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I often used to wonder what grandad was talking about with the old blokes in the pub. I can't remember the name of the pub. I knew I was enamoured though. When I was with grandad on a Saturday it was the only place I wanted to be. We used to watch him have a wet shave. Me and my brother. It was a wonder to watch grandad having a shave. He used to ask us to soap his brush up. And then we'd watch intently. We were enthralled. We used to watch grandad having a wet shave and it was the highlight of our day. I think it was the highlight of his day too. Absolutely wonderful.
did he have a sweet succulent arse like your dad? :lbf:
 
I'll never forget grandad. We used to walk down the twitchell with him and he'd be burping away. He'd say 'don't tell your grandma' was a wonder to be with him though. Absolute magic. I didn't realise how much I missed him. I didn't know him too well. I like what I remember. He went very early on. Heart problems. He was lovely though.
so did my grandad, on thanksgiving. we called him grandad too, never grandpa. the only things i remember about him were going into his office and him giving us raspberry hard candies, and going out for dinner with him and him throwing sugar packets at me.
 
So I'm on my second warning at work. A job I've been in for 33 years. Believe it or not, a job I've cherished. A job I've been proud of. But a job it's taken all I can muster to carry on doing it. I've had prolonged periods of social anxiety but one way or another I've managed to get myself in there. I've turned to drink sometimes. I did it this time. Six weeks avoiding work. I'll admit there have been times when my anxiety didn't warrant the amount I was drinking. But its cumulative. My anxiety and depression is always there. When I think of the times I've had to withdraw and drink myself stupid, it might not always correspond with what other people may see as appropriate. Might even seem disproportionate. I can put my hand on my heart and say that I do suffer every day. I'm proud of how I cope.
I suggested to rifke she might be depressed and that if she'd get this diagnosis, she could go on disability, and she got irate. I'm suggesting now to you, the same thing, especially since you've already been diagnosed, have pills, hate your job, have friends in the park who are probably all on disability. Then you'd be free to drink yourself stupid all day at the park. Or take up drawing and painting. Or singing.

As for 'carrot', I blame you for my plantar fasciitis acting up on my walk. You could have been gentler.

 
I often used to wonder what grandad was talking about with the old blokes in the pub. I can't remember the name of the pub. I knew I was enamoured though. When I was with grandad on a Saturday it was the only place I wanted to be. We used to watch him have a wet shave. Me and my brother. It was a wonder to watch grandad having a shave. He used to ask us to soap his brush up. And then we'd watch intently. We were enthralled. We used to watch grandad having a wet shave and it was the highlight of our day. I think it was the highlight of his day too. Absolutely wonderful.
Is that what turned you?
 
Well see how it goes. LH. I'm afraid I'm a coward. I'm a gutless swine..But then just because you're not a particularly nice person yourself, why does that proclude you from wanting to be around Nice people?
I'm jumpy about being called nice because of Morrissey's words, "I have spent my whole life in ruins, because of people who are nice!".
 
My grandma's neighbour was a gypsy. She used to go into town to buy her groceries with my grandma I always renemver my grandma said to me. She said, 'Mary can eat an apple with not one tooth in her head'
Really, I can't imagine. I'm eating a sweet apple at the moment, with my remaining teeth.
 
That neighbour who yelled at me to look for her glasses has pursued contact with me, and I hear her voice mails, but I rarely call her back, because I'm a talentless bitch.
 
I know he's long departed. I can imagine what my grandad would have said to me. He wouldn't have known too much about homosexuality. I don't know if that kind of behaviour existed in his time. I've a feeling he knew what I was all about. I would love to meet him again. That's why I loved my grandad. He knew. Didn't we all? It was such a long long time since I spoke to him. I was thinking about how people die these days and they're still immortalised on film. I wish we'd got grandad. He was a lovely man.
At least we've got Morrissey down in celluloid history.
 
Within an hour of asking me out to go horseback riding for the first time, dead. I was told, sudden heart attack. He was ahead of me on the trail and my horse stopped. His kept going. The rancher led my horse, with me on it, back to the ranch. Told his daughter to keep me occupied with potato chips (crisps to you brits), and pop.

Some guy joked that maybe my dad fell off a horse and died.

Then my godmother drove up and said get in the car. I asked where's dad? No answer. She just kept driving. I shouted where's dad? Deadpan, looking straight ahead at the road, she said he's dead.
 
I could hear myself wailing. Noone comforted me. I walked around the neighborhood looking for a shoulder to cry on. No one in sight. Got sent to camp Oolawon.
 
My grandad was of a certain age. I've a feeling he knew, though. Although you didn't talk about that kind of thing in those days. He knew. I miss him beyond belief. I miss my grandma too. Both of them. They'll always be with me. They're not going anywhere too soon. I only have to click my fingers and they're there.
Click your fingers?
 
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