Sitting at work mindlessly doing my job (thank goodness I have a job I can do mindlessly) when the phone rang. Caller i.d. says "Jesus Christ." WOW. A little exciting, a little scary... I fought the urge to  pick up the phone and say, "Yes, Lord?" I answered normally with "Athletics." The "guy" on the other end was asking about bringing a group to watch the ballgames that night, and wanted to pay with a credit card. Now, we're not set up to do cc's at the ticket table, so I say, "Well, I'm assuming since my caller i.d. says Jesus Christ that this is probably the Church of Latter Day Saints. But, just in case you ARE Jesus, I just want you to know YOU can get in FREE to ALL our games." The guy kinda snickered and said he hoped they would be good representatives but, yes, it was the CoJCoLDS. My boss heard me talking to the guy and came out to take a picture of my caller i.d.. He wants to send it to Jay Leno! Ha!! After I hung up I told the boss, "Shoot! I meant to ask him What WOULD You Do?" hahahhahaha We had more fun with that call. Boss emailed the picture of my caller i.d. to everybody he knows and says, "Guess who called Angie today!?" Too funny. I told him, "We think it's hilarious but this probably happens all the time in Utah." 

 

I mailed a Valentine package to my niece in New Mexico on February 13th. I don't know WHAT happened to it but she called yesterday to tell me she finally got it, and to thank me for her prayer box charm, Valentine Reese's Cup, and the boys' Valentines. But then she said, "What was the cheese for?" Me, "Cheeeese?" Niece, "Yes, there were two greasy-looking cheesesticks in the package." Ha!! I like to take cheesesticks for a mid-morning snack at work. Good ol' protein, right? Well, I can remember one day a coupla weeks ago that I could have SWORN I took cheesesticks to work but then never could find them. I know now I sent them to New Mexico! What an idiot. My niece and I had a good laugh. I know that mailing something the day before the holiday means the prizes will definitely NOT make it in time, but in my family it counts as being verrrrry thoughtful if the package is postmarked anytime before or on the actual holiday. So I did good!

 

My niece was bragging that CeeCee sat on her little potty to pee this week. She hasn't shown much interest in it until now so we were naturally excited at this next step in her development. I couldn't help but realize that just as the baby girls are learning to pee-pee in a potty, I'm to the stage where I could start peeing my pants again if I get really tickled, sneeze really hard, or cough too strenuously. {sigh} Ah, the circle of....life?

 

Tomorrow night is the basketball tournament from hell. Our gym holds about 2,500 people. Unfortunately, the population of each of the small towns we're hosting tomorrow evening is about 1,500 and nearly everyone will show up. You do the math. You would be shocked at the different tactics used by people to try to sneak their way into a gym to watch a few minutes of a basketball game. My heart and mind have been hardened to the ploys. I mean, don't bring crippled blind grandma to the gym two hours early for a game if you know her ol' bladder will only hold 45 minutes worth of pee. And don't bring your cousin with a broken leg to stand in line for ages if the doctor told him not to be on it too long. Do these people not ever go anywhere? Do they think they can go to the movies or to a game at a big university and be allowed to just go in for a minute to use the bathroom? Sheesh. My friend (I call her Pollyanna because she's just so damn happy all the time...and helpful...blech) worked for me once and thought I was horrible because I wouldn't let blind grandma in to go to the bathroom, or let this one in for this or that one in for that. She won't work for me again and I won't ask her to. I said, "Gay...there are 2,000 people in line to come in this gym. If you let 'em all in to pee, why bother selling tickets?" Gay, "But she's old and it's cold outside." Me, "She shouldn't have gotten here so early, she shoulda worn a coat, and frankly, I just don't give a shit." Yeah, I'm that woman. Which was why I was nervous when I saw the call from Jesus...
 

One big high school tournament down, one to go. {sigh} Some people are UN-BE-LIEVABLE. The schools in our tournament are from very small towns. It's always so interesting/funny/aggravating to see the big fish from the small ponds struggle when they're outside their realms and become small fish in a bigger pond. One lady made a HUGE deal about her husband being president of the school board, and wow was she pissed when they had to buy tickets to the game. It's the same thing year after year. And, as usual, football coaches are the most obnoxious. I had to go toe-to-toe with an ol' boy on Saturday who just couldn't believe that he, his wife, and about five kids couldn't get in free. I used to argue and try to explain but years of experience have taught me to just take charge of the situation and tell 'em how the cow eats the cabbage. I say it calmly and politely, and then I walk off. I move to where the ushers are tearing tickets just to see if they try to storm the gate (ha). I've had to stop a few and point out that they either have to buy a ticket or leave. Campus safety is always there to back me up, and I sure do appreciate it.

 

Bill Clinton visited our campus last week. It was, of course, a huge deal and our campus safety, city police, and sheriff's department were all on duty at the event (not to mention the Secret Service detail). Our campus safety "chief" had to work the tournament Friday night because there were several events on campus this weekend. We were standing side by side at the tournament when he turned to me and said, "Last week I was guarding former president Bill Clinton. Tonight here I am guarding you." To which I replied, "Well, Chief, congratulations on moving up in the world!"

 

I ordered a new couch from Overstock.com. It arrived Friday night while I was working. When I got home UPS had loaded down my front porch with huge cardboard boxes containing the pieces to the couch and the cushions. I was a little concerned that somebody would steal my new couch off the front porch but when I saw the boxes I realized someone woulda needed a dang semi to haul it off! I dragged the boxes into the house amongst lots of grunting and groaning. This morning my friend's husband came over and we put the thing together. It's FABULOUS. I love it. It's not exactly what I wanted but it's as close as I could find without spending a coupla thousand dollars. I was nervous about ordering such a big-ticket item online but it worked out fine. Not to mention that it cost about $600, which was 47% off full price, and the shipping was $2.95! I'm happy, happy, happy. And I had an HGTV moment this morning when I rearranged and cleaned the living room to accommodate the new furniture. Timber wants to get on the new couch. I won't let him...yet. My intentions are to not let him on the couch - but I'm weak and he'll probably wear me down eventually. He knows I'm weak, so he'll keep trying. I left his "couch" in the living room so he'd still have a place but he likes being hide-to-hide with me.

 

I bought a food processor. I've wanted one for years and Tarjay had a good one on sale for less than $30. So now I have a food processor. Yep. I have one now. Another appliance to find room for in the cabinet. But I HAVE A FOOD PROCESSOR. For some reason that was important to me...before I actually got it home. But, I did make some killer salsa yesterday, and today I grated up veggies for some hamburger patties. Maybe I'll use it more than I think. We'll see. The trouble with learning to cook from my Mother is that she "kicked it old school." And sometimes it's therapeutic to manually chop with a real knife on a cutting board. But I guess I got the love of "power tools" from my Daddy. I like my Kitchenaid mixer, my immersion blender, and now my food processor. I draw the line, though, at a Smores Maker, one of those Chocolate Fountain thingies, and a hot dog/bun warmer gadget. What a waste of good cabinet space! They look fun, I guess, but who would really use those things more than once? Too much trouble!

 

I watched "Michael Clayton" today on PPV so I would have seen at least one of the movies nominated for an Academy Award. Other than looking at George Clooney I didn't much enjoy it. I prefer happy little movies that require very little thought. Life requires a lot of thought, so I prefer just to be entertained. A happy ending is a must. But then, isn't it always?

 

Okay, here's that thing I got tagged on...

 

 

 

I so badly wanted to be retired this morning. Pouring rain, thunder, dark....mmmmmm. There are three things that are fabulous to do on days like this - reading and sleeping are two of them. I'll leave the third to your imagination. Rainy days make me feel as if I'm channeling my inner cat. You know, lounging around on the bed or couch all day only getting up to eat or use the litter box. Snuggling next to pillows or other warm beings. Stretching...a lot of stretching and yawning. {sigh}

 

I saw a report that stated Americans don't use 438 million earned vacation days every year. Well, rest assured that not one minute of that is mine. I use my days even though I usually just end up at home doing chores or doing nothing. Days off are fabulous and are a part of my benefits package. There are some people where I work who lose vacation days every year and then act like that's an indicator of how hard a worker they are. Bullshit. I figure that if this person can stand by my desk forEVER telling me how many days they missed because they were so busy, then they could afford to take some time off. Shit, take some time so you can't stand by my desk and keep ME from working. Ha! I've been known to say, "You lost vacation days? I didn't. I work a full workday everyday instead of taking breaks or visiting around so that I can take my vacation." It's bitchy but at least they wander off to a nicer person's desk. Hahahha!! And not only that but it's a dirty dog lie because I goof off as much as the next guy. But I do get my work done. The nature of my job is that all the work goes in cycles so I'm only real busy during certain times of the year. The rest of the time it's just routine stuff. It's a great job. Where else can you watch tons of games of all sorts and not have to take off work because it's actually part of the job to be there? Awesome. It would be a nightmare for someone not interested in sports, though.

 

I baked some fish for supper the other night. I lined the pan with foil so later I folded it over about four times and put it in the trash. Timber got it and unfolded it so he could lick the fish juice off. Unbelievable. I was amazed that he could use his paws and mouth to open that foil and spread it out flat. Of course, I was not happy that he dug in the trash for it...

 

When I got to work this morning the clouds were dark and were most definitely on the verge of releasing turd-floating torrential rains. I'm thinking that I might get White Boy to go park my car for me so I don't have to swim back to the building. But then, the heavens opened up and a light shone down onto my favorite parking place which is the closest one to the building - I heard angels singing Hallelujah - it was greatness. I whipped my little tracker into that spot and shuffled to my building just as the flood gates opened. Fabulous. If I had to come to work, at least I felt better getting my fave space. Ha!!

 

I hope you're all havin' a great day. For me...so far, so good.

I think I've pulled a groin muscle. Or at the least strained it. I wish I could say I was performing some great, athletic feat but...not. Timber has a new toy. It's a tug-a-war rope in a figure eight design, held together at the X with a plastic thing. He carries it with him from room to room, dropping it onto the floor next to me (hoping I'll pick it up and play with him). The other night I was changing the sheets on my bed and as I rounded one corner of the bed I stepped on the plastic X. My left foot started sliding. If I had done this several years ago, even, oh, two years ago, my mind would have worked like this: "Ohshitmyfootisslidingonsomethingohit'sthedogtoyI'mdoingthesplitsstoppullitbackupstop" and then I would pull my foot back up and step off the toy. This is how my mind works now: "Hmmm. I think my foot is sliding. Why yes, it is. What the heck is making it slide? Water on the floor? Did Timber barf? What? Oh! The dog toy. Wow. I'm doing the splits. Am I going to fall? Shit. I think I am going to fall. And I'm doing the damn splits. Ouch. Oh wait. I can hold onto the bed and catch myself from falling. So here, let me reach out and grab that footboard. There. I stopped my foot from sliding anymore and I didn't have to fall. Now how can I get up? Oh. Put my weight on my right foot and then drag the left one back up. Now, step offa that dog toy. That damn thing is slick!" Unfortunately, my legs move at the same speed they've always moved at so I ended up in a pretty good "split" before my slow brain caught up. I don't think I could do that good of a split when I was a fourteen-year-old cheerleader. So now I'm sore. I almost feel pleasure-bent but that sure as hell ain't the case.

 

I made a big screw up at work today. I scheduled two events for one night/one gym. Oops. It all got worked out but I sure made me and a buncha other people nervous. Shit. I hate messin' up. But I'm a firm believer that if I do screw up - I should OWN IT. Why try to make excuses or blame someone else? My v-p kinda got an attitude so I assured him that I didn't screw up on purpose, and I sure did apologize for the inconvenience my mess-up caused. I guess he realized how he sounded because he settled down. So I had to move a basketball practice and a high school playoff game so we could squeeze in "Showtime at the Apollo" tomorrow night. But it's done. Let's all just pray that the damn basketball game doesn't go into overtime!!! And next time? Read the damn fine print, Angela!!

 

When I called the high school coach to tell him about my screw up and to rearrange his playoff game, he was deservedly upset. I let him rant for awhile because I felt like I owed him that much. So then I told him my solution was to back his game up to 6:00. He said he would talk to the other school and get back with me to tell me if they were willing to do that. He definitely had an attitude, and seemed to think he had a choice. So I said, "Coach, I just need you to understand that my options here are a 6:00 tip-off, or cancel the game entirely." He got real quiet and said, "Oh." So then we finalized the plans for the 6:00 pm game. There's a certain tone one has to get with someone who is oozing testosterone and is used to resorting to intimidation tactics, and luckily I inherited such a tone of voice from my mother. Or maybe I have my own stockpile of testosterone I can pull out when needed. That WOULD explain the moustache. Ha!! I'll just be glad when tomorrow is over and all my juggling has been done successfully. Sheesh. Did I mention how badly I hate screwing up???

 

There's an old guy who hangs around the gym. He's a retired coach who has shit-else to do, so he comes and watches the kids practice and play. He cuts articles about them out of the newspaper, we laminate them for him, and he gives them to the kids. They like it, he likes it, and it's no skin off my teeth to do it for him. Today the ol' boy stopped by with an article so I told my student worker (White Boy) to laminate it for him. The guy was standing there talking to WB (I was pretending to be busy on the computer) when gas got the best of him and he let out a very substantial series of poots. He said "pardon me" and shuffled off. I just didn't look up as if I hadn't heard a thing. When he was gone, WB says, "Man, he FARTED." "I know." "Why didn't he go to the bathroom?" "You'll understand when you get old. Sometimes the little bastards sneak up on your ass and just have to come out immediately." "Do YOU do that, MizAngie?" "Don't make me kill you White Boy. One, I'm not as old as that guy. Two, I plead the 5th." Hahahaha!!!

 

I ordered a couch from overstock.com. It's almost exactly what I've been looking for and was half the price of the local furniture store (who would have had to do a special order, taking 6-8 weeks). I'm pumped. But today I went to check my order status and took another peek at the couch. The price had gone down another $30!! I contacted customer service because I wanted the cheaper price. Well, of course they wouldn't let me do that but did post a $31.50 credit to my account for my next purchase. Bleah. What if I never want to buy another thing? Ha! Yeah, RIGHT. I'm not going to look at the couch again until I take it outta the box in my living room. By the end of the week they'll probably be begging for volunteers to take the couch off their hands free of charge. Shit. It's gonna be awesome taking naps on my couch. Ha!!

 

Later...

 

 

Somewhere between 40 and 50 my party animal gene went through its own form of menopause. My partying slowed way down after 35 but it's now nearly non-existent. Instead of wanting to be out at the most popular night spot with as many people as possible, I've always preferred small gatherings of good friends with maybe a few newbies for spice. I've never enjoyed the meat market atmosphere of large parties/clubs, but I did enjoy laughing with friends through good conversation, games, liquor, and food. Last night I went to a farewell party for a young coworker who is on his way to be a trainer with the Philadelphia Phillies organization. After 11:00 pm, my friend and I were the oldest people there. That in itself was daunting. The host and hostess were right at 40, everyone else was mid-twenties and up. Two girls were vying for the attention of the cute, single football coaches but it ended up in a contest over who could be the loudest. There were other girls there, but these two were...yech. Anyway, they got so loud and obnoxious that it ruined the fun game of "Battle of the Sexes" we had going. Getting aggravated with them totally killed any kind of fun-buzz I had going, and I removed myself from the area before my loosened tongue said something verrrrrry hateful. Old age does have its' benefits, and not making a scene with work people is definitely a good thing.

 

I skipped a big, huge party on Friday night. My friend will probably be ticked at me but I just couldn't get up for it. Sheesh. It was raining, which would have meant parking in a muddy field and walking through the muddy field to an "in case of rain" barn. There was to be a live band, etc, and it would have been a good party (as far as parties go) but I just wasn't up to fight through my self-consciousness to get in a party mood. And there would have been lots of "children of the 70s" there who still enjoy the same activities they enjoyed back in the 70s. And I'm paranoid. I'm not judging what people choose to do, because that would most certainly be hypocritical of me, but at my age I don't mind making the decision I'm most comfortable with for myself. Plus, I would have been soooo tempted to join in! Hahaha!!

 

So, all signs point to the fact that I've become a curmudgeon. I no longer enjoy "going with the flow" or "taking it as it comes" or "lettin' it happen." Ha!! But hell, I can't see without my "readers" and can't hear when the music's too loud, the snacks'll give me heartburn, and the liquor doesn't effect my old-ass body the way it did before 35. Who knew? No wonder I see people my age who look like they've been rode hard and put away wet - but they're still partying their asses off.

 

Oh, crap - it's 2:00. I'm supposed to be at a baseball game! Later...

Yesterday the trainer walked in my office door, lifted his shirt, and flashed me his man-titties. I opened my desk drawer, took out some old Mardi Gras beads and tossed them to him. Just another day...

 

I'm not so sure about the new low-calorie "energy" drinks. Isn't a calorie the measurement for energy? So if it's low-cal, would it generate low-energy? Seems to contradict itself. Hydration is a good thing so at least it has that going for it.

 

Why do we put our sports heroes on such high pedestals and then act like we can't wait for them to fall or get pushed off? Yeah, I watched the congressional hearings with Clemens and McNamee this morning. There's a country song - can't remember who sings it - but it goes "well, that's my story and I'm stickin' to it." That was the theme for the day. Lines were already drawn, sides were already taken by the time the hearings got started. Oddly, it seemed to follow party lines. Democrats wanted Clemens to be guilty, Republicans seemed to be for him and against McNamee. Several of the congressmen saw the need to defend their hearings after the criticism they've received in the press. Yer wasting yer breath, Mr. Congressman. Let's turn off the tv cameras and see if Congress stays interested...

 

A friend of mine brought me a "faux" Coach bag from Chinatown in NYC. She thought it would be fun for me to have a Coach bag since I work in the gym. Whatever. I have a philosophy that you should never spend more on your purse than what you have to put in it. So I'm usually a Target purse girl. But I was real proud of having a designer bag. It looks real if you don't look real close. But, for some reason, I feel the need to confess when I'm complimented on it. And I've gotten lots of compliments. My reply is always, "Thank you. {It's fake.}" The last being in a whispered tone. Like maybe if I whisper it I still have the designer bag and the complimenter is the only one to whom I've confessed. But I've done it every time. I'm in the market for a new sofa. I gave mine to my sister about a year ago and have been searching for my dream sofa ever since. Well, I saw it on the website of a local high-end furniture store who just happens to be holding a 1/2 off Valentine's Day sale. Off I go to price my sofa. Because it has a lot of wood (as opposed to upholstery) it would have to be special-ordered, disqualifying it for the sale. The girl (someone I knew) really wanted the sales commission and said the store could help me with financing. I sighed, looked at the girl, and told her that I wouldn't pay that much for a sofa even if I won the lottery, then told her I was pickin' up my fake Coach bag and getting the hell outta that store that was painfully and obviously outta my league. People who shop there would NEVER carry a fake designer bag. I couldn't believe that damn couch was that expensive. Sheesh. While there I saw another sofa that was...interesting. It was almost $3,000 at the 1/2 off price. The salesgirl and I were looking at it, talking about how we liked it but would have nowhere in our houses where it would "fit." It was a deep red, kinda Victorian parlor lookin', with a leopard print bottom cushion. Like I said...interesting. So as we stand there staring at the couch I say, "Mel, it looks like something I picture in a whorehouse." She got the giggles and it was so cute. She said if anyone ever bought it she would wonder about them. Ha!! So I made up a story about some rich old lady buying that couch for her boudoir, and Mel would know the old lady had a whore's heart. Ha!!

 

I'm gonna go to the kitchen and finish making my boss's Valentine cake. He thinks I'm the best baker EVER when I make this silly cake. I told him that it's a recipe from the 1960's when Jello got so popular and every woman in America made them in the summertime back when families all sat down together for a real supper. It's a white cake (from a mix) baked in a single-layer cake pan; when cooled ya punch holes in the top and then pour jello over it. It runs into the holes and makes a lovely design when you cut the cake. Refrigerate and top with whipped cream. A very old recipe, a very simple recipe, yet he loves it and acts like I'm the Ace of Cakes everytime I bake him one. And it's cheap! (Just like me.)

 

Y'all have a lovely Valentine's Day. Ugh. NOT a good day for old maids. (hahaha)

 

 

 

I reallllllllly want Roger Clemens to be innocent of using steroids and human growth hormones. I realllllly want him to be telling the truth. I wanted Barry Bonds to be innocent, too, but his physical changes pretty much blew his story to hell and back. Just once I would like someone who is a sports hero, role model, future hall of fame athlete, rich from my enjoyment of his sport motherf*cker, to be telling the truth. In all honesty I'm not all that much of a Roger Clemens fan. That's not the deal. I'm just so tired of being disillusioned by public figures. Morals and ethics are rapidly becoming a thing of the past, and it's very disheartening. And so my cynicism grows. Pretty soon morals and ethics will be so torn down that we'll have elected officials screwing interns and texting young boys! Oh, wait...

 

Why, with all the really important things needing attention, is Congress focusing on steroids in baseball? Shit. Okay, they need to look busy but it's an election year so they can't get into anything too controversial...let's mess with baseball!! Yeah, that's interesting enough to keep our names in the paper but innocuous enough not to cost us any votes! Until professional sports put some meat into the enforcement of their own rules, nothing you say is gonna matter. As long as the current amount of money keeps getting thrown into professional sports then the more illegalities will surround the athletes, owners, etc..

 

Speaking of rich-ass owners, have you heard of the new football stadium Jerry Jones (owner of the Dallas Cowboys) conned the city of Arlington, TX into building for him? It's plush. It's gorgeous. It's huge. You can imagine that the people of Dallas were quite miffed that the Cowboys were not moved back to Dallas when plans for a new stadium were announced. Dallas city officials wouldn't buy into the financial plan laid out by Jones, though. Arlington taxpayers are now paying extremely high taxes to pay for the Texas Rangers baseball stadium and now the new Cowboy stadium which Jones will technically own when it's complete. I don't live there and I don't know all the specificities, but I know Dallas fans are at the highest level of pissivity known to man. To purchase tickets, it seems you first have to purchase some sort of seating contract/license...THEN you can purchase seats. On the news the other night they said four so-so seats in the new stadium would require the purchase of a $32,000 contract/license and I forget the cost of each seat on top of that. To date they had only sold about 1,100 season tickets for that huge stadium. I hope Jerry Jones has to eat a bunch of those seats. I'm still pissed at his and his cohorts restriction of certain games to the NFL Network, of which my cable company refuses to pay the enormous asking price for viewing rights. Rich-assed greedy-guts.

 

I've mentioned before how the area I live in is so conservative, right? Well, if I hear one more rich white f*cker call Barack Obama "Osama" I'm gonna go ballistic. It's the WAY they say it that is so aggravating. So smug, so superior. I had a young man tell me that Obama is really a muslim but he's pretending not to be until he gets into office and then he's gonna help the real Osama take over the United States. I asked him where he heard such crap, and it was from his dad. Sheesh. This is a college-aged kid! And the dad is a productive, college-educated man!! So, stupid me, asked what he and his dad thought of Hillary. To which he replied with a snarf, "You mean that lesbian?" Is this kind of ignorance being spewed anywhere but in my part of the world??? I really need to move to a more tolerant part of the state. I love these people until election time when our differences are so marked. Aw, hell, I don't know what I'm ragging on them about...I, in all my democratic glory, am drawn to Mike Huckabee because he successfully lost a bunch of weight, which is something I struggle with and so admire others who conquer their's. Now wouldn't THAT be a good thing on which to base a vote for leader of the free world? (Would that make him leader of the carb-free world?)

 

Sorry I'm so grumpy today. I've felt like Fido's butt for about five days now. I think my antibiotics are kickin' in now and I'm on the mend. I hate wasting sick days on really being sick. Sick days are for faking it and chillin' at the crib. Shivering like a dog shittin' a peach seed under two quilts because of fever is NOT the same as chillin' at the crib. Ugh.

 

Later...

 

 

There are certain things that, no matter what my circumstance or mood, will trigger an endorphin or some serotonin or something that gives me a little blip of a warm & fuzzy feelin'. I thought I would share them. It's not a tag or a survey or anything - just me keeping this all about me...

 

SMELLS:

I traveled to the Lufkin/Nacogdoches metroplex {sarcasm} yesterday to attend my sister-in-law's mother's funeral. Instead, I stayed at the hotel and babysat my three year old great-nephew. While the rest of the family was mourning the loss of their matriarch, I watched The Incredibles and played with Matchbox cars. I had to keep reminding myself that I was HELPING so I wouldn't feel guilty for missing the funeral. After the funeral, my peeps came and picked us up and we all went to the graveside services. The cemetery was way out in the boonies, through piney woods on a beautiful, sunshiney day. Except for the situation it was a beautiful day. Seventy-five frickin' degrees! We were all sweatin' like whores in church.

 

My brother and sister-in-law began dating when my brother was a freshman in high school and she was in junior high, so that means I've known my brother's inlaws since I was in the second grade (44+ years). After my oldest niece was born we shared Christmas Eve dinners with "the other side" so the little family wasn't torn between which family got which time blah blah blah. We eventually stopped when the parent(s) on both sides got old and the kids were all scattered in all directions. I resented that for years because I felt like I had to give up my own Christmas traditions for my brother (Mother's pet). But it was what it was and the point was not that but that my sister-in-law's family and my family have been wound together for nearly fifty years - and my sister-in-law is more like a regular ol' sister than an in-law. I felt so sad for her because, having lost my own mother, I knew the depth of pain she was feeling and it is deeeep. People don't understand the pain if they haven't lost their own mothers. It feels like you lose a piece of yourself. The one person who kissed away our hurts, supported us through anything and everything, and whose hugs could ease almost anything is gone. There's no way to prepare yourself for the emptiness you suddenly feel. What's even worse is knowing there are those who were not blessed with a loving, nurturing mother and will never experience that bond. It's a beautiful thang...

 

After we left the graveyard we went to a family member's house for supper. The deceased mother's youngest son is a huntin' and fishin' fool so he cooked us up a mess of fish and some fresh venison. It was so good!

 

That's what we do in the South. We mourn and we eat. Most funerals are like a family reunion of sorts. I find it interesting how differently individuals mourn. And I couldn't help but think about the funeral my son was a part of yesterday for his brother. I've told my family that when I die I want a black funeral. Every one I've ever attended had the same format. The first preacher gives the sadddddest sermon EVER and people cry, cry, cry. It's so sad and depressing that you just don't want to go on in this horrible, hopeless world. People will faint and fall out in their grief. A funeral attendant will fan them and hold them up; I've seen one man dragged out the front of the church to fresh air. Then the second preacher reads the obituary and allows everyone to calm down and regroup. The third preacher gives a message of salvation that makes ya jealous that you're not the one dead 'n goin' t'heaven! So that's what I want. From gloom to glory in about an hour - and then just go on with your own life knowing that I'm doin' real good up in heaven. Awesome.

 

As I sat around a dining table with my nieces and nephews and their cousin, we talked a minute about the UFO sightings out in West Texas. My oldest nephew says he cannot stress how much he does NOT believe in aliens and UFOs. Now, Joe talks with a deep voice and he talks kinda slow so sometimes, especially when he's bein' silly, he sounds a lot like Hank Hill from King of the Hill on FOX. So Joe says, "I DON'T believe in aliens so much that if I'm abducted and raped with an anal probe I'm gonna look at the guy and say 'You're not an alien, you're just another queer in a spaceship.'" I laughed so hard I thought I'd puke.

 

Eighteen-month old Addie was in her Daddy's arms at the cemetery when the preacher came over to coo at the baby. She's lookin' all precious in her pink outfit so he says, "Well, look at you, pretty little thing. Are you a little princess?" Addie looked him right in the eye and replied, "Yes." Ha!! No brag, preacher, just fact.