CRAP!! I had jury duty this morning. I know I should be honored to live in a country where we all have a part in justice and the American Way, and maybe I would be more proud to do my civic duty if the free jury parking wasn't in Bumfucked, Egypt - with the courthouse sitting at the top of the damn hill from the lot. Ugh. Good grief. I went downtown an hour early to secure a spot in the closest lot, and so I could get to the top of the frickin' hill to the courthouse in time to stop heaving to catch my breath by the time jury selection started. Instead of a security thing at the front door of the courthouse they should install a defibillator (sp). You could just walk up, hook yourself up, and give your heart a little shock so you could live to serve the taxpayers of the county. Then, crammed onto old church pews with a quarter-inch cushion, we patiently go through all the hoopla involved in being certified as qualified jurors. I was sweatin' it. I blogged about this a few weeks ago, but to refresh your memories...there was a "sex ring" in a little town just north of here where some scumbag parents had "taught" their young children to perform sex acts for the enjoyment (and paying customers) in a swinger's club of some sort. Yech. Well, one of the adults involved in this horrendous case is on trial. They were having some sort of change of venue hearing or something this morning and I did NOT want to go to that courtroom. I was hoping for one of the other three courtrooms that were hearing cases today. Sooooo......I was picked to go to the sex ring courtroom. DAMMIT! I figured this would mean 2-3 days of going to court. But then the court clerk came in after about an hour's wait saying the judge had denied the defense's petition and we all got to go home. Woo-hoo!! I was in the central jury room doing the antler dance in celebration. I would have made a terrible juror for the defense as I've already convicted the guy in my mind and have spent several long minutes fantasizing about what I would like to see done to him as punishment.

 

Good news, though! The mobile home that was gutted and used as "The Swinger's Club" has been purchased by a pentacostal preacher and is going to be used as a church. He plans on runnin' Satan right outta there on his butt with plenty of fire and brimstone. I don't know. I think it would be difficult for me to become filled with the holy spirit as long as the ghosts of children's innocence lost is crying there...

 

I just made some interesting cookies. I saw the recipe in a magazine. They're "sandies" and they're made with cornmeal & flour instead of just flour. They're different. Not too sweet. Very crumbly (hence the name "sandies"). I think my work peeps will like them. I don't know why but cornmeal intrigues me. I like to make cornbread,  cornbread dressing, cornbread patties, and now these cornbread sandies. I don't know why cornmeal intrigues me. I like the color. I like the texture. I like the whole historical implication of cornmeal. I guess I feel like a pilgrim when I use cornmeal. Or maybe it's the teaspoon of Indian blood I have in my veins that draws me to cornmeal. Whatever....I like it.

 

I'm down to two pieces of frozen wild salmon and a bag of freezer-burned mixed vegetables. And an onion. I guess I'm gonna be forced to go to the damn store. I've gotten t'where I just hate going. I heard on the news that we're in a peanut butter and pasta economy. I should write a cookbook of my mother's recipes from the 1960s when only my dad was working and there were six of us (a teenage cousin lived with us at the time). My mother could take a pound of hamburger and a pound of pasta and feed all of us. We didn't know we were deprived when we only had beans and flour tortillas for supper. One of our favorite suppers was "shit on a shingle" as my dad called it. A tiny bit of sausage or hamburger in cream gravy and served over toast or biscuits. We thought we were steppin' in high cotton when we could have peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch or supper. We (the kids) had no idea we were poor. There were two things, though, that you did NOT do at my parents' table. You didn't smack, and you didn't say "I don't like that." If you did you got sent from the table and you went to bed hungry. You could decline a dish politely, but you couldn't say you didn't like it. My daddy said we wouldn't do our mother that way when she had worked hard to put food on the table. And back then we had outdoor and indoor chores so those extra carbs didn't seem to stick like they do now. We worked 'em off. Or played them off. We also had a milk cow so had a minimum of 3-4 gallons of milk in the fridge all the time. We didn't have Cokes at our house, and if we did we could only have one per day until they were gone. But we could have all the Koolaid and milk we wanted. I had an old aunt who qualified for assistance. She got peanut butter and cheese every month. You ever had government cheese? It was the best cheese EVER. Ha!! Mother and Daddy would trade her other staples for her pb and cheese. Oh, wow. I got lost in my memories. I'm back.

 

I smell my cookies. Gotta get 'em outta the oven. Enjoy your week!

Yesterday I got up, got dressed, went to work, came home, watched tv and messed around on the computer.

 

Today I got up, got dressed, went to work, came home, watched tv and I'm messing around on the computer.

 

Tomorrow I hope I get up, get dressed, go to work, come home, and then do somethin' different. But I won't.

This is a test:

 

 

Did you clap four times fast before you said "Deep in the heart of Texas"? If you did you're either a Texan, or you have a little bit o' Texas in your soul. (Or, you saw and loved Pee-Wees Big Adventure.) If you didn't, well, I'm sorry...

 

Last night I was watching the Astros v Rangers play for the Silver Boot. During the 7th inning stretch they played Deep in the Heart of Texas and it was amazing to see the entire stadium clap in unison. This would happen only in Texas. I've tried before NOT to clap, and I can't do it. My arms start tingling and right before they start the "Deep..." I hurriedly do my four claps. "The stars at night, are big and bright *clap clap clap clap* Deep in the Heart of Texas!" I think we should make this the State Song. Nobody, not even Texans, know "Texas Our Texas." And even those of us who do can't sing it. It's one of those songs that I start out strong on and then fade to hum after the first few lines:

 

Sad, I know - I can't remember the words to the State song. When I have the music and words to it I still can't sing it because it gets reeeeal high-pitched toward the end. So I'm singin' along comfortably at mezzo soprano when all of a sudden I have to switch to bass because I can't reach the note. I do the same thing during the national anthem when the rockets red glare.

 

A lot of people think The Eyes of Texas is the state song but I must set the world straight - NO, NO, A THOUSAND TIMES NO THIS IS NOT THE STATE SONG OF TEXAS. It's only the fight song for the university of texas (t.u.). Ugh. That mistake makes every Fightin' Texas Aggie's skin crawl. Dern teasips!

 

Nellie's daddies, the twin coaches from Oregon, were in my office today talking about Texas. It started because one of them kinda mocked something I said - something that was fairly "drawlish." So I asked, "Are you mockin' me?" Well, he was, of course, so I told him he was just jealous because he was from Oregon. Ha!! (Yes, I know - Oregon is beautiful.) So one brother asks the other, "Dude, what do you think about the state flag flying at the same height as the United States flag?" Brother #2, "I saw that! That is SO against the law!" Me, "Not in Texas it ain't. We're the only state that can fly our flag level with the national flag, as it should be." (Yeah, I went all Texas-arrogant on their asses. Ha!) Me, "And if they don't like it we'll just secede, because we're the only state in the Union that can still do that. We wouldn't sign the peace agreement after the Civil War unless they took out that requirement. And the dome on our capital building is taller than the one in Washington. And the San Jacinto monument is taller than the Washington monument." Okay, I started free-lancing a little bit but, shit, they don't know if it's true or not! My state pride rant was met with "No way!" and "Are you serious?" Ha!! It was funny. I finished it with, "Boy, don't mock me again." These two guys are so amazing. So cute and funny and so genuinely nice.

 

Fun times while the boss is on vacation. Jammin' to an Austin radio station online, yuckin' it up with passers by, playin' freecell. Every once in a while I have a little burst of "work" but just enough to keep up. Ha!! Bless my boss's heart. He went on vacation but his wife's grandmother had a massive stroke. Not only are they apparently losing a beloved member of their family, but his vacation was not exactly restful. I feel for 'em. It's never easy... But, one more bossless day unless something happens requiring an extended absence.

 

Chuck T.I.T.S. comes back to work next Wednesday. I'm adding a pic of the day Chuck got home from Iraq. I'm proud of the boy but I sure am ready for him to be back at work. He's not, but I am!! I guess we'll take the yellow ribbon off his door when he gets there. He must not have had anyone to torment while he was gone because he's making up for lost time with me. Every time I see him now he sticks his finger in my ear, yanks on the back of my chair (which makes me say shit! followed by CHUCK! everytime he does it), and other assorted irritating things. Our "thing" that we do is to tell each other to shut up. Shut up! YOU shut up. Hey, YOU shut up first. I'll shut up when YOU shut up. On and on... Very [im]mature, but fun.

 

Y'all have a good second half of the week. We've humped - so now we're on the downhill slide...

 

 

A friend from work tells me he's going to a conference this weekend and taking his family, except for his 18 year old nephew who has opted to stay home. He laughs and says, "So if you want to do a drive-by and break up the party he's been told NOT to have, feel free." So last night on my way home from the fabric store I did a drive by. All was quiet, not even any cars at home. But I'm old, and I forgot that 8:00 pm is NOT party time for teenagers. So after the news last night I went in and took off anything I didn't plan on sleeping in, washed my face, brushed my teeth and was just getting ready to stretch out across the bed when I get a call from White Boy. He was giggly and obviously slightly buzzed. He says, "Isn't Eddy gone somewhere?" Yes. "Guess what? I just got invited to a keg party at his house!" {hysterical giggling - his, not mine} CRAP. So I get up, get dressed again, and drive over to Eddy's. Ho-ly shit. There are vehicles parked up and down his [quiet residential neighborhood] street, beer cans in the street, loud music coming from the house. As soon as I pulled into the driveway I hear a kid [who obviously knows who I am] say, "OH, SHIT!" before he disappeared into the house. Then the nephew appears (beer in hand) asking what's up. I dialed my friend's number, his uncle, and handed him the phone. Then I speak to my friend's wife and she says, "Can you get them outta my house?" Nooooo problem. I learned last night that when a woman with lotsa gray hair walks into the middle of a teenage party it has the same effect as when a cop does it. That was a kinda depressing realization since, um, I'M THAT WOMAN. They had obviously just gotten started good on the party because the keg was pretty full. So I say, "Okay kids, Fun Police is here. Y'all need to leave quickly." They looked at me and kept sitting/standing/drinking. I smiled at them and then said a little more forcefully. "Get up, get your shit, and get the fuck outta these people's house!" That seemed to do the trick. They began to congregate in the kitchen and I said, "Keep moving. Get OUT." One boy smartassedly says, "Do you mind if we just decide where we're moving the party?" Me, "No, I don't mind at all if you go to YOUR house and decide from there where to move the party - but you're leaving THIS house right now. If you don't do it nicely for me then maybe my friends in blue will come give you little MIP invitations to another kind of party." Thinking to myself, please, little boy, don't try to out-smartass a pro. They scattered to whispered  choruses of "Who IS that lady?" "I think she's friends with Logan's dad." So I'm sitting in my truck watching them load the keg and tables when I notice three skinny little ol' girls standing there looking confused. "Girls, are y'all drunk? If so, you're NOT driving. I'll take you where you need to go." "Oh, no ma'am, we're riding with someone else." Whew. Technically, I probably should have confiscated the keg but I couldn't have lifted it by myself. To their credit, a few of the kids apologized. A couple of them thanked me for being so cool about the situation. (THANK GOD - I haven't totally, like, lost my cool factor.) Some of the kids recognized me from work and they were trying their best to be invisible. I told the nephew, "I'll be back by later." He said, "No need. We won't be here." Me, "Yeah, like they weren't supposed to be here THIS time. I WILL be back by later."

 

I was okay with doing my friend a favor by clearing his house of drunken teenagers. He, like me, isn't so stupid to think teens are not going to party if they want to. It's that whole sneaking around and doing it when he was specifically told not to that was the main issue. (There's a history with this kid. Personally, I would never have let him stay home by himself as he hasn't proven to be the most reliable and trust-worthy kid in the past. A lot of that is due to his history before moving in with his aunt and uncle. But still...) I gotta tell you, though, that I was thinking to myself the whole time that it didn't feel right bustin' up the party. The kids at this party were like me and my friends when I was their age. Middle class, students, polite, well brought-up - just wantin' to have a little fun. This one kid, in fact, said to me, "You gotta put yourself in our shoes when you were OUR age." I smiled (sincerely) at him and said, "I have, actually. But 18 was the legal drinking age when I was young. And I didn't do it in my parents' house when they weren't there or if they told me not to, which is the problem here tonight." The young man said "ohhhh" and apologized. I told him he should apologize to Eddy, not me, but that I appreciated his attitude.

 

When I was 19 I was a student at Texas A&M University. My sister sent us $60 for a keg. So on Friday night, prior to Midnight Yell Practice (a huge tradition at A&M) my friends and I floated that bitch. I was more than a bit tipsy so opted not to go to yell practice. In other words, I couldn't walk and felt pukey. [Foreplay at college: When a girl says, "Oh, my God - I'm soooooo drunk!" hahaha] I laid on the couch with the room spinnin', gigglin'. Not long after there was a knock on my open door. Open door, open windows, bobbing keg, music still turned up. It was two College Station cops. They informed me there had been a noise complaint. I looked around and said, "I'm sorry. I'll try to hold it down." The cops busted out laughing. They closed and locked my windows, turned down my stereo, and then told me to lock the door behind them - and then they waited to leave until they heard me do so.

 

Somewhere between that keg party and the keg party last night I came to a realization about how frickin' lucky I was as a teen (through my twenties) not to have died as a result of driving while intoxicated, not to have been date-raped (a Mardi Gras story better left untold), not to have died from alcohol poisoning, and not to have killed or injured someone else as a result of DUI. And as I tell all that to myself there's a little devil in the back of my brain gigglin' and sayin', "MAN - we had SUCH a good time!"

White Boy wanted to cook breakfast for me this morning. I said okay and approved him to be thirty minutes later (8:30 instead of 8:00) since he also offered to stop and get me a mocha frapp. So a little after 9:00 he shows up with a plate full of two big biscuits and about 3 eggs mixed with little pieces of ham and several pieces of tube sausage. My boss looked at it and said, "Unhhh?" I looked at it and said, "Goodness." And then offered to split it with my boss, which we did. It was pretty good. If I had had it at home it would have been marginal but to have it cooked FOR me and hauled across town and served at my desk, well, it was damn good. Ha! I had my mouth all puckered up for a mocha frapp, though, and (not knowing the difference) he brought me mocha iced coffee. Disappointing, but how much can ya gripe about something like that when he didn't have to stop and get it in the first place? Granted, I paid for it (I'm not a total heel), but still... He said he wasn't pleased with how the sausage turned out. I told him to try browning it a little more on a skillet or pan so it wouldn't be as juicy. He said, "Oh, you're supposed to fry it?" Me, "Well, you can bake it or nuke it if you want to. Um, how'd you cook it?" WB, "I boiled it." Freaky...

 

For lunch the basketball coach ordered in pizza for his staff and the rest of us horned in on that. We had a big pizza picnic in the conference room and had a good time. (I told ya we're a low-key bunch!) Before we all got started eatin', though, the coach nabbed a piece of cheese pizza and then began walking to my office to tell everyone lunch was served. He caught the toe of his shoe on the carpet and stumbled but didn't fall - stumbled enough that as he sought his balance he sucked in his breath, also sucking in a big honkin' piece of mozzarella cheese. He was choking to death and we didn't know it. He finally stumbled past my door and leaned against the ticket booth table. I say, "Are you okay?" but when I saw his extremely pale face I knew he wasn't. His teenage son was sitting in front of my desk. I jumped up and said, "Oh, shit!" His son then looked at his dad and ran out and started pounding him on the back. I went back and tried to call the trainer who is, of course, trained in CPR and other lifesaving things that I thought would come in handy about then. I yelled "HEIMLICH" to his son who then wrapped his arms around his dad and did the maneuver. On his second try a hunk o' cheese came flyin' out onto the floor. WHEW! Scared the piss out of ALL of us. Once it was all over we all started jokin' about it but we all knew we had been afraid and, though appearing calm, were in a moderate to high level of panic. I confessed to all, "Okay, we all know now that MizAngie is NOT good in a crisis!" hahahhahha. I knew WHAT to do, just didn't have the wherewithall to actually DO it. After it was all over the trainer finally walked up, "What's goin' on?" Me, "Well, Mike nearly died because you didn't answer your frickin' phone!" Ha!! So, that was all freaky...

 

This afternoon coach's teenage son was working with the 8-10 year olds in basketball camp. There's one little boy who has had issues all week - trying to pick fights with the other kids, becoming terribly angry at himself and everyone else, crying. He had a meltdown today during a drill so coach's son told him to sit in the bleachers and cool off. After a couple of minutes Mitch went and sat next to the kid to talk to him. "I've been watching you this week...you're really doing well and your skills have improved a lot." Kid, "No I'm not. I can't do ANYTHING. I wish I could just kill myself and die." Whoa. Mitch was shocked. He patted the kid on the back and said something like, "I would hope you would never do anything like that; let's go back and play some more." He then did the smart thing and told his dad what the kid had said. He's very young to be thinking about suicide and wishing he could die. When the mom came to pick him up this afternoon, coach visited with her about what her son had said. It was a difficult thing to do but coach didn't even have to give it a second of thought - he knew he needed to share that with the kids' parents. As it turned out, mom had already sought out a counselor for the little boy but his dad nixed the idea and cancelled the apointment. The incident really had an impact on coach's 17 year old son. He'll worry about that little boy for a long time. I wouldn't be a bit surprised if he didn't call the kid occassionally to check on him. Mitch is a very talented athlete, and a very intelligent and sensitive young man. He was shaken by hearing the little boy, who was about the same age as his little brother, talk about suicide. Scary. And freaky...

 

I'm short. I'm not comfortable with heights. I needed to change my air conditioner filter that's located IN the frickin' ceiling. So here's my routine for that particular chore. Tools: footstool, bbq tongs, broom, new filter. Procedure: Standing on the stool I open the little lever that's holding the metal thingy in the ceiling with the bbq tongs. The old filter falls out of the ceiling into my face - every time. Ugh. I step down off the stool and turn down the a/c so it comes on and sucks the new filter into position. I hold the metal thingy up and into place with the broom handle. I lock the little lever back into place with the bbq tongs. Sounds simple but you have to factor in that even on the footstool with long tongs I still have to stretch, grunt, and groan to reach the lever. I never remember right away that if I turn on the a/c it'll suck the filter up and into place, so I fight with it a few times. Then the lever doesn't catch like it's supposed to on the first few tries. The broom handle slips several times allowing the grate to fall. By the time I finally get it all coordinated and into place I'm frustrated and my arms are tired. It would be simpler if I would use the three-step ladder but I get nervous on the second step and frozen in terror on the third step. Shit. I'm not really afraid of the height; I'm afraid I'll fall and hurt myself and nobody will find my body for days. Ha! (I've fallen and I can't get up...) The process is effective but freaky...

 

I've scheduled a pedicure for tomorrow. I haven't had a professional one for ages and I'm looking forward to it. I can't think of a better way to spend the free time I'll have after I get off work at 1:00. And I have a gift card. Niiiiiice.

 

Y'all have a great weekend...

This was one of those days when very little goes right. The kind of day when I just wanna come back home and crawl back under the covers. Today, however, I probably would have fallen out of bed or accidentally suffocated myself in my own sheets. I kept trying to work up a good cry to relieve some tension but everytime I scrunched my face up and thought of sad things the phone would ring and I'd snap out of it. Eh, it wasn't bad enough to cry over anyway. [FYI - I write "wasn't" but the way I say it is "wuhdn." It wuhdn baayid 'nuf t'cry over innyway. I think it's crazy that I can spell correctly considering how it all sounds in my head.]

 

I got two new cd's in the mail today. I recommend the Jakob Dylan "Seeing Things" cd. It's awesome. I reallly like two of the songs on the new Coldplay cd but the rest of them are gonna have to grow on me. The EmmyLou Harris "All I Intended to Be" cd is still my absolute favorite new cd! But then she's my all-time favorite singer. And I wish my hair would get as silver as her's (almost white). Her silver-white hair looks so elegant while my mostly gray hair looks...old.

 

Poor White Boy. I was distracted and quiet today because of everything seeming to turn to shit. He finally sat in front of my desk and quietly asked, "Did I do something? Are you mad because I was late?" I wasn't even up to effing with White Boy so I said, "No, Baby, I'm just in a bad mood." The look of relief on that kid's face made me smile (albeit ironically).

 

I came home at lunch to let the dogs out (who? who-who?) and Mr. Timber was asleep on the couch. He's not supposed to be on the couch. I think he was showing off for Nellie. So when I went back to work I had to put furniture on the couch to keep him off. Crazy dog.

 

You know, today was crappy so tomorrow is bound to be better. I hope. And I hope y'all had a better Monday than I!!

 

 

My Daddy was the BEST daddy in the whole wide world and I miss him like crazy. 'Nuf said.

 

Timber and I are dogsitting Nellie. She's the little bulldog I helped rescue and now lives with one of the assistant football coaches. He has gone to work a camp this week so she's staying with us. I forget how demanding bulldogs are. And gassy. Whew! She doesn't realize she's 1/4 the size of Timber. I tried to get a picture of her biting Timber's ankles but I missed it. She moves faster than my picture-takin' finger. Timber finally got enough of her chewing on his legs and pinned her down. They were so funny this morning. He'll be sitting next to me getting petted and she rolls into him like a bowling ball in an attempt to knock him outta the way to get her share of lovin'. Timber has been real sweet to her - I think he knows he's a lot bigger and could hurt her and so far has been fairly gentle with her. Keeping this little bulldog is good for me. I LOVE bulldogs but spending this week with Nellie will remind me how high maintenance they are compared to my clunky ol' lab.

 

I feel about keeping Nellie like her owner felt about football camp last week. Ha!! On the last day of camp he came to my office looking like a wrung-out dishrag. He said (as most single people say), "When, or if, I ever have kids they will NOT act as bad as some of the kids we had in camp. GOLL-Y!" He went on to say that he's definitely not ready to have kids. So...CAMP=BIRTH CONTROL. Ha!

 

White Boy did something stupid at work. I said, "Idiot." He said, "I hear that allll the time - and it DOES get old!" Ha!!

 

I'm officially the Fun Police. Last week an apartment complex put a flier on my windshield advertising a big pool party. I could care less that they were having a party, but it pissed me off that they put something on my truck under the windshield wiper blade. So I called the police department to find out if there's a city ordinance against doing that so that when I called to bitch about it to the apartment manager I would have some ammunition. The cop I talked to asked what the flier was advertising so he could tell me if it did indeed violate the city ordinance. So I read it to him...Pool Party, bikini contest, lap dance contest, hot wing eating contest. He asked me where this party was to be held and I said, "Why? Are you planning on going to the party? Hahahhaaha!" (I couldn't resist messin' with him.) I faxed him a copy of the flier and he called me back later saying he had spoken to the apartment manager blah blah blah. They had patrol cars around the complex to catch DUIs as they were leaving. All I wanted to do was bitch at the manager for putting stuff on my property...

 

My head nearly blew up last week. Everywhere I went there were extremely rude people on their damn cell phones. PUT THE PHONES DOWN, PEOPLE! A lady signing her kid up for volleyball camp never stopped talking on the phone. A lady at the drive-thru window took forever because she was on the phone the whole time. A man at the post office discussed his bad marriage [loudly] as we waited in line. UNBELIEVABLE!! I love my friends, and I love my family, but I don't want to talk to them constantly.

 

Speaking of phone etiquette...my sister hung up on me today. I disagreed with her about something so she just hung up. Niiiiiice. I can't decide whether to be hurt or angry so right now I'm both. Family issues - UGH. Family history - UGH. Family relationships - UGH.

 

It oughta be a law that when a person sings the National Anthem that they have to sing it like it was written. Don't jazz it up. Don't add a bunch o' scat. Don't country it up, or opera it up. Just sing the song respectfully and sit down so we can get the game started. Ha!!

 

Y'all have a good week...

 

 

It's Spanish for "three" and he's a III. Instead of "Trey" we call him "Tres." He has a cousin who is a Jr and we call him "Dos." Cute, huh?

 

Tres is my oldest niece's oldest child. Each of my nieces and nephews are special to me for one reason or another, or special because they just are, but Tres is my light. Tres is my "circle of life" kid. You see, Tres was born three days after my dad died - the day after Daddy's funeral. Ain't gonna lie, I was in a bad place. Depressed, sad beyond description. Then my brother, who had called just three days before to break the news to me about Daddy, called to tell me my niece had delivered a healthy boy and both were doing well. My niece had told her dad (my brother) that "Gramps had gotten to hold Tres before any of us." You know the old saying "out with the old, in with the new?" That was my family that week in January 1995. Both events were extremely emotional but on totally different ends of the emotion-spectrum. Nothing like a good rollercoaster ride to get yer blood pumpin'...

 

Tres is in Texas right now. While his family relocates from one side of the country to the other, Tres will stay with my brother and sister in law so he can play baseball. He loves it. My brother, who has passed the love of baseball to all but one of his kids and now to his grandkids, is thrilled. [Which is ironic because his kids call him Thriller. It's a nickname thing. They call their mother Lynnie (her middle name is Lynn). I know - we're odd; but we're fun!]

 

Sometimes it's weird being the old great-aunt. It feels more like "aunt once removed." It's weird because Tres feels about my youngest niece like his mom feels about me. It's weird because my nieces are in their thirties now. How did that happen so fast? It seems like just last week that I was on my knees between the two girls teaching them some crazy choreography to "The Devil Went Down to Georgia" and sawing varsity's horns off as we swayed to The Aggie War Hymn. Ha!! I take great satisfaction in the fact that my nieces are good aunts. I taught them that, ya know. (On a side note - my nieces still remember the choreography and every once in a while we do it for old times' sake. Hahahhaa.)

 

I'm hoping Tres will get to come stay with me for a few days so he can go to baseball camp at my college. I would love the chance to "show him off." When his mom and her siblings were younger they liked to come stay with me in the summer so they could "get spoiled." That's what they called it because there wasn't much they wanted that Auntie didn't hook 'em up with during their visit. We'd go see any kid movie showing, we went to the zoo, we went shopping at the mall, to the pool, the girls and I would play beauty shop or cook things for fun. We made...Barbie clothes! They brought friends with them to stay. I was "camp" for about fifteen years. And...it...was...fabulous.

 

Physically he looks like his dad, but when I look at Tres I see his mama. I see those summers at my house. I see her doing gymnastics in the living room with her last year's bathing suit in an uncomfortable looking wedgie - with me as her "audient." (Audient = one person audience, a word she coined) When I look at Tres I see his mama's life flash before my eyes. I never thought another human could be as precious as my niece...and then she had Tres.

June is "sports daycamp" month around the ol' gymaroo. Parents with children too old for daycare and not old enough to stay home alone drop their kids off at the front door and hope we'll run 'em til they use up some of their pent-up "mama, I'm bored" energy. Many of the kids would rather be home playing video games or sleeping and behave accordingly. Although I don't have much to do with the actual camps I much prefer the peace and quiet of the past coupla weeks to the screaming and ball-bouncin' we have goin' on right now. Ugh.

 

I got a funny call last Friday from a guy who used to work with me. He's now a conditioning coach and athletic trainer in the Phillies organization. Great guy. Chuck went to visit him in Florida last weekend and they obviously drank a lot o' booze....a LOT of booze! My friend was drunk-callin' everybody he knew. Well, that's what we thought anyway. My usual runnin' buddy and I both got calls as did my boss. Ha!! He was slurring so I couldn't understand everything said, but the gist of the conversation was (1) he was drunk, (2) he is young and single, and (3) he was horny. He made it clear why he called when I answered and he yelled into the phone "This is a BOOTY call, MizAngie!" Me, "Well, GREAT, A****, a booty call from somebody 1,000 miles away!" A, "Well, we can talk dirty!" Me, "Call me back after 7:00 so I can talk dirty on my free minutes. I'm just not feelin' it on the minutes I have to pay for." A, "Aw, NO, don't hang up. MizAngie, I just love p*ssy!" I'm laughing because I know he's going to be mortified when he sobers up and somebody tells him what he said. A, "MizAngie, you know what I'd do for some p*ssy? I would run over a small child with a BUS if I could get some p*ssy!" Me, "A, I'm hangin' up. All this talk about dead babies and p*ssy is makin' me way too hot." Then I hung up. This conversation contained MUCH laughter. And yes, he did call the next day and apologized. I thought it was hilarious. Today we were all comparing our Drunk A**** calls when the volleyball coach realized she was one of the few who didn't get a call. So she texted the guy and told him her feelings were hurt. He texts her back and tells her she didn't get a call because she's way too classy for that. WHAT??? So I called him and said, "What is this shit? H**** is classy and D****and I are NOT?" A, "Oh, crap - she was in your office?" Yep...

 

I made homemade pomodore sauce yesterday and it was so good that I've probably pissed off an entire nation of Italian women. The Italian farmers were already mad at me for the beautiful basil I'm growing on the front porch. I'm sure I'll have to start exporting my basil to Italy any day now. Eating fresh does NOT mean eating cheap. My basil has already paid for itself, but my tomatoes haven't given me one ripe piece of fruit yet and I paid $2 a plant for 4 plants. I paid $3 for two pounds of homegrown tomatoes on the side of the road last weekend and used most of them in the pomodore. Canned woulda been cheaper. Not to mention the expense of the electricity used in the cooking and then the increased frequency of the a/c coming on as a result of the stove heating up the house. Aw, hell...I should probably just eat out. But there's not much better eatin' than a big ol' ripe tomato. Mmmmm, mmm, mm.

 

Three and a half days to go in this week...

My mind is haunted by the telling of a recent local event in which a two year old boy was killed. That alone is horrible enough as I hear of it on the local news. But my friend had lunch with the detective who worked the scene and he told her something about the murder that has not been released to media. The horror and sickness of it continues to haunt me and make my heart and stomach hurt until I want to cry. I won't tell you about it so you won't have it stuck in your mind. If you must, imagine the most sickening and horrible thing you can and you're probably halfway there... Death by lethal injection (The Texas Way) will be too merciful for the man who did this.

 

Our offices close at 1:00 pm on Fridays through the summer months. There's not much happenin' in the gym these days, especially on Fridays. I'm so lucky to be able to wear comfortable clothes and shoes (today - capris, tshirt, flipflops) to work, and it's even more relaxed when I'm only there 1/2 day. My boss was listening to some country music on an internet radio station. I was listening, too, as I mindlessly surfed the net. A commercial came on with a lady asking, "Are you ready for the weekend?" My boss said, "Yes." But he said it as if the lady was actually in the office with us and I got tickled. Then she said, "Wanna go to a place that serves GREAT margaritas?" My boss, "YES." It was sooo frickin' funny. He's a funny guy. He did leave around noon to go to lunch with his wife and kids. When he left he told me to have a good weekend. "You, too. And as you drive away, DO NOT look in your rearview mirror." (Meaning I wouldn't be far behind him in leaving early.) We had a good laugh.

 

To help keep the building cooler, dark tint was put on the windows and full-glass doors of the gym. It's been that way for awhile now. My office doesn't have windows, so nearly every damn time I walk out I think to myself, "Oh crap - it's cloudin' up!" Then someone opens the door and bright sunshine streams in with them and I feel like a moron...again. How on earth many times will that happen before I remember the frickin' windows are tinted? Sheesh.

 

Earlier this week it was the anniversary of the "grocery cart." Where I live we don't call it a grocery cart...it's a buggy. I knew it was called a grocery cart but it never dawned on me that not everyone calls it a buggy until the news anchor (who is from somewhere else) said she had never heard it called a buggy until she moved to Texas. WHAT??? Hahaha. I find things like this so interesting. I wonder why we call it a buggy instead of a cart? Or why nobody else calls it a buggy? Any scholars out there have any ideas?

 

Speaking of anniversaries...tomorrow is the tenth anniversary of the dragging death of Mr. James Byrd in Jasper, Texas. There's an interesting article on msn.com about how the town has changed as a result of what happened. The Byrd family raised themselves above most of us by how they handled the situation surrounding the death of their son, father, brother. They made themselves instruments of change that day, and continue to do so. God bless 'em.

 

 

 

 

 

See the Pre-K pix of my middle grandson's graduation? He's awful. (In a precious little boy kinda way.) Pure mischief all the time. I think it's silly as shit, though, to put those little kids in a graduation robe and hat. That should be reserved for BIG graduations - ones that can be life-changing like high school and college. I hope to hell that Pre-K, First Grade, or Junior High graduations aren't the only times some kids march across the stage. Sheesh. In my town they have Pre-K, First Grade, Fifth Grade, Eight Grade, GED, Alternative School (for the At-Risk kids), and regular High School graduations. I'm sorry but that's just too many frickin' graduations. I think awards ceremonies are just fine but ixnay on the obesray, okay? Make 'em work for SOMEthing for cryin' out loud.

 

At least two or three times a month I am startled awake by the sound of someone knocking on my door, or the creak of the front door opening. (I won't grease the hinges on my door so that I CAN hear it when it opens.) Scares the PISS outta me everytime. Instead of jumping outta bed and grabbing my shotgun or calling 911 I just freeze in the bed in fear. Then I look at Timber and he's just sawin' logs, never even raises his head to look at me. I know then that I must have dreamed the whole event. WELL, tonight on the NBC news they did a story about Puppies Behind Bars where female inmates train service dogs. They interviewed a soldier who had been in Iraq and now suffers from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). He received a service dog to help him with anxiety. This guy says that he wakes up at night and is very anxious and he looks at the dog and if the dog is calm then he knows he can relax because there's nothing really wrong. OH MY GOSH!! Timber is my frickin' service dog and I didn't even know it. I'm gettin' him a vest first thing tomorrow. I have no idea how I got PTSD but I obviously have it since I have similar symptoms to the soldier-dude. Believe me, I seriously know just how he feels waking up thinking all hell is fixin' to break loose in his house and the relief when the dog indicates it wasn't a real threat. I don't think Timber and I will be able to pull off the service dog thing, though, as he still hasn't grasped that whole "heel" thing. My right arm is a foot longer than my left from him dragging me around the backyard. Maybe if I would actually say "heel" instead of "slow DOWN you fucking dog!" he might catch on better. He already thinks "Fucker" is his middle name. The other day the neighbor kids were outside playing when Timber was dragging me around the yard. I caught myself and said, "TIMBER! You Fuuuuuuuuddy-duddy!" Even Timber looked at me like "What'd you call me?" ha!

 

My Little Helpers are getting bored with the summer slowdown. All of a sudden they're both "remembering" days they need to be off and forgot to mention before. Hmm... I said, "Not a problem. You no worky, you no get paid." I'm one to talk...I came sooooo close to callin' in sick this morning but something in the back of my mind told me my boss already had something planned so I went in. Good thing! He played golf this afternoon. I thought he was playing with his boss, but that guy called this afternoon. I said, "I thought he was playing golf with YOU." Boss, "No. Now you've gotten him in trouble if he's playing golf without me!" Me, "I must be mistaken. He's not playing golf. I think he's, umm, he's, uhhhhh, HAVING AN AFFAIR. Yeah, he's having an affair. He would never play golf without YOU." Then I sent my boss an email telling him about it and said "I'm just trying to help." Ha!! My boss can't reply, though, because we have a rule that if he emails/texts from the golf course I can leave immediately. He's also not allowed to text me from the toilet. Or when he's on vacation somewhere fun. He has a blackberry (which we call a hackberry) so he's forever getting this message from me..."Where the hell are you?" Ha!!

 

I went on my monthly trip to WalMart for dog food, dog treats, toilet paper, Rolaids, assorted toiletries, and a few groceries. I faithfully stuck to my list and it was still $135!!! You know what the checkers here hate? They hate when people bring their own bags for the groceries. Too bad, people! I would soooo rather carry my three reusable totes than 5 jillion plastic Walmart bags. They used to have a receptacle in front of the store for recycling bags but it's no longer there. I think they hate it because I buy less stuff. I don't want to buy more than what I have bags for and that cuts down on impulse shopping. BIG TIME cuts down on it. So that's my green thing that I do regularly. That and I don't buy bottled water anymore. Well, unless I'm OUT somewhere and that's how I have to get it.

 

Good grief. Where has my night gone? I came home for a little bit - watched the news. Then I went to Walmart. Then I ate supper. Now it's nearly 10:00 pm! DANG!!! It's as if I'm in some sort of Twilight Zone. "She walked into her house after work, and then it was bedtime!"

 

G'night!