Houseguests; from Grandma Ron to Sumo Thong Cop

(My Granddaughter Emma during a recent visit.)

Nobody warns you when you move down here; expect company. Buy a condo with an extra bedroom – or two.

You sort of expect to be left to yourself. At least I did. Who would like me enough to go to all that effort and expense?

I invited family, not expecting anything. My BF already had a fairly steady stream of guests & hangers-on, but he’s like a 6’ neon sign for “free beer.” It’s a wonder we don’t have a line of out of state plates in the driveway.

Well, let’s take the first week of March. We had the BF’s daughter and her lummox boyfriend “Fat Bastard” for a week at his house in Cape Coral. I told the BF I could go home to South Fort Myers and give them all more space (to drink themselves to oblivion without me giving them the fisheye) but he wanted me around.

There were only a few instances of them getting so hammered they didn’t know where – or who - they were. Nothing major.

Fat Bastard managed to get my laptop gunked with spyware, but I took care of it without bitching.

Around the same time my antique dealer RN friend Patty came down. OK, she is peripheral at present … hanging loosely to the edges of my life here, knowing I have a job and guard my energy levels tenaciously. (That’s life with Lyme Disease … energy is like money – you don’t spend what you don’t have or you will be SORRY.)

Last Saturday and Sunday I was her tour guide. By Monday I was floofed out from exhaustion.

So naturally, that’s when Ron came to visit the BF. I hadn’t seen him in a year. He’s only 55, but he’s acting like an Octogenarian.

He was there in my chair when I got home Monday night still exhausted from a weekend with Patty. Yeah, the BF’s home, but MY place in the BF’s home. The beige La-Z-Boy where I fall asleep in front of the TV every worknight at 8.

He has lost weight. He’s nearly 6’ – a gangly hawk-like creature with sharp elbows and a shocking white brushcut. (Probably uses the same clippers on himself as he uses on his dog – he’s beyond cheap.)

Abe Lincoln must have looked like this except for the hair. Lithuanian and fairly cranky, Ron looks like someone who should be strip-searched in airports.

The BF has warned me he’s "all about" his surgeries now.

Yesterday they called me from the boat … I told the BF to tell “Grandma” hi and Ron told me to eff off.

Last night I told the BF we should invite Patty to dinner with Ron because they have similar ailments. Ron was suspected to have Reynaud's syndrome when specialists determined he has scleroderma … that condition that tightens all organs, including skin. Looks good on the outside (at least it did in my friend’s mom when I was a kid) but it strangles internal organs and can eventually kill you.

Ron told me about his diagnosis a few years back in strictest confidence. Then went around telling everyone else he knew in strictest confidence. That sort of steal's a secret's thunder.

Ron is a drama queen. (No, he’s straight … just a whining attention hound.)

Patte has something called Schogren's (in my head I call it Shogun and picture her with an ancient warrior helmet and swords) that affects her joints like lupus. I love her, but she has started talking about it all the time.

These people AREN'T EVEN 55 YET!!!

So last night I’m taking my bitches outside for their next to the last pee of the night and I “catch” Ron leaning over the BF's hot tub swinging his arm round like a blind ape feeling the ground for rotting fruit.

He was posing - his look of “surprise” wasn’t … well, convincing. It was obvious he wanted someone to "catch" him doing his exercises so he could blather on ad nauseam about the failed surgery to his rotator cuff.

He talked about range of motion … demonstrated how he could not pat himself on the back. I can see how that might be a problem except now that he’s retired he has no life to brag about.

He blathered as I was out on the lanai slowly backing towards the door … he followed me out to the garage as I did laundry. It was hell.

Maybe these friends have too much time on their hands. Patty has an antique shop that's pretty much a life-eating hobby that keeps her busy while her doctor husband works his ass off.

And Ron retired last year from Chrysler. He's threatening to dump his girlfriend because she looks at him sitting in his chair and suggests he get out and (gasp) take a WALK. I didn't realize an effed up rotator cuff could affect your ability to take a stroll.

Guess who else is arriving at the BF’s this week? OK, Friday probably. Our thong wearing sumo cop buddy. Picture beautiful blonde curly hair and sumo physique with cop attitude IN A THONG. When he's in Florida he struts around shameless as a German tourist.

He ALSO had failed rotator cuff surgery. I asked Ron if it has affected Sumo's range of motion when it comes to getting donuts to his mouth.

My mom wrote yesterday.

They are driving all the way down from Michigan’s UP next week. This makes me wonder if my step-dad is dying. It is absolutely the last behavior I would have EVER expected from them.

She hates Florida.

Apparently my son bragged up my digs and the area when he, my precious DIL and granddaughters came last month. (Photo in this blog was taken the night we went to Pinchers in Estero and walked the beach after sunset.)

They had a fine time. I was so tired it took two weeks to get back to abnormal.

So now come the folks. Suddenly I am 12 again. Is the room clean, the porn neatly squirreled away? She’s too short to reach the top of my fridge to check for dust without a stepladder.

My friend … oh, I’ll call him Allan because he’s afraid someone he knows will read this … Allan has his folks in town.

We commiserated. He frightened me.

This is what he wrote …“Usually they just hover close by and smile in silence. And I can't get them to say what they would like to do or where to eat. It's not like they haven't been here before. And I sent a ton of info to them 2 weeks before they got here. All they had to do was pick something and go to it. God forbid they should take a cab or go online and see if the Lee Tran or someone else has a service for seniors. I've even mentioned the neighbors across the street are nice several times and indicated they should go over and say hi and maybe ask them to lunch. Here. Out. It doesn't matter. I mentioned walking to Syl's. Too expensive. I mentioned the MacGregor Cafe. Too far to walk at .6 miles. Pa mentioned not being able to sleep the last couple nights. I asked what time he got up. 11:30 am. Gee, could that be why you're not tired at 9pm? As long as he eats breakfast when he gets up, has lunch at noon and dinner between 5 and 6 he's calm. They're just too polite. Wish they'd relax so I could. have a good day. stop inviting people down.”

I forgot to ask if they were Canadians. (That would explain the “polite” thing.) We wrote back a few more times and he really let loose.

“Everyone tells me you'll miss them when they're gone. Maybe, but for now, like today, he got up at 11:00am, had cereal, ran in the bathroom and left toothpaste all over the sink and wall, a pool of water on the floor, and my walls and ceiling dripping like Carlsbad Caverns. Ma is worried as he'll wonder how we'll get lunch in with a 1PM doc visit for her, and then off to a movie. Um, we're not? He just ate breakfast for christ's sake! He can get a $4 hot dog at the show and bitch about that. And I'm not sitting next to him this year either. Last year he was up six times like a 3 year old. ARghhhh.”

Stay tuned.

I’m looking at the calendar … Sumo Thong Cop arrives Friday, Shogun Patty leaves early Saturday morning, and Grandma Ron … there’s no telling how long he’ll stay.

Pray for me, I'm on the cusp o' cranky.