Category Archives: Bob

Mah Suggests I Write to Suze Orman

Posted on by wiggles

While chatting up Our Mother on the telephone, I entertained her with tales of the Lord & Master’s and my many fiduciary blunders – mortgage under water, interest-only payments on line of credit, foolishly sending Sassafrass to NYU – one of the top ten most expensive schools in the country – leaving us enslaved to one Miss Sallie Mae. You know, fun stuff designed to get her mind of being housebound, diabetic, and facing increasing dementia.

And, let’s not forget, Hot Pants & I shepherded Bob and Jeanne through their very own personal bankruptcy. It’s a toss-up whether the finest moment during that hoopla was (1) H.P. finally locating a folder marked “I.R.S.” inside of which she found not a single thing or (2) Daddy’s approach to the bench in court accompanying himself with a fart for each lurching step he took. As their lawyer said, “Well, this’ll be a first.”

She zeroed in on the solution immediately.  ”You should write to Suze Orman. She can fix this.”

“I’ve seen a lotta Money Morons in my day, and you’re right up there with the worst.” Hell, if I’m gonna mess up, I’m gonna go all out!

Oh, Mah, I wish it were true. Yet here I sit on another gorgeous spring day in San Francisco, doomed to be stuck in paradise. Until Wells Fargo repossesses.

So, here goes:

Dear Ms. Ormon: 

My mother wants you to undo the craptastic financial dilemma in which I find myself. Please help.

Sincerely,

Another Idiot Who Used Her Home Equity Like an ATM.

I can hear ol’ Suze lecturing me right now. “Use of your credit card – Denied. Using electricity and heat in “your” home – Denied. Eating – Denied.”

Most Women Would Slim Down For Their Vow Renewal. I Clearly Am Not Most Women.

Posted on by wiggles

This was my short lived dream. Dressed, of course.

The Lord & Master and I are renewing our connubial vows before our Nearest & Dearest as our 25th anniversary approaches. As Bob says to Jeanne on theirs, “Another year of goddam wedded bliss.”

Why, you ask? Because we are grateful to be lucky in love; because we still enjoy spending (almost) all our time together, because – let’s face it – no one else would have us.

Unfortunately, we’re enjoying ourselves so, ahem, fully in the run-up to this “picnic with ‘mush’” as the L&M refers to it, I’ve backed off the traditional ‘lose weight/look great’ idea, and sunk into the more forgiving, indulgent ‘be happy/look’ crappy mindset.

So I’m gonna resemble this luscious lady instead.

Of course, after two weeks of Big Jersey high life, by the Big Day, I’ll be a Big Mess.

Ah, the good old crispy pre-SPF days.

P.S. Memo to Hot Pants:  Battle of the Figurines? It’s ON, Babycakes!

Preview: Wiggles Is Coming to NJ to Renew Her Wedding Vows: Jeanne is thrown into a Clothing Quandry

Posted on by hot pants

Image

Yep, you read that right. Seems Wiggles is putting down her nail scissors (or should I say, her saw?) and she and the L&M are getting on a plane to come East and re-pledge their love. It is shaping up to be a hell of a party, complete with deli platters, Sassy as officiant, and special appearances from Bob and Jeanne, the latter of whom has been mulling her outfit for the past few weeks. I expect the rumination to intensify, and I will start to hear more of the following:

Are you wearing a dress to Wiggles’ party?

Joan Rivers has been showing a lot of new clothes lately. Should I get a new outfit?

I do have white pants I could wear.

I think I need a new skinny belt.

One of the girls bought me a skinny belt. It cost $2!

That skinny belt doesn’t fit. I think I need to loop two together.

Let’s go to Banana Republic so I can get something to wear for Wiggles’ party!

Eesh. It will be a bloody miracle if I make it to this bash.

Image

Jeanne & Geography

Posted on by wiggles

“I’ll just mosey up Route 17. Why are so many cars honking?”

Our Mother Jeanne has always been a bit of a kook. Not for nothing did her children refer to her behind the wheel as “Mrs. Magoo” – and that was when she had all her marbles. As a risk-averse person, I considered being her passenger as a kid a solid 100 on the Terror-O-Meter. (Not that Daddy’s driving would have won any awards, either, but that’s another story…)

Anyhoots, the residents of Bergen County can rest assured that Hot Pants has taken possession of Jeanne’s snazzy little dinged-up roadster.

Now all Mah’s geographical adventures take place in her head. Bob & Jeanne have a woman named Indiana who helps them out with life’s daily demands. Seriously, her name is Indiana.

Well, Mah was yakking on the phone with H.P. and said, “I wonder when Kentucky will get here.”

“You mean Indiana?” my smartypants sis inquired.

“Oh, right, of course,” Jeanne didn’t miss a beat.

Well, I’ve gotta hand it to her. Indiana and Kentucky do border one another. And the source of my geographical certainty comes from the Broadway hit Show Boat. As any theater hag can tell you, baby Kim’s name was based on the Mississippi River location of her birth – the meeting up of Kentucky, Indiana, and Missouri – K I M.

I imagine Mah dredging up some long ago school assignment on the map of the USA. Indian, Kentucky – what’s the diff?

To quote Bob’s favorite American, Abraham Lincoln:  I laugh because I dare not cry.

Hef came to Bob & Jeanne’s!

Posted on by hot pants
Bob, aka Hef

Bob, aka Hef

 

I went to Bob and Jeanne’s this weekend to celebrate Jeanne’s triumphal return from her second visit in as many weeks from Hackensack Hospital. Brother Peter, who’d flown into NJ to slap some sense into his aged parents, made a Chicken Parm Surprise for lunch. Bob wanted to eat in front of the TV, which he likes to blare at a dulcet volume level of 85 so he can watch CNN around the clock and hear 10% of what the reporters are saying. But his beloved children prevailed on him to come to the table, so he reluctantly wheeled himself out wearing a devastating ensemble of Depends and a blue velour bathrobe, circa 1975. You can see how he looked, in the first image above. Andy took one look at him and said, “Hef? Is that you?”

Bob nodded amiably as he speared some ziti. Then he debonairly took a sip of Diet Pepsi through an ancient straw. Come to think of it, Hef and Bob probably do look a lot alike these days.

Is It Wrong That We Siblings Had a Blast Teleconferencing About Our Invalid Parents?

Posted on by wiggles

Ever ready at the mike, our New Jersey brother calls in to the 1st Annual (Weekly?) Brothers & Sisters Conference Call.

The purpose of our teleconference was to brainstorm ways to foist support and help upon our resistant parents, who prefer to think of 911 as their sole personal rescue plan.

The result, to my everlasting joy, was a hoot-filled laugh riot as Bob & Jeanne’s offspring called in from San Francisco, Chicago, New Jersey and Manhattan.

Ever the organizer, Hot Pants set up the call. I, boob that I am, agreed to a time during which I was getting my weekly hair shampoo & blow dry. What the boys were up to, I’m sure we’ll never know. Unfortunately, H.P. dialed some other number, where she found herself the only one in the “conference room.” “Hello? Hellooo? Anybody there?”

There's Hot Pants and our Chicago brother soaking up the suds in Arizona during more lighthearted times.

Finally, she found the rest of us as we shared our individual and combined efforts to impress upon our parents that a man with Parkinson’s Disease and a woman who’s an alumna of open heart surgery, diabetic, and, now, with growing memory issues, may not be giving each other the best home health care.

But the truly unexpected surprise and delight of the call was how easily we all fell back into a loving and laugh filled sibling experience. Suddenly the decades of going our separate ways disappeared and the closeness of our childhoods bloomed back into reality.

I doubt if Bob & Jeanne intended this result, but, oh, what a blast.

Imagine the hilarity that will ensue when we actually present them with our plans. Extra in home helpers! Eventual institutionalization! Woo-hoo!

Jeanne: On Vacation at Hackensack Hospital

Posted on by hot pants

Only our dear mother could get hospital-grade diarheaa from drinking Coke.

I am not sure exactly what it all means quite yet, but it seems that Jeanne decided to quell a nervous stomach by sucking down a liter of generic Coke that wreaked such havoc on her system that she had blood in her stool and had to go to the ER.

I hysterically ran out to see her….only to discover that she is having a grand old time in the hospital. She’s downright chatty with the nurses (like the wonderful Brenna, seen here).

Jeanne's New Bestie

A volunteer handed Jeanne a little beauty package comprised of a comb that I am quite sure used to belong to Willy Loman, toothpaste, toothbrush, and some body lotion. She kvelled over this stuff like it was La Mer and took off with her “pole” in tow to the ladies’ so she could freshen up before her endoscopy.

Here’s how she looked, giddy with excitement before they dropped a camera down her throat:

She's gonna kill me for posting this, but do you notice that she posed for this photo?

Meanwhile, Bob is at home pretty much refusing to eat until his Princess Bride returns. But honestly, I don’t think Jeanne is in that much of a rush. She heard there’s a Tequila Night this Thursday that she’s fixin’ to attend. Stay tuned.

Mah Almost Loses Daddy…Or, How Our Father Tried to Run Away

Posted on by wiggles

In beautiful outlying Hackensack, New Jersey

Mah just had to escape the Grey Gardens gloom of Apartment 8A at the Frontenac, so she bundled Daddy up and hauled him over to the Chit Chat Diner on Essex. After a small feast, Daddy shuffled off to the men’s room while Mah paid the tab.

Like any good Jewish wife, Jeanne prefers making reservations for dinner.

Out of the corner of her eye – completely by chance – Mah sees Daddy out in the parking lot, sans coat, sans car keys, sans her.

Apparently, when he’s done, he’s done.

“Why did you help him outside?” Mah asked the waiter, “He doesn’t even have his coat on.”

“Well, he was wearing a sweater. He said he had to go,” the genius server replied.

I think Daddy’s too old to run away from home. What do you think, Hot Pants?

Look at that sweet face. I could give him a big smacker on the cheek, if only he were here.

I love you, Daddy. Please don’t leave Mah stranded at the Chit Chat wondering where you’ve gone.

"We'll even walk you to your car. Car keys optional." Talk about service!

Jeanne’s Electrical Outlet Puzzle

Posted on by hot pants

This is the tangle in Jeanne's head - and in her Apartment! Image cc via flickr user jeff, the rhino

When I was over for a visit with Sassy this weekend, Jeanne asked me why one of her lamps wasn’t working. She said she really needed those 40 watts in order to render the shapes in the gloom more visible. So I dutifully got on my hands and knees to see what I could make out in the murk. It took some time (Sassy couldn’t help, since she was wearing her jeweler’s loupe to untangle two long necklaces that Jeanne had hopelessly knotted up in 2009 but wanted very much to wear to a hair appointment the following week).

After grunting, swearing, and repeatedly asking Jeanne to move her Merell-ed feet out of the way, I discovered the issue. She had plugged the extension cord into itself, which is why it wouldn’t turn on.

“Bob!” she yelled jubilantly to my father. “Hot Pants fixed the light!”

“Opwsfjoejngebg,” he replied happily.

I felt like a good daughter.

Kick Ball for Seniors

Posted on by wiggles

Happening upon a gang of four year olds beating the heat playing kickball in her apartment building garage, Jeanne decided to join in. One swift kick later she’d landed on her ass. With her left wrist beneath said caboose. Now she’s sporting a soft cast as she runs errands and nurses her husband (our father) Bob. Actually, playing with little kids is straight out of Daddy’s playbook, so it was a surprise to hear that Mah had taken up his sporting style. (n.b.: I do not mean that our father was inappropriate with children, only that he missed his true calling as a Camp Director, baseball cap and whistle on a neckchain included.)

Her, shall we say, unusual driving style earned her the nickname “Mrs. Magoo” years ago, but I can only begin to imagine the havoc she’ll wreak maneuvering one-handed through the mean streets of Hackensack, N.J. Sassafrass, who in a display of environmental consciousness has refused to learn to drive, recently was Jeanne’s passenger around and about Bergen County. “This is not a stop sign” and “This is a stop sign” became Sassy’s heart pounding refrains.

I shudder to think what’s next. I know Jeanne imagines herself to be an Aging Ingenue, with the accent on aging. Next month she hits the big 8-0. She is ever young in spirit. I just hope she’ll give her body a rest now and again.