Green Beans and Toilets

Trying to keep up with two blogs is kicking my ass. I can barely manage one. Oh well. Must keep this one going to preserve my sanity. That and to tell you guys the funny shit that comes out of Papa D's mouth. I mean, I understand getting some words mixed up, but photographic and pornographic? Yeah, I'm still a bit befuddled by that one.

His latest though, is that he was trying to say that K's bro is a chick magnet. Instead, he said, that K's bro is a chick maggot. LOL

Last night at dinner, my grandmother forced me to eat green beans. *shudder* She prepared to dish them onto my plate, asking, "Green beans?" I politely refused, and she comes back with, "Excuse me? You will eat a vegetable." And that's when I realized that those nasty little green things were the only vegetable on the table. She put six green beans on my plate and told me I would eat them. The pasta rice and the grilling tenders covered in BBQ sauce couldn't drown the horrific taste of those nasty little green things. I ate five of them.

I gave the sixth one to the dog.

I was actually concerned that I would get caught. But the dog charged out the back door causing K, Papa D, and K's bro to get up and chase her. I tossed one onto the floor, and then spent ten minutes trying to get the damn dogs attention under the table - discreetly. I finally managed to get her and pointed a finger to the floor and she found the disgusting green bean.

Thank God for dogs, is all I say.

Now, I found this sign above a toilet in a restaurant. I can't remember which one, but yeah, it was only slightly disconcerting. If you have to have signs telling people how to flush toilets, there may be other more serious issues that need to be discussed. Are there too many automatic flushing toilets out there?

I'll never have a husband?

How do you mention to your grandfather that he has offended you or hurt you in some fashion? I mean, without possibly hurting the good relationship you have with him? In my situation, I won't. I shall just let it roll off my shoulders and try to remember his "filter" doesn't work at all like most people's.

Last Friday I went with him on a special delivery - putting a rack in a new location and to fill it with our papers. He'd been driving around northeast California for 3 days picking up ad copy, so I offered to go with him on Friday, since I didn't have to work at Job 3. That way someone besides him knew where the new location was. Plus I was really hoping he'd want someone else (like me) to drive since he'd already been on the road for 3 days. Luck, as it were, was not on my side.

We left around 7 a.m. and stopped in Town to get gas. After we got back on the road, he suddenly panicked that he'd forgotten the bank deposits that he was supposed to take care of later that afternoon when we got back. I looked around the floor between the seats and he told me that they should be in his briefcase. In the backseat. I turned out and realized it was just far enough of my reach to make it difficult, so I told him we could check later when we stopped. Instead of agreeing with me, he instead - while driving - to reach back there to retrieve it. And wound up heading for the other lane. I scolded him . . . okay, I kinda yelled . . . "Not while your driving!" So, I reached back to get it, and it flipped off the backseat and twisted my left wrist. From that moment on, I was not in the best of moods.

Oh, and the bank deposits were in there.

Later when we got to our destination, his friend B was there waiting for us. B is kind enough to keep a few bundles of our paper in his garage and redistribute as our locations in that town become empty. We put our rack in the new location and put papers in it. Took all of 5 minutes. So B and Papa D decide to go to a cafe for some coffee. It was there that my mood got worse.

At some point in the conversation, we began to talk about food. B asked me if I like lamb, and I told him no. Well, that got Papa D going on and on about all the foods I don't like. And then said something - basically the gist was this: I will never have a husband because he won't like putting up with a picky eater.

Slap meet face.

I actually wanted to cry.

For starters, it's none of B's damned business how picky of an eater I am. I've eaten in his presence twice and everyone had burgers.

I admit, I am a pretty picky eater. I will say that I've improved a lot in the last 15 years. Trust me. But, unfortunately, I don't see it changing too much in the present. I don't like being a picky eater; it can be relatively embarrassing when others find out just how much I don't like. For many things, I think it's a texture thing, others it's because I just flat-out don't like the flavor or lack there of. But at 31 years of age, my eating habits are not bound to change much more. My grandparents, well my grandfather, has lectured me a couple of times already that I'm doomed to have medical problems later in life. My grandfather had the fucking balls to tell me two days after my Granddad passed about how poorly my Granddad must have eaten to have wound up a diabetic. (Unfortunately, stupid medical professionals never relayed that message to my Granddad). My Granddad wasn't a poor eater - the older he got the more salt he'd put on his food. He deserved some salt after living through being shot and a plane crash that literally killed him, 3 times.

If I hadn't been sitting on the inside of the booth at the cafe, I would have left the table. I think B saw the lightening flash in my eyes and after Papa D beat a dead horse, the topic was discarded. But my foul mood didn't improve.

The funny that did happen was this: on our way out of town, we were stopped at an intersection. A big ass truck was hauling one big ass 5th wheel. Probably a 45 footer. As it's pulling through the intersection -

Papa D: Wow, that's a really big motor home.

Me: *trying not to laugh* Um, that's what we call a 5th wheel.

Papa D: Because it doesn't have a motor in it, right?

Oh dear.

Just another day, hangin' with my grandfather . . .

I was on the road delivering papers with Papa D this afternoon after Job 3. And as usual, hanging out with my grandfather can be interesting. Someone really ought to get me a digital recorder to take on the road with me, because this shit is priceless. Some of the things that he says, you just roll your eyes, while others make your jaw drop, and other times you just shake your head in wonder. As in, if the DMV knew about his memory, would they have just renewed his license?

As we started to deliver in Town, he mentioned at least three times (in the first 30 minutes), that tomorrow (Friday) we'd be delivering to Fall River and Burney, plus 4 other places.

I politely asked, "Aren't I doing those stops this weekend when I deliver?" (meaning the 4 other places)

He replies with an inhaling hiss, and a face that says, 'I don't think so, Tim', and says, "Well . . . I guess you could . . . I just wanted to get them out before all the events this weekend."

We go through this every month. My guess is that because he did the routes his way for so long, he just doesn't remember the changes that were made when I came to Sticksville. Plus, I had no idea what events he was speaking of for this weekend. There isn't anything big going on this weekend in NorCal . . . at least not our section of it. I let it go.

Later, as we were driving over the pass to get home, he mentions this weekend again.

PD: "Well, I just really want to get these delivered before the 4th."

I was a wee bit confused . . . the 4th? Of July? It's nearly August.

Me: "The 4th?? It's nearly August 1st."

He started laughing, "Oh jeez. Well, there's a thing at Eagle Lake. What is it?"

Me: "Eagle Lake? You mean the BBQ?"

PD: "Yeah, when is that?"

Me: "I don't remember. We can check at home."

Back home, we sat at the kitchen table, telling K about our afternoon delivering. Papa D checked a paper on the table and finds the ad for the BBQ at Eagle Lake - it's September 3rd. He pointed to it and told us, "That BBQ is on September 3rd; I really want to get these delivered before this BBQ this weekend."

K and I look at each other, a bit dumbfounded, and she said, "Honey, it's not even August yet!"

He laughed and said, "Oh jeez."

And the DMV just gave him another license.

Weather Reports

My grandfather kind of gets hung up on the weather report. Now, where we are, we don't have our own local station. Our "local" channels come from towns about 3 hours in any given direction. And all of them are somewhat messed up. At least, for our part of the country. Or so PD thinks. It's not like the weather guys get it right all the time every where else anyway.

This morning I went over to help feed, just like every other day.  There's a cool north breeze blowing making it a very nice morning. Although you still break a sweat pitching hay and the re-loading the hay truck with bales of hay. But there's still a promise of it being a warm day.

After feeding the horses, I climbed onto the back of the feed truck so we could go feed our weaned calves. On our way, he says to that it looks like it will be another warm day. I agreed. Then this conversation ensued:

PD: Did you see the weather report last night or this morning?

Me: No, I haven't.

PD: Well, you know that the reports we get aren't quite right.

Me: Yeah, I know.

PD: I was asking if you saw it to see if the report you saw was any different than what we saw.

Me: (trying not to laugh) Oh, um, I doubt it would be.

I had to turn my head away from the side mirror so that he didn't see me laughing. I just thought it was hilarious that he actually thought the weather report at my house was any different than the report at their house.

It just tickled my funny bone.

Photographic or Pornographic?

Old(er) people can be good for a few laughs.

The first time this happened to me I was nearly insulted. By the end of the day, I thought it was fucking hilarious. When it still happens (and yes, it actually has), I just give my grandfather "the look".

Awhile back, as PD and I were delivering papers, a tiny issue arose. He was kind of quizzing me about things he had told me about, like names of mountains or where our next delivery stop was. He praises my memory quite often, because let's face it - mine is 100 times better than his at this point. There are so many times he doesn't remember that he just told me what he's telling me not 5 minutes before. And whenever we're on the road, he says that my memory is wonderful and even a couple times he claims it has saved his life. In reality, it didn't save his life. My memory told him where he had written down someone's name for an article.

Anyway, on this particular delivery day, he starts praising my wonderful memory and then spits out: "It must be nice to have a pornographic memory."

*insert crickets here*

*insert horrified look on my face here*

I couldn't spit a word out. He saw the look on my face and then said, "Photographic? Pornographic? I get those two confused all the time."

All I could do was sputter, "Photographic! Photographic! Photographic!!!"

Now, I'm not saying I do or don't have a pornographic memory. However, that is none of my grandfather's business.

And for a guy who is into photography, you would think that he wouldn't get photograhpic mixed up with pornographic.

But maybe it's just me.

Mortified, party of one.

I mentioned in a previous post about how Papa D embarrassed the hell out of me a couple months ago. In fact, I was actually asked by him to delete this story from my other blog. I laugh about it now, what happened. Well, I actually laughed while I was being embarrassed because I really couldn't do much else.

I hadn't been up here long when my grandparents started thinking of guys they knew that they might believe to be worthy for me to meet. My grandfather was stuck on one particular person, who works for a company that advertises with us.

One day, Papa D and I were out picking up ad copy we stopped by this place. When we pick up ad copy, we tend to visit. Actually, let me rephrase that: Papa D visits. A lot. We were told, at this particular place, to speak to a specific person, whom I will simply call him "Guy". We had been to this place once before where I had met everyone there. So, we sat down at Guy's desk and he and Papa D started talking.

And Papa D starts with this: "You know I've been trying to get my granddaughter here to go on a date with you."

I'm pretty sure my jaw hit the floor. I'm also quite sure I was as red as a lobster. Guy and I kind of laughed it off, but I knew I was highly embarrassed and I'm pretty sure he was as well. And Papa D didn't stop there. Oh no. Throughout our time there he tossed in things like, "You know my granddaughter now works at the vet's office on Saturdays, you two should go to lunch."

I'm pretty sure the words shut the fuck up crossed my mind. Apparently my grandfather doesn't have telepathic abilities, so he didn't get my message. All I could do was laugh it off, although I was so embarrassed I actually had tears in my eyes. And it wasn't like I could easily go anywhere. I know he meant well, and he really had no intention of embarrassing me, or Guy. When I told K at dinner what had transpired, she just looked at Papa D and said, "Not cool, honey, not cool."

The next time I saw Guy was about a couple weeks later, and it was obvious we were both still highly embarrassed. We could barely talk to each other let alone look at each other. It took about a month, but the embarrassment seems to have waned. I, however, am still mortified.

Actually, I now have a running joke going with my mom when we're in Town picking up ad copy or delivering papers. I text her and tell her how many times I've passed this particular business. All I have to do is text "6x" and she knows what I'm referring to. And when Papa D and I get out of the car to go into this business, he says, "Let's go see your boyfriend."

hangs head.

And these are the days of my life . . . .

I really think I need a tape recorder going while driving around with my grandfather. No. Seriously.

So, about two or three weeks ago, one of my friends told me she wanted me to meet someone. Apparently her and another friend had been talking about this for awhile. Our first attempted meet up a couple weeks ago went bust as I when I arrived in town I first found our that one of my grandmother's was in the hospital for heart stuff, and secondly that my wingman was sick. I've been texting the guy off and on for awhile and he seems cool. We're supposed to meet up at a BBQ this Sunday at my friend's place.

Anyways, I had told my grandparents about it, and K was cool with it and wanted to know what I knew, which was basically nil. Name, Age, and job was all I had. Papa D seemed ambivalent.

This morning, while driving to Town to deliver papers, I got the talk. You know, the relationship talk. I was a wee bit taken aback, a wee bit annoyed, and nearly insulted that he felt he should have this discussion with me at the ripe old age of 31. I am no stranger to relationships.

PD: You know, since you've moved up here, I think I've developed fatherly concerns for you.

(Not a big leap since you are my grandfather and all)

PD: I'm a little concerned about your friends setting you up on this date. I think it's a little fast.

Me: What do you mean? (as in, how is meeting a person moving too fast?!)

PD: I'm just concerned about this guy. I never had a relationship with someone that I didn't already know for a long time.

Me: Well, I trust my friends. They wouldn't knowingly set me up with a bad guy. Besides, they just want me to meet the guy. I may never see him again after this.

PD: Oh oh, you do, okay. I'm just saying that I've never had a relationship with someone that I didn't already know for a long time.

(it's no mistake that being mentioned twice. lol)

PD: Well, I'm going to give you some relationship advice . . . (and he goes into this story of how he meet each of his wives, and how long he'd known them before marrying them, or even asking them on a date. meanwhile, I'm rolling my eyes and mouthing "are you fucking kidding me?" thankful that I was alone in the front seat and he was sitting behind me in the back seat).

Me: uh huh . . . yeah . . . mmhmmm . . . (all during his story so he knew I was listening)

PD: . . . . But I am concerned partly because I know what guys want. (and he starts chuckling)

Me: (speechless for a moment) Um, I know what guys want, too. Men really aren't that hard to figure out.

PD: I kinda feel like I'm having a conversation with my 14 year old daughter. I thought maybe I shouldn't say anything because you aren't 14, you're 31.

(yeah, I'm thinking you shouldn't have really said anything)

I eventually put it out of my head until I was finally home alone after delivering papers. I can sort of see that he may not necessarily trust my friends because he doesn't know them. Perhaps because one of them is a bartender. Who knows. But doesn't he trust me?

I know he worries about me, and has concerns about me meeting strangers. Apparently he forgot all about my attempts with internet dating in the big city, which was kind of a crock. And besides, he fucking embarrassed the shit out of me about a month or so ago trying to set me up with a guy. (That was a post I was forced to delete on my other blog, so I will re-post the story over here another day). So what is the big difference in him doing it versus my friends?

I know he was trying to look out for me, so I wasn't mad. Annoyed? A little. I know he will always worry about me, like my parents do. However, I am a big girl, I know what men want, and trust me . . . they don't get it easily from me. (insert evil laugh here)

Things Papa D Says . . .

Sometimes I wonder about the things Papa D says to me while driving. Parts of the country that we drive around I grew up in as a little girl, so I know where things are.  Certain restaurants, hotels, stores, etc. I also know the mountain passes, such as Eskimo Hill, which is very popular for sledders in winter. It's also popular for winter car wrecks.

The town I grew up in is Old Station, just a couple hundred people live there year-round. You blink you miss it, but it's where I grew up. There is one tiny general store in town, Rim Rock Ranch, where I used to get ice cream with my babysitters in summer.

I tell you all of this so you understand my shock when I tell you what Papa D said and/or asked. I think in his old age, that he forgets where I grew up.

One day, as were driving into Old Station to drop some papers off at Rim Rock Ranch, he says, "Now, there's a tiny little general store here in town, Rim Rock Ranch -" I stopped him by simply saying, "Oh I remember it - I used to get ice cream there in summer." His response? "Oh, you know it?" I find it a little humorous and sad that he doesn't remember that I lived there, especially seeing as how he got my parents to buy one of the restaurants in town and that's why we moved there.

During that same drive, as we're driving up Eskimo Hill - nearing the summit actually, he asks, "Do you know where Eskimo Hill is?" I nearly burst out laughing, but instead pointed out the window and said, "We're on it." He then says, "Oh oh, you know, then." Yes, I know, I grew up driving this road. When I texted this conversation to my mom she couldn't stop laughing for the rest of the day.

Just silly things. I know he's gotten more forgetful over the years, and tells the same stories several times. Par for the course of getting older.