I could adjust to all of the changes msn made except the one allowing my comments on other spaces to be viewed on my home page. If I had wanted a facebook page I would have made one... I hope y'all will stop on by my new digs sometime and bookmark it for regular visits...

 

 

 

I saw Paula Deen on a show the other day talkin' about how you shouldn't waste anything. For instance, she was gonna boil her turkey carcass to make lovely stock for soups. Tonight I looked at the turkey breast and just couldn't bring myself to have one more turkey sandwich for supper. However, growing up with parents who lived through the Great Depression I also have issues with wasting things. (Which also explains why I sit around in the dark a lot and get antsy if guests use lots of toilet paper.) So - you got it - I decided to boil that sucker down for stock and then tomorrow night I would fix dumplins or noodles to go in it. Except that I started reading blogs and let the darn thing burn up on the stove. Shoot! Now all I'll manage is to scrape some meat off the bone to give to Timber. My house, once steeped in the apple cinnamon smell of a Yankee candle, now wreaks of burned pan. The pan that's probably ruined. I swear - sometimes I don't have the sense to pour piss out of a boot with the directions on the heel! I'm so pissed I could mad all over.

 

This was a typical Monday after a 4.5 day weekend. Bleah. Hectic. Tons of mail. I sent Jared on an errand across campus and while he was gone forgot he was even at work today. In my defense, he was gone a long time! He came in and I said, "Well, hello!" before it dawned on me that he HAD been there but wasn't in the office, so I said, "Wait! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?" To which he replied, "MizAngie, you sent me on an errand, remember?" Well, I didn't at first but it all started coming back to me so I laughed and said, "Of course I remember...silly!" But really I was thinking to myself, "Holy hell! I need to pull my head outta my arse!" I have a friend who worries herself to pieces when she forgets something. She's convinced she's getting alzheimer's. I keep telling her it's because she tries to do too much but she still worries. She really does believe that she killed off so many brain cells back in the 70s that it's comin' back to bite her on the butt. Ha! I suggested she get her address tattooed on her butt in case she gets lost but she didn't go for that.

 

All the visiting dogs went home yesterday and Timber and I slept like logs alone in our own bed last night. Nellie's owner promised he would take care of her. I think he was ashamed of himself for letting the dog get so skinny and stinky-breathed. I still may end up with her in a few weeks if he realizes he really can't maintain her, but for now Timber and I are livin' it up.

 

We have a basketball player from New Orleans. There are only a few people who can understand him when he talks. If you've never talked to anyone from New Orleans then you don't know what I'm talkin' about but - trust me - it's different. It's southern, cajun, ebonics, and something no other part of the country has all rolled into one. The other day a friend was in my office when Byron came by for his daily hug. He comes in smilin' real big (he's a good-looking young man), puts his arms around me while saying, "Heh MizAaaaaaan. Hayadoonday? Yoodoongoo?" To which I replied, "Hey, Byron. I'm doin' good." I kissed him on the cheek and he went on about his business. My friend stared blankly at me and said, "Did you really understand him?" Me, "Yes. He said Hey MizAngie. How ya doing today? You doing good?" It's hilarious. And you should hear him when he gets excited. Ha!

 

Addie and I went to Santaland last Friday night with her parents. It was GREAT. Santaland is a drive-thru light display. It was started by a family to make a little extra money and now they make enough between Thanskgiving and New Year's to support them in high-style all the rest of the year. My favorite thing is a tunnel of twinkling Christmas lights that you drive through. The lights reflect off the car and our eyes and, well, I love it. This year they synced some tree lights to music played on a radio station so there were two rows of huge light-trees that appeared to be dancing. Addie pointed out to us that the trees were dancing. She's two. The couple who opened the light display lost a son when he was 18. Several of their friends and acquaintances had also lost children. Part of the light display features little characiture figures made of wood painted to represent these deceased children. It sounds a little creepy but if you don't know the story all you see are little angels - a baseball player, a fisherman, a football player, etc. I always get a little choked up in this section because I knew several of the kids represented and/or their parents. Over the years the display has grown from Elfland and Santaland to include Texas Christmas displays and bible scenes. They've built scenes from the bible tracking events in Jesus' life. The nativity, Last Supper, Mary Magdalene at the well, Jesus walking on water (there's a pond), Jesus carrying the cross, Jesus' tomb with the stone rolled away from the entrance. It's a full-blown display of Jesus' birth, life, death, and resurrection. No need to worry about political correctness or offending anyone as it's a Christmas display smack dab in the middle of the East Texas Bible Belt. I like it - we go every year. However, the Jesus figure walking on water is a tad bit creepy looking the first time you see it. There's a spotlight on it, he's realistic looking, and the first reaction is always, "Whoa! Dude on the pond!" Anyway, it had been raining. As we're coming over a slight hill someone mentions that we're glad the dirt road is solid and not slick from the rain or else we might slide off into the pond. My crazy nephew says not to worry - if we slide into the pond Jesus can walk over there and help us to safety. Ha!! We're probably going to hell...

 

I have a crick in my neck. Does anyone know why it's called a crick? Seriously. Is that just a Texas term or does everyone everywhere call a stiff neck "a crick"? Just wondering...