Today would have been my father’s 75th birthday. To honor him, I present here a partial list of Mike Mayer-isms, and encourage you to stick a finger in the cake at your next party. Colder than a witch’s tit in July. “Get your foot off the clutch!” Jesus H. Christ You’re a wart on the ass of progress. TURN. OFF. THE. LIGHTS. Humpin’ Jesus. Pay cash. Drive that car like it was made to
Ouch: When the Truth Hurts
Sometimes we hang with this “young couple,” who mistakenly think, for some bizarre reason, rather-attractive-husband and I are hip and kinda cool, you know, for older parents. (It’s the nose-ring. It fools ’em every time.) They keep us young, and we’re proof you can survive marriage and parenthood your own person. Yesterday we had pitchers (plural) of margaritas and hung out in their magnificent, higher-tax-bracket-than-I backyard. They have two wonder
Victory Mary
Update on my friendly neighborhood racist homophobe senior citizen, Vicki. (Biting My Tongue) Yes, it happened. She’d fallen and couldn’t get up. I visited at the hospital where they had no one there by that name. I went home, confirmed and called, insisting, I know she’s there. Nope. Not there. Of course, I thought she’d died, but this old pain-in-the-ass will live forever no doubt. Recuperating in a not-too-bad-smelling nursing
Biting My Tongue during racist conversation
Yesterday, I was a lady who lunched. Three of us went; they had salad, I bit my tongue off, and the inside of my cheeks and my nails. We’re the only two friends this woman has anymore, and here’s why. Our lunchtime, um, discussion: Couldn’t vote for Obama because of his terrorist background. Our government is running a ponzi scheme just like Madoff. Reverend Al is a racist and hates white