Here’s a Quarter – Call Someone Who Cares (Crazy Conversations)



Cotton, peas, your friends, your seat, your nose… There are a lot of things you can pick. Family isn’t one of them. Disclaimer: Life is crazy, people are crazier and my family… well they get the crazy award if there is one. This is a work of ‘true fiction’ inspired by family. The names have been changed to protect the guilty and the photos are meant to confuse the innocent.

Here’s a Quarter – Call Someone Who Cares or Cats, Mice, Birds & Bulls*t (Crazy Conversations)

Lenny: I called you at least a dozen times Saturday! Why didn’t you answer?

Me: Did you leave a message?

Lenny: Hell no, I did not leave a message. Why don’t you answer your phone?

Me: Well because sometimes I am busy.

Lenny: You are not so busy that you can’t pick up the phone at some point. I mean – for Pete’s sake I called you twelve to fifteen times – all day long and you ignored me.

Me:  Hmm. I usually do answer if I recognize the name or the number and (of course) if I am free to talk.

Lenny: Oh, so you were busy. Are you working on a new story?

Me: Nah.

Lenny: Then what are you so “busy” doing?

Me: I have a couple minor things in the works but mostly … Hmm… let me think … I guess most of my time is spent playing with the kittens – oh and watching the birds. Maddie, my female cat – mother to the kittens – killed a Bluebird and ate it. Lordy, lord! I know it is only natural but I have to admit it troubled me seeing it. That poor little bird flapping his beautiful blue wings so fiercely at first… then flap, flap flap. He went limp and it was over. I almost cried. I prefer not to see it, ya know?!  Did I tell you one of my tomcats, Jimmy, sweet little Jimmy Jam killed a Cardinal? Oh man, that was unsettling. I don’t know if I can ever see him as being sweet again. I don’t mind them killing mice but–


Lenny: So you are so busy with these kittens who [by the way] you know will grow up to kill the birds because that is what cats do – you are saying this full time obsession prevents you from answering your phone?

Me: No, that is not what I said. Didn’t you hear the part where I said if I recognize the number? I’m looking through my phone and apparently you are not even listed in my contacts; if you were stored in my contacts my phone would specifically say “Incoming call from Lenny” and then I would (probably) answer.

Lenny: Probably?!

Me: Yes PROBABLY. Although I’m not sure now.

Lenny: Why? What do you mean?

Me: I’m not sure I want to talk to anyone who is so callous toward cats and birds.

Lenny: I am not callous – I’m just saying —

Me: Oh, shut up hater of God’s creations. Back to your query, I’m still looking… Why aren’t you in my contacts? I don’t have your number. Hmm… no voice mail … no messages…

Lenny: Oh my gosh! You are screening your calls, aren’t you? Why are you screening your calls?

Me: That’s my business and you haven’t answered my question. I save important numbers. Why don’t I have your phone number stored?

Lenny: Because I use a Call Private service.

Me: What is that?

Lenny: My phone is set to restrict my ID so it shows up as anonymous or private number.

Me: Why the hell would you do that?

Lenny: Because I’m not comfortable with everybody knowing my phone number – I like my privacy.

Me: Oh, I see. In other words you’re paranoid or up to no good. That is a sneaky tactic, you know I do not like sneaky!

Lenny: So you will answer the next time I call?

Me: Not if I don’t recognize the name or number; definitely not if it is anonymous or private.

Lenny: Why?

Me: Because I like to know who I am going to be talking to Mr. Sneaky Snake; who I am freely giving my time to. Maybe you should drink root-beer.

Lenny: Well, don’t you at least want to know why I called?

Me: Oh dear Lenny, [mean spirited bubble buster] in honor of your anonymity and with all due respect for your privacy [despiser of soft furry things] the answer is no. Now if you don’t mind I have a thousand kitty videos to catch up on so here’s a quarter, call someone who cares.

Mad Monday (Behind the Rage Chapter 12)

Chapter Twelve

Tallulah telephoned Ray and informed him of the miscarriage.
“I buried it out by the garden.” She spoke, nodding and shaking her head against the receiver. “No sir, but it sho nuff done broke her heart. She’s took to the bed right now `cause her Mama give her somthin’ ta make her sleep. Yessir, but we gonna git her better Mr. Ray.”
“Is her mother there?” he asked.
“Yessir, Mrs. Turner is upstairs. You want me ta git her for ya?”
“No, just tell her I will see her in a few weeks. Thank you Tallulah, I’ll call again in a couple of days.” And he hung up.

Mrs. Turner sat quietly beside her sleeping daughter filing her manicured nails and strumming them on the mahogany table as she planned her next move. For whatever reason her son in law had lost interest in the marriage and that must be remedied. He had told Maggie that he was delayed in Washington on state business but Mrs. Turner knew the truth. Yes, she knew all about the mistress he kept in town near the old French Quarter. The pregnancy happening so soon, probably on their wedding night, had been an unexpected blessing but with that gone now she needed to establish another strategy, just until she could be certain Maggie was pregnant again – but how long would that take? And would her rebellious daughter be able to carry an heir to full term?

“You don’t mind I go on home bein’ as you here, do ya, Mizrez Turner?” Tallulah asked tip toeing across the wooden floor.
“No dear, you go on. Thank you for all your efforts.” Mrs. Turner replied.
“Sorry I couldn’t do more. Call if you need me ma’am.” Mrs. Turner nodded and motioned for Tallulah to go.

Maggie groaned in her sleep as her mother took her hand and held it to her own chest.
“Beat of my heart, fruit of my own womb — I am so sorry for your loss… It would have been a boy, a deformed boy but an heir and the assurance that we needed.”
“He was my son, mother.” Maggie whimpered groggily, “Your grandson — the hideous thing buried in a tissue box by the garden… and for a moment I loved him.”
“Hush, hush.” Mrs. Turner whispered repeatedly until Maggie, once again, cried herself to sleep.

~o~

Within a short span of two weeks Maggie had made a full recovery. Mrs. Turner stayed on and accompanied her to the gynecologist. She was delighted by the report; her daughter could safely conceive in another two weeks. The doctor said two months but Mrs. Turner was sure she knew more than the incompetent physician.
“This is cause to celebrate.” Mrs. Turner said, “Let’s make a day of it. Are you up to it puddin’?”
“I believe I am.” Maggie replied, “I’ve had a hankering for an oyster po-boy and…”
“And what?” her mother asked
“I’d like to walk over to Saint Louis cathedral and light a candle for James.”
“Who on earth is James?”
“James Rayburn Lafont, that was my sons name Mama.”
“Oh Mag, it was little more than a lump of malformed tissue!” Mrs. Turner exclaimed with a hint of disgust. Maggie paused beneath the moss draped oak and stared at her mother in disbelief.
“I realize no one other than me and God will ever acknowledge his existence Mother, but can you allow me this one kindness and for one measly moment see me as something other than an avenue to YOUR dreams?”
“Of course sweetie.” She replied, patting Maggie on the head as if placating a small child.

Maggie felt a burden lift as she exited the church. Something about the mass of lighted candles comforted her. Whether it was the spirit of God or the knowing she wasn’t alone in her despair, as noted by the flickering prayer requests – either way it made her feel better.

“How about the Red Fish on Bourbon Street?” Mrs. Turner asked with pouted lips against a tube of taupe lipstick.
“Yummy.” Maggie replied swinging her leather purse by the silver fetter. Mrs. Turner reached for Maggie’s free hand as they strolled like school girls giggling at the street vendors and artists and the occasional con scouting his next target.
The Red Fish was crowded, as usual but Mrs. Turner spied an open table in the back.
“Excellent. There’s an empty table over there. I hate hiding in corners but we’ll take it.” She said waving to the hostess “Do you have your master card precious?” Maggie wasn’t listening. “Your card sweetie? It’s in your pocket book, right?” Mrs. Turner twisted in the direction of her daughters gaze. “Land o Goshen.” Her mother mumbled then regained her composure almost yelling, “They’re packed darlin’. What say we shop a little and come back later? It’ll be better for the appetite.”
“You should have spotted them first!” Maggie exclaimed angrily. “Take me home mother!”
The entire ride home from the city was cluttered with Mrs. Turner’s denials, followed by excuses for what they had just witnessed. Maggie stared out the window, trying to ignore her.
“I am not an idiot mother and neither are you!” Maggie finally responded. “Are you honestly going to disregard what you just saw? Did you see the way he looked at me? Like it was me… like I had done something wrong. I can’t take it anymore… I want to come home.” Maggie’s voice was quivering. The image of her husband smiling at – catering to the trollop who’s bed he warmed while Maggie suffered alone through the carrying and then the loss of their child. The lying, pretending to be hours away on business when in truth he was moments away on pleasure.
“Now don’t be rash Maggie.” Her mother persuaded, “These things happen. Men will be men.”
“No mother! I have forgiven his vulgar conduct more than once.” Maggie blurted out,
“He calls ME a whore on my wedding night, sodomized and humiliated me yet shows himself in public with his real whore? Leaves me alone to grieve our son? …NO! It is over!” Maggie sighed through flared nostrils, slapping the tears from her face, “No more tears. No more… No more.”
Mrs. Turner’s motherly instinct reared briefly at the thought of her child being molested and cursed, called a whore until it occurred to her.
“You told him you weren’t a virgin didn’t you?”
“What does that have to do with this?”
“Well it only explains everything!”
“Why on God’s green earth did you tell him? You foolish child!”
“Because he asked me! Did you expect me to lie? Never mind, of course you did.”
“You young girls! Your cherry was lost to a tampon, why didn’t you just tell him that? Dammit Maggie!”
“Well this marriage is over and I am coming home. I want you to help me get my things and I’ll ride back to Mississippi with you today.”
“You are not coming home Maggie Mae.” Mrs. Turner shot back with a glare in her eyes, bringing the car to a sliding halt before the splendid pillars of the Lafont estate. “You will stay and see this through – by god you will! As soon as you are pregnant again –”
“For Christ’s sake Mother, have you no soul?” she asked searching her mother’s eyes for a hint of compassion. The only thing visible was greed. “Don’t bother getting out.” Maggie yelled as she slammed the door of the pearl colored Cadillac and watched it fly down the oak lined path heading east.

Mr. Ray foned and tol me to tak the res of the week off. Seems hez comin home early and I bets he is bringin you sumthin real nice. May be yall have a secun hunymoon. Cawl me ifn you need to my sweet Magy gurl. –T
Maggie had to smile as she read the note from Tallulah. Though the spelling was atrocious the sentiment was more than touching. The smile didn’t last long as she opened the heavy pine doors and was greeted by a portrait of Senator Ray Lafont. She stomped up the stairs to the room filled with only sad memories and began packing.

“I’ll take a room in a hotel till I can figure out what to do next.” She spoke aloud to herself as she yanked dresses from their hangers and emptied drawers, “I’ll camp down by the swamp but I will not stay a day longer in this snake pit.” She had just secured the zipper on the Louis Vuitton luggage when Ray walked in.
“Where do you think you’re going? He asked.
“Away from here.” Maggie replied, without looking in his direction.
“And how do you propose to do that?”
“I suppose I’ll call a cab.”
“How do you expect to pay for the cab?”
“They’ll accept a credit card.” Maggie shot back, yanking the bag up and starting toward the door. “Save your breath. It is over.” In a rapid fluid motion Ray locked the door and stood blocking her access. “I don’t want to fight with you Ray. You win, now please let me pass.”
“You won’t reconsider?” he asked with a sick smirk.
“No!” Maggie answered sharply.
“I told you what to expect in the way of treatment. Didn’t I tell you Mag? You’re used goods. You’re diseased womb isn’t even fit to carry my seed, you proved that. But I’ll allow you to remain my wife under a few conditions.”
“Are you insane?” Maggie glared at him, “I no longer want to be your wife and the sooner I can put you behind me the better off I’ll be.”
Ray could see her conviction and knew that it was futile to try and sway her.
“You selfish tramp!” he spoke through gnarled lips, “Have you even thought about what this might due to my reputation? My seat in the senate or my chances at re-election?”
“Really Ray?” Maggie was aghast, “Have you considered what your public displays of affection with that trollop might do? Everyone from Biloxi to Baton Rouge knows about your real whore. Everyone in Orleans parish knows her name and address, the address that YOU supply her with.”
“You watch your mouth.” He growled.
“You don’t get to tell me what to do any more darlin’,” Maggie laughed a wicked laugh, “go back and bully your trampy brunette on Dauphine Street. She still lives there doesn’t she?” Ray was simmering and Maggie watched with delight as his nostrils expanded and the pink capillaries of his face and eyes bulged.
“Give me your check book and your cards.” He demanded. Before Maggie could extract the items from her purse, he yanked it from her and emptied it on the floor, kicking the contents away. He took two twenty dollar bills and shoved them into her cleavage. “That will get you a cab into town. I imagine you can beg enough to pay for a meal once you get there. That’s all I can do for you.”
“You bastard.” She screamed, “You worthless, low life, backwoods son of a -” Maggie did not complete the raving comment; Ray’s hand was around her neck. Without warning, her head landed hard against the heavy door.
“That kind of talk just might get you an old fashioned backwoods ass whopping southern belle.” He spoke as he slammed her skull against the antique door facing again.
“Go to hell.” She managed to say just before the room went dark.
Consciousness came and went as Maggie felt herself being dragged across the floor. She heard water running and gagged as the bar of ivory soap filled her mouth.
“What did I tell you about that filthy mouth?” Ray growled as he twisted the bar, screwing it toward her throat. Maggie could feel the white perfumed lye shave against her teeth, stifling her ability to breathe and forced herself to relax and inhale slowly through her nose. She could see herself in the bathroom mirror as Ray lifted her to her feet by the hair of her head, just before he plunged her face in to the marble sink. He held her face up beneath the tap.
I’m drowning. Dear God help me, she prayed.
Ray withdrew the soap but held her tightly in place. When she stopped struggling, he lifted her up to face him.
“Have you learned your lesson?” he asked.
Maggie could not yet speak. Each effort sent pink bubbles foaming from her blood-tinged lips. The stinging in her lungs made it hard to catch her breath, she coughed up bits of soap and tried again to speak. He held her there, in front of the mirror; one hand full of hair and the other clutching her jaw. “Have you had enough?”
Maggie nodded.
“You owe me an apology. You know that?” He said, staring down into her eyes and pressing his thumb harder into her neck. “Now do you want to say something?” Maggie nodded again and he slowly released her chin. “Go ahead.”
Maggie cleared her throat and dabbed at the bubbles with her tongue that were still forming with each gasp, took a deep breath and declared, “Fuck you.”
The first lick of her skull against the smooth stone counter brought blood; Maggie watched it spatter on the mirror as she sunk her claws deep into the flesh of his face. The second punch caused her head to spin, by the third or fourth her arms fell limp. Ray did not notice. When the punching stopped, when his shoulders were fatigued from swinging he bounced her head against the hard surface once more for good measure. Maggie fell motionless to the floor; Ray kicked her and watched to see if she would move. She didn’t.
~o~

When Maggie regained consciousness she was lying naked on the floor. Ray was gone, so were her luggage and all the contents in her purse. She inched her way through the bedroom, found the door and reached to open it. Maggie wrenched the knob left and right without success. Frantically she shook the antique hardware; she could hear the skeleton key jingle, metal against metal on the other side of the door. She called out for Tallulah before hazily remembering the note she’d found earlier. Blindly the battered woman ran her hands over and around the nightstand but found nothing. Maggie crawled back to the bathroom and reached for the vintage telephone beside the claw tub. Feeling, counting the holes in the dial she managed 911 but there was no answer. She pressed and released the receiver several times before grasping the fact that there was no dial tone. She felt hopeless. She was caged, there was no one around for miles and Ray had removed the phone cord, her last bit of hope.
Maggie dragged herself to the linen closet and retrieved a face cloth. She felt her way, by memory to the sink and began washing the caked blood from her eyes. When she was able to see her reflection she decided it was not as bad as she had feared. Her face looked like a lumpy mass of clay surrounded by scarlet colored yarn but there were no serious lacerations. She filled the tub with hot water and an entire box of fine Artisan bath salts, slid down and washed the red stain from her hair.
No tears. She reminded herself when she felt the desolation overtaking her. I can’t jump from the balcony, I’ll break my leg, she plotted, but I could tie the sheets together and let myself down from the balcony. Yes. Maggie deliberated with optimism. She eased her pain-riddled body from the bloody water and hobbled to the closet only to find it empty.
“I hate you!” she screamed. “I’ll get out of here or die trying.” There was no one to hear her scream, not while her husband punched her and cracked her skull against the unforgiving surface, there was no one then and no one now. “Look at me – I don’t need any clothes.” She said yanking the drapes from the glass door that led to freedom. She grabbed the handle and pulled but it refused to budge. Peering outside at just the right angle she could see the makeshift lock holding the door.
“Really Ray? Really?” Maggie yelled and stomped in a rage grabbing the heavy Victorian lamp perched by the settee, she sent it flying like a javelin out into the yard. “Woohoo!” she laughed as glass fell all around her. “Give me those sheets.” Maggie gave an invigorated heave to free the material from the mattress and when she did, an airborne cell phone struck her in the thigh. “Thank you Jesus.” She howled and pressed the #2 on speed dial. When Mrs. Turner picked up Maggie could not utter the words.
“Maggie?” her mother cautiously spoke into the phone. “Are you there sweetie?”
“Mama… can you come get me?” Maggie slumped to the floor and blubbered through swollen lips.
“No honey. I told you – you are gonna have to work it out.” She said firmly.
“But Mama he beat me.” Maggie broke down when she heard the words coming from her own mouth.
Mrs. Turner cleared the knot from her own throat and reiterated, “You’re going to have to see this through and that’s all there is to it.”
“But Mama…” Maggie stopped. Her mother had hung up the phone. Maggie dropped her head between her knees and allowed herself to cry for a few minutes before blowing her nose in to the palm of her hand and smearing snot on the Persian rug. She opened her phone and began to scroll through the numbers. Nearly to the end she paused, took a deep breath and pressed the green send button.

“Operator. May I help you?”
“Yes.” Maggie stammered. “Put me through to Linda Latrull in ICU please.”

“This is Linda.”
“Linda… this is Maggie Lafont, I mean Maggie Turner… I’m in trouble, can you come get me?”

Linda caught a flight to New Orleans where a car was waiting with a one-way rental agreement. She let herself in at the servant’s entrance of the Lafont mansion, breaking only one pan and raced upstairs. Ray had left the skeleton key in the door. Maggie crouched quivering in the dark as she heard the metal grating, clenching the coat hanger she’d made ready to poke out the eyes if it was Ray and stretching the spiraled cord to the cell phone charger to choke him with…
“Maggie?” Linda whispered easing the door open.
“Is he here?” Maggie asked.
“I don’t think so.” Linda said turning on the light. Nothing Maggie had told her could have prepared Linda for the horrendous site before her eyes. This was not the Maggie she had last seen at LSU.“Here put these on.” Linda said throwing a Danskin running suit at her, “I know it’s not your style but it’s the smallest thing I could find and it fit in my bag easy.”
“Thank you.” Maggie said, keeping her face down.
“Don’t you duck your head!” Linda told her, “Not in front of me. Let me look at you – see if I can spot the old Maggie.” Linda surveyed the pummeled face then stared in to the watery eyes. “Yep, there she is.”
Maggie tried to smile but the swelling in her face made it difficult.
“That’s some Lower Ninth Ward stuff right there.” Linda said shaking her head, then retracted, “No that’s some Mid-City… on second thought I don’t know what that is but it is jacked up! And Ray Lafont did this to you?”
Maggie nodded.
“I knew he had a mean streak in him but I never imagined this!” Linda looked around the room, “We better get out of here. Is there anything you want to take?”
Maggie shook her head, “This is all I have.” She said holding out the cell phone and charger.
“Lucky for you, huh.” Linda took Maggie’s arm, turned off the light and peaked out in to the hall. The coast was clear or at least as far as Linda’s pin light could see. When they reached the bottom of the staircase Linda turned to Maggie,
“I’ll ask you one more time and that’s it kiddo – are you sure this is what you want to do?” Maggie nodded. “There is no turning back” she said “and probably no coming back. People like this don’t play games girlfriend and if they do – they always win.”
“Look at me Linda.” Maggie said with conviction, “And my own mother told me to stay and work it out? Who do I have? What choice do I have?”
“Okay then.” Linda agreed. Moving forward she pressed the wooden panel of the console table in the foyer exposing a tin lock box. “We’re going out the front door and taking this with us.”
“I never knew that was there.” Maggie giggled.
“It don’t look like you ever came out of that blasted bedroom.” Linda chided.
“Not often.” Maggie admitted.
Within fifteen minutes they were on I-10 heading west.
“Can you believe it?” Linda asked, “Maggie Lafont steeling away in the middle of the night with the likes of me.”
Reclining her seat, Maggie looked up at the clear black sky dotted with stars and announced, “I don’t want to disappoint you but Maggie Lafont is dead.”

 Now if that don't make you mad...

Read the entire story Behind the Rage, Book Two in the Clan Destiny series.  Read the entire series to watch revenge unfold. Follow the links to your favorite e-bookstore.

Crazy Conversations (Another Vacation)

Life is crazy, people are crazier and my family… well they get the crazy award if there is one.

Me: Something has come up and I have to go to Mexico.
Husband: What happened? Who do we know in Mexico?
Me: Our youngest daughter.Crazy Coversations JB (2)
Husband: She is not in Mexico.
Me: But she will be.
Husband: Why is she going to Mexico?

Me: She has a week off and she needs to stamp her passport.
Husband: Well that makes all kinds of sense. Why didn’t you just say you are going on another vacation?
Me: I didn’t want to sound too frivolous.
Husband: You just got back from vacation, how’s that for frivolous.
Me: That was a road trip, it didn’t require a passport.
Husband: My lord old woman! How much is this going to set me back?
Me: A grand or two. Depends on whether you want a souvenir or not.
Husband: How much is a souvenir?
Me: I don’t know. That’s another reason I have got to get there – to find out.
Husband: Hmm. What part of Mexico are we talking about?
Me: Puerto Vallarta.
Husband: Why not Cozumel or Cabo?
Me: They are too Americanized.
Husband: And Puerto Vallarta isn’t?
Me: Not as much, I hear. If you insist, I could go to Cabo and Cozumel but I would need more time and money.
Husband: If you’re going to stay on the Pacific, I like Huatulco. I bet it has changed a lot since we took the kids – that was what, twenty years ago?
Me: Twenty-one I believe.
Husband: The Cancun beaches were nice… wasn’t there a hotel at Chitchen Itza? She hasn’t seen the Mayan ruins there, has she? I wonder how far they’ve come with the reconstruction.
Me: Goodness man! If you want me to go to Cancun, Chitchen Itza, Huatulco, Cabo, Cozumel and Puerto Vallarta I will be gone for a month or more – Her vacation is only one week. I would have to go alone and I would miss you terribly, wouldn’t you miss me?
Husband: Of course I would. Yeah, you should come on home when baby girl’s vacation is over. I guess you’ll need a manicure, a pedicure, new clothes and a hair coloring?
Me: Nope. I’m going au’ naturel and wearing my every-day clothes.
HusCrazy Coversations JB (3)band: You’re not going to cover up all that gray hair? What about those garden toes—you know the last pedicure you got they made fun of your beat up old feet.
Me: Oh, shut up and mix your drink.
Husband: Ahh, that was funny, “you have a garden, yes?” I can’t believe you plopped those mud stained number nines in front of that poor fella. With all of your calluses and cracks — no wonder it took him an hour. You couldn’t pay me to do his job. Who are you calling? Are you calling the beauty shop?
Me: No, I am calling my travel agent.
Husband: Oh, come on. I was just picking at you. Are you going to cancel your trip?
Me: Au contraire monsieur, I am going to extend my itinerary to include all of the places you suggested.
Husband: Salt water and sand do work miracles. You better keep those feet in the water as much as you can. Crazy Coversations JB (1)

Crazy Conversations (Boogers Are Wet)

Boogers Are Wet (Or They Should Be)

Cotton, peas, your friends, your seat, your nose…  There are a lot of things you can pick. Family isn’t one of them.
Disclaimer: Life is crazy, people are crazier and my family… well they get the crazy award if there is one.

sisters
My baby sister was kind enough to accompany me while I had a series of tests done. She mostly sat in the lobby and played games on the iPad, but between tests, we had a chance to chat. It certainly made the ordeal much more entertaining. This is how I repay her.

Sister: Why did you tell the nurse your baby sister would be driving you home?
Me: Because she asked me. If I can’t drive, you are supposed to. I thought you knew that.
Sister: I know that dummy – I mean the baby sister part. I am fifty years old.
Me: I don’t care how old you are, you will always be the baby. It’s not like she thought you were a toddler.
Sister: Just don’t start thinking you can boss me. You’re not the boss of me.
Me: Lord, ain’t that the truth. If I could make you do anything, you would be having a few of these tests right along with me.
Sister: Don’t lecture me either. I know my body and I know how to take care of it. I may not take good care of it but I know that too.
Me: I won’t lecture you. Harping on people never helps — especially rebellious people. You do take an aspirin every day, right?
Sister: Yes. Some days I take three or four — or five. Usually four. They’re just baby aspirins.
Me: Why do you take four baby aspirin?
Sister: Because sometimes one is not enough.
Me: But the doctor told you to take one a day — just to thin your blood, right?
Sister: Right! But when you cut yourself and the blood clots a soon as it comes to the surface – it’s too thick. Blood is supposed to drip, that’s just common sense. People should pay attention to that and know their body. I’m not going to pay a doctor $200 to tell me my blood is too thick.
Me: Why not just take one adult aspirin – the milligrams would be the same.
Sister: No, it would not be the same Miss Nursey-Nurse. Four baby aspirins equal 324 milligrams, one adult aspirin is 325.
Me: So you’re worried that you might overdose?
Sister: No. I just like the taste of the baby aspirin.
Me: You are one stubborn woman.
Sister: You know I will cut my nose off to spite my face, so will you.
Me: Speaking of noses, look at that lady across from you.
Sister: Oh my gosh! Did you see that dry flaky thing she just sent flying?
Me: Yeah! What was that?
Sister: It looked like a UFO.
Me: Shhh!
Sister: See what I mean, I bet that woman doesn’t know her own body. She’s probably here to have a dozen tests done when the problem is she’s just dehydrated. It’ll cost her $1500 to find out she needs to drink more water.
Me: So you’re diagnosing now? You don’t know her.
Sister: No, but I know boogers. You saw that rice cake she flung across the room! Boogers are wet, or they should be.
Me: It’s hard to argue with logic.

Crazy Conversations (Lucky)

Life is crazy, people are crazier and my family… well they get the crazy award if there is one.

Husband: What are you doing?

Me: Looking for old pictures to post online.

Husband: What’s the matter – you ran out of new ones?

Me: No, it’s Throw Back Thursday.

Husband: So that’s what TBT is.  Have you seen my wallet?

Me: Look at this one. Do you remember the anniversary we spent in Las Vegas? We weren’t very lucky were we?janna lucky0001

Husband: I don’t know about you but I got lucky quite a few times. The more you drank the luckier I got.

Me: But we didn’t win any money.

Husband: Isn’t that you standing beside a winning machine? Where did I put that billfold?!

Me: I plainly recall losing money. Maybe I just posed for the picture because you know I have never been lucky.

Husband: Well at least you’ve got lucky legs.

Me: I’m grateful that I can walk but… did you say lucky legs?

Husband: Yeah, you’re lucky they don’t break off and stab you in the butt.

Me: You should brace your abdomen when you laugh that hard so you don’t bust a gut.

Husband: Whew. You know I love you skinny legs and all.

Me: I know sweetie. By the way here’s your wallet.

Husband: Damn all of my cash is gone!

Me: Well then you’ve got yourself one lucky wallet there.

Husband: How do you figure that?

Me: You’re lucky I didn’t take your credit card too.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Crazy Conversations (Moe I’m Dying)

Cotton, peas, your friends, your seat, your nose… There are a lot of things you can pick. Family isn’t one of them. Disclaimer: Life is crazy, people are crazier and my family… well they get the crazy award if there is one. This is a work of ‘true fiction’ inspired by family. The names have been changed to protect the guilty. CAUTION: They cuss.
 

Moe, I’m Dying

Pippin: I got my lab reports in from the doctor. There’s an H beside half of them, what does that mean?

Kit: High. H means high, L means low.

Pippin: I know that! What do these numbers say about my health?

Kit: Ask your doctor. I forgot to lay anything out- what do you want to eat?

Pippin: I don’t know. Answer the door.

Kit: You answer the door, I’m busy.

Pippin: Come on in man. Did you hear the bad news? I just got handed a death sentence… Moe, I’m dying.

Kit: Do you want chicken or pork chops for dinner?

Pippin: I’m dying and she wants to know if I want pork chops for dinner. Do you see what I’m dealing with Moe?

Kit: We have left over pork chops. They smell a little funny but I think they’ll be okay if I rinse the sticky stuff off.

Pippin: It ain’t bad enough the pork is killing me slowly; she has to add ptomaine to the mix. Have you ever had ptomaine poisoning Moe? It’s bad, real bad. You’ll have to watch that when I’m gone, don’t eat anything around here or you’ll be a goner just like me.

Kit: Okay would you rather have the chicken? It’s still frozen but I could microwave it for a minute or two then fry it.

Pippin: Did you hear that Moe? My only alternative is a radioactive chicken. Not only will it be full of cancer causing radiation but she’s going to boil it in oil so she can finish me off.

Kit: I’m not boiling it in oil, I’m frying it.

Pippin: What’s the difference? My arteries don’t know the difference. My cholesterol is 5000 and you want to argue?

Kit: Oh, you’re talking to me now?

Pippin: See Moe, she’s hoping I’ll get mad and have a heart attack right here in front of her. You’ll have to call 911 – she won’t do it.

Kit: Stop telling him that! You are not dying.

Pippin: I’ve got high blood pressure-”

Kit: And your cholesterol is not 5000, there’s no such thing. No one has ever had cholesterol that high.

Pippin: Don’t listen to her Moe. Look at this here report. I’ve got high pressure, high sugar, high triglycerides…

Kit: You’ve got high hopes too if you think that dog gives a hoot about all of your ailments. Moe, you want a pork chop?

Pippin: Now she’s just trying to hurt my feelings. You love me don’t you Moe? Come back here. Moe heel! Moe… Moe? Dammit Moe you know I’m dying.

Crazy Conversations (Enumerating Kin)

Cotton, peas, your friends, your seat, your nose… There are a lot of things you can pick. Family isn’t one of them. Disclaimer: Life is crazy, people are crazier and my family… well they get the crazy award if there is one. This is a work of ‘true fiction’ inspired by family. The names have been changed to protect the guilty. CAUTION: They cuss.
 
Enumerating Kin

Cousin Bill: We need to get together more. Somebody ought to plan a family reunion before all of us are gone.

Sue: Yes, someone should take charge and do that, not that you would go – you haven’t gone to any of the other ones.

Cousin Bill: I didn’t know there were any other ones.Front Porch & Family Photos

Sue: You say the same thing every time.

Betty: Don’t get on his ass. You ain’t been to many of `em yourself missy!

Sue: I wasn’t getting on his ass. If I was getting on his ass he would know it, trust me.

Cousin Bill: It kinda felt like you were gettin’ on my ass. Matter of fact I think you left a mark.

Sue: Poor baby, you want Betty to kiss it and make it all better.

Betty: I’m not kissin’ his hairy old butt.

Cousin Bill: It ain’t hairy. It’s smooth as a baby’s bottom. You wanna see?

Betty: No thank you.

Sue: I do.

Betty: You’re sick in the head girl if you want to look at his rear-end.

Sue: You looked at it so I guess you’re sick in the head too.

Betty: My lookin’ was an accident. I turned my head as soon as I could but I gotta tell you I still have nightmares about it.

Cousin Bill: Would somebody just plan the damn reunion already!

Sue: Betty you’re the oldest why don’t you start a list of paternal relatives and we’ll go from there.

Betty: What is paternal?

Sue: From the father’s side.

Betty: Oh that’s easy. Let’s see… there is Aunt Lou and Uncle Delbert-

Sue: They are from mother’s side of the family and they passed away twelve years ago.

Betty: So you want just the live ones?

Sue: I think the dead ones might have a problem making it to a family reunion.

Cousin Bill: I imagine they’re having their own reunion in heaven. God rest their souls. Sue would you get me another beer?

Betty: I’ve seen dead people at reunions.

Sue: Just make the list Betty we don’t have time for your ghost stories.

Cousin Bill: Lord knows her stories do go on. We’ll all be at that heavenly reunion by the time she finishes.

Betty: Why does it have to be just Daddy’s side? That’s plum rude.

Sue: Let’s work on one thing at a time. We can make a maternal list later.

Betty: What’s maternal? Never mind, I know the answer.

Sue: Good.

Betty: But I don’t think there will be many people show up at a reunion for pregnant women.

Sue: Dadgum you’re sharp as a tack. So how many have you got on the list so far?

Betty: Ummm. What ever happened to Jim and all of those girls? And Jerry and his wife – none of them had any boys did they?

Cousin Bill: Nope. No males to carry on the family name. I reckon we’ll disappear from the annals of history.

Betty: Annals. Is that the same as anus?

Sue: That’s right Betty, it is. That is called a synonym. Don’t worry Bill I’m sure the county has an accurate record of you.

Betty: Well that makes sense now. Curtis is a history butt and he is always talking about annals.

Sue: So you’ve got Jim and Jerry’s clans. Who else?

Betty: You know they had three sisters and a couple of brothers that was stout enough to produce some male offspring. They each had at least five kids and most of `em was boys.

Cousin Bill: What does stout have to do with it?

Betty: A man’s seed has got to be strong to make a boy. Can’t have no little pecker either. Boy seeds are puny little swimmers; they have to be planted deep. Yep, you gotta park `em right on top of the ovary or they’ll never make it.

Cousin Bill: I think I’ll go get me a beer.

Betty: Did you know there are millions and millions of sperm released every time a man relieves his self.

Sue: When he urinates?

Betty: No dummy. Piss don’t have sperm in it. When he umm… you know… has an orgasm.

Sue: Why are you whispering? Orgasm is not a dirty word.

Betty: Well it sounds vulgar to me. It sounds like oral – makes me think of oral… you know. Come to think of it, that might be the reason Jerry and his wife never had any boys. And Jim too. Girl they was puttin’ it in the wrong hole!

Sue: Oh dear lord baby Jesus. You don’t really believe that do you?

Betty: Do you have a better theory?

Sue: No. No Betty I don’t. Let’s forget about the millions and millions of misplaced scrawny sperm for now. How many do you have on the list?

Betty: Two.