We put Grams on the train this morning. She’s going down the coast to see her Mama (you know, the one who calls me “Fuzzy Miscreant” and whom I address as “Hey, Old Lady!”). They are having a “girls” day out. Grams, AKA the Queen of Everything, had her 'we'Pod in her ears and she was listening to the Austin Lounge Lizards and laughing (if you've never heard "Jesus loves me, but he can't stand you,"* you need to). Just hope she doesn't start singing out loud on the train.
Yesterday, she made some chili rojo con pollo - well, when I pulled the stool over and looked at it she told me that it was textured soy protein but it sure looked like pollo to me. Did I ever mention that she makes the best chili in the world? The red in her chili comes from ground chili, none of this tomato-coloured chili for Grams. And it's hot! She says that if chili doesn't clear out your sinus', it's not chili. I think that she took the leftovers with her this morning.
Well, we’re having our “guys” day in. We’re going to sit around in our chones and have a couple of 'ceegars.' We’re going to do guy stuff: watch baseball and football and eat from the fridge. I think that I might squeeze in a Guinness or two. Then, we’re going to belch a lot.
A Grams-free day. No harping on cleaning up my room. No noisy vacuum ruining the last inning of the big game. No turning on the ceiling fan if I step on a “frog” or two. Oh yeah, this is going to be a good day.
Of course, we’ll have to get our own lunch. I do like the way she puts double cheese on my grilled cheese sandwiches. And I guess I’ll have to hang up my towel if I want it to be dry tomorrow. Hope I remember to brush my teeth. Gee, I’m starting to kind of miss her. I wonder if Big Guy will massage my toesies? Probably not.
Well, it’s only for 16 hours, 16 long hours.
Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders).
And, of course
I know you smoke, I know you drink that brew
I just can't abide a sinner like you
God can't either, that's why I know it to be true that
Jesus loves me--but he can't stand you
I'm going to heaven, boys, when I die
'Cause I've crossed every "t" and I've dotted every "i'
My preacher tell me that I'm God's kind of guy; that's why
Jesus loves me--but you're gonna fry
God loves all his children, by gum
That don't mean he won't incinerate some
Can't you feel those hot flames licking you
Woo woo woo
I'm raising my kids in a righteous way
So don't be sending your kids over to my house to play
Yours'll grow up stoned, left-leaning, and gay; I know
Jesus told me on the phone today
Jesus loves me, this I know
And he told me where you're gonna go
There's lots of room for your kind down below
Whoa whoa whoa
Jesus loves me but he can't stand you . . .