No, not The Rapture, where the good people go to heaven and the rest of us are left behind being chased by zombies who are under the control of our Evil Overlord, Simon Cowell.

I’m talking about the end of high school.

Our youngest youngen is about to graduate. How can my baby girl be this old? *sniffle* What makes this a bit odd is that high school goes on for another month. But the seniors only have a few more days, thanks to a bureaucratic snafu.

Back in February there was a school bond issue on the ballot, which included remodeling the high school football field. The football field where graduation was supposed to be held. The bond issue passed, and work began. Then Mother Nature decided that 2008 would be the wettest year in history and the football field became a giant mudhole.

Can’t have commencement in a giant mudhole, must find other venue.

Unfortunately the school auditorium isn’t large enough because the area has experienced expansive growth and has twice as many students as they thought they’d have at this point in time. The graduation committees of all the surrounding districts booked all the good dates at all the available auditoriums years ago. Frantic phone calls and schedule juggling ensued, and thus, Daughter will graduate miles from home, practically before she was born.

Like these last few months of school haven’t been nerve-wracking enough. We’ve had to contend with the hideous weather, like getting her to the ACT College test on an April day when it snowed. The last time I took a child to the ACT test it snowed and I ended up in the hospital with a broken leg. So that made me a little edgy. (I survived unscathed.)

Then there was prom. Daughter has never attended a prom and I nagged her that she should go. Nope, don’t wanna go and you can’t make me. That was the standoff until three days prior to prom, when she suddenly decided it’d be fun. See what nagging gets you? A headache, that’s what it gets you. Plus trips to 50 places for tickets, a dress, shoes, undergarments, transportation, flowers and accessories.

But they went, it was lovely and yes I have pictures

All of this while doing full-time caregiving for grandma. Trips to every -ist on the planet…neurologist, orthopedist, opthamologist, optometrist, urologist, therapist, radiologist and pharmacist.

Visiting the doctors is easy compared to trying to figure out the billing, though. Medicare, Medicare supplemental, Part A, Part B, tie ins, tie-one-ons. The paper billings are months behind so we decided to sign up for Medicare online. God help you if you are a sick old person and try to use the Medicare website. It was designed by Simon Cowell and the zombies.

To sign up you have to get a special username and password. Ok, I’ve done that hundreds of times at hundreds of websites. Ha! You can’t just sign up! You have to figure out the formula. You have to use the first letter of your last name and the last letter of your first name combined with the town you were born in. That’s step one. Then multiply your social security number by itself and subtract that from the distance to the sun. That’s step two of the 487 steps to get a username. The real irony though, is that once you have completed the entire process, the website is filled with confusing and illogical data that helps not at all.

I need a psychiatrist. One who knows a good pharmacist.

:-)

- - -

A plane is on its way to Montreal when a blonde in Economy Class gets up and moves to the First Class Section and sits down.

The flight attendant asks to see her ticket. She tells the blonde that her ticket is for Economy Class and that she will have to leave the First Class Section

The blonde replies “I’m blonde, I’m beautiful, I’m going to Montreal, and I’m staying right here!”

The flight attendant alerts the pilot and copilot of the situation.

The copilot tells the blonde that she will have to move back to Economy Class.

The blonde replies “I’m blonde, I’m beautiful, I’m going to Montreal, and I’m staying right here!”

The copilot tells the pilot that he probably should have the police waiting when they land to arrest this blonde woman that won’t listen to reason.

The pilot says “You say she’s blonde? I’ll handle this. I’m married to a blonde. I speak ‘blonde’!”

He goes back to the blonde, whispers in her ear, and she says, “Oh, I’m sorry,” and moves back to her seat in the Economy section.

The flight attendant and copilot are amazed and asks him what he said make her move without any fuss.

The pilot smiled. “I told her First Class isn’t going to Montreal.”

- - -

A blonde walks into a bank in New York City and asks for the loan officer.

She says she is going to Europe on business for two weeks and needs to borrow $5,000. The bank officer says the bank will need some kind of security for such a loan, so the blonde hands over the keys to a new Rolls Royce parked on the street in front of the bank.

Everything checks out, and the bank agrees to accept the car as collateral for the loan. An employee drives the Rolls into the bank’s underground garage and parks it there.

Two weeks later, the blonde returns, repays the $5,000 and the interest, which comes to $15.41.

The loan officer says, “We are very happy to have had your business, and this transaction has worked out very nicely, but we are a little puzzled. While you were away, we checked you out and found that you are a multimillionaire. What puzzles us is why would you bother to borrow $5,000?”

The blonde replied, “Where else in New York can I park my car for two weeks for 15 bucks ?”

MIKE THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: We’re here at the 80th annual Academy Awards. We missed last year, on account of Jeff here havin’ an unfortunate “incident” at Daytona in 2007.

JEFF THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: {{shudders at memory of the college student who offered him some “E” which he misheard as “tea” and cheerfully popped into his mouth with a hearty, “Thanks buddy! I usually drink Luzianne but I’ll try your concentrate!”}}

MIKE THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: ((spots Regis Philbin approaching}} Hey lookie, Jeff! It’s the Lucky Charms Leprechaun!

JEFF THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: ((has momentary flashback of hallucinations from 2007, then spots Marion Cotillard and quakes in terror}} Oh gawd, Mike! Is that an albino mermaid?

MIKE THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: Calm down Jeff. Hey, there’s Mickey Rooney - I thought he was dead!

JEFF THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: Ain’t he still on Sixty Minutes?

MIKE THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: And there’s Jack Nicholson!

JEFF THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: Aww, poor fella, wearin’ them big ol’ sunglasses. I didn’t realize he’d gone blind. I guess they wouldn’t let his seein’ eye dog in with him.

MIKE THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: It’s great to see John Wayne and Bob Hope again, wonder what they been up to?

JEFF THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: Ack! A bee! {{begins swatting wildly at the air}}

MIKE THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: {{Sees clip of Jarvier Bardem, in No Country for Old Men}} Day-um, that’s the ugliest woman I’ve ever seen.

JEFF THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: {{Sees Tilda Swinton}} That poor red-haired gal musta got mugged on the way over here, somebody done stole the sleeve right off her dress.

MIKE THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: There’s that cute little gal that works at the Pie Hole.

JEFF THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: They keep sayin’ “There Will Be No Old Men” Is that a jab at John McCain?

MIKE THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: I dunno, Jeff, I think the commies are takin’ over everything! There ain’t no Americans winnin nothin’!

JEFF THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: Hell yeah! They even got Indiana Jones wearin’ earrings! What is the world comin’ to?

MIKE THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: {{Sees the Coen Brothers going onstage for third time}} Wasn’t them fellers just there?

JEFF THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: {{Shudders again at thought of flashbacks}} I don’t feel so good, Mike, can we go home?

MIKE THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: Yeah Jeff, let’s get outta here. Folks keep sayin’ “Juno” and I keep tellin’ ‘em, “No, I DON’T know, now leave me alone”.

We started out with the computer on the fritz. This plucky little machine has been chugging along for years now, but it was starting to wheeze under the strain. It has suffered at the hands of an anime-obsessed teenage girl and a Goth-inspired young man. It has listened to many, many song downloads. It has held thousands of photos. It has groaned at my prose.

We tried clearing out the files of the young-man-who-has-flown-the-coop. We uploaded photos to online storage. We lit incense and prayed to the bits/bytes gods.

Nothing worked.

Daughter suggested we upgrade the operating system. I balked (that’s what moms do) but as the days wore on and I was getting the shakes, cradling the useless keyboard in my hands and sobbing, I agreed.

I am a technotard. But I understand the words others tell me, even if I do no fully comprehend the meaning. It seems there are these things called “drivers” that communicate between the programs and the operating system. Without the drivers, the programs are like college students on spring break, getting rowdy and flashing their boobies at strangers. The operating system throws up its hands in disgust and settles into a recliner with a tall glass of scotch. The only remedy is to download updated drivers, which sounds good…in theory.

Unfortunately, one of the programs that goes crazy is the modem. It’s at a party on the beach, so getting it to download the updates is damn near impossible. It stumbles and barfs a lot. It delivers information sporadically, at an appallingly slow speed, before it passes out. We connected at 9 kbs. That is not a misprint. Nine. The website said it would take 872 years to get all of the required updates. Talk about irony! We couldn’t download the upgrades needed because the modem needed upgrades.

Then Eldest Son (belated Happy Birthday sweetie - love you!) rode to our rescue. He told us that Sprint just came out with a new thingy that you plug into the USB port and it works like a wireless high-speed connection. We went to the Sprint store and got it - it looks like half of a cell phone. It was easy to install and is working like a charm (she whispered, lest she jinx the thing).

So the gods smiled on us and we got high-speed Internet access. The programs got upgraded and the computer is running like a political pollster is chasing it. I bet it will be really cool once I get to use it. Because of course, one thing goes right and…well you know….

Grandma got broken. Somehow she tore the rotator cuff in her shoulder. It’s a painful injury and an even more painful surgery and recuperation. I know this because I heard it from ten different doctors and because grandma tells me. It meant she would need assistance, so we started staying at her house to take care of her, and to allow her plenty of opportunities to remind me that it’s a painful injury and an even more painful surgery and recuperation. I understand. I’ve been broken - a lot.

So I’m trying to be patient and polite. My halo is starting to slip though and feels more like a noose - LOL!

But I try to find humor in the situation, and I have to admit, it ain’t easy. Grandma’s pain meds cause her to slur her speech and speak softly. I seem to be the only one who can hear or understand her. So now I am the driver, trying to communicate between the operating system and the programs.

Grandma will mutter something and Husband or Daughter will misunderstood and respond with an inappropriate answer. It goes something like this:

Grandma says - “This light bulb went out”.
Husband responds - “Yes, it’s cold but bright out”.
Daughter responds - “I don’t like trout”.

I could use an upgrade.

Undergoing MyBlogLog Verification