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November 30 Sick day...The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched. They must be felt with the heart. - Helen Keller
I thought that was a beautiful quote. It kinda reminded me of online friends. I can't see you or touch you but my heart knows you're there. I'm tellin' ya - all the sentimental Christmas movies I can't keep myself from watching are making me into a big pile of mush. I'm finding meaning in everything. Sounds lovely but I think I'm in danger of becoming over-stimulated and becoming a holiday cheeseball. The only thing that may save me from hypersentimentality is the very first thing I thought of after reading the above beautiful quote...
Know what I want for Christmas this year?
No, what?
A Helen Keller doll. You wind her up and she runs into the wall.
Ugh. I'm back to bein' awful. (Short trip!)
There's a guy here in my hometown who designs animated light shows. His house has a bazillion Christmas lights/displays and is synchronized with a local radio station. You can drive by, tune in, and watch the show. It's amazing. The only disturbing thing were the "Warning-High Voltage" signs bordering his property. So I drove there in my fossil-fueled vehicle, sat there with the engine runnin', watched the bazillion lights using God knows how much electricity, and thought it was great. As I drove away I realized how non-Green the whole thing is. Wow. And I was one vehicle in a realllly long line. They showed this guy's house on Good Morning America the other day so people are driving from all around to see it. There's also a light display out on I-20 that has even more lights. I felt better about using the fuel, though, when I reminded myself that I'm doing my part for the environment...I didn't throw my Starbuck's cup out the window...
I'm fixin' ta invade my kitchen and start dipping things in chocolate to give away in Christmas goody-bags. Nothing says Christmas like a carbohydrate dipped in melted almond bark. And why do they call it almond bark? It's faux-chocolate and they call it almond bark. I don't get it. I bought some "dipping tools" to help me get this right. There are three plastic instruments designed to help with dipping strawberries, dipping little peanut butter Ritz crackers, dipping pretzels, and can be used for raisins or whatever, also. (Raisins - as if! Yech. I have erroneously uttered the words "You could dip dog shit in chocolate and I'd eat it" in an effort to convince someone that I would eat ANYTHING if it had chocolate on it. I forgot about raisins. Yech) I figure I spent that $2 and, nickles to donuts, end up using my fingers and toothpicks like I usually do. Ha!
I'm burnin' a sick day today. Blah! I have a terminal case of "red ass." Or, as my blessed Mother used to say, I have diabetes of the by-Gods in the upper conjunction. I think today would qualify as one of those "mental health days" that we all need every now and then. My friend pointed out that she never needs one and the only reason I do is because I'm a bitch. Well, whatever. It is what it is. It's people (a Pollyanna wannabe) like her that make me need the damn day in the first place.
Y'all have a good weekend.
November 27 {giggle}My best friend just found out that I thought I was Alvin when I was a child. As in "Alvin and the Chipmunks." I insisted they call me Alvin, and would not answer to anything else. In addition, I called my dad "Dave." As in Alvin's guardian/dad/manager. In fact, my last words to my Daddy were "I love you, Dave." Anyway, people who heard me call him Dave would be surprised that my parents allowed me to call my daddy by his first name. "Oh, we don't. His name is Bill." Ha!! So this morning I'm minding my own business when my friend calls and plays the Chipmunk's Christmas Song in my ear as it was on her radio. I can hear her giggling in the background. I sat at my desk and did what any Chipmunk would do - I joined in on the singing. It IS one of my favorite Christmas songs. And as I closed my eyes and leaned back in my chair, I sang in my best Alvin voice, "Me, I want a hooooola-hooooop" when I realize someone walked into the office. Good grief. I sat up and opened my eyes to see the Director of Human Resources. Busted. There was naught else to do but put the Chipmunks on speaker phone so he could hear them, and keep on singin'. Pretty soon we were weaving side to side in a delightful Chipmunk impression. When the song was over and we laughed together, he asked, "Are you a Chipmunk fan?" Me, "No, sir. I AM Alvin."
And now, I must ask for a moment of silence to honor "The Squirrel." Oh, let me clarify. I was at my desk thinking I was incredibly bored when the lights flashed and the computer died. One of the bajillion squirrels that live(d) on our campus sacrificed himself on a transformer today. That, or he committed suicide. Either way, power was at half or less power all over campus. After about an hour I had redefined bored so I got my purse and told the boss I was headed for WalMart. Two hours later I called in and, dangit, power was back on. But for the extra-long lunch hour, I would like to say "kudos" to the squirrel that blew out the transformer.
While out and about today I decided to splurge on a beverage from Starbuck's. (So I stopped by the bank and got a second mortgage...) So I pulled into the drive-thru and ordered a very holiday-ish sounding "Grande Peppermint Mocha." I usually get a plain mocha but that sounded so festive. The voice came through the box and said, "I'm sorry. We don't have peppermint"
Me, "Are you messin' with me?"
The voice, "No, Ma'am. We haven't received our order of peppermint."
Me, "So doesn't that mean this is false advertising?"
The voice, "Uh, no ma'am. That would be illegal. We're just, uh, taunting you. That's not illegal in this state."
Me, "Taunting? Well let me tell you, Buddy. Peppermint taunting may not be illegal but it is a rules violation and you are receiving a 15 yard penalty for the taunting. (a la NFL)"
The voice, "Ma'am, I don't deserve a 15-yard penalty."
Me, "There's no use arguing with the ref. The penalty will be assessed on the kickoff. Just give me a plain mocha."
And then I pulled up to the window where every employee was standing there grinning and waiting for me.
The kid with the voice held out my coffee, then pulled it back, "Nope. You can't have it."
Me, "What? MORE taunting? Do you want to get thrown out of this coffee game?"
He gave me my coffee.
I held out my payment, then pulled it back.
Me, "Ah-HA. I can't taunt, too!" Then I paid him and drove away. I don't know if they enjoyed all that as much as I did but I had a blast at the drive-thru window of Starbuck's. I'm very glad, though, that I wasn't waiting behind me because I would have been aggravated at me taking so long. Ha!
I contacted my friend's wife today to be sure she had no objections to some of us going to their house on Thursday evening to watch the Cowboy game. She didn't. She did, however, ask if I knew how many might be coming to watch the game - to which I replied that I did not but asked where we could park the charter bus. Ha!! I'm still pissed at the cable company. GRRRR!!!!
So that was my Tuesday. It was MUCH better than Monday. I managed to go all day without hurting myself. Hahahaha. Oh, and at WalMart I bought the new Eagles cd. Verrrrry niiiiiiice. Celine Dion is singing on the Dancin' With the Stars Finale. I wish I had her voice and she had a feather up her ass - we'd both be tickled t'death.
G'night...
November 26 Monday BIG-TIME...Some days it jus' don't pay to get outta bed...
My cute little bench that I sat on at my dresser every morning broke. I'm now using a "chair" that my Daddy put together out of recycled materials. It's probably a lot more appropriate for ME to use as I brush on my warpaint each day. It's a tractor seat welded onto an old chair frame of a style that was popular back in the 60's. I don't know how to adequately describe it but suffice to say the back is as tall as my head when I'm seated. The tractor seat is actually quite comfy. I have to keep a blanket on it though because it's metal and very cold if I sit on it in just my drawers, which is what I'm usually wearing in the morning. After I do my hair and put on my makeup, I get dressed. (This would be a faster process if I didn't live in Texas where they measure the height of our big hair or the depth of the frosted blue eyeshadow. Ha!!) This morning as I threw a big, loose sweatshirt thing over my head I didn't notice that it not only went over me but also the back of the chair...until I stood up and took the chair with me. The chair, the shirt, and I danced around for awhile until we all fell down. Ouch. This is not...I repeat NOT a good way to start a Monday after a holiday. I had to kinda back my way outta the shirt and start over. I tried to be upset and mad about it but as I thought about it I realized it probably would have looked hilarious.
When I got to work I parked in my usual space and headed for the gym. There was a yard-guy lurking in the bushes that I didn't see until I was practically on top of him and he let out a shrill "wolf whistle." "Good Lord, Billy - you scared the piss outta me!" Billy, "You look mad enough to beat up everybody in the world." Me, "Keep talkin'...you wanna be first?" Billy, "Aw, hell no." Then we laughed and I kept going. We pick on each other all the time. But still, I obviously had a grouchy look on my face. So what else is new? Have I mentioned I am NOT a morning person?
Work itself was uneventful, thank goodness. We have a female athlete in the hospital with staph. We've had 2-3 kids hospitalized this year for staph, but not the killer kind. It's not uncommon in gyms, weight rooms, locker rooms, etc.. The kids share sweaty towels, sit on the same benches, etc. Yech. This girl probably wouldn't have gotten it if she weren't "dating" a football player that had it. Ha!! She'll be fine. With all the publicity about MRSA people tend to freak out when they hear the word "staph." We tell the kids what to do and not do to lower their risk but it doesn't do much good. Staph is a nasty-looking thing. Part of the treatment for it involves lancing & draining and I accidentally walked in on that one time. GAG! Not only could I never be a nurse, I couldn't even be an athletic trainer. My Daddy got staph in the shunt used for his dialysis, and probably (but we never tried to prove it) was exposed to it at the center as several other people ended up with it, also. They went ahead and used the shunt for dialysis, spreading the infection all over his body. It killed him. We probably could have sued but we didn't have the heart for it - it wouldn't have brought him back. Oh, sorry - my niece calls me Debbie Downer all the time. Ha!!
The sun came out this afternoon and it was beautiful! After 2.5 days of blah I was ready for Mr. Sunshine. And I found a friend who has DirecTV so have invited myself to his house to watch the Cowboys v Packers on Thursday night since my stupid-ass cable company is not carrying the game. Bastards. He started talking about making a "thing" out of it. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," I said. "I was actually planning on all of y'all watching the game in another room and letting me have your den and huge tv all to myself. I'll need to lay on the couch so don't want a bunch of other people there, and what if I need to fart? I'm a girl - I can't fart in public. What are you THINKING?" Friend, "Well, I obviously WASN'T thinking. All five of us can go into [kid's] room and watch the game on his 13" tv. No problem." Ha!! He probably thinks I was kidding...
I'm hoping for a terrific Tuesday. Good luck to me, and I wish the same for you.
November 25 My last day of relaxin'...Shoooooot!!!! Today is the last day of the Thanksgiving holiday. {BIG HUGE SIGH} Tomorrow it's back to the salt mines. My work load waxes and wanes and it's waning right now. (Is waning the one that means "slow"?) Anyway, until the end of the semester there won't be much for me to do and then I'll be swamped until the school closes on the 18th.
I had a new commentor today. We'll call him Mr. Naked PeePee Guy. I usually visit the sites of people who comment. Imagine my surprise... Anyway, many more of those and I'll either go private or shut 'er down. Like I told a friend - I don't mind seeing a naked peepee, I just like to select which ones I see and not have them lurking around and making a sneak attack. My mother used to have a saying, "Them that talks the most does the least." I figure that would fit this situation, too. Anyone with a healthy sex life probably doesn't have to post anonymous naked pictures online. When I was in the 5th grade we lived in a tiny town (a population of about 400). There was an old guy there who was an alcoholic but because he didn't have a car and we lived in a dry county (didn't sell liquor) he would get drunk on mouthwash, cold medicine, or vanilla extract. When Hoyt got drunk, he exposed himself. Everybody in town knew it but we were new and hadn't been warned yet. I went to the post office to get our mail and ran smack-dab into Hoyt with his limp ol' peepee hangin' out the fly of his coveralls. It scared me and I flew home on my bicycle to wait for my daddy to get home from driving his school bus route. Daddy left the house with a baseball bat, and though I saw Hoyt a few times after that, I never saw his peepee again. I wish Spaces had a daddy with a baseball bat...
And I would just like to add that I opened the offensive site, saw Mr. NPPG, and immediately closed it and deleted it from my space. I've already had someone ask me how many hours I stayed on the guy's space before I decided it was offensive. Very funny. They said some other stuff, too, but if I recounted it then my space would become as offensive as the one I deleted. Ha!! I have some very offensive, but funny, friends.
As I've said, my friend and I had Thanksgiving dinner with the basketball coach and his family. They started laughing about their first day in our town. Mrs. Coach was taking the kids and inlaws to go check into their motel, while Coach decided to stay and familiarize himself with the gym, etc.. I gave her directions to the motel. As Coach visited with me Mrs. Coach called...lost and frustrated. As he related to me where she was, I say, "Well, did she take a right at the light?" To which she says to him, "There is NO LOT!" He tells me she can't find the lot. Me, "What lot?" Coach, "The lot where she's supposed to turn." Me, "Not LOT...LIGHT." Which, I guess, sound amazingly alike when spoken by someone with an East Texas drawl. And that's when they realized they weren't in Iowa anymore... Coach, laughing hysterically, tells me his wife thought I said "lot." I stared at him and didn't crack a smile, "Are you mockin' me?" Which only sent him further into hysterics because I said it, "Er ewe mockin' may?" I don't know why but they've never asked me for directions again. Hmmm.
Dryer buzzed - gotta go hang clothes. Y'all have a good week...
November 23 Whooooop!!!It's a grand day to be an Aggie! Men's basketball won the preseason NIT at Madison Square Garden by beating Ohio State and my Fightin' Texas Aggie football team beat the texas longhorns. Whooooooop! (Whoop is the traditional jubilant cheer for an Aggie.) I do feel bad for LSU. I've known their quarterback since he was born and I'm just sick for him that they probably got knocked out of playing for the national championship today. I got my Thanksgiving Miracle today. Coach Fran stepped down as head coach of my Aggies. HALLELUJAH!!! I'll be on pins and needles waiting for them to replace him. Just my luck it'll be Steve Spurrier.
I'm definitely not going to be able to see this coming Thursday's Cowboy game. Suddenlink cable won't pay the asking price to the NFL Network in order to show it to their customers (of which I am one). If I didn't have my internet through them I would yank the damn cable outta the wall and tell 'em to come get their piece o' shit HD box, then I'd sign up for DirecTV. But when I think of realllly doing that it seems like such a hassle. I hate hassles. I'm looking for a friend with DirecTV so I can invite myself over to watch the Cowboys vs Packers game. Ha! Several bars in town will be showing it but that's not my favorite thing to do. I prefer not to watch a football game in the middle of a meat market. Ha!
I'm not sure I like Thanksgiving anymore. The premise is fantastic - it's almost "A Festivus for the Restofus" as George Costanza said on Seinfeld. It's not technically a religious holiday, at least not associated with any one particular religion, so it's safe for everyone to participate. I try to be thankful every day; well, maybe every other day. Ha! Anyway, after stuffing myself to the gills on Thursday I decided that this holiday is a reflection of the gluttonous way we approach life in America. The Pilgrims and Indians celebrated having "enough" and surviving a tough beginning in the New World. It's no longer about having enough, it's about having more, More, MORE. Most of us cook and serve food in amounts that would feed an army, piling food onto our plates like it's gonna be our last meal. In the same way we want fancier cars, bigger houses, expensive vacations, etc.. I watched reports of people camping out to shop on "Black Friday" and it reinforced this feeling I have that we're way too greedy and materialistic. People were pushing and shoving at stores who promised huge bargains on "stuff." I'm surprised nobody gets trampled or worse. I would shoot my own foot off before I got in the midst of all that humanity. Yech. All of this excess is ruining our health and our environment. My guilty conscience reached up and slapped me in the face today. I wish, while it was doing that, it had slapped those leftovers outta my hand! {burp}
I'm watching "White Christmas" on the abcFamily channel. They're showing Christmas movies all month. I love the cheesy, sentimental Christmas movies. My sister and I used to watch "White Christmas" every year on Christmas Eve. She was always Rosemary Clooney and I was "the other one." Ha!! I can't wait for "It's a Wonderful Life." I'll cry when Clarence gets his wings as I have every year since I became aware of the movie's meaning. It's a good cry, though. Heeee-haaaaawwww.
I called my oldest niece (the one who doesn't care if I write about her- ha!) on Thanksgiving Day. She was telling me about shopping with her husband. He's a hoot. It seems he can't walk past the meat aisle in the grocery store without holding a summer sausage in front of himself, or layin' it over on my niece's shoulder and asking her if it reminds her of anything. Or he'll pick up those huge Christmas ornaments, blue ones, and tell her that's what she's doing to him. Ha!! I don't know if he's forgiven me yet. They married the week before Christmas, and came straight to my brother's house from their honeymoon to have Christmas with her siblings & parents. My sister and I were there and told him that we always have "farting contests" on Christmas Eve night. (All of the "kids" slept in one room. Since my sister and I didn't have to be Santa for anyone, we slept in there, too.) Anyway, as the lights went out and we're all giggling and excited about Santa Claus, the newest member of the family ripped the loudest expulsion of gas I've ever heard. My niece was shocked and appalled. My sister and I were hootin' and hollerin' in laughter while everyone else was yelling "GYA!!!" Needless to say he probably doesn't trust us much. hee-hee-hee...
Okay, I'm done. G'night.
November 21 Emperor's New Clothes...I feel ooky. In a conversation with my niece the other day, she told me that she thinks the whole blogging thing is weird. She finds it odd that I will write such personal and intimate thoughts and stories for God 'n everybody to read. Ever since then I feel like the Emperor when he was finally told he was naked and wasn't wearing magical clothing after all. That or like somebody walked in on me while I was sittin' on the toilet. Either way it's an ooky feeling. What's really sick about the whole thing is that our conversation gave me another topic for a NEW POST. Ha!!
Despite my wide open postings, there is still much that I would never EVER post. Mostly because it would probably scare the shit out of my regular readers, or offend. "She thinks like THAT?" So I keep a lot to myself. "No way!" you say. Ohhhhh, yeah...... Some of you would just chuckle and say, "Yeah, I think about that, too."
I didn't ask my niece, but I should, whether she minds that I post pictures of her, talk about her, etc. I would never post anything a family member or friend spoke to me about in confidence, or that I thought would hurt them. But what if the whole shitaree is embarrassing to not just her, but all my family? I'm posting pix and telling "cute" stories about them because I am so VERY proud of all of them. There's a fine line between my posts and their privacy preferences. I'll probably go all military on their asses and go with the "don't ask, don't tell" policy. Ha!!
A cold front just blew in. Brrrr. If it were a colder it would be a "blue northern." The temp has dropped about 20 degrees in the past few minutes. Awesome! Holidays seem more holidayish when it's cold. (Except July 4th-Independence Day-that would be freaky.) I may even put a fire in the fireplace tonight. Nah. I won't. For one thing it's too much trouble (I don't have gas logs) and secondly it makes me feel melancholy. There's something about a fire that makes me reflective and a bit blue. I'm not sure why. Probably because there have been so many romantic scenes in movies and tv shows with people cuddling before a fire that when I'm by myself looking at the fire I MIGHT think about that. That or I'm thinking about having to sweep out the damn ashes (literally and figuratively). I'll just turn up the damn thermostat on the central heat and call it done. Unromantic but effective.
My friend and I got her boxes of summer clothes and what-have-you moved to her storage facility. The bum thing about having an SUV or truck is that you get called on when friends with sports cars need to haul somethin'. I didn't really mind. She's a good friend that would do the same for me. We were smart not to wait until tomorrow since it's gotten colder than a witch's tit in a brass brassiere. Brrr.
That reminds me... My family has several of those kinds of sayings. "Colder than a witch's tit in a brass brassiere." "Colder than a well-digger's ass in Alaska." "Is the Pope Catholic?" "Does a wild bear shit in the woods?" That sort of thing. For fun we mix 'em up. How cold is it? Colder than the Pope's tit in Alaska. Ha! We're so easily amused. You can see why my niece might be embarrassed if I start tellin' alllll the family silliness...
Somewhere in my mind tomorrow I will be wondering about my "blogger friends." What is your Thanksgiving like? Do you celebrate Thanksgiving in a traditional way or something different, or do you celebrate at all? Are you lonely today? Please know that I enjoy my efriendship with you. You bring insight, humor, and a form of companship to my life for which I am thankful. Have a blessed day...
November 19 The Tiniest Aggie...The pictures I posted today are of CeeCee wearing her yell leader outfit. I made it for her last year for her first Aggie vs longhorn football game which is always played on or near Thanksgiving Day. I should say I decorated them for her in the tradition of the A&M yell leaders. The overalls are a size 0-3 months, which was her age last November. She is tiny - in stature only, I assure you. When she was still in NICU I had a teeny-tiny onesie made that said "Tiniest Aggie" on the front. Her hat in NICU was an Aggie beenie. Her mama has made sure she has plenty of Texas A&M clothing. Ha! Watch...she'll probably grow up and want to go to texas. Ugh.
All the Aggieness is my fault. The year I went to A&M to party (yes, I know - I was supposed to be going for an education) I taught my little nieces the Aggie War Hymn, the Spirit of Aggieland, and all the yells. Both of them ended up with degrees from A&M. I not only put the desire to be an Aggie in their systems, but they saw what would happen if they didn't go to class, etc. Well, that and they're both about a bazillion times smarter than I.
It's a depressing year for Aggie fans. Barring a football miracle, texas is gonna beat the be-jeebers out of us on the Friday after Thanksgiving. We're already psyching ourselves up to hear all the taunting and bullshit from longhorn fans. It's a hard pill to swallow, I assure you. Ugh. The game will be like a train wreck. We know it'll be a blood-bath but we just can't keep ourselves from looking at it. We'll be watching, and then waiting for the announcement from university officials that Dennis Franchione's ass is fired. If there is a God...
My friend and I were gonna go to "Grandma" Luby's (a cafeteria-style restaurant for those unfamiliar with Luby's) for lunch but we've been invited to some other people's houses. I think we'll make it a progressive lunch, going from house to house until we're full as ticks. It's a great plan...good friends, good food, free, no dishes to wash, no leftovers to worry with...verrrrry niiiiiice. I did tell one lady I would make some cornbread stuffing. She's from Iowa and so doesn't know how to make cornbread stuffing. How can you NOT know how? They use breadcrumbs to make stuffing. And they don't eat blackeyed peas or collard greens! Never ceases to amaze me...
After tomorrow I'm off work the rest of the week. I'll either be posting me arse off or be in a vegetative state in the glider. I haven't decided yet. Ha!! If I choose the latter, y'all have a great Thanksgiving! November 17 Assorted stuff...I've been working at a soccer tournament for two days. I'm used to working sporting events that are attended by locals - "my own kind" as it were. I'm used to a certain type of odd, weird, annoying, etc.. Hosting a national championship brings in a whole new breed of odd as people travel in from all over the country. And Division I college soccer coaches are assholes. No, not all of them, but collectively they haven't shown me shit in the six years I've worked this tourney. They come in to watch the tournament and act shocked and appalled that they are required to purchase a ticket, as if they're not gonna be reimbursed by their school. Anyway, this one guy comes up to buy a program. I see he's not wearing a tourney badge, so I say, "Well, I see you need a tournament ticket, also."
Coach: "No, I'm not staying."
Me: "Really? You're not a recruiter?"
Coach: "Yes, but I'm not staying. I'm just going to look at the pictures in the program to recruit."
Me, thinking what an asshole he is: "Okay. That sounds like an excellent way to recruit. See that cop over there?"
Coach, very arrogantly: "Yes."
Me: "Yeah, I'm gonna have that cop make a pass through the tournament grounds and he'll escort everyone who doesn't have a ticket off the premises." And then I smiled sweetly.
Coach: "Give me a ticket."
Me: "Wellll, bless yer heart...I'd be more than happy to sell you one. Have a nice day."
Okay, COACH, I mighta been born at night but it wasn't last night! Nobody recruits by looking at team pictures. I wasn't so pissed that he didn't buy a ticket, but I reached an extremely high level of pissivity when he talked down to me like he was superior and I was the village idiot.
One of the scariest things EVER happened to me today. I am keeping Genny (Timber's friend) while her family goes to Houston for Thanksgiving. Genny is a Houdini-dog. She can get through any gate, fence, barrier, and has been picked up by the dogcatcher a coupla times, costing her owners a coupla fines. Because I have a privacy fence, she doesn't (so far, anyway) try to get out of my yard - especially with Timber there to play with. On the back of my house I have a storm door (glass on the bottom, screen wire on the top) and also a wooden door with locks on it. Timber likes standing up with his feet over the door (which he can do because he has ripped the screen wire). When the weather is pretty like it was today, I usually leave the wooden door open so I can get fresh air in the house. Today I ran an errand that took maybe fifteen minutes. Both dogs were outside. When I opened the front door, there was Genny...in the house. I didn't know whether to shit or go blind, so I just shut one eye and farted. I grabbed my purse and phone and went outside. I looked for a neighbor to go into the house with me because I was sure that someone must have come in the back door, letting the dog in when they did. I opened the door again and heard the back door bang a coupla times and Timber bark & whine. I slammed the front door. "oh shit, oh shit, oh shit" I said to myself as my heart pounded. No neighbors were home. So I calmed down a bit and started thinking, "Maybe Timber opened the door just enough for Genny to get her nose in it and then she came in." "If someone was in the house, one of those door-bangings I heard was probably them leaving out the back." So I went back in the house, phone in hand, and walked to the back and let Timber in, as if he would protect me. Pfffft! The damn dog wouldn't bite raw hamburger, he surely wouldn't be much use against an intruder. Then the two dogs and I walked through the house checking things out. Nothing missing. Nothing messed with. So I figure Timber let Genny in. Damn dogs. They probably scared a gallon of piss and ten years outta me. Note to self: Lock doors EVERYTIME I leave.
Tomorrow's the last day of the tournament. Joy. I have to be at the fields by 8:00 a.m.. People always wait until the last day of the tourney to purchase tshirts, thinking we'll reduce prices just to unload them. We won't. The Chamber of Commerce just uses them as promotional giveaways throughout the year. My all-time favorite last day of tournament lines:
Fan: Do you have any longsleeved tshirts?
Me: Yes, but all I have left in the longsleeved shirts is a size Large.
Fan: You don't have any extra larges?
Fan: Ten dollars for tshirts?
Me: Yes, that's just a little over cost.
Fan: Hahahahhaha. I'll just wait and come back when you sell these at half-price. Hahahahaha.
Me. Okay. Come back in about three hours. (Knowing I'll be gone and the shirts will be packed away to the Chamber of Commerce. I may not laugh loudest, but I laugh last.)
Fan: Could I see a tshirt in a large?
Me: Sure.
Fan: Hmmm. Could I see an extra large?
Me, knowing every size is exactly the same except for the 1/2 inch of extra fabric: Sure.
Fan: Hmmmmm. Could I see a medium?
Me: Suuuuuuure.
Fan: Do you have these in longsleeved?
Me: Only in a size large.
Fan: No extra larges?
Me: {sigh}
November 12 I was tagged...Nadine tagged me and I almost forgot about it. What I'm supposed to do is list eight things about me or that I do or something like that, then I'm supposed to tag eight other people. I hate being tagged (NADINE!!!) so I don't want to tag anyone else but if you WANT to do this, please do and let me know because I like reading what other people list.
Eight Things I Wonder About
(1) I wonder what happens to the people on Extreme Home Makeover. Do they take care of their houses? Do the taxes on the vastly improved properties force them to sell? Does the nice house that pops up in a bad neighborhood that's full of new electronics get robbed frequently? Just wonder...
(2) I wonder if I'll ever be able to make a decision about retirement and feel comfortable and "right" about it, or if I'll end up being one of those people that either drops dead at work or gets old and becomes ineffective. I wonder...
(3) I wonder what people reallllly think about me. I don't trust my own perceptions. I've been wrong before and it zaps the self-confidence. I wonder what they think...
(4) I wonder why my nieces and nephews don't answer the phone when I call. Not everytime but often. It really makes me feel unwanted and unnecessary. I believe they love me, but I wonder why my calls are more often unanswered than answered...
(5) I wonder why the port on the front of my computer doesn't work properly. I think that's why my iPod never would work, but I'm not sure because I don't know shit about computers. I wonder why several things on this ol' thang don't work like they're s'posed to...
(6) I wonder why I was born (sometimes). I keep waiting to find "my purpose" in life and it just ain't comin' to me. I'm afraid that my expectations were so great that my smaller "purpose" has completely escaped my consciousness. Hopefully I did it or am doing it anyway and just don't know it. Ha!! I wonder if yer even born with a purpose at all, or if yer...just born...
(7) I wonder who my Aggies will hire to take the place of the nasty-assed football coach that hasn't built the winning program he promised when they hired him. I wonder if the new coach will recruit winners...
(8) I wonder how my siblings and I can be soooo different and yet have several similarities. And I wonder how three people can have such different memories of things that took place in the same house with the same elements...
Okay, there's my eight. Oddly enough, although some sound serious and some not, I wrote them quickly and my brain seemed to give them all about the same amount of importance. You wonder how I could consider #s 6 & 7 equal? Well, that's just how I roll. Believe me, in Texas one's purpose in life is as or less important than who will be coaching your favorite football team. Ha!! And in defense of family comments - they all agree that I'm too damn sensitive and they do know me pretty well. Dammit. I realllly don't want to take responsibility for any of my own shortcomings. Crap. Maybe I should have listed eight movies and why I like 'em. Oh well, too late now - I'm done... November 09 Funny work stuff...My favorite football player (Drew) is a big offensive lineman - the center actually. He didn't get to play much this season because his shoulder was messed up. His rotator cuff had torn ligaments or tendons or whatever. Anyway, surgery to repair his shoulder took place this morning. We have a team doctor who is an orthopedic surgeon and he did the work. Drew is the typical macho football guy that's really a big teddy bear. He's a big guy (as are all o-linemen) and is sized at probably 6'4", 350 lbs. BIG guy. He arrived at the clinic early this morning to be prepared for the procedure. His parents were there as well as our athletic trainer. Drew's mom kept calling him "Doodlebug," his childhood nickname. It's hard to put that cute little nickname with this big honkin' boy. Nurses and doctor called him Doodlebug the rest of the day, to his embarrassment. While Drew was anesthetized (sp) for surgery, the trainer and parents sat together in the waiting room with mom and dad telling the trainer all kinds of stuff about when Drew was young. For instance, Drew couldn't swallow pills so his pediatrician had to put his medications in suppository form. Drew is a funny guy so makes friends everywhere he goes. When getting a haircut last week the stylist offered to give him a shave. While he was enjoying a hot towel wrapped around his face prior to the shave the girl quickly swiped his eyelid with "something warm" [hot wax] and then yanked his scraggly eyebrow hair off. It must have been a scene straight outta 40 Year Old Virgin. Ha! The trainer was allowed to watch the surgery today so he's the one who told this next part. (This is fabulous!) Drew was knocked out. Doc completed the surgery in a short time and then, as the nurses were getting ready to begin the wake-up process, Doc pulled out a bottle of glitter nail polish and proceeded to paint Drew's nails - fingers AND toes. When Drew woke up everyone lingered near his recovery bed waiting for him to notice his bling. His dad handed him a cup of water and as he wrapped his hand around the small cup he caught the shine. It was HILARIOUS. The trainer got the blame for it but finally they all convinced Drew that it really had been the doctor who painted his nails. To finalize his mortification, Doc came in with a prescription for pain pills and asked if Drew wanted it in suppository form - then complimented him on the lovely clean line on his eyebrows. Hahahahaha. Nothing is sacred around those of us who work in the gym. I've been giggling about that fingernail polish allll day!
The other day the same trainer in the Drew story had a birthday. His family came from Arkansas and brought chili and birthday cake. He's 26 but obviously still spoiled. I joined the crew for lunch and took my grub into the office where the available chair was at that trainer's desk. I'm eatin' my chili and I look at the computer screen. Bingo! He was typing an email to Chuck TITS who is in Iraq so I figure I'll help him finish it. Here's what I typed: Hey, man. Well, there's something I should have told you before you left but I just didn't know how to tell you...but...hey, man I'm gay. And I really miss you. I can't wait til you get back from Iraq so I can show you how much I miss you. I have a spittin' trouser snake who wants to bite you. Okay, man, stay safe. Love, [name] Hahahahha! And yes, of course I sent it. Then I told him I MIGHT have finished his message and sent it to Chucky. He looked at me and said, "Oh, God."
Today the mentally challenged guy who loves athletics and all of us came by. Glenn is very unkempt, scraggly, scruffy, scrawny, and his breath would stop a train. He's sweet and loving and although none of us can bring ourselves to be mean to him, we dodge him like the plague because we'll be trapped for hours talking to him. I'm usually the one stuck entertaining Glenn, much to the glee of the coaches. The trainers were trying so hard not to get trapped that they were trailing each other through the gym like rats...out the back door, around the side, back in the front, back out the front, on and on. At one point they were outside my office with the basketball coach and my boss enjoying the site of me flinching everytime Glenn spoke because he spits a little everytime he starts a word. I know it hardly sounds like it but I was trying sooooo hard to be kind. As Glenn leaned over my desk and I explained the basketball schedule to him (which he will have memorized by the next time I see him) I raised my hand behind Glenn and flipped all of 'em off, which sent them into gales of laughter. Jerks. After about an hour I got up and talked/walked Glenn outside to his bike, told him I'd see him at the game, thanked him for coming by, handed him his helmet, and then walked back into the gym. It worked - he left. I've said it before, and I'll say it again - Glenn is a MUCH nicer person than any of us. He volunteers at the food bank, works at Goodwill, participates in Special Olympics, has a busy social life, knows everybody in town, yet WE (us "normal" ones) have fun at his expense - of which he's blissfully unaware. We're all shits and we're gonna end up in hell one of these days. Of course, our guilt keeps Glenn in team gear, shoes, and we feed him everytime he comes to the games. To him he's just another of our athletes. We also make sure he has a new bicycle helmet every year and reflective tape on his bicycle. I guess, in a way, we're no meaner to him than we are to each other. We're a huge part of that vibrant social life he has...
The tennis coach rides a bicycle to work most days. So we call him Glenn. He wears "proper" bike clothing so he gets teased about the skin-tight shorts with the padded butt. Sometimes he comes into my office before he hits the shower. Typical comments: "Hey Glenn, you've got the potato in the back again - it goes in the front of your shorts." "Hey Glenn, nice ass." "Hey Glenn, you always carry your socks in your shorts?" "Whoa! I see you're glad to be at work today!" Like I said - nothing's sacred.
Okay, I have ONE GRIPE today and it's not work-related. Did y'all see where two of the "Deal or No Deal" models wore "fat suits" to prove how badly fat people are treated? What is the fascination with skinny heifers putting on fat suits? Do they not BELIEVE real fat people when they say how shitty people can be to them? And these two are acting so AMAZED and they say things like, "When I'm wearing the fat suit I feel I would want to kill myself if I really looked like this." Thanks. I feel better. My body image just improved by about, oh, I don't know, -1,000%!!! So PLEASE, skinny models and actresses, PLEASE wear your midriff shirts and miniskirts and leave the damn fat suits alone...
I don't want to finish on a bummer note, so I will gladly report that one email asking for anyone who wanted to send things to Chuck in Iraq minted FIVE large boxes of chap stick, phone cards, instant drink mix (KoolAid types), hard candy, and clean-wipes. An email from Chuck reported he is fine but is craving Mexican food. So I fixed another box containing tortilla chips, flour tortillas, corn tortillas, refried beans, Spanish rice mix, Velveeta cheese, Rotel tomatoes, and salsa. Hopefully that'll hold him for awhile. He also sent a list of soldiers who don't get much, if any, mail. Now we have drill team, cheerleaders, trainers, athletes, and various on-campus people writing letters to complete strangers just so they'll get mail from home. Just when I think the world is turning to shit, people prove once again that there is still so much kindness and compassion to be had. And I'll end on that note...
November 06 Philosophies...My two teenaged male student workers were having a discussion the other day about why girls don't like "nice guys." They, predictably, consider themselves to be nice guys. The athletic trainer came through, listened for a few minutes, and said, "Guys, it's the Bassmaster Guide to Love." (For those of you not familiar with the term, Bassmaster is a product brand for all things fishin' related.) I consider myself old and wise, yet here was something I had never heard of...The Bassmaster Guide to Love. Here it is: You get up in the wee hours of the morning to get to the lake when the fish are bitin'. You spend hundreds of dollars on rods & reels, lures, bait, a boat. You go to the trouble to put the boat in the water and search out the best, most likely spot on the lake for catchin' fish. Now, one fish bites the hook and it takes an hour and a half to secure the fish into the boat. It fought, it chased, until you outsmarted it and landed the big boy right into the boat. The other fish you caught took your hook and jumped right into the boat all by himself. So which fish are you gonna appreciate and remember the most? The one you fought for, or the easy catch? Yeah...exactly.
And THAT, children, is why we prefer bad boys/girls. Ha!!!
We've had major drama at work. One of the teams went to a party, had a few drinks, somebody took their pictures and posted them on facebook. The kids are minors, and they've been told multiple times not to present themselves as athletes and then appear on social networks with liquor or in any compromising position. So the kids were called on the carpet for their behavior. One of the coaches of another sport just went nuts when he heard what happened. Keeping in mind that this coach barely knows how to check his own email, and keeping in mind that he might be a touch redneck, he says, "Aw, HELL. Those websites ain't nothin' but a computerized c.b. radio." [Anyone who was "cool" in the south back in the late seventies had a c.b. radio in their vehicle (or a "base station" at their house) so they could talk to one another, particularly for traffic (and police) reports while traveling. Truckdrivers still use them. Instead of "LOL" or "LMAO" we said things like "keep it between the ditches" or "watch out for Smoky there, good buddy" and "10-4" a la Smoky & the Bandit movies. My "handle" for anyone who doubted I was cool enough to have a cb radio was Texas Sunshine.] The coach's statement struck me as really funny and I've been snickering about it all afternoon. A computerized cb radio....hahahahahhahaa.
The kids getting in trouble for something that showed up on Facebook has caused quite a discussion about disciplinary philosophies, and how to handle certain situations. The coach of the team is a man of strong principles - a man I greatly admire for his convictions and his willingness to take a stand. I personally thought the punishment in this case did not fit the crime. (After hours of discussion, the original punishment has been amended if the players are willing to accept the conditions.) However, this group of kids has been told time and time again what the consequences of their actions could be and either didn't believe it, were too arrogant to think that meant "them," or were just too frickin' stupid for their own good. The jury is still out on that. Last season when they were winning and everyone was happy, they greatly admired coach and were so happy to play for him in the great program he built on his principles. WINNING principles on the field and FOR LIFE. Pffft. As soon as their kids got in trouble we had parents calling upset that their babies had been given consequences for their actions. Amazing. We're not obligated, of course, to discuss anything with parents of students over the age of 18 and have to have the student's permission to legally do so. It always stuns me when college students have their parents calling on their behalf. GROW UP. Anyway, we got a taste today of what teachers and administrators deal with everyday. Until all, or at least most, parents take responsibility for teaching their kids accountability, we will continue to struggle with people in society who have no regard for rules or have such a sense of entitlement that they walk all over those trying to follow the rules. This type of behavior knows no social, moral, financial, or racial boundaries.
Social networks are just what the name says. Yet, because a person is usually sitting alone when adding things, it gives the false impression that they are somewhat anonymous. Kids think parents aren't gonna go to the trouble to check out pages. I saw a report on the news the other night that employers/businesses are now checking the social networks as another way of checking out employees and/or applicants. Big Brother at his finest?
Bleah. I'm tired of drama. I can't believe it. I guess, if the drama ain't mine or about me, then it's just not quality. {yawnnnn} Wake me up when things are about me again... November 03 Saturday...uh-oh....It's not even noon and I've already angrily yelled at a stranger to the amusement of my neighbor, had a shit fit in my living room because I spilled a box of shipping peanuts (or ghost turds), and caused myself a sneezing, coughing attack by standing under the ceiling fan as I dusted it. I'm almost afraid to leave the house...
Two weeks ago a guy was mowing my neighbor's yard. The grass in my yard was tall enough to cut & bale so I asked the guy how much he would charge me to mow my front yard. After much thought, walking around the yard, humming and hawing, he finally said ten dollars. I watched him throughout the thinking process and realized that the guy is intelligence-challenged. So I act like ten dollars is really too much but I'll humor him and pay him the EXORBITANT amount. Actually I'm doing the elf dance in my head because I'm saving twenty bucks from what I normally pay to have the yard done. This morning....SATURDAY MORNING...my day to get to sleep late...somebody knocked on my door. I don't get up and I'm aggravated that somebody knocked on my door before 9:00 a.m.. Then the doorbell rings. I lay there thinking the person would leave. I knew it wasn't friends or family because they know not to randomly come by my house that early on a Saturday morning unless they call first. I relaxed back under the cover and then, BAM BAM BAM, the person knocked harder on my door. Now I'm getting pissed. If you knock and ring the bell and nobody answers they're either not home or not gonna answer the door, so leave. I wouldn't get up and answer the door now if my damn house was on fire. (That's how rationally I think in the morning.) I think, they'll definitely leave now after trying a second time. So I shake off my pissivity and snuggle back down. I was almost asleep again when the bastard nearly pounded the door in and rang the bell several times. Now the steam is comin' out my ears, my blood pressure is rapidly shooting to the top of my head, and I say "mother f*cker!" to myself. I THREW the covers back, recoil when the cool air hits me, but warm up quickly when I think about why I had to get outta that nice warm bed. I put on some pants and go to the living room. There he is walking around the front yard - the yard guy. I opened the door and he turns to me smiling like, "I've done good - I've gotten her to answer the door." Until he saw my face - the smile immediately left his face. Me, "WHY are you repeatedly knocking and pounding on this DOOR? Don't you think I would have answered if I were not trying to sleep on the ONE DAY OF THE WEEK that I don't HAVE to get up? Were you planning on standing on my frickin' porch ALL DAMN DAY ringing the bell and knocking on the door?" Then I turned and slammed the shit outta that door. I watched from the window as he stood there wondering what on earth to do, but he finally decided he might as well leave. FINALLY. But, as you can imagine, after all that I couldn't go back to sleep.
So I started straightening up the living room. I had received some merchandise in the mail last week so I picked up the box of packing thingies and spilled the whole damn thing. Timber thought they were treats so starts nosing around trying to pick 'em up in his mouth. I'm freaking out trying to get them picked up and out of Timby's mouth so he won't clog his intestines. I had them all swept up when he slaps 'em with his front feet like he's a kid jumpin' into a pile of leaves. That's when I had my shit fit - and it's a wonder I didn't have a stroke. Timber thinks we're playing, I have to bribe him with a treat to go outside so I can clean up my mess (again), and I'm so aggravated by this time that my hands are shaking which makes the little foam things fall off the dustpan. ~SILENT SCREAM~
Then I notice the ceiling fan, which I had turned off so as not to blow the foam thingies all over the living room, is really dusty so before I finish sweeping I get the brush thing to clean the blades. I know from past experience that I should NOT stand right under where I'm dusting, so I'm trying to lean with the brush so the dust falls on the floor and not on my head. But my arms are short (so they match the rest of me) and the fan blades ended up partially over my head anyway. Now I'm sneezing my head off. Great.
What a day. I have to be back at the gym by 3:00 for the second half of the season opener tournament. I'm fixin' to go meditate, or medicate, so I can calm my ass down enough to remove the crease between my eyes before I interact with people. Sheesh... [I tried to post this on Saturday morning and it "wouldn't" so I saved it elsewhere and now I'm trying again...] |
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