My turn...(Michael)

So, Claar's vow of silence just lasted about 37 seconds. Actually not bad, a new record. That's nothing though, you really should have been here for the "exploding juice" that "brings new life". Let me clarify...the grapefruit juice in the fridge, which we disallowed being hooked up to the oxygen, is exploding...and appearantly, the article (?) states the grapefruit juice brings new life. We're both standing around the fridge wondering, article? new life? "Huh?"

Well, new meds for grandma for sure.

Wal-Mart

I know… it's all in the name. I have certainly had many experiences that seal the retail giant as the breeding ground for crazies, but tonight tops it off. So, my mom, Maximus the Impatient, and I are waiting in a line that I am convinced I will die in when I notice the slow-as-tar cashier. The thing that got me was not the conversation about her mother running away, or how long it could take to click each item, it was the plastic gloves. Purple! Just in case you didn't notice that the woman that would be handling your baby's food was for some unknown (thank goodness) reason wearing plastic gloves.

So... I convinced myself that hepatitis is Maxx's fate for us being stupid and cheap enough to venture to Wal-Mart in this neck of the woods; when it happened. First she asks me to wait one second before she starts with my stuff, then pulls off one of the gloves which I have decided I think I would prefer stay on, pulls out a bottle of Ambosol or something, bends over, and starts putting it somewhere in her mouth so deep that she is gagging and it takes great effort. I had to look away… it was a weird mix of fear and wishing I had a drop more of my sister in me and had the courage to yell,

"WHAT THE HELL, ARE YOU KIDDING ME, WHERE DO YOU GET THESE PEOPLE!"

I did nothing, she put the glove back on, took the next hour ringing up our 20 items and we were on our way. So now you all know the story to tell my son when he wonders why he has hepatitis and syphilis... Wal-Mart.

Would you like a Fatboy?

Ya know it's like it would kill me to stay in one place and do normal things. So here we are renting out our homes and taking care of grandma. I think Michael is doing it in hopes that I learn to cook, and Maximus is certainally in it for the cookies, but for me it really just comes down to the motherload of polyester suits. So for the record we're not expecting, she's fattening us up. If anyone is in need of wieveled ramen or freezer-burnt ice cream let me know. :)

3 lessons learned from living with the older version of myself

1. "Not mayonase, but the stuff like it" = Thousand Island dressing, not Miracle Whip... my mistake.

2. Arbys only makes one sandwhich and it is called "an Arby". (Or cheddar melt, but what do I know)

3. To get rid of unwanted house guests ditch the wig and teeth and come out in a housedress and black tennis shoes.

No, this has been the challanging experience I espected, plus awefully entertaining. "Would anyone like another Fatboy?"