I was thinking about this today as I sat in my terminal watching a group of silverbacks congregate around a garbage can. There were five of them and they appeared to be going on a vacation that required a tremendous amount of paperwork. I know old people aren’t great with technology, but my god the paperwork they were carting around was impressive. Don’t they know you’re not supposed to be that organized to go out to Palm Springs? Not trying to be ageist but I highly doubt they were going to do a fly-over in India and pick up a Sherpa before scaling the Himalayas. Drop the paperwork. Just print out your boarding pass like a normal person. Nothing more is required. You don’t need to have the Tony Orlando buffet dinner tickets for Tuesday night poking out of a manila folder in the airport.

Grandmas love carrying paperbacks. I’ve never seen an old person in an airport that ponied up an extra $5 for the hardcover. I understand paperbacks are easier to transport and let’s face it, osteoporosis is not for the young. I will say this, though. Old people read the good shit. They’re not wasting time on romance novels or the Bible. It’s always some bestseller that you want to read. So, points to their favor on this one.

Let’s talk about grandma hair. I just realized today that you never see a grandma with long hair. They all go short. Now, I understand that as a woman (well, I’m not a woman) your hair is a real pain in the ass. For sixty-five years you get it bleached, permed, frosted, braided, chopped, layered, burned, and ironed. And after that you’re done. It’s still styled, but there’s always a big part down the middle and then it poofs up around the front. It kind of looks like mine except stark white.

Aside from similar hair-dos old women love themselves some same solid color sweater. I don’t think Coldwater Creek makes one that doesn’t button in the front. Hey, Grams, are you wearing a white turtleneck underneath that sweater? You know you are.

Here’s the thing about seeing grandmas together. I’m not going to say they look happy. I think of a little girl excited about getting on an airplane for the first time tugging at Daddy’s shirt while he’s looking at his cell phone. That’s happy. No grandmas look better than happy. They’re content. They just sit there peacefully, reading or chatting with their girlfriends. In their bright red pants.

These old ladies know something the rest of us don’t. If you poke one and ask a question they don’t freak out on you or act as if you’re taking them away from something important. They just stare politely, listen, smile, and answer. It’s how I’d like to be. But I’m not yet because I’m a total spaz.

Let’s get back to the group thing. I hope one day I have a bunch of old guys that goes on trips together with me. I should start making friends now. Although, you never see seven old guys together ready to hit a cruise. It’s always the ladies.

The ultimate is when you see five grandmas on the extended golf cart that the maintenance guy is driving down the walkway. It very well may be the cutest thing on the planet. Sorry kittens.

Whenever I see a group of older contented women about ready to go on a trip I become a tiny bit emotional. I think of them hanging out enjoying each other’s company as one of the rewards in life. You bust your ass for fifty years on the job, raising kids, keeping the house in order, doing all the right stuff. Then you get to pal around with your friends on vacation. Now, just remember to stand on the right side of the moving pedway, goddammit. I’m going to dislocate a shoulder to get past you if I have to.

photo credit: adwriter via photopin cc

It started at work. I have an office with a little garbage can. Since I’m the only one that is ever in my office I have full control of what goes in the trash. I only toss paper in there. Even though I eat in my office my two turkey sandwiches for lunch are packaged in  tupperware  containers. I have a napkin that gets tossed each meal but most of the time it goes unused. I don’t even put any condiments on the sandwich. Just spinach, turkey, cheese and tomato. So, none of my foodstuffs end up on the napkin or in the garbage.

I only drink water at work. In the morning I make a protein shake but that gets washed out in the bathroom sink when finished. The rest of the day it’s water from a cooler. My dog comes with me to work and site under a chair in my office. Each morning I swap out the water in her dish. This is where I first dump water into my garbage. Old dog water.

Now, the dog is only six pounds and doesn’t drink her water all sloppy like some inconsiderate Saint Bernard. She’s a lady and doesn’t make a mess. But still, it’s old dog water. In the trash it goes. All three ounces.

At the end of the day I probably have half a glass of water which also is chucked into the garbage. I estimate each day about ten ounces of water is dumped in my office garbage can. Which sounds like a lot, right?

Nah, son! (such an urban phrase, D.J.!)

When I was in high school I developed a philosophy which was simply titled “Something Will Eat It.” I would chuck mostly anything out of car windows that I believed bore no danger of polluting the earth. This idea came to me one day as I was eating fried chicken in my car, while driving. At the time I had a stickshift and I was getting annoyed at all the gear changing and red lights. Halfway through a thigh I became so frustrated I threw the piece of chicken out my driver’s side window without thinking about it.

I was shocked at what I had done. The more I thought about it, though, I realized all was well. Half eaten chicken won’t sit on asphalt for long. Something will come along and eat it. But, D.J., what about the b0nes? First, I would tell you that something will come along and eat the bones, like a raccoon or worm or something. And even if it didn’t the bones would eventually roll off to the grass where the earth would reabsorb their nutrients.

See? This is clearly not littering.

I have a similar philosophy for water in my office garbage. First, since nothing else is in there except paper, I see no crime. So a few pieces of paper get wet. They’ll dry soon enough, and all the moisture will turn back to gas and reenter the atmosphere. I’m not entirely sure how water turns back into gas when it’s not boiling but it must happen. That glass of water I haven’t touched for a week on my bedside table is losing a half-inch a day.

I’ve found myself dumping water in garbages outside, too. The insanity is that water can basically be dumped on any outside surface without ever causing any issue environmentally. But I have found myself pouring out a water bottle out into our condo’s trash bin or public garbage can. I realize this is poor form. I’m just so used to it.

I’m going to ask the guy that cleans the office once a week and replaces the trash liner if my garbage is heavy with liquid. In my fantasy he will say, “What? How could a garbage can full of nothing but paper have liquid?” If this plays out in reality, I’m going to fist pump the air and declare victory on the elements.

However, if he mentions that some dick keeps pouring water into my garbage can making the liner all heavy, I’m going to have to blame it on someone. Someone will need to take the hit. I’ll choose whoever’s not in the office that day.

photo credit: Sebastiano Pitruzzello (aka gorillaradio) via photopin cc

Time to check in to see how badly you failed! Or succeeded. Whatever.

And we’re going to set a new goal – so if you’re new to the site, get ready to become more awesome.

My awful Photoshop skills actually enhance the effectiveness of that image.

How Let’s Get Fixed Works

1. There is a theme each week where you can join in the crusade to not suck so hard.
2. In the comment section declare what you will accomplish this week.
3. In seven days I’ll write a follow up post and you can check in. Succeed and you’ll receive a virtual make-out session from me.
4. If you fail, well, you’re just human and everyone makes mistakes. Just kidding – we’ll goof on you. Hard.

Last Week Goal Check-In

I promised myself and readers that I would no longer sit in my condo the entire weekend doing nothing. If I don’t proactively put something on the calendar, I just end up playing around online and eating Life Savers for breakfast.

On the schedule was drinks with a well-known Chicago blogger who I was pumped to meet. We’ve been trying to get this done for awhile, but things keep coming up. Sadly, she had a charity thing and had to cancel last minute. We’re back on for next weekend. Now, I can’t control someone needing to cancel. I did my part. WIN.

The other goal was to schedule an activity to do just by myself. Enter The Bacon Takedown, an all-bacon event that called my name in the sultry voices of a thousand adult film actresses (I want to be respectful of these fine ladies in case any are reading). I will probably do a full post on this, but I went alone. I turned to the chicks in line behind me and made fast friends. They were nice, but also there to eat. When I said goodbye nobody clutched my arm. But I went. WIN.

This Week’s Goal –  Cleaning the Condo

I have a few funny cleaning quirks. My body, for example. It’s always showered and scrubbed. I don’t go a day without taking care of it. I also put every dirty dish in the dishwasher and the used clothes right into the washing machine. However, I never dust or polish the floors.

Cleaning the place is all about putting away clutter and getting rid of dirt. I struggle with both. My mother has said well over a hundred times since I graduated college, “If you only did ten minutes a day, your place would be immaculate.” She’s right, of course.

But the truth is that I’ve never done it.

Instead of just hiring a few Polish broads to do it for me (as is the Chicago way), I’m going to put knee to hardwood and scrub the floors. Believe me, I’m not rich nor above cleaning. I’m just lazy about that stuff.

I can  divvy  up the 1250 square feet pretty easily and knock the whole thing out by Sunday. I know, not a super exciting challenge.

I’ll take photos as proof of my cleaning with the mom and sponges. No rubber gloves though. I’m not a pussy.

I will do ten minutes each day of cleaning and have the whole place sparkling like a new dime by Sunday.

It’s Your Turn

Now – if you’re a dude, odds are you’re a big slob like me. So, let’s step it up this week. If you’re a woman, you’re a secret slob. When you find a woman’s secret mess like her makeup drawer it’s like, HOLY CHRIST I JUST SAW THE FOUNDATION SCURRY ACROSS THE FLOOR. Let’s all pick something that we could do a better job of keeping clean. Maybe you need to stop using that toilet as a garbage can.

I hope you’re like me and throw random stuff in the toilet once in awhile just to see what goes down. Like candy wrappers or shrimp shells. I’ve done both. Also, notebook paper and paperclips. I haven’t yet tried an old sock, but it’s my next challenge. This week, however, the only thing flushing will be dirty business and Charmin.

Read Part I Here!

During the cleaning, we had set up an assembly line with my sister and mother bringing over all the glassware and dishes to the sink.  Al, my sister’s boyfriend, washed everything by hand and then handed to me for the drying.  My dad was breaking down the bar.

After twenty minutes and twenty dishes, I announced I needed a breather.  I sat down and felt that vaguely familiar feeling of being drunk.  Now, mind you, I haven’t had a good alcohol high in nearly eight years.  And the worst part, from what I remember, is when things started to speed up instead of slow down.

Alcohol is a great relaxer.  Sure there’s some folks that get crazy on whiskey and tequila tallboys and punch out a bar-back, but for most of us, drinks mellow.  At least it did when I boozed.  But when things start blurring and the room gets bright, that’s when the trouble starts.

I sat down, took a few deep breaths, and then stood up again.  I nearly passed out.  Apologizing as I headed upstairs, I needed to sleep.

In my bed I couldn’t get comfortable.  I felt something in my throat pushing, wanting to come forth and out.  But it wasn’t quite bad enough yet for a manual eject and I tried to fight it.

Throwing up totally sober is among the worst experiences your body can handle.  I mean it’s not quite the same as that dude from the movie who cut off his own arm, but I don’t mountain climb, so this is my version of that.  It’s a strange thing because you know you’re going to feel better after, but the act of puking is painful.  Maybe I’m just a giant pussy.  (Not literally)

I ended up puking six times throughout the night.  Also, I’m having what I would delicately call “stomach issues.”  Less delicately I would call it extreme shitting.  If it were an X Games competition, I’d be on tour and sponsored by Charmin.

In fact, and I think this was funny, one time I’m sitting on the toilet doing the deal, and I realize I have to puke.  Since I was mid-liftoff, I couldn’t change position, hit the ground and throw up into the bowl.  Still sitting, I grabbed the mirrored garbage can to the right of the toilet and unloaded.  It was perhaps the saddest moment of my life.

The next morning, being Christmas Day, I was awake only two hours.  I missed the opening of presents, the dinner at a family friend’s, and any semblance of holiday cheer.

Plus, since I was sick, my thoughts were as dark as my continuously spouting bile.  I starting evaluating my life as a total failure.  I couldn’t speak, but I called the girl I’m dating and asked her to reassure me.  She convinced me that I’m not a total piece of shit, but that I’m just doing a lot of shitting and not to trust my thoughts during this time.

I actually made it downstairs for twenty minutes of gifts.  I couldn’t crack a smile I was so miserable.  And nothing is worse than not being able to feel good when you’re opening presents that people have lovingly purchased for you.

The only picture I have that day is from the second gift I opened.  I thought I looked okay, and with my fever-brain, I should have known better.  For some reason I took the gift that Al had given me, one of those headbands to keep warm when you run, and wore it.  Dana took two pictures before informing me I wasn’t smiling.

I forced a smile, and she commenting,  “Ooh, go back to not smiling.  That doesn’t look right.”

However, even though I technically missed Christmas, it wasn’t a total loss.  I had several great days with my family, a few good parties, and great food.

What I initially thought was food poisoning turned out to be a nasty flu, and two days later I feel mildly better.  Sure I almost passed out at work today, but I made it through.

Thank you for all the well-wishes during my illness.