Saturday, April 26, 2008

The Five or Six (Known) Wives of Old G-Pa

The best way to describe my grandfather is that he is a living, breathing reincarnation of W.C. Fields.

He came to town a week early for my sister's wedding, and I was privileged to have an interesting conversation with him. It began with a discussion of the Eliot Spitzer affair.

For an elderly gentleman, my grandfather has quite a libertarian view of prostitution.
He declared that if he was in Spitzer's situation, he would never resign. I told him (jokingly) that if he was in Spitzer's situation he would probably have been impeached upon ascending the office based on his past alone.

He recounted the various women of ill-repute in his small Ohio town, some of whom had gone on to become quite successful in more legitimate businesses, or who had married prominent members of society.

This led to him reminiscing on his ex-wives. I'm not sure of the exact number, but he's definitely in Elizabeth Taylor territory. However, I don't think he counts the ones annulled by angry fathers brandishing various loaded weaponry. If my grandpa is to be believed, he's had his life (deservedly) threatened more than anyone I know.

I don't remember offhand the name of his first ex-wife. He's told me, but I can't remember. She was before my grandmother's time and they were hastily married during WWII when he was 18 and she was somewhat younger. I believe this was the cause of the first loaded shotgun being thrust into his face.

His second ex-wife was my grandmother. Two more incompatible people never forged a union. I do believe, in the finest of my family's tradition, there was some urgency to the nuptials as well.
My grandfather talked for some time about my grandmother. By this point, I'd stopped talking and just listened.

My grandmother was quite pretty and had been the toast of a nearby army camp along with her four sisters who would go and sing harmony for the boys before they shipped out.
She and my grandfather met after the war. He had spent the duration in the navy cruising the South Pacific on a supply carrier visiting the foreign ports and the ladies who passed their time there. She had spent the duration politely rejecting the advances of a hundred soldiers, holding out for Cary Grant.

No doubt he seemed a worldly, sophisticated young man in the small-town, mid-western eyes of my grandmother. And no doubt she seemed quite the trophy gal to my grandfather who possesses, if nothing else, a passive aggressive sense of competition.

To sum things up in a contemporary vernacular, he tagged her. And so began a life fraught with violence and upheaval.

Their first child was dropped on his head by a drunken OB, causing him a brain injury that resulted in mental retardation.

The fact that my grandmother was chronically and compulsively jealous (due to her father leaving her mother for a younger woman in an age where that kind of thing simply did not happen), and my grandfather was chronically and compulsively cheating (due to the fact that he was a man) did nothing to calm anyone's nerves.

And it was on this situation that my grandfather dwelt when talking about my grandmother.
"I had to step lively to avoid the butcher knife more than once," he said placidly. "She'd get herself all worked up about something, and she'd come at me. But then the damnedest thing. She'd be at me with the knife and I'd have had to bang her head on the ground to get her to let go, but when it was over, she'd want to have sex. I couldn't go from A-Z just like that. My nerves were a wreck after 4 years. I had to join the Merchant Marines just to calm down."

His third wife, Maryanne, was a nice lady from Kentucky. She took good care of him, his son, and my mother whom she didn't like much, but did her duty by.

"I really messed that one up," said my grandfather. "It was all my fault. I just couldn't stop the running around."

Maryanne divorced him in fairly short order.

His fourth wife was a rich widow from Arizona. Her name was Goldie. I actually remember her. She was a nice lady. She was about 30 years older than he was, but she kept him well clothed and well fed, and he kept his philandering to a minimum. Her family hated his guts (and not without reason).

When she died, she left him everything with the caveat that he was never to marry again. Her family naturally contested, and he, believing that he had no chance of ever getting the money, began keeping company with the most terrifying woman.

She was about 6 feet tall, of mixed Mexican and American Indian and European descent. She was absolutely wild. I remember my grandfather bringing her to visit us before they were married. My sisters and I just stood there with our jaws hanging. Even by today's standards she was just a little bit past exotic. To say that she was a gold-digger is not quite accurate. She was more of a gold-carnivore. And she voraciously gobbled up Grandpa. They were married shortly after their visit.

A few months later, the judge ruled that Goldie's will was valid and that my grandfather was entitled to her estate. But it was too late. Goldie's family had been proven right about Grandpa, and they had her money on top of it. Wild woman left him in pretty short order and Grandpa swore off marriage for awhile.

After settling in Florida and indulging in several interesting flings that may or may not have entailed a few wild trips to Vegas, Grandpa cast his eye on Katie, a sweet little old divorcee whose husband had left her for her best friend.

Katie had a stroke a short time after they eloped and her sons, thinking Grandpa might in the will, had the marriage annulled. My mom tried to defend him and the marriage, but she kept laughing and had to grudgingly admit that there was the slight possibility that Katie's son's had a point.

It seems that Katie was the last of the wives. Even though the marriage was annulled, Grandpa kept her company in the assisted living facility where she was residing after the stroke.

Recently, he moved in with my parents. He's been diagnosed with throat cancer. I'm afraid he doesn't have much time left, but I can't help hoping that they'll be able to keep him around for at least a few more years. His faculties are charmingly intact for an 83 year old man and his wit is not dulled.

He has a plethora of interesting expressions. And I'll leave you with his favorite:

"First your money, then your clothes, then only God in Heaven knows."

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

Stink Butt. Objectively.

I have a decent vocabulary.

And I realize everyone who has muddled through the gross misuse of some fancy word on my blog probably justifiably wants to punch me in the nose.

But I do have a fairly good vocabulary and I put it to use often. The downside is that my children hate me. The upside is that I can intimidate administrators easily. And also, my kids learn things. Both their teachers have told me they have a great vocabulary. Except that Emma doesn't talk much.

I took the opportunity this morning to elucidate to them the words 'objective,' 'subjective,' and 'empirical.'

Gwennie concluded before embarking on their school day that "Emma has a stinky butt" was an objective statement and was indeed supported by empirical evidence. Emma demurred, insisting that it was subjective because her butt smelled like roses.

Lord love 'em.

Monday, April 21, 2008

"[They] Can't "Swift Boat' Me,"

says Barack Obama in response to questions about what is turning out to be many shady associations.

To which I say:

Yes. We. Can.

h/t: LGF

Saturday, April 19, 2008

“I have always had a negative opinion of those who, with their snotty noses and their erotic fantasies, meddle in other people’s lives...”

...said Vladimir Putin, former KGB member and current Russian President, when asked to comment on rumors of divorce.

H/T: Protein Wisdom

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

Frickin' Ouch

I'm brazenly displaying a bit of my bra to demonstrate the exquisite amount of discomfort I am feeling at the moment.
Apparently visiting the Poteet Strawberry Festival has colorful consequences.
I'm going to go wallow in aloe and misery for awhile.

Thursday, April 10, 2008

A doctor's rep took Jethro and I out to lunch today to thank us for some patient referrals. I was at the clinic at the specified time and ran straight into Fat Whore as she was getting ready to leave.

She and Jethro were bantering about movies (she was berating him for not having seen all the movies she's seen). I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing cool would come out, so I closed it and observed her silently.

I marvelled at myself and how much I wanted to punch her in her fat face. I'm not usually jealous or violent. I sat there analyzing my feelings and decided that it isn't jealousy. Frankly, and I'll always be honest about this, she's got nothing on me at all. 1.) She's unattractive bordering on repulsive. 2.) She came on to Jethro, which is not the way to pique his interest. 3.) She does not converse nicely.

It is just the fact that she knew he was married (she's seen me before), and even more importantly, that she tried to get him to do something that is illegal and could get him in trouble.

I came to these conclusions as I watched her. I did observe that she wouldn't look me in the face. She knows I know. This amused me.

My goal is to eventually say something nice to her. I think that would be far better than giving her dirty looks.

Maybe I'll ask her if she's interested in three-way or something. Put her on the spot and see how she likes it.

God, I have to quit. Jethro is going to have the most uncontrollable ego and all my years of hard work cultivating indifference to his getting hit on will be wasted.

Tuesday, April 08, 2008

Conversation At Night

Zelda (to a Jethro who is snoring away in a fetal position at the end of the bed with his laptop blazing: "Jethro, honey, lie down the right way. With your head on your pillow. Come on. Close the laptop and put it away."

Jethro: Okay, okay.

some light snoring.

Zelda: "JETHRO! Wake up! Come on. Turn off the light."

Jethro: "Do you mind?"

Zelda: "What are you doing?"

Jethro (haughtily): "I'm trying to relax!"

Zelda: "Do you think I'm talking for my own amusement?"

Jethro: "Yes."

Zelda (looking around for the heaviest portable object in the room in order to smash it into his forehead): "You're being ridiculous. Put the laptop on the floor, turn off your light, get under the covers, and then you can relax."

Jethro (sternly): "Listen. I run down all the animals and you just......

some more light snoring.

Zelda: "JETHRO!!!"

Jethro (condescendingly): "You're just jealous because I'm living the dream. AND. YOU'RE. NOT."

Between the snoring and the sleep arguing, Jethro will be lucky if he's not missing an appendage within a year.

Friday, April 04, 2008


Go read Jethro's post. Jethro told me about it right away, which I appreciated.

I tried to be all cool about it and laugh it off, but it rankled a little bit. I finally lowered my defenses a little, and what do you know! I'm a jealous bitch just like anyone else.

It wasn't this particular situation, either. It's just that I'm spoiled. For nine years, I've never had a reason to worry. Not that Jethro isn't hot and hasn't been hit on, but it hasn't been very often. Face it. Men don't get hit on the same way or as often as women. I know I've given him moments of anxiety which I have always thought were completely ridiculous because, quite frankly, no one has ever made me an offer that comes close to what I have (well, except for the guy who promised to give me 5 orgasms then take me to Neimann's in the morining as long as I promised never to call him again).

But now I understand a little more. It's not as if this silly girl was offering him anything better. It's just knowing that someone could. The reality of that has never fully hit me before.

Anyway it doesn't really matter. I allowed him to service me during his lunch break and I'm going to go back to cleaning the house now. Top that, bitch.

And upon re-reading those last two sentences, it seems kind of pathetic that I've never had a better offer.