The Inmates Run the Asylum

Uncle Lucky arranged for the family to get together at a corner bar to have a bit of a memorial drink for Papa. He was the youngest of ten kids, but he was considered the head of our clan and busted his ass to keep us all connected. The rest of the family felt they should do SOMETHING to honor him and his life.

It was fitting and the kind of thing Papa would have liked. Nothing sad. Just the family getting together at a bar, eating and drinking and laughing and telling stories. Aunt Ruby kept getting choked up, but it was understandable. Papa lived with her for six years after their parents died (their mom died when Papa was 8 and their dad died when Papa was 12 or 13). She contributed to his raising. And Aunt Jo got unexpectedly choked up talking about Grandma (her sister). But other than that, things were pretty dry-eyed.

Grandma and Papa were there in spirit and in body, so to speak. Dad has both of their ashes in the Jeep. He said if Aunt Ruby hadn't have been there, he'd have put Papa's ashes in his wheel chair with his ball cap on top and sat it at one of the tables.

Yeah, he's having entirely too much fun with the remains of his parents. He actually admitted to it. He said he might not spread them after all because he is enjoying them so much.

My DNA is a funky, funky thing.

It was nice chatting with some family members. Aunt Ruby and I talked baseball and the Cubs. Not many people can say they have awesome baseball talks with their 83 year old great-aunt, but considering Uncle Harry was so important and instrumental to little league in the area, it's not far-fetched for me.

Speaking of being instrumental, members of the Decatur Computer Club, which Papa helped start and was president of for many years, stopped by and gave the family a nice card. He hadn't really been much of a participant for the last few years of his life, so to have them do that was really nice.

It was just a nice afternoon all around. I'm glad they did it and I'm glad I went.

My only complaint about the Brixie laptop is that it's mousepad isn't as good as the Tiki Idol laptop's mousepad. So sometimes when I want to play Bejeweled Blitz, I get the mouse from the Muchacho desktop and use it if it is not otherwise engaged.

I walked into the kitchen to put the mouse back this afternoon and this conversation ensues:

Dad: You haven't seen the mouse for that computer have you?
Me: Yeah. I had it. I'm putting it back.
Dad: Oh! I was looking all over for it. I thought maybe I left it on the kitchen counter or took in the living room with me. Hell, I even looked out in the Jeep to see if I took it with me when I went to get a cigarette.
Me: That's just sad, Dad.
Dad: At least I acknowledge that I have these problems.

Ladies and gentlemen, my DNA.

Sharktopus has joined Pterodactyl and MegaPirahna in my top tier of SyFy movies. It was so deliciously bad that I'm pretty sure it gave me heart disease.

Eric Roberts was hands down the best actor (and he looked like he was having the most fun). The girl who played his daughter couldn't decide on an accent. The hero could only handle too emotions: dick and washboard abs. A lot of the other roles could have been cast with cardboard cutouts and it would have achieved the same effect. And Sharktopus was by far the most likable character in the whole film.

It was horrible and I loved it.

Bless you, SyFy. Bless you for this Saturday night crap that will probably one day give me a stroke.

I decided to teach myself how to write left-handed. Learning to do things with your non-dominate hand is supposed to stimulate your brain.

I don't know if you can stimulate mush, but I guess we'll see.

It's well established that my reading comprehension fail makes my life more interesting. There are times, though, when I actually get all of the words right, but for whatever reason, my brain chooses to interpret them oddly.

Today I read the headline, "Woman's Body Found After 12 Years". My first thought was...how did they lose her body? That should be one of the those things that stay in the last place that you put it. It's not like it would roll under the couch or the cat would hide it or something.

Then my brain kicked in and I realized it wasn't going to be a fun story about misplaced corpses so I didn't read the article.

Yeah, I'm kind of a bad person.

We've had unseasonably cool weather lately. This week the lows are supposed to be in the forties. Last night and tonight it's supposed to be in the fifties.

I've been shutting my windows at night because my body temperature must drop ten degrees when I sleep. Rarely am I too hot when I sleep and even in the summer, I'll sleep under a sheet, comforter, and at least one blanket.

However, the windows in the rest of the house have stayed open. Last night Carrie came in my room to warm up because she got so chilly out in the kitchen. She tried shutting the windows, but two of them stick really badly and with her prolapsed bladder, the angle is too odd and the force needed is too much and it hurts her to shut them. Not to mention it upsets the cats.

So, I thought tonight that I'd shut the windows. I shut the ones in the kitchen and the dining room and then asked Dad, who's wearing a sweatshirt and snuggled under his sleeping bag in the living room, if he wanted me to shut the windows in there.

Dad: Nah. I'm good.
Me: You got your stocking cap?
Dad: Got my stocking cap.

See that people? Why shut the windows when you can just put on a stocking cap?

This is my blood, my DNA.

Be afraid.

I know several people were up at all hours last night to watch Harry Potter. I did not go see the movie, but I was up at all hours.

I probably fell asleep a little after two and I woke up at 4:30 to a storm. Nothing serious, but I decided to go to the bathroom.

It was the wrong decision.

My body treated the early morning pee break as the signal that my nap was over. Sometimes after a couple of hours, I'll fall back to sleep. This was not one of those times. I figured that out by about seven.

So, I officially started my day. The only good thing about getting up that early is that I got to watch Imagination Movers.

I like that show. I like the songs. Shut up.

I did get to take a three hour nap later in the afternoon, though. And despite the lack of sleep, I was surprisingly coherent and productive.

Though the sleep deprevation might explain why I ended up watching a biography on the BeeGees.

I don't know why else I'd watch it.

Happy 4th of July to my American friends. Happy Saturday to everyone else.

Due to inconvenient weather being inconvenient, our plans to hang out in a parking lot and drink redneck cocktails while possibly blowing stuff up have been pushed back to tomorrow.

And since it is a day that usually involves someone, somewhere, grievously injuring themselves (and since I haven't done it in awhile), how about a father/daughter conversation on hospital trips.

*Dad sharpens a knife then immediately cuts his finger on it*
Me: Hey, just because our plans for the day got postponed doesn't mean I want to spend the afternoon with you in the ER.
Dad: Like you'd go.
Me: Hey, last time you tried cutting a finger off it was Christmas Eve.
Dad: You wouldn't go to the hospital with me if it was August 13th.
Me: I would if you were dying and I was in the will.
Dad: I'll put your sister in the will. Leave it all to her.
Me: *snorts* Good move. She'd have it all spent before you drew your last breath.
Dad: I'll just leave her the old Jeep. "To Mimzie, I bequeath the old Jeep. You wrecked it, you got it." She'd be thrilled.
Me: Yeah, she would.

For the record, Dad didn't cut himself badly enough to go for stitches.

This makes the third holiday I know of for sure that he's cut himself.

Dad's hardcore like that.

I'm posting this entry from my laptop sitting on my bedroom floor while watching South Park.

I realize for most people this isn't a big deal. Many of my online friends have television sets in the same room as their computers. My desktop is in the kitchen. We have no TV in there.

For several years I thought how great it would be to be able to surf the web and chat with my online friends while watching TV. I thought about trying to con Dad into putting a TV in the kitchen. It would be awesome to watch a show or a movie with my friends in another state or not have to choose between watching Dracula for the 47th time or playing pull tabs on Facebook.

But now, I'm thinking that maybe it's better that I keep my TV and Internet seperate.

It's taken me like an hour just to post this entry. The TV keep distracting me.

Carrie ate a second helping of chicken and noodles, but then decided she really wanted ice cream.

I ate ice cream, but then decided I really wanted a second helping of chicken and noodles.

I have enough trouble keeping my thoughts straight. Now it seems I'm getting them mixed up with other people's, too.

I'll never win.