I Paid for Hypnosis

Approximately twenty years ago, an advertisement appeared in the newspaper for a hypnotist that could assist people with losing weight. He was going to hold a session at the Holiday Inn and for fifty dollars the weight would drop off after the miracle of his hypnotic rendering. 

I have had a weight problem my entire life. In that particular decade, and several subsequent decades come to think of it, I was highly addicted to Blue Bell chocolate ice cream, particularly Rocky Road. Honestly, any variation of chocolate ice cream would do. I could not seem to eat enough of it, but I really needed to be cured of my chocolate addiction.

I signed up for the class and eagerly awaited the big night.  When it arrived I entered the conference room along with two hundred of the biggest women in Fort Worth. The hypnotist began to speak of how great we would soon feel after he changed our lives forever. He told us that some people would not go under his hypnotic spell, but that the majority of the room would. He asked us to look at our watches, remember the time, and then close our eyes. I was a little bit suspicious so I placed my purse on the floor and put my feet in it. It was 7:15 p.m.

He asked us to think of the comfort food that we felt was our downfall.  That was easy…chocolate ice cream.  He asked us to consider the color of it…okay…brown. He asked us to think of something else the same color, in a similar container, or on a favorite plate, and it had to be something gross. Hmmm.  Pint. Similar container. Brown. Gross. OH!  Worm dirt! I chose worm dirt as my gross substitute.

All I remember after that is the hypnotist telling us to look at our watches again.  It was almost 9:00 p.m.!  He told us that the next time we took a bite of our comfort food it would trigger the thought of the substitute and we would no longer have the desire to eat it. Ever.

Lucky me. What are the odds? It turned out that I actually LIKE the taste of worm dirt!  Damn.

For When I Croak

There are two things that bother me that I want to be perfectly clear on before my demise, not that I predict this happening in the near future; I just prefer to plan ahead.

The first item is what I want written on my headstone when I pass, assuming that I am laid to rest and not cremated. There are so many choices to use that could sum up my life. In an effort to assist any bereaved family members I have narrowed it down to the three choices, listed below, that I think will aptly apply:

If I am here with underwear on I WILL NOT cross over.

Yes, I am STILL mooning you.

Damn.

  

As previously mentioned, I am not planning on passing soon, but I do not like surprises and would, most assuredly, haunt those responsible for 'Here lies, Marta, AKA K-Marta and Wal-Marta.'

The second item that bothers me is the use of spell corrector on some cell phones. Under no circumstances do I want my headstone ordered via cell phone!  I would be most unhappy to be buried under the words ‘Rest in Peach’ or a variation of the above mentioned choices that might read as:

If I am herpe with underwater on I WILL NOW croon oven.

Yes, I am STILT mooing you.

Dump.

My sister has it in her Will that I am not to do her makeup if she goes first. Yes, I probably would put purple eye shadow on her if given the chance.

So, this is going public on my blog, in my Will, and may be published in the newspaper every time I get a cramp, heartburn, or a good haircut (which would be a sure sign that something BIG is about to happen).

Not that I do not trust you….

Me and Horses

When I was younger my grandparents had a dairy farm. I had never noticed, and did not know, that the cows would start walking toward the milking barn at a certain time in the afternoon.

When I was about six, my Uncle Robert, affectionately known as Doc, sat me behind him, on his horse, for a ride into the pasture; it was late in the afternoon. Doc was about ten years older than me and I clung to him as if my life depended on it; I had never been on a horse before. He told me to stop bouncing my legs up and down. I tried. He told me again to stop bouncing my legs. Again I tried. He said I was spooking the horse and he set me down and told me to go back to the farm house (which to this six year old appeared to be about two hundred miles away).  The cows were slowly walking toward the milking barn. I took one look at them and immediately decided they were chasing me. I wet my pants the entire eight hundred foot run back to the house. I have not been on a horse since and cows have invaded my life, more than once, and have caused me great moments of anxiety. I’m still fond of Doc, though.

I work for a horse registry. Years ago, when visitors to the office would ask me if I had horses I would say that I have chickens, they don’t eat as much.  Recently, a large group of Australians visited the office and one of them asked me if I rode horses. Since I am older, and amply built, I answered that I only ride the ones found at the grocery store that require a quarter for the ride. He looked me up and down and smiled.

He was right. There is no way I could ride a grocery store horse. Actually, I could, but you would not be able to see the horse. I would probably get arrested for public display of excessive jiggle.

I need to think of a new retort.

John Had Surgery and I Don't Feel So Good Myself

In a casual conversation with my Mom, during lunch today, she mentioned that John was walking again and doing well. I asked, “John, who?”  She had forgotten to tell me that my childhood friend, John, was recovering from heart surgery. I was shocked! I am a few months older than John, but since we only see each other every other decade, he remains much younger in my mind. As soon as I arrived home from work, stripped, ate dinner, fed the dog and cats, watched two Big Bang reruns, and watered a plant, I rushed to the phone and called his Mom. She told me that John has had several surgeries over the years that I did not know about; gall bladder, knee replacement, and prostate cancer are just a few of them. She did not know if he had also had a vasectomy (I asked), and I told her there did not seem to be much else left to have done. After we disconnected our call I began to ponder my own aches and pains and soon needed to take a few ibuprofen just to continue the ponder process.

I have reached an age where getting ice cubes out of an ice tray is harder than learning to speak Mandarin Chinese. I could fix the ice maker in my fridge myself, but the part that needs changing is at the bottom of the fridge. I would have ice again, but would not be able to get to it because I would still be on the floor trying to stand up. I could ask someone to come over and fix it for me, but I do not have house cleaning scheduled until the week before Thanksgiving.

Ziplock sandwich bags are wonderful. Remember how we used to fold over a flap down into the plastic bag and our sandwiches were only half as stale as they would have been if wrapped in wax paper? As great as they are I cannot open one once it is closed. The kind with zippers cost more. It is much easier to carry around a pair of scissors. Remembering why I am carrying around a pair of scissors is also an issue!

There is no such thing as taking a quick bath. Showers are out because older folks cannot close their eyes while standing and remain standing.

When gray hair arrives it changes not only the color of your hair, but also the texture. I have had limp, fine, blonde hair all of my life and was ready for some gray hair with hopes of ‘oomph’. My gray hair is only on the sides of my head along the hairline just above, and in front, of my ears. The gray hair wants to stick straight out and the blonde hair stays limp. I spend a good portion of my day doing a spit and slick maneuver to keep the sides from sticking out like horns. An older person can only spit so much a day without dehydrating.

My left leg aches but it is the right leg that is swelling. I don’t think the left and right leg holes of my underwear are the same size. I wonder if I wore them backwards if the leg issue would change.

Stairs are easy to go up. Coming down a set of stairs really hurts since it is usually head over heels.

For the past few years I have feared coughing, or sneezing, when I need to pee. Last week I came down with a bad chest cold and was dismayed to discover that I had developed an additional leak. I am afraid to drink anything, or eat beans or onions. This fear is the real reason old people have the shakes.

This list could go on and on, but I am still thinking about John and do not have his phone number. I’m pretty sure his Mom will not ask him about a vasectomy. Most people have cell phones now and are not listed in the phone book. Damn.