Boring Boring Boring

I don't feel like I have anything new to say or report. Nothing has changed. I still have a mystery illness. I'm still passing out or on the verge of passing out all the time. My heart likes to beat funny. I can't and don't really get to do anything. I'm so boring. And MOODY. Poor poor Husbandman. 


I did have a really wonderful Thanksgiving. My sister and her girlfriend came out for the holiday and stayed with us. We got to eat Thanksgiving with both families so we were very full. Our family went bowling and I had fun but Husbandman had to finish up for me because my body kept trying to pass out. I'm not a very good cheerleader. We found a little girl in the parking lot. Almost a baby I would say. She could just barely walk. We took her back into the family fun center place we were at. It took a really long long time to locate her Mother. Her Mother who yelled at her for not staying where she told her to. Um yeah. She's a baby. They don't watch themselves. Also, kudos to you crazy white trash mom for yanking her arm and pulling her away and yelling and lecturing her. I'm sure her 14 month old mind processed that really well. Also, I got creeped out while I was waiting with her for her Mom to notice she was gone and she was the woman being paged. All the people bowling gathered around in a huge half circle and just stared. Two women offered to keep her. One creepy guy kept pacing slowly in front of us staring and leering. No thanks pedo dude. Keep walking.


I have tolerable health days and bad health days. I had a lot of bad ones in a row and tried to get a hold of the doctor. All they did was up the dose of the medicine that is having no affect. That's been fun. I love side-effects. So I'll probably be on the phone trying to explain everything to the receptionist again. Hey, maybe if I'm lucky they'll just up the dosage some more *fake smile with underlying tones of pissiness*. Someone really does need to invent a sarcastic font.


Husbandman had a work Christmas party. My amazing friend Mickey who I hardly get to see anymore (I never get to see anyone anymore) took me shopping for an outfit. One of the side-effects of having to stay home and rest for four months is getting really fat :) I sure do love not being able to put on pants anymore. Seriously though, I'm not even allowed to go for walks. I'm gonna go insane!
Anyway, so we get to the store and the clerk is like, "Just so you know we are closing in 15 minutes. We close at 8." Who the *$#@ closes at 8?!? During the holidays!?! So we went to a different store but I didn't have a gift card there so I didn't buy anything. We did find an AMAZING dress for Mickey. She is so hot and has an amazing body. So Mickey took me to her house and we found a way to squeeze me into some of her clothes without me looking squeezed. She has such awesome clothes. Her closet is like Heaven. So I got a super awesome outfit to wear for the party. The party was a lot more formal and structured than I imagined. It felt very grown up. A lot like a country club event. His company is pretty darn cool. They had a photo booth at the party and the guy running it was freaky. He kept telling us there were no rules and we could do ANYTHING we wanted in there for the camera. He repeated this enough times with lots of winking and eyebrow waggling to unsettle both of us. It was still fun and we are completely un-photogenic. 
It was a really nice evening but I get completely worn out trying to pretend I feel normal. I don't like people to see weakness. I don't want to look ill. I don't want a bunch of strangers asking me personal questions I don't have answers to. Husbandman had to prop me up a few times and hold on tight (so I don't crack my head open if I pass out). He's getting rather skilled at that. I think the best time was at church when we were walking out of class (he was taking me home because he can always tell when I'm about to pass out) and I was protesting because I felt "fine". OK so I know it's bad to lie especially in church but I never get out of the house OK?! I was desperate to stay anywhere. Anyway, so we were walking out and he wasn't paying attention and I just went down, he grabbed me just in time but I almost fell on a stranger and everyone got all worried and kept asking if I needed water. That was super embarrassing. Poor Husbandman wrenched his arm pretty good on that one. 


After the party Husbandman spent HOURS and HOURS working on his mistress (his jeep) at his parents house. So his mom and I ate monkey bread, watched old movies, and swapped good stories until around 2 am. She got tired and went to bed. I was on their couch until 4 am when Husbandman finished upgrading something involving shocks or some other weird thing I don't really understand because it's just a car. Good thing he doesn't read this. His head would probably explode. He loves that silly jeep more than anything. I'm glad he has a hobby he loves that helps him de-stress. He get's pretty exhausted having to take care of everything at home and working so much. That doesn't mean I'm not jealous of it. Stupid jeep. I should work on this jealousy of inanimate objects thing. That's probably not healthy. Typically we don't have a lot of spare cash for non-necessities because medical bills suck ***. But Husbandman has been doing lots of extra work and found a very inexpensive amazing deal he couldn't pass up for his baby (someone on KSL classifieds accidentally listed some jeep upgrade for a lot lot less than what it was worth and decided to give it to him for that mistaken price instead of the intended. They were really nice). And he did run it by me before he bought it. We found a way to make it work out. And it seriously makes him so happy. I love it. It's a love/hate thing. 


I really miss my sister and her lady. I had so much fun having someone at the house. I was a complete waste case though. But it was nice to have someone there during the days. Also, she is pretty much the best person I know and I love her so much and miss her because she lives so far away. I can't wait to see her again. Hopefully I can go see their new place someday soon. 


I can't think of anything else. I'm grumpy and moody (groody?) so I should probably go before I get even more emotional and needy. I'm going to scare the internet into breaking up with me if I keep whining like a bad girlfriend. 
"Sure thing interwebs. It's totally cool with me if you hang out with your guy friends."


P.S. I totally just remembered something new. I have had some weird rib pain since last March but it wasn't that bad and it was only in one rib. But about two or three weeks ago it got a lot worse and now most of the front ribs hurt. It's making it so I can't sleep so I finally gave in and called the chiropractor. I think one is out of place bad enough that it is aggravating the others. When I look at it in the mirror it looks really jacked up. It feels and kinda looks like it's trying to fold over onto another one. Husbandman wants me to call the real doctor but I'm gonna try chiropractor friend first. If that doesn't work I'll go see the real doctor, but I'm sick of the real doctor and didn't want to pay for a stupid office visit just to have him tell me I need to go to a chiropractor. Cut out the middle man. I hope. 

I Want To Punch Adulthood In the Belly

I'm not the most mature of people.  At best I'm at the maturity level of a kindergartner with a whoopi cushion. Sometimes adult things sneak up on me and give me a good scare.  They make me remember I'm a grown up now.  It kind of sucks.  

A couple weeks ago I had another test for the mystery illness. No answers as far as that goes.  It turns out the process of elimination in the medical community takes a really long time.  I was feeling frustrated after spending the entire first half of the day doing awful yucky health tests that I hope I never have to do again (I would seriously rather sit in a vat of spiders than do the adrenaline test again).  I felt bad for Husbandman having to drag me all over the county to get tests done especially when we still have no answers.  It means late hours at work for him and pretty much all the responsibilities and stress of our lives are shoved onto him.  I try so hard not to add any more stress to his life.

I was exhausted and having weird side effects to the adrenaline, which was expected, but there were things that needed to be done so I was puttering around the house doing as much as I could.  I walked down the hall and when I passed the bathroom I heard a weird noise.  It sounded like someone in a diesel engine truck was parked in our driveway and the noise was coming through the bathroom window.  I went to the window to see who was there but the noise got quieter when I got to the window.  Like a game of hot and cold.  I was getting colder.  I slowly started retracing my steps.  I was getting hot...hot...hotter...scalding burning agonizingly hot.  I was standing in front of the toilet.  

It was rumbling.  Actually rumbling.  I had visions of water shooting out in a powerful geyser spraying the ceiling and knocking down shelves.  Did you ever see that episode of Simpsons when Bart flushed the cherry bomb down the toilet? That scene was running on loop through my imagination. I tried calling Husbandman.  My stomach sank.  I didn't want to tell him but I had no idea what to do.  Plumbing bills swam in front of my eyes.  I started to cry.  I felt so helpless and not strong enough to handle one more thing.  It was like the straw that broke the camels back.  With each ring of Husbandman's number my mind came up with more and more awful scenarios.  I questioned every decision I've ever made in my life and wondering if Husbandman regretting marrying me.

He didn't answer.  This was not one of the scenarios.  What do I do without Husbandman?  He's the rock...he's the one who handles all the scary things.  He's the one who kills the spiders as I shriek like a banshee from somewhere up really high so even if they jump they can't get me.  He's the one who checks the basement for the hobos (call me crazy but I know hobos live in my basement. That's why we so fondly have dubbed it "Hobo Village").  What the *bleep* was I going to do about the toilet if Husbandman wasn't available.  I'll tell you what I did.  I text him. Frantically.  

Me:  Um...so yeah the toilet is making this terrifying noise and I was wondering if I should turn off the water or something else responsible like that.

Me: Sweet goodness please see this text before the toilet floods and I drown!

Husbandman: What kind of noise?

Me: Like someone running an old truck in our driveway. Like white noise with a slight bass. Like phlegm-y pervert or coma patient breathing.

Husbandman: *eye roll that I can pick up over text* Is there water in the tank?  Did the stopper go all the way down?

Me:  The stopper is down.  There is water in the tank.  The tank is perfectly normal.  But the bowl...um...so all of the water has bubbled and gurgled out of the bowl and it's completely dry and it's making the scary pervert breathing noise!!!

Me: SHOULD I SHUT OFF THE WATER?  HOW DO I EVEN DO THAT? DO I TURN THAT WEIRD KNOB BY THE TOILET?  WHICH WAY DO I TURN IT???!!!

Husbandman: Is it flooding anywhere in the bathroom or the basement?

Me: Nope, we're all dry.  

Husbandman: Try flushing it.

Me:  No way!  Are you crazy?! It's going to explode.  I'm not flushing it.

*looking up number for bomb squad plumbers*

Husbandman:  Please just flush the toilet and tell me what happens.

Me: Fine!  But if it geysers I am blaming you!  

Before I flush the toilet I decided it might be worthwhile to move everything off of the bathroom floor.  Puppy-butt-dog watched me.  I think she could tell something scary was happening because she was watching all of this from behind the couch.  Her dopey face kept peeking out and going back in to hide.  It took every ounce of guts I had.  I flushed that toilet.  I flushed it with more determination and anticipation then I have ever flushed a toilet before.  

And it did all of the normal things a toilet is supposed to do.  No scary pervert noise, no geyser.  Like nothing had happened. 

Husbandman: Did you flush it?

Me: Yeah it's acting completely normal.  

Husbandman: OK let me know if it does anymore weird stuff.

Really toilet?!  REALLY?!?!  

Amidst all of my feelings of confusion yuckiness I felt so relieved.  I didn't feel like I had overreacted, that noise the toilet was making had been unholy and unnatural.  I'm still so grateful it didn't make a yucky geyser.  I'd have packed up and moved.

The whole rest of the day I kept going to the bathroom and listening to the toilet and lifting the lid to check the water level.  It was like a really bizarre OCD compulsion.  Every little bit of every little chore was punctuated with checking the toilet.  Wash a plate, look at the toilet water, wash a glass, look at the toilet water, wash a spoon, look at the toilet water.  That was my afternoon.  

I feel so lucky to have such a level headed Husbandman.  I'm so grateful he doesn't freak out or overreact or get snappish when things happen.  He stays calm and talks normal while I run around like a headless chicken shrieking like a banshee.  

I May Not Feel Rested, But BOY Do I Feel Productive

Last night I tried a sleep aid again.  I think Husbandman and I need to have a rule that if I take one he has to make sure I go STRAIGHT to bed.  Otherwise I stay up until 4 am making random lists. Last time I made a playlist and sent people nonsense text messages.  This time I made all sorts of grocery/shopping lists AND a complete home and yard remodel. The weird thing is that my home/yard remodel designs from last night are plausible and actually kind of awesome.  Also they were really organized. Like an OCD person made the lists.  The had titles and even spacing and were so not me.  I bet it was those darn elves again.  You know how they are, always doing peoples jobs and showing them up in the process (please tell me I'm not the only one who loved the Elves and the Shoemaker book as a child).

For those of you who know me well you know I hate nothing more than doing decorative type stuff. We've lived in our house for close to 9 months now and I still have yet to hang a single thing up on my wall or any cutesy homey displays of anything.  Everything kind of just gets put where it falls.  I have no themes, no patterns. I'm not even at college housing level here. It's not that I don't have plenty of things to hang I just don't get into design. I've tried to convince quite a few people to do it for me.  But for once I'm actually kind of excited about decorating my house.  Though you probably shouldn't be too surprised if I call you up on the phone and try to get you to come "help".

I'm Dying Of Blood Loss

Having a mystery illness has become a rather odd adventure.  Maybe it just seems that way because I've become an invalid recluse so even a trip for more tests at the Doctor's office is interesting.  Husbandman and I are discovering that the term "specialists" just means you'll get the same experience, it'll just cost a whole lot more.  Our visits to the General Practitioners office have become pretty routine.  Go in, wait, get weighed, check blood pressure, wait, see Doctor, confuse Doctor, make Doctor laugh uncomfortably because my type of humor makes him nervous, wait, have the lab withdraw vast amounts of blood.  If we're lucky they'll throw in an EKG.  Husbandman and I have come to the conclusion that before they can diagnose this I will die of blood loss because of how much I've had drawn lately.  If that does happen let this be the record that I promised LAEL my record collection, most importantly my David Bowie vinyl.  Here's a random tidbit of information, it is a shockingly long wait to get into see specialists.  It's like, "Oh, hey.  You are seriously ill and getting progressively worse every day?  OK cool.  We'll see you in two months.  If you die before then don't forget to let us know so we can fill your slot."

On a more serious note I do get a little nervous before the tests and appointments with the different specialists.  The EEG actually turned out to be weirdly hilarious and fun.  It was a sleep deprivation test so things got pretty weird.  The tech did tell me I was her funniest patient ever but that was probably only because I have no filter when I'm sleep deprived and was telling her embarrassing moments from my life.  Other people's humiliation is always funny.  Always.  Also, Husbandman took pictures.  I look awful.  What a wonderful memory to cherish.  I looked like an escaped mental patient who had taken a bad fall and cracked their head  open after being electrocuted.  I think Husbandman's favorite part was when I told the tech that the strobe light "is like wheel of fortune on my eyes."  Anyone who's had the test can probably vouch to that.  It's a fair comparison.  The judges would also accept "price is right bonus wheel on my eyes".

Today was our first visit with the heart dude.  He prefers Cardiologist or Dr (insert last name I can't remember here).  I prefer heart dude.  I felt very shy from the moment we walked in for a few reasons.
1) I can't walk very far unsupported anymore and the walk from the car was surprisingly far so Husbandman was propping me up as I wheezed like a chain smoking monkey.
2) I was easily the youngest person there by 50 years besides the socially inept receptionist.  This made Husbandman and I a sort of novelty I assume because the old geezers in there would NOT stop staring which was a tad shocking because I assumed they all had horrible eyesight judging by the size of the Reader's Digests in there.  I have never seen magazines that large of print in my entire life.
3) It smelled like watermelon jolly ranchers and poo.  You know old people.  They love their hard candy and Depends.

Once we got called back into the exam room things weren't as bad.  The nurse was nice.  How nice I think people are is in direct correlation to how much they laugh at my lame jokes.  Technically I think this makes them empathetic or pitying but I like to think that I am witty and they are nice.  After checking all my stats and laughing at all the appropriate moments the nurse very bluntly stated, "Judging by your vitals you shouldn't be in here."  Tell me about it lady.  We know.  That's why I'm a mystery, duh.  Husbandman, nurse lady and I got into a very nice discussion about my Syncope and how it's better to call it Syncope rather than just fainting.  At least with Syncope it sounds all cool and official and not like some spoiled southern belle who belongs on a plantation.  Nurse lady and I prefer Syncope for that reason.  Husbandman prefers fainting or passing out because he says Syncope makes me sound like a psychotic serial killer.  Oh that Husbandman.  If he really thought that he wouldn't fall asleep so readily with me nearby *shifty eyes*.

I was just getting into the good part of the mandatory exam room People magazine story about Kate and 8 and their life after Jon and all that crap when the heart dude came in.  This dude was really serious.  But when he did laugh it was a very contagious (not the sort of thing you want in a health facility) real laugh.  The only weird part was how random it was.  He did not laugh when I tried to explain to him that it feels like my heart is an old fat guy, probably with back problems and my lungs think it's funny to scare him by yelling "SURPRISE!" at random times.  And with the back problems and old fatness and all he can't race away but he can stand there out of breath clutching his little heart chest going "Gnuh!  Gnuh!" over and over.

I'm just glad heart dude didn't mention the apparent immaturity of Husbandman and myself.  Normally we can hide it.  Kind of.  OK maybe not at all but we can usually keep up appearances for a little while.  Not with heart dude though.  When he was using the stethoscope thing to check my pulse in millions of places I've never had my pulse checked before he accidentally kinda boob punched me with the stethoscope.  I wanted to look at Husbandman to see if he had seen the accidental boob shifting or if he had been distracted by the weird posters on the wall that make different parts of the heart look like bum holes (no joke).  So I made the mistake of looking at him.  He was doing is rapidly darting gaze thing that means he trying not to laugh which makes me want to laugh.  But we were doing good.  We were stone.  Until he smiled.  Then all bets were off and Husbandman and I laughed like 6 year old kids laugh at a fanny burp (see that mom?  I purposely found a different phrase for fart because I know how much you hate "the f word" as you call it).

So heart dude paused trying to find the pulse in my toenails while Husbandman and I shook with uncontrollable immature laughter.  Then it was back to business.  Heart dude says I am "too young, too healthy, and too chronic" for this to be an easy solve.  So we have to start the process of elimination.  This isn't going to be an easy diagnosis and all that jazz.  First up was testing my blood for tiny clots.  Yay.  More blood getting drawn.  That was fun.  Next up is a meeting with Dr Wang (no joke, and heart dude thought we laughed about boobs a lot!) Dr Wang will be giving me a tilt test.  Heart dude was a little reluctant to tell me what that entailed but I got it out of him.  They're gonna strap me to a table (is this a ruse to get me committed?) and then tilt the table in weird ways and inject me with adrenaline to induce Syncope.  A week or so after that is my treadmill test.  I hope they have a helmet I can wear considering I can't even just sit somewhere without passing out sometimes.  Even if I don't pass out on the treadmill and crack my head open I know I'm going to fall off somehow.  I'm not graceful or coordinated in the least.  Remember the Segway incident?  Yeah.  I have a feeling this is gonna be something like that.  The treadmill test section of the visit did give heart dude and I a chance to bond over the fact that pretty much anytime a treadmill test is shown in TV or movies it is a comedic adventure.  Good times heart dude, good times.

I felt pretty lame when we left the office because one of the other heart patients who was about a million years old held the door open for Husbandman and I because I am freaking Scarlet O'Hara.  I think that's her name anyway.  Come to think of it, this lady was old enough to BE Scarlet O'Hara.  I should have asked for her autograph.  Dang it!  When Husbandman and I got out into the parking lot it was horribly obvious that a nearby sewer pipe was having issues.  The whole time Husbandman was dragging/walking me to the car I was dry heaving and gagging.  There is no way to gag pretty.  Especially when Husbandman starts chanting "please don't puke on me, please don't puke on me" the whole way to the car.

So that was my adventure for this week.  The rest of the week I should probably spend my time making reminder cards to hang around places Husbandman frequents reminding him to stop yelling, "BOO!" at the heart patient.  If any of my crafty friends want to help with that I will be sure to reward you with some heartfelt wheezing of gratitude from my couch.

I Hope I Didn't Kill Anyone's Pets In My Sleep

Occasionally if I can't sleep I'll take half of a certain sleep aid my doctor gave me.  Usually it just makes me have very odd dreams.  Last night I had more trouble than usual sleeping so I took a whole one.  They're aren't very high strength but they hit me hard.  I became THAT person.  You know, the one who gets really drunk or high and then calls people.  Luckily I only called Husbandman.  I don't remember that phone call.  But from what he says I decided that it would be a good idea to make a new playlist on my iPod to fall asleep to.  I called him because I couldn't do it because if I didn't keep one eye closed there were three iPods and many unreal features.  I also tried to text and play Hanging With Friends.  Turns out QUATBR isn't a word.  I woke up very confused this morning because Billy Idol was screaming in my ear and I had a lot of texts from close friends telling me to check out the texts I sent last night.  I couldn't figure out why I was wearing headphones but it all makes sense now.  I played detective and have pieced together a good portion of my trip.  First I called Husbandman to try and make a playlist because none of my other playlists were good enough to sleep to.  I rarely listen to music to sleep, when I need something I play meditation tracks.  I found the new playlist, it's titled "Trijjjpokbnnb baakbsssjlll".  It is a very odd collection of music, especially for sleeping.  It sounds a Quintin Tarintino soundtrack had a baby with the Labyrinth soundtrack.  After...or during the making of the playlist I text some close friends to tell them I took Ambien and things were getting weird.  Most of it was gibberish and incoherent but the few things I could decode were this:
1) There was a marshmallow lady in my room dressed like a nanny
2) There was also a square headed blonde ghost child named Greta or Gertie
3) If my playlist every got into a boxing match with anyone else's playlist it would stand in the rain with a lighter waving in the air like at a bad rock concert and offer free hippie hugs
4) I brag about my awesomeness at Hanging With Friends
5) This was the best playlist ever made in the history of ever and it made me wish I had a lighter to wave through the air
6) I think the letter Q is British because of the whole thing with it being followed by U all the time
7) I really wanted to put the song Under Pressure on the playlist because it is the best song in the world and it should be illegal to have a playlist without the song Under Pressure
There was a lot more but it was mostly stuff like this: alkdja aieouwou woj balsk
I want to formally apologize to anyone I may have woken up.  I'm relatively certain I didn't leave my room, but in case I did, I'm sorry to anyone I may have harmed.  Rest assured I will never take a sleep aid without Husbandman being home.  Poor Husbandman.  Sleepy time me is weird and moody like a teenager.  No wonder he is always tired when he wakes up.  He probably never gets any sleep with all the flailing and playlist making and what not.

My Grandma Is A Racist Sylvester Stallone

Did you see Sylvester Stallone in The Expendables?  I couldn't focus on the movie because he looked weird, like he had a bad face lift or Botox and is puffy from all the alcohol.  He and Sean Patrick Flanery should start a club, but that's not the point.  The point is Sylvester Stallone's eyebrow is stretched up really high above his eye at the arch.  Here let me just show you:

Maybe he's just getting old, but whatever the reason, he and my Grandma look a lot alike.  That's how she draws her eyebrows on, high and pointy.  At least his aren't orange.  She still has yet to learn how to match her hair and eyebrow shades.  Black and Orange, maybe she just really likes Halloween.

Anyway, we had to have dinner with her the other night.  In Public.  Husbandman had never had to meet her before.  He's heard many a horror story about her but never had the honor of witnessing one firsthand.  We don't see her often.

We were the first ones at the restaurant, I forgot to adjust from normal people time to family time on the clock.  We were WAY early by that standard.  I saw a car in the parking lot and felt a dark presence and just knew that she was here.  I did not want to subject Husbandman to her alone so we ducked into a nearby store and waited for more people to show up so the weirdness could be spread around.  My Uncle arrived about ten minutes later so Husbandman and I went back to the restaurant.  It was just the five of us.  Me, Husbandman, Uncle, Husband of Darkness (Grandma's husband), and the Bringer of Darkness (Grandma).    

The first thing the Bringer of Darkness did was tell other patrons they were disgustingly obese.  That was fun. There was lots of awkward throat clearing and red faces from Uncle and I.  I think Husbandman was stuck in disbelief.  He just kinda sat there, not moving or breathing.  We were all safe as long as she was distracted by strangers.  Soon other family came shuffling in, not making eye contact with the Bringer of Darkness and we were seated.  The poor waitress.  The Bringer of Darkness was not very kind in telling her that she didn't care if her meal came with soup or salad, she didn't want either of those.  She was FINE.  We were given bread, I attempted to cut off a slice but the knife was too dull to even break the crust.  Family laughed and thought, "Oh that Anastasia, always clumsily doing things *knowing laughs and smiles exchanged*."  So the Husband of Darkness decided to cut the bread for everyone.  Lots of Bostonian mumbling ensued and the bread was smashed into a pancake and everyone had to tear their portion off.  In your faces everyone, looks like it was the knife and not just clumsy me.  How do you like them apples?!

After the weird bread thing we got our soup or salads.  Waitress got yelled at by the Bringer of Darkness again.  "Where is MY salad?"  Poor waitress.  Stuck between a rock and an soul sucking old lady.  I'm just glad it wasn't me.
It's probably a good thing I wasn't there for this next part.  I have this really bad habit of uncontrollable laughter when I get uncomfortable, scared, nervous, anxious, or embarrassed.  That would have just thrown fuel onto the racist fire.  I was only gone a few minutes but knew something was up as I was walking back to the table.  A few family members were looking at me with this expression of "We're in a special circle of Hell and I'm actually considering murdering an old woman in order to get out."  As soon as I sit down Husbandman nonchalantly tells says, "You missed it.  Your Grandma just asked your uncle if he remembered being called the n-word that one time.  Then she laughed."  Husbandman has a way of downplaying the situation, if that was how it had played out I don't think everyone would look like they were constipated.  I went back to my salad when brother made Husbandman lean forward so we could whisper to each other behind his back.  Not like behind his back as in talking about Husbandman, but behind his back as in actually using him as our whisper shield.  Brother told me a more involved version of what had happened.  Apparently the Bringer of Darkness had to repeat the question to my Uncle three times because they were seated so far apart that he couldn't hear her.  And she didn't say n-word, she actually used the N word.  Multiple times.  And then said, "That was funny!" And started cackling.  People stared.  I can't help but wonder if that was the reason the manager stood by and kept watch over our table for the rest of the meal. Something like this happens every time we go out with her.  I don't know why we keep going in public, it's embarrassing to have all the other tables staring at us.  They always seem to seat us in the middle of restaurants, other patrons surround us.  We may be banned from three or four different Olive Gardens...I bet we never have dinner with her at our homes because that's like inviting an evil spirit inside.  Exorcisms are SO time consuming.
The Bringer of Darkness was the one to teach/introduce me to all the different racist terminology when I was a child.  I didn't know then that she was evil and was teaching me things that should not be repeated so I would work them into every day casual conversations.  It probably didn't help that I had bleach blonde hair and blue eyes as a kid.  After having multiple conversations/interrogations about my language with my parents I learned to always ask them the definition of any word Grandma taught me.
Back to Dinner: After Grandma yelled the n-word a few times dinner resumed and finished with forced conversation and minimal eye contact.  There was also a guy making balloon animals who seemed to be under the influence of some sort of drug but that didn't phase anyone.  You can still make balloon animals when you're on a paranoid twitch trip.  We left generous tips, even to the drugged out balloon guy.  He probably needed to buy another hit after working our table.
I probably sound callous and rude.  I know it's not "normal" to call one's grandmother the Bringer of Darkness, but that's the way life is sometimes.  Sometimes old ladies are nice and give you gross hard candy or sweaty raisins they've been clutching in the palm of their hand for 3 hours (true story).  But sometimes they are just racists.