Textually Speaking Part Two-

So, while DG has been on this trip, I've been receiving random text messages with photos in them. The other day, I received this photo and the words: "All glass".



I texted back, "Cool. What is it?"

DG: "Its made of glass."

Me: "Ok, but WHAT is it?"

DG: "Glass."

Me: "I know its glass, what is made out of glass?"

DG: "That picture I sent. Its all glass."

Me: "I GOT IT! But WHAT is IT!?"

Now, I'd like to say he was just taking the piss (which is a British term for "joking around"). But he wasn't. He was replying to the questions as he saw them. And of course, there was about a ten minute span between my question and his reply because of how long it takes him to text. In my defense, the photo on my phone was quite small and I couldn't really make out what it was- aside from "all glass" and kind of pretty.

What it turned out to be was a light that was made completely out of hand-blown glass at some shop where ever it is that they were when he saw it. He didn't even know aside from: "San Antonio".

I told him that this convo was "going in the blog". He asked: "What convo?"

Me: "The glass convo."

DG: "Why?"

Me: "Because it was ridiculous!"

DG: "How?"

Me: "Because you didn't get it and it was like that old "Who's on first?" joke."

DG: "I don't get it."

Me: "You don't get the joke or that the convo was the joke?"

DG: "What's a convo?"

Burn, baby, buuurrrnnn!

Saturday, June 12, 2010, our son, Jason, graduated from high school. For a while, we weren't sure he was going to make it. Around 7th grade, he copped an attitude and his line about his lack of doing homework was: "I don't learn that way." Well, too bad, the teachers grade that way. This stayed the norm through middle school and on to high school. Every parent/teacher conference (which DG has never gone to, not one, not ever) I was met with: "Jason is a good kid, but..." and "I like Jason, however..." Always but, always however, always. He had summer school to make up lost credits every year. And he's a smart kid. He's been in martial arts since he was eight years old and a person can't be stupid and achieve the levels he has (second degree black belt in Tae Kwon Do).

Somewhere in 11th grade, something changed. He started getting better grades and conferences became: "Jason is great!" and "I wish I had a whole class full of kids like him!" And I'd ask, "Are you sure? Jason? Tall kid, dark spiky hair? Pineapple-shaped head." Yup, he turned a corner.

And he graduated on June 12th. Fourteen years ago, on June 12th, we arrived in Wisconsin. We moved here a year after DG had the stroke because... well, we came where the help was and it was here. And, twenty-five years ago, on June 12th, DG asked me to be his girlfriend. We'd been friends for over a year and while I chased him like a sick puppy, he didn't act on it till that day.

So, on Saturday, I asked him if he knew what today was and he said, "Saturday."

Me: "Anything else?"

DG: "Jason's graduation?"

Me: "And?"

DG: "Aaaaan-nnnd? And what?"

Me: "Well, twenty-five years ago, you asked me to be your girlfriend."

DG: "I did not. Did I?"

Me: "Of course you did."

DG: "How do you remember these things?"

Me: "Because I'm a chick and chicks remember these things."

DG: "I don't think it was me."

Me: "What? You just think we just woke up one morning and were boyfriend and girlfriend?"

DG: "Didn't we?"

Me: "We just sort of spontaneously had a relationship without any preceding events?"

DG: "Of course we did. Its like having oily rags in the garage. *makes whooshing sounds that are like someone squeezing the air out of a wet bag* POOF! Sponty- spontaneous! WHOOSH! Spontaneous combust! *crackling sound* We spontaneously combusted!" All while he was making those noises, he was waving his hand in the air to simulate fire.

Me: "We spontaneously combusted like oily rags in a garage?"

DG: "You know it."

While he was busy giggling at himself, I asked him about that text message conversation we had (the previous blog post) the other day.

Me: "What the hell were you talking about?"

DG: "I don't know... I musta heard something different."

Me: "You were reading it! How did you 'hear' anything?"

DG: "I don't know! But it was something!"

As for the kid's graduation- here is DG with Jason and DG's father.



Jason walking to the stage.

Textually Speaking with the Disabled Guy

I thought for sure with him being gone (long story, really stupid story, lame story even), I wouldn't have a conversation to post. Long story short- he went on a road trip with his father, an uncle and a cousin. The part that's stupid is the fact we discussed it, he said he wasn't going to go because we have too much going on (our son is graduating from high school, our dog is having puppies, our daughter's birthday and such). Then he changed his mind. Then he failed to tell me that upon returning for our son's graduation, he would be leaving again. That caused an argument between us that is a conversation you won't read here. Let's just say he owes me a present. Why? Because I told him he owes me a present.

Now, DG can barely text message. His brain doesn't comprehend the whole text concept- where one has to press a key three times to get to a letter and whatnot. Those familiar with texting know what I'm talking about. Others who don't text, its the letters on the phone digits- 1=ABC, 2=DEF and so on. Jase sat down with him and showed him how to text message. And he seemed to get it. But not always. And when I text TO him, I can't use text-speak because he doesn't understand it.

When Jase asked me a car-related question, I decided to ask DG, because he's with his father and his father would know the answer. This is the text conversation. Any misspellings are because DG doesn't like the text-key thing.

Me: "Show this to your father & text me what he says: In a stick shift car, is 'reverse' always 'to the right & down' or does it change by car make/model/tranny speed? Jase wants to know."

DG: "We can all fit in the minivan."

Me: "What? What about the minivan?"

DG: "The vehiclls." (vehicles)

I called him. "What the hell are you talking about?"

DG: "The car. We can all fit in the minivan."

Me: "What does that have to do with anything?"

DG: "For the thing."

Me: "What thing? Did you even read the text?"

DG: "Yeah. And we can all fit in the minivan."

Me: "I didn't ask about the minivan. I asked if stick shift vehicles all had the same gear set up or if it varies by type of car."

DG: *pause* "Oh... OHHH! Okay. Oh. Yeah, unless its, like an 18-wheeler."

Me: "What about foreign cars?"

DG: "I don't know about those."

Me: "What did you think I was asking you?"

DG: "About driving to Jase's graduation."

Me: "Where in hell did you get "Jase's graduation" from "stick shift car"?"

DG: "I don't know."

Me: "You owe me a present. A big present now."

DG: "Okay."

For the record, I'm not squeezing my fat ass into anyone's minivan. I'm driving my own vehicle so I can park where I want.

Random Ramblings of the Disabled Guy

The actress, Halle Berry, is a spokes person for a make-up company. And she looks stunning in the ad, as she seems to always look, everywhere. DG watched the TV ad and then said:

"Was that... Hare- Harry- Harry Ball..." He paused, took a breath and said, "Harry Bare- You know, that actress that's in that movie with that guy who was the guy but not the other guy?"

I replied, "Yes. Yes it was. Halle Berry was in that movie with that guy who was the guy but not the other guy."

DG: "So you saw it too!?"

Me: "We saw it together. On our way back from that happy land in your head."

DG: "Ahhh... its nice there."

Me: "Except for the unicorns."

DG: *dramatically* "There ARE NO UNICORNS!"

*******************

The weather has warmed up (like it has for everyone in the Northern Hemisphere). I took the heavy comforter off our bed because its so hot. Except for DG. Apparently, he's cold. Damn cold. I went back to our room the other morning and he was curled up in a ball with the blankets- yes, plural- wadded up behind him and he was uncovered. When he woke up, I asked him about the blankets and why he was uncovered if he were so cold.

DG: "I done scared the blankets off me."

Me: "Why would you do that if you're so cold?"

DG: "Those blankets don't know I'm cold. Its their job to keep me warm."

Me: "How are they going to keep you warm if they're wadded up behind you on the bed?"

DG: "How am I supposed to know? I don't speak 'blanket'."

********************************

A few days ago, I did a short reading on video of a book called "FLU" by Wayne Simmons. Mr. Simmons approved of my silly video and I made it visible to the Facebook world. Then on YouTube so he could use it on any sites he wanted. Then, I figured since his first novel is set for re-release next year, I would do a quick reading on that. I had to do several takes of the video because I'd either screw something up too much to read through or the light was wrong or whatever. Just as I was getting ready to hit the record button, I heard DG coming up the stairs. So I waited.

When he saw me sitting on the edge of the bed, next to the window, book in hand, camera on a tripod, he exclaimed: "What are you doing!?"

Me: "I'm going to do a video of myself reading from "Drop Dead Gorgeous" for Wayne like I did with "FLU", you remember?"

DG: "Oh, then go ahead." and he waved his arm dismissively.

Me: "Sure, I'm going to do a video of myself reading from a horror novel while you strip for a shower in the background."

DG: *by now, his shirt is off* "I said I don't care!" and he did a jerky version of the bacon dance. The difference between the real bacon dance and any other dance is the noise he makes when he does it. This time, his noise was a high pitched: "Woooooo-wooooooo-woooooo!"

So I turned the camera on...

And he stopped!

I turned the camera off again. And he undid his jeans. Camera on. He stopped. Camera off. He started making the "wooooo-woooooo-wooooo!" sounds and doing a slow version of the bacon dance. Camera on. He stopped. Camera off. And I let him go ahead and get naked without fear of video. He was decidedly not willing to let you all see the "Doodle/Bacon Dance".

He just said: "There's just some things you gotta have to yourself."

Me: "But what about the Bacon Dance?"

DG: "What about the Bacon Dance?"

Me: "You did it on video."

DG: "I was framed! It was my twin! No! It was my stand-in! You know, like that guy in the movie who looks like that guy!"

And he walked upstairs, "woooooo-wooooo-wooooing" and when he reached the landing he let out a "Yeee-haaaawww!" in the same high-pitch.

A pre-blog conversation with the Disabled Guy-

I started this blog on December 24, 2009. And part of the reason I did was because I shared the "Rats with Nike Shoes" story so many times that I figured I should find a place to compile all the conversations.

In perusing my Facebook profile today, I found a conversation that took place about two weeks before I started the blog. And here it is, directly copy/pasted.

December 11, 2009-

I was in the shower. I was nearly done in the shower. I should point out that I'm also hard of hearing, so add the shower noise to enhance my non-hearing-ness.

Disabled guy: "*mumble-mumble* ...battery for my truck?"

Me: "You want me to get the battery for your truck?"

DG: "Well, do you want to go with me?"

Me: "Do you need me to go? I have to go to Woodman's (grocery store) today." and I listed the few things I had to pick up. "Are you going to go with me to Woodman's?"

DG: *pause* "Well, you'll need to *mumble-something-truck-mumble* I mean, my truck's full of snow."

Me: "I see... I'll have to go with you to get your battery, come home, get my truck and go to Woodman's alone?"

DG: *pause* "Kinda."

Me: "Can I finish my shower first?"

DG: "I suppose so."

I wouldn't go if he didn't actually need me to go. He's been worn out this week from the cold and all the activity, so his speech is slurred and he can't remember the year of his truck. But I digress. I'm showered, blow-dried, and dressed... even though that wasn't part of the agreement in the conversation.

Upon reading this earlier today, I realized there are many, many conversations that I've forgotten. I need to shake the cobwebs from my brain and remember more. We had some terrific video footage of DG arguing with my Magic 8 Ball, but when I played it back on the computer, the TV was too loud and the loud, smashy, robotic sounds of the second Transformers movie drowned out most of the human conversation. But, I can tell you that according to DG, the Magic 8 Ball is a "lying shithead" and "it lies so bad".

And he still doesn't trust HDTV.

The Disabled Guy, the handicapped man, the crippled dude, the differently-abled male...

Every night at 10 PM Central US time, DG turns the TV to channel 188, which is "Centric" on our cable system. At 10 PM Central US time, on the weekdays, Centric shows episodes of "Miami Vice". DG loved that show when it was on back in the 80s. He has several episodes on VHS. When he got those, he thought he was buying the whole series, two episodes at a time. Turns out he was buying a "best of" collection.

Even though he has acknowledged the show is horrifyingly dated and cheesy, he still watches. Sometimes, the channel repeats episodes often enough for DG to decide not to watch that night. Last night was one of those nights.

Jase was watching some martial arts thing on a sports channel. DG noticed the time and demanded the channel changed to "Miami Vice". We have an interactive cable box that shows a summary of a show when the channel is changed or if we hit the appropriate button (you're saying, "Yeah, we get it, move on..."). The summary read: "Miami Vice; Pilot- Part ONE...."

DG said in a dead-even tone, without a hint of humor or sarcasm: "Its the pilot. The first one. The episode that started it all. The very first show. The show that let us know what the whole thing was about." and he trailed off there.

Jase and I broke into laughter. "Really?" Jase asked. "Are you sure?"

Then we started with our own versions.

Mine-

"That's my dog. A German Shepherd. A canine. A female dog. Man's best friend."

"Pharmacy. Where you get your prescription filled. A drugstore. An apothecary."

Jase-

"That's my cat. A feline. The kitty. Arwen."

"That's my shoe. Nike. Sneaker. Footwear."

DG has become a thesaurus. At least about cheesy shows from the 1980s.

"Those poor rats..." followed by a heavy sigh.

You're saying, "Wait, we already know the story of the Rats with the little Nike shoes."

That's true, you do. This is an update. You didn't realize that it could be updated, did you? You thought your rat history lesson was over at the end of that story. Well, it turns out that it is not.

I've made mention about how we need to raise funds for our youngest daughter to go to New York City with the high school orchestra. And there's an Interweb person who is going to help us out by mentioning the attempt at fundraising on her insanely popular website. I have to set up a Paypal and an Etsy shop and the lovely and psychotically funny April Winchell of Regretsy fame will tell her brethren about us and hopefully we can raise enough money to send two kids (our own and another). There's no set goal in cost, because any money raised will be put into the pool and lower the overall cost for everyone. But, more on that later...

Thursday (April 29) I had parent/teacher conferences at the high school. I told Mr. P (the orchestra teacher) about the fundraising we were hoping to do. I had to talk as fast as I could because the high school conferences are set up in the gymnasium and the teachers are alphabetically set up at tables. You go to who you need to and that's that (lots of walking and standing). Anyway, I'm one of those courteous bastards who tries not to take up too much time. Anyway, Mr. P was very interested in our proposal and wrote down this website (Hello, Mr. P!) and to Regretsy.

The plan, thus far, is to have DG make up some little birdhouses or bird feeders. You know, something small and easily mailable. April Winchell of Regretsy fame told me how to price things so the shipping is included and all the profits will go to the orchestra fund. Now, along with small wooden things that DG can make, one of us ("us" being me, Kat or Ceej) will draw up a picture of a rat wearing little Nike shoes (or wearing "globally trademarked athletic footwear"). We'll get prints made and sell those too. And there is where the conversation today started.

We were going over what we have planned in the near future- Jase's high school graduation, our dog is having puppies, Ceej's 17th birthday is coming and DG needs to drive down to North Carolina to take a big porch swing and a plant stand to his parents. And I told him about talking to Mr. P last night (because as I type this, its still Friday). I said, "You have to make a bunch of small stuff for me, birdhouses or bird feeders- your choice." DG agreed and said something about how he knows he has to do that... and I added, "I still have to draw up a picture of the rat wearing little Nike shoes."

Then, I told him about Ceej's concept of what the picture should look like: A rat, sitting down, reading a book ("Rat History" of course), wearing globally trademarked athletic footwear, and a group of younger rats are gathered around to listen to the story... and they are also wearing the little Nike shoes.

DG: "You know that's sad. They have to listen to that story so they don't make the same mistakes. Always wear your little Nike shoes. You don't wanna get stone bruises and blisters on your little rat feet."

Me: "That's why they take rat history class."

DG: "They're wearing little T-shirts too, not all of them, just the ones who do it- the 'Walk for Life'."

Me: "Whose life? All the rats on the road are long-dead. It happened in Shakespeare's time."

DG: "I know. They walk in a marathon- some of them run- and they raise money for the rats."

Me: "Why would they raise money for dead rats?"

DG: "Not for the dead ones, for their families, you know... what's the word? They're desss... [I said "descendants"]... yeah, their descendants. So they never have to go without little Nike shoes. And those rats who can't afford little Nike shoes. They have to get shoes somewhere. But you know those poor rats, they're not wearing Nikes. They're wearing cheap-ass shoes. But that's okay, because if they wear those, they won't get bruises. Nikes are better, but any shoe is better than no shoe. [pause] Well, shoes, really, because who only needs one shoe? Rats need four."

Me: "How is the rat holding a book if he's wearing shoes on both sets of feet?"

DG (looking at me like I'd grown a second head): "What? Who- what are you- OH! Yeah, yeah, okay, the rats walk on the back feet. Like that rat in that movie. You know that rat? He was in the movie?"

Me: "Ratatouille?"

DG: "Yeah, he walked on his back feet and he did just fine. But he was a city rat. They don't have to walk on rocky dirt roads."

Me: "So, let's get this straight- rats wear little Nike shoes to keep from getting little stone bruises and blisters because their ancestors all died on the 'Road of Death' leading out from London and they hold a walk for charity to buy shoes- not always Nike shoes- for poor rats who can't afford it?"

DG: "That's right. [pause] You know those shoes that are on the wires?" (you see them in cities/towns, thrown over power lines. Some say its a gang thing, but its also a military thing). "Those are put there by rats to honor their dead ancestors who died on the road. And its a reminder to never go on a long walk without your little Nike shoes."

So, there you have it. Rats listen to the story, go on charity walk-a-thons, and throw old shoes over power lines all to honor the poor dead rats from Shakespearean days who needlessly died on the way out of London to the Royals' "country home" ten miles outside of the city's walls. The next time you see a pair of shoes over a power line, you will remember the rats and you will mourn for them.

EXTRA UPDATE: I finished typing the above and before I could add links and such, I had to get up from the desk and deal with "real life" (who needs that?!). I told DG that I was getting ready to post the updated story. He said, "Why? They don't do nothing."

Me: "Who doesn't do anything?"

DG: "The rats. They already know the story."

Me: "But don't you think the story should be shared with humans? Rats can't share it, they don't speak 'human'..."

DG put his hand to his head and said in a gravelly, intense voice: "They come to me in my sleep! They share things with me! Gruesome things! The rats! The bruises! OHHHH!" and then he pretended to pass out.

DG is nothing if not dramatic.

And a photo bonus. Some of you may have heard about "Boobquake". If not, you should Google it. There's a Facebook group for it. The gist of it is, an Iranian cleric blamed women who dress provocatively for earthquakes and leading men astray, and contributing to pre-marital and extramarital sex. So, to prove this person was... insane, they staged "Boobquake". Women the world over wore cleavage-baring shirts. I got DG in on the act.

This is my photo from Boobquake (I added text in Photoshop, it isn't official text). Mine is also my daily submission in my 365days Self-portrait project on Flickr.

Now, after I did my photo, DG decided he should get in on it. As you recall, DG likes boobs. So, he showed his support for Boobquake in his own way. He suggested putting his shirt up like that and he posed, making that face all on his own.

Rock the boobs... rock the boobs.