Ms. Cheevious in Hollywood

My Zany Years Spent Working in Tinsel Town

#dailymischief

When this goes it’s all over

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Yesterday I went into the bathroom and almost peed through my cute little undies.  This was not a move of desperation, like oh my god, I gotta go so bad, I’m gonna’ pee my pants. No, I simply forgot to drop my drawers.

Thank god I realized what was happening before I embarrassed myself, but this thing got me thinking.

First, I thought Damn hormones… so this is what it means when it says hormone replacement therapy can cause dementia? That’s it. I’m going off hormones, even if it means I’ll be a shriveled up old lady before I’m fifty. 

But wait, there’s more. Though most times it’s the lack of hormones that causes weigh gain in women, hormones are also partly to blame for fighting my every effort to stay fit, lean and GOH-JUSS. Stupid, bi-polar hormones. And when I say fight, I mean they fight me like a bulldog that has a hold of a chunk of steak. You gotta surgically remove the steak from that dog’s mouth.

Like that.

And yes, pun intended. I have seriously considered lipo.

So, BONUS. Without hormones, I’d be a skinny, shriveled prune before I’m fifty.

As I pondered what was (or wasn’t) going on in my mind when I almost peed my panties, I had an epiphany.

There are a boatload of stories that have been played out in movies, on television and in books of elderly people who forget where they are or can’t find their way home. These are the stories of people with dementia, and I thought, IT’S JUST LIKE THAT. 

Going to the bathroom is something so familiar we don’t have to “think” about it. It comes by ROTE, as does driving home, remembering our phone number or ATM pin.

 

I said to Nuggie “You know I’ve enjoyed our time together. So as long as you don’t mind when I become a skinny wrinkly mess, we’re good. Because when my ROTE goes, it’s all over.”

I was pretty damn proud of my discovery too. GOD I am good. I wonder if neuro or geriatric surgeons realize this? I know they talk about short term memory loss, but have they really analyzed this shit? Have they factored in the ROTE?

What about the ROTE FACTOR?

ROTE you guys! I can’t live without that at such a young age!

Then I realized how utterly Lucille Ball-esque this situation was. So what if I sat down on the toilet and almost peed through my lacey thong? It’s not the first time I’ve done something and reminded myself of the brilliant redheaded comedienne in the sky (minus the brilliant and of course, the sky part). She would totally be all over this piece of work if she were still living today. Maybe not the peeing part, but the FUNNY, people. The funny.

So I decided to give this hormone replacement therapy thing a while to find its sea legs. But I won’t let it go on forever, that’s for damn sure. Because you guys, if I go out of the house naked one day, you’ll be responsible for taking care of me.

You’re good with that, right?

alzheimers

 

 

 

Taking charge in the car

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I love how my son Graden’s mind works. He’s been brilliant and confident since birth.

We were driving through the desert near Paige Arizona when he was about two, and encountered an incredibly scary and dangerous thunder and lightening storm. You’d have to be acquainted with my ex… the person that he was oh, at least sixteen years ago, to understand why this became more of a “thing” than necessary. Let’s just say that driving fast or with unlimited access in any climate was prerequisite… and never questioned. He owned a four-by-four, gigantic mofo truck with a huge lift kit (the kind I needed a running start to get into), so he believed he was impervious to any climate or environment while driving.  Scale a vertical cliff in the truck? Yup. Drive 70 miles an hour in a monsoon, with zero visibility? You betch-ohhh ass, dad-gummit.

I tried to mask my fear for Graden’s sake, because the alternative was to go bat shit crazy in the car, and that wouldn’t do  anyone any good. I opted to keep my bat shit to myself. I wanted him to believe we were all very safe, and daddy knew what he was doing. NOT. But his peace was most important to me. I couldn’t do anything about the thunder and lightening show, and certainly couldn’t help that we appeared to be driving through the car wash from hell.

When the lightening and subsequent thunderous cracks in the sky drew ever so close, and deafened our ears, it was Graden who said something.

Graden: Mom?

Me:  Yeah honey?

Graden: Can you turn it off?

I knew instantly what he meant. Make the lightening and thunder stop. His dad and I exchanged knowing glances, his dad, finding this extremely amusing.

Me: Oh honey, no, I can’t turn it off.

Graden: Why?

Me: Because honey, only God can turn it off.

There was a pause for a minute, as Graden pondered this, no doubt envisioning a mean old God up in the sky looking down at us, on-off switch nearby, but was he doing anything? No. He was grinning with devious glee as he watched the little people down below cower in fear over his power.

Apparently Graden would have none of it.

Graden:  I’ll turn it off.

Me (sideways glancing at his dad): You will?

Graden: Yeah.

I laughed a bit, and was awed by this kid, sitting peacefully in his car seat, contemplating how he was going to take charge.

Me: Okay, honey. If you can turn it off, then you do that.

There was a long pause… while Graden thought about how and where to do this…

Graden: Where is it?

 

A little boy who's comfortable taking charge in the car

Ya gotta hand it to kids. They really do know what to say to make everything better.