Double, Double, Toil & Trouble

My old man thought he was really funny as he raced me to the Jacuzzi tub. Beating me only by seconds. Okay, so it was by several minutes, but I was still putting tools away! We both put in nearly a weeks worth of work building a wrap around front porch onto our house, but he claims to have worked harder and be “achier” than me. Whatever dude!

After a long week of porch building, a guy needs to be pampered. Or so he said. After finishing the post digging, installing, concrete mixing and pouring, wood measuring, remeasuring, cutting and framing work, fastening a roof, tar paper and shingles, and winning the end of the day race for the tub, he got what he deserved!



Even the cat doesn’t know what to make of Mr. Lane’s bubbly mess. How do you like his bath towel? His father got him that. One side is white and it says “face” and the side showing is brown, and you can see for yourself what it says. Butt face, indeed!



If you remember a couple of months ago, I had a bubbly accident of my own. My “loving” husband laughed at me. It was like being kicked while I was down because I was sicker than a dog. And all the man could do was point and laugh. What comes around does indeed go around. In his effort to relax and treat his achy muscles to some Jacuzzi goodness, he overshot his bubble wad. Now rather than just pointing and laughing like he did to me, I was laughing, pointing and clicking.

Please take note of the farmer’s tan. His ass is glow-in-the-dark white too. Ha, ha! Have a groovy weekend everybody!

If I Had A Hammer

You have reached www dot no newz home fires dot blog spot dot com. I’m sorry I am unable to tell you a story or make you laugh right now. I’m on the roof with a mouth full of nails trying to install shingles. Please leave a message after the beep, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.

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Grumpy Old Men

What do you do when two sweet little old men are about ready to duke it out? I mean, really ready to whip the shit right into each other’s depends? Screaming across the room and slowing inching their way toward each other with their walkers, they cussed and yelled back-and-forth.

The one Guy “Ali” was so angry, he was red-faced and shaking so badly, his walker rocked across the floor.

The other “The Brown Bomber” was also red-faced and trembling, but he was coming for Ali while trying to carry his walker rather than use it to help him walk. At a snail’s-pace, they inched closer, shouting obscenities all the while.

The room was packed with people because we were just getting started with an activity, making homemade butter. We gathered most of the residents who wanted to participate. Some were more excited about the thought of Ali or The Brown Bomber getting creamed.

With people egging them on they continued to slowly inch their way in each other’s direction. Several of the department heads tried talking the men off the ledge. It wasn’t until they were six or seven feet from each other, that I jumped in.

One of my little sweethearts started to cry. Their shouting and cussing was so loud by then, even though she is blind and mostly def, she knew something terrible was going to happen. Crying she begged, “Father, please stop.” Lost somewhere in time, she was very upset.

I walked over to the brawling boys, stood between their walkers, now six feet-or-so apart, held out my arms and said, “Knock it off! Look at what you are doing to Edith. You should be ashamed of yourselves!”

Taking Ali’s arm, I turned him in the opposite direction. The Brown Bomber gave me the “What the fuck?!” look as I took his sparring partner away.

Trying to calm Ali down after pulling him aside, he still was shaking. With one fist still buckled, he said, “He gets me so angry! He’s just so…so…” raising his fist to my chin, “ I just want to kill him!” Fighting to hold himself back from clocking me in the jaw, just to get it out of his system, the head administrator ran over, put one hand on my face and the other cupping his fist, she said, “You better not hit her!”

She made him snap out of it, and then he was in tears, “I’d never hit her! I love her! I love you, Lois!” He said now trying to reach around the administrator’s hand to rub my face.

“I know you would never hit me, Ali. Come on, let’s go for a walk and shake it off.”

The administrator, like many administrators, doesn’t normally get involved in the day-to-day stuff. In fact, I think she has only spoken to me twice in two months. She gave me a look, shook her head and said quietly, “He was going to knock your block off.”

I’m happy to report, he didn’t knock my block off. They both calmed down after being separated. Ali said the whole thing began after The Brown Bomber changed the channel on the TV.

“We were watching The Price is Right and he just walked in and put on Little House on the Prairie! Who does he think he is?”

It reminded me of us kids growing up and fighting over the TV. It is rude to walk into a room and change the channel, but we lived for being rude to each other. However, no matter who was watching what, Dad always pulled rank with the TV. We could have an all out brawl over what program to watch, and he would walk into the room, sit in his fuzzy gold high-back arm chair, tell whoever was closest to the television set to put on whatever channel he wanted, and that was that.

We were the remote control back then. And if he decided a couple of minutes into that show that he wanted to see what else was on, he would tell whoever was closest to change it. By that point, we usually would begin to disperse from the room, mostly for fear of him not liking that show either. If you weren’t very bright… a-hem, you may have sat there like an idiot changing the channel all day long. But it did keep you out of trouble.

When the remote control finally made it to the Lane Estate, about five years after everyone else had one, Dad kept it in his back pocket, taking it everywhere he went. That meant that someone was out of a channel changing job. But I didn’t fret because trouble was ready and waiting for my big comeback.

By the way, The Brown Bomber would have totally kicked Ali’s ass that day had the fight ever actually started.

Have a great fight-free weekend everybody! Happy Mother’s Day to my mama and all you utha-muthas out there!!!

Mama Said There’d Be Days Like This

Spring has officially sprung even at the nursing home. What is it about the fresh new season that makes people horny? I don’t know why, but most of us younger people tend to think that older folks don’t get horny. Well, my young friends, I hate to break the news to you, but they are just as bad as we are, if not worse.

Nakedness is abundant at the nursing home these last few days. One of the guys tried getting a couple of the nurses to hop into bed with him. Another grabbed a CNA’s crotch while she tried feeding him lunch. It’s not his fault that she squatted to sit right within his reach, right?! He’s the same man who reached out, getting awfully close to my boob and hollered,“Coochie coo!” I warned the girl whose crotch was grabbed that he was having a grabberiffic day. I guess she didn’t know what that meant. But now, she does. I never saw anyone turn that shade of red. The other girls and I had to hold each other up because we were all about to fall over from laughter.

The same day, one of the ladies took her boobies out… and set them on the table in front of her. It looked like she was serving up flapjacks, plop, plop. I tried telling her that there were men in the room, but she said, “To hell with them!”

I tried sneaking up behind her and pulling her shirt down, but she reached back to smack me. When she got to rubbing them right there in front of everyone, I knew I had to do something, and quickly.

I tried changing the subject, “So, how about them Cubs?”

I tried taking her to her room, “Would you like to go relax in your room for a while?”

“I‘m relaxing right here!”

“It’s so much quieter in your room. Come on, let’s go.”

“I’m not going anywhere!”

The ol’ switch-a-roo is one thing I have found that works with the most stubborn of people. I thought I’d give that a try. I looked feverishly around the room to find something to put into her hands to keep them occupied. It began with a book. She threw it at me.

I looked around again and found some squishy balls that are used when we play catch. They are rubbery and have a soft squishy feel. Round and squishy, just like… anyhow, I placed them into her hands. And it worked… just long enough for me to slide her chair back, making her boobies slide off of the table, and pull her shirt down from behind.

Just as I was about to mentally celebrate my slick switch-a-roo, I saw her stick the balls into her shirt. She preceded to rub them on herself.

“As long as she rubs under her shirt, it’s all good, right?” I asked myself.

No sooner did I think it and she had whipped them out again, plopped them back onto the table, and continued to rub the balls over them.

While all of this was going on, which, by the way, happened in less than a minute, our resident runaway from the post below, was making her great escape toward the exit with the alarm. All of my coworkers were off the unit helping on the other side of the building. I think the residents knew I was flying solo because they really ganged up on me. So in between trying to convince one lady to put her boobies away, I had to run down the hall to stop another from leaving. All the while, another lady, Laverne, mentioned a few posts ago, was screaming at the top of her voice, “Hurry! Get me a cane!!!” She continued to repeat that for the duration of the booby fest.

And if all that weren’t enough going on simultaneously in a mere moment, another lady, who like Laverne, is a kleptomaniac, quietly walked into the room, and pulled the clock off of the wall and proceeded to shove it down her pants. She tip-toed back to her room with the goods.

By then I was beside myself with laughter. It was that crazy losing your ever-lovin’ mind type of laughter.

When my coworkers finally returned, one asked, “How’d it go?”

I said, “You don’t want to know.”

Laughing, they all said, “Yes we do!”

So I told them. And they laughed at me, not with me, at me. By the end of the day, the entire staff, from the whole building, was pointing and laughing at me for trying the squishy ball switch-a-roo. One of the girls in the kitchen said, “Hey Lois, I heard you are having a rough day.” Holding two oranges up to her chest, she asked, “Would you like some fruit to make you feel better?”

I’m glad I gave a bunch of people something to laugh at, even if it was at my expense. Of course, I’m used to being a boob and the butt of a joke.