I stopped and bought gas today. Ugh. It's at $3.47 now which reallllly chaps my ass after hearing of the ridiculously high profits the oil companies earned in the past quarter. Fuckers. And W, once again, says the way to solve the shortage and lower the prices is to drill on the protected lands in Alaska. I don't know about y'all, but I have it in my mind that this whole gas shortage thing is a manipulation to get Congress to finally allow the greedy bastards to drill there. Who will benefit from that? Well, the first two names that pop into my mind are the Bushes and the Cheneys - two families who got rich in the oil business. W grew up in Texas and talks like a Texan but, believe me, his daddy is a carpetbagger. They are Maine-iacs, or whatever you call somebody from Maine. Know where George and Barbara live when they're in Houston? The top floor of a Houston hotel. Pffft. They're no more residents of this state than any other snowbird. But they made a fortune on our oil and they used our big number of electoral votes to win presidencies. I digress. Okay, everytime my needle registers half a tank, I stop and fill up. In my mind I'm continually keeping the tank full of the cheapest gas possible. I'd rather put in 1/2 a tank at $3.47 than a whole tank at whatever the next price will be. It probably makes no sense to anyone with a rational and/or accounting brain - but I have neither so I feel like I'm accomplishing great things. My boss, on the other hand, can't stand to put more than $20 at a time in his vehicle at these prices. I've noticed lately that the pump will say $10 or $20 from the person ahead of me. I guess it's difficult for many people to fill up at these prices so nickel and dime it with what they can afford. My friend Denny fills up at 3/4 of a tank. I think it's interesting how we all have our gasoline-buyin' philosophies. Ha! I think, if I could, I'd get me a horse and keep it in the backyard to ride to work. I could use the manure for fertilizer and they don't eat much more than a big dog. And I wouldn't have to call that retarded guy to whom I was mean to come mow my yard. They have parking lots and bike racks at work, but I'm not sure they'd let me stake out my horse outside the gym. I was excited, though, because I received another royalty check from the oil & gas leases my family owns in Oklahoma. Doesn't that sound impressive? In actuality, they only send a check when my portion of the royalties is at least $50 - and I usually only get one check per quarter. Ha! These leases belonged to my mother's stepfather. When he died they were split between my aunt and grandmother. Then when my grandmother died they were split again between my mother and four siblings, and when my mother died they split three ways between me and my siblings. I guess my nieces and nephews will split my brother's, sister's, and my shares. Probably, by then, a little puff of natural gas will come out of the wells every coupla years. Ha! I keep hoping, though, that they'll start using that new way of drilling to go deeper and bring lots more oil outta that Oklahoma lease. I reallllly need the money. Ha!

 

My college got a new president. You wouldn't believe all the preening going on right now. People who haven't been out of their offices in years are attending events so they'll be seen. Administrators are pissin' on trees to mark their territories. They're like little kids gathering all their toys up close and saying, "No! MINE!!" It's wearin' me out. They act like this yet try to be so politically correct (college style) when they're in meetings. Consequently we're experiencin' a little gridlock on the ol' campus. It'll all work out. This is the fourth president I've worked for, the third "new" one I've gone through. He'll reorganize and change a few policies, and then everybody'll start settlin' down. In the meantime, though, I may jerk some people baldheaded.

 

Today a girl-golfer and girl-tennis player came by and said they were sick of the cafeteria and out of school-bux (debit account). So I gave them my school-bux card and sent them to the Snack Shack for lunches. They came back and my new (excellent) girl-student assistant, the two girl-jocks, and I had lunch together picnic-style. The two jock-girls are not part of the usual bunch that comes by to visit so I absolutely enjoyed spending an hour with them. We sat around a conference table giggling and talking while we chowed-down on chicken wings (or as we say "chicken wangs"). (Ha. Wangs.) Four kids (the girl-golfer and three baseball guys) came by desperate for an easy community service project they could complete by Friday in order to satisfy extra credit requirements. After I dogged them for waiting until the last minute, I found them something to do. I know - I'm an enabler. At least I'm really making them work for the points and not just writing a bogus letter. I do have a few standards. Ha!!

 

We're on the downhill slide now for this week. I think I'll make it two more days. But right now I just remembered that I need to wash a load of clothes so I don't have to go to work nekkid tomorrow. Shit! It's 10:30 pm!!

 

And this is for Raven so she'll feel right t'home: titties, pecker, weird positions, and nekkid. {giggle}

 

Okay, last weekend this guy that always wants to hang around the athletic department fixed barbeque for the football team after their spring game. We're talkin' big, burly football guys who had been working out, right? They were hongry (which is hungry X 2). It was a serve yourself buffet so the guys loaded their plates. The guy ran outta bbq before everyone had been through the line. Halfway through the team the guy came over to where my friend and I were sitting and said, "They're eatin' too much. They're eatin' me out." He was quite stressed about running out of food so he kept saying, "They're eatin' me out." Which, to him, meant they were eating all of his food. And which, to us, meant something else entirely. Ha! If he said it once, though, he said it a hunnerd times, "They're eatin' me out!" He finally walked away and my friend and I busted out laughing. I said, "Would you PLEASE ask him to phrase that differently?" She had tears running down her face, "I can't believe he doesn't know what that means!" Kids were looking at him funny, looking at us crazy - they couldn't figure out why this ol' guy kept saying that to us. Lordy lordy.

 

The volleyball coach had a hysterectomy. A former employee, a very nice guy but very similar to a big dumb jock or a yuk-yuk, asked after her. "She's fine - just a little sore." Guy, "Does she have a big scar? Is that like a c-section incision?" Me, "No, they did the surgery through her vagina so it's all internal." Guy, "OH, WHOA! Ouch! Oooo. Wow. I guess you would be sore if they went up in ya and took out yer junk." Ha!! Is that not the most GUY way of phrasing that?

 

After White Boy resigned to go to work at the radio station, I hired a GIRL. (Girls are sooo much better at office chores.) Anyway, this girl and 4-5 of her friends went to a Texas Rangers game last weekend. She couldn't wait to show me the pictures of all the hot ballplayers. So she showed me picture after picture of baseball players...from behind! I said, "Jackie, these are all ass pictures." Jackie, "I know, MizAngie. Aren't they GREAT?" "Yes. Yes, they are."

 

I'm going through an odd phase. I don't feel content. I feel like something's missing. I have no idea what, or whom. I keep remembering failed relationships, lost friendships, incomplete projects, things I shoulda done but didn't. I don't feel depressed, exactly, more restless. It's not a comfy feeling. I hope it's like gas and will pass soon. I feel like screamin'.

 

Several of the kids at school that come by to see me on a regular basis have sore throats and allergies. I fixed a huge pot of potato soup tonight and fed 'em some comfort food. They really seemed to enjoy it. After we finished eating we watched a little tv and one of the girls fell asleep next to me on the couch. The others were yawning. They went back to the dorm to go to bed. Sweet kids.

 

The snakes are comin' out of hibernation and are on the crawl. YECH. Just as people are working in flower beds and in their yards the damn copperheads are all over everywhere. My friend ran over one yesterday when she went home, right outside of her garage. Another lady got bitten on the finger. I'm pretty sure a snake bite would kill me. Venom or no - I'll frickin' die of a heart attack. Haaaaaate snakes. {shiver} Health officials have also found a few rabid skunks and bats in the area. Timber is vaccinated, of course, but I'm not! Ha!!

 

Well, I'm goin' t'bed. Timber is stompin' around trying to get me to go to bed; I guess he's tired.

What an athletic weekend - from a purely spectator position, of course. Friday afternoon we had baseball, Friday evening the football team had their "spring game" which is just a glorified intra-squad scrimmage, and today we had a doubleheader in baseball. Good stuff. The baseball team won the series 2-1 and clinched a spot in the playoffs. Of course we're all holding our collected breaths hoping beyond hope that our team is in the World Series that we host. Last year was more fun than naked beer drinkin' so we're realllllly hoping we make it again. The series this weekend was crucial to our placement in the playoffs. When I got to the ballpark I saw #18 jersey hanging on the dugout. That was the boy's jersey who was killed last fall. I asked one of the guys why they put the jersey out (it hasn't been out at any other game since the first one). He replied, "This is the most important game of the season so far - we needed everybody here." Wow. I got a huge lump in my throat and sent a text to my friend that I thought said, "Crucial game. Payton jersey on dugout. Sad." Well, I couldn't see the screen on my cell phone so the message ended up something like, "Bstcibl gamd. Paxtnn jeqrdx nn dugnvt. Rad." I thought she was an idiot when I got her reply that was simply "WHAT?" Hahahahhaha. I finally realized I COULD see the screen if I would take off my sunglasses. Who's the idiot after all? {sigh}

 

Last night after the football scrimmage we gathered at one of the coaches houses to celebrate the end of football practices for the year. I had arrived at the scrimmage late. Very late. As in, just as they were finishing and walking off the field. I had pulled my truck right up to the edge of the field so kids and coaches stopped by to speak on their way to the fieldhouse. They kept asking what I thought about the scrimmage..."Awesome!" I replied. My friend was about to bust a gut because I was lyin' out my ass. All night at the party someone would make a comment about something that happened at the scrimmage and I would say how good that player was, or what great execution there was of a play, or how smart I thought the coach was for their play selection on a particular drive. They never, ever caught on that I didn't see shit of the scrimmage. I don't know why but I don't feel I can go to a party without taking something - either liquor, snacks, or both. So I made some salsa, avocado dip, and ham salad and my friend got the chips to accompany the dips. One other girl brought some cheese and crackers and that was it. Everyone drank beer for awhile and then dove into the snacks like vultures. It was a good thing we took some grub or people would have been much drunker and starvin' like Marvin. There was an old football coach there who has coached at universities, in the CFL, and NFL. He had some funny stories about the places he's been and people he's coached. After awhile the older coaches left and my friend and I were the oldest people there - by about 25 years! Shit. It hit us at the same time that we felt like babysitters so we left. Even with beer in my body I just couldn't get to the silly level the younger people were managing. I kept feeling like I needed to keep my wits about me and be responsible even though they were all well over 21 and it wasn't my house. Ugh. I'd rather go home and go to bed than sit there feeling like everybody's mother...or frickin' grandmother. That thought alone is sobering! The guy's house was on the top of a hill and after a couple of failed attempts I got one of the guys to back my damn truck down. I wish I could blame my failure to back out straight on beer but I've always been "backing up" challenged. Ha! So we're driving down this farm-to-market road headed back to town when we saw a bunch of red & blue flashing lights. Shit. At 1:00 a.m. there are only two reasons for cops on the side of a country road - a wreck or some kind of roadblock to check for drunk drivers, etc. It was a wreck. I was so relieved that I wouldn't have to breathe my beer breath on anyone that it took a minute to realize there was a person in the truck who was either passed out or dead. Yech. The truck didn't look very mashed up, and we didn't see blood & guts, but this woman's skin was NOT a normal color. She was a dull pale grayish yellow. Scary looking. We didn't have to stop because there were already cops and EMS people there - thank God. I don't think I'd be very helpful in stopping to render aid. I pray I'm never tested.

 

True story:  So this kid comes up to the trainer and says he hurt his knee. Kid, "Doc, I hurt my knee." Trainer, "How'd you hurt it?" Kid, "I don't know." Trainer, "Were you with your knee at all times?" Ha!!

 

An economics instructor sent me a list of reasons why I should NOT retire. Shit. The economy is so bad he thinks I should wait to make sure that benefits I would be dependent upon are not reduced or discontinued. (I won't be getting Social Security. I'm with a state retirement plan instead.) Also, with gas prices the way they are my retirement check is not going to stretch very far. I've thought of the things he said but it's scary for someone more in the know to say that stuff to me. DAMMIT. I realllllly want to be able to retire and be happy about it. I don't want to retire and be scared shitless all the time about whether I'll have enough money every month. Or insurance.

 

I have so much to do tomorrow since I was at the ballpark all frickin' day today. Bleah. Oh, well.

 

 

 

 

 

For informational purposes so you'll understand the significance of tonight's topic: My mother grew up in South Texas along the Gulf Coast. She was a "Bay Rat," a slang term for someone who lives amongst the bays and coastline. She loved the beach and all things beachy. She had to go to the beach at least once a year to renew her spirit and regain her sense of self. She felt alive and young with her feet in the sand and salt on her skin. Later, when the grandkids were born, she loved being on the beach with them and teaching them about the crabs, lightening welks, sandollars, and Portugese man o' war. She also like messing with their heads so would do crazy fun things like walking zombie-like and saying in a creepy voice, "I'm NOT YOUR MAW!" Yeah, that can freak the hell outta some little kids. Ha!

 

My nephew seldom calls. His wife's birthday is coming up so he took her and baby Addie to Galveston for a few days. This was Addie's first trip to the beach AND SHE LOVED IT! Joe called to tell me that Addie's great-grandmother would be very pleased because they practically had to drag Addie off the sand kickin' and screamin'. I got a little verklept because Joe called, and because Joe was obviously thinking about his Maw (my mother) and probably wishing she could see his baby girl having such a good time in the same sand that was in Mother's veins. I told Joe that maybe his Maw had possessed Addie and that's why she was lovin' the beach. He laughed and said, "Yeah, I'll know for sure if she starts walking like a zombie and says 'I'm not your Addie!'" I had forgotten Mother used to do that to the kids until he reminded me. I guess it made quite an impression on the little guy. Ha!! Back to Addie...she's usually so particular about things like not wanting water in her face, not wanting dirty hands or anything on her skin - yet she was sticking her face in the salty water, walking into the shallow waves, and rubbing sand all over herself. She would put sand on herself and say "Oh, YECH." Then she would get in the water and rinse off. I wish I had been there; I bet it was awesome. Mother woulda been over the moon...{sigh}

 

I watched Leno last night. He talked about new medical research that says men who masturbate so many times a week reduce their chances of getting prostate cancer by about 30%. Leno's punchline was that he was surprised that men got the cancer at all if that was the case. Ha! So today I'm telling my boss and the golf coach (who has actually had prostate cancer) about the new study. The golf coach (who looks and talks like Dennis Weaver) said, "I don't believe that." It was hilarious.

 

It rained on my freshly planted container garden last night. I think they had grown two inches by this morning. I used Miracle Gro so I'm expecting the plants to be roof-high by Sunday at the latest. Kinda like Jack and the Beanstalk except tomatoes and basil. I told my niece that I'm expecting such great success with my tomatoes that I'm going to open a produce stand in my front yard this summer. If I really do have success then, next summer, I'll have stuff planted in every container I can find - upside down buckets will be hanging all over the yard, and instead of flowers in my windowbox I'll have cucumbers or somethin'. Niiiice. I saw a hydroponics supply store in Canton beside I-20. Their logo is a big marijuana leaf. Hmmm... I wonder what they grow? Anyway, I'm very interested in trying some hydroponics but not for pot. I drag-ass enough without mellowing myself out even more. I sure 'nuf would be a slug.

 

Okay - it's bed time. Thirty-one minutes away from TGIF. Lena Wayback invited me to join her in a naked Friday dance but I was practicin' a while ago and now I have two black eyes. Ha!! I need to remember to slide, not bounce! hahahaha...

 

Y'all have a good weekend!

I saw this gadget online that allows ya to grow tomatoes upside down. Makes picking the fruit so easy blah blah blah. It looks fascinating. I know - sad, isn't it? Growing upside tomatoes fascinates me. I so need a life. Anyway, I'm thinkin' I don't want to invest $20 for the REAL topsy-survy gadget so I decide to make my own outta some plastic buckets that were left in the gym. I looked around online and, of course, someone else has already done that. Not sure but I think they live in a trailer house and are missing some teeth. Anyway, I have a double shepherd's hook for hanging plants so I decided to make two tomato-buckets so they would balance themselves on the hooks. I cut the holes in the bottom of the buckets, added straw, potting soil, and of course the plants. They looked pretty dang spiffy, if I do say so myself. I'm already anticipating hundreds of delicious, fresh tomatoes over the coming months. Then I hung the bastards on the shepherd's hook. It leaned to the right, so I hurriedly put the other bucket on which made the entire thing lean this way and that until I finally pushed it toward the house so it could lean there and wouldn't fall down. Shit. This was a huge flaw in my design plan. The buckets were too heavy for that hook. I started this project at 9:00 pm so I'm just gonna let it lean until tomorrow when I can Aggie-engineer some other hanging arrangement. Maybe some balin' wire on the fence. I don't know. The buckets are bright yellow so I don't want to put them in the front yard hanging from the tree branches although that would be ideal. The whole thing was a little disheartening but I'm not ready to give up yet. We'll see what tomorrow brings.

 

I also planted several patio containers, or in my case front-porch containers, with basil, cherry tomatoes, little yellow tomatoes, and sweet peppers. I'm hopin' they get enough sun on my front porch. My mouth starts a-waterin' when I think of all that fresh produce. Then I remember my brown thumbs and figure I'll end up at the Farmer's Market buying tomatoes. We'll see. All I know is that I'm in the South, I'm a woman - I must plant tomatoes. And no, Lena, I didn't wear a hat (it was after dark).

 

While I was unloadin' stuff outta my truck this evenin' one of the neighbors pulled through the alley beside my house with his music blarin' - on the BeeGees playing Stayin' Alive! Ha!! Must be a party animal deluxe! hahaha... I've seen the guy come through there a few times and through his tinted windows he looks like a young guy - maybe early to mid twentyish. (?) So he comes through, I'm unloading my truck, the motion light on the crackhead neighbor's apartment comes on, and I hear her whiney voice say, "Mac?" I ignored her. "MAC?" I say, "Hey, Suzy." Crackhead, "Who's that? Who's out there?" Me, "It's Angie." Crackhead, "Whoooooooo?" Me, "Your neighbor." Crackhead, "Ohhh. I thought you was Mac. Do you know him? He lives behind you." Me, "Nope, I don't know him." You gotta understand. She's my age and she's been in and out of rehab for drugs since her sophomore year of high school. The poor ol' thing is absolutely FRIED. She has this horrible nasal, whiny voice and since her windows are always open she has scared the piss out of me more than once by all-of-a-sudden talking to me when I'm in my morning fog or my mind is somewhere in left field. I'm not positive - I can't prove it - but I think she has her own version of a "home business" to supplement the social security disability check that you and I provide for her. I see guys go to her apartment, stay about 10-15 minutes, and then leave.  Sometimes I see her hangin' out on the hospital parking lot and then see her "get a ride home" with some ol' boy. (About this time you're probably wishing you lived in my wonderful-sounding neighborhood. Ha!) I would complain to her landlord if I didn't feel s'sorry for her. She's basically harmless. Every once in a while I worry about one of her seedier-looking clients but they're not around long enough to cause much trouble. Her mother lives two doors down from me. She's living in a garage apartment across the alley from me so her mother can keep an eye on her. Can you imagine being fiftyish and needing your mother to keep an eye on you? So sad. Before her last stint in rehab she would troll up and down the street asking all of us for $2 for gas. She doesn't have a car. I told her that if she ever asked me for money again I would call the cops. She stopped asking and by the end of that month was in rehab. We chit-chat in the yard sometimes but her mind wanders and our conversation ends with us looking confusedly at each other. I've given her clothes. Sometimes I make extra supper and share with her. She's nice, just a person in a sad situation. She's like someone you'd see in a documentary. There, but for the grace of God, go I...

 

We have a new coach. He is incredibly handsome - like a young Rock Hudson. Yeah, yeah, I know Rock Hudson was gay but he was still a hunk. The other coaches were trying to warn this guy about my office - "The Harrassment Zone" as they call it. I told them to ease up as I hadn't inappropriately touched anyone in several days.

 

The "indoor percussion team" practiced in the gym today. Interesting. I didn't know there was such a thing as indoor percussion teams. Or maybe they were an ensemble - I don't remember. They looked like Sprockets in their stretchy black pants and long-sleeved black tops. They moved in choreographed lines this way and that, back and forth, playing their drums and occassionally throwing in some hand/arm choreography. I couldn't help but laugh as they were so serious about the routine yet looked like a skit on SNL. It was interesting (and LOUD) and I thought it was kinda cool in a band geek kinda way. Then the band directors started talking to the ensemble members and I finally had to go back into my office so my loud laughter wouldn't offend anyone. They were telling these kids, "There's no way our football team or baseball team could ever beat Penn State - but YOU GUYS beat Penn State by 2.4 points! And people in this community have no idea what you guys do." Duh. And you can beat Penn State every year and still nobody is gonna have any idea what you do. Ha!! They're comparin' eggs to apples...

 

Gosh. It's after 1:00 a.m. - I'll never get up in the morning. It's hard enough when I get 7-8 hours of sleep. Seriously. It doesn't matter how long I sleep at night, if the alarm wakes me up it pisses me off and I'll be tired all day. But with the same amount of sleep, if I wake on my own, I'm fine. Think it's psychological? Yeah, me too.

 

Enjoy your week...

My friend just got back from Los Angeles (software summit thingy) where she learned all kinds of new stuff and met new people but most importantly - went to Disneyland. She told me she signed up for the foray to Disneyland because it was the only thing on the list of optional things to do that sounded like it would be fun. The software company had reserved an evening at Knotts Berry Farm for the entire conference but that didn't sound like fun to her. Why?? Because she thought that was where they make jelly. HAHAHHAHAHA... Nope, we don't get out much around here. I told her I thought it was kinda like Busch Gardens or Six Flags and she said, "No shit?" Yeah. No shit. I've laughed for days.

 

We had military appreciation and welcome home Chuck day at the ballpark yesterday. What a difference a week makes for that guy. From the hot sand in Iraq to a beautiful spring day with lotsa trees and flowers in less than 7 days. Chuck threw out the first pitch and, of course, we teased him unmercifully about the ball hitting in the dirt at homeplate. (That's a lot harder to do than it looks. Just ask W.)

 

Gas is up to $3.39 a gallon here...and rising. A friend called and said that in the little town where she lives not far from here gas was $3.45 yesterday evenin'. So I made sure I stopped and filled my tank before the cost went even higher. As I stood there pumpin' my own gas at $3.39 a gallon I realized I felt smug at being so smart that I was filling up while the price was cheaper. CHEAPER? Hello, Self - it's $3.39!!! And I'm pumping it myself - no free oil check, no complimentary windshield wash, no nice teenage boy to get his hands dirty instead of my own. By the time I replaced the nozzle and got my ticket for nearly $40 I had worked myself into quite the high level of pissivity. Fucking greedy bastard oil execs.

 

Have a good weekend.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Several years ago when the Bakers, Jimmy Swaggert, and others were bilking the desperate, lonely, and/or elderly out of millions of dollars for personal gain there was lots of talk about how we should "beware false prophets." Perhaps if I had paid more attention in Sunday School when I was a kid, or attended more Sunday services, I could quote you some scripture about all this...how false prophets would grow in numbers as the apocalypse neared, etc. But at best I was one of those Easter, Mother's Day, and Christmas Christians when it came to actually attending church. But I've seen and heard a coupla things lately that are really bothering my simple Christian soul so I thought I would share them.

 

For those of you who may consider yourselves much more enlightened than this self-described East Texas country girl, please realize that I am fully aware that my opinions are based on the teachings of a traditional Christian raisin'. I am very cognizant of the fact that I've been exposed to different denominations, but not very many different religions. I do NOT believe that my religion is the only one that'll get ya t'heaven - but I do believe that the Holy Bible is the authority on the steps we need to follow to get there. I also believe that it's not up to me to decide how to deal with people who do not believe as I do. There is a higher power (for me, God) who will handle all that, and I believe he is very fair. I try hard to practice tolerance in relation to others' beliefs and practices. However, based on my personal beliefs, the following situations have made me very uncomfortable - and I worry for these people's mortal souls, as well as for the souls of the people they may lead astray.

 

The first time the hair on the back of my neck stood up it was when I saw a video clip of Tom Cruise speaking to a gathering of the Church of Scientology. He actually spoke to a picture of L. Ron Hubbard as if he [Hubbard] was Jesus Christ. I used to think Mr. Cruise was just a Hollywood goofball who had chosen an off-the-wall religion and, well, so what? It's America - freedom of religion, freedom of speech, etc. But now it seems as if some very influential movie stars, especially Mr. Cruise, are using their fame to recruit new church members and maybe under false pretenses. False prophet?

 

The other thing that is buggin' me worse than chiggers in tall grass is Oprah's new religion. WHOA!! I have to admit that when my sister-in-law first told me about it I thought she was overreacting because she and my brother are members of a very conservative non-denominational church. My apologies to my SIL. I decided to do a little reading about this "new age" study Oprah's doing on her website. Good grief! It's as if Oprah just decided to re-write parts of the Bible to suit herself. It clearly says in the Bible that, for Christians, the acceptance of Jesus Christ as the Savior is THE way to heaven and eternal life. Well, not for Oprah. She has LOTS of ways, according to what I read and the videos I watched of her describing her new age doctrine. Now, it's great that she believes in kindness and good deeds, but those alone will not get you into heaven. False prophet?

 

I don't know if these people are false prophets or just misguided individuals. Because of their influence, charisma, and star power they are in positions to really mess with some folks, though. They're dangerous. I've been around some rich and famous people although nowhere near the level of Mr. Cruise and Ms. Winfrey. I've seen how people react to famous people. They become star-struck and seem powerless to disagree with what they're told. It's the old "emperor's new clothes" syndrome. The emperor's people knew he was butt-nekkid but couldn't bring themselves to tell him. It only took one person with the courage to say it to restore sense to the crowd. I would say Mr. Cruise and Ms. Winfrey have gotten "too big for their own britches." Or, "their heads grew bigger than their hatbands."

 

Power is so corruptive. Fame is power. Money is power. Can you imagine being rich and famous? Yeah, it would be fun for awhile spending like crazy, having all the "things" you ever wanted. But what about when you were finished shopping? How would you eventually behave when nobody would tell you when you were being a tick-turd? What would you do for fun when you couldn't leave your house for being mobbed by photographers and people wantin' a piece of you or your money? I can see how someone with lots of time on their hands who had moved away from "the real world" might start believing they were omnipotent - especially if they had done good deeds like a school in Africa, housing for Katrina victims, etc. Good Lord, have you ever seen the "Oprah's Favorite Things" show? She gives away gifts and the entire studio audience goes nuts and Oprah stands up front like she could glow in the dark and hover over earth. It's pretty sickening. More so at the way the audience acts. Have some pride, people! Gratitude is one thing - groveling another. But all that doesn't allow one to rewrite the Bible.

 

So why does our society cow-tow to fame and fortune to the extent that we do? Why do we act like there are some people whose shit don't stink? I used to think I wanted to be famous like that. What little girl doesn't fantasize about being a famous movie star or singer or, in my case, the Queen of England? Ha!! (I just knew Prince Charles would fall in love with me if he only had the chance to meet me. Him and David Cassidy.) It's hard not to be jealous of someone who can buy anything they want for themselves or others. It's so hard to be content with what we have instead of lamenting what we don't.

 

One last thing...Why won't they give the mothers at the polygamist compound their babies back, but arrest the men who were breaking the law by marrying more than once and having sex with minors? The television stories keep showing the women dressed in fonky dresses with old-timey hairdos but they never show the men. Where the hell are the men???

 

Ugh. I'm in a bad mood.

I traveled to Shreveport, LA today to Barksdale AFB to welcome Chuck (the intern turned supervisor, or T.I.T.S.) home from Iraq. This was a first for me - welcoming troops. My nephew has gone and come back but I've never been able to actually "be there" since they always live in Bumfucked, Egypt or somewhere else very far away. Anyway, it was very exciting and I think I was on sensory overload all day because now I'm kinda weepy about everything.

 

Chuck's mom put us on "the list" of friends and family who would be attending. When we got to Barksdale we had to surrender our drivers' licenses (which they promptly gave back) so they could make sure we were authorized to be there. Then we went to the landing strip where the base had an auditorium full of chairs, a big-ass "welcome home" cake, and cold drinks for everyone. Everyone was so keyed up. Somebody saw the plane so some ran out to the airport fence to see the plane. Then "someone in charge" announced that if we wanted to go to the tarmac we had to go back inside and go as a group. I was one of those idiots going back and forth. I think the rest of my party had the sense to stay inside. I admit it - I'm a sheep. Ha! Baaaa... So we all marched out like we were told to do but even the United States Air Force can't hold back a mom or a wife who hasn't seen their flyboy for nearly a year. So much for barriers! hahaha. It's amazing how much alike those guys looked as they exited the plane single-file. At least I was thinking that until I really saw Chuck. I didn't realize how worried I had been about the little fucker until I experienced both joy at seeing him and relief at him being HOME. I couldn't tell if I wanted to laugh or cry so I just kinda stood there swallowing real hard and waving like a goof. There were about fifteen of us welcoming him. His mom couldn't wipe the smile off her face. She had "that look" that only women with soldier sons have. That look a woman gets when the child she carried for months, whose heart beat next to hers, has been in harm's way for months and she is seeing for herself that he's in one piece and he's just fine. As I saw "that look" I couldn't bear to imagine the difference in the joy of "that look" and the despair of "that other look" of a woman whose child comes home in a flag-draped box.

 

I saw at least two daddys seeing their babies for the first time ever. How weird for them, and how weird for the baby. There was one tiny baby, but the other baby was probably born right after the guys left as he was a little bigger. His daddy was holding him and the baby was reared back looking at his daddy, daddy was looking down at him. You could tell that both were thinking, "Who ARE you?"

 

We went back inside the auditorium and there was a soldier petting his dog that the family brought. Young man and dog were VERY HAPPY to see each other. The family had tied a flag scarf around the boxer's neck and she was a beautiful dog. I laughed and said, "Who are you happiest to see - your family or your dog?" He said he couldn't answer that. Ha! It was pretty obvious that he didn't distinguish a difference between them; the dog was part of his family. Mom and Dad were watching their son romping with and hugging that dog, and it was weird. I looked and saw the soldier and dog, but when I looked at his parents I saw reflected in their eyes a little boy and his dog.

 

I went to my truck to get a mint out of my purse (all that emotion, plus the seafood I ate for lunch, made me feel like I had been sucking on sweaty socks). I sat in the truck for a few minutes saying a few prayers of thanks for all those guys coming home safely and regrouping a bit. While there I saw a family arrive a little late. A lady about my age helped an elderly man out of the car, and helped him with his walker. He had one of those walkers with a little seat in the middle. He reminded me so much of my Daddy. He made me sad but I couldn't take my eyes off him. Thin gray hair combed back, pale, a little weak, yet so dignified looking. They met up with a few other members of their family outside the building. The elderly man sat down on the seat of his walker. I heard the lady say, "Look Pawpaw, there comes Trey." The old man stood up as straight as he possibly could and saluted his grandson. I'm surprised he didn't bust his buttons his chest was so swollen with pride. The boy stopped and saluted that old man as if he was one of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and then gave him the biggest bear-hug ever. It was awesome.

 

Today I was prouder than usual to be an American. It didn't matter if the war is right or wrong, or if George is an idiot and if Hillary voted for it or if Obama will end it or if McCain is gonna keep us there. None of that mattered at all. What mattered was that, for all of us in that auditorium today, OUR soldiers came home safe and sound. OUR soldiers did their jobs and did them well. God bless 'em...

 

 

 

 

I've had a coupla incidents lately where I had to call "customer service."

 

(1)  Capitol One credit card. They've been sending me offer after offer for low-to-no interest credit cards. I already had an account with them so I called to ask to apply my current balance to the no-interest offer. The Indian (from India) guy kept telling me, "Don't worry about that. That is no problem" and then would tell me he could not initiate that transaction. So I asked why he kept telling me it's no problem? And he replied with "Don't worry about that. That is no problem." WHAT? Do they only teach these people about five English phrases to throw at us? So I asked to speak to an American customer service operator. "Okay - don't worry about that - that is no problem - I will transfer you." FORTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER...still no answer from an American. Granted, Dude didn't have a huge margin of error in trying to make me happy. The minute his broken, stilted English came over my phone my spine went rigid with anger because his company that is steadily raising the interest on my card took his job away from an American. But the most galling part of the whole situation is that I'm a damn good customer. I make payments every month. I actually pay my bills. You would think Cap One would want to keep me as a customer instead of making the really good offer only for new customers. So I transferred my entire balance to Chase (AARP offer - ugh!), also for zero interest. Credit cards, by the way, are from the devil.

 

(2)  Half of my electricity went out after this past week's heavy storms. Actually, the storms were done and gone before my electricity went out. Come to find out, Oncor had been to my crackhead neighbor's apartment next door as she was having electricity issues. When they fixed her power, they cut one of the legs of connection to my house. Duh!?! It took THREE calls to Oncor to report the outage before they got here this morning to reconnect. I had to have an electrician come to the house to tell them it wasn't a problem with MY wiring. I wish there was a way to hook wires to the top of my head so I could generate power with the anger that is, one of these days, gonna cause the top of my head to blow off in a messy stroke of some sort. I was blessed by the fact that the leg of power that was still coming to the house powered the refrigerator and ceiling fans, so I could sleep comfortably and my milk didn't spoil. To call in a power outage you never talk to a human - it's all either electronically or voice-activated reporting. So I would call in my outage, they look at their grid or whatever and show that I'm still getting power. FINALLY, this morning, I got through to a human so I could explain the situation. They were here within the hour once I could tell someone what was going on.

 

I would NEVER make a good customer service person. I would actually want to help people and I don't think that's the goal of customer service anymore. I think they must be training their personnel to NOT have a sense of humor, NOT be nice so they won't feel any sort of sympathy or empathy, and to sound as much like a robot as they possibly can. I think there should be a law that entitles us to speak to customer service face-to-face instead of having to call someone in God-knows-where. It's harder to be ugly to people when you're lookin' at 'em. And, for the record, I would NOT want that job!! Whew.

 

I got up at 4:15 this morning so I could take a friend to the airport. She's going to Los Angeles for a computer software conference and didn't want to leave her vehicle at the airport for a week. I was thinkin' I could stop on the way to her house to grab a cuppa coffee. Nothing with a drive-thru was open! Shit. I couldn't get out and go into IHOP because I had on my sleeping clothes. You know you're up too early when Starbucks isn't even open. It worked out okay, though, because I was back home and in the bed an hour later - and slept until 10:00. Aweeeeesoooooome. It's weird, though, because I got as much or more sleep as I ever get on a Saturday morning yet I feel like I was rode hard and put away wet. I'm sluggish and yawny. I'm thinkin'....NAP.

 

I'm going to an undisclosed place tomorrow to meet an unidentified person who has been overseas stationed at an undisclosed Iraq base since last fall. I can't wait to see the lil bastard!

A friend at work is on the governing board of a local animal shelter. She knows I love bulldogs. Everytime they have a dog that is the slightest bit bulldog-looking, or is a real English bulldog, she calls me or sends me pictures or emails the sad story of the dog. It's killing me. Anyone who has ever spent time with a bulldog knows that they are very high-maintenance. They dominate a home. It was very difficult when I had three of them to make sure they all got their fair share of attention. I can't do it to Timber. He's the sweetest, most passive and non-aggressive dog I've ever seen in my life. I will not bring a bulldog into the house who will demand most of my attention. It wouldn't be kind and it wouldn't be fair. But I've helped rescue and find homes for two. One was a little female puppy that was sooooo precious. It was very difficult to let her go, but I did and she is now in the happy home that I sent her to. I cried as she rode away with her new people. The other bulldog was that puppy's mother. We've been watching and contacting the owners for awhile as they're runnin' a puppy mill that the shelter is gathering evidence on so they can shut them down. Anyway, Nellie is the dog's name. The owner decided to surrender the dog so I made arrangements to meet her as soon as possible to get Nellie before she changed her mind. Nellie stunk to high heaven when I got her. Her toenails were about an inch long and it was obvious that it hurt for her to walk. As we rode back home Nellie leaned against the seat and, I swear, acted depressed. Not much expression, not much personality (unusual for a bulldog). One of the football coaches had been wanting a bulldog so I took Nellie to him - he was thrilled. He bathed her and got her a pedicure. A week later I picked Nellie up in order to transport her to the vet to get her spayed. She was a different dog...she was a BULLDOG. She strutted out like she owned the world, stood by me to see if I would pet her and when I did flipped her butt around so I could scratch it (a bulldog favorite since they're not very limber and can't reach it easily). I knew I had found her the right home. Well, I just reread what I wrote and it sounds like I did all that dog-saving by myself. Not true! My friend and the staff at the animal shelter were mostly instrumental. I just happen to know other bulldog lovers. My sister says I'm good with dogs because I'm a bitch myself. Hmmph. FYI for anyone who thinks that...I've never had puppies!!!

 

Chuck T.I.T.S is on his way home!! I think it's kinda funny that we were told not to discuss dates and times over email and/or cell phones for security purposes. I mean, with satellites and all the sophisticated spy equipment I figure the enemy knows WAY more about Chuck's ETA than even he knows. I have a hard time believing that Osama is reading my blog to find out about troop movement, or hacking into my hotmail account. But I'm being careful. After all, "loose lips sink ships" as they used to say in WWII. And if you can say that three times in a row real fast you might want to think about being an auctioneer.

 

Mmmmm. It's thundering - that low, rumbly kind. That's the good kind for sleeping. It soothes, unlike the loud claps of thunder that scare the bejeebers out of ya. One of the kids at school told a kid from another state that we're in Tornado Alley. Now the poor kid is terrified of being blown to Oz or something. Ha!! Technically we are on the end of Tornado Alley, but we don't get nearly as intense tornadoes like they do in Oklahoma, Kansas, etc. They'll do some damage but I've never seen a whole town wiped out like happens further north. I like living in a house, though, as it feels more secure. You know, a house is somewhere between an underground storm shelter and a mobile home. It's a false sense of security because I know a tornado could explode my little frame house and stack it like toothpicks. If it does you'll find me and Timber huddled in the hallway but reaching into the bathroom to hang onto the plumbin'. My mother used to make us get in the hallway under the mattress off my sister's bunk bed. I hated it. I wanted to watch the storm. When I was ten I told her I was going to watch with Daddy and if I saw a tornado I would come into the hallway with her. She argued the point but Daddy said, "Aww, heeyah. She'll be fine." So after that Daddy and I would stand in the yard watching and feeling the storms blow in. The air would turn a weird greenish color. You could smell the rain coming. I would stand facing the wind so it would blow my hair straight out behind me. Awesome. It felt so WILD. If things started blowing around we would stand on the porch for some shelter. Only if the rain started blowing in on us, or if it was lightening would we move into the house. Even knowing and understanding the power of Mother Nature, I felt she was no match for my Daddy. I felt totally safe with him there. I really miss that feeling.

 

Do y'all remember me whining and worrying about Timber's terrible itching, hair loss, and listlessness last summer? Well, I cured him, sorta. He's allergic to peanuts. And what was I washing down his benadryl with everyday? Oh yeah...peanut butter. I read an article about peanut allergies in kids, and (as Oprah says) I had an "ah-HA!" moment. So I stopped giving him peanut butter and he hasn't had to have a benadryl since. I'm a terrible mother...

 

Okay, it's started lightening so I'm gonna shut down my computer. Later, y'all!!

 

I've spent the last two weekends with a friend who is now very wealthy. It's disconcerting. I've uncovered quite the inferiority complex in regards to my house, furniture, clothing, vehicle - hell, I'm feeling like I should have invested in some 3 or 4 ply toilet paper instead of the quilted 2-ply I'm accustomed to. I've also realized that a democratic, capitalistic society is GREAT...if you're the one with the money. Ha!! Deep down I don't mean that. On the surface, though, ummmmm.... My friend was talking about her husband's 3-day hunting trip that mostly got rained out. She was hoping he would either get to reschedule or get his $40,000 refunded. {GULP} I'm not sure if I turned green around the gills because the thought made me sick, or if I was green with envy. And because I wear every thought and feeling shows on my face, my friend asked me "what?" "Well, that's about what my salary is...ANNUALLY." Then I had to apologize because she was saying it just as I might say I bought a gallon of milk that was spoiled and hoped the store would make good on my purchase. I don't know how to be friends with her anymore. I don't think I have the strength of character to pull it off. I'm tickled pink that she and her family are doing so well. Truly I am.  But how frustrating to know that I've been working at the same job for thirty years, I tutored her and many like her husband,  yet I make no more than the cost of a mediocre hunting trip. On the other hand, though, I became a little embarrassed that my friend insisted on picking up the tab for every meal we ate out. So how does one balance the desire to be a friend of equal value when the playing field is so uneven? I mentioned I thought a pair of shoes was cute - you know the little comments ya make to a friend when you're strolling through a store - BAM, she bought the shoes despite my wishes that she not do that. She wanted me to have them because she thought I wanted them. I just thought they were cute in passing - I'm not sure if I ever would have purchased them or not. I could have afforded them if I really wanted them. So I was a little aggravated over the shoes and finally convinced her to take them back...but in my awful head I'm thinking to myself, "Hey. Wanna make me happy? Pay off my house. Buy me a car. I can buy shoes but I can't afford a fucking ROOF." Then I have to talk myself down. Ha!! So see? I feel inferior, but I wonder how she feels. How does she know when, or if, someone is really her friend or if they're just trying to cash in on her? She's a sweet, sweet person and I'm flattered and honored that she called asking to reconnect. We had so much fun years ago when she was a student at the college where I work. And I've very much enjoyed hanging out with her and her kids the past two weekends. She has raised four kind, funny, unpretentious kids. So I told her I don't want her to buy me anything. I just want us to be friends without the complication of money. I believe that if we have that in the open right off the bat then she won't have to wonder if I want something, and I don't have to be uncomfortable for feelin' like she's my sugar-mama or I'm her bitch. I firmly believe that, no matter how harmless the original intent, anyone that gives you money or buys you things begins to feel you have an obligation to them. I don't like that.

 

I experienced weekend Twilight Zone again. You know what I mean...the workweek draaaaaags by but Saturday and Sunday FLY. Ugh. It's almost time to go back to work and I'm just not ready. As if that matters! Ready or not...

 

I attended a function at work yesterday and saw a young woman who attended school here (at my college) several years ago. Her daughter is now a student. Weird. "Mom" tells her daughter she better watch out because I'll be keeping tabs on her. Ohhhhhhh, no ya don't. So I laugh and say, "Noooo. I won't be keeping tabs on anybody. Nobody kept tabs on you so you'll just have to trust your daughter to make the same good decisions you made." Then she acted offended as if I was the one who brought the whole thing up in the first place. Piss on that! This while her daughter is telling us she attended a party with the baseball team (whose parties are famously wild), she couldn't keep her hands off her boyfriend at the lunch table, etc. But mom is sitting there assuring me that her daughter doesn't party blah blah blah. Daughter smiled smugly knowing she was getting away with murder. I smiled and said, "Ohhh, I've worked here so long I've gotten pretty good at being able to tell a good kid from a wild child. I can tell just by looking at your daughter just how sweet she probably is." Mom missed the sarcasm but daughter didn't as we both knew that I knew what she's glad her mother doesn't know (or at least what she won't admit she knows). Ha!!

 

Ugh. It's naptime. Ain't nuttin' better than a Sunday afternoon nap. Unless it's a Monday afternoon nap. Or a Tuesday afternoon nap. Or a Wednesd...you get the picture. Y'all have a good week!

I've been getting a lot of friend invites lately. And I've turned down several. I always feel like such a bitch when I do that, but there's really no point in me signing on as a friend to someone whose space is in a foreign language. Like all good Americans, I don't speak any other language. Shit, as a Texan I barely speak English! Or if I visit the person's space and there's nothing there, I turn them down. Or if it seems to be advertising some service I say "no thanks."

 

Oddly enough, my in-person outlook on friendship is very similar to my online outlook on people requesting to be my friend. To be more than an acquaintance to whom I'm polite, we need to have something in common. Even if it's something minor - there has to be a connection of some sort. To be a good friend we have to have several things in common, and most of all there has to be trust.

 

I had a "best friend" for 25 years. We talked on the phone several times a day. We laughed, we cried, we gossiped, we lamented being gossiped about by others. She had a rotten marriage - a victim of physical abuse by a manipulative alcoholic. Everytime she made a move to leave he threatened to take her two kids and disappear. Later, after his brain was totally fried from the drink and the kids were old enough not to leave against their will she stayed on for whatever reasons abused and emotionally beat-down women stay in such a situation. Reasons which I obviously cannot grasp. Then another man entered the picture. A man I had met years before and for whom I had an instant dislike. He had been married two or three times before, and one wife had filed assault charges on him after he bitch-slapped her during an argument. Just what my friend needed, right? My "bff" knew I didn't like this guy so she dated him secretly. She finally left her husband. I thought because I, and several other friends, finally gave her the strength she needed to want to take care of herself. We gave her money, provided a rent-free place to live; I went to court with her to finalize her divorce. I felt so good about myself for helping my poor, helpless little weak friend. Then I found out about the lying and the secrecy. In my mind, I was looking forward to having a friend who could hang out without the responsibility of a husband at home. I thought that was what we both were looking forward to. I sound like a jealous lover, right? I was jealous most certainly. She had been my best friend all those years, practically another sister, but when she divorced her husband she divorced me, too. Her drunken s.o.b. husband and I were in the same damn boat. Now ain't that some shit? Through the years I've gotten over my anger and jealousy. Seeing her happy made all that go away, and she does appear to be happy with her new husband. We talk occassionally and keep tabs on each other's families but we'll never be close again because I will never be able to trust her. It still makes me kinda sad. And it made me feel weird about myself. I probably wasn't a good friend for her for a long time but I didn't see it, and she was unable to tell me. Yes, it's very sad...

 

I have lots of friends that I bullshit around with and with whom I share pleasant times. I only have two "best friends." I can tell these women anything with no fear of it beating me down the street. And they can tell me their's. I may not see them for several days or even weeks but when I see them again it's as if we were never apart. And we know we can call on each other any time of day or night, no questions asked. Trust and loyalty are verrrrrry important in friendships, as they are in any relationship.

 

The best thing I have, though, are "my girls." My nieces. There are no people on earth more fun, more loving, more intelligent, more beautiful than my nieces. I enjoy their company more than anyone else's in the world. My nephews are fun, too, but I have more in common with the girls and can spend hour after hour visiting with them. Just being in the same room with them brings tremendous peace to my soul. I think they lower my blood pressure, like petting a good dog. Ha!!

 

Speaking of a good dog...I consider Timber one of my best friends. I've cried on his shoulder many a time, and his silly antics have brought me out of the doldrums more than once. People who have never lived alone just don't get the whole pet thang. "How can you love a dog like it's a person?" Wellll, I don't do that, but how can you share an existence with a living, breathing thing with big brown eyes and NOT love it? Come on - if I was in a sinking boat with the dog and a relative and I could only save one of them - I'd save the relative almost every time. Ha!! My old bulldog got me through the deaths of both parents on those long nights and Sunday afternoons when nobody else was around and I felt the loss most. If you don't have people around all the time, ya gotta have a dog or a cat. Something that takes you out of yourself, something else you have to care for, something that loves you back - oh yeah, we all need to feel loved...

Wow. Today was a much better day than Monday. All hell broke loose on the ol' email machine yesterday and I got so frickin' frustrated that I actually cried. That's not like me at work. I'll cry at the drop of a hat except about work stuff. But GEE-MO-NETTY - I had no idea that people at work have become so paranoid and territorial. Shit fire. I had a procedural question regarding notification to faculty of team absences. One group wants a memo, another handful wants to be notified by email. I asked a dean for some guidance on how best to handle the situation and before long I was being accused by the faculty senate prez that I was accusing the faculty of not caring blah blah blah. If that's gonna be the reaction when I seek assistance I just won't. Welcome to gridlock! And who will suffer? The student athletes. It was all so frickin' stupid. Ugh. We recently got new administrators and a new president so you wouldn't believe all the posturing and ass-kissin' going on. People haven't really figured out which new ass to kiss so they're just kissin' all of 'em, stepping on other faces to get closer. It's ugly. I gotta tell ya - I felt like an old dinosaur whose time had passed yesterday. I only know one way to deal with people and that's "straight up." I don't know any other way to be. One thing about yesterday's drama was how crazy it is that people can interpret words and tone sooooooo very differently - reading things into words and interpreting based on their own situation/feelings without thinking beyond the area past the end of their nose to consider a bigger picture. Unreal.

 

My niece sent me a picture of CeeCee looking through the National Geographic magazine. I wrote back that I had concerns about CeeCee reading porn at such a young age. In my day, the only titties we ever saw other than our own or a mama's or sister's were in the National Geographic. The library copies of the magazine were usually worn out by little boys looking at the breastfeeding women of some third world country or natives in some jungle who didn't wear shirts. Now, with Playboy, Hustler, and - oh my heavens - internet porn, you can see titties (and everything else) of any shape, size, or color. I wish, boy do I wish, that we could go back to those simpler times. I mean, my saggy old lady boobs would look a lot better compared to saggy breastfeeding native boobs than they do compared to the round, perky boobs boys grow up seeing nowadays. Sheesh.

 

I don't know why but I have a wild hair in my ass for some Irish coffee. I guess it started when I watched all the Irish shows around St. Patrick's Day. So I went to the liquor store today and bought some Irish whiskey. I had some Jack Daniels, but it has to be IRISH whiskey. Got it home, made some coffee...I don't have any cream. O'shit. Skim milk just won't cut it. I was gonna compromise with fat free Half n Half, but I can't compromise all the way down to runny skim milk. It's almost like white water, for heaven's sake. So I guess I'll have Irish coffee tomorrow night because I'm already down to my skivvies so I ain't gettin' dressed just to go by Half n Half. Going to the liquor store is not as easy as it sounds. I live in a "dry county." Liquor is not sold in my county of Texas. You can buy a drink in a restaurant if you buy a membership. They now have a deal where they can run your driver's license number to make sure you're you and you're over 21 but it's still a private membership kinda thang. Sooooo...I drove across the county line and bought booze. Instead of zipping down to the corner store and right back home, they force me to drive 50 miles roundtrip - and who can have all that liquor in the car without sampling a cold beer? Puh-leeze! Okay, I wouldn't have made a special trip in the middle of the week just for a hankerin' for Irish coffee. I had an appointment at the Chevrolet house to get my tires rotated, oil changed, and get a free 16-point check. I don't know which sixteen things they checked but I guess they were okay since they didn't say otherwise. And I don't need tires, thank goodness. They're original to the vehicle but they have less than 50,000 miles so even though there's lotsa tread I was afraid they might have dry rot.

 

Tomorrow is hump day. {giggle} I WISH. hahahahhaa.....