So. First an update on our contest to rename Sandra, the OR Nurse for my most recent ass procedure, and needer of a new name. Sandra got with me to express her thoughts on the first batch of suggested names, and was impressed by only one.
Ninja Butt Operation Girl is the only one to strike her fancy, and she thinks the submitter is quite clever. I told her I thought it was spot on as far as defining her professionally, and a great idea for a Halloween costume. But it doesn’t feel Hispanic, isn’t very personal and likely would require too many hyphens when put to use with her last name. The Hispanic people are big on hyphenated names.
Same kind of dealie like with Anna the Amazon, my third ex-wife and Sister’s now wife. Sister is my sister and a lesbian mover and shaker here in Austin. The two of them make the perfect lesbian couple.
See, Anna was Anna Johnson when she married me, which made her Anna Johnson-Johnson. After her marriage to Sister, she’s become Anna Johnson-Johnson-Johnson.
Most people will tell you that two Johnsons are several Johnsons too many, but three is way over the top. And to be thorough, Anna’s maiden name was Anna Jones-Johnson. Test drive that mess.
Anyway, my ADHD has been strangely calm this morning in spite of the fact that everyone keeps interrupting me. SAC Ellen is pissed at me, again, and refused to spend the night after finishing dinner.
She loves Johnson family cooking but thinks we use too many fattening ingredients. I carefully, and quite thoughtfully, attempted to explain to her that butter, pork fat, crisp chicken skin and apple smoked bacon looked good on her ass, so eat up!
She interrupted my slumber at 5:30 this morning with a phone call. “Good morning, Mooner. I’ve got my stun gun, four hours of free time and I’m horny as a goat. But I guess I’ll just go to the gym and work off the fat ass you so thoughtfully pointed out to me.”
Gram has been trying to get me to let her into my master suite so she can see if I’m hiding the ostrich and pig. “I know you got tha two of um hidden somewhere, Mooner Einstein Johnson, ya rotten little shit.” Then she pokes her finger into my chest and says, “Einstein my rosy red ass. If I find you been seceratin Rush Limbaugh and Rick Perry I’m taking tha 12-gage to tha three of ya.”
“I think you meant secreting, like I’m hiding Rush and Ricky in my closet or something. I think.”
“Who gives a shit, Mooner. I got a secret fer ya. Them two pets a yers fuck with me one more time- I’m gonna curtinate and bury tha three of ya in a masked grave.”
I decided it would be a bad time to ask her if that was reference to pulling curtains and killing some guys and then putting them in an unmarked grave. See what I mean about the ADHD being on the calm? Normally, I’d have questioned or corrected Gram’s fractured use of language and suffered mightily.
Anyway, Dixie and Streaker Jones are meeting Squirt, SAC Ellen and me for BBQ down to the Salt Lick later this afternoon. To show how I’ve grown in mind and spirit, I’m driving past Dr. Sam I. Am’s house to get SAC Ellen, then driving the fifteen miles back to get the Squirt. As “I love you and I’m sorry I’m such and asshole” peace offerings, I have a dozen roses, a small box of chocolates and a casserole of Gram’s famous deep fried chicken with chitlin and chicken liver gravy.
Am I a romantic fucker, or what?
I’ve got plenty of Carta Blanca on ice left over from our last fishing trip, so I’m ready to roll. The Salt Lick doesn’t serve beer, and who can eat BBQ without beer?