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8月31日 Even more disturbing...I thought the dogs in trashbags in the ditch was gross, but there's another local story that makes that look like a fairy tale. Two women in their late forties/fifties, both with service-oriented jobs, were living in an unairconditioned, unkempt trailer house with a bunch of dogs and cats. They had several deceased dogs wrapped in trashbags and stored in old coolers. Neighbors called the sheriff's department because, once temps started climbing, so did the stench in the trailer house. The news story included pictures inside the trailer. I don't see how these women could stay in there with all the poop, flies, fleas, maggots, stink, etc. They weren't exactly starving the animals as there were bags of food that had been left in the floor for a pet "buffet" - but the animals were very unhealthy looking. Several neighbors had reported their dogs missing, and a couple of them were found in the trailer. The women were arrested on animal cruelty charges and the animals were seized and moved to the humane society facilities for care. The women have bonded out of jail and are asking for their animals back. UH???? The judge refused their request today. Is that not the weirdest thing you've ever heard? I don't know how the women survived in a trailer house with no air conditioning in July/August in Texas, much less with all that filth. Sick. Very sick.
Changing the subject...
Twelve years ago this summer something crappy happened to me at work and I decided then that I would retire as soon as I became eligible. I had been here too long to leave as another entry level position would not have paid what I make here after twenty years. So for all this time I've had "retirement" on my brain. As my eligibility date got closer and closer I became more and more uneasy about actually pulling the plug on gainful employment. So I changed my mind. I'm not going to retire this year. Chuck TITS will be in Iraq, he thinks, for about eight months which would have left my boss alone in the office after December. As I've told all my friends, it's very liberating to know I can pick up my toys and go home anytime I want to after 12/31. I was letting something that happened twelve years ago color my judgement on what is best for me right now. I feel I've grown this week by letting go of some old hurts and moving on. And knowing I have some backup (in retirement) gives me a feeling of security that I have not had for quite some time.
Changing the subject again...
The person first in line at a traffic signal light has a responsibility to everyone else in that line to pay attention to the light. That person sets the tone for the rest of us in line. If that person has their head up their ass and doesn't "go" as soon as the light turns green, it slows down the entire line. So, knowing that, why on earth would a person not take that seriously? Why would you turn around and dig in the back seat for something, or search your purse, or put on lipstick, or check your text messages, or whatever? I take it seriously when I'm first in line. I sit, both hands on the steering wheel, staring at the light. Then, as soon as it turns green I take lightening quick glances left and right to be sure the other lines of traffic have stopped and then I punch that gas pedal and take off like a racehorse outta the chute. "Come on!" I want to shout to those behind me, "Let's get as many of us through here as possible before we get the yellow then red lights! Come on, come on!!" So frustrating when people don't follow the rules of the road.
Last time...
Tonight was "Friday Night Lights" in Texas. High school football. Serious business around here. The football is serious, but people don't realize the other aspects of the game that are every bit as important as the football. And that would be the cheerleaders. Cheerleaders in Texas are usually the cutest and most popular of all the girls in high school. To wear the little short skirt and tight shirt with the school logo across the front is almost equivalent to royalty. Then you have the band politics. Oh, boy! Drum-major competition is rougher than an Iowa caucus. And don't even get me started on feature-twirler stuff. The worst? The flag corps. These are kids that can't play an instrument, can't twirl, yet they give them a flag and teach them a routine. What a useless group. Can you tell I don't like the flag corps? It's usually made up of chunky girls and gay little boys. They might as well put "I'm a Geek and nobody likes me except the other people carrying these flags" on each flag. The most depressed men in Texas are those whose sons end up as drum majors and cheerleaders, or in the flag corps. Hahahahaha!! I don't know what happens between high school and college that makes cheerleading become cool, but it does. All of my observations are based on small schools only. It's different being a drum major of a 250 member band as opposed to the little band in a A or AA high school where the football players who also play an instrument have to march in their football uniforms. (Yes, it happens.) I'm rambling.
Good night. 8月29日 Disturbing.Law officers found bags and bags of dead dogs yesterday off a country road in my county as a result of residents complaining of the smell. They think many of the dogs are probably family dogs who were stolen or found and then used to train pit bulls to kill. Other dogs were probably pit bulls who were killed either in a fight or by their owners after losing a fight. In many of the bags there was hair, maggots, and a collar. If you're reading this and you're not feeling anger, sadness, or sickness then you might want to seek counseling 'cause there's something bad wrong with you. Even if you're not a pet person the cruelty of this should scare the piss out of you. Why? Because if there are people out there who can subject a living creature to such abject cruelty and pain then you can bet they would be likely to be cruel to anything or anybody that crosses them. These are mean people with no conscience. They don't value life. It scares me to leave Timber out during the day but he'd be miserable locked in a little utility room for 9 hours. I have padlocks on my gates but it wouldn't be too difficult to yank some boards off the privacy fence to let him out. When I think of my non-aggressive Timber cowering in a dog pit while another dog is taunted and goaded into killing him it makes me physically ill and incredibly sad. Timber wouldn't bite a hamburger patty, much less another dog.
Now, on the other end of this spectrum is Leona Helmsley who left her dog $12 million. I can't believe she would leave that kind of money to a dog and not to some of her own family. And what happens when the dog dies? Hopefully it will then go on to an animal-related charity of some kind. Crazy. I think of the homeless, the hungry, and I think how sad it is that this incredibly rich woman felt closer to a dog than to another human being. She did leave a lot of money to charities, but still...it's a dog. I love my Timber but, come on, even a dog that gives me unconditional love everyday is still a dog. Of course, $12 million to Mrs. Helmsley's bank account is probably like $12 to mine. Or 12 cents.
I've been accused of caring more about dogs [animals] than people. Not true overall. But in certain cases, well, maybe. It's just that animals are basically at our [humans] mercy. We've shrunk their habitats, reduced their numbers, domesticated many of them, and as a result they depend on us for food and shelter. I've been called a "humaniac." I'll take that if it means I have compassion for living creatures.
Now...how can I justify the juicy, medium rare beef steak I had for dinner? Ha!!
8月26日 Beginnin' of the academic year...All but a few books have been distributed to the scholarship athletes. It shouldn't shock me because it happens every semester, but there are a handful of kids who didn't take the time to come by and pick up their books. It's just as well. They probably wouldn't have used them anyway. Ugh. I managed to stir up a hornet's nest by questioning why an instructor told his classes they wouldn't need the textbook but instead would have to go to Office Max to purchase a $25 packet of lecture notes. All instructional stuff is supposed to be available through the college bookstore (contracted through Follett) for kids who are on financial aid. Now I'm worried that the instructor will take this out on the 8 football guys in his class. The non-rocket-scientists would have struggled anyway, now they're doomed to failure.
My friend and I went to a rollickin' tailgate party for the football game and then stayed for the game. She's the friend who has also gone to two fishfries with me. I told her we should go to a restaurant called "Catfish King" before the game to continue our fish-fry tradition, but we opted for the "cookout." We decided the tradition was probably not "fishfry" but "sweating profusely while eating." And we did that. Whew! At 6:30 p.m. it was still pushin' 90 degrees. They had all the tables for the tailgate party sittin' right out in the sun. I asked them to put one up under the trees in the shade so we'd be more comfortable, so they did. After a few minutes we had about 15 people sitting around a table meant for 6. The guys "in charge" finally put another table in the shade after I kept calling out to people, "Hey, y'all bring a chair and come sit with us in the shade." It didn't matter if they were students, administration, or current employees. There was a new dean there. I knew who he was but he didn't know me. He said he was glad I got there when I did so I could tell them to put tables in the shade. I laughed and said, "Well, it isn't really my party, but it's just too hot to sit in that sun." Later, I heard him ask someone who I am. He was told and then I heard him say, "Ohhhh...so THAT'S Angie from Athletics." Now, what the hell is that supposed to mean? I couldn't tell if it was a good thing or a bad thing! And he kept watching me as I b.s.'ed with some kids, hugged on some retirees, stuff like that. When it's a work-related thing, particularly in conjunction with athletics, I feel compelled to try to make people feel comfortable and have a good time so they'll come back again. When I'm on my "turf" I do that but when I'm not I'm self-conscious/timid/shy. It's a marked difference, too. It's weird.
My friend is a fellow old-maid. We're somewhat of an anamoly around here. Fifty years old, never been married, no children, but we don't dress like truck drivers or play golf or softball (tee-hee, sorry! very un p.c. statement, especially from someone who works in athletics). We're very girly-girl types. I know, I know - I sound very narrow minded but I'm just trying to clarify. We're both a little paranoid that people will think we're lesbians. We're not homophobic about other people being homosexual and think to each his own. However, we decided it bothers us as we don't want available men to make the mistake of misclassifying us. Ha!! Pickin's are mighty slim as it is so we don't need to further reduce our chances by having men think we're only interested in each other. She's a hoot. We both showed up at a ballgame one time in matching work-logo shirts, and she was sure people thought we did it on purpose. I said, "Shit, you need to relax. We both work here and we ARE at a ballgame! They just think we're representin' by sportin' our college gear." She's funny and I enjoy her company. We laugh a lot over really stupid stuff.
Speaking of not being a lesbian... We asked the chief of campus security to hire an extra cop to work at last night's football game. Before the game Chief brought the guy to me and introduced him. Wow. He was HOT. Chief was letting him know our expectations, etc.
Chief: We need ya t'keep people off the fence, help if anyone with a reserved ticket has someone sitting in their seats, stuff like that.
Me: At halftime we'll be a little more tolerant because band/drill team parents like to video... so don't cuff anybody!
Chief: Unless you cuff Angie. She'd like that.
New guy: Nervous giggle.
Me: Yes, well, not at the football game. [Then I did the phone symbol of thumb and pinky to my ear, and mouthed "call me."]
Me: So, Chief - you still have those pink, fuzzy cuffs?
New guy: [speechless but highly amused]
Chief: [now giggling uncontrollably]
This poor guy didn't know whether to shit or go blind. It was hilarious. Everytime the guy would patrol past us, my friend and I were ogling. Yes, OGLING, him. He was that kinda handsome. Like a latin lover type. He was hispanic with the dark skin, coal-black hair, gorgeous lips and bright, white teeth. Mmm-mm-mmmmmm.
By the fourth quarter of the game we had players on both sides of the field crampin' up. It was hot and humid. Have you ever seen football turf up close? It has a rubber base. It gets hot enough to kinda melt that rubber sometimes - which is why we play at night. Anyway, there's the heat from the atmosphere combined with the heat emanating back up from the rubber.. Whew! Trainers were pouring water down the guys' throats on every changeover (offense to defense) but some of the big guys still cramped up. It wasn't too awfully bad but that's easy for me to say since it wasn't me cramping. Not only does it hurt in the muscle to cramp, it kinda makes ya nauseous when it's that hot. My friend and I had chairs down on the sideline. This offensive lineman (probably the biggest of all burly positions) ran off the field straight to a spot about two feet down from us and was leaning against the bleacher wall. I looked at him, recognized the signs, and quickly turned to my friend and said, "Don't look at him - he's about to puke." Annnnd, he did. Blech.
Later on a kid walked by and I said, "That's the little boy that sold his books back last spring and I made him cry." She looked around and said, "Who? Which guy?" Me, "That one that just walked by." I pointed in his direction. Friend, "Number 74?" Me, "Yes." Then she died laughing. "What?" "You said LITTLE boy. That guy has to be about 6'5"!" Me, "Yeah. But he cried!" She thought it was hilarious that I had made that not-so-little boy come to tears. He's a good kid - he just made a bad decision - and he felt bad about it. He wouldn't have cried if he didn't have a good heart and a guilty conscience. He hugs me everytime he sees me now.
It's back to the grind tomorrow. It should be the last truly hectic week of the semester. I'll finish with the books and then start on certifying eligibility for basketball, golf, and tennis. Chuck T.I.T.S. will have his last day of work on Wednesday. He leaves to prepare for deployment to Iraq on September 4. I'm gonna miss that li'l goober. And worry about him.
Y'all have a good week! 8月21日 The book room (again)...I have some fairly busy times of the year in my job. Fall is the absolute busiest. New kids, [sometimes] new coaches, new rules, blah blah blah. Consistently, though, the all-time WORST part of my job is stocking the book room, distributing textbooks to scholarship athletes, and then collecting them at the end of the semester. Books are the biggest ripoff in education. I've ranted about that before so I won't get myself started or this blog will be 20 pages in length and be chock-full of profanity. That's what I'm having to do this week, in addition to all the other stuff. The Boss has been incredibly helpful, though. Making it even worse is the lack of air conditioning in the book room. Nothing helps my crappy attitude more than multiplying it with a little sweat and physical discomfort. Hmmph. The bookstore is giving me major grief this semester. Like I've said before, this has been the weirdest summer and most difficult beginning of the semester I've ever experienced. And it's not just me - all of my friends across campus have felt the same thing. We've changed software packages before and haven't felt so out-of-sorts. Maybe we're older, maybe the damn system ain't what it was s'posed to be. Whatever. In this second week of student activity, we're all tired and cranky.
The football coach came into our office today carrying something by his side, obviously trying to hide it. He went into The Boss' office and showed him whatever it was (I still don't know).
I went in, hand on hip, and said "I want to see it."
Coach, playing (?) dumb, "See what?"
Me, bein' bossy, "Whatever you're hiding from me."
Coach, still evasive, "I'm not hiding anything from you."
Me, now silly, "Come on, Coach. You show me yours and I'll show you mine."
The Boss, giggling, "He just didn't want you to see his helmet."
Me, still silly, "Your HELMET? That's what you're hiding - a damn helmet?"
Coach, laughing, "That's all I got."
Me, "Don't come in here again unless you got somethin' GOOD to show me."
There were all kinds of innuendos and insinuations, and we were all punch-drunk tired. We giggled like a group of 7th grade boys in science class when the teacher said "pelvic girdle" or "vagina."
I got an email from a former athlete announcing that he has accepted God's call and will become a minister. I love this young man. He's one of those people that has everything going for him. Good looking, intelligent, personable, ambitious. It's weird when you know someone real well, know things they've done that are usually not considered "God's way", and then they become a preacher. We expect our preachers to think purer thoughts than we do, make better life decisions, walk a straighter path. Yet we're all sinners, even preachers. Of course, there are those amongst us who have taken sinning to a whole new level. {teehee} I hope to go hear him preach his first real sermon, but it will depend on whether I can find a dogsitter for Timber or not.
Tomorrow will be another big day so I guess I better get some shut-eye. I was up until 1:00 this morning working on the emming-effing book order so I could email it to the bookstore first thing this morning. Hopefully we'll get the books in tomorrow, fill the orders and distribute them on Thursday. My weekend would be a lot better if I knew I was done with my yechiest duty. (Ha. I said "doody.")
Deuces.
8月17日 Paw-Paw's house... With the onslaught of T.S. Erin and with hurricane Dean bearing down on the Gulf Coast, it has reminded me of my grandmother's house. I know - I titled this "Paw-Paw's house." Well, we called my grandMOTHER Paw-Paw. My oldest cousin, Paw-Paw's first grandchild, set the tone for all of us to look like idiots by getting confused and calling her Paw-Paw. Go figure.
Paw-Paw was married several times but her final husband, my GrandpaDaddy, was a cool dude. He built sailboats, was an artist, painted all the billboards for the Rialto Theater in Aransas Pass, Texas, and built a house for Paw-Paw and her kids. He painted a self-portrait one time and he looked very Van Goghish except with both ears. He worked in a refinery to support the family and did his artist and craftsman stuff just for himself. He was a very creative man. GrandpaDaddy died when I was a year old so I don't remember him, darnit. I probably would have liked him a lot more than I did my crazy grandmother.
Okay, this house... Back then people didn't evacuate for hurricanes. Ya might move to higher ground or to a shelter, but folks just didn't go far from home. So GrandpaDaddy built a house that could withstand hurricane-force winds and they lived on the high side of town outside the seawall so didn't worry about flooding. The house is low with a flat Spanish-tile roof. The walls are 7-inch concrete. It was like a bomb shelter! They didn't have air conditioning, of course, but it was always cool like a cave. The huge liveoak trees sheltered and shaded the house from the hot South Texas sun. There was always a slight smell of mildew, though, as there is in most cool, dark places on the Coast. I loved that house. The kitchen was built like a ship's galley. Stove, refrigerator, and tiny pantry on one side, sink and cabinets on the other. It was no bigger than a medium-sized walk-in closet. My favorite thing was the front door - it was curved across the top like a cottage door in Ireland (according to my imagination), with a big cast-iron door handle and doorknocker. Downright leprechaunish. It looked very magical and princessish. Of course, I always knew that upon entering those doors I was in for several days of playing with my cousins, parties on the beach, cookouts on the great patio in the backyard, fishing in the Gulf, sandcastles, and slumber parties full of cousins of all ages.
My mother told stories about the entire neighborhood coming over to ride out a hurricane with them. They would play cards and dominoes as long as they had electricity or lanterns, sing to GrandpaDaddy's squeeze-box (accordian), sleep, and just have a big ol' time while the winds and rain roared. When the eye passed over they would all run outside to see what damage, if any, had been done to the surrounding area, and then pile back in as the winds picked back up for the second half of the storm. They rode out some major hurricanes, like Carla, Beulah?, Celia...
Back in Paw-Paw's (and my Mother's) day everyone was responsible for picking up the pieces of their lives and properties after a storm. They didn't expect handouts from the federal government. They chose to live on the coast knowing the hazards, and knew they had to cope with the bad to enjoy the good of coastal living. I can remember waiting for notice that roads were deemed passable and then aunts, uncles, and cousins would all meet at Paw-Paw's house to put things back in order. It was very festive.
Paw-Paw's house is still standing but I don't think anyone lives in it. My aunt owns it and can't bear to sell it because her daddy built it. (GrandpaDaddy was my mother's stepfather, but my aunt's biological father). I don't think it's in livable condition right now because of rusted water and gas pipes which are buried in the concrete foundation. The last time I drove past the house, probably 20 years ago, it looked haunted. I felt the presence of my grandparents even from the street. I could hear the loud family gatherings. I could almost feel the cool concrete floor on my bare feet. A fun house. A safe house, built with care, love, and attention to detail. My mother's heart was grown there.
I think I was born with a little sea water in my veins, and I'm a Pisces (which I don't put a lot of stock in but it is a water sign). I was born in South Texas, and my mother was definitely a bay-rat. No matter what I do in my house (as far as decorating) I always end up with seashells, beach paintings (done by Mother), and colors of the coast. I think I'm doing "country" or "country cottage" and before you know it I'm right back at "seaside cottage." I guess it's comforting on a level I'm not fully conscious of until it dawns on me that I've dug the seashells back outta the closet. Reminds me of me mither and me childhood, I guess.
NOTE: Today was the day the a/c was turned off in my building. My boss called me at 8:00 a.m. and told me they were taking it down right away instead of waiting until noon so I didn't need to come in at all. Well, I had things that reallllly needed to be done since Monday is the first day of school, so I was gonna stay just until I finished. I had been told by the college electrician that our offices are cooled by individual a/c units and are not cooled by the power loop that was being shut down for repairs. So, unless they killed the power, our a/c would not be shut off. I kept this information to myself, however, so I could get a freebie 1/2 day off. The Guilt Monster finally got the best of me this morning when my boss emailed me a coupla times urging me to go home and not work in the heat. Pffft. It was cool enough to hang meat in our office! I finally 'fessed up and he ROARED with laughter. So I did my work and when I was finished came home (2:00 p.m.) and took a great nap with Timby. My conscience is clear, I got tons of work done, earned a coupla kudos from my boss who was pleased that I stayed to work instead of screwing off the entire day (he stayed home, by the way), and still got three free hours to piss-away. Life is good... 8月16日 Pissy.The stress and heavier-than-usual work load is making me pissy. My position at work is of a supportive nature, but some people just frickin' take advantage. I'm supportive but I'm not supposed to have to do everything for every coach. One guy was in the office today "being helpless" so I was having to hold his hand and walk him through stuff that he should have been able to do himself in a matter of minutes. He stood up and said "I'll be right back - I've gotta go to the bathroom." "OK." He got up and walked out of the office, and I was right on his heels. He thought I was going to the mailroom, which is in the same direction. I wasn't. He walked past the mailroom, I walked past the mailroom right behind him. We get to the bathroom (w.c.) door and he finally gets it that I'm going with him. "What are you DOING?" "Well, John, I've been doing all the rest of your paperwork, I figured I'd have to wipe your ass for you, too." "Point taken," he said.
Another guy has me do things for him but he thinks he's REAL slick and that I don't even realize I've been "tricked" into doing his work. I might have been born at night, but it wasn't LAST night. So today I tell him to do his own shit. "Oh, oh, yeah - I will. I'm sorry. You've been SO GOOD to me these last ten days - even though I see that you're really swamped. You are so helpful and I appreciate you soooo much." He was drawin' flies he was talkin' so sweet. Me, "Won't work. I can't be conned today. Do your own shit." He couldn't even act offended as he knew he was busted.
Another coach likes to call in and act like she needs help because she's not there. She called today and wondered if I could help her out by filling out a requisition for her. "No." But she's on the road. "No." But she can't come into town because she can't find a babysitter. "No. I saw you drive away from here about ten minutes ago. You should either get your shit together and do your stuff when you're here, or turn around and come back to do it."
Now, I realize that I sound like a bitchy-bad-ass, but if I don't stand up to people on staff who have very strong personalities I would become little more than a doormat. And that, boys and girls, ain't happenin'. Luckily, I too have a strong personality. Ha! Makes for some heated conversations sometimes but overall we get along great in our department. We're all funny (most of the time) and we have a lot of fun (most of the time). But there are days, like today, when everything seems to hit all at once and the coaches seem to have gone brain dead regarding paperwork, when I get p-i-s-s-y. You can almost hear the whispers go out into the gym "don't go in there - she's on the warpath" and then I don't see anyone for awhile. Works out great, though, because then I get more done! Then I'm not [as] pissy anymore.
This has been the weirdest summer, and most difficult beginning of the year I've ever seen. There are so many new people across campus, and in key positions, plus a new computer system, that everything seems more complicated and tedious. We've switched software before but it's never been this crazy.
A friend of mine who attended the university of texas (poor thing) called and told me a joke. For those of you not from this area, texas and Texas A&M are arch-rivals. texas longhorns' colors are orange & white. A&M's Aggie colors are maroon & white. texas has enjoyed better outcomes on their football games in the past few years, even though A&M has beaten them. Anyway, the joke: Know how to get an Aggie to stop masturbating? Answer: Paint his dick orange and he'll never beat it again. [Nadine - feel free to insert Oklahoma red and OkState orange in place of the colors I listed.]
We're supposed to get some rain from T.S. Erin. We've just about dried out from earlier rains so this is a good thing. My fig trees need a drink. I planted a weepin' willow in the front yard (they're so romantic looking). It was doin' GREAT but the leaves have turned yellow and mostly fallen off. I think it got too much rain. I hope it comes back. I love that little tree! It's only about six feet tall so far but already so elegant and, um, well, willowy.
'night. 8月14日 Tuesday stuff...One of my nieces totaled her car today. She turned sixteen three weeks ago and the car was her birthday present. Thank God she was wearing her seatbelt and had all those airbags in the car - she wasn't hurt at all. She told my sister she doesn't want another car. We'll see how long that lasts. She's a sweet, sweet girl.
I read on msn that there's a new push to change drinking laws to age 18. The drinking age was 21 and was changed to 18 in 1974. I know because I turned 18 in 1975, a few months after the law changed. I bought liquor and got drunk on my 18th birthday. The argument then was the same exact stuff they're saying now - if young people could be drafted and fight for their country (in Vietnam), then they should be allowed to drink and vote. Of course, they ended the draft and, after several years (the year my oldest niece turned 18 - 1986, I think) changed the drinking age back to 21 but left the voting age at 18. Now, with young people going to Iraq, the argument has resurfaced to allow legal drinking at 18. As I write this I realize I may have several facts incorrect because I was a teenager and spent WAY more time thinking about boys than I did voting. I personally don't think 18 year olds should be allowed to purchase alcohol and/or drink. I don't think anyone under 21 should be able to drive, or go out in public. Ha!! I just don't see why being a soldier should make a difference in whether 18 should be the drinking age, because the majority of 18 year olds are NOT soldiers. Maybe the law should read "you can drink at 18 with a military i.d." or something like that. Although we depend on the military to protect our way of life, keep us secure, etc, being a soldier is basically a job, a vocation. It would make as much sense to say that kindergarten teachers need legalized pot to keep 'em mellow so we'll make it legal for everyone to smoke pot. (Hmmmm....okay, focus, focus!) So, my apologies to all 18-19-20 year olds, but y'all just don't need to be drankin'. However, I don't think changing the law back to 21 has slowed very many teenagers down, especially fraternities & sororities. I probably would have been a social drinker legal or not - but at least I didn't get grounded because it was legal.
A big example why 18 shouldn't be legal... One night my 19 year old friends and I (also 19) went to a big honky-tonk in Lovelady, Texas, called the SPJST Lodge. It's some sort of organization that has a lodge, but on the weekends people drove from miles around for the live bands and dancin'. We were drinkin' and dancin' and having a big ol' time when my friend's ex-boyfriend came in with a new girl. Ugh. MAJOR drama!! You know, there's nothin' worse than a cryin' drunk. Turns out the guy was wearing the shirt she gave him for Christmas, which seemed to make alllll the difference in the world. (?) Anyway, my other friend and I have to take the now sobbing hysterical friend home (about a 25 mile trip). I drove, while my other friend consoled the crying girl in the backseat. It was a HUGE crisis in our lives (at that time). It's very true that God protects idiots and babies, because he sure protected our idiot asses that night. I was driving my friend's brand new Chevy Monte Carlo (niiiiice car, by the way). BIG motor, LOTS of gasoline. And plenty of get-up-n-go. I looked down at the speedometer several times and I was doing at least 115 mph. Not only were we lucky that I didn't crash and burn, but that there wasn't a highway patrolman between Lovelady and Grapeland (and there usually was on a Saturday night - because of the SPJST Lodge festivities). Poor decision making is why kids shouldn't be allowed to drink. If the law can keep just one carload of idiots from being on the road it will be a good thing.
I saw a story on NBC news tonight about the price of milk. The guy talked about why the cost of milk is going up. Corn is being used for ethanol instead of feed, dairies are going out of business so there aren't as many cows, cows can only produce a certain amount of milk each. Cows were a very key part of this story. The reporter's name? Lee Cowan. Do you think they did that on purpose or is his name just a coinkydink?
Timber was a good boy at his vet appointment. And $183 later, he is resting comfortably. He has allergies which worked themselves into fungal and bacterial infections in his ears, something with his eyes (forgot what he called it), and some staph on his skin from scratching. He now gets eardrops twice a day, antibiotic twice a day, and prednisone everyday for awhile. And he told me to keep giving him benadryl along with the steroid and keep bathing him with the oatmeal shampoo. I asked if the steroid was gonna make him a Jose Canseco dog but he didn't see the humor in that. It's not like the steroid is gonna shrink his nuts - I took care of that with the neutering. Poor fella. And he could stand to be a little bit aggressive. But I'm glad his forehead won't start protruding. I thought I cleaned Timby's ears pretty good but I don't go as deep into them as the vet assistant did today. Yech. She made him moan, though. It was pretty funny. She had about half her hand down his ear canal with a cotton ball and he was leaned over moaning. Bless his heart - his ears were really itchin'. I feel like a bad mother at this point even though the vet assured me it wasn't caused by something I did or didn't do. It all stemmed from his allergies. This is the first summer his skin has been an issue, other than a few hot spots from flea bites. He got a pedicure, too.
Just found out I'll get a bonus 1/2 day off on Friday when they turn off the a/c to do some work. (The stuff they were supposed to do last week but it got rescheduled.) Of course, they did this to the building next to us last weekend and now their a/c is STILL not back on. The heat index everyday this week is between 105 and 115 degrees and they're effing with the a/c. Whatever. I loves me a free 1/2 day off!!!
I'm still so swamped at work. I have to enter National Letters of Intent (it's an eligiblity thang) on the national website. I prepared all of the sophomore football players' letters last week and was entering all the signing dates today. I did about 20-30 of 'em. When I finished I was sitting in my chair, leaned back, staring at the ceiling. My boss breezes in and says, "Wow, you're really doing a lot today." I said, "Uh! You asshole - I was just taking a breather. I've been posting LOIs for an hour!" He died laughing. Turns out that everytime I hit the submit button it automatically sends him email notification. He wasn't being sarcastic because he caught me staring at the ceiling, he really meant he knew I had been busy. Oooops. Hahahhahaha...
The vice president called today because he had seen the football coach who was feelin' kinda poorly. He wanted me to "urge" the guy to go get checked out in the clinic. I replied that I couldn't make the grown man go to the doctor if he didn't want to. The v-p says, "Talk to him ugly like you talk to those guys and make him take his ass to the clinic." Me, "I don't talk ugly to anybody...you bastard." Ha!! Then he tells me that he had been visiting with the coach a few days ago and thought maybe something was wrong with him. He said, "I mean, we're sitting there by the fountain and he passed gas about three times without every saying excuse me or anything." Me, "Well, Doc, one of these days you're gonna be old and you'll learn that sometimes your body just won't squelch a fart the way it used to." Then I told him he had given me WAY too much information. I don't know how I get away with sayin' stuff. I don't know if it's the gray hair, or that I treat everybody the same, or what. But even the HR director asked me if he could use me in a seminar about what NOT to say in the workplace. (snicker) I told him he could if I could touch him inappropriately at least one time. Nobody talks to that tight-ass guy like that but me. He likes it. I think knowing when it's okay to play and who it's okay to play with is key.
Oh! I know what happened today that was so cool...Billy Gillespie called me. He coached basletball at Texas A&M last year and he's at Kentucky now. I've known him since he was a 3rd assistant at Baylor University back in the late 80s, early 90s, somewhere along in there. I thought it was so nice to hear from him and for about a minute I felt really big-time. Forgive me for dropping the name but he was like a rock star in these parts!
Timber and I are going to bed. I wish I had taken some benadryl when I gave him his. I could use the sleep!
Love y'all!
8月13日 Last weekend...Well, after two outdoor fish fries in two weeks I'm beginning to feel kinda seasick. For some reason, with it 96 degrees at 6:30 p.m., I could almost see the botulism growing on the tarter sauce. Lawzy, it was hot! I was sweatin' like a whore in church. The only thing that sounded appetizing was a sno-cone and they didn't have any. All they had for the guys who had just finished a two hour practice on the hottest day of the year so far was iced tea (better known by its' close friends in this area as "ice-tea"). Well, tea has caffeine and caffeine can dehydrate - you get the picture. This one kid cramped up real bad. I asked the hostess if I could please go to her house and get the kid some water, so we did that. After about an hour with lots of water the cramps were easing up. Have you ever seen anyone having really bad muscle cramps from dehydration? The way their muscles knot up almost looks like they have creatures under their skin crawling around. It's ooky. By the time the sun went down and it was cool enough to be pleasant, the party was over. I think I mentioned the kid who dehydrated bad enough to be hospitalized last week. Well, he's still in the hospital. Looks like he may have suffered some kidney damage. We're hoping he'll continue to improve. Bless his heart. He's scared t'death. I'm sure he's worried about his kidney, but what he's scared about is that he might not get to play football. Duh.
Timber has a doctor's appointment tomorrow afternoon. When I bathed him yesterday his ear was red and kinda swollen inside. He yelped a little when I stuck the rag in his ear and usually that's his favorite part of the bath. His eyes have been real pink lately, too. Allergies, probably. Humans are goin' around sneezin' and snortin' so I figure if we have allergies he could, too. I took Timber to the office with me yesterday afternoon (Sunday). It was too hot to leave him out and he woulda been lonesome by himself in the utility room. So we just packed up and went to work to get a few things done that are easier without the phone ringing and people comin' in asking me a brazilian questions. I was locking my front door with my right hand, holding the leash with my left (one of those that will let out to about 20' or so), when Timber saw a damn cat. As a dog, he felt it was his duty to chase the cat. When he took off he yanked the leash thing out of my hand real hard. He broke a fingernail and by last night my finger felt like he did something to a tendon or something. Very sore! Luckily he came back to me when the cat went up a tree. He behaved really well at the gym (my office). He did want to play volleyball but I couldn't let him get on the gym floor (toenails scratch the finish). Besides, he has volleyballs at home. And soccer balls. And tennis balls. (Shhhhhhhhh.)
I stopped by CVS Pharmacy after the fish fry to pick up a few little items. There was a young man there visiting with the cashier and he was obviously effed up on something. As I waited in line, he started a conversation. Here it is:
High Guy: "blah blahblah mumble mumble free?"
Me: "What?"
High Guy: "wha blah mumble. Are you drug free?"
Me (kinda puzzled - did I look high?): "Yes."
Me (with a sarcastic giggle): "Are YOU drug free?"
High Guy: "What?"
Me: "Are YOU drug free?"
High Guy (also with a slight laugh): "Whoa! Hell to the fuckin' NO!"
Me: "Niiiiiiiiiiice."
Then, as I paid for my stuff he's checking out my billfold.
High Guy: "Wow. You have lots of money!"
Me (who doesn't have lots of money but did cash a check last Friday): "Well, I have a JOB - and I'm drug free."
High Guy: "If I had a lot of money I would buy me a candy bar."
Me: "You must have a big ol' case of the munchies."
High Guy (pleased that I was catchin' on): "Hells yeah!"
Me: "Ummm. It's a shame you don't have a big ol' gooey, chocolatey candy bar."
High Guy (thinking I'm fixin' to buy him one): "Aw, that'd be awesome."
Me: "Yep, well, bye."
I asked the cashier if she was okay or if she wanted me to stay. She was okay - I think the guy was either a boyfriend or a wanna-be-boyfriend. Oh, honey, don't settle for a loser. I thought about callin' the cops but the guy seemed fairly harmless. He just had a filthy mouth; and although the words don't particularly offend me (as an often potty mouth myself) his timing and locale-selection stunk.
This morning I had another amusing exchange with the men's basketball coach. We were discussing this goofy guy that worked for me two years ago because I was comparing someone he is interviewing with the goofy guy.
So I say, "Please don't hire Frenchy. He's on my all-time shit list second only to Shane."
Coach: "Uuuugh. Shane. He was so... He's a.... He was so...."
Me: "INSIPID!"
Coach: "Well, I was gonna say 'douche bag' but you whipped out the thesaurus on me!"
Hahahhahahaaha.
We had our first big staff meeting of the year today. Well, actually, our only big staff meeting of the year. Ha! I work with some funny, funny people. There were several new faces in the crowd. My boss, going over the new do's and don'ts, addressed the new people and said, "The main thing you new people need to know is to NOT touch Angie's pen." The old-timers just cracked up. My obsession with my pen is well-known. So one of the coaches says, "Can we still touch Angie?" Boss, "Oh yes. She doesn't mind that and actually encourages it. But don't touch that pen, I'm tellin' ya."
Gee. I can't wait to see what tomorrow will bring... 8月9日 CeeCee n stuff...My niece sent a nude shot of a sleeping CeeCee so I could see the tan lines on her little legs and arms even though she wears SPF50 sun block. She loves to play outside in her plastic pool, and in the big pool when her Mama takes her. She's into EVERYTHING now. Watching her is like watching a bucket o' worms! Today I got new pix of her aggravating the cat (Deuce). Here's my niece's response after I commented on the baby's tan. Everytime I read it I get tickled...
Yes, she is tan. We're staying out of the sun today, though, because we've been outside everyday since Saturday. Her poor little feet need to heal from our spray park experiment.
She loves to try to bite and/or kiss the cat. I turned my back for a couple of seconds to get the camera, and when I turned back around she had his whole damn foot in her mouth! The same foot with which he stands in his litter box to shit. GROSS! She also ate a mum today. I was moving a planter box from one side of the yard to the other because the mums I just planted are already dying, and of course I had to do this w/her on my hip and she just bent down and chomped on a semi-dead mum. Hope they're not poisonous!!! She has little to no interest in food yet she'll eat cat hair and dead mums. Weirdo. Trying to clean up the office while Baby Girl sleeps. Yesterday she stuck her fingers in the little fan on the side of the computer tower and cut two of them. She is so banged up right now. Aren't they funny? I told my niece not to worry about the cat hair unless CeeCee starts harking up fur balls. As someone who ate half a caterpillar when I was about her age, I know you can live through all kinds of nastiness. My brother had a penchant for cigarette butts and my sister ate dirt. Go figure. I think I've mentioned that CeeCee is high maintenance. She won't let my niece get too many steps away from her (unless CeeCee has something on her mind - like sticking her fingers in the computer fan or something). My niece had a ring re-set in a new mounting. CeeCee had to be right in the middle of her opening the FedX package when it arrived in the mail. When CeeCee saw the bling, she drew in her breath and said "Oh, WOW." She's definitely related to my niece and me - we like the sparklies, too! CeeCee isn't even 11 months yet and already likes jewelry. She wears bracelets all the time. So cute. So much fun. So precious. I tried to attach a photo but of course I can't effing figure out how to do it. Grrrrr... The Cowboys are on. I just hate preseason football, but I'm like a moth. When the light of the tv is shining I'm drawn to it. Ha! I have to watch the Cowboys or they'll take away my redneck membership card. I meant to go to bed before they were over but I got drawn into this damn computer. Shoot! The soccer coach called. He was "ticked" because he heard that not only would we be in a heat advisory this weekend, but there will be a huge meteor shower on Saturday and Sunday nights. So, if he moved his practices to nighttime to avoid the heat, he would have to contend with the meteor shower. I asked him if he had any meteor helmets in stock, but he didn't. I emailed the trainer to see if he had a catalog source for the meteor helmets, but we didn't have anymore money in the budget. I'm pretty sure we would be able to find the helmets in a catalog that also contains sky hooks and polka dotted paint. I guess we'll just have to suffer through the heat... hahahahahah... We may not be funny to anyone else, but we sure do amuse ourselves and each other! I'm going to bed. I need to get up early and get to work before anyone else gets there. I get so much more done before 8 or after 5. Once other people begin showing up we start visiting, the phone rings off the hook, etc. If anyone out there is betting on whether I actually get to work before 8:00 - don't bet very much. I just hate gettin' up in the mornings. Well, at least for work. G'night.
8月8日 Baseball n stuffI ended my computer session last night just in time to settle into bed, turn on the tv, and catch Barry Bonds breaking the career homerun record held for thirty some-odd years by Hammerin' Hank Aaron. I had pretty much whipped myself into an emotional frenzy with my remembrances of Champ, so I continued the waterworks when Bonds broke the record. Sentimental stuff just tears my ass UP. Bonds has become "the face" of steroid use in the MLB. If he weren't such a jerk to fans and media they probably would have migrated to someone else to be poster boy, but he is a jerk and now he IS "the face." I kinda think of him as "the scapegoat." For years the MLB did nothing to control steroid use. They turned their heads because the more exciting the players and games, the more people want to see, and the more tickets they sell. As cynicalpsychologist says, you can usually trace things to the money. Then, as media had more access to locker rooms and clubhouses, too many people found out about the steroid use and publicized it. Then it became an issue. Now the MLB needs to punish someone for using steroids, make someone the villain, and then they can say they cleaned up baseball. Barry Bonds is a GREAT villain. He's surly, petulant, unapproachable. If Bonds were the only somebody in the MLB juicing then I would agree with punishing him, taking away his records, etc. But he so wasn't the only somebody. So with a, supposedly, large number of guys also using steroids, I say Bonds should keep his record - without an asterisk, without prejudice. If that many were juicing then he still did better than all of them. Either prove the steroid use and kick him out of baseball, or shut the hell up about it. And while you're at it, let Mark McGuire into the damn Hall of Fame. The man almost single-handedly saved baseball after too many strikes, too many boring seasons, by breaking Roger Maris' record and making it worth turning on the tv and watching a baseball game. They need to get a commissioner with some common sense and let him straighten out the damn league.
Does anyone besides me think it's weird that Michael Ervin can be convicted multiple times for cocaine possession and use, among other things, and still be inducted into the football hall of fame, but Pete Rose is under a lifetime ban from baseball for a bit of gambling? I know, I know - different leagues. Ervin's induction speech was nice. He apologized for past behavior, urged his own children not to be like him but to be better. But how many other kids familiar with Ervin's history are thinking, "Hey. I can get in trouble for drugs and hang out with questionable people doing questionable things, still play pro football, still make a LOT of money, still have a tv career, and still get into the football hall of fame. I can have it ALL." I think that's how you get a Michael Vick and a Pacman Jones...
Aren't we funny? We love our heroes. We build 'em up into unrealistic characters in society. We put them on tall, skinny pedestals - and then we anxiously wait on the ground for them to fall off those pedestals. I can't tell which we enjoy the most - the building up or the fall from grace. Somewhere between their free college educations that most never finish and their first court date, we forget those guys are just human. But then, so do they - forget, I mean. They start believing their own press. Fame is a blessing and a curse. Pffft. Like I would know that! Ha. If I've ever been on a pedestal it was no higher than, say, a thimble. Look at me - I'm on a pedestal!! Wait. My bad. It was just a rock.
I wonder who invented those girdle-looking things that football players wear as practice pants nowadays? I want to send them a thank you note. Wow. I didn't even have to use my imagination today while watching practice. Their mothers would crap if they knew the thoughts I was having about their little boys. {giggle}
A note for a certain Scottish gentleman: HELL YEAH BASEBALL IS A REAL SPORT!!!! (tee-hee)
8月7日 ChampA friend put up a post about his dog and it made me think of my old dog, the one I had before I rescued Timber.
When I was a baby our family dog was a big, white English bulldog named Bozo. I was right at a year old, barely walking, yet already talking enough to have conversations with Bozo. Anyone familiar with this breed of bulldog knows that they're not particularly aggressive dogs, yet very loyal to those loyal to them. Bozo attached himself to me and became my bodyguard. When my mother put me outside to play in the yard, Bozo never left my side. Bozo was SO protective that my parents had to post a "Beware of Dog" sign on the front fence gate because he would attack anyone coming in uninvited when I was around. He didn't bite them but he would put his nose against the person's leg and everytime they tried to move the dog would growl. He was pretty dang intimidating. English bulldogs always look mean as hell, but usually aren't. Bozo always put himself between me and anyone else in the vicinity. Bozo is credited with teaching me to walk. He would stand perfectly still while I pulled myself up using his baggy skin as handles, and then he would walk very slowly with me holding onto the skin on his back. Bozo was so protective that Mother would put me in my walker in the backyard and leave me there with the dog while she stood at the kitchen sink washing dishes or fixing lunch, etc. Anyway, you can see why the ol' white bulldog always had a special place in my heart. Heck, he's in all my baby pictures! He died shortly after my first birthday when someone down the street who was afraid of him poisoned him one weekend when we were out of town. They never proved it but it was a small town and people just knew these things. I'm glad I don't remember that part. [Side note: Bozo nearly died one time when he was humping his girlfriend (aka my sister's tricycle) and got his, um, winkie hung on the seat and nearly cut it off. Lots of blood...]
Thirty-five years later... After numerous family dogs my parents decided they would purchase a pair of bulldogs and start raising them for profit. They bought Winston and Bridget and then found out that, because of a bulldog's short legs, the female would have to be artificially inseminated. And, if they wanted to use Winston as the father, well, they would have to harvest his sperm. (Needless to say we only had one litter before they decided that was not only a lot of trouble, but downright gross.) Out of that litter there were four brown and white spotted puppies...and one solid white male. He was mine from the minute he was born. Judging from the look on my Daddy's face, I think he bought and bred the dogs just to get me that puppy. My son was planning on attending Louisiana Tech University and their mascot was a big, white bulldog named Champ. I had to register him as Angie's Buddy, but I called him Champ. Or Champy.
Champ was an Olde English Bulldog. His legs were longer than the squatty English bulldogs that are more common now. Bulldogs were originally bred as hunting dogs for large boar. Not having a nose to easily bite and a wide, strong chest made them difficult adversaries. However, the short snouts make it difficult for them to breathe, especially when they get hot. And they snore and fart more than most breeds. Their loyalty and affection make them well-worth the noise and smell. They have the cutest personalities. They really are bullies, pushing their way into your heart like they claim their favorite spot on their favorite chair or sofa.
Champ was just as protective of me as Bozo had been. One day I said something smart-assed to my Mother (imagine that!) and she reached over and gave me a well-deserved and playful smack on the arm. Champ was asleep on the floor at my feet - but not for long. At the sound of the smack and my yelp, he leaped onto my mother's lap and grabbed her arm. He didn't bite down. He held her arm and looked at me. Mother, her eyes big, told me I better get that damn dog offa her. I laughed and told her I was thinkin' about it. Then I told Champ it was okay and he let go and jumped down. Mother breathed a relieved "Holy shit." That was the first time I realized how protective Champ had become. My brother was a little afraid of him. One night when I was at my parents' house my brother came over. Champ and I were sitting on the porch enjoying the fall evening. My brother walked up out of the dark and surprised Champ. Champ would charge at my brother but when he got about six feet away from me he would back up until he was right in front of me, then repeat. My brother was so pissed, but he sure didn't come close to me until I held Champy's collar. I loved that he was so protective. Once I told the dog that I was okay he was totally cool with whomever, although he always kept himself between me and anyone else.
One day when Champ was about a year old we were driving from my town to where my parents lived. There were some guys in a truck next to me as I drove through a town. We pulled up to a light and the guys were laughing and looking into my back seat at Champ. He got that reaction a lot. He was a comical dog. I laughed with them, smiled and waved. Then I smelled it. The reason the guys were laughing was because Champ copped a squat on the back seat and took a big ol' crap. Ugh. I had to stop and empty the back seat but it took a thorough cleaning before that smell was gone. I realized he had been trying to tell me but I hadn't picked up on the signals. Never made THAT mistake again!
My sister had an old cocker spaniel. He was the alpha male when we were all in the same place. Champ was never aggressive to that stupid old dog, yet the spaniel would pick a fight nearly everytime they were together. My sister would start freaking out because she was convinced that Champ would eventually get pissed and kill her dog with one bite from his giant jaws on the spaniel's skinny little neck. She was afraid to reach in to stop the fight and would usually start crying. I would reach in to get Champ's foot to drag him out and that damn cocker spaniel would bite me. I got bit 3-4 times getting her dog off mine.
The morning my mother died Champ was asleep with me as usual. The hospital called at 4:37 a.m.. I knew what the call meant, of course. I gave the lady the funeral home information and then hung up. I began crying....sobbing...loudly. My sister and aunt had come into my room when they heard the phone, one on each side of my bed (they had planned to sit down so we could talk and cry together). Champy didn't know why I was crying, only that I was and that it must be one of those people's fault. As my aunt would try to approach he would jump over me and bark at her. My sister would try to get to me from the other side and he would jump back over me to bark and growl at my sister. Very protective, right? Yeah, until my sister grabbed a dog treat and lured him outside. So much for protection!
When Champ was eleven years old he began passing out on occassion. A trip to the vet told us he had lung cancer. No treatment. I took him home to absolutely spoil him until he began having difficulty breathing. The vet told me I would know when it was time to let him go. One day Champ "fainted" a couple of times when trying to play with Timber. That night, when I lifted him into bed for the night, he was shivering. It wasn't cold so I knew he had fever. I pulled the cover over him and snuggled next to him. I felt his body shiver and I cried. He finally stopped shivering and fell asleep. The next day he was listless. Another trip to the vet. He didn't have much longer. During the next two weeks it was obvious that Champ was very uncomfortable. He panted all the time and didn't want to play anymore. I made an appointment for the inevitable. At the vet, I wrapped my arms around Champ and held his head while the vet gave him the first shot that would relax him. You see, Champ didn't trust anyone else so I always served as vet's assistant. The vet-techs were afraid of Champ because he snapped at them. He would only let ME hold his legs or head while the vet tended to him. You can imagine my guilt to know this dog who trusted me so much was now being held so he could be put to sleep. I felt him relax. Then the vet gave him the second shot that calmly, but quickly, stopped his loyal ol' heart. I held him as his heart stopped. His life flashed before my eyes. The joy my parents had when they gave him to me. The numerous stuffed animals I threw for him to fetch while I sang Elmer Fudd's "Hunt the wabbit..." The night he chewed the arm off my couch while I slept. Protecting me. Licking my face when I cried after losing both parents. Being with me day in and day out while we co-existed, his fierce loyalty taking away feelings of being alone. The vet left me alone with Champ's body for a long time. He had delivered Champ twelve years earlier and had been our vet the whole time. At last I let him go, rubbed a blanket over him, and went home. Once home I gave the blanket to Timber so he could smell that Champ was gone. Timber and I were very sad. They say dogs don't have feelings, but I know that Timber had tears that night - I could see the wet fur around his eyes.
I had Champ cremated. He's on the mantle. When I die I'll be cremated and our ashes will be scattered together somewhere. Silly? I don't care... 8月4日 An "emotional affair"...I read an article yesterday on msn-Lifestyles. Very interesting. It was about people who are probably having on-line affairs and don't even realize it - "emotional affairs." People meet people online and begin sharing thoughts, feelings, and emotions with them, thus making it an emotional affair. The article claims that it can be as detrimental to a relationship as a physical affair because it makes one withdraw emotionally from the affair as they begin sharing with their online person instead of the one with whom they're supposed to be in a relationship. I can understand this. Even as a single woman I can kinda relate. I mean, I don't have a boyfriend/lover, and I enjoy meeting and talking to people online. Although I don't entertain thoughts of a physical nature (most of the time - ha!), just corresponding with someone who seems to appreciate what I have to say is a kind of rush. I even expand this to regular ol' friendships. I have to make a conscious effort to stay in contact with "real-life" friends instead of spending more time online leaving comments and messages. It would very easy to substitute interaction with selected people online as opposed to actually working at friendships and relationships with people I see face-to-face. Why work on a friendship when I can click on somebody's space who has said they like me/my writing and experience semi-guaranteed gratification and positive feedback? Beats the hell outta hurt feelings, looks of surprise or disappointment, anger, and even boredom that often accompany a "real" relationship/friendship. But I would also miss the looks of joy, sharing laughter (that I can HEAR), and don't forget good ol' actual human contact. A hug. A pat on the back. A held hand. A peck on the cheek. A sympathetic look on a bad day. There's no substitute for that stuff. To avoid the bad stuff means you miss the good stuff. You can buy battery-operated substitutions for sex, but not for the emotional part of a relationship. And not even a good dog is a substitute for a friend who will talk back. It would be bad enough to miss that stuff with a really good friend, but extremely sad to not have with someone you have committed your life to. However, for anyone who just read this - I am now having a little emotional affair with you because I shared my thoughts and feelings with you. Does that make you feel uncomfortable? Do you feel "emotionally raped"? Ha!!
I went to a party last night. Fun. It was a good old-fashioned fish-fry/cookout. It was hotter'n hell but the frozen margaritas helped stave off the discomfort. I had just enough margarita to make me a LOT of fun, but not enough to melt the elastic in my underwear. Just enough to make me funny, but not enough to lose control of what I might say. (whew!) Knowing I had to drive myself the ten miles home stopped me from going any further. I'm too old to have to spend the night on somebody's couch. Plus I had to leave because someone who WAS three-sheets-in-the-wind zeroed in on me even though his wife was there. Ugh!! I'm just not one to fool around with a friend's husband, ya know? So I came home. I was kinda hopin' to make a night of it, maybe even gettin' commode-clutchin', snot-slingin' drunk, but I was home by 10:30. Slept good, though! Whether it was from the tequila, the clear conscious, or a combination, I don't know. Hahahaha!! I was so proud of myself for not coming home and doing a drunk-post, or sending drunk-messages. One more margarita and I probably woulda!! I'm not nearly so "morally superior" when I start sending drunk-messages. Ha!! Thank God I don't have a bunch of embarrassing messages to apologize for today. Wouldn't be the first time... Truth be told, there are some of you who better be damn glad I don't have your phone numbers. Hahahha.
The admin came to their senses and rescheduled the a/c work that was to take place next week. Hallelujah! I won't have to sweat me arse off in the office next week. Plus, I'll end up with a Friday afternoon off in a coupla weeks when the do the work. Lucky for me! I'll have a gym full of big ol' jocks on Tuesday as they line up for their physicals. I usually put on a rubber glove and tell them the doctor has asked me to help him check for hemmorrhoids, but I'll probably refrain from that this time. Poor little gullible things. Plus, so many don't know what those are nowadays at that age. Ha!!
I was named for my Mother's aunt. Aunt Mary had a son, who had three sons. I haven't seen or talked to any of them since her funeral back in the late 1980s. For some reason I got a bug in my butt to talk to the long-lost cousins, so I tracked one of them down to Austin, TX. I called him today and talked to his wife for a long time. He's supposed to call back this evening. I don't know what we'll talk about but they seemed excited that I had made contact. I inherited a few things when my Aunt Mary died and I know they won't mean anything to my nieces and nephews because they didn't know her. I thought I would make contact with her grandsons to see if they might want the things that had belonged to their grandmother. The only value they have is of a sentimental nature. We'll see.
I guess I'll get back to my chores. I have my stereo turned up very high so I can hear it all over the house. I hope my neighbors don't complain! hahahaha...
8月1日 The day...I've had two crappy days at work. We have all these new people on campus this year and they're, of course, making changes. I feel like an old dinosaur that forgot to fossilize. It takes me awhile to adjust to change when it doesn't seem logical. Change just for the sake of change seems like a waste of time and effort. Some change is good and it makes things better or easier or more fun - whatever. I'm cool with that, and enjoy learning something new. It's revitalizing. Right now, though, I'm just not able to see the big picture on some dumbass things that are happenin'. Other than regular summer school classes, a few (very few) kids in the dorms, summer camps in June, and freshmen orientations, there hasn't been a whole lot of activity at work. There never is during the summer. Now, wouldn't it have made more sense to do work on the dorms or repairs on the air conditioners during the weeks when activity was light instead of waiting until the week before school starts, after the 200ish athletes already move into the dorm and start having practices? So, next week I'll be working three days in my office with no air conditioning. In August. In Texas. Oh, my aching butt. And, um, no they don't have any fans I can use. My sweaty ass will be in capris, a tshirt, flip flops, ponytail, with a fan from home blowing directly on me. I just hope my computer doesn't blow up. I could relocate for three days if I threw a big enough fit, but I would have to pack up all my files and take 'em with me. It will be easier to stay put where all my records are, my phone, my computer, etc. I don't mind "taking it for the team" but gee-mo-netty they should have planned this a lot better!
CeeCee called me today. My phone was in my purse so I didn't hear it in time, so I called back. My niece answered and immediately said, "You're using our anytime minutes!" (I've been having a cow because we've gone over our plan minutes the last two months.) I said, "Well, Ree, you called me first so I thought somethin' was up." Carrie, "I didn't call you!" "Yes you did." "No, I didn't. Oh, wait. CeeCee stepped on the phone wallago so she must have hit the redial button." We think CeeCee is part monkey. She loves to climb. She's 10.5 months, nearly 14 pounds, and she likes to crawl as high as she can get which, of course, keeps us all on our toes. Anyway, ReeRee put the phone to CeeCee's ear while I sang the "I love my CeeCee" song (written and produced by me, of course). She never said anything but stared and grinned at the phone according to my niece. Carrie swears it was an accidental dial by a tiny climbing foot, but I'm pretty sure CeeCee knew exactly who she was toe-calling.
I had two nearly-ripe figs on my little trees on Monday so I gave them another day of sunshine instead of picking them. I went out today after work and all that was left of them were the stems. Either birds or bugs had them a delicious meal offa MY damn figs. Now there's only one green one left. I was all puckered up for those ripe figs. DANGIT.
Did y'all see the story of the 82 year old Scottish American gentleman who educated a crowd at a public gathering on that whole yes/no underwear under a kilt issue? His costume was authentic and some people were offended and reported him to the police who filed indecency charges on him. How incredibly uptight are some people? How offensive can a flash of wrinkled ol' white butt possibly be? I've probably seen more skin on tv commercials. So now this ol' guy has to appear in court. He says he just got caught up in the moment. I love this man! At 82 he's out there laughing, partying, and having a blast. I would like to formally apply a curse on the people who complained about this man. "May a pox be upon you and those of your loins until you relax that tight-assed attitude of yours and start having a little fun." So it is written, so it shall be.
We've had so much rain that I now have toadstools growing in the yard. LOTS of toadstools. I wish I had better vision because I want to look for the fairies that I'm sure live underneath them. I must have seen a picture in a book when I was really young because I've always had it in my head that fairies live under toadstools and drink honeysuckle nectar. But then, I like to drink honeysuckle nectar, too. Mmmm. I pick the flower, pull the end off and lick the nectar off the green thing that goes through the center of the flower. I'm sure it's a pistal or a stamen or something. We used to play like we were princesses and the nectar would make us beautiful. And, well, it obviously worked. Hahahahhaha!!!
I'm watching the Giants and Dodgers game to see if Barry Bonds ties Hank Aaron's homerun record. The announcer said before the game that everyone was proud of Hank Aaron when he broke Babe Ruth's record back in the 70s. Not true. Aaron and his family got death threats, racial taunts, stuff thrown at him in the outfield. It was supposed to be a happy occasion for him but from what I've read it was a scary time. Ruth had been so popular (for all his faults) that his fans didn't want anyone breaking his record, especially a black man. Now people are doing something similar to Bonds because of his alleged steroid use. He's still making history, juice or no juice. I hope he hits one tonight because games on the West coast run so late. Last night I fell asleep waiting for history to happen, and tonight ain't lookin' so good, either. I can always watch the replay and then lie about it.
I called my sister's daughter to wish her a happy birthday. My sister answered the phone. It was like we never had an e-argument. All I can do at this point is roll my eyes and say "whatEVER" in my best valley-girl voice.
There's been a major bridge collapse in Minneapolis, MN. Unbelievable. I bet my friend Cindy is freaking out because she's had these weird feelings about bridges lately. Now I'm gettin' a little nervous about 'em, too. I just pray that as few people as possible have been killed or injured.
Okay, folks - I'm goin' horizontal. Somethin' tells me I'll be watching Barry on SportsCenter if he hits a homer tonight because my eyelids are gettin' pretty dang heavy.
G'night!
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