I saw my new neighbors the weekend they moved in.

They were both young, attractive, and moving to San Francisco from Memphis.  They seemed very nice.  I spoke with them while they were moving in and gave them some ice water.  My kids were happy to meet the new neighbors who seemed like a very nice young couple.

I found out from our landlord that the man was a minister at a local Baptist church and his wife taught at a local elementary school.  Charming people, the landlord assured me.

About a week after they moved in, I invited them both over for a cup of coffee (to be neighborly, you understand).

My kids were home because it was Saturday.  Sheila was about 3 and her brother was about 6.  The new neighbors and I  sat and had coffee and cookies and talked about the man's church and the woman's school position.  The kids wandered around the apartment playing while we chatted. 

The kids were in my bedroom, and I wondered what they were up to, but I didn't interrupt to go check on them.  The minister and I were discussing his church and he asked me if the children and I attended services.  I answered him honestly that we did go to different churches almost every weekend, but that I was not really a member of any congregation.  

I could hear my daughter laughing and her brother saying, "No, let me see it!" and I heard a weird sound, almost like an electric mixer.  My daughter came running into the living room holding a 10" dildo that was pulsing away.  She had a great big grin on her face as she said "Mommie, look!"

Conversation came to an abrupt and absolute halt.  I tried my hardest to contain myself, but laughter started up and I couldn't hold it in.  I spluttered coffee all down the front of my blouse.  The harder I tried to stop laughing, the harder I laughed.  When I saw the church people's eyes trying to act like they didn't notice anything amiss, I nearly fell off my chair.  We bid each other a quick farewell, and I collapsed again in horror, humiliation and laughter.

I guess I could have explained to them that the dildo had been a joke gift from an ex-boyfriend.  I guess I could have explained that I had only kept it because I didn't want to throw it in the trash and have someone "discover" it.  I guess I could have explained that 10" of dildo might be too much of a good thing.

I never went to my neighbor's church.  I never invited them for coffee again. I think they were both glad that I didn't. 

Frankly, I was glad when they moved about 6 months later and I no longer had to hide when I saw them coming or going.

Pacification with Pork Chops

My darling daughter, Sheila, and her husband, and my granddaughter, Arianna, came for a visit yesterday.


Visits from my daughter are always a pleasure, but they also generally make me feel like I'm a little lost in space. Plans change on the fly, so to speak.  It started off with a series of frantic telephone calls on Friday evening. Voice messages, about 10 of them, expressed extreme concern over my whereabouts.

"Mother, where are you?  Call me!"

"Mother, are you okay?  Call me!"

"Mother, I'm getting worried.  Call me!"

"Mother, I've called you on your home phone and your cell phone and there's no answer!  Call me!"

"Mother, this is ridiculous!  I've been calling you for two hours!  Call me!"

"Mother, it's getting late and you still haven't called me back!  Call me!"

"Mother, we were thinking of coming over to see you, but it's late for that now!  Why haven't you called me?"

"Mother, it's me!  Call me!"

"Mother, well, you aren't answering.  Call me when you get home."

"Mother, it's 8 o'clock at night.  I'm really getting concerned.  Please call me!"

"Call me!"

Well, heavens to Betsy!  What on earth is this all about?  I really am not a feeble person.  I'm not at all likely to be lying injured on the floor with my arms and my legs up in the air like a turtle flipped over on its back.  I am not saying that is impossible, but it's just not likely.  At least, I've never done it before (not to my daughter's knowledge anyway!).

I had been to dinner with a dear friend.  I don't answer my cell phone when I'm at dinner.  I turn off my cell phone unless I'm expecting an important call.  I don't talk on my phone or "text" or play games on my cell  when I am with other people.  Maybe that's because I'm old.

I telephoned Sheila about 8:10 PM and asked her "What's up?".  She railed for a few moments about how worried she had been about me.  "Mom!  Your husband is away and you really need to let people know what you are doing!"  Uh, really?  I get a call from my daughter about once a week, or once every other week.  If I am not home, she can leave a message.  I will call back when I get home.  Seems reasonable to me.

Because Sheila had been so worried about me, she announced that she would be paying me a visit the next day.  (I think she wanted to make sure I was not eating cat food and/or drinking malt liquor to excess  since "my husband is away".)  I told her I would love to see her and that we could have lunch on Saturday.  Simple plans are always best, I think.

On Saturday, Sheila phoned about noon to propose that we change our visit from Saturday to Sunday.  That was agreeable to me.  We again decided to shoot for lunch, and that Sheila's husband and daughter would be joining us.  Sounded fine.

I called my daughter at 11 AM on Sunday to see when she was leaving.  Sheila told me that they were all still in bed, but they would call me in a few minutes to set up a time.  (I thought to myself, "Queer.  Don't people have lunch around noon?")  Never mind.  Sheila called an hour later with a new plan.  I'll lay it out for you here:

"Mom, new plan.  Why don't we come over about 2 or 3 this afternoon and I'll bring a fish.  I'll cook for you and we'll do all the clean up afterwards.  How does that sound?"  Well, frankly, bringing a fish to visit me or to cook for me just didn't tickle my fancy at all.

I said, "Never mind Honey.  I'll make pork chops."  Stunned silence and then peals of gratitude rang out of the phone!  "Oh my god!  I love your pork chops so much!  I can't wait!  See you at 3 this afternoon!" 

Of course, at 3 in the afternoon, Sheila was just getting out of the shower when I called her.

But my pork chops really are divine.

I Was Supposed To Marry Elvis

I think I was 10 when I first saw Elvis Presley on the Ed Sullivan Show.

Before that first introduction to the man who should have been my first husband, I had planned to become a nun.  I prayed on it, and was sure I had a "calling".  That "calling" went right out the window when Elvis made his appearance on the small black and white television screen.

Elvis was born on January 8th.  I was born on January 21st.  Elvis was 11 years older than I was but age was just a number to me.  (I've always been sort of free and easy about those things.  Ask anyone.)

I was 12 when Elvis left to go into the Army.  I was distraught, but brave.  I knew he'd probably come back alive since he was in Germany and it was not during a war or anything.

While Elvis was in Germany, he met this girl, Priscilla, who was only 14.  I was stunned.  I was not too young for him after all, having turned 13 and 14 while he was gone.  I had black hair.  I could have gotten blue contacts if that's what he liked.  I loved him.  I gave up being a nun for him.  My mother hated Elvis at first, but then she and her sister fell in love with him about the time he started doing those tacky Las Vegas shows.

I moved on from Elvis when I was almost 15.  I even stopped seeing his movies.  My mother and my aunt still swooned over him even in those stupid looking jumpsuits.  If I had been his wife, I would not have allowed him to wear anything so dumb.  (Ask Alex if you don't believe me.)

If I had been able to marry Elvis at 10, I would have in a heartbeat.  By the time I was 15, the love affair was over.  It may be just as well, seeing as how it didn't turn out really great in the long run.  I still think the guy could sing though.

I visited my son in Memphis when he was in Millington, TN,  doing his "A School" to become a Navy Airman.  My daughter Sheila and I stayed in a suite at  the Hyatt Regency.  My son John joined us there for the weekend.  Sheila and I were going on to Oklahoma City to visit my mother's older sister, Berta, for a few days on our trip before returning to San Francisco.  The day we left Memphis, I called my aunt to confirm our arrival time with her.  She was horrified that I had been in Memphis and not visited Graceland.

My daughter and I told her we would try to get on a tour before we caught our airplane.  We took the Graceland tour.  I never felt so inbred in my life.

When I saw the "jungle room", I thanked my lucky stars I had escape the fate of being Elvis's wife.

Fake Smiles

Can you grin like an idiot when you are sad? 

I can.  I'm bored and I'm missing my husband.  I've done a number of things to "keep myself busy" but none of it is working.

I had dinner with a friend on Friday night.  Eh.  I bought some new sandals.  Eh.  I bought $100 worth of new panties.  Eh.

I'm taking the dogs out in a bit to Coast Guard Island.  That may or may not cheer me.

Alex is gone again and he has been for a while now.  He spent all of the month of June away, and he's gone until the end of August this time.  Shoot!  That's our summer!  I hate it when I'm home alone.  But I hate doing things just to be doing things too.

I went to a party yesterday hosted by a lady across the street.  I really didn't know anybody but they were all friendly people.  I drank two glasses of white wine, felt it hit me and went home.  I just felt miserable.  Being around a bunch of people didn't make me less miserable.

I think I should put on my ratty old robe and ratty old nightgown and just not get dressed until Alex comes home again.  Oh wait.  I have to go to San Francisco to the doctor tomorrow.  I like my doctor so I don't really mind.  Well, I do mind because he's going to ask me if I've been to the gyn and had the mammogram he ordered for me.  I have not done either thing and I have no immediate plans to do them.  I am just not in the mood for all that tom-foolery right now.

Maybe I'll ask the doc for some happy pills.  Oh shoot, I doubt there really is such a thing.

Dressing Ari

With her waist length hair and tiny stature, dressing Arianna is like dressing a Barbie doll come to life.

School starts next week for Ari.  In two weeks she will turn 16.  Rather than trying to find her a "present" for her birthday, I decided to take Ari shopping for back to school clothing.

Ari wears a size 0 or a size 2, depending on the cut of the clothing.  Our first stop was to a shop that carries rather high end designer labels.

We found one Nicole Miller black cocktail dress in a size zero that looked like it would have potential.  Arianna tried it on with a pair of 4 inch black stiletto pumps.  When she walked out of the dressing room, the customers and sales staff all came to a collective halt and gasped.  Ari looked like a live Barbie doll!  She put her hands on her hips and posed a bit much to the delight of the people in the store.

Arianna went back into the fitting room and came out with the dress on the hanger as I was searching for my credit card.  I said, "Let's get this!  It's perfect!" and Ari shook her head.  She asked the saleswoman if she could hold the dress for a couple of hours while we looked around.  I was stunned.  As we walked out of the store, Arianna said "Grandma, I loved that dress.  But I don't need that dress.  I need school clothes."  Humph!  I thought we would get the dress and school clothes but Ari thought that would be wasteful.  (I suppose she did not inherit all of my genes.)

We went to a couple of boutique stores and I was amazed at how good everything looked on her.  The skinny jeans, the high waisted shorts, the tops, the dresses.  Ari has amazingly good taste for herself, and there were only a couple of instances when I said "Naw!" and that was because the clothing didn't fit perfectly.  (If it's a simple matter of hemline, something can be easily shortened, but remaking a dress to fit is a much more complicated and expensive process, plus you sometimes get an outcome that you really are not delighted with.)

Because Ari is so petite, (a mere 5'2" and about 108 pounds), she keeps her clothing simple.  It seems intuitive to her not to overwhelm herself with too dramatic clothing.  I wish I had such good fashion sense!  Arianna was delighted with her purchases and looked magnificent in each and every one of the things we bought.  She did a little fashion show for her parents last evening when they came to pick her up and they were delighted with her choices as well.

Damn it!  I still want to go back and get that little Nicole Miller dress for her!

A Cautionary Tale

You cannot really tell by looking at me that I can be a complete and total  blithering idiot, (unless you count the wacky hair, but that is my trademark).

My darling girl, Nicky and her gorgeous son Max, left early in the morning to go back home to that place in far east Canada.  I was feeling a little bluesy when the phone rang about noon, but had no idea that my life as I know it was about to change in the next few minutes.

A man was on the telephone and ascertained that he was talking to the correct person.  I assured him that he was.  This man then told me his name was Bruce Goodall and that he was a field agent for the DEA.  I made him repeat that part, and replied "Okay, Mr. Goodall, what can I do for you?"  At first I thought it might be a prank call, but within the next couple of minutes, I realized it was not.

Mr. Goodall told me I was being investigated because of my relationship with overseas pharmacy companies.  I was speechless.  I tried to interrupt him to say that I had no idea what he might be talking about.  He then asked me "Okay, Linda, then where are you getting your weight loss medication and your Xanax?"  Now I was really confused as I take neither drugs for weight loss or for anxiety, although I could probably have used both at this particular time.  This guy rambled on to me in a very hostile and threatening manner until I finally said, "Wait a minute!  About 5 years ago, I got a solicitation for Retin A eye cream.  I think it was from a Canadian Company and I ordered it on the internet."

Mr. Goodall asked me if I knew that Retin A was a controlled drug in the US?  ("I may have known that, but I'm not sure:  I just knew it was cheap compared to a visit to a skin doctor to get an order for it.  I assumed it was legal in Canada.", I responded.)  Mr. Goodall then asked if my husband knew that I had a close relationship with foreign pharmacies and drug dealers, and I told him I wasn't sure.  I may have told him I ordered the eye cream, but it was a long time ago.  Mr. Goodall told me that I would have to go to trial and that he had agents two blocks away from me ready to come and pick me up.  He also said that the company I had ordered the Retin A from was importing heroin and meth into the United States.  My prison sentence would be between 15 and 20 years if I went to trial and was found guilty.

By this time, I was shaking. Goodall then told me that there might be a way out of this mess for me if I was interested.  (Of course I was interested.  Orange is not my color!)  I'm making light of this now, but he actually had me scared.  Mr. Goodall told me to hold on for a moment and he would connect me with his boss, who was the head of the DEA in the area.  I was ready to cooperate at that point and that's for sure!

The man who came on the phone told me his name was Rick something or the other.  He said "We know you are not a drug dealer or even a problem drug user.  We want to work with you to get you out of this mess.  You made a mistake, that's all.  I don't want to see you in prison, Linda."  (I don't want to see me in prison either, Rick.)  At least Rick was playing the role of good cop and then he began telling me something about working this out with me paying a fine and it would all go away.

"What kind of a fine?" I asked.  Rick replied that he really wasn't sure, but it would be in the neighborhood of $5,000 to $10,000, and that this would have to be taken care of immediately.  Okay, I said, but wondering where I would lay hands on the money immediately.  The call got cut off and I was left there with the phone in my hand stark raving terrified. 

Then something came over me that made me stop panic mode and start thinking.  Wait a moment.  I didn't think what I did was illegal in the first place.  In the second place, who ever went to prison for 20 years for buying a tube of eye cream from Canada?  Also, since when does the DEA ask you for money to make it all "go away"?  There was something fishy going on.

Rick called back several minutes later.  He said that he had been working on the details of fixing the situation for me.  He then asked me if I was working on my part of it.  I responded "And what would that be, Rick?" and he blustered "putting together the money so that you can wire transfer it before the close of business today".  I replied that I was going to telephone my attorney and that until I had legal counsel, I would not be giving money to anyone.  Rick, (slightly hysterical now), replied "Don't contact an attorney!  Don't you see that would be a deal breaker!  I'm trying my hardest to help you out here."

I calmly asked for his phone number and told him I would get back to him after I spoke with my lawyer.  He hung up.

I did telephone the DEA local office and they assured me that this was an attempt at extortion.  They took a report and assured me that nobody from the DEA would make such a call.  Further, there are a list of drugs that cannot be imported from overseas, but eye cream was definitely not on that list.

I felt pretty stupid to have been taken in by such a wild tale, but these people were actually so intimidating that I lost my sense of judgement. I shudder to think that some people may not have been so lucky.

From now on if a person in law enforcement even asks me what time it is, I'm going to request that he or she  refer that question to my lawyer.