St. Patrick's Day Conversation...

Normally, when we text, I'll screen-cap the shit out of our convo and share it. You'd think that'd be less work than typing it out, but it really isn't. Well, in this case, I'm going to type it out because the Disabled Guy's texts were full of misspellings and in between our discussion, we had a few random things and I just don't feel like editing out those random things. But, the conversation that follows is the actual conversation with his misspellings and text-speak corrected because even though it's great that he can text, his text-speak annoys the hell out of me. (actually, anybody's text speak annoys me).

This all started with him sending me a text, wishing me a Happy St. Patrick's Day. And if you know him, you know he doesn't even like the real holidays- like Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving, family birthdays, our anniversary.

DG: "Have a good Saint Patrick Day."

Me: "I don't drink. Or have anything green to wear. DEAR GOD! I'M GONNA DIE IF I GO OUTSIDE!! Saint Pats celebrators are like zombies. "Green. GREEEEN!"..."

DG: "I don't have a green shirt either. Of course, I don't have brains either."

Me: "You have a green t-shirt. I can see it from here. And St Pat's people don't want your brains. THEY WANT YOUR GREENS!"

DG: "Well, I don't have it here. But you can wear it."

Me: "I wear 3XL, I can't wear it."

DG: "Ok."

Me: "We're gonna die! St Pats are coming to get us!"

DG: "Not me."

Me: "Oh, they'll find you. THEY ALWAYS FIND YOU!"

DG: "But I'm blessed."

Me: "No one is! SAINT Patrick's Day. We're all gonna die!"

DG: "You're so negative."

Me: "No, I'm just realistic about the green zombies."

DG: "Yes, you so are."

Me: "GREEN ZOMBIE!!" and I sent that with this picture (I Googled "green zombie" on my phone).

DG: "Good God. You are going to die!"

Me: "He's on his way there. I gave him directions to your parents' house. It'll take a few weeks, he bought a ticket on Greyhound."

DG: "Good to know."

Then he sent me a photo of himself, wearing a towel, and said: "Watch out. The one-eyed monster will get you."

Me: "Not here. I'm safer from that than you are from the zombie."

DG: "Ok, but it's out there."

Me: "Not any that are interested in me. Those don't exist anymore."

DG: "You keep thinking that way and then it's going to eat you up."

Me: "Are you talking about zombies or your dick?"

DG: "Both."

Me: "Well, your dick is too far away and the green zombie is on a Greyhound bus."

His reply to that was a photo of him wearing a "Bazinga!" T-shirt with green lettering on it. He said: "I'm saved!"

I sent him a photo of a closeup of my eye and said that I have green flecks in my eye. He then informed me that I might be saved.

And just as quickly as the story escalated, it ended.

Textually Speaking 2015

I'm sorry I haven't updated in quite a while. It isn't because we haven't had conversations. We have, but they're not always memorable or sometimes I just plain old forget them. The new pain meds for my fibro sort of scatter my brain cells into different realms and if I don't write something down, I'll forget it.

I have posted a few things in the Facebook Group. It's a public group, so you don't really even have to be a member of it to see the posts.

I've been meaning to post this conversation for a couple days, but I kept procrastinating myself out of it. Well, here it is- Textually Speaking 2015 edition. (he's yellow, I'm blue; in case you didn't know)

This is just as random as it seems. We were talking about something related to finances just about an hour and a half before this (as you can see in the time-stamp above his first text). So I was literally cooking dinner when he just texted that word to me. And this happened.

So many missed conversations...

I am so sorry for not updating this blog more often. I really am. I have no excuse other than I've been forgetting details of our conversations too quickly. I usually write little notes with key details so I can remember them later, but I haven't been doing that very much. (sometimes, like today, I will text to my email the entire conversation as it happens, so I can go back to it and write it up).

Anyway, where to start? So many conversations are just *poof* gone now. And there are a few updates in The Official Conversations with the Disabled Guy Facebook Group. I'm sure I could have put a few of those into a blog post, but I've been so lazy about things lately (even my fibro blog went a month or so without updates). It was partly due to the fibro. In the last six months, I've gone through two medication changes (because they weren't working for me). That sorta Swiss-cheeses the brain for short-term memory. I'll link to the short updates, so you don't have to scroll through everything on that page.

October 28th- Setting things on Fire

November 3rd- Teslacon and Thee Bluebeard

November 15th- "Welp, it's snowing."

November 28th- "Falmunctioning Angel"

December 6th- Thee Bluebeard and Santa

But... here I am! And today, I texted a conversation to myself.

Firstly, I was invited to an event in January. There's a fee. And it happens ON the Disabled Guy's birthday. I was fully expecting him to say something about it, like he didn't want me to go or the fee (which is $30) was the killer. But this is the conversation that took place...

Me: "I was invited to a thing on Janu-"

DG: "Okay."

Me: "-ary 11th."

DG: "I said okay."

Me: "But that's your birthday."

DG: "So? Just a day. Go to your thing. Go."

Me: "You're totally cool with spending the whole day by yourself?"

DG: "Have fun."

Me: "Alright... gonna be $30."

DG: "I *SAID* 'okay'!"

I suspect that there is either something NASCAR related happening on TV (because his birthday is about a month before the Daytona 500) or he's got some train building thing already planned and doesn't care if I'm around. (also, he hates it when anyone makes a big deal about his birthday. I bake him a cake, that's about all he can handle. If I get him a present, I don't even wrap it).

Today, we were at the store and in the checkout line, I noticed there was a bit of cobweb from our basement ceiling on his baseball cap. So, I pulled it off and said: "You had cobweb on your hat."

He exclaimed: "Hey! I was savin' that!"

Me: "For what?"

DG: "For one of those days. You know, when I'm out there and I have it on my hat and I can just [swooshing sound with hand gesture] throw it out there and crawl across it."

Me: "And then what?"

DG: "And then I get away. Didn't you read the script?"

Me: "I didn't know they were making this into a movie."

DG: "Psh, don't you know? They make everything into a movie."

Me: "Even disabled guys and cobwebs?"

DG: "Yeah. Because that's a good story there."

"I'm gonna shoot you!" (spoiler alert- we don't own any guns)

This is one of our dogs- Gregg the Girl Dog with a Boy Name (we just call her Gregg). Uh, I didn't name her.



She's approximately six pounds... with two hundred pounds of adorable attitude.



This morning, she did what she usually does- she was barking at imagined things. She barks up the stairs at the cats, even if the cats aren't sitting where she can see them, because they MIGHT BE THERE! And her style of barking is a slow and steady beat of a high-pitched: "BARK! BARK! BARK!" as if a human were just yelling: "HEY! HEY! HEY!" (except for twenty-seven consecutive times).

The Disabled Guy usually tells the dogs to hush by saying: "I'm gonna shoot you!" and today was no different. So, I asked: "With what? A rubber band?"

DG: "Maybe! You don't know. I could have a gun."

Me: "Except you don't. We don't own any guns."

DG: "I have a gun. I just don't have ammo for it."

Me: "Right, because they just don't make ammo for guns anymore."

DG: "Not THIS gun!" [and he held up his hand with his thumb up and index finger out.]

Me: "You're going to shoot the tiny dog with an imaginary gun... but you don't have the ammo."

DG: "I can't afford the ammo for this gun anymore."

Me: "Well, it IS rather rare. Of course it's expensive."

DG: "It isn't out there! I've looked!"

Me: "Right. Your imaginary gun isn't going to hurt anyone."

DG: [still holding his hand out all this while] "Hey, I could pistol whip someone with this."

Me: "That would be called 'punching' or 'slapping'."

DG: "Not with this GUN!" [and he held his hand higher.] "I'll just give you a whack and go to town."

Me: "How are you going to hold me down to pistol whip me if you can't hold me with your hand that IS a pistol?"

DG: "I'll just whack you upside the head, fall down on you and then just go to town, pistol whip the shit outta you."

Me: "Okay then... well, I'll keep a lookout for that expensive ammo for your imaginary gun so you don't have to pistol whip anyone to town. It sounds exhausting."

DG: "It is. That's why I don't do it anymore."

Me: "... 'Anymore'? Like you've ever pistol whipped someone with an imaginary gun."

DG: "You don't know. I could have!"

All the while this conversation was going on, Gregg was Bark-Hey-ing up the stairs at the cats who weren't anywhere near the stairs. Gregg is apparently not afraid of an imaginary gun without ammo.

Piranha, it comes from below.

Today is that all-American holiday and USA network is using that as another excuse for all-day NCIS episodes. I had the TV on while I was blowdrying my hair and the Disabled Guy came into the room. There was a platoon of Marines running on the beach and chanting their cadence. I asked DG if he was having flashbacks (He wasn't a Marine, he was in the Army, but they all do the cadence thing when they're in boot camp). He said he wasn't... and then the half-decomposed corpse of the episode made its appearance.

I said: "Well, that's enough to make you break formation."

DG: "He's had better days."

Ducky (the medical examiner, for those of you under 40 who don't watch the show) was explaining the man's injuries and Dinozzo (one of the agents) said the "This was not a boating accident!" line from "JAWS" (even though Ducky's assessment was that a boat prop had sliced off the corpse's arm).

DG: "It was a Piranha. Left him out there to get all ate up."

Me: "In salt water? Piranhas?"

DG: "Yeah. Piranhas. I saw it... [long pause]... On TV."

Me: "Of course you did."

DG: "PIRANHA! It comes from below. [long pause] And it bites you!"

Me: "I don't think I saw the same thing on TV that you did."

DG: "TV doesn't lie!"

Me: "Oh, sure. That's a real corpse."

DG: "Of course it is."

Me: "I hope they paid the corpse well. Being an extra in a TV show is tough."

DG: "He's not an extra, he's a STAR!"

Me: "He didn't have any lines. He's an extra."

DG: "He had lines. You just couldn't hear him. [lowers voice to squeaky whisper] PIRANHAS DID IT!"