525,600 Minutes

A little bit of Wii (mixed with some hard liquor)

Have you ever Wii'ed?  Not "wee" as in dropping the contents of your bladder.  Lord knows we've all done that.  Some of us in some very inopportune places, I might add.  But I'm not talking about bodily functions right now - although that sounds like a fun topic for another day.  But for today, let's talk about the Wii, shall we?

What the hell does "Wii" stand for?  I have no freaking idea.  Probably because I don't own a Wii.  Nor do I want to.  Seriously.  My extremely high moral standards and ethics prohibit me from falling victim to the Wii feeding frenzy.  You can't freaking tell me that the Nintendo people can't possibly keep up with the Wii demand.  They've been manufacturing the damn thing for a couple years.  Instead, they create this supply & demand fiasco that results in people killing one another over the video game.  That's just not right.  Bastards - all of them.  So while I won't fall prey to the Wii frenzy myself, I have no problem playing the units that my friends fell prey to - I mean purchased for their families.  I told you I had high morals - just sayin'.

Have you ever seen anyone play a Wii?  It will make you pee your pants as you burst into fits of uncontrollable laughter.  Wait - that's it!  That's why they call it a Wii.  Because the spectators wee their pants at your expense.  Damn, I'm so glad I cleared that up.  Are you ready to pee your pants?  Or maybe wee your pants?  Here are a few Wii photos of those I hold most near & dear....

God, I'm fat.  I feel better having said that out loud.  Here's me, JillyD and Carmine Ragusa slugging it out at Yo's house.  Look at my face.  Isn't that lovely?  The nice, demure, classy flower that I am.  I was kicking Carmine's ass.  I could do it in real life too - just sayin'...

Here's The Boy and Mach One.  Same barbaric boxing game.  Father and son going to blows.  Hopefully this isn't some type of self-fulfilling prophecy.  And can I point out my son's sleeve.  What the hell is that all over the kid?  I think it's paint.  On the brand. new. sweater.  He's going to be the death of me, that one...

   

The fruit of my womb.  Beating the shit out of each other - figuratively speaking, of course.  The Boy is still slathered in paint and apparently The Girl felt compelled to put on her best drag queen duds for the Wii adventure.  While a party hat and plastic lei aren't required, they sure make anything a hell of alot more fun, don't they?  Indeed they do...

Everything needs a grand finale.  Including the Wii playing.  I've dubbed this one, "KO" because apparently The Boy really thinks that he's beating the hell out of his sister.  I think this might be a left hook.  Too bad he's right handed.  Maybe somebody should have mentioned that to him so he wouldn't have lost to a girl in a purple, sparkly party hat...

If you haven't Wii'ed, give it a try.  And take pictures.  And send them to me.  So I can Wii in my pants right along with you.

Welcome to 2008 - JillyD Style!

Happy New Year!  2008 - good God, I'm turning 40 this year. 

So I've decided to keep the old blog up and running.  Thanks for all of you who stroked my ego yesterday.  I'm the youngest child in my clan and I'm used to being adored.  So I just wanted to make sure that you did in fact adore me.  Which it sounds like you do.  And I adore you back.  So continue I shall.  Who wants to share in JillyD's New Years Eve celebration? 

This is my friend, Yo!  I heart Yo.  Yo gets me and I get her.  And she cracks my ass up - just sayin'.  Yo threw a bash at her house last night.  We left at 1:15 am and it appeared as though Yo's house had regurgitated its contents in the form of confetti.  Doesn't the word "regurgitate" make you want to gag?  Or maybe that gagging feeling is a by product of the gallons of margaritas that I consumed on the last day of 2007.

Ah yes, here are the said margaritas.  Served up by my buddy, Billy Boy.  Yo sleeps with him.

The pope came to party with us.  Yes, I realize that's he's dead.  But he was there in spirit.  Along with the Madonna.  Not "Madonna" - the Madonna.  What the hell kind of parties do you think Yo & Billy Boy throw?  Good Catholic, margarita drinking parties, that's what kind.  Come to think of it, maybe Madonna would like to be on the invitee list next year.

The food was incredible.  A bevy of seafood.  What exactly is a bevy?  I'm not quite sure.  I'm pretty sure it's like a shitload.  And of course, weiners.  You can't have a party without weiners now, can you?  Here's Yo eating a weiner.  She's a natural, isn't she?

Remember that confetti that was puked up over every square inch of Yo's house?  The Girl remembers it.  I think she might be crapping out confetti for the next week or so - just sayin'...

So from our crazy family to yours - Happy New Year!  We wish you all the peace & happiness in the world.  And all the margaritas too...

Christmas Card Outtakes

Merry Christmas everyone!  Too bad I'm a day late and a dollar short.  That's the story of my life right there.  I hope you had a great day that didn't involve hurling or diarrhea or anything unseemly like that.  That would suck on Christmas - just sayin'.

Today I've made it my mission to download all of the pictures on my camera.  There's like a million of them - no shit.  I had pictures of The Boy playing soccer and he hasn't played in like two years.  I'm not kidding.  But in the process, I decided to look at all of the lovely photos that I took of the fruit of my womb.  Specifically the photos from the Christmas Card Photo Session.  Notice it's in all capital letters.  It's a major event each and every year.  I get the rugrats all gussied up and then take about 80 pictures in hopes of getting one decent one for the card.  You think I'm exaggerating - I'm not.  I always end up screaming at one or both of the punks and they end up crying.  Merry freakin' Christmas.  Then Mach One shows up and consoles the children from the emotional damage that their mother has inflicted upon them and I drink a gallon of margaritas.  And try to figure out the best picture to use.  It's the same scene every year.  Here's a brief glimpse into the event.  It'll be just like you're there - trust me.

Here's the photo I went with - aren't my children stunning.  And not crying yet, I might add...

And now for the outtakes - complete with titles...

I like to call this one, "Why the hell aren't you looking at the camera, little boy?  Your sister looks stunning and you're all shifty eyed, dammit.  This one would have been perfect had you not looked liked you just killed someone and you're guilty as hell."

Or how about, "Stop pointing at Daddy mocking me as I try to take the picture.  I know he said I just farted but I really didn't.  He just said that to make you laugh.  Seriously, I didn't fart.  I swear to God I didn't."

I call this one, "Christmas Cheer from Cujo."

And last but not least, "Merry Christmas from our family to yours - and from our dog's pink wiener too."

After seeing this picture, you can fully appreciate The Boy's skills as an artist, can't you?  Pretty damn good for a 7 year old, wouldn't you say?

Now you know why I drink so much - just sayin'...

Genetics

What happens when...

Father Dorkestra knocks up Sister Mary Madonna?

The answer...

Sister Mary Spike

Genetics - they're a bitch.  Just sayin'...

The 20 Year Class Reunion

You'll notice I didn't say my 20 year class reunion.  I didn't go to mine.  It was last November - which makes me an esteemed graduate of the Class of '86 - and it was the day after Thanksgiving.  I don't remember where the hell I was but it didn't involve name tags or trying to figure out who the hell the fat chick with the bad hair was.  Only to discover - much to your glee - that she was the homecoming queen.  Twenty years can be a bitch - especially to the cute, bitchy girls - just sayin'.

Remember how I mentioned that Pburg was not a mecca of fun?  You pretty much have to make your own fun while you're there.  It's not like fun is available in every corn field near you.  So you can imagine my unbridled joy when Mach One's sister mentioned that her 20 year reunion was taking place on the Saturday that we were there.  She didn't really want to go but she felt like she should make an appearance.  My response was, "Oh hell yes, we're going!"  You'll notice that she never formally invited me but I pretended that she did and started getting ready.  Getting ready consisted of wearing what I already had on to visit the pigs & cows with a little extra perfume just in case any shit got on me during the farm visit.  We already know that there wasn't any of my own shit present - but we won't get into that again.

So we pile into Mach One's younger brother's foreign car and I watched the vein in Mach One's temple throb during the 15 minute trip into town because he was driving in a Nissan.  Mach One is employed by the American car business and starts to twitch violently when he's in the presence of a foreign car.  Not to mention sitting in the backseat.  I told him to practice that Lamaze breathing that we learned over 10 years ago.  He said it didn't help but I think it did.

We arrived at the reunion and I thought to myself, "How can I make this slightly more enjoyable then say a pap smear?"  And then the planets aligned and I was struck with a vision.  The vision that nobody in this little podunk town knew who the hell I was.  So I could be somebody else and no one would know since they don't know me anyway.  See where I'm going with this?  You don't?  Ok, let me help you visualize...

Hello, I'm Susie Murray.  Actually I got married and acquired some scary ass last name that I can't pronounce.  Can you imagine I gave up Murray for Schop-something or other?  What the hell was I thinking?  Let me tell you about myself.  I'm a social worker.  And I'm pregnant.  I look fantastic, don't I?

Mach One's sister and I were really great friends in high school.  Here's a picture of all 4 of us.  The four would be me, Mach One's sister - let's call her JuneBug, and my two boobs.  I was having a little problem with my shirt all evening long.  Thank God that Mach One had bought me some lovely new brassiere's from Victoria's Secret the day before we left.  These bras cost $50.  Per bra.  My bra is the most expensive piece of clothing that I wear on most days.  So why not show it off?  Why not, indeed.  Say hello to Susie & The Girls.  Sounds like an '80's girl band, doesn't it?

Here's Susie with Mach One.  I tried to slap Quentin somebody or another's name tag on Mach One.  Apparently Quentin was a total dorkestra twenty years ago.  I thought it would have been an absolute hoot to have Susie and old dorky Quentin start making out in a corner of the bar.  In full view of everyone.  Can you say, "Scandal in a Small Town?"  I think that may have been a Lifetime movie.  But Mach One didn't want to taint poor knocked up Susie's reputation so he wouldn't play along.  One more drink and I would have had him.  But someone has to remain sane in our family and we sure as hell know that sanity isn't my strong suit.

Since Mach One was keeping me in line, I felt compelled to find someone else who was having as much fun as me.  Can you believe I only had one margarita the entire night and I was still having this much fun?  So was this guy.  He looked at me and I looked at him.  He was like "Susie?"  And I was like, "Trenton?"  And then the always serious Mach One said, "That's not Trenton!"  And I was like, "Dude, I'm not Susie!"  And he said, "I know - I made out with Susie in high school."  Trenton was clearly a man whore but I decided that since his tongue had been in Susie's mouth once upon a time, why not take a photo to commemorate the evening.

I think the past 20 years has been damn good to me, don't you?  I look like a totally different person.  Apparently I grew about 7 inches after I graduated and decided that being a red head wasn't everything that it was cracked up to be.  Blondes have more fun, baby...

And what can I say about this guy?  Nobody knew who the hell he was.  But I couldn't pass up an opportunity to have my picture taken with a real life cowboy.  Who apparently just got back from a luau or some shit.  Cowboy hat & Hawaiian shirt.  I'm going to go out on a limb and say this would be a fashion "don't" as far as Glamour magazine is concerned.  But I'm too lazy to put the black bar over his eyes so just pretend it's there.  This is like Don Ho meets John Wayne.  We'll call him Don Wayne just because I have no idea who he is and I'll never see him again in my natural life.  And in heaven, he won't mind that I mocked him on my blog.  At least I hope he won't...

So there you have it.  Susie & JuneBug's 20 year reunion at a glance.  I, for one, cannot wait until the 25 year reunion.  I'll be there with bell's on.  I mean Susie will.  And with any luck, she won't be pregnant next time.

Welcome to Parkersburg - Population: 250

Welcome to Parkersburg - and yeah, the population number is correct.  I didn't leave a zero off the end, if that's what you're wondering.  Parkersburg, Illinois is where my beloved Mach One spent his formative years.  He managed to break away when he was 22 - who feels compelled to sing the Kelly Clarkson "Breakaway" song right now?  Feel free, I don't mind.  Singing is good for the soul.  And the song is very biographical for Mach One.  Except for the palm tree part.  The first time he saw a palm tree was on our honeymoon in 1993.  That's because he grew up in Parkersburg and never went anywhere.  See how it all comes back, full circle?  Speaking of full circle - and we were, weren't we?  We travel back to Mach One's roots every couple years.  I know you think I suck out loud for only visiting every two years but it takes 8 hours to drive there.  The only thing I like to do for 8 hours straight is sleep - just sayin'.  And once you get to Parkersburg, there's nothing there.  So you drive for 8 hours to do nothing.  Sounds fun, doesn't it?  Um yeah, no.

Let me give you a little tour of Pburg - that's what the "locals" call it.  You might want to grab a caffienated drink while we're on our little tour.  Unless you suffered from insomnia last night and were wide awake at 3:07 am.  If that's the case, Pburg will definitely turn you into a narcoleptic.  No medication required.

Pburg has its own water tower.  Who knew?  This is right outside of Mach One's childhood home.  The home that is 1000 square feet and boasts one bathroom.  That's right off the kitchen.  And there were 5 kids in his family - who now have spouses and spawn of their own.  I think I counted close to 20 people in the house at one time.  Did I mention there's one bathroom?  That's right off the kitchen?  Who can crap under those circumstances?  Not me - just sayin'.  So not only do I drive 8 hours to do nothing - but I don't shit for 3 days.  Aren't you glad you know that?  You can live a full life, now that you're well versed in my bowels.  But I digress - here's the water tower.  I have no idea what the hell it's for.  What are water towers for?

Pburg is also chock full of all kinds of crazy ass creatures.  Things that I've never seen before in my life and could have died quite happily if our paths would have never crossed.  For example, raise your hand if you've ever seen these?

Now raise your hand if you threw up a little in your mouth when you saw this picture.  Be honest.  Did they make you want to hurl?  I had to choke back the vomit when I was taking the picture - just sayin'.  For those that don't hail from Pburg, these are locust shells.  I always thought a locust was a grasshopper.  Apparently I'm not smarter than a 5th grader - big surprise there.  The locusts climb up trees and then shed their skin or some shit.  I have no idea what they do.  But The Girl is enamored by all of these things.  What the hell are they - are they shells?  Let's call them shells.  She likes to collect them and then watch her chubby mom scream like a school girl when she brings them within a mile of me.  Locusts and their shells - hate them.

This is my father-in-law.  Isn't he cute?  This is exactly what Mach One is going to look like when he's 66 - or however old my father-in-law is.  Isn't that nice that I don't know?  His name is Billy - but he goes by Bill.  I think he looks like a Billy.  I think he's showing The Girl somebody's egg sac.  Whose egg sac - I haven't a clue.  I'm just glad it wasn't a nut sac.  Which in Pburg isn't out of the realm of possibility.  But my father-in-law is among the list - albeit a short list - of things I like in Pburg.

Apparently Mach One's family is considered royalty in Pburg.  I married the Prince of Pburg - who knew?  I think I may get thirty acres and a mule if Mach One ever decides to dump me.  Or he may have had to pay 30 chickens for my hand in marriage.  Or maybe that was only if I was from Pburg - which I wasn't - let's just be clear about that.  Back to the royal bloodline.  Pburg - despite it's near non-presence on a map - boasts it's own cemetary.  And it's free.  Shit like that doesn't happen around here.  You have to shell out some lettuce to get your ass stuck in the ground in these parts.  The far corner of the cemetary houses Mach One's relatives.  So why not take a family photo while we're there.  I have no idea who these people were but the stone was from the 1800's and it said "Our Beloved Sons" - one of whom was 10 years old.  We think.  A stone that old is a little hard to read.  But isn't that sad?  Thanks for letting us take our picture with you, whoever you are.  Mach One's long lost cousins or something.  May God rest all of your souls.  And I'm sorry you never made it out of Pburg.  Amen.

While were were in the country and forced to smell the feces of every farm animal within a 20 mile radius, I encouraged Mach One to find us some pigs for the children to play with.  Clearly, I've watched Charlotte's Web way too many times.  I envisioned The Girl cuddling a little, pink piglet.  Or The Boy snout to snout with a spring pig.  Instead, this is what I got...

See all that black stuff?  That'd be poop.  I can't even begin to explain the depth of the stench.  There are really no words.  Mach One didn't notice it at all.  I was gagging up my lunch and he was like, "I don't smell anything."  His smeller is ruined from his years in Pburg.  Pig poop - put that on the "dislike" list.

We saw cows too.  Did you know that cow was a generic term?  I always thought that "cow" meant a girl cow - with udders.  These were cows with penises.  I almost passed out when I saw that they had penises.  I had visions of my city kids being gorged by the unbridled testosterone of these male bovine.  Then Mach One explained that while they did indeed have penises - which he didn't have to explain because they were pretty obvious, even to a city chick like me - they were lacking the twins.  So they might as well be girl cows.  But don't try to milk them - just sayin.'  I liked this guy.  He looks sad, doesn't he?  Probably sad that someone chopped his nuts off AND he's going to end up on a dinner table near you...

He wanted to be my friend, I could tell.  He kept inching closer and closer.  But then I think The Boy farted and then The Girl cut her finger on a piece of grass.  How the hell she managed to do that, I'll never know.  And then the magic spell was broken and he went back to eating the grass that had nearly severed my daughter's digit.  But for a split second, he wanted to be my friend.

One of the best parts of the trip was of course, seeing the family.  Mach One has three brothers and one sister - all of whom have reproduced quite nicley.  I will say that Mach One is the only brother who has managed to send forth a Y sperm into battle.  Thus making The Boy the lone male grandchild to carry on the family name.  And making him the only dude amongst a gaggle of girls - everywhere he goes.  Poor guy - he's pretty well adjusted considering his circumstances.  Here are the majority of the cousins - the teenage girls weren't interested in straddling the slide for a photo op - imagine that.

So there you have it - Pburg at a glance.  Now you know why we only visit every two years.  Actually the real reason is because it takes that long for my bowels to recover - just sayin'...

The one that got away...

Fishing.  Who doesn't heart fishing?  I'm not sure that I heart it, per se.  But it's not a bad way to get a tan.  Not as good as say sipping a margarita, naked, on a remote island in the tropics.  That's a great way to get a tan - just sayin'.  But fishing is second to that.  Ok, not really.  But the spawn like to fish so I go along because I'm really working on that Mother of the Year award.

I have certain rules when I fish.  Things that I will and won't do.  For example, I won't touch the fish.  That means I won't take it off the hook or come anywhere near it.  I also won't touch the worm - ever.  If it needs to be put on the hook, Mach One does it.  If it needs to be moved down on the hook - Mach One to the rescue.  Are you seeing a pattern?  Lucky for Mach One, The Girl has taken on part of these responsibilities.  So much for sowing the seed of a male.  The Boy screams like a girl at the prospect of touching the worm.  And he actually gagged when we suggested taking the fish off the hook.  It makes me gag too - that sucking sound when you take out the hook.  I just threw up a little in my mouth just thinking of it.  Check out these pictures while I go gargle...

Here's The Boy.  *Sigh* - isn't he good looking?  Who cares that he won't touch a fish?  The chicks won't care, that's for sure.  One look into those green eyes and they'll be baiting his hook.  God, that sounds sexual doesn't it?  Those little ho's better stay away from my boy's bait - just sayin'....

Despite the squeamishness of touching the worm and the fish, The Boy is a master fisherman.  He won the prize for the first fish caught.  Mach One was still ripping apart night crawlers when The Boy landed this whopper.  The Girl set this little guy free.  Because I sure as hell wasn't going to do it.  I'm telling you, Mother of the Year - I nearly have it wrapped up for 2007...

Apparently in the kingdom of fish, the bass is the king.  Mach One will go for hours on end, trying to catch the always elusive bass.  Why?  I have no freaking idea.  Isn't a fish a fish?  Unless you're going to eat it.  Then my preference turns to sea bass or perch.  But as far as catching fish, who gives a shit what you catch as long as you catch something?  And as long as someone will remove that little bastard from the hook once your plan has been successful?  Not me - just sayin'.  Here's the only bass that landed on a hook during our recent adventure.  Prepare yourself...

Scary, no?  And while The Girl won the prize for catching the smallest bass in the history of the world, The Boy won the prize for our biggest catch of day.  His trophy was 54 inches long and weighed 70 pounds.  And it had these amazing green eyes...

Did I ever tell you about the time The Boy caught Romeo?  Romeo, my dog.  That little adventure cost me $250 and a trip to the emergency vet.  Luckily we managed to unhook The Boy without seeking any medical intervention.  Bonus!

Here's a shot of JillyD and the fruit of her womb.  Such joy & happiness exuding from everyone.  This is exactly what summer is all about...

But all good things must come to an end.  Shortly after this idyllic shot was taken, someone mentioned the dreaded s-c-h-o-o-l word.  And the fact that the first day was a mere week away.  Here was The Girl's reaction...

Clearly not amused.  Now picture this face with tears streaming down it.  That was yesterday when she discovered that she wasn't in class with her BFF this Fall.  Why they got separated when every other BFF team on the planet stayed together, I haven't a clue.  But it was a good life lesson for The Girl - you don't always get what you ask for or what you want.  Unless you're JillyD and you're fishing - then I pretty much do get what I want - just sayin'...

To Megan

May God bless
And keep you always
May your wishes all come true
May you always do for others
And let others do for you

May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb every road
And may you stay forever young

May you grow up to be righteous
May you grow up to be true
May you always know the truth
And see the light surrounding you

May you always be courageous
Stand upright and be strong
And may you stay
Stay forever young

Forever young
Forever young
May you stay forever young

May your hands always be busy
May your feet always be swift
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds are changing shift

May your heart always be joyful
May your song always be sung
And may you stay
Forever young

I'm not exactly sure how 18 years flew by so fast.  Wasn't it just yesterday that I was holding a newborn with a purple bow in her hair?  And now that newborn is heading off to college.

You were the first child that I ever loved.  I wasn't much older then you are right now when your entrance into the world forever changed me.  Who knew that a 7 lb. 11 oz baby could have such a profound effect on my entire world.  But you did - and you still do.

I'm so proud of the woman that you have become and the woman that you helped me become.  You fill my heart with pride and love and I couldn't adore you more if I tried.  You're not only my niece and my godchild but you're my friend.

I'm going to miss you.  No matter where you are, I'm only a phone call away.  And I will be there in a heartbeat if you need me.

It's time to show the world what you're made of, baby.  Show them what I've known all along.  Just don't forget to remember me (even though I hate that song I thought I'd throw it in there!)

I love you and I'm so very, very proud of you!

Aunt Jill

A Decade

I woke up a little sad this morning.  I hate when that happens, don't you?  I opened my eyes and realized that it had been 10 years - an entire decade - since my Grandma left this life and headed toward a much better life in heaven.  A decade is a long time.  That is 525,600 minutes times ten.  Which equals 5,256,000 for you math types.  I'm not sure that the very talented cast of Rent could even pull off a version of that.  It just doesn't roll off the tongue with the same ease.

I remember the day that she died as if it were today.  My phone rang at 2:00 am in the morning.  I answered it but never said "hello" - apparently I was in a deep REM sleep and forgot how to properly work a phone.  And deep REM sleep was few & far between considering that I had a 9 month old at the time.  But on that night, the planets aligned and I was comatose.  Until the phone rang and I answered it.  Well, not actually answered it but picked it up.  There was a lot of sound in the background - almost like a hospital or a public place.  But then the person hung up and I hung up and went back to my state of drooling.  At 7:00 am, the phone rang again.  This time it was my mother, Cinderella, calling to let me know that Gram had died in the middle of the night.  Probably about 2:00 am.  Did that just give you goose bumps?  My phone rang at the time that she died.  Maybe it was her way of letting me know.  Or maybe it was some fuckwit drunk dialing the phone from the local bar.  I like to believe it was her, though.

My life has changed so much in the ten years that she's been gone.  The fact that I bore two children in that time span is fairly significant, don't you think?  Gram met The Girl - she called her "Paige One" and she was amazed at how much she looked like me.  This the last picture that I have of my Gram.  She was pissed when I took it - but sometimes fate outweighs hate.  This sits in a little heart shaped frame on The Girl's dresser.  Her own guardian angel.

She died three months after this photo was taken.  Which means that she never met The Boy.  That's weird for me.  To think that she never had the chance to know one of the most important things in my life.  Maybe she does know him.  Lord knows he's had enough close encounters where I've been positive that someone was watching out for him.  Maybe Gram knows The Boy better then any of us - and knows that he requires divine intervention from beyond!  She had two boys of her own - she and I would have bonded over this dude, no question about it.

The worst part of the 10 years is the fact that memories begin to fade.  I have to close my eyes and concentrate really, really hard to remember her voice.  Or her laugh.  I can still hear it but it's distant.  I'm afraid that in the next decade, it will disappear completely.

This is a card that I've kept for 18 years.  She gave it to me when I graduated from college.  It pretty much sums up our relationship.  And she had such awesome penmanship - that was from years of getting smacked in the knuckles with a ruler in the Catholic schools.  Those nuns were brutal - but her handwriting rocked.

I miss you, Gram.  I hope you're happy.  I hope that you check on us every so often.  Not when I'm awake and you'll scare the crap out of me - but in a more subtle way.  I wish the world could have had you longer.  Only the good die young.  Thanks for always being my biggest fan - I was yours too.

I love you,

JillyBean

The Legend of Larry

For the second time in the past 5 months, Mach One has lost a grandparent.  We found out last night that his maternal grandfather died.  The details are brutally foul.  Let's just say that if you're 94 and you go out in the woods to cut some firewood, you should really let someone - anyone - know that you're out there.  Because if you happen to have a heart attack and die, you won't be found until someone notices your newspapers piling up in your box.  A week later.  And you laying (or is it lying?) dead in the woods for a week turns the details of your death brutally foul.  However, it does give your granddaughter-in-law more ammunition for staying out of the woods since that's where you find dead people and she's known that all along - just sayin'. 

Lawrence was an "interesting" specimen.  He only went by "Lawrence" - never Larry or Lar - but I always called him Larry.  Not to his face because he scared the shit out of me in general.  But behind his back.  Lawrence is so formal, wouldn't you agree?  And when I say "interesting," I actually mean insane.  He was kind of crazy.  And he was mean.  And he was deaf too.  And he never bathed.  And he had no teeth.  Shall I go on?  Here's a picture of him so you can get a visual:

Doesn't he look about 400 years old?  And this picture was taken 10 years ago since that's a thumb sucking version of The Girl perched in between the old folks.

Larry was always good for a laugh, despite his intense BO & his inability to hear a damn word that anybody said.  Although in Mach One's family, the laughs were usually at my expense.  When I was pregnant with The Girl, we headed down south for Mach One's ten year reunion.  I had only met the grand-parentals one time prior to that.  That's when they lived in a shack with no running water - I've actually seen nicer crack houses - and Larry managed to use the "N" word in front of me in our first two minutes of interaction.  Doesn't he sound like a sweet guy?  Mach One was appalled and begged me to not cancel the wedding.  Anyway, back to the laughing at JillyD's expense story.  So we're down there for the reunion and Mach One's mother decides to have the whole damn family over for a cookout.  Except we didn't cook - we ordered Kentucky Fried Chicken.  Larry and his equally stinky wife, Trella (and no I didn't make that name up, unfortunately) were part of the guest list.

Now, you know how smells get to you when you're pregnant?  And visually disgusting things will make you vomit?  Keep that in mind, k?  So here I am, 6 months pregnant with Mach One's seed and somehow, unbeknowst to me, I get stuck at the far end of the picnic table with Larry.  Who smells like a horse's ass.  I'm trying to keep my head turned away from him while trying to hold back the vomit that's trying to make it's way into my mouth.  All of a sudden, the following banter takes place:

Larry: Hey (and pokes JillyD in the arm with his grubby fingers)

JillyD: Yes, hi - how are you, Grandpa?

Larry: WHAT?

JillyD: I said, "how are you, Grandpa?"

Larry: WHAT?  Hey - watch this...

With that, Larry snagged a fly right out of mid-air.  Now I will give him credit - he was like 84 at the time.  Pretty good reflexes for a guy who was damn near a corpse, don't you think?  So he snags the fly and then shakes it around in his fist.  I'm watching in awe & in terror.  I'm thinking to myself, "Is he going to eat the damn thing?  What the hell is he doing?"  So then he opens up his fist and the poor fly is all dazed & confused from the concussion it has sustained.  Larry's looking at me like I should say something - anything.  So I say, "Wow, great job!"  I had no freaking idea what type of response the man wanted.  Apparently I was right on because he smiled at me with his gums and then took his fingernail and impaled the fly in his palm and then squashed it to death.  Then he flicked the corpse into the grass, picked up his KFC chicken leg and gummed it to death for the next ten minutes.  I think I fainted and then puked.  Or maybe I puked first and then fainted.  The worst part is that I happened to look down at the far end of the table and there was Mach One and his family, guffawing and peeing their pants laughing at the little scene that was transpiring between Larry & JillyD.  It was like a sick, twisted initiation ritual.  I would have rathered swallowed live goldfish - just sayin'.

The Larry stories go on and on.  He once castrated a cat by sticking it head first into a boot.  You didn't want to piss off Larry, that's for damn sure.  He had a lot of issues.  Money was the main one.  He had more then he knew what to do with but he never spent it and lived like he was poverty stricken.  But all those millions that he supposedly had didn't do him any good when he dropped dead in the woods a week ago.  I'm sure the local banks will miss him coming in to check on his fortune every week.  Especially the bank teller who he was convinced wanted to have s-e-x with his 90 year old self.  So he told her that he knew she wanted him.  That was right after his wife told the same lady that she had a really bad yeast infection.  I think the bank teller quit on the spot.  And I'm convinced Mach One was switched at birth since he is far too normal to share the same gene pool with this clan.

Godspeed Larry.

To mourn Larry's passing & the end of another softball season, tomorrow JillyD will be holding another "Give that Photo a Name" contest.  Be here or be square!