Nicotine Withdrawal

My husband James has decided to stop smoking- I just hope the he-- and I-- will survive the transition.

Lately one morning, he seemed to be taking it especially hard. Since James is the sweetest man ever, this morning was especially hard to imagine.

We needed air in a tire so we pulled up to an air/vacuum machine which was still running from previous use.  However, it was a mischievous machine-- a prankster type that enjoys keeping money and blowing when it should have sucked, etc.  He literally leapt from the still rolling truck while throwing into park in mid jump-- yelled at me to jump out quickly and unscrew the cap of the tire, grabbed the hose and ran racing around the truck when it stopped running the second he touched it to the tire valve. He was so aggravated, but we finally dug up 3 quarters. He put them in the machine, and -- NOTHING. I think it might have sniggered, but NO air. James lost it. He decided to teach it a lesson it would not soon forget and gave it a swift kick right in it's CEMENT bottom.  The machine secretly laughed. James then did a dance– not unlike a monkey on a drunken binge. He was mad though and figured he could take it out with his bare hands and began to b-slap it about on it’s stainless steel body. The machine was slightly interested but held firm to it’s principles and James’s money. James did another dance interpretation of the dance of the broken hand. He then swore he would take complete vengeance and cut up the hose. Fortunately, James does not carry a knife. He did however whip out a lighter and preceded to attempt to set it on fire. At this point, the machine actually became concerned for James’s well being and blew out the lighter, and I managed to get him in the truck.  Poor James finally settled down and we went to the next store where we preceded to insert 2 quarters into a nicer machine which kindly gave us air. Since there was some time left over, James took the vacuum hose and switched it over to vacuum for the remaining time. Evidently, the other machine had sent this one an email telling him of James and his antics because (and I am not making this up) the second he switched it to vacuum, the hose grabbed on full force to his crotch. James did not know whether to be afraid, attacked or pleasured but he was certainly surprised. He disengaged himself, slunk over to the truck, and vacuumed his side of the vehicle silently.

Evidently, however, the withdrawal was not over.

Sometimes, James will wake me up in middle of the night frozen in terror because of something had has startled him. He enjoys spreading the fear around as he will whisper loudly and deeply into my sleeping ear "a-n-n-n-g-g-e."  This of course wakes me up with the onset of yet another heart attack, but He seems to think that I am capable of fending off any sort nightly intruders.
            That night, on my way to bed, I noticed that James had plugged in something to be charged. It was glowing green, and I thought nothing of it.
            I had finally drifted off into a peaceful sleep when James's terrified voice filters in-- "a-a-a-annnnggge... what is that?" referring to the glowing light. It seems that it appeared to James to be in the sky and headed toward our bedroom. I tried to explain to no avail. I reassured him it was his charger. He denied it was his charger, and in fact doubted in the existence of chargers altogether. He felt certain, in fact, that it was aliens and they were coming straight for us. In fact, he was quite convinced they were flashing green right in our room. He said later he wanted to pray but couldn't find the words to do so.

I’m hopeful the nicotine is gone for good so that James can relax and finally, so can I.

When James told me that he was going to salvage a part off of our previous screen door, I felt a mixture of alarm and pity- as I recalled we had no previous screen door. I very gently explained that. He disagreed. I softly and respectfully said no-- we hadn't - and near tearfully reminded him that we only had the one. I was feeling so sorry for the poor thing as he was obviously looking senility in the face. Then he said-- "well-- how come I have one sitting in the basement, with said part on it that you put in it to begin with." And I said... "oh yeah, that one." Oops. Sorry old thing. My mistake.

I don't know...

So. I was in car, eating this sandwich (ok it was a Big Mac) with shredded lettuce on it when a phone call from my kids dad came in. Since he was returning my call and I only needed to say "never mind earlier message," I went ahead and answered right away. Just at that moment, however, a bit (a glob) of mayo and lettuce made it's way under my bottom partial. This somehow caused my fake teeth to pop up half way loose into my mouth -which led me to trying to push them back in place with my tongue in order to speak (as my other hand was busy holding onto my food). This led me to try and say "never mind" so I could attend to things- but now my partial had twisted totally and bizarrely sideways in my mouth and lettuce and mayo was spewing everywhere. all I could say was something like "gawk-- gak--- hhaaaaumph"etc. I dropped phone to fix things but before I could, said lettuce glob had been forced to back of throat and was partially hanging onto my uvula. This caused gagging, flailing and mental cursing as all I could verbalize was something along lines of "gaaaa ---gack-aarrrr" which translates to "for gosh sakes help me, I'm choking to death." Meanwhile, James Moore was sitting right beside me, paying zero attention. Niece Lisa was in car beside mine, also enjoying a sandwich and paying only mild attention. My ex. Husband Could be heard on phone- "what? What? What did you need? Say again?" As I tried to answer! Finally teeth flew out lettuce et all went down the hatch. During all this, James didn't raise an eyebrow and Lisa lost even mild interest immediately.. which begs the question- is this how I normally appear when I eat?? I wonder.

So in the wee hours, James was hurting with a belly ache and he's thinking he might be dying - as one often does in the wee hours- when suddenly he hears me LOUDLY break into prayer "lord please help us all.." which freaked him out right much, as it was not only startling but also a likely sign that he slipping on into the nether world. It seems I was in middle of a nightmare and was having to pray out a bad spirit when I decided, sudden like, to pray with LOUD authority in order to move it along. I was quite aggravated when James woke me up right in middle of my spiritual cleansing-- But a little relieved too.

The boy and I have our nightly chats at bedtime. The other night, he tells me that he interested in people who are super human.... like David Blain and Batman, and that batman was a very special super human. I asked which Batman.. (he calls James Batman instead of Poppy for his own reasons) he said.. "the one here that lives right here with us! Only he spells his name like this: baatmaan." He said that he (James) was special because he was "weirdly awesome" and came from opposite land. Yep. That's how I see it too.

so... James come rushing into the house, telling me to come quickly.. poppet had caught a snake. I said, "oh no, what kind?" "I don't know," he exclaimed, "I need help, I just know she caught a snake!" I grabbed my shoes and went flying outside, praying it would not be a copperhead. We rounded the house, and saw her barking and stomping around and generally carrying on about her prey. James had grabbed a giant stick and was slowly advancing. I rushed on past and stopped in my tracks when I saw the dreaded snake was not a snake, but a unfortunate bumble bee who was trapped down in the grass. James realized his error, and freed the bee who flew away to his bee home

After reading test results for all of his blood work James asked specifically about his bile as he was worried about gallbladder. However--He pronounced it BALL. 
He said: how's my bile doing. 
Me: (snicker)what?
Him: my bile. Does my bile function? 
Me- more snickering-- whaaaat??? 
Him-- I am wondering if my bile is ok -- does my bile function properly.
Me- laughing out loud-- whaaaat are you saying---
Dylan in background - don't laugh GG he wants to know about his balls.
Me- (I'm dying.) What are you saying!
Him-- my gallbladder- is the bile functioning like it's supposed to.
 Me. Oh---- yes. It's fine. 

Probably ought not read this one

okay, this happened:

(if you are squeamish about IBS- save yourself and skip this.) okay, you know it's a bad day coming when this happens. I ate something greasy while out at breakfast and sure enough, I knew i had to get home and i mean, get home NOW.  I am prodding james to run every stop sign, red light, whatever... and of course, it's seems like it's all slow motion. I am also freaked out as it is TIME FOR A NEW CLIENT and who wants to be confined in a bathroom when a new person arrives.  SO.. we screech to a halt in front of house and i go stiff legging it down steps, half stepping half sliding, praying all the while, lord just get me to the toilet on time. im dropping drawers and flinging myself through the door of my tiny crooked bath room just as i STEPPED ON MY UNTIED SHOE LACE which caused me to hurtle forward and fly through air where i landed belly down on top of commode.  It did NOT end well.  NATURALLY--- at this moment, my clients arrived. and OF COURSE --they had URGENT need of the facilities. I hear James attempting small talk while i am doing everything imaginable to get the situation under control and myself presentable.  Finally, i did emerge and I think i got by ok. 

so, i am sharing this for NO REASON except that i wanted too.  (and yet, people still ask me for my opinion and guidance)

Wardrobe malfunction

I am a person who understands wardrobe malfunctions.  It is a problem that I am frequently plagues me.

Singing has always been one of my favorite pastimes.  There is nothing like music to release the spirit within.  While singing in the choir at my church one morning as a teenager, I noticed that I felt particularly spiritual as I sang and noticeably unencumbered.  As a matter of fact, I felt positively light and free.  Actually, it dawned on me that I felt freer than I ever had in church.  At this point I realized that I had forgotten to wear my bra.

Forgetting my clothes is one thing, putting them on properly is another.

Several years ago, I did a stint driving a school bus full of adolescents.  Adolescents are frequently unruly but I was lucky to have them under control, as they did not know me well enough to disrespect me yet.  That would soon change.

One morning, as I started out the day only half awake and had to dress quickly as I was running somewhat later than usual.  I wore a tee shirt, but as was cold, I also wore a flannel shirt over that and my jacket over both.

I picked up my load of students and headed for school.  I shed my jacket and continued my drive.  Several snickers broke out behind me.  A glance in the mirror revealed several smirks, and many averted eyes.  I wondered what they were finding so amusing.  The girl behind me, a nice mature sort of girl, tapped me on my shoulder. “Your shirt is on wrong side out.”  “How embarrassing,” I thought.  I took off my flannel shirt to rid my self of the evidence.  Unfortunately, peals of mirth erupted from behind me.  It seems that in my haste not only did I put my flannel shirt on inside out, but my tee shirt was not only wrong side out but also backwards.  Any respect that I had garnered at that point naturally was gone out the proverbial window.

I would like to say that I have improved over the years, however, that is not the case. 

I had to attend a viewing at a funeral home a week ago.  As I got out of the car, I noticed that the dress that I was wearing, a long dress with a slit to the knee seemed to be flowing better than usual.  I started to look down so that I could check on things, and promptly walked into a sign that was beside the sidewalk.  That distracted me so I continued to the funeral home.  I walked by all of the folks on the porch, and down the hall to the last room in the building.  I asked someone if this is where I was meant to be.  She said it was, and as I started to walk on thru the crowded room, she pointed out to me that the tail of my dress was folded up, and possibly stuck in my underwear.  It was.   Well, not too much of me was showing, and at least that day, I remembered to wear underwear.

Spike

    My husband James does odd jobs.  The latest job was the oddest of all:  he had taken employment from spike, the forty lb. beagle.

Oh, James did not know whom he would be working for at first.  He naively believed that he would be doing housework, light repair jobs, etc. and believed he may need to walk a dog or two, but little did he realize he would be heeding spike the dog’s commands.

James and I went over to meet spike and his companion, Sally the Dalmatian, and they were just as nice as could be in front of their humans.  I did notice that spike was rolling his eyes just a bit.  Apparently, he was mildly disgusted at the mere idea of having someone in the house while his mistress was away, but decided he would soon put a stop to this nonsense.  Maybe he figured the money spent on James could be put to better uses, like buying him better snacks, or more frequent treats.  I did mention that he weighed forty lbs., right.

The day came when poor James had to report to work; Sally and spike met him at the door barking loudly.  James responded by talking to them nicely and continued to enter the house.  He gave Sally a nice leathery treat, which she took and went to her room.  You could tell that she sort of felt she was selling out, but a treat is a treat, so she decided to let it go.  Spike was more determined to put James out, so James whipped out an especially nice doggy biscuit.  Spike took it, but you have never seen a dog so torn.  Part of him wanted to attack and dislodge this unwelcome guest, but the greed was more that he could bear.  He felt so guilty, that after consuming his treat however, that he doubled up his efforts and began to snarl and snap.  James did not want to push his luck, so Spike got another treat.  Spike realized that he was on to something.  James proceeded to clean spike’s home.  Spike proceeded to follow him about the place inspecting every detail of work, flinging insults and criticism at every turn.  When spike’s comments turned particularly nasty, he accepted another, and yet another, treat given to placate him.

Finally, James had to remove an old air conditioner from the basement.  Now, spike had had just about enough.  He already had to stand by while James had plundered and pillaged about the whole house, but removing this possibly valuable item was more than he was willing to stand for.  He lunged at James’s leg.  Fortunately, a box of dry cat food was handy and James scattered it about the floor.  Being a neat and tidy dog, spike was compelled to call off the attack and clean up every piece of food, giving James just enough time to drag the thing outside to safety.  Spike hurled several rude comments through the screen door expressing his extreme displeasure at this turn of events, and threatened to fire James on the spot and perhaps even sue him.  Sally had joined him by now, having finished her chewy goody, and while she was not having too much to say, she snubbed him heartedly by refusing to make eye contact no matter how much he tried to get on her good side.

James was sort of relieved that spike wanted him gone.  Spike is too hard to please and probably should just save his money for better snacks and treats.  After all, he only weighs forty lbs.

an oldie..

The Family Dogs

Angela Moore

7/04/03

I read somewhere that ancient people Chihuahuas kept as they were thought to ward off evil spirits. Having become acquainted with several of these little dogs, I can understand that.  Visitors to my house have to pass through the Chihuahua gantlet that consists of 3 Chihuahuas known as evil, rude, and indifferent. While the children - as they are affectionately known - may appear to be barking and raising a ruckus with no more in mind than creating a row, but they are actually performing their secret mission of clearing away any unwelcome demons that may be lurking in the heel of a shoe.

The worst of the lot is Evil Wren.  Weighing in at 9 pounds of terror, she also known as “the beast”.  She views most humans with a mixture of suspicion and contempt.  She is missing some teeth; no doubt they are lodged in someone’s pant leg.  The trouble with Wren is, she lies.  She will pretend she would like to be petted then attempt to remove a finger… all the while laughing heartily inside at her little game.  Speaking of games, wren invented a little thing we call “injector head”.  She also uses this technique to poke other dogs and roll kittens around the floor.  I have tried unsuccessfully to explain to Wren the folly of her aggressions, but to no avail.  I have to say, she has provided some light entertainment for us. Although my company may disagree.  For example, take my last unsuspecting and unannounced visitor. She walked up the driveway unaware that the beast had escaped the gated porch. Wren began her first assault on the lady by simply barking at her shoe. This started a little dance known as high stepping. This quickly led to pant leg nipping which escalated into a full time chase around the parked cars.  The poor woman escaped by jumping in to my car, also known as Wren’s second home.  Poor Wren was so offended by this that she stomped and huffed and seemed so genuinely confused that she muttered curses and epitaphs for hours.  Wren enjoyed teaching the high step so much tried to teach another visitor how to tap dance at the front door.  The poor woman had the misfortune to be wearing sandals. Wren took advantage of the moment to help her find her rhythm by artistically arranging little nips at random.  Fortunately, the lady - a local attorney- was able to out boogie the beast and escaped serious injury.  I tried to explain to the evil one that it is best NOT to bite those who know how to sue us. 

Wren plans her attacks covertly while under the bed, also known as Wren’s warehouse as she has all manner of good things hidden under there.  She protects her stolen loot fiercely from the probing noses of her housemates shivering so dramatically that it has caused me to consider offering her doggy drugs, or maybe a cigarette to help calm her nerves.  She may already have a beer or two stored under there, I don’t know, I am afraid to look. 

Living with the children can be an adventure and I would like to tell you more. However, as someone is coming up the driveway, and Wren has left the warehouse and is heading for the door I will close now.  Thank goodness she hasn’t learned to work the doorknob.  Now where did I put those cigarettes?

Big Hair (from 2003)

Big hair
x

11/04/03

My niece, Lisa, the beautician was positively gushing with excitement: according to the trendy magazines, big hair is coming back in style, and she could not be happier.  “You don’t understand,” she exclaimed. “Big hair, well, lets just say, the bigger my hair, the more powerful that I feel!”  The young man she was dating could not have known this when he said words that were music to her ear… “. Your hair is just amazing.”  Fortunately for her, her morals are kept in tact, as she would never spend a night with a man, as God forbid they wake up in the middle of the night and see “bed head”.  This is the only girl I know who actually bought a bigger car in order to accommodate the increasing size of her current “doo”. 

When Lisa was in Beauty School, I became her experimental subject.  It was fun to be treated to all of the new styles and colors.  I forgot to check out some of the more teased looks before going out, though.  I had a little public talk that I needed to present at an area college and as I was running late I didn’t check my appearance out too closely as Lisa had done me up that morning.  Maybe, I should have done so however due to the comment of my friend, “Bubba” author Kim Taylor, who said, “something about your hair makes me think you might be a politicians’ wife, and gives me an urge to kiss you on the cheek.”  The event went nicely, though I did feel a little self conscious having grown 6 inches due to heightened hair.  Still, later, I asked my husband James what he thought of my hair, and he said, “Well, it looks like it would hold up good in the wind.”  Thanks, James. 

You know, as self-conscious as I felt in some ways, I did find myself walking a little taller and speaking a little more confidently.  I think Lisa is right, the bigger the hair, the more powerful you do feel.  There might be something to this new trend after all.

This afternoon:

I drove a half a mile, terribly concerned about my inability to see properly. I cleared my windshield a couple of times and cleaned my glasses, too. I saw that I could see much better without my glasses on. I was shocked! I thought that my eyes were healed somehow-- only then I realized I was wearing my READING glasses. Sad but true.

Losing our Balance.. oh no!

   It began as the same old Wal-Mart shopping trip going on as usual until we arrived at the electronic section. James was looking for a cell phone holder and I was seeking out a new headset. James was squatting down scanning the bottom shelf when I happened to see what I was looking for right beside him. I put my hand on his shoulder as I lowered myself down to be eye level with the object I desired.Well, I have to say I am not as small as when we were first married and he may not be as steady either as I sent him toppling over backwards. Of course when he went over, I lost my shoulder grip so I went on down too. I tried to land in a semi-dignified squat but naturally that did not happen. I landed with a thud and rolled on back too. At this point, poor James ( who is easily mortified) took hold of my shoulder in order to right himself evidently unaware that the law of gravity was still having it's way with me. Instead of heaving himself forward, he merely hastened my descent on back until I was nearly flat on my back-- where he was sent into "tumbling backwards: Part 2". Actually, I was only nearly flat, as it is not possible to be flat if your shoulders are forward and your knees are drawn up so that you actually look like some sort of deranged armadillo. Well, not to be outdone, I grabbed hold of my man, and since he had only achieved a semi squat all I accomplished was to set him back on his behind and completed his trilogy of "falling: part 3." At this point, I had the clarity of mind to recall fire safety tips and stopped, dropped and rolled to my side until I managed to get control of my physical functions- which until that moment I feared had totally escaped me. I finally managed to obtain a sitting position. James had regained a nonchalant squatting pose and was staring intently at the products ahead evidently pretending that he had no concept of whom I was and in fact was only partially aware that I was even there at all. Meanwhile, I tried to look as though it was perfectly natural if not preferable to sit on the floor while shopping for phone paraphernalia. I was thinking that at least we were not disgraced publicly as the aisle was empty until I heard the concerned wal-mart employee beside me inquire, "M'am, is there anyway I can do to help you?" I sighed and just told her, "no thanks."

SNORING, CATS, AND THE NIGHT JAMES TRIED TO KILL ME

I need sleep.  I am not getting nearly enough sleep. I almost had a good sleep last night, except starting in the middle of the night about every five minutes or so, James had the nerve to wake me up and callously lie to me by complaining that I was snoring the house down.  He even had more nerve to suggest that I should take my snoring elsewhere.. as if.  My daughter Jayme has informed me that we actually often snore in unison in the perfect nocturnal harmony of a long married couple. Oddly, she finds that irritating and wears ear plugs and brings a sound machine when visiting.  Usually, however, when my sleep is disturbed it is due to the fact that cats are randomly annoying during the night.   For whatever reason, Bam-Bam, our big gray kitty, likes to have late night conversations with me and enjoys our little strolls to his food dish (totally full) for a late night snack.  Sometimes, he invites me to go outside for a 1 am run around the yard: he is friendly that way. I hated to hurt his feelings, but I had to start closing the doggie door to our room, because, mama needs to sleep! That was somewhat helpful, but then our Stampy Cat took up the cat baton by hiding in the deep recesses of the closet just before bed time.  He has the gift of invisibility, but makes himself known about 4 am by complaining about his accommodations and after demanding a full refund (he pays in advance via slaughtered rodents), expecting himself to be released back into the house where he and Bam-Bam stage protests, riots and sometimes love-ins for the remainder of the evening. I'm thinking they may even produce a dramatic play on occasion.

  Because of all this cat nonsense, I thought that the mewing that I heard outside my bedroom window a few nights ago was just another annoying cat trick.  However, it was annoying enough that I got out of bed to chase any visitor cats away.  However, nothing was seen when I peered out the door into the darkness.  I went back to bed and just as I relaxed once more, the mewing started again.  I got up and looked out the window that is just beside the bed, but the sound had stopped again.  I laid back down, snuggled up again to the man, and again, I hear mewing. I tried to ignore it.  It got louder.  I noticed that not only was it louder, it was becoming quite rhythmic.  After a few more mews, I realized it was NOT a kitty cat, but James's NOSE.  He was doing an amazing job of impersonating a kitten, if I do say so, but after a couple of punches (mild ones) he rolled over and sleep finally ensued.  

  One reason that James's late night complaining sent me into a mini rage, is that he is the king, the sultan, the absolute ruler of night-time drama.  He snorts, chortles, wheezes, kicks, laughs, talks, jerks and possibly levitates at night.  Often, he will sit up and have a good laugh at the dead TV, and then quickly lie down again, resuming his flouncing and kicking.  

   After one particularly exasperating night of his nonsense, I was finally able to settle down and through sheer will power was ignoring his endless parade of dramatic acoustics and twitching, fall asleep.  Just as I was experiencing a peaceful floating feeling, I felt James sit up and lean over me.  I assumed it was to grab a tum off of my end table.  I assumed wrongly, because when he was about 3 inches from my face, he screamed as if he had been lit on fire at the top of his lungs!  He then sat bolt up right, screamed some more before turning to his own end table and began beating the tar out of it- while also screaming at it as well.  Suddenly, he seemed pretty satisfied with himself and laid down and IMMEDIATELY began mild  and peaceful snoring.

   Meanwhile, I knew for sure I had found Jesus because I fully felt I was physically arriving in heaven at any second.  I was unable to move for quite a few minutes while I wondered if he would be arrested and tried for manslaughter or murder when they found my completely white haired mortal remains in the morning. I also wondered, in case I wasn't dead, if any jury would convict me if I did him in right then and there.  

   Fortunately, we both survived, and I can live on to tell about it.  But, if I'm waking him up on a rare occasion with my lady like snoring... well, let's just say he owes me one.

Fun Story..

Click here for Embarrassingly funny story about your's truly by Asheville Citizen columnist Susan Rhinehart 😊