Georgia was felled this week by kidney stones. She stated it was far worse pain in the back than childbirth. (I still have nightmares about labor pains.) She says you know you’re old when you need a ride to the hospital and go to your phone contact list and three people are dead already.
Georgia proudly displays her stones on a piece of tape on the refrigerator door. Gay wonders if she gets enough, will she decorate the Christmas tree with them?
I gave Jim Baysinger a ride to the doctor when he had kidney stones. I glanced over and he was white-knuckled on the door handle. I was going 75 mph and I asked him, “On a level of 1-10, where is your pain?”
He yelled, “It’s a 12. Step on it!”
I attended Dick’s annual mountain oyster feed and was happy to report that they are excellent dipped in Dorothy Lynch dressing. (Thanks, Budde boys, for that culinary tip.) The party reminds me of my bartending days and I reconnected with old buddies (or maybe it’s just that I love a room full of men… he-he). I discovered red and white wine don’t mix and was cursed with the “black whirlies” at bedtime. Thanks, Barb, for all your taxi rides.
Hmmm… legal marijuana use. I predict there will still be drug dealers ‘cuz they will sell it cheaper than the legitimate outlets. I visited with one person who had tried medical marijuana and reported that it was so potent that when they sat down to watch the “Price is Right” they were tripping before the first door. Hmmm… I would want to be lucid for the last showcase.
I wish strength and health to Lance Zell, who is recovering from melanoma.
If you stop at the bar for an after work beverage, it’s a laugh out loud time if you sit between Daryl Thompson and Cliff Johnson. Daryl is a devotee to the Dr. Phil Show and told Margie in his best Dr. Phil voice why she felt the need to have six children. Margie laughed at the lengthy explanation of womb inadequacy and replied, “Oh, all this time I thought it was just that I was horny.”
Happy retirement, Deb Boschee. Enjoy sleeping in.
Ran into Margaret Cummins and she informed me she would not be dancing on a table at the bar if the Broncos won the game. (Yes, she did in a Broncos victory in the past.) Well, Margaret, the Broncos played so badly we wouldn’t even have hiked your leg on a chair.
The wisdom of children… eight-year-old Michael Hoffman, son of Missy, after watching the Grammy Awards’ dancing said, “They call that dancing? Why don’t they just do the chicken dance?”
Dee Baby