HER LONG-TERM MEMORY IS STILL GOOD

FINDING THE HUMOR 3

My mom persisted from 5 a.m. to 7 a.m. Monday morning to please help her get up. And since that's been her entire life's mission the past four days, I helped her up. 

She can't walk anymore, so I had to hold her up. But she did enjoy sitting on the edge of the bed and stretching her legs across a chair instead of the bed. 

The sad part came when she asked me to go into the other room to retrieve some clothes. 

Me: Mom, we're not at home. 

Mom: Where are we?

Me: A hospice room. 

Mom: Whose sick that we're here for?

Me: You. 

Mom: Why? What's wrong?

That was tough to answer. It was like she was hearing it for the first time. 

Later the nurse asked where she was. Off and on the last few days, she kind of thought she was still at home but now she knew she wasn't. 

Her response: Folsom. 

Nurse: What year are we in?

Mom: 1974. 

Other highlights from the past 24 hours:

-- She looks at Paul. "Is that a pass to get into Playboy. In Playboy 2, they said I'll guess we will go to the tit pool. She said I didn't know we had a tit pool. It looked pretty fun. Wish I knew how much it was to join."

-- Mom was all kinds of fidgety last night. I'm trying to calm her down as she continually puts her feet over the bed railing. 

Mom: I'm gonna kick you right in the stomach.

Me: Relax. 

Mom: (Making a fist): I'm gonna relax you right in the face. 

-- Did you know there's an alligator party tomorrow?

Me: No. You going?

Mom: Yeah. They have lots of parties. 

-- How come I can have candy, but I couldn't have it yesterday?

Me: You did. I gave you some. 

Mom: But why couldn't I have some yesterday?

Me: You did yesterday. I gave you some. 

Mom: I know. But why couldn't I have candy yesterday?

-- She's picking at the catheter tubing. 

Me: Can you stop doing that?

Mom: I'm getting my bottles. I don't want to lose my bottles. 

-- I ask mom if she remembers the visitors she had Sunday. 

Me: Do you remember Kelly coming?

Mom: Yes. 

Me: Paul?

Mom: Yes. 

Me: Dad?

Mom: Yes. We all went bowling. Then y'all made up some bullshit and probably went fishing. Y'all made up some bullshit. 

I HAVE TO GO TO THE BATHROOM

FINDING THE HUMOR 2

After cutting through some insurance bullshit, an ambulance arrived Friday afternoon to transport my mom to River Regions hospice care. 

She was asleep when the EMTs tried to move her off the bed. Her eyes popped open and got as big as I've ever seen them. 

"What the fuck!?!?!"

After some more miscommunications Friday night and Saturday morning, mom's medications were finally figured out and she got a little comfortable. I slept fine in her room Friday night, though Saturday night was a different story. 

She has said the title of this post at least 100 hundred times over the past few days, no matter how vehemently I explain that she has a catheter and a diaper. 

Here's some of the stuff she's said in her hospice room the past few days. Once again, a big thanks to all that stopped by. 

-- Did you set the ice machine to when you want the baby born?

-- They don't serve ice in Panama City. I was like I need more ice. And she was like you have so much. And I was like I need more. Six, seven, eight cubes. 

-- (looking at the TV) Change the station. I want the last letter to be Z.  

-- Am I sitting on dad? Is he in the corner?

-- Nicole made a bunch of candy for Christmas for her family, co-workers, etc. She gave a box to mom, who loved a particular kind. 

Me: You like the pink candy?

Mom: Yeah. It was so good. Can't wait to wear it out. 

-- How do you expect me to get out of here?

Me: Out of where?

Mom: The horse. I don't want to let the team down. 

-- Me: Who visited you yesterday?

Mom: He took out the shotgun and killed the cop. 

Me: Who?

Mom: The guy she was with. 

Me: Whose she?

Mom: I dunno. 

Me: When was this?

Mom: Yesterday at my house. 

-- Was Melissa on the team last year?

-- Can I wear your shirt when I go home?

-- You should start walking around. 

Me: I think I wanna go to sleep. 

Mom: You get yourself sick when you do that. 

-- Her old sheets are sitting in bags on the air conditioner. 

Mom: What are those?

Me: Sheets. 

Mom: But what's in the bag?

Me: Sheets. 

Mom: I got that. But what's in the sheets?

She also insisted on being handed the old sheets. She opened the bag and rummaged through them. 

Me: What are you looking for?

Mom: The plug. 

SHE ASKED ME ABOUT GRADUATION, TOO

FINDING THE HUMOR

The last three days have been a brutal roller coaster as my mom entered what I'm calling the fourth stage of dying. Each day had a major incidence. 

But that's not the point of this post. Mom has said the darnedest things over the past few days, so I'd thought I share a few of them with you. 

"Am I having a baby?"

Me: Nope. 

"Well, you never know when."

"I have a lit cigarette somewhere. 

Me: You quit months ago. 

"It's gonna burn the house down."

"I have to get up and pee."

Me: You have a catheter. You don't have to get up. Just go. 

"I'm gonna piss in your eyeball!"

"Why don't they ever tell the spouse, or the kids?"

Me: They do.

"They didn't tell me."

Me: Tell you what?

"About the mattress. Took four or five days."

"I've been calling Beyonce."

Me: What she say?

"Nothing. I could just here her saying fuck you and hanging up."

There was also a story that ended with the cops showing up at our house, her pointing at a girl on the TV and telling the nurse "that's Gene's girlfriend, Nicole," and her calling steps 1, 2 and 3 of some process bullshit."

LET THERE BE LIGHTS

WELCOME TO ROCK IS JERICHO

Paul and I saw a heavy metal band named Fozzy at the House of Blues two weeks ago. We're aware of said band because the frontman is Chris Jericho, who is in both of our top 10 wrestlers of all-time. 

We both do actually like the band, though. We arrived on time at 7 to learn that Fozzy wouldn't take the stage until 10:30. Yikes, I couldn't sit through three other heavy metal bands. I don't even like heavy metal. 

So we left and came back just after 10, ran into an old high school chum -- who I didn't remember until he told me his last name -- and moseyed our way up to what amounted to the sixth row. 

There were only about 200 folks there, but Fozzy played like it was 20,000. Just a great show, made better by this old guy in the corner with a towel just going to town with his rocking out. 

He first wore that jacket when he returned to the ring in 2012. Yeah, I know. Badass. 

After two hours of non-stop rocking, alas the show ended. But the Fozzy tour bus was parked directly in front of the HOB, so we gathered near some other fans waiting for Jericho. 

One by one they all went home until it was Paul, me and two skankyish chicks, who were let backstage with the bassist. 

At about 2 a.m. Jericho emerged with a plastic cup hanging from his mouth -- his signature drink is vodka and ice. He put his bags up, signed Paul's Fozzy record, took pictures and chatted. 

We discussed his scarf and then started talking about his podcast. He asked me who my favorite guests were but cut me off in the middle of my answer. 

"What about the non-wrestling ones?"

I hesitated. 

"You know there's more to life than wrestling."

I rattled off some rock guests he had, but it was too late. He knew I only cared about the wrestling. 

So here was one of the greatest wrestlers of all-time, a guy who has been a fan of wrestling since he was 5 and he was telling me that there's more to life. Wow. 

He then excused himself as the skankyish duo had returned to the street. "I have to um go take some more pictures." 

Yeah, boy!

AROUND TOWN WITH NICOLE

Nicole and I went to Christmas in the Oaks a few weeks back and had a good time. 

We rode some tilt-a-world ride for free because there was no line and the worker just restarted it. We rode the train, and that was sweet and romantic, except we sat in the first row and could smell the exhaust. But some nice lights. 

The carousel was also a good time as I acted a fool on top of my horsey and the little kid in between us was not having as good a time as his mommies would have liked. 

Last Friday, I went to Nicole's office Christmas party at Le Pavillon. 

The party did liven up after this picture was taken. 

The hotel serves peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to its guest at 10 p.m. nightly, so we partook. 

As we left the hotel, a drunk guy on Poydras stopped us. 

"That hotel has PB&J at 2 a.m., right? Guys, we got to come back."

Me: "No. At 10 p.m.  They almost out."

"Oh shit."

NOTHING FINER THAN CAROLINA: PART C.

I AIN'T AFRAID OF NO GHOSTS

Nicole and I enjoyed our trip to Charlotte a few weeks ago. Did I mention in the other two posts that it was our first couple's trip?

There was the art museum, some decent food (pizza in a marketplace and a burger from their version of Cowbell), a rare Saints victory (Nicole and I are 2-0 together this season, the rest of the games, the Saints are 2-6) the cool weather and the hotel -- if you know what I mean. 

But the best part of the trip was the haunted tour we took in uptown Charlotte on Halloween night. 

There was a massive party at the multiple night clubs attached to our hotel, and we took a peak at some of the costumes -- Nicole's favorite was a chick dressed as a piñata and mine a guy half-naked in wrestling tights. 

Our hotel was a little weary of things getting out of hand. Check out the rules:

We tried for a walking tour, but it was sold out, so we signed up for a haunted Segway tour. To my surprise, the tour was just us and the tour guide. 

The first time I got on the Segway, I ran right into a tree, only saved from crushing into it by the tour guide. Eventually, I got the hang of it and off we went on the haunted tour. 

I was still a bit scared of driving right into oncoming traffic so I didn't take out my phone and take photos of any of the haunted houses. Which is a shame. 

The tour guide was awesome and was really into the tour. I'm sure he's told the stories a billion times, but he was genuinely into them still. And since there was no one else on the tour, we basically shared our thoughts on each stop, with him listening and sometimes then explaining even more stuff and other theories. 

There was the old lady who died in her house and her ghost now requires lights be on upstairs; the store owner who read the paper as a ghost at his old store; the fireman still saving lives years after his death; the house where hangings used to take place; and Fred, the old theatre worker who would turn off the lights and equipment while movies were being shown. 

I told the guide the story of Paul getting sliced open by Bloody Mary during Gustav evacuation, and he told me a personal ghost story involving his parents. 

Just as we were finishing, a fierce wind and storm revved up. Nicole and I then argued over the amount of tip for the guide. 

Earlier in the day, we went to the New South museum. Here's the highlight of that outing. 

That's me having a TV dinner and watching the news of Dr. King's death. Very sad. 

There was also this chart, as New South not only tackled civil rights but gay rights as well. 

Learned the term pansexual, which is someone who likes transsexuals, etc., instead of just men and women like bisexuals. 

And that was our trip to Charlotte. Left the next day as it got really cold. 

NOTHING FINER THAN CAROLINA: PART II

FOOTBALL 

Nicole and I took our first couple's vacation last week to Charlotte, and I wish I were still there having fun and ignoring the grind of daily life here. 

The intended point of the trip was to watch the Saints in action on the road. I'm trying to make a tradition of going to a road game every year, though so far it's been every other year: Tampa in 2010, Denver in 2012 and Carolina in 2014. 

It's also supposed to be a group outing, but my friends apparently don't like the Saints. Or don't like me. Hmmm. 

Anywhoozles, Nicole and I had a grand old time watching the Saints whoop that ass at Bank of America Stadium, except when she dropped her phone and the glass cracked. 

We saw a Saints fan get kicked out after a verbal and somewhat physical confrontation with a Panthers fan -- he nonchalantly knocked off the other guy's hat. Ooooo. I told Nicole he was definitely from the West Bank. 

We went briefly to a Saints tailgate before the game -- we were told about its secret location by another Saints fan in our hotel lobby. We saw Saints fans dancing in large groups in the street after the victory, which brought my record to 2-1 in road trips. Next up, Washington, D.C.  

And I took these photos. 

Bank of America is 20 years old and doesn't look a day older than five. It's aging like Jennifer Aniston. 

The concourse is huge, with no traffic to sift through at all when walking about. Wouldn't that be nice at the Dome? They also have a giant screen that shows the replay of every play immediately after the play from two separate angles.

Calling Mr. Benson. Calling Mr. Benson. Time to join the 21st century. 

Champions of what? ... I should have asked a worker if only Saints fans were allowed to enter. 

We were in the sixth row of the end zone. Anyone know why Brees always stands away from the huddle? Does he smell?

This is at a cozy little park across the street from the stadium after the victory. Pretty cool looking, eh?

Sam Mills and I the day after the game. 

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

The nurse, who told my mom a month ago that she had a couple weeks left, told her this week that she's nowhere near dying and that she's just fading slowly. Thanks for the emotional roller coaster, lady. 

Mom enjoyed some medicine. "Fucking Valium. Make you not give a shit about nothing."

Here are two of my favorite quotes from mom from last month. 

"I'm scared to look at my breast. Probably some fucking tumor sticking out."

This one is a classic when she was letting out her frustrations on me. "I'd like to take these fucking tumors I got moving in me and put them in you for five fucking minutes."

NOTHING FINER THAN CAROLINA: Part One

HOOPS AND ART

Nicole and I took our first couple's trip last week to the fine, squeaky clean city of Charlotte. It wasn't meant to be just us   -- all you folks who refused to go really missed out -- but I'm glad that's how it turned out. 

We flew out Wednesday morning and returned Saturday afternoon, a little more haunted, a little closer and of course, with a Saints victory. 

Charlotte was a fun city, though it's nothing spectacular. The people were friendly, and there were plenty of solid food options in walking distance. They had a few nice parks, with some nice scenery. I enjoyed our time there for sure. 

Our hotel was in uptown Chatlotte and attached to the Epicenter, which has a bowling alley, movie theatre, bars and restaurants -- both fancy and fast food. It also hosted Buzzfest on Wednesday before the first Hornets home game in Charlotte since the team moved to New Orleans. 

Let's take a look at some photos. 

I wore my Pelicans shirt to the Hornets party. Not one person made a comment about it. C'mon, Charlotte. I love this ironic photo. The worker at the station, as everyone else, didn't notice. 

It's first one to make 10 wins. I was challenged by this teenager. Kicked his ass. Then played Nicole, who jumped to a lead before succumbing to my awesomeness. 

At another Buzzfest station, there was a wheel to spin for little prizes. What did I win? Two tickets to the game that night. 

Also, former NBA commissioner David Stern was doing a radio interview and taking a few pictures. Nicole shoved me to the front of the line, and I got the last picture with Stern before his interview. 

Before the game, we grabbed some pizza and dessert. Yum, chocolate. 

It was electric at the basketball arena, as the Charlotte fans were over the moon to have their mascot back. The free tickets I got had a face value of $43 each for the upper level in the corner. 

Boy was it fun to chant "Let's go Hornets!" one more time. We ended up leaving at halftime with four T-shirts commemorating opening night. Two were on our seats, and I'm pretty sure Nicole stole the other two. 

Hey, Tom. How about one of those fancy screens at the Smoothie King Center?

On Thursday, we started at the Mint Museum, which was a nice walk from our hotel in some breezy weather. It had art and shit. 

Felt like being at home outside the museum. I put a dollar in his can. He said "I got ya" and busted into "When the Saints."

Here are my favorite pieces from da Mint. 

I forgot this guy's name, but he helped the Revolution with supplies and was condemned as committing treason in England. He doesn't exactly look happy about his contributions to American history. Maybe he knew his name would be forgotten a few days later. 

An example of American landscape by Thomas Doughty. There's a bunch of fisherman dotted among the scenery, which is really cool because they're little dots, yet so vivid-looking. 

This painting is by an abstract artist who went more traditional to show the Civil Rights march from Selma to Montgomery. She didn't mean for it to be sold, and it was found in her studio rolled up in a corner after she passed away. 

A security guard was familiar with the piece and turned into a tour guide, explaining that the artist put herself in the watching crowd at the top, placed Dr. King as just another marcher and showed the protesters as non-violent as they were taught to protect their heads. 

This is called Slow: Eleven Women and 400 Daisies. Each year 20 or so daisy magnets are removed until this golden plated women is fully revealed. The portrait of the women is a combined form from 11 chicks. 

There was an accompanying video I watched that didn't explain shit about the art. It just had the artist explain his other ideas for the project before he settled on the women and daisies. Thanks a lot. 

In the next post, I'll talk about going to the Saints' 28-10 victory over the Panthers. Here's a sneak peak of me on the TV broadcast. Look in the lower left corner. I'm clapping.