My feet are killing me, I have to pee and I can’t find the goddamn remote.

Another night, another night of lousy sleep ... which clearly can be diagnosed as the cause of my latest ailment: Spontaneous Senior Citizen Mental Illness. I conked out in the family room last night around 11 and woke up at 1:45, dazed and confused. Sam had gone to bed, the TV was off but the lights were on, and I have to admit ... I got VERY FREAKED OUT. The first thing I did was drop the remote for the floor lamp — yes, our floor lamp has its own remote! — which ricocheted off the base of the side table and wound up somewhere under the chaise where I couldn’t see it. I immediately started to CRY because that’s what all adults do when they wake up in the middle of the night in a brightly-lit room and develop a brain hemorrhage thinking ... Jesus Christ, my legs are killing me, my feet are killing me, I have to pee AND NOW I CAN’T FIND THE GODDAMN REMOTE!

You can never have too many cold meat forks!

I frequently whine about my pain issues in the Howdygram. It’s unavoidable; there are days when pain completely takes over my life and I can’t focus on anything else except once in a while Cheetos. Last night, however, my misery hit a repulsive new “high” and included all of the following shit: 1) plantar fasciitis in both heels made it fucking impossible to stand up; 2) stabbing pain in both knees; 3) an ache in my right hip; 4) broken and bleeding skin (from pressure ulcers) on the back of both thighs; 5) difficulty breathing; 6) watery eyes; 7) a cramp in my right shoulder and upper arm; and 8) intestinal difficulties bordering on a nuclear holocaust. As a result this was my official Shit-O-Meter reading when I dragged myself to bed last night at 11:30. (Regular Howdygram readers will know that was unusually early for me but I was too damn miserable to stay awake.)

My doctors are letting me down and I’m not happy.

Shalom to you and yours from my happy little corner of Texas, where four days of relentless rain have turned our region into a gigantic, never-ending auto showroom of submerged vehicles, all driven by yahoos who didn’t realize their freeway underpass was actually 10 feet under water. A smattering of representative photographs appears below for your possible interest. Bottom line: IT’S EXTREMELY WET HERE.

The time Elizabeth Taylor and Rock Hudson scared me to death in the family room.

I woke up this morning after insufficient sleep and had no idea what day it was. NO FUCKING IDEA. For a few minutes this was maybe the scariest thing that’s ever happened to me, even scarier than the time I was asleep on the couch and woke up watching Giant — the scene where Jett Rink (James Dean) in old-man makeup gets so drunk at his own testimonial banquet that everybody walks out and leaves him alone to throw chairs and chew the scenery — and five of his guests (Elizabeth Taylor, Rock Hudson, Carol Baker, Chill Wills and Jane Withers) peek their faces through the door to see what the fuck is going on. I woke up from a nap with that “peeking” scene on the TV screen and hallucinated they were all peeking into the family room at ME. I started shrieking “GO AWAY!” until I realized I was freaking out at Rock Hudson and still half-asleep. Whoa.

Happy holidays, goddamn it.

Good morning and HAVE A REALLY HAPPY VETERANS DAY to all of you camo-lovers out there in Howdygramland! The only real military veteran I ever knew close-up was my father, who served in World War II. Here he is — looking very adorable at age 23 — in London in 1943 as a lieutenant navigator for the Army Air Corps.

Does Starbucks really hate Jesus, or are they just anti-reindeer?

It’s Tuesday evening here at Howdygram headquarters and I’ve been avoiding tonight’s GOP clown car debate due to the high risk of nausea if I have to listen to those shitbags again. Instead I’ve decided to write a nice post, answer a couple of emails and finish eating what’s left of a one-pound bag of Sweets & Beets® that Sam bought a few days ago at Costco. As the name implies these are sweet potato and beet chips (seriously), unsalted, colorful, very crunchy and mostly void of flavor. I could live without them but there’s nothing else to eat right now. What the fuck, right?

The Little Slobster. Everywhere he goes he leaves a trail of dirt, crud, rust, paint, grease, crumbs, shit and spackle.

Good afternoon, dear readers, and a deliriously happy Wednesday to you and yours! Because I’ve got several million unique and moderately interesting news items to share with you today I’d better begin immediately or else I’ll fall asleep. Thank you for putting up with me.

Greg Abbott is planning to roll back the state’s handicap access regulations ... and he’s a paraplegic in a wheelchair!

While Sam heads off to Wal-Mart to pick up potato chips, potato salad, sugar-free Jell-O cups and a couple of prescriptions — DRUGS! I NEED MY GODDAMN DRUGS! — I will stay behind to maintain law and order at Howdygram headquarters. (You have no idea how rowdy it can get around here. Seriously.)

Oy! Time marches on!

It’s a crazy-busy Wednesday morning here at Howdygram headquarters! We’re running the dishwasher, Sam is getting ready to throw a load of sheets into the washing machine and I’m seriously considering a chicken salad sandwich for lunch today on rye bread or Seasoned Meat Slabs for Senior Citizens with Grill Marks and Low-Carb Pasta Rice. I’m so excited in advance I can hardly stand it!

Just fix my goddamn email and let’s move on.

Hi. It’s almost midnight and I’ve been considering what time I should go to bed. It probably doesn’t matter, though ... I’m always interrupted after four hours for a middle-of-the-night senior citizen bathroom adventure and wind up right here at my desk to horse around with the Howdygram. I guess it’s your lucky day after all!

You never realize how big your house is until you can’t walk any more.

I’m having “mouse issues.” My wireless Apple mouse is skipping, getting stuck, locking up, acting jerky and generally driving me insane. I almost ordered a new one last night from Amazon for $65.99 but decided to hold off for a while until I try a variety of other remedies. First up, at Sam’s suggestion, DITCH MY VERY OLD MOUSE PAD — even though it’s really adorable with his baby picture on it — and just use the mouse on the surface of my desk. I guess it’s worth a shot. Stay tuned for further developments but please feel free to continue your usual Sunday routine in the meantime. (Thank you.)

Dear Barstool Palin: Go shoot a few mooses and STFU.

I am grieved to report another very, very shitty night’s sleep, maybe the worst experience EVER. I seem to be going through another episode of intense chronic pain and it even hurts like hell to toss and turn in bed. I would’ve just gotten up and migrated into the study. Unfortunately it hurts like hell to WALK, too, so I laid there like a sweaty zombie and MOANED OUT LOUD FOR FOUR FUCKING HOURS.

I spilled scalding hot soup on my chest today at lunch.

In the spirit of not having anything whatsoever to do and it’s probably a little too early — i.e., 8:50 a.m. and Sam is on his way to the optometrist — for my first nap of the day, I thought it might be fun to share the eight new deep fried finalists (see below) in this year’s Texas State Fair Big Tex Choice Awards.

The Howdygram has another “new look.”

I’ve had one hell of a week around here due to TWO BIG HUGE THINGS. First, there’s been UPHEAVAL and REMODELING and STARTLING COLORS and AMAZING CABINETS IN THE LAUNDRY ROOM and SHINY HARDWARE! Gary-the-Handyman didn’t finish our remodeling hoo-hah on Friday as originally planned and will be back on Tuesday with more paint, extra overalls and a fresh supply of dropcloths. Projects still left to do include: 1) paint two red accent walls in the family room; 2) repair a stress crack in the living room ceiling; 3) attach handles to the cabinets in both bathrooms and the laundry room; 4) install towel rings and towel bars in both bathrooms; 5) recaulk and regrout the tub/shower in the hall bathroom; 6) install a recessed light fixture on the laundry room ceiling; and 7) repair and paint minor drywall fuckups in the master bath and laundry room.

On my schedule this week? Great movies and great drugs.

Hi, people. It’s 9 a.m. Monday morning and I can’t think of anything to do aside from eating, sleeping and maybe taking the next dose of my prescription painkiller (Norco) half an hour early because I love my drugs.

Rick Perry is looking for a better gig.

Good morning from Howdygram headquarters, home of CORN DOGS FOR BREAKFAST! Corn dogs are a neat, appropriate, easy-to-eat treat from Schwan’s that a person can nuke in about 2½ minutes and won’t drip on your keyboard. And you can even use a PAPER PLATE.

There sure is a lot of hate in the news these days, isn’t there?

I woke up at 7:30 this morning to a deafening thunderstorm with rain so torrential it actually sounded like somebody was aiming a fire hose at the windows. Another three inches of rain was in the forecast and we definitely got it ... PROBABLY IN ONE HOUR! The blue star on the following map denotes Howdygram headquarters.

All I want to do is belch. Also, the Duggars are off the air!

I am NOT having a pleasant Friday evening in any way whatsoever, and it all hinges on SEVERE CHEST PAIN. No, I’m not having a heart attack even though it feels like one ... I JUST NEED TO BELCH. This happens to me every now and then, and the pain is atrocious and upsetting. I’m doubled over at my desk, I’ve got a pounding headache, I can’t catch my breath AND ALL I WANT TO DO IS BELCH. Holy crap. Somebody come over right away and thump my back for a few minutes, okay?!

I’m parked at my desk drinking Coke Zero and trying to belch. (It’s hell getting old.)

It’s 4:45 p.m. on a breezy Wednesday afternoon and I WANT TO THROW UP. I’ve been fighting nausea for the last three hours in addition to an off-and-on headache, slightly low blood sugar and overall clamminess. Lying down on the chaise didn’t help at all — actually, it made me feel WORSE — so now I’m parked at my desk drinking Coke Zero and trying to belch. (It’s hell getting old.)

The Miserable Exploding Bladder Incident and other senior citizen news.

Howdy, people. It’s 5:45 Wednesday morning and I’m sitting bolt upright at my desk still somewhat freaked-out by a bad event yesterday evening before Sam came home from work. I had a nice nap in bed from 4:30 to 7:45 p.m., and when I woke up I realized I had to pee. Let me phrase this differently for emphasis: I THOUGHT MY BLADDER WAS GOING TO EXPLODE. So I put on my robe, slide into my slippers, shuffle into the master bathroom and BLAMMO, I can’t make it to the toilet and I can’t even make it into the goddamn shower. So I kick my slippers across the room — quite an achievement for a handicapped old broad with a cane — and just let go. All over the floor. Thank God for the gigantic decorative bath towel attractively draped across the side of the tub! I covered my puddle, sat down on a bench and tried to remember when the hell did I turn into such a big, helpless baby. (I’m still working on it.)