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On old age, babies, and funerals (mine?) in the Philippines

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In a couple of days I will hit a major milestone – the age that Social Security deems I can retire early. Of course before my co-workers begin the celebration, I should say that I am not retiring now, but apparently I could if I wanted to live on the pittance that I would get from a 3/4 Social Security payment.

Once again this experience reminds me that I am an old fart living the dream, married to a slightly less elderly Filipina and that for the next few months our ages will be the exact opposite of each other (62 and 26).

Like many old farts I am in contact with my high school friends via Facebook. Since at 21 I moved as far away from my home in Philadelphia as I possibly could and still remain in the continental US, I have not seen most of these people in over 40 years.

Last night I was looking at my long list of high school Facebook “friends” and thought of a friend I hadn’t seen on FB. I did a quick search. Yep, you guessed it; he died two years ago. This is the second time in six months that I have searched for a friend that I’d wondered about for decades and the second time I found that the only viable reason someone isn’t on Facebook, is because they’re dead.

I found that the only viable reason someone isn’t on Facebook, is because they’re dead.

Janet came home from work and I told her I was a bit sad at my discovery. She knows me well enough to know that I was feeling my own mortality and reminded me I am healthy and that most importantly my otin still works and consequently we will have a baby and that between my young wife and child I will remain young for many years to come. Either that, I thought,  or they will put me in my grave quickly – but I kept that to myself.

In fact, I recently had a conversation with another high school friend on Facebook (this one is actually still alive) who is very happy that I have Janet in my life but implored me to not have children. After all, she reminded me how old I would be when a new baby hits 21.

“I may be old, but I can still do the math,” I reminded her. “The good news is I may not even live till my current kids are 21,” I declared hopefully.

I reminded her that ultimately no one knows. My mother, in great shape, died at 40 when I was 19 and my father 100 bills overweight is still alive and cantankerous at 85.

This led Janet and I to a conversation about her plans about a baby. She is confident that she can control the characteristics of said baby and so here is her plan.

Naturally, the baby will be female.

She will have my skin and nose – a given if you ask Filipinas. This is the reason they married us – our long noses and pasty skin color.

The baby will have Janet’s eyes, hair color and texture. No bald babies for us!

The baby will have Janet’s figure.

However, the baby will have my loboot (ass). Janet is constantly complaining about her loboot (personally I like it very much) and wishes that I could miraculously “give me your loboot.” I wouldn’t mind giving her 10-20 of my pounds. If anyone has any suggestions about how to make such a transplant, let me know. But in the meantime I am tasked to give the baby my big loboot.

With the baby to be’s looks being now decided (who needs an ultrasound) it was time for us both to scan Facebook for any new and  essential information of the day. We stumbled on a question about a elderly German living in the Philippines, near death and broke, and what could be done about burial costs.

Naturally this let to a conversation about my impending demise. I repeated that I preferred cremation and that Janet ought to keep it simple and not spend a bunch of money on me, since after all I will be dead.

“But where will I visit you if we cremate?” Janet asked. This is essential to a Filipina and a Catholic.

“Well I guess you can keep the urn if you want. Then you don’t have to visit me. I’ll be with you.”

“I don’t like that,” she replied. “Then your spirit will be watching me constantly.”

“Then scatter my ashes,” I replied as a reasonable Westerner.

It cialis generika http://appalachianmagazine.com/2014/02/10/februarys-must-see-location-north-carolinas-shadow-of-a-bear/ can help achieve an erection when sexual stimulation occurs. If an altered menstrual cycle does not convince best cialis price you to stop taking it, perhaps the fact that it causes oversensitivity to your genitalia will. Erectile dysfunction (ED) is nothing but the inability of performing on the bed and satisfying the partner’s cialis generico online needs. Heart disease will stay http://appalachianmagazine.com/2019/03/12/appalachian-weddings-times-of-chaos-revelry/ price tadalafil tablets unnoticed until the first symptom attacks you. “But then there will be no place to visit you.” We were back to the beginning.

“Well, bury some of the ashes under a tree.” I am nothing if not a great problem solver.

“Not the same,” she said.

“Whatever you want then. I’ll be dead. Bury me, so you can visit me.”

“This is best,” she replied. “Then people can see you in death. How many days should the viewing be?”

“What! No way.” In Jewish tradition we are much more reasonable (and sanitary). There are no open coffins and the deceased is buried within 48 hours.

“Then how will family be able to say their goodbyes. In the Philippines they pass the coffin and touch you.”

“I don’t want anyone to be touching me when I am dead!”

“Then you can get an expensive coffin with a glass cover.”

“I don’t want anyone to see me when I’m dead. I’m not that great looking alive. Let’s go back to cremation.”

“But then I can’t visit you.” We were back to the beginning again.

“But I don’t want to spend a bunch of money on a plot; it’s a waste.”

“In the Philippines you can rent the plot. 500 pesos a year.”

“That’s pretty cheap (about $12/year). Forever?”

“Oh no. Only for five years.”

“Then what?”

“They dig you up and take your bones and put them in a small box.”

So I have made a decision. You’ve heard it here first. I am not dying!

 

 

 

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Viagra Babies and My Impending Dotage and Demise

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When I started this blog I promised it would be irreverent and funny and occasionally informative. Well, today it’s time for some information, though first you’ll have to slog through the other crap.

Last night I was eating dinner with my 18-year old son. We’re talking about some serious stuff mostly regarding his upcoming entry into college and the excitement of leaving home for his next adventure in life. Finally out of the blue he asks, “How much does a funeral cost?” Was he worried about my impending demise, I wondered? Not exactly. He was worried about how much he would have to pay. “After all, mom (my ex) is not gonna pay for it,” he told me.

I thanked him for his concern and assured him I had a good year or two left and then told him honestly that Janet knew my wishes and I did not want a funeral; just to be cremated. “So, how much does an urn cost?” he asked. I considered showing him the final scene from The Big Lebowski, where the Dude and Walter get a coffee can from Ralph’s to carry Donnie’s final remains (and the consequences of that action) but decided that I at least deserved more than a Ralph’s coffee can.

“Urns come in all prices,” I finally said and then assured him that my “estate” could probably manage the cost of an urn.

————

About a week ago I was talking to Janet. She was half joking and said, “You must take good care of me now while you are young because I will be taking care of you in the future.” Once again I assured her that was going to be far into the future, but as a dutiful husband I also assured her I would take care of her now. I also thanked her for the “young” lie.

But this whole age thing is really weird because of the incongruity in my life and marriage. After all, I am 61 which by many standards ain’t exactly young. Frankly, I’m not sure I can even get away with calling myself middle-aged any more. I am constantly referred to as “the old guy” at work. OK, truth be told I used to be referred to as “the old guy.” Now, I suspect I am referred to as the “old guy with the hot and inappropriately young wife.”

And yes, said wife is 26 and in many ways I get to watch her begin adult life, learning about her environment, and the workaday world, in total contrast to my plans to end my foray into the workaday world.

And of course Janet talks often about children. Most of my peers have grandchildren to bounce around and then get rid of at the end of the day. We’re trying to determine how and when to have our own, and whether my hernia will hold up.

And this is really where it gets strange because I believe I have to try to think and act young all the while acknowledging that other reality. You have to balance both realities, while, as the cliche goes, living for today.

This reminds me of a story from my friend Jim. I hope he’ll forgive me for stealing it.
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I was meeting with Jim weekly over beers telling him of my escapades in the Philippines, and of my then girlfriend, Janet. I was encouraging him to check it out. It took some convincing, as well as several chat sessions with a cute Pinay, who was to eventually become his wife, but finally Jim visited the Philippines. He returned to the U.S. and soon after went to a bar to meet a few friends. Arriving a bit late he found his buddies involved in a not so lively discussion – on burial plots. Apparently they hadn’t seen The Big Lebowski. Sizing the morbid situation up he told them, “Here’s what I’m up to,” and pulled out a picture of his hot girlfriend. The burial plot conversation ended.

I don’t know what my point is here exactly. I suppose at my age you can discuss burial plots, funerals and urns or marry a cute Filipina. I know what I chose to do.

————

BTW, to add to the old age theme here, yesterday I was on the phone with Social Security. I have the week off from work and one of the exciting things on my list of things to do was to call Social Security and ask them a few questions and confirm a couple bits of information that I thought I knew. You can’t get much older sounding than to fill your day with a lighthearted call to the Social Security office.

One of those bits of information I confirmed is what some cynical financial planners now call the Viagra Child Plan. It’s a lesser known clause contained in the Social Security bucket. So get ready for the informative stuff!

One of those bits of information I confirmed is what some cynical financial planners now call the Viagra Child Plan. It’s a lesser known clause contained in the Social Security bucket.

Here’s how it works:

If a man or woman begins to collect Social Security retirement benefits, whether at age 62 or beyond, and that said old geezer has a minor child, that child gets the equivalent of 1/2 the codger’s Social Security payment. The child in question can be a natural child, adopted or step-child; doesn’t matter. I am fairly confident that the framers of the Social Security system did not have in mind old farts like me marrying 26-year old Filipinas and then having babies, but what the hell. So the point is, when I begin Social Security retirement benefits, at whatever age, if Janet and I have a young child, that child will receive payments from our friends in the Federal government until he/she is 18 or 19. Isn’t democracy wonderful!

Our plan regarding the money is simple and responsible; we’re going to take those checks and place the money on black at Caeser’s in Vegas! No, no, no. Actually we will put it in a fund for education. That way, whether I am alive or not our child at age 18 will be able to afford college or a cup of coffee, whichever is then cheaper. Or possibly it might pay for my urn.

BTW, once you reach age 61 you will find that you are inundated by invitations to go to free dinners where they discuss your impending Social Security windfall and financial planning. Janet and I went to one. There were about twenty couples in the room and let’s just say, we were unique. The fortyish financial planner went over a large number of Social Security strategies and their ramifications before mentioning the Viagra Strategy. After explaining it, wiseass that I am, I raised my hand and asked if I still got the benefit even if I didn’t use Viagra.

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Darwin Disproved by Fertile Filipinas

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Writers Note: As with all my pieces, this one is meant to be personal and humorous. I have no interest in news or documentary style writing. I make no universal proclamations; that is other than the fact I like Filipinas! DW

I’ve already written that many Filipinas are very interested in having a baby with a Westerner. There’s just something about white skin, blue eyes and a long nose that drives them wild.

Janet agrees with this sentiment, though still has a hard time understanding why genetically I can’t give her a blue-eyed baby. “Not every race produces blue eyes. After all, there aren’t any blue-eyed Filipinos either,” I said.

“Sure there are. Ones with a foreigner father.”

“But not this foreigner father,” I said.

She eventually understood well enough to giggle and said, “So if I ever have a blue-eyed baby, I would be in trouble?”

“Big time,” I agreed.

But it was her other core genetic belief that really threw me. Driving in the car we were having a discussion on just this subject when I mentioned, “Of course, even if we have a child, it’s just as likely that he or she will have dark skin and a small, cute, flat nose like yours.”

“No, I don’t think so. She will be white with a long nose. I’m positive.”

I tried to be mature and reasonable; that’s what you do at 61. “But you wouldn’t be disappointed if a child turned out looking more Filipino than Caucasian?”

“That’s not possible. The white always overcomes the brown.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

Estrogen supplements like Estrace buy levitra from india or Estradiol are also given. So next time, give the herbals a miss and tadalafil india price. Good luck with the writing! Top marketers have “ripped off” his stuff… have you? For nearly a decade, top marketers and business owners have been quietly “stealing” from this guy. buy viagra without Now you do not need to purchase hard and bitter tablets cialis without prescription for the treatment of erectile dysfunction. “No, everyone knows that. When a Filipina has a child with a foreigner the child looks like the foreigner.”

“Right now Darwin is rolling over in his grave.”

“Who?”

Darwin
Darwin was pretty white and long nosed himself

“When a Filipina has a child with a foreigner the child looks like the foreigner.”

I tried reasoning with her, “But look at my kids.”

Now, I have two teenagers whose mother’s heritage is from the Carribbean; a mix of several races but certainly leaning mostly toward African-American.

Janet agreed that while my kids had some of their mother’s qualities, they were mostly me. No matter how much I argued logically, quoted law of averages, genetic theory, and all that crap, Janet is convinced of her position. Not only does she believe, as I already knew, that white skin and a long nose are better qualities to have, she believes that genetically they are superior qualities. In other words white trumps brown.

I approached a mutual Filipina friend. A medical professional, I figured she would certainly be able to set Janet straight. She listened to my dilemma and thoughtfully answered, “Dave, everyone knows that when a foreigner and a Pinay have a baby, the baby looks like the foreigner. That’s why we want you.”

“What about genetics?” I asked.

“Everyone knows the white genes are stronger than the weaker brown ones.”

“I musta missed that chapter when I studied Darwin.”