It is 12:10 and I hate 2017. I can't wait until 2018.

Discussion in 'The Lounge' started by purplekow, Jan 1, 2017.

  1. purplekow

    purplekow Regent

    While all that may be true, my resolution to be curmudgeon requires somewhat of a negative spin. As I said, I was trying this on to see if I like it, otherwise it was back to my delightful self. So far, the curmudgeon life is okay, but it definitely is not for everyone and I am not sure it is for me.
  2. mike carey

    mike carey Duke

    Just as when someone who never swears says, 'F**k it!' and everyone looks up and thinks, 'This must be serious', the occasional curmudgeonly comment from someone of a normally sunny disposition can be used to great dramatic effect!
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  3. kewtex

    kewtex Knight

    I forgot this was your Year of the Curmudgeon. Ignore my post. Continue to carp for our amusement.
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  4. Phil_musc

    Phil_musc Count

    I for one am loving this post. Thanks to all the posters and especially PK, whom I have always secretly admired.
    purplekow likes this.
  5. not2rowdy

    not2rowdy Knight

    Probably too late but these work well for me. Gather them up for the next time. Refills available for both.

    Chest Cogestion: Vicks Portable Steam Inhaler V1300. About $12

    Clogged Sinuses: NeilMed Sinus Rinse. About $15.
    purplekow likes this.
  6. purplekow

    purplekow Regent

    Well, things have progressed. The cold is somewhat better. Curmudgeon experiment day 5 started early. I have black curtains in my bedroom which keeps that room very dark and I have a light fixture in my bedroom that has an adjustable switch and as a result, the light is never completely out. So I this morning , about 5 AM, i awoke in the dimmest of light, confused, exhausted and soaked in my own sweat and with my face and neck being licked. My god, I thought, I just had sex and I do not even remember it. Then I realized, with a mixture of relief and regret , that I had not had unrememberable sex but that my fever had broken and Brandy, yesterday's runaway dog, was busy licking the sweat off of me. She must have realized that I had awoken and she scampered off the bed, leaving me there in a puddle, sweaty, exhausted and alone. The dim light gave an otherworldly appearance to the room and I just lay there, too tired to move, too wet to stay and just generally annoyed. Why do people wake up at 5AM. What possible good can come of that? I felt terribly uncomfortable and terribly alone. In fact, I felt overpoweringly alone in those moments. I wondered if this was what it was like in the last few second before death steals the last of your life. Unable to move, unable to make sense of your surroundings and alone, deeply and eternally alone. With that pleasant thought, I forced myself to move, to get out of bed, to put the sheets in the washer, to let the dogs out and get them in again, (no run down the street in my robe this morning) and then I took a shower. Clean, revitalized and having faced death square in the face, I thought I had had a pretty full morning and with that I went to my couch and slept for another 6 hours. I still do not know why people wake up at 5AM. It seems a particularly scary time if you are in bed alone and it also makes the rest of the day seem redundant once you have accomplished so much so early.
    One question, all of us, at least the lucky ones, have had unforgettable sex, Have you ever had unrememberable sex? You know, when you wake up in the morning and cannot remember if you had sex or not? This is different than waking up with someone you do not know, although they sometimes happen together.
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  7. purplekow

    purplekow Regent

    Day six has already been a trial for my pledge of curmudgeonry. I have been receiving Facebook postings from 2 Traveling Dogs. I did not ask for these posts but they keep coming. It seems these two people are traveling with their 2 dogs to every state and staying in each state for one week. In each state, they go to an animal adoption agency which has been doing particularly good work in animal adoptions and they report on uplifting animal stories. Well, if you are of a certain mindset, these posting in themselves would be a treasure trove of "bah humbug" with a few extra "balderdashes" thrown in. But today, they posted that they had to take one of the dogs, Digby, the older one, to the vet and they are are having testing done. There is concern that this may be a serious illness for the dog. Now I find myself misty eyed and hoping for the good health of a dog who is unknown to me. I am just too much of an animal softie to be curmudgeonly about this. So, if you have a moment, send out a positive message for Digby. Even if you do not believe in all that religious baloney and totally discount the connectedness of the universe, a positive thought for Digby won't take much time and while it might not do any good, it couldn't hurt.
    I come from a long line of "it couldn't hurt" kind of people. Second piece of cake obese Aunt B, "It couldn't hurt" Lottery ticket inveterate gambler Uncle J. "It couldn't hurt." Intravenous heroin Cousin R. Turns out that could hurt and an accidental overdose did kill him, so be careful where you apply the "it couldn't hurt" rule. In this particular case, I believe we are well within the safety parameters.
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  8. WmClarke

    WmClarke Count

    Huge hug, love, and positive thoughts for Digby!
  9. kewtex

    kewtex Knight

    There's your curmudgeondry for the day. You did it! Keep up the good work. ;)
    azdr0710 likes this.
  10. azdr0710

    azdr0710 "Old Timer"

  11. glennnn

    glennnn Earl

    I was right! That was a very "Andy Rooney" tale, but much better because you have a nice voice.

    On the downside here, the combination of 15 months of election anxiety, the disastrous result and "the most wonderful time of the year" has left me depressed and afraid. Some days I don't get out of bed and my family and friends are forbidden to mention politics or political news around me.

    However, I have managed to double my monthly contributions to the ACLU and Planned Parenthood, California has had some desperately needed precipitation, my roof didn't leak (!), And I have a date with Lance Navarro coming up soon (!!!). The last few days have been the best since November 8, another "Day that shall live in infamy", so maybe I will survive. Not great, but better.

    My friend, I send my love and hope for your mental and emotional support. Perserver.
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  12. glennnn

    glennnn Earl

    I started my previous post hours ago and missed several posts in between. That explains my depressed comments which were meant as commiseration for @purplekow, and the hopeful comments at the end. I'm not sure I know how to properly deal with a curmudgeon, but I'm trying!

    Heal, Digby!
  13. Funguy

    Funguy Earl

    I made my contributions (larger than usual) to ACLU and Planned Parenthood "In honor of Donald Trump and Mike Pence"
  14. purplekow

    purplekow Regent

    I offer this story in an effort to continue the Year of the Curmudgeon, of which few have seemed interested. That is one of the nicest things of curmudgeonry, other people's sensibilities are not priorities, rather they are inconveniences. Sometimes, just as the blind squirrel sometimes finds an acorn, you may simulataneously meet the standard of human decency and curmudgeonry, but more often as not, just as the blind squirrel finds it impossible to navigate the world and falls from a high tension wire onto the third rail and thus prepares a warm dinner for a passing coyote, you do not succeed at all thing against great odds.
    Last night, after several days of influenza had left me bedridden and exhausted, I awoke feeling drained and barely able to move and with 4 hungry dogs staring down on me with the "where is dinner" look in each of the four sets of eyes. Unable to totally block out their unmitigated desperation for food, I stumbled out and around the bed and to the kitchen to prepare them dinner. Lo and behold, (an expression no one under the age of 50 uses unless they are doing a Shakespearean play) there was no food. Not a dribble of kibble. No tender provender. No meal to steal. As Mother Hubbard had faced this, so must I and as she did, with no bone to give, I went to my car to head to the Pet Food Store before it closed, a half hour hence. Bonehead, my yellow lab, my sweet, sweet and entirely singleminded friend, sensing that I might be heading to get food, burst past me as I opened the door and waited at the gate, tongue hanging, with panting dog breath and a wagging tail. I manage to close the door before the entire regiment followed and decided as I had no time to discuss the matter with Bonehead, it was sure to be quicker just to take him with me. His delight at getting to go to the car was tempered by his melancholy when he learned there was no food there either. So, I in my sleep sweats and a stretch wool cap and Bonehead in his usual yellow fur with the white accents, headed off to buy food, for them of course, as I had yet to get back my appetite from the aforementioned flu.
    Two stop lights down the highway, I found myself behind a left lane poacher going 10 miles below the posted limit and next to him, as fate would have it, his conjoined twin in the right lane. Did these people not realize that their unusually safe speed driving, also known as old (ethnic group or State denizen of your choice) driving was going to keep my dogs from a meal and possibly cost me a limb, as the dogs would surely gnaw away at anything resembling food during the long winter's night. The interminably red light defied its definition and changed to green only to have Yin and Yang continue to play at 33 1/3 when it was clear this was a 45. Suddenly, there it was, my salvation, police lights in the rearview mirror would certainly force Yin to swing over and cut off his Yang. I could then smoothly pass them both before allowing the long arm of the law to stop a robbery, prevent a murder or grab a pastry and coffee. I did just that and exalted in being free of the ties that bound me and I waited patiently for the po po to pass pass and planned my speedy separation from the two people who had been the bane of my existence for nearly 45 seconds.
    Wait, the plan seemed perfect but there seemed a flaw. The po po had pulled behind me and started the siren that I have heard in 8 different states and the District of Columbia. Yes, the long arm of the law had its middle finger raised right there in my rearview mirror. I know the drill, roll down the window, wait. Contrite and polite. A rather good looking young police officer strutted up to my driver's side window and asked me for my license and registration. As I fumbled for it, he asked me if i knew why he had pulled me over. By this time I had produced my license but the registration was still among the missing. I resisted the temptation to explain that this was the year of the curmudgeon and it was clear if he needed to ask, that I was not guilty of anything, instead I mentioned that a previous traffic light may have been a reddish shade of yellow when Yin Yang and I went through it. Damned those two, I could still see their tail lights creeping ever so slowly into the darkness. I continued to fumble for the registration and I heard the police officer say: "Stop Stop Stop" not with the same intensity as the Hollies did back when I was trying to get lucky as a high school student, but with the same kind of happy lilt, so I I stopped looking for the registration and turned to the officer, who was being slobbered across the face by Bonehead and his immense Lab tongue. . Had the officer just had a pastrami sandwich that set Bonehead's tongue in a desperate exploration for sustenance? Was it the faint souicance of a Double Cheese McD's that had set off the Lab tongue like the large rubber strips cleaning the windshield at a cheap drive through carwash? Whatever it was, the officer was clearly caught between annoyance and delight and it seemed it could go either way.
    "Bonehead" "Bonehead" I screamed getting a perplexed look from both the dog and the cop. "His name is Bonehead"I explained satisfying the officer's curiosity while Bonehead clearly was still wondering where the food was. It was then that I looked down to the chest badge on the officer which read K9 Unit. I said: "I was sick and out of dog food and needed to get some dog food" With that, the officer said, he would be right back and to my surprise,he was back much more quickly than the 15 minute "right back" when they are writing you a ticket. When he returned. he said to me: "you can still make the store but here is a a treat to keep him quiet until then. Get him a seatbelt, that is the law in NJ and keep your speed down. Have a good evening."
    I travelled the rest of the 2.8 miles to the store and back home without incident as Bonehead chewed on the treat and then the barrage of treats which came his way from the clerks at the pet food store.
    So, anyone else have any great ways to get out of a ticket other than having the police officer's face licked by your dog? This is not porno so offering your tongue to other areas of the police office is not an option. I am sorry but as per my oath of curmudgeonry demands, I must not intentionally make your life more pleasant, unless I do, in which case, I will deny it.
    Last edited: Jan 7, 2017
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  15. sam.fitzpatrick

    sam.fitzpatrick Viscount

    PK - Please keep up these posts. For some reason I get a mental picture of Abe Vigoda as I read them.

    I couldn't agree with you more - enough of 2017 already. This week I learned that one friend's wife's cancer has returned, another friend's partner has cancer, and a third friend is having a mastectomy at the end of the month. Add on a co-worker who had to take time of this week to care for his wife whose chronic health condition has take a turn for the worst and another friend letting me know he needs his aorta replaced and I am ready for 2018.
  16. Funguy

    Funguy Earl

    60 is the new 40?
    quoththeraven likes this.
  17. not2rowdy

    not2rowdy Knight

    I was going to comment several days ago regarding the usurper Prince PK’s brazen attempt to make us all believe he is the sole Curmudgeon of the Realm. However I decided to defer an offer solace instead when he claimed the inability of potions and elixirs to mend his ills.

    I accede to the young whippersnapper Prince PK’s status over this mere Knight in the Royal pecking order. However, I take umbrage to any claim or designation regarding Prince PK having sole claim to the rights and privileges inherit to curmudgeonry.

    Although I may not be as contrarian as the illustrious Prince, I demand to be included in this august body in view of my earlier use of this descriptive personality trait towards myself many months ago.

    I’m not sure how easy it would be but maybe the great high powers could add an additional “honor” after our “Titles” that could be added upon specific request and/or nomination. Maybe starting at “Master” level (so there’s some forum history basis for the award). So, for example, the “Title” could read “Prince, L.O.C.” (Loyal Order of Curmudgeon’s).

    And maybe there should be some other “honors”:
    R.T.A. (Royal Teacher and Advisor)
    D.M.R. (Disruptive Member of the Realm) - Maybe reserved for use by the Admin’s
    Add your suggested honors recommendations
  18. kewtex

    kewtex Knight

    New Jersey has a seat belt law for dogs? The mind boggles.
    Charlie and BabyBoomer like this.
  19. purplekow

    purplekow Regent

    Yes they do. Protects people and animals. It could be a local ordinance, but if you are in an accident you do not want you furred buddy decapitating you as he is flung from the back seat. This article is from 2015 so the law may have been altered a bit since.

    "In New Jersey, officers can stop a driver they believe is improperly transporting an animal. Tickets range from $250 - $1,000 per pet, and a driver can face a disorderly person's offense under animal-cruelty laws. In the past, state officers have cited drivers with dogs hanging their heads out of windows, drivers of pick-up trucks with unleashed dogs traveling in the truck bed, drivers with cats resting on their dashboards, and even one driver with a bird perched on their shoulder.

    Hawaii openly prohibits drivers from having any unrestrained animal in their car. In the "Aloha" State, you can be fined $97 dollars for driving with a dog in your lap and $57 if the animal is unrestrained in a moving vehicle.

    In Arizona, Connecticut, and Maine, distracted-driving laws can be used to charge drivers with pets on their laps.

    Other states are on their way to enacting laws addressing the hazard that unrestrained pets pose in the car. However, just because no law of this nature exists in your state doesn't mean that your pet shouldn't be secured in your vehicle just like all of the other passengers."
  20. purplekow

    purplekow Regent

    So day 8 begins in the Year of Living Curmudgeonly. Anyone recall the woman, who is now on one of those CSI programs, playing a man named Billy in the Year of Living Dangerously. That was a movie I enjoyed but of which I have no other recollection.
    This morning, I awoke relatively early with snow falling and nice 3 inches on the ground. Many would prefer a nice eight inches on the beach in Fiji, but I digress. I have never been one to get out early in the snow and travel about aimlessly risking life and limb for no reason, but this seemed the year to try it. So, I walked out onto the freshly fallen, silent shroud of snow, to coin a phrase, and galoomphed toward my car. You would think deer turds would be obvious under such pristine circumstances, but it turns out, they are more obvious on the bottom of your shoe. Great start. I got the shoe cleaned, another handy use for a windshield ice scraper as it turns out. Then after some consideration as to whether this scraper should then be scraped across my windshield, I went ahead and took a chance. Turns out the snow was the fluffy light kind that got all over me, down my jacket and under my shirt. My nipples have not been so pointy since 1989. Anyway, with the shoe and the windshield cleaned, I sat and in the car, listening to an oldies station and I did solo car karaoke. I am pleased to say that I was able to sing along to American Pie for the full 8 1/2 or so minutes. I still am not sure to whom the King and Queen refers, but the rest is very clear. A little known fact is that American Pie, is a song written specifically to supplement the playlist of DJ's who have eaten some bad Mexican food or who are suffering with the ill effects of a hangover.
    This playlist includes: In A Gadda Da Vida; Hey Jude; and Love to Love Ya Baby. The last of which is just a little too long in the full form for most men to fully utilize. I used to struggle making it through the abridged version, a live vision of which is below.

    Now the car was warm, my voice was in full bloom and the world awaited. I hit the gas. Nothing. I check to handbrake. It was off. I hit the gas again. The whirr of rubber spinning over ice joined Don McLean and I in a trio. I considered getting out to try to get the car going, but it was cold and snowing and so I just hit the gas again and this time a jolt and a fishtail and I was moving in the general direction of the street, though I could not be exactly sure where the road began and the drive ended, as there was still that silent shroud of snow which was not yelling to tell me: Here is the street. I took a chance and turned when it seems appropriate. The car lunged forward again I reached the corner of a more travelled road. Fuck Robert Frost. I was delighted to see muddy, sloppy, wet snow with swerved tire tracks and off to the left I went, leaving the road less travelled to some other moron. One light down the road, I was convinced that I had proven myself capable of driving in this god awful weather and I felt I had earned my daily right to complain about the state of the weather, the driving conditions and the world in general. So I pulled into a supermarket parking lot and parked at a very odd angle so as to fit in with the pattern of the more experienced early morning, bad weather drivers. I went in and purchased a quart of milk. I had bought a half gallon of milk two days prior but when there is snow on the ground one can never have too much milk. I searched for exact change and having decided after a suitably long time that I did not have it, I handed the clerk a Benjamin. He did not have change and I searched again coming up with two ones which as it would have it, was close enough. Seems close enough is enough when it is snowy, early and there is a line of angry people waiting to get their coffee.
    I headed home. Entering my overheated home, where the heat of the house had caused the cold windows to frost over. I stripped down several layers and joined my dogs in my bed. Bear already had the best spot and he really is not all that pleased to move when he is comfortable so he lies there until I am totally convinced that he is dead and I scream out his name loud enough to wake the dead which causes him to wag his tail once, almost as though he is saying:"Gotcha". So it was down to the foot of the bed, where Bonehead, fresh from his heroics with the police the night before, welcomed me with a tongue bath to the face, no doubt hoping I had a few crumbs in my three day beard. To sleep, perchance to dream. But really who needs dreams, when you have an entire year of curmudgeonry yet to come.
    So my fellow curmudgeons, how do you get in your daily fix of curmudgeonry on a snowy morning? Is three inches enough to do it or do you need more to really get the curmudgeon juices flowing.

    Just a note, if you let that Donna Summers song run awhile, you get a rather nice version of Bad Girls/Hot Stuff. Kind of makes you want to go back to the 80's, snort cocaine and dance your ass off. Strangely, or perhaps not, this is a performance at the Nobel Prize dinner in 2009 honoring President Obama who had won for best supporting actor, or some such.
    Last edited: Jan 8, 2017
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