Power Purl Girl

It's the End of the World as We Know It....,

2012-01-02T21:50:00.000-06:00

or, Hello, 2012! According to the Mayans, we have less than a year to live, laugh and love.
Although, whatshisname was wrong(twice!) about us being Raptured away in 2011, so why on earth do we believe those crazy Mayans could predict the future centuries ago.
Personally I think the Calendar Maker Mayan just got tired of calendarizing.

My goal for this year is to return to blogging and to enjoy it again. I loved blogging and then it became exhausting. Same with Facebook and Twitter, and don't even get me started on Linked In, Pinterest or School Feed.

I'd rather live life outside of my computer, and if I have funny stories to share, I'll drop back by here when I want. Hopefully I will want, often. I like writing...words are magical.

Dude Looks Like a Lady...

2011-03-01T14:15:00.000-06:00

I started this Sunday night in bed and actually fell asleep with my laptop propped against my knees. I've tried to clean up the typos but have probably missed quite a few. My apologies.
I've been debating on (a) whether to try my hand at blogging again and (b) whether or not to write about this because I don't want to be dooced for blogging about work, but then I saw James Franco channeling Marilyn Monroe at ~~tonight's~~ Sunday's 83rd Annual Academy Awards (or, as those of us at KMS's PJs and Pearls party called it, The 83rd Annual Academy Awards: Men with Canes) and I took it as a SIGN!
Because I am very fond of SIGNS (as long as M. Night Shymalan(sp?) isn't involved.
To catch you up to speed (if any readers stumble across this, that is), a little over 15 months ago, I was laid off from The Job That Sucked My Soul. Actually the job itself wasn't so bad. Marketing can be fun! I even got to have dinner with Bill Rancic. But still, the environment was, hmmm, repressing, we shall say. This occurred right after my first (and hopefully) only surgical procedure ever. I took the time to lick my wounded feelings--wounded because being laid off sucks. You can't help but take it personally, even when it's not personal--and to physically heal. Because even a minor surgery is kinda a big deal it turns out. I didn't blog about any of this at the time because I went through a period of needing to keep myself contained.
A little over a year ago a funny twist of fate resulted in me agreeing ultimately to manage two stores in a chain of Ye Olde Sex Shoppes. Obviously that's not really the name, and actually we promote ourselves as primarily lingerie stores, but the truth is that we carry what we euphemistically call "novelties", although I particularly like to call them "intimacy enhancers". Or even just therapeutic aids if a person is flying solo, so to speak. So not the job I ever expected to have but I'm really loving it.
So last week I was talking with a customer who was interested in applying for a job at one of the stores. She seemed very cute and sweet although definitely inexperienced in the job field. Long wavy hair and a cute figure. As she was telling me that she had dropped out of high school and obtained her GED, she dropped the T-bomb on me. As in, transgendered. And then she ups the ante by explaining that she's actually a hermaphrodite because while the visible physical equipment is male, she also has ovaries.
I think...I hope...I managed to keep my professional face on. Because whatever the expresssion, it was frozen on my face for several seconds while I tried to find a response. Because any HR professional knows that we can't ask certain questions and we really hope not to have this type of information divulged randomly. Something about being equal opportunity and nondiscriminatory. I know I blurted out something about how pretty she was before I could stop myself. And really, I would never have guessed. I've had a few transvestites/cross dressers/drag queens come in looking for lingerie, clubwear and stockings. (Sidenote: why are they always looking for the ultra-neon pink fishnets? Why not orange? Or blue?) And while I treat them exactly as I would any other customer, there's not mistaking certain identifying traits...jawlines, Adam's apples, the shape and size of wrists, hands and feet, heavy make-up base, and something about the way they talk generally. And I love them for it. They live out loud.
But this customer had very feminine features. Try as I might, I couldn't detect anything that would indicate the Y chromosome's presence. And believe me, when she asked me opinion on a club-worthy outfit (because her dream is to be a go-go dancer), I couldn't help but see quite a bit of her. All I'm saying is that if she stuffed her bra with cutlets, I need to know the brand so I can stock them in the stores. And as for 'down there', I'm guessing she either pulled a Silence of the Lambs-style tuck or she fashioned her own undergarment a la Arkansas' very own Skirtman (whose website appears to have vanished--go figure). Her figure was curvier than the typical male's but not voluptuous by any means.
The most surreal moment, to me, occurred when she asked my opinion on the outfit. She said she wanted to make sure it didn't scream "tranny". I had another Frozen Face Moment. I guess it's like when people of a certain race call each other by derogatory slang words-it's okay if they do it amongst themselves. It's a form of taking it back. Randal would be so proud.
All in all, just when I think I've seen and heard it all, I realize there's still more to this world than I could ever expect to know. I've seen Boys Don't Cry and a short documentary show on Brandon Teena as well as at least two Law & Order: SVU episodes and all I can think is that it takes courage to 'to thine ownself be true' in this degree. I won't even own the giant gray streak in my hair.

You Know It's Bad When Your Cosmetologist Starts to Cry...

2010-03-31T23:11:00.002-05:00

So I decided to 'treat' myself to a Brazilian wax yesterday.

Don't ask me why-it just seemed like a good idea at the time. I've been having regular manicures since November and having my hair highlighted since January. It seemed like the next logical step, no? The pain itself really wasn't unbearable, but then again that could have had something to do with the shot of tequila I took beforehand. It was medicinal. Truly. And gross. Tequila only belongs in a margarita. I warned the cosmetologist ahead of time about the incident in which my mother, while waxing my upper lip, ripped the top layer of skin off my lip. At 7:45 AM on a school day. And she made me go to school anyway. In junior high. A true Southern Belle, I have sensitive and delicate skin after all. There was The Great Microdermabrasion/Salycic Acid Incident of 2004 prior to my friendgirl Charla's wedding which resulted in my face looking like a puffy mutant peeling tomato for two weeks. I clashed with my lovely seafoam green bridesmaid dress. Things were progressing along nicely until...a bit of skin near my lady bits ripped. Oh dear goddess, if I ever needed validation in my thoughts that I don't believe in natural childbirth, I now have it. Owie, ow, ow. Nothing bonds two people like examining one's hoo hoo with a mirror and trying to decide if the hydrogen peroxide will actually prevent infection or just sting like h*ll. Answer-affirmative to the latter, but still unknown as to the former. In fact, Cosmetologist brought me a lovely bouquet of daffodils today. In a Patron bottle-slash-vase. Your sympathy is greatly appreciated. Because, really? This is one of those things that would only happen to me.

Feels Like Home Again

2009-10-07T20:30:00.000-05:00

So many happenings, so little writing. As much as I love blogging, I had to take a break. I simply did not have the energy for the longest time. Sometimes it's hard to live life in such a techno-connected world, which is why I don't 'advertise' my blog on my Facebook or Twitter--I like to control who among my friends reads me. I'm among the 'blogging is my therapy' crew but sometimes more is needed. Some of my real-world friends know that I struggle with the demons of depression, control freak tendencies and anxiety, and to put it plainly, I crashed hard earlier this year.
Fortunately, The Powers That Be (or He Who Listens to My Crazy and Gives Me Pills) steered me to a clinical trial for a potential new antidepressant. All I can say is that I loved this mystery drug and I hope the FDA approves it ASAP. For the first time in years, I slept for more than two hours at a time during the night. I had whole weeks where I didn't cry once. I felt like 'me' again.
And feeling like me meant that a couple of weekends ago, I loaded Grandma into the car and we roadtripped to Memphis. She stayed with her cousin and I stayed with my aunt and uncle. My uncle chairs a scottish festival and I try to go as often as I can. This year I even got to be a judge in the Bonniest Knees contest. Blindfolded. Oh yeah, baby--I got to grope the knees of numerous Scotsmen..and in one memorable moment, I almost discovered what the Scot wears(or doesn't wear) under his kilt. And the sheep kept escaping, and we smuggled a keg of beer into the church kitchen. Good times with my family! It explains so much about me.
This past weekend was my birthday and it was quite possibly the best birthday I've ever had. Family friends threw a small 'family' party for me on Thursday and I had a delicious dinner with a friend on Friday and then on my actual birthday another friend took me to brunch and then I went to the 4th annual Amethyst Ball--dressed up! for my birthday! and purple girlie drinks! Finally on Sunday my Bestie (we're so over the BFF sobriquet) and I watched "Dirty Dancing"--well, we finished watching it. We had started it the previous weekend for her birthday but as usual we talked through most of it.
The love life is deserving of its own Lifetime Movie for a while...there was/is New Guy but we're not a 'couple' and recently out of nowhere, The Guy reappeared in my life. There are things I like and maybe-not-so-much-like about them both...I'm just having fun(with both feet on the ground, thank you very much. I'm not that liberated) and waiting to see what happens next.
Things are not perfect but they are much better. I'm hoping to get back to blogging because I do *heart* it very much, and I'm full o' funny when I'm happy to be me.

The Things We Do

2009-03-02T23:33:00.000-06:00

I woke up last Friday morning to a bloodbath. Seriously it looked as if a serial killer had made himself at home all over my carpets. Chloe the World's Cutest Puppy was looking less than cute with her sticky red matted fur. My first thought was that Boo the World's Fattest Cat had finally snapped and attacked her. As I was checking her for bite marks, I realized that the sticky redness didn't smell like blood...it smelled like ketchup. Further investigation revealed that she was covered in ketchup. Apparently she had stockpiled ketchup packets just in case she suffered a lycopene deficiency. I didn't even try to clean her. I simply drove to the doggie salon (where thankfully she already had an appointment) and handed her over.
Friday night was spent shampooing the carpets and cleaning in preparation for a sorority alum brunch. Saturday morning was a quick run to the grocery store for an 'accidental meeting' of a friend and her possible new beau, last-minute cleaning and cooking for the brunch. The weather which had been in the lovely '60s earlier in the week plummeted, and icy rain was falling. After our lovely brunch(I admit I did feel my spring/Easter table settings were a little out-of-place given that snow was being forecast), I met Brandy for a quick trip to PetSmart and dissection of her day-date. April had wanted me to go with her to Loew's, *the* bridal boutique for Arkansans, to look at wedding dresses but I just couldn't squeeze in a 3 hour round-trip, not including actual time in the shoppe. Afterward PetSmart, I came home and took a nap. I woke up 30 minutes before a guy friend picked me up for dinner...I had no idea who I was or what day it was. I love those deep-sleep naps! I barely had time to tame my bedhead, brush my teeth, and fix my bleary eyes before my friendboy arrived. Only to find that it had actually started snowing, as predicted for once. We ate pizza and deconstructed his latest misadventures in dating. The plan was for us to meet up some with grade-school friends and stop by a birthday party for a couple of high school friends but the weather put the kibosh on the plan. So we went to the Container Store instead. Oh, hello, Heaven on Earth. I love that place.
My brother stopped by on his way back to school after spending a weekend carousing in Alabama. He arrived later than I expected, which meant that I missed out on attending a choral extravanganza organized by my Gay Boyfriend. Gay Boyfriend, who is whiter than I am, is the choir director for a african-american church...basically they told him they wouldn't ask so he better not tell if he wants to keep this job. Which is fine by him. GB organized several choirs to perform in this musical showcase and I was supposed to go to it with his army of gays. I hated to miss it. I'm Episcopalian, and we do not get moved by the Spirit but that doesn't mean I can't appreciate it when someone else does!
My weekend began with a sorority brunch and could have ended with a dance-off at the AME church. As my friend Brandy puts it, my life is soooo eclectic.

For Mommies, Pet Owners, and Shapeshifters Alike

2009-02-04T13:40:00.000-06:00

Awesome Pledge Fabric Sweeper sweepstakes can be found at Accidental Mommies

Will blog soon. I promise. And no, I'm not in the process of becoming an accidental mommy. LOL

So I Thought It Would Be Funny to Quote "Sweet November" Here, But Really It Wasn't

2008-11-25T23:09:00.001-06:00

What we're really talking about is a wonderful day set aside on the fourth Thursday of November when no one diets. I mean, why else would they call it Thanksgiving? ~Erma Bombeck, "No One Diets on Thanksgiving," 26 November 1981

A Cabin in the Woods

2008-11-18T19:24:00.000-06:00

(Fat Bastard and a busty blush--a match made in Heaven)
Okay, so it wasn't actually a cabin. It was a house *but* it was in the woods!
Friendgirl Tara is now officially Park Interpreter Tara. Which means she lives right beside and works in a state park. So Friendgirls Kim, Sarah and I piled into Sarah's Explorer on Saturday and ventured out into the wild blue yonder...or at least the northeastern part of the state...to rendezvous with Tara and her sister.
As Kim's friend pointed out when we ran into him at the grocery store before we left town-5 sorority sisters in the woods? This is the beginning of a great horror movie.
Sarah's husband was less eloquent. He moaned as he loaded all of our bags, pillows and blankets into the back. "How can you need this much stuff for just one night?"
And then when we asked him about grilling the 10+ lbs of shish kabobs we accidentally bought, his reply was "Cook 'em 'til they're done."
Men! Gotta love 'em?
It's debatable.
The night was pretty much what you would expect. Lots and lots of laughter. Reminiscing and retelling embarrassing stories. Wine, wine, and more wine. And then a little more wine. Grilling. Cheese and other nummies. More wine. Building a fire in the fire pit and sitting outside with blankets. S'mores and sword fights. Drunk dialing of the park ranger to report the raucous goings-on at the Park Interpreter's house(apparently it seemed like a good idea at the time and no, I was not the one making the call). Attempted kidnapping of my Blackberry for a text interrogation of The Hunting Guy(*someone* was all about the phones). Drunk dialing of The Hunting Guy(now this one was all me). Bottle tossing-the new Olympic sport(again, not me). Trivial Pursuit at 2 AM. Too little sleep and not nearly enough time.
We're going back in February. With more girls.

To chili or not to chili

2008-10-27T22:09:00.000-05:00

As the weather (finally!) grows colder and more winterlike, the air is filled with the scent of specially blended spices and frying meat. Because this is Arkansas and in Arkansas we do like our chili.
One of the best things about living alone for the past 6 years has been that I have had time to perfect my recipes. I can cook the things I like whenever I want and I can adjust the recipes to my taste and my taste alone. Even when I was dating The Marine (back in the days when I didn't know what a blog was), well, during those 15 months, he was away at boot camp, basic training, and all that military stuff. During his few visits home, we had very little time together so I didn't even bother to cook, which was fine because he was even pickier than me. During my trips to North Carolina, we totally ignored the tiny kitchenette at the extended stay hotel and choose to drive to the nearest coastal town for seafood, or we ate at Chili's. Because he was picky. I don't remember cooking during my last brief relationship, which ended two years ago and lasted maybe all of four months. All my cooking has been for me and me alone (and an occasional guest or book club gathering, but that's when you go for the simple and easy yet impressive-looking dishes).
But now, without going into details (because I don't want to jinx it! And dating, or even unlabeled nondating, grows more difficult as we age!), I find myself considering someone else's tastes when I cook (which is admittedly still a rare occurrence). Even more difficult for me, I may be eating someone else's cooking on a semi-regular basis if things go well. And he is a hunter which means deer meat is in my future. Duck I can handle--I'm good with marinating duck breasts, thank you very much, but the deer is scaring me a little.
Even more scary is the question of chili. Chili seems to be a very personal food. There are entire cook-offs devoted to it.Susan Witting Albert wrote an entire mystery set at a cook-off in which a bowl of chili proved deadly to one judge. I have photos of my mother and her friends dressed as cheerleaders while my father and the other husbands wore matching letter sweaters at chili cook-offs in the '70s. I think my daddy still has the first place trophy they won one year.
I have my favorite chili recipe. I think it is probably a girlie recipe because it calls for both coca-cola and cocoa powder. I usually skip the onions because I'm not a fan of the *onjins* as a little girl I babysat for years called them. I do add kidney beans to my chili, and I use ground sirloin because I can't stand the texture of ground turkey or ground chicken. You'll find very few, if any, hunks, chunks or slivers of tomato in my chili. My chili is thickish, not watery. No peppers will ever be found in my chili, nor peanuts for that matter.
However men make chili different. I've had many varieties of beer chili in my life, especially during the Superbowl parties. I've had chili with entire onions swimming in it. My exboyfriend from Kentucky? He put hominy in his chili. Now, there is nothing more disgusting than seeing bloated white corn in your bowl of chili. Just the memory is enough to make me gag. I've even been in the vicinity of deer chili but I couldn't bring myself to taste it. But now I might. If I have to.
I'm not saying that a bowl of chili is going to make or break us. But it reminds me that I do have to relearn how to consider others and their points of view while not completely giving up myself. A small issue today could lead to a big issue tomorrow and I really need to learn to bend a little more on some things.
Except on the subject of hominy. There I just can't compromise.

Just for Fun

2008-10-01T16:37:00.000-05:00

1. Aspire to be Barbie - the wench has everything.

2. If the shoe fits - buy one in every color.

3. Take life with a pinch of salt ... a wedge of lime, and a shot of tequila.

4. In need of a support group? Cocktail hour with the girls!

5. Go on the 30 day diet. (I'm on it and so far I've lost 15 days.)

6. When life gets you down - just put on your big girl panties and deal with it.

7. Let your greatest fear be that there is no PMS and this is just your personality.

8. I know I'm in my own little world, but it's okay -- they KNOW me here...

9 Lead me not into temptation, I can find it myself.

10. Don't get your knickers in a knot, it solves nothing; and makes you walk funny.

11. When life gives you lemons in 2008 or 2009 - turn it into lemonade then mix it with vodka.

12. Remember every good-looking, sweet, single male is someone else's ex-boyfriend!

Now smile and send to any girl wasting time at work, suffering from a hangover, suffering from work, or just simply suffering at home that might need a reason to smile!

I Don't Feel Like Blogging, but...

2008-09-15T10:31:00.001-05:00

Take the Quiz here!

2008-08-16T13:53:00.000-05:00

I haven't blogged in ages. I thought of something brilliant yesterday to blog about and promptly forgot it. I've helped a friend get started on a really cute garter-stitch only baby blanket and I've started a scarf for my petsitter's stepsister (the little girl is getting very jealous of all the attention paid to my petsitter) (btw, said petsitter is hopefully having a baby at this very minute; she was induced yesterday but when she called me last, no progress had been made.) *Fingers crossed* for them.

I'm fine. How are you?

2008-07-23T14:37:00.000-05:00

I've gotten in the habit of categorizing each year. There was the Year of Yes, in which I went out with every man who asked me out...which mostly resulted in some very odd dates and one short-lived relationship. Then last year was the Year of the Cough, in which I fought bronchitis and bronchitis nearly won. So far this year seems to be the Year of Reconnecting, in which I've refriended people from my past.
Technically it began last year, I suppose when I joined MySpace and then ended up on my high school reunion planning committee. Sadly the reunion has been cancelled (due to, what else?, gas prices!) but the friendships are still reforming. Then earlier this year I signed up for Facebook as well and have been absolutely astounded by the number of people from my childhood and up who have found me. There's my swimming instructor from when I was 4 years old, and the next-door-neighbor whom I idolized when I was in high school. My bestest babysitter and my camp counselor. My babysittees. Former coworkers. Friends, friends, and more friends falling out of the cyberspace.
A little over two years ago, I bid my coworkers a last farewell and moved on. And I basically lost touch with everyone, even though I had spent 8 years of my life in that office, in that hospital, in that world. I had no idea just how much that job was a part of my identity until I had to let it go. That parting was not a sweet sorrow; it was downright sad and painful. So I found it easier to just walk away and drop all ties.
This morning, through my network of spies, I received news from my old office. Surprising enough that I picked up the phone and tried to call a couple of my old officemates. Surprising enough that when I couldn't reach them, I actually went down over my lunch break and walked into the doors that I once walked thru on a daily basis. Not only did I visit(and cry a little) with my officemates, I walked the first two floors on my way out and said 'hi' to so many people who remembered me and were genuinely glad to see me. And I was glad to see them too. Especially as I was leaving and I saw my little deaf groundskeeper walking into the lobby. We had a very bouncity reunion and entertained quite a few people as we went through an elaborate pantomime to catch each other up on life.
Because sometimes? You have to take a few steps back in order to move forward.

Smile Even When Your Heart is Breaking.

2008-07-17T10:32:00.000-05:00

Last night my very pregnant petsitter stopped by to visit unexpectedly and to thank me again for the monogrammed diaper bag I had given her at her shower. Chloe was delighted to see her and even the cats loved on her, in spite of That Dog (as I believe they refer to Chloe in their minds) jumping all around.
We had a pleasant little visit. We talked about the little girl she's babysitting each day this summer. We talked about our favorite books and movies and aliens and ouija boards and Lindsay Lohan and everything else under the sun.
We talked about her plans for her life after the baby is born. We talked about her aspirations to someday be a police psychologist and evaluate officers after traumatic events.
As she was leaving she thanked me for the first "adult" conversation she'd had all day. Then she put her hand on her back and waddled down the stairs.
I smiled as I walked her to the pavement and chatted about the heat. Then I watched her waddle away towards her dad's townhouse.
Did I mention she's only 16?

Edit: I began this post last night. This morning I ended up taking my petsitter to see her OB. Because of her age, finding an OB that would take her in her 8th month was not easy so she had to go with one across the river. I was convinced that her water was going to break in my car on the way, but fortunately that didn't happen. However, she asked me to go into the examining room with her. The nurse thought I was her mother. The doctor called me the babydaddy understudy. The doctor was warm but firm with her after allaying her fears, asking why she hadn't seen a doctor earlier and was understanding when she explained she was 16 and scared. He had lots of helpful advice on dealing with medicaid and other programs. One of the ladies in the waiting room gave her a phone number to a free car seat program. I stood beside her when he did the ultrasound and I have to say that watching it live is pretty cool.
We sang along with the radio on our way home, and she laughed when I slammed on the brakes when I saw a cop, even though we weren't speeding. In so many ways, she's a typical teenager. I dropped her off at home and again I smiled as she heaved herself out of the car and waddled home. Because she might chronologically still be a teenager, but she has a lot of adult responsibilites crashing around her now.

Coincidences?

2008-07-14T13:13:00.000-05:00

I believe that SkyNet is taking over the world. Last week my internet at home went on the fritz and I can't do anything about it because it's really the free internet provided by the apartment complex. Then my cell phone's internet disappeared for several days and I couldn't check my email at night! Major stress there. And this weekend? My digital cable went wacky--as in the only channel I could watch without trouble was The Disney Channel. USA, TNT, TCM, TBS, and a few others completely disappeared for hours at a time. Sci Fi kept losing volume during Friday night's Doctor Who . Now, if I watched TV in my bedroom on the tiny TV that doesn't have a digital box, everything was fine...but really, I'm spoiled. I *need* to be able to rewind and rewatch the important bits. Pausing? That's handy too. And my little TV doesn't have closed captioning...well, it does but I lost the original remote control years ago and it does not agree with any of the umpteen million replacement remotes. And sometimes I really need the closed captioning to follow those people with their accents.
I'm just waiting for my radio station to go out. Then we'll know the machines are rising for real!

The Miracles of the Innernets

2008-07-07T20:33:00.000-05:00

Once upon a (long) time ago, I was a sophomore in high school. As such, I had to take a foreign language class. Although I had taken Spanish I as a freshman, I decided to enroll in French 1 instead of continuing on to Spanish II. I think I had only taken Spanish I as a filler class--I think I had wanted to take French as a freshman but I transferred into my school two weeks before classes began. I didn't have a lot of options. I basically had to take whatever was open.
So, in my French class, the neighboring desk was occupied by a very quiet, very shy foreign exchange student. I never understood the point of making a foreign exchange student take a foreign language. Weren't they here to learn English and experience America? Surely she could have taken French in her home country if she wanted.
Too bad the school board never asked my opinion. I had lots of them.
Over the course of the year, Guro gradually began to talk to me. I think it was mostly in self-defense. I talked a lot while Madame Holt was teaching, and I think Guro just got tired of the sound of my voice. I learned that she was a year older than our seniors and she had actually graduated from her high school before accepting the exchange spot. I learned that she loved running track and was pretty good at it. I know we talked about her family and her life in Norway and the difference between teenagers here and there.
After graduation, she went home. I received a postcard that summer. It's still in my high school scrapbook. Occasionally I've thought of her and wondered what she was doing.
And now, thanks to Facebook, I've reconnected with my Norwegian friend after 17 years. I have a love-hate relationship with Facebook, Tagged, MySpace, LinkdIn, Twitter, and whatever other networking sites I've been roped into joining...but occasionally, on days like today, it's completely worth it!

On a more sober note: (Kleenex warning) if you've never read Punk Rock Mommy, you should. I hate that I only discovered her site a few weeks ago. Andrea chose to go gently into that good night over the weekend, but it was done on her terms. Her words, her spirit, her honesty, and her courage will live on forever. Support your local hospice for allowing dignity to those in the final stages of life, and support the fight against breast cancer.

Firecrackers and Fun!

2008-07-02T21:30:00.001-05:00

Happy 4th of July! I am off to Houston for quality time with the parentals and brothers. Have a safe and happy holiday!

Another One of Those Things That Would Only Happen to Me...

2008-06-23T22:29:00.000-05:00

So I bought my monthly tanning pass. I like to go to my friendly neighborhood Asian nail salon. They have one bed. Walk-ins only. First come, first serve. Spray bottle of cleaning fluid. Affordable rates. The last being the most important factor.
The one thing they don't have? A lock on the tanning room door.
I asked once and I am pretty sure the owner told me that they were advised to that would have to have immediate access in case someone passed out on the bed or something.
So for the first couple of summers that I tanned there, I would place the chair in front of the door. Last summer I decided I had been overly paranoid and stopped blocking the door with the chair.
Oh, if only I had kept my insane paranoid tendency for once.
Today, as I was standing there, slathering lotion on my leg while balancing on the other leg...I heard the unmistakable sound of the door opening. I looked up to see the younger guy who may or may not be married to one of the daughters (although I think he may also be gay...it's very confusing). We both screamed, he quickly tells the person on the phone which is glued to his ear that he walked in on a client, and he slams the door and disappears.
At this point, I have two options. I can grab my clothes and run out of there. Or I can finish with the lotioning and jump in the bed. So I went with Option 2.
As I was leaving, I glanced around the main room. My new friend was nowhere to be seen. Too bad. At the very least, I think he owes me a bottle of OPI polish for my pain and suffering.

Humbled

2008-06-21T21:58:00.001-05:00

Punk Rock Mommy is truly amazing.
Warning: you may need tissues.

Summertime Blues and How to Beat Them

2008-06-09T21:27:00.000-05:00

I should not live in Central Arkansas. In spite of being a lifelong native, I really can not take our summers.
So what do I do to combat the heat and humidity? Plan a trip to Florida. 'Cause it's not hot or humid there at all.
Actually my BF Leslie (and yes, I can hear Miley Cyrus singing because I babysat my *friends* MJ and C-man over the weekend and we rocked out to the CD in the way that only 6 and 4 year olds with crazy babysitters can do. And I even wore a Hannah wig. Oh yes I did. And my fiungernails? They still have gold sparkle polish.)....now where was I? Oh yeah, Leslie and I have been planning trips to take together for the past, oh, 14 years. We started making plans in college and we've never gone anywhere together. Our plan to move to New York? Never happened. Our Myrtle Beach vacation with her in-laws---she went, I had to cancel because of work. We try, we really do.
So we've found cheap tickets online. We've found a free place to stay (because my friend is keeping his house in Florida even though he has to work out of Cozymel for the next two years---ooh, his life is soooooo tough!), only minutes from the beach. And seafood--we must be near the seafood.
We're not going until September. I know it's kinda off season--but this is our joint birthday trip. She's an August baby and I'm an October girl (as is her daughter, the ever delightful MIA!). And it should be very pleasant on the beach but mayhaps a little less hot? A girl can dream.

Conversation about Car Repairs

2008-06-02T23:36:00.000-05:00

Suzi: So my car's air conditioning died over the weekend. The fix-it guys can't figure out what is wrong. Something about the fan.

Phil: Maybe it's the air intake ...(insert lots of boytalk-about-cars here)...or the capacitor.

Me: Oooh, maybe it's the flux capacitor? Quick, call Marty McFly!

Sex and the City Friday!

2008-05-30T09:52:00.000-05:00

I am so excited about the Sex and the City movie! As I told my friend, having a Girl's Night Out at the Movies is exciting, and a GNOatM that includes Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte and Miranda is simply too fab for words! I wish I had had time to buy new shoes. :)
And why I am too busy to buy shoes, you might ask. Well, I'll tell you. For the last two weeks, I have split my time between my Old Job and my New Job. And that was very stressy for me, let me tell you. I do not do well with change, even if it's change that I myself instigated. While I absolutely loved and adored Boss Man, because he was practically family, it was time to move on. That was a nice 'gap' position which supported while I nursed my bruised ego and moved on with my life...but we both knew it wasn't a career choice.
While New Job has nothing to do with the field I eventually want to enter, I think I have many opportunities here to brush up and dust off my professional skills. New Boss Man is a financial advisor, and there's a lot going on around here.
So I've spent the last two weeks working part-time at both jobs. It's been a crazy schedule and it completely wreaked havoc with my emotions. Laughing on minute, wanting to cry the next ten. I was a mess.
But I think I'm all better now. Just in time for a busy, busy weekend!
Just in time for

Scared in the Dark

2008-05-27T17:46:00.000-05:00

One of the downsides of living alone is that there is no one to chase away the monsters in the closet. Usually I don't mind--I almost always fall asleep while I'm reading in bed so I don't have to deal with the dark or the boogie men that hide in it. Which is always a bonus if I've watched a scary movie. Because I don't really get scared of supernatural, undead serial killers or little dead girls that climb out of TVs. I don't like replaying the movie in my mind when I'm going to bed, but I'm not actually scared. Until now...
Have you seen the commercial for the movie "The Strangers"? Yeah, that scares me. Because that could happen. Psychos target a random couple just because the couple is home.
I've been double-checking my windows and front door nightly since I saw the first ad. Needless to say, that's one movie I'm not going to see!

Walking in Memphis in May

2008-05-19T16:00:00.000-05:00

This past weekend I actually broke out of my hermit shell and Had a Life! For real. One that did not involve the television remotes or books.
I went on a road trip. Okay, so it was one day round trip to Memphis and back, but who am I to complain? And okay, it was only with The Licker but we've worked a truce and most of the time he understands that we are Just Friends.
A lot of planning went into this. We packed snackage. I burned Road Trip Music onto CDs(note to self: must buy a good iPod car adapter thingy). We even MapQuested...only too bad for us, MapQuest was wrong. Way wrong. We totally went the wrong way on Germantown Parkway but I like sightseeing. Those rich folks out there, they obviously have strict guidelines about signage and tackiness. We saw what must have been The World's Smallest Golden Arches on a McDonald's.
We spent the afternoon shopping at Wolfchase Galleria. How can you not have fun in a mall with an indoor carousel? Oh yes, we rode. I choose the pretty white horse with the roses and Boy started off on the giraffe, only too bad for him. The giraffe? It didn't go up and down.
We hit up Brooks Brothers and Macy's...and then it was my turn to choose and we went to the gloriousness that is Sephora. In it's full-store-sized glory. Ahhhhhhh.
And then we headed down towards the Rendezvous and Beale St. And that's when things got weird again. On the drive, Boy made a couple of comments and/or jokes that I thought were a wee bit inappropriate. And I don't know if I'm just super-sensitive around him or what. He was also a little more huggier than I cared for. I mean, I love my GuyFriend J. but he doesn't feel the need to hug me every 5 minutes. And I've known him since high school.
So I used my purse occasionally as a blocker shield. But once, as we were standing in line to get on the waiting list in the Rendezvous, he hugged me and his face *was* too close to mine for my comfort. So I tried to step back a little. Only too bad for me, because my foot slipped off my flip-flop and I fell back the teeniest bit. The waiter who was standing there laughed because he saw the whole thing.
I've decided that Boy lacks some sort of internal social filter. Where the rest of us normally know when to stop, he doesn't. I also think that he just really, really wants to find love. And that makes me sad--he's like a little lost puppy in some ways. Just not one that I want to adopt.
So we went up to the bar to wait and I had a glass of wine. I then went into the bathroom and called my friendgirl who knows him best to tell her that I was hiding in the bathroom.I got some funny looks from the other bathroom patrons. She sweetly suggested I feign sickness on the way home.
Once we were at our table, that same waiter took our orders. When Boy went to the bathroom, Waiter asked if I were okay. He was very sweet--he actually offered to call a cab if I needed one. I thought that was very nice. So I made Boy leave a generous tip.
After our dee-lish-ish dinner, we strolled around Beale St. for a bit. Beale St. is always fun, but it's even more so in May. The people-watching prospects alone make it worth the trip.
I didn't even have to fake illness on the way home. I have never, ever in my life been so glad to have an "early visitor" and once I mentioned that we had to stop so I could buy girlie emergency products, it was as if I had built a solid steel wall around myself. Boys are so squeamish. I slept most of the way home.

Signs that One Needs a Life

2008-05-14T22:19:00.000-05:00

Sign 1: Spending an embarrassing amount of time on YouTube looking for New Kids on the Block videos, old and new.

Peace and Tranquility

2008-05-01T17:28:00.000-05:00

A nice pre-rain breeze blowing through my windows. Clean sheets on the bed. A nostalgic playlist on iTunes (I hate to be such a teenager, but there are sometimes you can find just the right mix of songs with meaningful lyrics). A puppy beside me and two kitties curled on my feet, and an evening that stretches ahead lazily.

Chloe's First Day of Puppygarten

2008-04-26T15:42:00.000-05:00

I was very high-strung all day on Wednesday. And it has nothing to do with the fact that I begin training for a new job next month. Nor did the state of my nerves relate to the fact that I was recently appointed by the President as the "Technology Advisor" for the upcoming year in the JLLR.
No, I was stressing over Chloe's first day (evening, actually) in Puppy Training class. What if the other puppies were bullies? What if the other puppies were snobs? What if the other puppies were prettier/smarter/better groomed.
And then I laughed because I have the prettiest, smartest, best groomed puppy ever.
Still I was nervous for her. Chloe thinks she is a cat. She's interested in other dogs we meet when we're outside, but she doesn't exactly relate to them. As I type this, she is curled up beside me with a catnip mouse. Boo, on the other hand, is very fond of the rawhide chewies. We have a little species-identification issue going on here at The Snuggery.
Puppy Training started off poorly because although my registration form clearly stated that the class began at 7:00 PM, my brain read it as 7:30 PM. I was trying to get there early, though, so really we only missed the first 10 minutes.
Chloe quickly made friends with Chopper the white puppy, a cute little corgi, two daschunds, Olivia and Bella the bulldog twins, and Pierre the poodle. And then there was Bailey, the Hound from Hell. Bailey started out sweet. I think he's part boxer but I am certainly not a puppy expert. I just know Chloe can walk under him as if he were a bridge and not even muss her red with white polka dotted hairbow.
Bailey was exuberant(sp?). Very much so. And then he GRABBED her by her little ear and dragged her across the floor. All I could hear was my friend Jef telling me how his lab Cody had accidentally bitten the ear of a friend's greyhound recently. I was horror-stricken. I held it together though and channeled my inner Cesar. Bailey's human and I quickly and quietly separated the two puppies and ascertained there was no damage. I didn't even squeak.
Chloe seemed fine and wandered back over to Chopper for a few minutes. She quickly caught on to the "Watch me" lesson.
And then Bailey struck again. I could have prevented it, I supposed. I could have moved away but I didn't want to ostracize Bailey for being a high-spirited puppy. I'm sure he meant no harm--he just wanted Chloe to pay attention to him. Right? I should have moved. He snuck back over and lunged for her face, grabbing hold of one of the cute little tufts of hair above her nose. And he dragged her again. This time I may have squeaked slightly, but I didn't want to feed her fear. Thankfully Chloe is the ragdoll-pose assuming submissive kind of doggie, and she went limp both times which I am convinced is what prevented serious injury. My sweet little puppy is smart.
We made it thru the lesson and Bailey's human apologized. It's not Bailey's fault for being a puppy. We're all in the class to learn a little discipline and obediance.
Nevertheless, I think we'll sit with the corgi and Chopper next time.

Spring Cleaning

2008-04-21T10:49:00.000-05:00

This weekend I decided to clean out the space underneath my bed. For all I knew there could have been a dead body stashed under there. Even when I was a child, I would 'hide' things underneath my bed instead of cleaning up and putting them back in their proper place. This terrible, horrible, no good, very bad habit has only increased over the years.
When I moved into my apartment, I decided that I would store my suitcases underneath my bed. Then I shoved a box of children's books which I had carefully collected under there. And then a small hand-painted trunk from my childhood. And then the car-washing kit I received when I bought my first Olds Alero( the car was stolen less than a year later, but I managed to hold onto that box of unused car washing liquids). And then a stray book or ten thousand somehow crawled under the bed. And some magazines. And the carry-on bags that always followed me home from vacations. And lots of just plain junk.
I spent a good part of Saturday afternoon wrestling the mattress and box springs off my bed, carefully sorting "To Keep" and "To Trash" piles, Woolite'ing and vacuuming the carpet, and putting things back into a strict semblance of order. Broken suitcases--trash. My collection of vintage Bobbsey Twins books--carefully repacked and stored neatly. The cat and dog carriers--cleaned and lovingly padded with their special blankets and carefully placed in the nook I had created amongst the boxes (in the hopes that they might actually decide to sleep in there instead of on my bed(yeah, I know, right?). And so on and so forth.
And then, when I walked out to the dumpster with my first armload of trash...I remembered that the trashmen had not come at all during the week and the dumpsters, they overflowed.
So now my hallway is a temporary repository for the things I wish to throw away but can't.

The Truth about Cats and Dogs

2008-04-02T20:11:00.000-05:00

It is a commonly held misconception that I do not like dogs. This is false. I do not like big dogs that jump and scare me. I adore little cuddly dogs that are clean and not stinky.
As Meatloaf once said, two out of three ain't bad.
Chloe thinks her waterdish is for bathing purposes. She thinks her food tastes best after she's rolled on it.
She also thinks she is a cat. Apparently many small breeds of dogs are known for the cat-like climbing skillz. Who'da thunk it?
I came home on Friday to find that she had not only crawled over the two ft. tall babygate that was supposed to keep her safe and sound in the kitchen, but apparently in a momentary adrenaline surge, she managed to climb onto the stepstool at the foot of my bed and then jump onto the trunk at the foot of my bed and from there she jumped or climbed onto my bed. She was snuggled down napping when I got home. (I have a sneaking suspicion that she may have ventured to close to cat, and said cat chased her into my room.)
My solution was to buy a second babygate and position them to create a 4 ft. high wall o' babygate. She spent approximately two seconds thinking about this, and was over it and sitting on my shoes in 8 seconds. She so smart that it's a little scary!
But she's also adorable...although the kitties don't agree. Yet.

But seriously, how can you not love this?

A Month in Pictures

2008-03-24T19:52:00.000-05:00

March 2008:

(The Big Snow 2008--March 4th)

(The Big Snow 2008: The Sequel-March 14th)

(Lake Erie (as seen from Conneaut, Ohio)-March 22)

(Chloe explores her new home!)

Driving in Cars with Cats

2008-03-05T20:33:00.001-06:00

As previously related, I have had kitchen disasters upon kitchen disasters during my life. So when my lovely apartment manager offered to "upgrade" my kitchen, I jumped at the chance for a little new kitchen karma. Whoo hoo!
As I may have mentioned, in order for the counters to be resurfaced, I would have to take a weekend vacation...with my cats. I don't travel with my cats for very good reasons.
Boo hates cars. When he was a kitten, he loved to ride in the car with College Boyfriend and me. We'd put him in the backseat and he would climb up on the little shelf-like thing under the rear windshield and off we'd go. Unfortunately during my move home from college, I didn't have room in my car for a cat carrier, so he was a free-roaming passenger. My car was stuffed with everything we couldn't fit in the U-Haul. A lamp fell on Boo and that was the end of his love of road trips.
Ellie, on the other hand, is afraid of everything. Fresh air, concrete, grass, loud noises, cars, cat carriers, new places, strange people...she hates it all.
I brought in the cat carriers the night before our trip and cleaned them both. I lined them both with fleece blankets and each cat's night-night blankies. Both cats sniffed around and fled to the bedroom.
I carefully packed everything the night before. I loaded my car that morning before leaving for work. Then I had what I thought was another one of my Brilliant Ideas. I put the carriers in the car and buckled them in (I ran the seat belt through the handles on top). My plan was to come home from work, wrap one cat at a time in a blanket and carry to car.
Ellie was easy. She is teeny-tiny, as in she only weighs 5 lbs. I had her in before she could yowl more than 5 times.
Boo was harder. He weighs 17 lbs and was not happy. Plus, his carrier is large. I ended up having to upend it and force him in hindquarters first.
The drive down to Grandma's house was uneventful. There was yowling from the backseat, but it was of the "Woe is me" variety.
When we finally reached Grandma's house (exactly 1 hour from my door to hers), Boo immediately made himself at home. He loves grandmas of all shapes and sizes. He followed Grandma everywhere...and since she thinks she is allergic to cats, it made for interesting commentary each time he touched her.
Ellie, on the other hand, huddled in her carrier until I forcibly dragged her out. And then she immediately hid under my bed. She finally ventured out to explore around 9 PM, but the sound of the ice maker sent her racing back to safety.
Thus went our weekend. Boo following Grandma, Grandma fussing about her (imaginary) allergy...but I must note that each time Boo decided to leave her side, she would get up and follow him until he decided to play with her again. Ellie spent a good portion under my bed but she would occasionally find us and visit until the next scary noise sounded.
It was with much excitement (and some relief, I confess) that I loaded up the car on Sunday and set out for home. Then I learned that my cats do not like Michael Jackson. At all. I admit it--I bought the Thriller 25 cd/dvd set. The very second that MJ began singing, an unholy ruckus arose from the back seat. I tried turning up the volume. The yowling increased proportionally. And so it went until I finally turned off the cd. For a moment, all was quiet. I really thought I had gone deaf. And then I heard a tiny but self-satisfied "Yeow."
The whole trip was worth it to come home to this:

Death of a Refrigerator: Part II

2008-02-12T19:22:00.000-06:00

Last January I suffered the indignities of a dead refrigerator. This February 1st I offed another one. Some people can't wear watches; I can't keep refrigerators.
Actually it began the last week of January. The big giant windstorm caused my lights to flicker and apparently when they came back on, something happened with the breaker and my kitchen was unelectrified all night. I discovered it, fought my way through the linen closet to reach the breaker box and flipped the switch. I checked the freezer and the ice cubes had not defrosted so I thought everything would be okay. I opened the refrigerator door and the light came on so I thought everything would be okay. I have to learn to stop thinking already.
For various reasons, I didn't need to get back into my refrigerator until Friday morning, at which time I was assaulted with funky smells and soggy Lean Cuisine boxes. EVERYTHING had defrosted and/or spoiled.
So again I was so happy to be an apartment dweller. A quick trip to the office, a review of my file, and I was told that instead of just any old refrigerator, I was going to receive a brand-new black fancy refrigerator...and it's companions, a new oven/stove and a dishwasher! All color-coordinated and brand-new! I also am getting my countertops redone this weekend--kitchen and bathroom!
So I agreed to accept a temporary refrigerator while my new appliances were being ordered. And once again, I received a bass-ackwards refrigerator. The key word here being "temporary", I decided I didn't need to pull out my assortment of tools to fix the doors.
I came home last Wednesday, the day designated for the delivery and installation of my new appliances. I was so excited...and then I opened my front door to find my new appliances. Still in their boxes. In my dining room. And I'm standing there holding a laundry basket full of the perishables I had purchased to replace the ones lost, perishables which I had carted to my office so that the workmen wouldn't be inconvenienced when installing the new stuff.
I call the apt. office and ask if I had been confused. Kathy the New Manager assures me that I'm not and finds out that the contractors had been confused, thinking they weren't installing until after the did the countertops. Ha ha, I laugh. I can not live a week and a half with these boxes in my dining room.
Next morning I pack up my perishables again and cart them off to work. I lug them back home again and wheeee! New appliances in my kitchen! With right-way-'round doors and all! And just in time because my VBFF and her amazing daughter, formerly known as The Cutest Baby in the World...now The Smartest Toddler in the World (two years old and can eat with chopsticks like a pro!) spent the night with me. We climbed over boxes and ignored the giant mess...choosing to add to the mess by dragging out children's books, stuffed animals, my college photos, and setting up the living room for a camp-out. Every time I came across a photo of Leslie and me, I would say "Mia! Look! It's Mommy and Nannah*!" And Mia would dutifully look at the photo, peel a sticker from the cache of my attempted scrapbooking casualties, and stick it on the footstool, the cat, my foot, whatever was nekkid. She also found the kitty brushes and brushed Boo which was remarkable because her kitties don't get brushed at home. She is just a genius of the cutest kind!
So in spite of all the craziness, I had a great week. I'm really excited about the upcoming kitchen work. I can't wait to seewhat it looks like after this weekend.

*We tried to cajole her into saying "Auntie Susannah" but she just was not going for it. My name was Nannah and that's all there was to it.

Cold Today, Snow Tomorrow?

2008-01-30T21:09:00.000-06:00

For some reason, it is apparently genetically ingrained in 95% of Arkansans to rush to the grocery store to buy bread and milk if even the slightest hint of wintry weather in the forecast. These natives ignore the fact that this is Arkansas, not Utah. We don't get blizzards. To my knowledge no one has ever been so snowed or iced in that they actually reached starvation levels.
Yes, we've had the occasional storm that has closed the airport or caused me to leave my car, after a very nice gentleman pushed it up a hill first, at a bank and walk a mile on slippery sidewalks to get home(thank goodness that for some random reason, I actually had my hiking boots in the trunk of my car). However these little frozen episodes never last longer than two days or so.
I will admit that the weather lately has been...odd. Sleet last Friday. Temps in the 60s yesterday accompanied by 60 MPH winds, grass fires that closed highways, and a 40 degree drop overnight.
It's like they say, "If you don't like the weather, wait 5 minutes."
Today I used my lunch hour to make my weekly Big Trip to the Grocery Store. I really despise grocery shopping so I try to get all the major items in one big trip and then limit myself to one or two Emergency Trips to the Grocery Store for those times when I knock an entire gallon of milk onto the floor or when I catch the oven/stovetop/dinner on fire. At noon-thirty today, half of West Little Rock was in the Kroger. Yes, indeed. Thank goodness that neither milk nor any bread-like items were on my shoping list. I would have risked life and limbs to acquire either. In fact, just picking up two cans of soup resulted in some slight bruising...and that was just for vegetable soup. Who knows what would have happened if I had wanted chicky noodle or tomato soup. (Mmmmmm, tomato soup and grilled cheese--the ultimate winter comfort combination.)
By happy coincidence, my grocery list called for baking potatoes and when I came home, there was a box for me! Goody--I love presents!! My aunt, because I am *The* Smashed 'Taters Queen of the family(which is not the same as being a Sweet Potato Queen, although I am one of those as well), sent me The Tater Mitt! I am serious. I have a Tater Mitt and it works! Maybe it took slightly longer than the 8 seconds listed on the box but I scrubbed that spud to almost gleaming perfection.
And as if it's not enough to be the proud owner of a Tater Mitt, mine came with a special TV bonus...a Fries Maker (although the back of the box refers to it as a Vegetable Slicer. Who knew Free Gifts with Purchase could multi-task???).
So in preparation of Winter Storm 2008 I peeled and sliced my potatoes and made Oven Fries. They didn't look quite crispy enough so I turned the broiler on for a second. Uh-oh, only I was talking to my other aunt ('cause I knew she'd be jealous of my Tater Mitt and wonder why her sister-in-law didn't send her one too) and my one second maybe turned into a minute or more. Whoops.
Anyone want some blackened Oven Fries? I'll share.

If you were a little girl of the 70s & 80s...

2008-01-28T21:36:00.000-06:00

You had that Fisher Price Doctor's Kit with a stethoscope that actually worked.
My grandfather was a doctor but I was always happy to be a licensed Fisher Price medical kit-carrying nurse. My dollies and stuffed animals were subject to doctor's visits on a daily basis.

You owned a bicycle with a banana seat and a plastic basket with flowers on it.
Oh yeah. My Huffy was pink and purple and absolutely loverly! I learned to ride it (in circles) in the parking lot of our church, which was conveniently located two blocks down and one over from our house. I even had streamers hanging from the handlebars and my stepfather wanted to clothespin playing cards to the wheels. I talked him out of that ostentatiousosity.

You learned to skate with actual skates (not roller blades) that had metal wheels.
I don't even remember learning *how* to skate. I just skated. My friend Allison had the perfect carport for skating and our class took monthly field trips to the skating rink. Rest assured that my skates were always white leather(pleather?)with wheelie stoppers on the toes.

You thought Gopher from Love Boat was cute.
Who didn't? I also liked Isaac, but only as a friend. I loved "The Love Boat". Except for the episode with the mermaid in the tank. That one made me sad. I wonder how it ended--maybe she wasn't really a mermaid?

You had nightmares after watching Fantasy Island.
Who didn't? I still remember one "Fantasy Island" episode where there was a haunted house on the island. I don't know (or want to know) what that person's fantasy was!

You had either a 'bowl cut' or 'pixie', not to mention the 'Dorothy Hamill'.
People sometimes thought you were a boy.
I was never mistaken for a boy that may have had something to do with the fact that I refused to wear anything but dresses and ruffled,monogrammed panties. I had very distinct views on gender even at age two and they didn't lessen as I grew up. However I did have the Dorothy Hamill and one of my poor babysitters has the proof in her wedding photos. I think it may have been one of the few weddings where the flower girl's hair was shorter than the groom's.

You had rubber boots for rainy days and Moon boots for snowy days.
I had red galoshes, the sort of rubber boot in which your shoe'd foot will fit. I think Ramona Quimby had a pair in "Ramona the Pest". The only moon boots I remember owning were a dark blue and I cried every time I had to wear them , except when we were actually skiing, because they made my feet hot and they were ugly.

You owned a 'Slip-n-Slide', on which you injured yourself on a sprinkler head more than once.
My first encounter with a Slip-n-Slide was out at the volleyball field. It was really the Phillip's farm but my aunt and uncle and all their friends gathered there on weeeknds to play volleyball in the summer. There was always a handful of kids running around, too young to play volleyball. We had a regular one and later I had the Slip-n-Slide with the Splash Pool.

You owned 'Klick-Klacks' and smacked yourself in the face more than once !
Actually I don't think I owned these. They look like they were dangerous.

Your Holly Hobbie sleeping bag was your most prized possession.
My sleeping bag was Miss Piggy (sitting on a crescent moon---ooooh, and I've just remembered that Grandmother had the Miss Piggy and Frogs twin bedsheet sets for Elizabeth and me) but my beloved toy kitchen(sink, stove/oven) was Holly Hobbie.

You wore a poncho, gauchos, and knickers.
I still hold those blasted knickers against my mother. I had denim knickers and corduroy knickers, only I called them knickerbockers. I can't quite bring myself to destroy the photographic evidence. I wore the denim ones with my pink Izod shirt and my pink ribbon belt.

You begged Santa for the electronic game, Simon.
There was no begging involved. I had an older half-brother and an older stepbrother---it was a given that we would have a Simon, and that I would be the worst player.

You had the Donnie and Marie dolls with those pink and purple satiny shredded outfits, or The Sunshine Family.
I probably would have preferred the Donny and Marie dolls, but we (my cousin Elizabeth and I) had The Sunshine Family dolls (Steve, Steffie, Sweets, and Sunny, although we have made up the boy's name since I can't find it listed anywhere) at our grandparents' house. I personally disliked them--they looked too young to be parents and their clothes were hideous. I don't know why Grandmother wouldn't just give in and buy Barbie for us. At least Barbie had careers, unlike these freeloading hippie dolls. I do have to give her credit for buying me the Brooke Shields fashion doll though...but that credit is obliterated because she also bought us the Wrangler jeans fashion doll (and seriously, she looked like she'd been smoking with the Marlboro Man out there in the foothills beyond the ranch).

You spent hours in your backyard on your metal swing set with the trapeze. The swing set tipped over at least once.
I had the metal swing set and spent many hours "flying to San Francisco" (to see my Uncle Lee) in the glider. I never tipped it over but I could swing high enough to rock the posts out of the ground. I remember that someone's parents had the bright idea to dig small holes in the ground and then fill them with wet concrete and set the swing set's posts in the concrete...yeah, we swung so voraciously that the posts still came up, concrete boots and all.

You had homemade ribbon barrettes in every imaginable color.
Our ribbon barrettes came from The Personal Touch. I don't know anyone who actually made their own but I wish I did! (Just to show how naive I am, I didn't realize until just this very minute that those be-feathered clips that you always won at the fair? There weren't just funky little hair accessories!)

You had a pair of Doctor Scholl's sandals (the ones with hard sole & the buckle). You also had a pair of salt-water sandals.
My aunt had the Doctor Scholl's sandals and I greatly admired them, although now that I've learned they were the Dr. Scholl's EXERCISE sandals I have to question who exercised in them? Were there legions of Jane Fonda fanatics aerobicizing in these sandals? I clomped around in Aunt Ann's shoes as often as I could. I don't think they made them in my size. I don't know what salt-water sandals are but I did have jelly shoes.

You wanted to be Laura Ingalls Wilder really bad; you wore that Little House on the Prairie-inspired plaid, ruffle shirt with the high neck in at least one school picture; and you despised Nellie Oleson!
Hello fourth grade! More blame to lay on my mother's head. Another photo that will haunt me forever. I had read all the books before I even knew there was a TV show, but I hated Nellie with a passion. I was devastated in 5th grade to read Donald Zochert's biography "Laura: The Life of Laura Ingalls Wilder" and learn that Nellie was really a composite of two girls and many things were different than the books. I never completely recovered from Laura's betrayal.

You wanted your first kiss to be at a roller rink!
No,handholding was the only thing I was ready for at the roller rink. We were no longer roller-skating when I began to think about kisses. I wanted my first kiss to happen at a CYO dance in the school cafeteria, but 'twas not to be. I guess God objected because I wasn't actually Catholic.

PONG! ('video tennis' ) was the most remarkable futuristic game you've ever heard of !
I loved Pong! I was so scared that I was going to miss that fast-moving ball. LOL

Your hairstyle was described as having 'wings' or 'feathers' and you kept it 'pretty'
with the comb you kept in your back pocket. When you walked, the 'wings' flapped up and down, looked like you were gonna 'take off'
Fifth grade! I had a cute little pageboy but we feathered the bangs back, just the way my stylist taught me. It was something. That was my first curling iron.

You know who Strawberry Shortcake is, as well as her friends, Blueberry Muffin and Huckleberry Pie.
I had quite a collection, with the Strawberry carrying case. My favorite was Apple Dumplin' with her pet turtle. I even had a read-along Strawberry shortcake book and record. "When you hear this sound, turn the page. "

You carried a Muppets lunch box to school and it was metal, not plastic.
With the thermos inside some were glass inside and broke the first time you dropped them.
Mine was a metal Disney Express lunchbox with a hard plastic thermos. That was in Montessori(kindergarten). I had at least one new lunchbox each year but the only one I can remember clearly is that first one.

You and your girlfriends would fight over which of the Dukes of Hazzard was your boyfriend.
No contest. We all loved Bo and we all wanted to be Daisy. My two boyfriends and I would alternate between playing The Dukes of Hazzard and Star Wars, both of which conveniently had two male leads and one female lead. Ha, my first affaire du couer was a menage a trois-- we were in elementary school, I promise it was G-rated!

YOU had Star Wars action figures, too!
Of course I did. I had the Millennium Falcon and a boxful of action figures. Some good, some bad, & some ugly. The Millennium Falcon was a Christmas present from my Daddy and it took the better part of a bottle of Scotch for him to get past the "some assembly required" stage.

It was a big event in your household each year when the 'Wizard of Oz' would come on TV. Your mom would break out the popcorn and sleeping bags!
I managed to forget, every single year that the beginning of the movie was in black-and-white. I was always convinced that our television had suddenly broken. Every single year. And then I would cry when the mean lady turned into the witch. And then there were the winged monkeys. Really it was more like a form of torture....no wonder I blocked it out after each airing ended.

You often asked your Magic-8 ball the question: 'Who will I marry.
Shaun Cassidy, Leif Garrett, or David Cassidy?'
I missed out on that although I did have a crush on Joe Hardy before I even knew who he really was.

You completely wore out your Grease, Saturday Night Fever, and Fame soundtrack record album.
Hee hee. The playing of "Grease" in any format (soundtrack or VHS) was forbidden in my daddy's house. He had weekend visitation with me every other weekend,and for every other weekend for an entire year, we watched "Grease" at least once on Friday, once on Saturday, and once on Sunday. The ban was enacted when my father realized that not only was I singing along and reciting lines but he was too!

You tried to do lots of arts and crafts, like yarn and Popsicle-stick God's eyes, decoupage, or those weird potholders made on a plastic loom.
Guilty as charged in regards to the weird potholders, but mine never turned out. I remember that there were lots of pipe-cleaner crafts, too.

You made Shrinky-Dinks and put iron-on kittens on your t-shirts!
Just the other day, a friend was lamenting the fact that she had had a kitchen fire and now the air was redolent with the scent of burnt Shrinky-Dinks. I thought Shrinky-Dinks were the coolest thing ever--it was always best to have the oven with the little window in the door so you could watch them curl up and shrink!

You used to tape record songs off the radio by holding your portable tape player up to the speaker.
But first you had to call the request in to your favorite radio station. I wonder just how many people have mix tapes where the first few bars of the song are obliterated by the DJ's voice.

You had subscriptions to Dynamite and Tiger Beat.
Bop! was my magazine of choice but my daddy was the one who bought copies for me. At Mother's house, I had subscriptions to Barbie for Girls magazine, Muppet magazine (which Grandma always called "Muffet" magazine), and Highlights. Later, I finally talked her into a subscription to YM but she never agreed to Seventeen.

You learned everything you needed to know about girl issues from Judy Blume books. (Are you there God, It's me, Margaret.)
Again, I highly recommend the book "Everything I Know about Being a Girl I Learned from Judy Blume". It inspired me to re-read my favorite Blumes and read the ones I had missed.

You thought Olivia Newton John's song 'Physical' was about aerobics. (?? its not??)
I have that song on my iPod now, and everytime it plays, I laugh when I think about a generation of little girls in our legwarmers and sweatbands, dancing our little hearts out to "Physical" without the slightest idea what it meant.

You wore friendship pins on your tennis shoes, or shoelaces with hearts or rainbow designs.
Naturally! The frienship pins were proof of how many friends you had. The more colorful the better. As long as they didn't clash with the novelty laces.

I've had the most fun in thinking back over the memories that this evoked...and even better, while looking up the scary Wrangler doll, I came across another elusive childhood memory! For years, I've been trying to remember the name of these teeny-tiny dolls. I thought the "selling point" was that they were models but I really couldn't remember. Say hello to Glamour Gals!

You wanted to be a Solid Gold dancer.

You drowned yourself in Love's Baby Soft - which was the first 'real' perfume you ever owned.

You glopped your lips in Strawberry Roll-on lip-gloss till it almost dripped off.

Welcome to the World, Puppy Girl!

2008-01-19T12:55:00.000-06:00

The newest four-legged addition to my family was botn at 1:45 AM this morning, somewhere in the wilds of Ohio. Comtesse Chloe Cosette Cartier was the first of six puppies born to my mother's Bichon Frise, Iris. The daddy is a Shih Tzu named Teddy.
Chloe, therefore is a Shichon. I plan on flying out to Ohio for Easter weekend to bring her home. In the meantime, I am going to buy two blankies and send them out there--after a couple of weeks, Mother will send one back, so my kitties can get used to Chloe's scent before she comes home---hopefully this will make her introduction a little less traumatic. Iris and her brother, Ivan, lived with us for 6 months so the kitties have cohabitated with doggies before.
I'm also giving serious thought to knitting a little sweater and some booties for Chloe. Because she is going to be very frou-frou.

Tea and Sympathy

2008-01-17T22:55:00.003-06:00

One of the greatest challenges I've faced on a monthly basis since August revolves around my responsibility as logistics coordinator for particular committee for a certain service organization to which I belong. Each month I have to communicate with the vendor who provides a certain necessary service for our monthly events.
Now when I accepted this placement, my predecessor very explicitly outlined her experiences, having held the position for the past three years. In my optimistic foolishness, I thought "Whatever. I'm not going to let someone steamroll me." My thought was that we are the customers, we pay for the service provided, and that's all there is to it.
Famous last words. The past 5 months have seen me frantically typing and printing out reports an hour before the first parents' meeting, crying on the phone when the rep took a week off and forgot to assign us to anyone else in the office, and threatening, erm, I mean *offering* to show up at their office to pick up the information that he kept forgetting to fax to me.
Somewhere along the way, I learned that this individual responds best when I play the role of the helpless female. And believe you me, I'm good at that. Even though it's not really the image I want to project here.
Tonight we had our Mid-Year Leadership Retreat. A chance for all the "power people" to meet, eat, and drink sweet tea. During one of our tabletop discussions, I talked about the challenges I had faced in this situation...and then the best thing ever happened.
One of the women from another committee told me that she, as a school administrator, has had to deal with this exact same office and HER EXPERIENCES WERE EVEN MORE TRAUMATIC THAN MINE!
I know I shouldn't be happy in the face of someone else's disaster, but it was nice to know that our group hasn't been singled out. This vendor rep is an equal-opportunity donkey's behind.
So my next step, even though I only have to deal with this for another 4 months, is that I am going to make phone calls. I am going to see if there are any other alternatives, other vendors who can provide this exact same service. Having worked in HR for 8 years, I'm a firm believer in customer service. Also, I just hate the idea of passing this same headache on to my successor.

Happy New Year!

2008-01-07T19:44:00.000-06:00

My New Year's resolution is to blog more and whine less. 2008 is going to be My Year of Great. Corny, I know, but anything has to be better than last year.
I have to admit that when I caught my stovetop on fire on New Year's Day, I did wonder for a moment if that was a Sign that perhaps this year was going to be not-so-great. Then I realized it was a Sign that I need to be less careless in the kitchen.
When I was taking down the Christmas tree this weekend, I lost my balance on my stepladder and I should have down a very graceless backflip off the ladder. Instead I managed to stay upright and on the ladder and only a potted plant backflipped off the entertainment cabinet. Fortunately the plant survived with a minimal loss of soil. So I'm taking that as a Sign of Something Good.
Goals for 2008:
Get in shape (and I've joined a women's only fitness center, and I have discovered that I *heart* the elliptical machine!)
Start knitting again (and apparently my long-lost Knit Nite buddies have a Project Baby Blanket for a community WIP so while it may be too late for me to actually get in involved, I can use this opportunity to make a couple of practice squares to get back in the peak knitting condition)
Maintain a 3.5 (and I've proven to myself that I am actually smarter than I ever believed)
Socialize more (accept more of the invitations I receive)

I gave serious thought about adding "get married and have a baby" to this list, but instead I think I'll aim for a simple date with a man in whom I'm truly interested. It's not a resolution necessarily, but it's a goal of sorts...

"Tis the Season

2007-12-08T17:10:00.000-06:00

My absolute favorite thing about Christmas are the Christmas Specials. Charlie Brown! The Grinch(cartoon, not Carey), Rudolph, Frosty, and Santa Claus! I have to admit I'm a fan of Emmet Otter's Jugband Christmas but it just never attained the popularity of the others. I guess the Nightmare Riverbottom Gang's winning the talent show doesn't quite convey the Christmas spirit.
This year is going to be better than last Christmas. Last year I didn't put up the tree or any of the other decorations. On the one hand, it does seem silly. I live alone. I'm not even home on Christmas day. I can make excuses from here until New Year's, but the truth is that I was lazy. And I'm not letting myself cop-out this year.
My mother arrives on Monday and she's staying thru Thursday. Which means we're either going to have the time of our lives, or we're going to drive each other crazy. In an effort to prevent the latter, I've tried to make plans for us for each night of her visit. Monday night we're going to dinner with a distant cousin and her new husband (high school sweethearts who have reunited after nearly 40 years!) and Wednesday night, a couple of my cousins/Mother's nieces are coming over for dinner...but Tuesday night is going to be our make-or-break night. We're having a dinner party of sorts.
Since I have to work while she's here, poor Mother will have to do the bulk of the cooking. And if I haven't mentioned it before? When I was growing up, I knew dinner was ready when the smoke alarm sounded. Every night. That was my signal to sit down at the table. Pavlov could have used me instead of the dogs. Heaven only knows what would have happened if a real fire had ever broken out in the middle of the night.
Also, in addition to never using a timer, Mother prefers to use a recipe as a "suggested guideline". She likes to be creative and unfettered which ordinarily is fine, but absolutely will not work in this instance. I agreed to test recipes for a new cookbook and if we, the testers, were told once, we were told a million times that it was imperative that we not deviate in any way, shape, or form from the recipe as submitted.
And don't even get me started on the impossibility of finding creme fraiche in central Arkansas. Thanks the heavens for the powers of Google--I found a recipe for making creme fraiche at home with buttermilk and cream.
Our menu will include:
Oven-Fried Chicken
Chipolte Sweet Potatoes
Shrimp and Smoky Gouda Grits
Italian Pasta Salad
and a few other nibblies to round it out.
I suppose I need to unpack the Christmas dishes and decide whether I want to pull out the real silver or wing it with what I have on hand. Decisions, decisions!
Ho ho ho!

A Day to Give Thanks (Part I)

2007-11-28T22:12:00.000-06:00

I left work last Wednesday and headed to NW Arkansas, via the Pig Trail(!) for Thanksgiving. Normally I have issues with the Thanksgiving holiday as it always falls near the anniversary of my older brother's death. I was especially concerned this year because it was the 20th anniversary and that seems like a really long time. This year was better and I enjoyed myself very much. I think the drive did me some good---I didn't feel rushed or stressed. I enjoyed the scenery, even thought the tree leaves were past their peak.
My aunt and uncle's home is wonderful. It has a very cozy feel to it, but it's too large to really be cozy, if you know what I mean, and there are large windows everywhere looking out on their 20 acres. You can see the barn from the back deck but you can't actually see the horses even when they're in their pastures.
So everyone arrived at some time or another on Wednesday. Those who were there in time for dinner were treated to my uncle's yummy gumbo. And then bedtime!
Thanksgiving morning kicked off with our traditional Bloody Marys and last-minute cooking. I was in charge of the mashed potatoes, my specialty. I really wanted to make them with Yukon Gold potatoes but I couldn't find the blasted things. And I tried multiple grocery stores. So Russets it was.

The Uncles got their fry on and took the turkey outside to meet its fate. This is the 3rd year we've fried our turkey but it was the 1st time we were made aware of the possibility of a
Grease Geyser if the turkey was mishandled!

Clcckwise from Stove: Leanne, Laura, and Me

Another important part of our Thanksgiving traditions is the Peppermint Pie. Long thought (by some of my cousins) to be an old secret family recipe, I finally burst some bubbles by informing the cousins that it's from the
Southern Accent cookbook. Nevertheless we created yet another fab fab fabbity fab dessert (and a good thing too, because Aunt Ann actually bought pies this year instead of making her homemade, with flaky flaky crust, pies).

Uncle Lee and Uncle Don guard against the grease geysers!

This year, we accidentally reinstated the children's table, but as there are more *children* (ranging from 30-something[ahem} to 18), the *children* had the prettier table. The *adults* ended up at a plain wooden table, without the view. I suppose it's just desserts for all the years we had to eat at

A Gobble Gobble Here, A Gobble Gobble There

2007-11-20T12:29:00.000-06:00

It's almost Turkey Time for those of us in The States. This year I am driving up into the Ozarkian wilderness of Northwest Arkansas to spend the holiday at at my aunt and uncle's house. Horses! Food! Beer pong! Family!
A good time will be had by all.

Party like it's 1993

2007-11-17T23:52:00.000-06:00

So I've become involved in my high school reunion. Apparently this calls for more involvement than I originally thought.
Part of it is fun. Gossiping with old acquaintances, finding out that The Not-Quite-Cool Guy Who Sat Beside Me in English seems to be living like a "Playa" these, albeit a "Playa" trapped in our bass-ackwards hometown.
Finding out That Guy, the one I kissed not knowing he had just made out with my friend a little earlier that same night, married young and is in a dead-end job in a small town...well, I'm not sure how I feel about that. But at least I no longer wonder whatever happened to him.
One of my friend-girls, the one I thought would take the world by storm, she's a nurse in the hometown hospital. That, that makes me sad.
What also makes me sad is that the planning committee has conference calls every two weeks. Looooong conference calls. Personally I'm a fan of streamlining. We each know which committees we're chairing or working on--surely there's a more effective way to handle this. One that doesn't involve blocking off 4 hours for a conference call. On the plus side, I'm no longer the only "vanilla scoop" in this particular sundae. Yes, it's a metaphor. Work on it.
Not to mention that my skin is flashing back to 1993 but with a twist. In high school, I had cystic acne. Painful, bumpy, under-the-skin blemishes. My dermatologist was on our speed dial. Thankfully, now I'm just suffering from the ordinary run-of-the-mill outbreaks. The current batch is clustered at the right corner of my mouth. My attempts to "cure" only aggravated it. Lovely. And attractive.
I was invited to a speed dating event, but given my current condition, I opted not to go. It's all about first impressions after all.

An Off Year

2007-11-09T18:12:00.000-06:00

Sometimes we have "off days" or "off weeks". I have decided that this year has been an "off year". I came home from Christmas with that cold from my brother which later turned into bronchitis. That was yuck and it caused me to take a detour with my schooling plans. And now I have to admit that I made a mistake with the choice I made this fall. It's been a very not-happy semester for me.
So.
I'm just going to get throught the next 6 weeks or so and then start the new year with a brand-new blank slate.

Beauty Don'ts

2007-10-29T21:50:00.001-05:00

This weekend I noticed a gray hair on the top of my Boo Kitty's head. I know he's 10 years old. I know he has a silver patch on his throat and another small patch somewhat hidden on his back haunch. But one single, solitary gray hair on his head? I couldn't stand it.
So I plucked it.
Bad. Idea.
Bad. Bad. Idea.

Party Time! Excellent!

2007-10-18T00:08:00.000-05:00

So all too often, I drag myself home and collapse either on the sofa or in bed. My apartment is embarassingly disorganized--I have escalated from screeching various apologies for the state of my home to flat-out offering blindfolds to the few people who actually pass the threshhold. I get dressed out of the two laundry baskets. My towels are living in a laundry bag. Dirty clothes are piled in the hall in the hopes of eventually moving into an available laundry basket. Tonight's dinner was half a peanut butter sandwich and a handful of dry Frosted Flakes.
Tonight I didn't make it further than the sofa. Fortunately my pajamas were still sitting on the dining room table, beside the Frosted Flakes. I clicked on the TV, pulled up the comforter which was left from a weekend guest who slept in the living room, and immediately fell asleep. I was soon jolted out of my sleep by a Severe Thunderstorm Warning bleeping from the TV, followed quickly by the sound of a zillion golf balls hitting my windows. I clicked over the the local access channel to see if there was any pertinent information such as the Apocalypse or just a tornado. I watched a few minutes of local notices and then much to my delight, I learned that Channel 18 airs real live (or pre-taped, as the case may be) local access shows. Just like Wayne and Garth! Who knew?
I'm watching something called The Hempy Cafe. Oh yes I am. It's produced in association with the local chapter NORML. One really does learn something new every day.
This episode is dated July 2007--what? Are they in reruns already? You have to love a show whose countdown consists of hand-drawn cards. 10. 9. 8...And then the agenda for the show flashed on the screen, and it was a hand-lettered poster. I only wish I could find the digital remote so I could rewind to the song. One line was all about "then we fought the Commies". I swear I'm not making this up. I might be slightly disoriented by being yanked out of a sound sleep, but I did not hallucinate a man singing about all of our fights and a tribute to the Reverend Tom Brown. Nor did I imagine that a former Seattle police officer gave a sound byte. And what's up with the dude with the ponytail? And is that a classroom of teenagers? Whoa.
Now I have very little interest in the plant that is the root of this program (bad pun. Pitiful attempt, I know) but quite frankly my opinion is that it's organic and therefore harmless. I had a roommate who had at least one of those braided bracelets in college--I borrowed it for a "Hippie Chick" themed party-- and she might have even had a woven purse. Frankly I thought it smelled a little funny but what do I know?
And to think I had all but given up watching any channel below 25 (The Disney Channel...I have a shameful addiction to "Hannah Montana"). My faith in the ability of the lesser cable channels has been restored! Education and entertainment all in one.

Weekend Update

2007-10-14T21:13:00.000-05:00

Friday night: I organized my knitting basket. Again. I love to organize it. I just haven't picked up the needles lately.
Did laundry.
Saturday: Up at the crack o' dawn to meet committee at League house to set up for a GROW event. Talked to multiple parents and tried to explain that no, the city of LR had not advised the school bus people that half of downtown was closed off for a parade, yes, I was sorry that the school bus was not able to pick up their daughters, no, our liability prevented me from picking them up in my car. Listened to motivational speaker, watched art project demonstration, chaperoned 40+ girls to the Arts Center for the Jim Henson exhibit. Back to League house, cleaned up, and headed home. New shoes killing feet.
Driving on the interstate, talking on phone to parent who watched the school bus drive past her house without dropping off her daughter. Frantic tearing up of notebook only to realize that Transportation Director's business card is in other notebook which is at home. Reach home, call him, locate daughter, placate mother, and breathe deeply...all while sitting in bathtub with cordless phone attached to one ear and cell phone on other, hurriedly taking quick bath.
Dress, straighten hair again, and find ugly but comfy flip-flops.
FriendBoy and I hit Fresh Market for steaks and head to cook-out in Maumelle. Thank goodness for this particular FriendBoy--any romantic/lustful longings were nipped in the bud in college when we realized we just didn't see each other "that way". Which is a good thing because we're too much alike in some ways:
Me: I think we take the Morgan exit and then turn left (points in direction)
FB: You said "left" but you're pointing to the right
Me: Whatever. Just follow my hand already. It's not like you even know which exit. Just drive.
FB: (mutters something indistinguishable under his breath)
Me: You know why it's good we're not a couple? 'Cause not only would our kids be super-short, they'd also have a really bad sense of direction and they'd be totally clueless.
FB: (mutters something indistinguishable under his breath)
Me: Ooooo, look! A helicopter!
Fortunately the helicopter sighting, along with the knowledge that we had wine, brightened my mood and I was back to my usual darling self by the time we reached our party. Wine, food, and conversation...lovely!
Sunday: Slept in. Watched TV. Slept while watching TV. Called FriendGirl to say I was running late for our trip to the Arts Center (planned before I knew I was chaperoning a field trip, but really...you try looking at an exhibit when 5 teenage girls are tugging on you!)--love the exhibit. Come home and take nap. Wake up in time for conference call for high school reunion committee---thankfully it seems as if we're going to have our reunion in our hometown, not on a cruise ship, after all. Create blog for reunion. Search MySpace for missing classmates. Some people take their reunion planning real seriously.
Engage in Ray Stevens' lyrics war with Cousin Liz. Ha ha--I have a secret weapon in my arsenal. I have all of Grandma's Ray Stevens' cassettes in a box under the bed in my guest room!

Remembering the First Time...

2007-10-10T22:14:00.001-05:00

...I read "Forever". (*What* were you thinking I was going to say?) Chances are if you were a girl in the '70s or '80s, you read Judy Blume. Chances are you learned how to *be* a girl from Judy Blume. Chances are you walked around swinging your arms and chanting "I must, I must, I must increase my bust!".

I recently read this fantabulous collection of essays on how Judy Blume's books affected these women's adolescence. It caught my eye because Meg Cabot is one of the authors, and her The Princess Diaries are one of my secret guilty reading pleasures. I like her books for grown-up girls, too. As a party bonus, I also found essays by Julie Kenner, whose demon-hunting soccer mom (think Buffy with a minivan) has made me laugh until tea shot out my nose and made me cry., and Beth Kendrick. And several others!

My first introduction to Judy Blume was in fourth grade when I read "Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing", quickly followed by "SuperFudge", and "Otherwise Known as Sheila the Great". So for a while I was content with Judy Blume's humorous books...and let's face it, my mother wouldn't have allowed me to read her other books even if I had known they existed.

And then came the fateful school trip to DisneyWorld. My 5th grade teacher and one other mother chaperoned a group of us on a weeklong visit to Orlando. Right after we reached the airport, I realized that I didn't have a book to read. And yes, even then, I was a total bookworm. So I bought the first book that sounded interesting in the airport giftshop. In 1986, airport giftshops didn't really cater to children's needs. I bought a book about a female spy who was captured by the enemy. The book was quickly confiscated by Mrs. Allred. It was not appropriate. It was smut. Whoops!
And then she hands me a copy of Judy Blume's "Forever". As if it were that much more appropriate. We, the girls on the trip, huddled on one bed in our hotel room in Orlando and read and re-read passages out loud, trying to understand exactly what was going on and why. To this day I remember there was a scene in which a condom was utilized...only it was referred to as a "rubber". At this point in my 10 yr. old life, I knew that raincoats and boots were sometimes referred to as "rubbers". Yeah, I was very confused.
A few years later when I watched the "Naked Gun" series for the first time, I cracked up. Because that scene with Frank and Jane was pretty much what I had pictured in my head. Only with yellow raincoats.
I re-read it last year not long after I joined the library. I love me some *free" books. The funny thing is that book wasn't nearly as shocking as I remembered it to be, or maybe I'm just older and more jaded. What surprised me the most was the ending. I guess I remembered Katherine and Michael as living happily ever after. I also remembered the book as simply being titled "Forever". I never realized it was really "Forever..." As Meg Cabot said, those three little dots chantged the entire meaning of the title.
After the class trip, I read several other Judy Blume teen novels. "Then Again Maybe I Won't" which I surprisingly liked, even though it was technically a boy book. "Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret"was a comfort to a petite young girl who was a late bloomer. And others. Amazingly enough, I never read "It's Not the End of the World" but then again I never blamed myself for any of my parents' divorces. All in all, it helped to know that someone somewhere knew the thoughts and questions that were in my mind. It helped to know I wasn't the only one in any particular situation.
I liked the fact that Judy Blume's characters were real. I could recognize myself and my friends in her books. Heaven knows that Sweet Valley High was also key to my adolescent years, but those characters were more like the people I *wanted* to know, people who lived in a far-away exotic land of swimming pools and surf parties. SVH was pure escapist fantasy, but Judy Blume, she was *real*. We won't even touch V.C. Andrews (discovered in 6th grade, thanks to a classmate's older sister/cousin/whatever).
I realize it's rather late and I'm rambling now. I know the chances of Judy Blume ever reading what I've just written are nil, but on the off-chance that ever stumbled across this, I'd like to say, "Thank you."

You Just Know...

2007-10-01T16:44:00.000-05:00

That Brit-Brit is going to toss the kids into the backseat of her white Mercedes and head for the border (no, not Taco Bell. The US/Mexico border). Then Dog the Bounty Hunter and Beth are going to have to go after her. There will be praying and lecturing and lots of crying. Now *that* is reality TV that I wouldn't mind watching.

Invasion of the Body Snatcher

2007-09-27T22:12:00.000-05:00

I think I have been taken over by a pea pod person.
I look like myself.
I sound like myself.
But I just agreed to be part of the planning committee for my 15 year high school "getaway".

Feeling the Generation Gap

2007-09-26T19:27:00.000-05:00

Scene: My parents' rental car in Fayetteville, AR. Daddy is driving, my stepmom, GA, is riding shotgun, and my brother, ATS, and I are in the backseat.

Topic of discussion: The fact that a relative has apparently outed herself on the internet but has not told anyone in the family...

ATS: blah, blah, blah, something, something, something, but that's just our another sign of our family's discussion.

Me(aka Sissy in family discussions): Well, you know us. We put the "fun" in dysfunction!

GA: I don't think we're all that dysfunctional. In fact, Sissy accused us of being more boring than "Leave It to Beaver" once.

Me: We ate dinner every single night at 6:30 P.M. It was very Cleaverish. But with a couple of Brady elements.

ATS: "Leave It to Beaver"? I saw that movie once.

GA, Me: No, no. It was a TV show. In black and white. The Brady Bunch was a tv show, but in color...although there was that awful movie spoof in the 90s.

ATS: Oh. I didn't know they had TV in the black and white days.

(You may notice that my father has yet to contribute to the conversation. This is standard.)

Ohmigosh. I grew up watching those shows and "The Patty Duke Show", "Dobie Gillis", and who knows what else on Nick at Nite. I remember when Nick at Nite was good. I remember when Nick at Nite didn't even exist!
Over the years, the 10 and 13 year gaps between my brothers and me has been apparent. Who can forget The Great Atari Debate of 1995 in which they didn't believe I was actually alive when Atari was popular. Or when they attempted to teach me to play POGS? Or when MHS commented that his generation would be ruling while my generation was drooling? In the aftermath of that discussion, we al determined that we did like Lite Brites.
'Cause there's nothing like the magical shining lights to bring on the love.

Survival Tips

2007-09-15T15:19:00.000-05:00

If I ever say I'm going to chaperone an overnight retreat again, please, please, please stop me! I am too old to sleep in a cabin with 9 s'mores-fueled 7th and 8th grade girls.
Jokes about Jason hiding in the woods and our cabin being named Elm don't go over so well.
Bugs are fearsome.
3 pieces of pizza per girl is not enough.
The word "snake" can cause a stampede.
When someone says, "Oh, they'll be exhausted. Last year they fell asleep at 10:30 P.M.", that someone is lying!
Telling a true ghost story is not a good idea.
Girls is sneaky when it comes to getting around the "No cell phones calls or messaging unless it's your parents" rule.
At the buttcrack of dawn when the sun is peeking through the naked east-facing windows, however, when the girls ask if we can come back again, you know it's worth it!

The First Breakfast

2007-09-11T22:39:00.000-05:00

I met God this morning. I gave Him a box of raisins.

This morning, because I didn't have class, I went down to the soup kitchen behind City Hall and helped serve breakfast. This is something I've been meaning to do for a while, ever since my friend Suzi mentioned it. This morning I stopped making excuses and did it.It was wonderful and heartbreaking all at the same time. We had individual boxes of raisins, day old donuts from a local bakery, dozens and dozens of hard-boiled eggs(somehow I managed to curb my gag reflex), orange juice and coffee. All of this is donated either by the volunteers themselves or by local businesses. Every morning. From what I understand, this began as a grassroots campaign and will remain so, completely staffed by volunteers.Our guests quietly walked thru the breakfast line, single file. Some talked. Some didn't. One lady and I discussed whether or not grapes & raisins are a significant source of iron(they're not). A man became slightly worried that there were no bottles of water available. All in all, the people who came through the breakfast line were nice.
And then God walked in. I don’t think he was really God…I would expect God to remember that while Moses received the Ark of the Covenant(thank you, Indiana Jones!), it was Noah who sailed on the Ark of the Animals. "God"'s excuse was that it had been many, many years since he wrote down all the stories in the Bible and we couldn't really expect him to remember them all. "God", who was very large and imposing and even perhaps scary with his Charles Manson eyes, took a liking to Suzi and me, and even suggested that we stay behind when the sole male volunteer said it was time to go. When "God" closed his eyes and started talking about the "'here' that is here, and the 'here' that is in our minds", we all took the opportunity to walk out the door. Quickly.
As we stood outside trying to figure out how the male volunteer could get "God" out of the trailer so it could be locked, "God" strolled up to us. Suzi and I immediately took refuge behind my open car door, wedging ourselves between her car and mine.
As we said our good-byes, "God" addressed us once again. "Ladies," he said. "How do you pray?" (Imagine the word "how" sort of slithering out, the way the Caterpillar in Disney's "Alice in Wonderland" might speak.)
Suzi and I looked at each other. Total and complete identical deer-in-the-headlights expressions on our faces. It was not unlike being trapped in a pasture with a bull pawing the ground in front of you. You know freedom is attainable...but can you reach it before the bull charges?
My only thoughts were "*&(^! If I don't answer, he's going to throw himself on my car in a fit of rage. *&*^% (**&^ I do answer and he doesn't like the answer, he's going to throw himself on my car in a fit of rage."
Either way, I figured I was screwed. And then I remembered a biblical passage from my Catholic school days. One that I had used once before when arguing with my mother's Church of Christ boyfriend, ca. 1989.
I looked at "God" and squeaked"Privately?"
And "God" boomed "Exactly!", beamed at us, and turned away towards the river. I did not stay long enough to see if he was going to walk on water or not.
Later I was relating the story to my mother and she reminded me that she once was responsible for having "Jesus Christ" committed to a psych ward. I wasn't as impressed. After all. "God" smiled on me today.

Flatter than Her Weave

2007-09-09T22:28:00.000-05:00

Bless her heart, y'all. The much-hyped "comeback" performance by Britney Spears was without.
Without flash.
Without passion.
Without coordination.
Without Criss Angel-inspired illusions and stage magic.

As much as I luv to hate the trainwreck that is Britney Spears and her apparent ability to channel Anna Nicole Smith, I actually was hoping that her performance would be spectacular. I don't care for "Gimme More" (hello, how hard is it to say "Gimme gimme gimme" repeatedly?) or "Kiss You All Over" but the girl used to be good.

Something that was not flat, on the other hand, is the movie "Becoming Jane". I loved this movie. Yes I realize that it is a highly fictionalized and romanticized interpretation of Jane Austen's life but it was a fabulous story. The scenery, the lushness of the woods, the costumes, the blueness of Lefoy's eyes......
Le sigh.

Memory Lane

2007-09-04T23:03:00.000-05:00

Tonight during dinner with My Gay Boyfriend(bless him 'cause he always pays!), we were discussing his son who is starting his freshman year at Central High and how horrible it was to be that age. The teen years were horrible.
Ever since I graduated high school, I've tried so hard to leave it and almost everyone behind. That was a time when I was still reeling from the loss of my brother, and then I was all but abandoned by my mother, and my stepmonster, as I thought of her then, and I simply didn't "get" each other. I think in my mind I exaggerated the worst parts of it and downplayed the best parts until it became this big giant boogeyman, like the ones that hide under my bed and in my closet! The kind that can't be wounded by steel knitting needles!
When I joined MySpace earlier this summer, my intent was to contact one particular person and then cancel my account. Before I could do that, people practically started coming out of the woodwork and I reconnected with friends I hadn't thought of in years.
So tonight I sat down to weed thru the weekend's worth of messages, comments, and bulletins when I came across one titled "Firsts". I try to be choosy about the bulletins I post, because I know I don't feel like reading even a quarter of the ones that land on my bulletin board.
This one was fun, though. As I started filling it out, I realized that some of the recipients would actually know the people I talked about. Heavens, some of the recipients were the people I was talking about! I was even able to include inside jokey-side comments in parentheses to some people.

So, just for fun, here is my edited List of Firsts*
1.Who was your first prom date?
Chad *******but it was a bit of a disaster. Thank goodness I was only a junior, and my senior prom was much better

2. Who was your first roommate?
Tonya ****

3. What was your first alcoholic drink?
Vodka mixed with a Sonic Cherry Limeade

4. What was your first job?
Working as a clerk in Dr. Nuckoll's office during my Sr. year of high school--but I really only did it so I could leave school after lunch.

5. What was your first car?
1987 Honda CRX...but I couldn't work the clutch so I ended up with the Blazer

7. Who is the first person you thought of this morning?
I'm not capable of "thinking" in the mornings.

8. Who was your first grade teacher?
Mrs. Voss

9. Where did you go on your first ride on an airplane?
Probably Biloxi, MS or somewhere in Florida. Daddy had his private pilot's license and we had condos on the beaches.

10. When you snuck out of your house for the first time, who was it with?
Wendy ********---her boyfriend Steve *** picked us up and we went to grocery store. I was a real rebel, eh?

11. Who was your first best friend and are you still friends with them?
Either Amy ******** or Rachel ******...it's been ages since I;ve seen either of them

12. Where was your first sleep over?
The first one I remember was at Callie ****'s house. We danced to the Grease soundtrack LP.

13. Who was the first person you talked to this morning?
Courtney, at work

14. Whose wedding were you in the first time?
My babysitter Karla's wedding. I was the flower girl.

15. What is the first thing you do in the morning?
Stumble out of bed and trip over my cat. .

16. What was the first concert you ever went to?
Hank Wiliams Jr,...which is ironic in that I don't like country

17. First tattoo or piercing?
I had my ears pierced when I was 6. Belly button for my 20th birthday, and 1st tattoo at 22

18. First foreign country ever visited?
Venezuela in '88

19. First crush?
Bo Duke!

20. First TRUE love?
Mark ******

21. When was your first detention?
I think it was from Chemistry in 11th grade---was usually one of the last people to sit down b/c I stood in the hall talking to Matt ***** and Mary Milam ******, and then in class I talked to Stephanie ******, and Coach Barraclough was mean
(See, Matt, I *do* remember!!)

22. Who was your first kiss?
Drew ******* (I hear you laughing, Borecky!)

23. What was the first state you lived in?
AR

24. Who was the first person to break your heart?
Jeff ********----I cried until I made myself sick and then I stayed in bed for days.

*Last names have been removed to protect the innocent(or guilty, as the case may be)

Maybe high school wasn't perfect and I would like the occasional Do Over for certain things, but all in all, it's getting easier to remember the Good Times. If only I received the invite to the Spin Doctors concert on Sunday BEFORE THE EVENT....I certainly have some fond memories of dancing on someone's parent's coffee table to "Two Princes" and "Pocketful of Kryptonite".

singing: One, two princes kneel before you
that's what I said now
Princes, princes who adore you
Just go ahead now....

'Cause Iiiiiiiii got a pocketful full of kryptonite...

Blame It on the Heat

2007-09-04T20:05:00.002-05:00

I think I'm a New Englander deep down. I can't take the heat of summer. Between classes starting (and my new crazy schedule) and both the Chair and Chair-Elect of my committee going into labor on Thursday, I needed a sloooow weekend. I left my apartment once over the weekend. Once. I spent the rest of the weekend holed up with Katherine Valentine's Dorsetville books and The Hardy Boys Nancy Drew Mysteries seasons one and two DVDs. Bless the local library.
Okay, and I have to admit that I also borrowed "Illegal Aliens", Anna Nicole Smith's final movie. I haven't actually watched it yet, but I just might.

One Watermelon and Some Yarns

2007-08-22T21:58:00.000-05:00

I do adore getting gifts and over the past few days I have received a watermelon AND a sack o' yarn! The watermelon was home-grown by my very dear friend Charla, and the yarns came from my Darling Cousin Laura's stash. Thank you both v.v. much!

Also with the yarn came two and a half pairs of metal or maybe aluminum needles. I've always wanted to try knitting with those to see if I can make them go clickety-clack.
I can't. They also make my hands cramp because I knit tighter than usual because I'm really afraid of my stitches slipping off. You can't see it very well (because I am not a photographer by any stretch of the imagination) but I did start playing with the pink and white yarns, I CO 18 stitches in PINK, knit 6 rows AND THEN switched to WHITE for 3 rows before switching BACK TO PINK. And then my hands really cramped up and I threw the needles on the floor in frustration.
However, if I remember the movie "Halloween" correctly, they'll make very effective weapons should I ever need to stab a psychotic escaped lunatic. It could happen.
Tonight I finally decided to stop admiring my watermelon and eat it. As I was cutting into my 'melon, I realized that I have never actually cut (carved?) a whole watermelon by myself. Either some parental-type figure or boyfriend-person has done this in the past. I've purchased watermelon halves and quarters from the grocery store but I've never cut into a full watermelon. Ever.
There was a strange sense of liberation in cutting my own watermelon. The closest I've ever come to this was one time when my daddy and stepmother sent my stepcousins and me out onto the back deck with two watermelon halves and several spoons. We quickly tired of eating the watermelon and proceeded to have a watermelon fight. Like a water balloon fight but with red sticky melon. I seem to recall that we had to wash the deck and apologize to the neighbors over that one.
So I sliced and diced to my heart's content. That sucker was larger than it looked. Then I had an unfortunate slippage incident and a Tupperware container full o' melon hit the floor.
Cats do not care for watermelon. Nor will they lick up the juice. That's the one way in which dogs might be more handy than cats. Dumb as dirt but great at cleaning small food-related messes.
However the loss of one container full is not a problem. I still have 6 more.
Watermelon, anyone?

Life (and Ghosts) in the Fast Lane

2007-08-19T12:34:00.001-05:00

As Ferris Bueller once said, life moves pretty fast. Right now I'm not worried about missing it, I'm worried about it giving me a nervous breakdown from exhaustion! I went to Knit Nite last Friday---we knitted, we played some funky trivia game and Cranium (well, I was the official Time Keeper--games and I don't get along). I drove down to my hometown to spend the day with Grandma--we had our hairs "did" and I bought a sewing machine. My Darling Cousin Laura spent the night early this week--it was the first time I had seen her since she's been home from spending 7 months studying overseas. Naturally we stayed up way too late talking. I've had dinner with Mary Milam, a friend from high school. I made a Kahlua cake for a "Going Away" party for Lara who worked down the hall (*Note to self: while the alcohol bakes out of the cake itself, the glaze is still "leaded"! We all were a little sleepy that afternoon and I actually ended up taking a 4 hour nap when I got home.), I went to Heber Springs to visit college friends, Charla, Chris and Rachel, and last night I went to a barbecue/potluck at Ginny and Steve's .

Ginny and I and our friend Jef went to high school and college together. Somehow as it got later last night, we started reminiscing about the alleged ghosts and haunted places in and around our hometown. Which led me to wonder, is it universal for all teenagers to go ghosthunting? And why did(do) we do it?

However, this one guy had the best story of the night. Now, you have to be familiar with the Vanishing Hitchhiker Ghost legends to appreciate it. Our story, as I heard it from my mother, was that a group of kids were out joyriding after a dance during a storm on the old Highway 65 (now Highway 365) when the car went off the bridge near Woodson. All but one of the teenagers survived. Ever since then, she haunts the bridge, especially on rainy nights, trying to get home. My mother and I drove to Little Rock on that highway once when I was young because I wanted to see the ghost...naturally the closer we got to the bridge, the more scared I became until finally I was hiding in the floorboards of our station wagon, crying. I went back in high school with a group of friends but I wouldn't get out of the car that time either.

So we're all relating our stories of the ghosts and cemetaries with viscious guard dogs and mysterious El Caminos and ghosts who push cars over railroad tracks and phantom headlights when our Vanishing Hitchhiker comes up. This guy Joe calmly says that his father picked her up. Just says it as if it's no big deal.

Naturally we're all falling out of our chairs (although that might have had something to do with the massive quantities of food, beer, and rum lemonades that had been consumed), asking all sorts of questions in varying stages of disbelief. When, how, what happened?

When Joe's Dad was in high school, the football team and various fans, etc. were caravanning home from a game down south. Back in those days, they had to travel on 365. Joe's Dad and his friends were in one car with another group of friends following in another car, behind the school bus. They saw a girl standing on the side of the road and Joe's Dad pulled over. The guy riding shotgun let the girl have his seat. She never spoke, just pointed to where they should turn. They pulled up in front of a house but she was no longer in the car. Joe says he never believed the story until he also went to Joe's Dad's high school reunion. Lots of people were relating the story. Lots of people who had been in the buses and other cars remembered seeing her on the side of the road, getting into the car...

Florida, baby!

2007-08-09T22:20:00.000-05:00

So an old friend whom I haven't spoken to in 14 years has recently moved from an honest-to-goodness Carribbean island to Florida which is where his family moved. We recently reconnected and he's flying me out there for a long weekend next month! Whooo hoooo, Florida, baby!
I've been complaining for the last couple of weeks that I haven't been anywhere all summer and that I haven't had a real vacation in ages.
Opportunity knocks and I said c'mon in!
And the best part is that he lives near the Keys and my cousin and her husband just moved back to Key West so we're going to spend a day doing the touristy thing with them!

Domesticating Susannah

2007-07-29T23:02:00.000-05:00

In January I wrote about The Night My Refrigerator Died. Because I am a procrastinator extraordinaire, I never picked up the phone and called in the maintenance request to have the top & bottom doors fixed. Which wouldn't really matter--I'm still waiting for them to paint my wall as promised 2 years ago. My maintenance men--- it takes threats of hysterical tears for them to perform non-emergency maintenance.
The new-to-me refrigerator doors, they opened from left to right. The problem was that they opened AWAY from the wall and TOWARDS the stove. It required athletic feats (jumping and scooting across the counter) the likes of which I have not performed since I took gymnastics from Mrs. Clements in 3rd grade to get into the 'fridge; the freezer was easier--just a Duck and Slide routine was required.
Well, I woke up in a Motivated Mood yesterday. I had had a fabulous time at Knit Nite on Friday; everyone was properly enthused with my half-accomplished poncho. Yay me(again).
So I puttered around Saturday morning, as usual. When I once again manuevered my way into the refrigerator for my Diet Coke, I suddenly decided that *I* could handle the switcheroo. I just needed to move those hinge-thingies over to the left and the door handles to the right. I have an electric screwdriver. How hard can it be and how long can it really take?
If life were a horror movie, that last question would be the equivalent of saying "I'll be right back...."
1:30 PM Decide to tackle refrigerator maintenance
1:35 PM Kitchen floor covered in lower left cabinet contents while I pull out every tool I own, including my red hammer; cats happily burrowing in overturned bag of kitty food
1:55 PM Electric screwdriver refuses to clamp on screwdriver bit; find appropriate manual screwdriver
2:20 PM Realize that those flat thingies do not have screwholes on top, rendering screwdriver utterly useless
2:40 PM Walk into KraftCo and ask for a "thingie to undo those other non-screws" that are almost as big as "this hole" (a hole on a tool whose purpose is completely unknown)
2:50 PM Utterly mortified but triumphantly clutching 2 Nut Drivers (I swear that's what's printed on the package)
3:10 PM Successfully begin loosening all screws again as well as nuts (the 5/16th driver works perfectly)
3:25 PM Realize that newly discovered flat thingies are completely round except for the one that is oval and therefore do not require nut driver
3:30 PM Back in car, headed for Fuller Hardware this time (can not face going back to KraftCo so soon) and there is a chance that my old buddy, Darlin'*, will be working there.
3:45 PM After stopping at Sonic for much needed refreshment(whatever happened to that Diet Coke that started this whole mess?), explain the problem to not one but two Fuller Hardware men, neither of whom is Darlin' (one non-Darlin' stopped me midway thru explanantion and pawned me off onto coworker, even-less-Darlin'). Reluctantly buy crescent wrench in decidedly smirky testosterone-y environment. Decide to steer clear of Fuller in future. Realize must return to KraftCo to return unused Nut Driver.
4:30 PM After much swearing and one pinched finger, realize that blasted crescent wrench is utterly useless, as round things simply pop out when lifted with knife
5:00 PM All screws, nuts, and round things successfully removed and corralled in bowl on counters, doors on floor, and contents of refrigerator doors rolling merrily towards the dining room table. Oops, I bet I should have emptied the door first.
5:30 PM Hinges successfully installed on left
5:35 PM Refrigerator door dropped on foot
5:45 PM Doors back on floor; tricky hidden pieces of hardware have been discovered on bottom of door
*Pause to call friends who are supposed to pick me up at 6:45 for "Schoolhouse Rocks Live"--there's no way I'm going to be finished, showered, and dressed in time*
5:55 PM Screwdriver slips and cuts fingers. Wholeheartedly wish for the other kind of screwdriver; debate drinking the vodka which was left by younger brother. No mixer on hand. Can not handle vodka shots so return to project at hand
6:15 PM All doors successfully reinstalled. Only one screw is left on counter. Decide screws must have procreated and hide lone screw
6:20 PM Notice that area where top hinge used to be located is actually several shades lighter than rest of refrigerator--use of damp cloth reveals that fridge is not actually as off-white as it appeared.
7:00 PM Liberal sprayings of Simple Green, inside and out, and refrigerator sparkles as if new.
New and improved kitchen! See how the doors will open TOWARDS the wall now.
7:30 PM Suddenly accosted by PMS-Crazed Domesticating Instinct, contents of fridge and freezer completely weeded out and pared down to absolute basics. Head to Kroger
8:15 PM At checkout at Kroger, notice that the cute little teeny-tiny houseplants are on sale, 10 for $10.00. Pick out 10.
9:00 PM Groceries put away. On hands and knees, scrubbing baseboards in kitchen and then mop floor with bleach water.
9:15 PM While waiting for kitchen floor to dry, decide to scrub table and chairs on breezeway. Place a couple of the cute little teeny-tiny houseplants on cleaned table to compliment candle.
Table and chairs refinished and recovered last spring by moi! Please note cute plants. You may have noticed a couple of plants in refrigerator picture above too.
Downstairs neighbor wanders up to ask if I am moving out--she says she's never *heard* as much noise from me before (Quite a feat as she is partially deaf)--compliments me by saying I'm the best neighbor she's had (which makes me feel bad, because I've haven't done anything more than say "hi" to her in passing)
10:00 PM Inspired by new houseplants, I trim my philodendrons and wash several jars to start new cuttings. Begin redecorating basket outside front door.

Eh, the cuttings will perk up once they are over the trauma. Maybe.
11:00 PM Call Mother in New Mexico (where it's only 10 PM) to brag on my industriousness. She asks if I'm on meth. Realize that feet really, really hurt, and drag self into hot bubble bath.
I still am in awe when I walk into the kitchen and realize that my refrigerator opens normally now. I feel like I am She-Ra, Princess of Power! And tools!

*Early on in my former life, both my manager and her husband worked in Ye Olde HR, albeit in separate offices. He would call every afternoon at 3 PM pm on the dot. I always had to answer her line for her and after several days of his calls, I started answering the phone with "Hello, Darlin'." to which he always replied "Hello, Sunshine." and we continued with those greetings even after the Big Nasty Corporate Bottom Line did away with his job. Ironic, isn't it, that I followed a mere six years later?
Speaking of...this past Wednesday was my one year workiversary!

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

2007-07-21T13:50:00.000-05:00

I'm finished! It was incredible.
Happy Reading!

Almost 23 Years Later

2007-07-19T12:36:00.000-05:00

This My Space thing is a hoot. I've found friends I had forgotten, I've been found by people I don't even remember, and I've reconnected with long-lost friends as well. So you find friends and you can exchange messages with them. A recent comunique from a sorority sister went something like this:
"My friend XYZ saw your picture on my Friends list. He said he thinks he knows you from Prep. He was in your 4th grade class. He said you look just like a girl in his class."

So apparently my 31 y.o. self still looks like my 9 y.o. self. That's not exactly what I wanted to hear. Ever. At the age of 9, I had heavy, heavy bangs. I hated bangs even then but my mother was in charge of my hair. As a form of teenage rebellion, I grew out my bangs (thus missing out on the whole "mall bangs held solid with a can of Aqua Net" craze) and have thought it made quite a difference. Apparently not.

However being spotted by Person X leads me to a moral dilemma. See, my 4th grade class...well, we were snobs. Those were the good ol' days when you could ask(bribe) someone to be your friend. Most of us had been in school together since 3 y.o. Montessori (which we had instead of the traditional Kindergarten). Most of our parents traveled in the same social circles. We were clique-ish before we knew what a clique was. We weren't too welcoming of outsiders, particularly those labeled "different". Person X was what we would now label as "developmentally challenged", I suppose. And he smelled, not bad, but distincivey odd. I don't think we were always nice to him. In fact, I know something happened one day... someone teased him and then some of the others joined in. I honestly don't know if I did. I hope I didn't...and his mother was so upset that she called our teacher and our teacher called some of the parents and those parents called other parents. I remember my mother sitting down with me and asking me what had happened in school to upset him so. I remember trying to play it down, to act as if we didn't exclude him. Even today, thinking about this now, I feel very uncomfortable. Sick to my stomach-ish. I knew we were in the wrong. I was (and still am) ashamed of myself for not being a better person, for not making more of an effort. I know I was only 9 years old but I don't like this memory.

Over the years, I have occasionally wondered about Person X. I moved after 4th grade and by the time I moved back for 9th grade, our school had closed and he was not at the big, giant, public jr., high or high school. In a way, I think I am glad to have this tenuous connection. I have a chance to make things better, to start over, to ask him to be my Friend, the way I should have done 23 years ago. I think that sometimes life does give you do-overs.

Southern Comfort

2007-07-15T00:15:00.000-05:00

I recently took the plunge and joined My Space. I never really saw the point of it prior to joining and at the moment I’m still a little *iffy* in my opinion. I first began thinking of it when I ran into a friend at the Literary Festival and she asked if I was on My Space. Then another friend mentioned he had joined. I finally joined and then stared at my profile page for days, trying to figure out what to say. So far I have reconnected with a couple of long-lost friends and furthered my connections with new friends, but I’ve also been propositioned and received what I consider to be *tacky* messages.
One of my recently rediscovered connections sent out a bulletin last night that included a “How Southern Are You?” quiz. Having nothing better to do at midnight, I began filling it out to return to her. According to this questionnaire, I’m not very Southern. I’ve never lived on a dirt road nor made out in the back of a pick-up truck. I have not and will not pluck a chicken and I don’t like country music.
After much thinking, I realized that the title “How Country* Are You?” would have been more appropriate. The questions sounded like the lead-in to a Jeff Foxworthy routine.
I am Southern. I’m from one of the Southernest of Southern towns here in Arkansas. We’re mentioned at least twice in “A Southern Belle’s Primer (or why Princess Margaret Will Never be a Kappa Kappa Gamma)”. My mother taught me never to wear white shoes before Easter or after Memorial Day. She enrolled me in ballet and tap lessons as soon as I could walk. I aspired to twirl a flaming baton at a young age, but alas, I simply did not have the dexterity such a feat would require.
I guess there is a difference between city Southern and rural Southern. Gardens were just “for pretty” on both sides of my family—we would never have grown** or canned our own vegetables. It was always a shock for me to visit my cousins' grandparents, who lived in the city, where they ate tomatoes from their own backyard and drank buttermilk. We didn't do that. It was a point of honor for my great-great-grandmother Margaret (Grammar, as she was called—I’m sure it was intended to be “Gramma” but with Grandmother’s Atlanta accent, the extra “er” was added to the pronunciation) that she grew flowers during the Depression. Likewise, Grandma has faithfully uprooted and replanted her own mother’s rosebush each time she has moved since Mama Georgia passed.
Heritage means everything. I had drinks with Suzi Parker recently. In her first book, she alludes to the private school we both attended. Naturally we had to play the “Who are Your People and Do You Know...?” game and quickly established that her daddy was a close business associate of both my Poppy and my daddy. As the wine flowed, we exchanged gossip and compared experiences. People who aren’t from our hometown don’t always believe the stories we have. We come from a town where one family’s deep dark secret is that one of the daughters, during The War (and down South, there is only one War) married a Yankee captain. Upon the daughter’s death at a relatively young age, the family somehow managed to bury her under her maiden name, but as a concession to her husband, her headstone proclaims that she was the concubine to Captain So-and-So of the Union Army. They would rather future generations consider their daughter as “spoils of war” than admit she married one of *them* of her own free will. My uncle, an amateur historian/family genealogist, questioned a contemporary daughter of that family who happens to work at the historical society and she confessed the sordid history to him in a whisper and said it was something they just didn’t talk about to this day.
I grew up “dragging” Cherry Street in the late '70s and early '80s with first my favorite babysitter who *borrowed* my mother's wood-paneled station wagon and later my older brother and his high school sweetheart. Her younger sister and I would share the middle console in the front seat of his sports car and our heads would always hit the T-top glass panels as the car bounced over potholes and speed bumps at ridiculous speeds. We were convinced that if the T-top glass was not in place, we'd be bounced right out of the car. Whenever the cops pulled us over, my brother would simply hand over his driver’s license and as soon as the cop realized he had stopped the son of the town’s emergency services magnate, he’d smile nicely and let us get back to our fun. Derwood's, a hamburger joint by a gas station was the local hangout and we always stopped for cherry Cokes with two cherries and chocolate-dipped soft-serve ice cream cones.
My younger brother called me at the beginning of this week to ask if he could stay with me while he attended a funeral. As the call came in late Sunday night, I spent all day Monday mentally reviewing the chores I would have to do to get the guest bedroom into shape. It was not until tonight, as I was making my first attempt to fulfill my summer vow of making homemade cheese straws that I realized I should have baked something for him to take over to the bereaved parents. I can not believe I didn’t think of it while he was here. I almost feel as if I should send a card to the family to apologize for being remiss. After all my brother is only 21—he doesn’t know the Customs of the Southern Funeral. Yet.
My brother did bring a gift from my stepmother with him. A brand new Crock-Pot. We never had Crock-Pots in any of the houses I lived in while growing up. A Fry Daddy, certainly, but a Crock-Pot, oh no. All of my grandparents (including the steps and honoraries) and my various parental units had help who cooked real meals for us. I had mentioned that I was thinking about buying a Crock-Pot because I am holding a committee meeting after hours at the office and I really want to serve a hot spinach-artichoke dip. Mom thought Nana might have one in her kitchen that she would be willing to pass on. However, Nana didn’t, so with my brother’s unexpected trip suddenly appearing on the agenda, Mom ran to Target and picked out the shiniest one she could find. I tested it with a pot roast tonight but either I picked an incredibly tough rump or it just doesn’t do as well as the traditional oven. I’m sure it will be fine for the dip though.
I have spent more time in the last week stressing over the menu for this committee meeting than I have in planning my own personal menus all summer. Not to mention pondering the question of serving dishes and how to arrange them. This is what we do when we entertain…we want things to be perfect. I remember attending a ballroom dancing exhibition last summer and being highly incensed that the refreshment committee expected us to drink our wine out of Dixie cups. A black tie evening calls for crystal stems. Scarlett O’Hara would not have been shocked. Not to mention Julia Sugarbaker.
I now live in the town that is home to *the* Designing Women house and I have the cookbook to prove it. A town that is about to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the desegregation disaster, a particularly bleak chapter in our history. A future President reigned as governor for a good portion of my childhood and adolescence (Note to Self: Must get around to visiting the Presidential Library one of these days). The remnant fabric from the green velvet drapes from the set of “Gone with the Wind” adorns the windows of an honest-to-goodness plantation home outside of town. I belong to the Junior League (as did two generations before me) and I would never think of using dark meat or Miracle Whip in my chicken salad. Twice a year, my uncle and I attend meetings of The Jamestowne Society to discuss ancestors who emigrated from England to Virginia almost exactly 400 years ago. Grandma's genealogist friend is trying to prove our eligibility for the Daughters of the American Revolution. I’m eligible for the Daughters of the Confederacy through at least six different ancestors (and that’s only on my maternal side). Grandmother and her friends held picnics on the lawn of the abandoned Sutherland, previously the home of General John B. Gordon. I may not always agree with the events of the past but I can not deny my links to it. History runs through my veins. As God is my witness, I *am* Southern.

A Southern Belle is bulldozer disguised as a powder puff.

* Pronounced in a drawl as "couuunnn-tree"

** My aunt and her husband did live on a farm at one point and they did grown their own vegetables but it was part of their hippie-back-to-nature-rebellion. He's now a school superintendent and she's in her 30-somethingish year of teaching.

Knitting Kitties

2007-07-08T15:36:00.000-05:00

With the help of my not-so-able-bodied but oh-so-willing assistants (aka Boo and Ellie), I reached a pinnacle this weekend. I am now 50% finished with The Poncho. The back panel finally hit the 27" mark and I bound it off this morning. I'm actually very excited now. I started this more than 18 mos. ago and as a WIP, it's been to Puerto Vallarta and back, Houston and back twice, tinked and frogged a million times.
I bound off this morning and began trying to block it. Right now it's lying on a towel on the floor, be guarded by the ever vigilant Boo. Apparently my cats like the scent of the yarn or the dye, or maybe it just smells like *me* from being handled so much. Everytime I lay it down to measure it, Ellie would flip and flop and loll all over it. Boo just walked over and sprawled his not-inconsiderable bulk on top of it. I guess that's one way to ensure that it dries flat.
I've cast on and knitted 4 whole rows of the front panel. I'm going to finish this in time for Thanksgiving come hell or high water!

We the People...

2007-07-03T10:09:00.000-05:00

...in order to form a more perfect holiday really should celebrate Independence Day on the first Monday (or Friday, I'm not picky) in July. I understand the historical significance of the 4th of July and whatnot, but it's on a Wednesday this year. Doesn't the government understand that it's really bad business for a holiday to fall on a Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday? It completely disrupts the work week. Workers are all wound up with pre-holiday joy and very little work is accomplished, and then after the holiday, workers suffer from post-holiday letdown (or hangovers, whatever) and even less work is done.
After all, Memorial Day and Labor Day are set in stone. And who doesn't love a 3-day weekend?
Happy 4th of July!
*Sparkly sparklers all around*

People Who Work in Glass Offices...

2007-06-22T09:34:00.000-05:00

become very paranoid.
There's a big meeting going on in the conference area. My office is directly adjacent to the conference area. My walls are glass. I feel like someone is watching every move I make. I can't even scratch my nose without worrying that someone will think, well, that I'm doing something *indelicate*.
I wonder if this is how Paris Hilton feels?

Pseudo-English Spoken Here

2007-06-19T22:45:00.000-05:00

Conversation 1:
BossMan: Where's the (top secret legal) documents?
Me: Oh, you put them in the whatchamacallit thingie.
BossMan: The red one or the gray one?
Me: Plain manilla, I think. In the expanding doomaflautchie.
BossMan: But where?
Me: In the top drawer of the doohickey.
BossMan: Ah-ha

Conversation 2:
BossMan: So take this (big important top secret legal document) down to the clerk's office and have them file-mark it.
Me: Oh, I hate trying to find a parking spot on 2nd Street. I always have to walk and my feet hurt afterwards.
BossMan: No, not that courthouse. The other one that I've sent you to before. You know.
Me: Oh, the parking's not better at bankruptcy since it's practically next door.
BossMan: (big sigh) No, not that one either. You know. The other one.
Me: Oh, the one with the big shiny doors. Why didn't you say so?
BossMan: Buh-bye.

Conversation 3:
BossMan's Daughter: Okay, draft a letter stating that as regards to this matter, we feel that our client has sufficient merit to move forward, blah blah blah...just make sure it sounds good.
Me: Oh, I like words.

There you have it folks: an office staffed by 2 attorneys and one woman who has the equivalent in hours/credits of a bachelor's and master's degree (yet I do not possess a degree of any sort...yet) yet we can not have a conversation without sounding like an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I'm just glad they speak my *language*.

To All the Bunnies I've Hearted Before

2007-06-17T22:23:00.000-05:00

Since everyone and their dog seems to be posting about pet bunnies right now (here, here, and here), I thought I would take a moment to remember Sidney the bunny.
Sidney was my bunny. Obviously. Why else would I be writing about her? Anyway...unlike most pet bunnies in Smalltown, USA, Sidney was not delivered to my house by the Easter Bunny. Thinking back, she probably was someone's Easter pet prior to moving in with us. She was still smallish when we rescued her from impending doom (aka traffic).
Actually I wasn't home at the time. I must have been five when Sidney became my pet. My mother, stepfather, and I had recently moved into our house. Our yard wasn't fenced in yet. My daddy had married my first stepmother who had three children of her own; my slightly younger stepbrother and I were absolutely, ridiculously addicted to renting The Incredible Shrinking Woman (on VHS, of course). This is all necessary background information, I promise. I'm not just rambling.
Okay, so I had spent the weekend with Daddy and his new family. When he brought me home on Sunday, Mother and Daddy Steve met me at the door with a little bundle of white fur that had an adorable pink twitchy nose. They had been sitting out on our veranda (our house was a Queen Anne dating from the 1880s so we didn't have just a simple porch) watching the Saturday evening traffic because although our neighborhood was one of the oldest in town, it was on the busiest street in town. According to what I remember of their story, suddenly they heard honking and saw the teeny-tiny bunny in the middle of the street. Daddy Steve stopped traffic while Mother ran out and picked up the bunny. They cleaned him up and somehow, somewhere bought a raised hutch for her. And waited for me to come home.
I immediately fell in love with the bunny. I had never really had a pet of my own, aside from Floppy the Goldfish (and we don't talk about Floppy--it's still painful 30 years later). Ralph the Sheepdog was the family dog, and he died when I was two or three; Eloise the First (a kitten; namesake of Ellie, one of my current kitties) was an outdoor cat at my aunt and uncle's farm and she eventually disappeared.
I loved my new bunny. I named her "Sidney" after the gorilla in TISW. I thought Sidney the gorilla was quite an actor (looking back, I realize just how naive I was to think *that* was a real gorilla).
Sidney Bunny had a sunny, sweet disposition. I read the Beatrix Potter books to her. I feed carrots to Sidney. I let her hop around the yard even though she was quite speedy. Daddy Steve had to chase and recapture her more than once. Those were good days!
And then...(cue ominous music) a cloud casts its shadow over our idyllic life. One day, while I was away on a playdate, my mother saw a stray dog slinking about our yard. (Remember: our yard was not fenced at this time). A big, skinny, hungry-looking stray dog.
The only thing left in the wreckage by the time my mother armed herself with the broom and a pitcher of water and ran outside was a tuft of white fur.
We didn't even have a bunny funeral, much less a Viking pyre. I cried. Daddy Steve had the yard fenced so I could play safely. For my 6th birthday (an Alice in Wonderland party), I received a puppy which I named Spunky, for reasons unknown.
But I never forgot Sidney Bunny. I soon discovered the Bunnicula books and read them in honor of my (thankfully nonvampiric) bunny.
Years and years later, when I was in college, my younger brothers had a pet rabbit. He was quite possibly the meanest rabbit to ever live. I'm sure Sidney was looking down from the
BunnyHereAfter and twitching her cute little pink nose in distaste.

Knitting 101

2007-06-11T22:04:00.000-05:00

The only thing missing is a bottle of wine. It's funny to think that I started this blog so many months ago as a knitting diary yet I haven't talked about knitting in a while. I know I love yarn. I can spend hours in a LYS squeezing and smelling the skeins. I love to buy yarn. I even love to start new projects. It's just once the excitement of the newness wears off, I'm ready to start something new. I have follow-thru issues.

In spite of this, or maybe even because of it, I do seem to have the ability to teach others to knit. Tonight my friend April came over specifically for a crash course in knitting. She used to knit with her grandmother when she was younger so this was more of a refresher course. I think knitting is like riding a bicycle--you never really lose the ability. April picked up the basics very quickly and even managed to increase...only that was an accident. But she has the ability for later projects.

Thank goodness we didn't drink wine because after a couple of hours, we decided that we needed to run out to Wal-Mart to look for her own knitting accoutrements. Wal-Mart was a bit disappointing so we zipped over to Michael's Arts & Crafts instead. Ooooo, Patons. Modea Dea. Fun Fur. It was like yarn porn. But not.

I waited patiently and hinted several times that perhaps April might want to tackle a scarf as her first project instead of a queen-size throw blanket. She finally took the hint and found a nice yarn that she liked. She choose metal needles--mostly because they didn't have my favorite bamboo needles in a size 7.

We made a yarn ball and away she went...

...with a little unwanted help from an Ellie cat. Knit on!

Sleepus Interruptus

2007-06-09T15:25:00.000-05:00

As shocking as it may seem, I am not by nature all sparkly and shiny and lipsticky. I need my beauty sleep. In fact my favorite fairy tale has always been "Sleeping Beauty" because the worst thing that happened to her was that she had to take a nap until her true love appeared. Sounds rather enticing to me...

I love to sleep. I can get by on 6 hours of sleep if I absolutely must, but 8 hours is preferred and 10 hours is deeee-vine. Call me crazy but I do like to sleep during those hours when it's dark and quiet outside (unless of course, my young and immature neighbors are holding loud and personal conversations under my bedroom window). I'm also a slow waker--I can get up and go thru my morning ablutions without actually being conscious. I don't do wel when I'm awakened suddenly and unexpectedly.

Naturally I was a little disturbed when my doorbell rang at 2 AM this morning. My first thought was that whomever was outside my door had made a mistake. Then I started worrying that it might be an inebriated ex-boyfriend of some sort-it's happened before.

I grab my trusty purple-ish bathrobe which completely clashes with my pink coffee-cup jammies and my top secret weapon (my phone with 911 already punched in) which in a pinch it could be used as a club, then I tiptoe to the front door and peer thru the peephole.

AGH! It's a lumpy two-headed monster!!!!! *Rubs eyes and looks again*

Oh, wait, no. It's two people. *Lets out breath* Two DANCING people. ????????

I make sure the chain is secure and open the door just a crack. It's Cute Former Coworker and her husband. CFC and I have met for drinks and talked on the phone occasionally since our mutual disemployments from Big Corporate Healthcare Without Soul, Inc. I liked CFC and Hubby and their baby. I kept Babygirl overnight on a couple of occasions because they couldn't afford a sitter or an evening out. I even helped a little bit with their wedding plans.

No good deed goes unpunished, as the saying goes. CFC had lost my phone numbers so she couldn't call me--or so she said. What is it with people these days-do they not have phone books? My home phone is listed and I'm more likely to answer it or at least check my messages. I usually don't know where my cell phone is.

So the upshot of my not-so-long-lost friends' visit is that they need a babysitter for today. Not even 6 hours notice due to the fact they want to drop her off at 7 AM and won't be back for 14 hours. Now, if this were a paying gig, I probably would have agreed, but this, this showing up at 2 AM and asking for a favor...it made me a little mad. But that could have been because they woke me up. I love children, everyone knows this, and Babygirl is adorable.

I said no. I had to say no--I hadn't planned on babysitting this weekend, much less babysitting in my apartment which is barely kitty-proofed much less kiddie-proofed. Logically I know I shouldn't feel guilty...it's not as if this was a life or death situation.

After they left I went back to bed. Of course I was awake at this point so it took forever before I fell asleep again, which meant that I slept incredibly late. So today I'm the very antithesis of sparkly and shiny and lipsticky, and that makes me sad. ;-(

Cause and Effect

2007-06-08T20:08:00.000-05:00

I don't think there are many people out there today who haven't at least heard part of the Paris Hilton jail saga. And everyone seems to have an opinion on it. I was a little surprised at how strongly I reacted when she was suddenly sprung from jail and placed under house arrest. She did the crime(s), she should do the time. Any other inmate would have been moved to the infirmary or perhaps a state hospital for a psych eval, no?
Here's the thing...at some point in life, you have to grow up and put on your Big Girl Panties. I, for one, know of which I speak. When I was young, skinny, cute and 19, I made an error in judgment. I'm not proud of it, but I did drive after a night out on the town. (Curiously enough, the fact that I went to college in a dry county only seemed to make us drink that much more...I guess it was because it was such a chore to drive out to the liquor stores at the county line.

At any rate, yes, I got behind the wheel of my car, with one of my best friends riding shotgun, and attempted to drive home in the wee small hours. Without headlights. In the wrong lane. I didn't make it very far.

I was detained in a drunk tank. As I was the only girl picked up that night, I had a big cell all to myself. The 40-some odd guys who had also been arrested were crammed into another cell. No intermingling between the sexes, dontcha know. So I sat and cried, paced and cried, tried (and failed) to open the orange juice container on my breakfast tray (hey, that foil was superglued on there, I swear) and cried.

When I got back to my apartment later that morning, I threw up twice and called my parents one at a time. Neither conversation was easy. Mother immediately started looking for an attorney; Dady called a judge from our hometown to see if he had any friends in my town (he didn't). Would I have allowed my daddy's friend to pull some strings to make my ticket disappear? Oh yeah. Would I have learned a lesson from it? In retrospect, I would have to say no. No more of a lesson than Daddy himself learned on the day he received two DWIs in college, and his daddy pulled some strings to make them disappear. That's what passes for love in our family.

Anyway, a few weeks later, I found myself standing in front of a judge, with my lawyer, my mother, and my grandmother behind me. I admitted to the judge that I had made a mistake, that I was truly sorry, that I realized I could have killed my friend, and that I would never, ever drink and drive again. I don't remember if he even commented on the fact that I was underage, but he was aware. I know this because he reassured me that my DUI conviction would never show up on a background check because my record would be sealed due to my being underage. And I can attest that it has not surfaced yet---I always debate whether or not to admit to it whenever I apply for a job. (Yes, I always own up to it.)

As a first-time offender, I got what was then the typical sentence. Suspended license for three months, court-ordered weekly alcohol counseling, and community service. Here's where the twist comes in...my mother(my ditzy delightful, reincarnation-believing, smudge-stick owning, dancing-under-the-light-of-the-moon-with-self-proclaimed-lesbian-witches* mother) had signed me up for a week-long habitat for humanity-style missionary project in Ciudad Juarez, Mexico, and the judge allowed this in lieu of trash duty or whatever he had in mind. I would have gladly donned the orange vest and picked up trash along the highways...missionary projects were not my thing.

But I went. My mother had to explain to my sorority president why I would miss the new member induction (and usually nothing short of death is an excuse for missing inductions or initiations). I packed my bags as per the instructions--7 t-shirts(all souvenirs from college parties), 2 pairs of jeans, thick socks, work boots, protective gloves, a baseball cap, sunglasses, my lipstick, and a scary variety of OTC medications for any and all illnesses that could befall one traveling in Mexico.

After the scary guards at the airport let us through, we were bundled into the back of vans and taken to The Compound which was owned by the local church. The Compound consisted of a main house, a dining hall with meeting room, and a dormitory. Boys slept upstairs, girls slept downstairs.

I called my mother the second night, when they took us to the local market where I found the one and only payphone in town and sobbingly screamed that she *had* to let me come home because they were making me sing gospel songs. There was a lot of praying too. If it weren't for the fact that our group leader had locked all of our IDs in a safe, I probably would have run for the border. And I don't mean Taco Bell. I was miserable.

By the third day, my clothes were all covered in sandy dust and dry concrete mixture. I decided to save one pair of jeans for the trip home, and wore the other pair for the remainder of the work days. By the third night, the hot water heater broke. The toilets followed soon after.

I'm thinking that a little ol' solitary confinement cell would be paradise compared to what I went through.

I'll admit the food was good, and I ended up liking most of the people I meet on the trip. I spent most of my days at the work site, digging, and concreting, and stacking concrete block walls...it felt good to do something tangible. I did spend one morning at the other site, where the more mission-minded people were gospelizing to the locals. I didn't gospelize. I had a handstand contest with the kids, had my face painted, and blew bubbles. I fell in love with a three year old named Alejandro. His only word in English was "truck" but we were able to play a rousing game hide-n-seek with his little toy truck. Then I went back to the work site and mixed dry concrete, pebbles, and water to use to fill the holes in the concrete blocks (in lieu of insulation).

The trip home was bittersweet--I really wanted to see my friends and my bathtub and eat normal food, but I hated to leave some of my new friends. We were all a little dirty and icky and maybe a little tired of each other and the same old card games, and then our plane was delayed. Certain individuals were reprimanded by airport employees for surfing on the luggage carts. Whoopsie.

My point is that I stuck it out. I had to face the fact that an entire group of strangers had prejudged me--believe me, when my mother attended the pre-trip meetings on my behalf, she told everyone exactly why I was going on this trip. It wasn't a stay at a Hilton. It was crowded and noisy and the conditions were certainly less than what I was used to, but at the end of the week, I had a new sense of pride in myself. I had basically lived my worst nightmare and come out of it a stronger person. I had truly earned my Big Girl Panties.

These are the walls that I built(I know, it doesn't have quite the ring as "this is the house..."but we ran out of time and didn't get around to the roof)

*Disclaimer: I am not saying that all lesbians are witches, nor am I saying that all witches are lesbians, nor am I saying that my mother is a lesbian...the witch part is debatable.

My Psychic Friend Food Network

2007-06-05T21:04:00.000-05:00

My very own personal psychic friend Sharlette has a swimming pool at her new house. She moved late last summer from her normal, humdrum house in Sherwood to a country house in Scott on Willow Beach Lake. She even has an adorable gazebo in the vast expanse she calls a backyard. It's really a lovely home.
She called to invite me to a impromptu pool party. I went thru my usual waffling--who else was going to be there, did I really want to drive the 30 minutes to her house, did I really want to put on a bathing suit? I simply had no excuse not to go and I really did want to see our friend Carol who moved to Texas two years ago. Sharlette specified that it was a Girls' Only Event, which meant that My Gay Boyfriend DeWayne wouldn't be invited (even tho Sharlette was the one who introduced us). I called April, who also knows Sharlette, to see if she was going but she had other plans. I really hate going to parties, even last-minute ones, alone.
As my grandmother taught me, I didn't show up empty-handed. I stopped in the grocery store and bought a package of cheese straws . A gathering was not a gathering until the cheese straws arrived, in my grandmother's opinion. The nice man in her neighborhood made them often and always dropped off a tin at her house. The only two things you could always count on at her parties were liquor and cheese straws.
The ladies were already in the pool when I arrived. I was easily younger than the others by at least 20 years---I really do like being the *baby* of the group. We all criticized our bodies as we drifted about on the pool floaties. Sharlette, being a messenger of light and love, tried to convince us that we are each perfect just as we are. Oh how we laughed.
As our little hands pruned and wrinkled, we wandered into the house for a light buffet. Sharlette set out the cantaloupe and watermelon and I opened the cheese straws, only to learn that none of the other three ladies had ever had cheese straws. Ever.
I was a little surprised but as long as they were all willing to at least try one, I was willing to let it slide. As we were eating, we discussed the fact that Sharlette has an endless supply of peanut butter as her husband has recently started working at the Skippy company. We decided to bust out the PB and crackers to add a little protein to our repast. I immediately fixed a peanut butter and graham cracker mini-sandwich. Again this is something I have eaten from childhood on. And again my three companions looked at me like I was crazy. They had never eaten peanut butter on graham crackers. Ever.
Then I remembered the first time I saw a coworker pour a bag of salted dry-roasted peanuts into a bottled Coke. I almost gagged but it was something that she had learned from her grandfather. I guess everyone's family has their own little food traditions and comfort foods. My cousins and I all used to mix our LeSouer green peas (and they have to be LeSouer. No other baby green peas will do.) into our mashed potatoes...which is funny, since I am the most adamant one about not letting my food touch. I have to eat one thing at a time. I will dissect my pizza. I can't eat casserole items around people. I know I'm weird when it comes to food. Some things just belong together though. Peas and potatoes. Chocolate and peanut butter. PB&J sandwiches and crushed potato chips.
The best part of the evening was when I was able to use my newly acquired educational knowledge to explain how our dinner was balanced. The peanut butter was a Protein. The crackers were Grains. The cantaloupe and watermelon were Fruit. The Sweet Potato chips as well as the salsa were Veggie-ish (sweet potatoes fall into the gray area, classification-wise, but I say they are vegetables). The cheese straws counted as Dairy.
Hee hee...I am so going to suck as a nutritionist. I'm a strong believer in creativity.

Showing My Roots

2007-05-31T09:47:00.000-05:00

Dinner: Masa Sushi & Japanese Fusion

Appetizer: Spicy Peppered Tuna Sashimi (long thin strips of tuna peppered on the edges, served artfully draped over a martini glass containing a sweet-n-sourish sauce)

My comment: "These aren't even as thick as beef jerky and it's a lot easier to chew."

Ummmm, hello? When did I become an expert on beef jerky? Just because I'm from the South, I think I know about dehydrated meat thickness? I swear sometimes my brain disconnects and the words just fall right out of my mouth.

It's a what?

2007-05-25T10:09:00.000-05:00

All this talk about high school graduations has made me reminisce to Ye Olden Days when I graduated, when dinosaurs roamed the earth and Super Mario Brothers was cool. First there was the actual graduation itself held at the Convention Center, which was long and boring. Since I was an "S" in a class of 500 graduates, at some point during the ceremony, supposedly around the "H"s, my boyfriend (who had graduated the previous year) decided he needed a beer, so he and some of our friends trotted off to our hotel room (located in the building adjacent/connected to the convention center). He. Missed. My. Graduation. Moment! Totally and completely missed it. Here we are 14 years later and I still bring it up whenever we visit. I have a long and extensive memory. Anyway, you can read about my prom adventures in last month's entry.
Today I was talking to one of my father's friends whose youngest child, Miss Thang as I shall call her, graduated last weekend. Miss Thang and her friends are on a cruise to Cancun at this very moment and she called home to complain that her room is no bigger than her parents' bathroom and she has to share it with 3 other girls. Her father pointed out that she's not going to spend a lot of time in her room, and she retorted that wasn't the point. Now I was spoiled growing up, but Miss Thang is really spoiled. Range Rover for her 16th birthday, new Burberry shoes for a tailgate party...
All I could say to her father was "Wait until she gets to her college dorm room." I think that was the rudest awakening of my life. I had never shared a bedroom or bathroom (except for the 3 months that I shared with ATS while the new master bedroom was being built onto our house; then I moved into the old master bedroom and our parents moved into the nice new one). Then I went to college and not only had to share a room with a roommate but had to share a bathroom with our two suitemates. I was very lucky, I suppose, to have ended up in the dorm that had suites. The other girls' dorm had the community bathrooms, which probably would have caused me to have a heart attack.
My whole life I had looked forward to going to college, joining a sorority, and then living in the sorority house. So what did I do? I chose a college in the freakin' buckle of the bible belt that didn't have sorority houses. We had *suites* in one of the dorms.
The reason why sorority houses were not allowed had to do with some old-timey town law that stated (and I'm paraphrasing somewhat here) that 8 or more unrelated women living together would constitute a house of ill repute. Uh-huh. A cathouse. The Chicken Ranch. Can't you just see a group of girls in their matching hairbows standing on the veranda belting out "I Will Always Love You", Dolly-style?
So why would a sorority house have been any different than a dorm? There we had hundreds of women living together, and believe you me, it was quite easy to sneak a boy in after hours. Windows on the ground floor, fire escape doors on every floor, friends who worked in the dorm office...way too easy. Hee hee, I forgot to warn my suitemates that I had an out-of-town guest once, and there was an unfortunate encounter involving the shower. Whoops!
So I do wish Miss Thang the best at her college of choice (one that does have sorority houses) but I can't wait to hear the horror stories of community living. Knowing her, she'll find a way to get a single.

What's Your Theme Song?

2007-05-24T23:13:00.000-05:00

Your Theme Song is Beautiful Day by U2

"Sky falls, you feel likeIt's a beautiful dayDon't let it get away"
You see the beauty in life, especially in ordinary everyday moments.And if you're feeling down, even that seems a little beautiful too.

What's" Your Theme Song?

So I had to attend a leadership training session tonight. Actually it was interesting and motivating...until we were discussing *icebreakers* for group meetings and the idea of asking people to name their personal theme songs came up. I had no idea what mine would be. I mean, there are songs that I know by heart, but really, The Pina Colada Song doesn't really *say* anything about me, other than I 'm not into tofu and I like walks in the rain.
So I was really stressing while driving home. Because I didn't want to have a cheesy theme song. But, hello!, I'm totally like Cheerleader Barbie rooting for the Hallmark Team. The cheeze just oozes out. I can't help it.
So I googled for "find your theme song" quizzes and naturally I found them. I tried Blogthings first, but I'm just not that crazy about U2's Beautiful Day. Then I found my 1996 Theme Song: Deep Blue Something's Breakfast at Tiffany's, which funnily enough was my favorite song in 1995 and still is one of my favorite movies ever. Then I moved on to Tickle's quiz which pronounced Katrina and the Waves' Walking on Sunshine as *my* song, which is probably not far from the truth. Then I tried something called My Yearbook and was rewarded with White Flag by Dido, which is my favorite post breakup song. My last effort was with Sassy Admin who dubbed me Abba's Dancing Queen (which was my ringtone for a brief time last spring).
So it's odd that all of these songs are in my iTunes library, but I don't think any of them really capture me. If I'm lucky, I'll never get stuck participating in one of those silly little icebreaker games anyway.

Happy Memorial Day(early!). I'm leaving for Houston on Saturday for (sob!) my baby brother's high school graduation. I feel so old. I remember the day he was born. My biggest concern at that point was that he wait until after my 13th birthday before gracing us with his presence. I was excited about having another brother, but I was more excited about finally becoming a teenager. Thank goodness he was an accodomating infant and held out for 5 whole days after my birthday. And he's been cool like that ever since.

Cousins, Kookaburras, & Greek Food

2007-05-20T21:18:00.000-05:00

4 of us, ca Summer 1991, Silver Dollar City (Branson, MO)

One knows that one's houseparty is a rousing success when all participants are rolling on the floor, wineglasses in hand, singing the first verse of The Kookaburra Song as well as the other sing-along songs from the imitation Wee Sing-type videos in our grandparents' movie library. The saddest part about this is that I was well into my teens when Grandmother and Grandpa purchased these for the younger grandkids, yet I am the one who remembers the dance that accompanies the jazzed-up version of the song. Shoulder shrug, shoulder shrug, ankle kick, ankle kick!

One of the things that I have always thought was special about us is that we are close-knit cousins in spite of age differences and distances between us. (Speaking of distance...Darling Cousin Laura, we miss you! Enough with the tea parties with the Queen and flirting with the palace guards already, and come home soon!) We share a love of David Sedaris, Jodi Picoult, and peppermint pie. Many of our mutual memories involve Ray Steven's Greatest Hits. It's like I have sisters but without the fights (for the most part. I do remember being incredibly jealous of Liz & Leelee's Barbie & the Rockers playset--sometimes it was hard to be the oldest and supposedly most mature).

We spent a whirlwind weekend of swim meet-ing, Greek Food Fest-ing(Greek Chicken and Baklava!) , wine-ing(and margarita-ing) and dining, and the America's Next Top Model marathon on MTV-ing. And of course, the re-telling of old stories and the sharing of new ones.

It's amazing how far we've come since the days of our trips to Branson, camping trips, and tea parties. Even though the future may take us in different directions, we'll always have a undeniable heritage of *bananers in the gahbage* and whistling Dixie while joyriding in the golf cart and a love of carousing in Old West Saloons! And we'll never be too old for a slumber party.

All the granddaughters, ca. 1990

Why do I...

2007-05-16T11:41:00.000-05:00

attract the preachy freaks? Seriously, do I send out some sort of signal that screams "Convert me, please! Make me believe!" If an army of Catholic nuns couldn't make it happen, what chance does a mere mortal have?
Now I am all for Freedom of Religion and a person's right to believe in whatever they want. Preferably non-harmful beliefs, right? Love your fellow man. Do no harm. But don't try to sway me to your way of thinking. And don't lecture me. I'll believe what I believe, and you can believe what you believe. If we're incompatible, no harm, no foul.
I'm just sayin'...

May is My Month for Meeting...

2007-05-14T22:00:00.000-05:00

boys! Seriously, I was thinking about my *recent* dating history and I realized that a good portion of my dates were in May, with the exception of my ill-fated journey into internet dating last January and February. Spontaneously speaking, I seem to date May though. First there was The Younger Man/Cabbage Patch Kid with whom I had a *date* in May 2005, and last year I met The Guy in May. The stars must be aligned *just so* during the month of May because last Friday I met someone.
Now last Friday was probably the most stressful day to date at my job, which is still hysterically funny to me because my job has been anti-stressful from the time I started working last July up through the last couple of weeks. I knew I was either going to have to throw my computer out the window or simply leave the office for a little while. I grabbed my library books and make a quick trip to the library, or Mecca as I call it. This time however the library didn't have the power to soothe me so I climbed back in the car. I was really planning on simply going back to the office and eating my lunch with The Girls Across the Hall...and then I heard an advertisement for KFC's new no-transfat recipe. I decided I needed chicken.
So I'm sitting at my table with my book and my Popcorn Chicken, enjoying the peace and quiet, when I here:
"Is that Popcorn Chicken any good?"
I look over my shoulder to where the only other customer in the KFC is sitting. A man, slightly older with a spattering of grey in his closely-shorn dark hair. Darkish skin, obviously not from around here.
I tell him that yes, it's good. It tastes like a chicken nugget, but better. (WTF? It's chicken, dude) I turn back to my book and begin reading again...only to hear:
"Whatcha reading?"
I turn around again, flash the cover of A New Lu at him and give him a brief synopsis of the plot so far. As I'm talking my southern manners kick in and I explain that the author is from my hometown and I've admired her forever, blah blah blah...
So we talk and I finally invite him to sit at my table. It's hurting my neck to keep turning around to talk to him. We eat together and talk about politics, our hometowns (he is Hawaiian-real Hawaiian-and has only been here for 8 months), our jobs(he's ex-military, now a recruiter), and all sorts of things. All in all a pleasant lunch after all.
As we're leaving he gives me his card and we talk about getting together again...and we're having lunch again this week.

Pink & Pretty

2007-05-05T15:19:00.000-05:00

I have a new cellphone! This isn't a very good picture, but my phone is all pretty in pink. And the best part is that I accidentally received an extra $10.00 instant discount. I had received a little flyer thingie in the mail saying I could get a camera phone for $19.99 after a mail-in rebate and a new contract. No problem there in that my old contract with the other company had expired and when I originally signed up with them, I had received a nice discount because the company I had worked for at the time. However, the phone people caught when I tried to sneak by and sign a new contract with the same discount---who knew they actually checked up on those things?
So I was being my typical procrastinating self and not really actively looking at other wireless carriers. Then the Bossman got involved and offered to pay for the basic service which ensures that he can reach me anytime, anywhere. Which means if he jams the fax machine (again), he can call and I can walk him thru the unjamming steps. Lawyers! I *heart* them but sometimes they just don't need to touch the technologically advanced machineries.
Anywhoodles, I went to Alltel this morning armed with my little flyer and looked at the phone they offered. It was pretty but silver. I really wanted pink and was totally willing to cough up the difference once they figured in the contract perks, the whole $10.00, but the store I was in was completely out of the pink. So I settled for the silver. My nice little salesman told me that I had 15 days to trade out phones if I wanted, so I had thought I would try back in a week and see if they had the pink.
And then, as I was driving to the grocery store, I remembered that there was ANOTHER Alltel store on Hwy. 10, not too far from my grocery store. I bebopped in there and successfully traded out the silver for the pink and the nice new salesman totally shrugged off the difference in cost.
So it's the beginning of summer--I have one final project due, and one final exam, and then I have several weeks of semi-freedom*. So I want to finish my Booga Bag before Memorial Day weekend so I can carry it to Houston with me. Then I plan on measuring my brothers' heads and finally starting on the hunting caps they want. I'm actually thinking about trying to dye the Lion's Brand fisherman's wool with lots & lots of orange Kool-Aid(or something brighter).
Just think of the messes I could create with yarn and dyes!!!!

With Special Guest, Sam the Gargoyle....

2007-04-30T12:49:00.000-05:00

Springtime is synonomous with love, or so *they* say...and it's also synonomous with early publications for the best summer beach/poolside books. I'm very honored today to introduce Sam the Security Gargoyle from Shanna Swendson's "Magic, Spells, and Illusions, Inc." series. Think of what would happen if Bridget Jones ended up working for the Ministry of Magic, and you have an idea of what "Enchanted, Inc." and "Once Upon Stilettos" are all about. "Damsels Under Stress", Shanna (and Sam)'s newest novel will be in stores tomorrow! Amidst all the normal craziness that comes with working for Merlin the Magician, and with Owen "the Dreamboat" Palmer as well as the assorted fairies, trolls, and other magical being, Katie Chandler will also have to deal with her fairy godmother Ethelinda!

Sticking with the whole springtime/romance thing, I took the opportunity to ask Sam what he thought about love(after all, he's been around for a while and with his job, he has the opportunity to see a lot) and he very nicely wrote back with the following:

A Gargoyle's-Eye View of Love
(a guest blog by Sam the Gargoyle)

I've been around a very long time, something like seven hundred years, give or take a century, and in that time, I've seen a lot of human behavior -- enough to know that there are two things humans get really wacky about: money and love. I guess that's why we gargoyles make such good security agents. We don't have much use for either. Not that we don't love, but you may have noticed that most of us don't exactly got the necessary parts for the kind of love that really makes people wacky (except a few of the more grotesque gargoyles with some interesting carving, but trust me, even us gargoyles find them kind of disgusting).

Let's just say that we gargoyles can't think with that particular part of the anatomy because we don't have one, and that helps us see things a little more clearly than our human counterparts. I've noticed that when those kinds of feelings get involved, the brain becomes a lot less useful. People trust people they shouldn't trust otherwise. They make stupid decisions. They're easily distracted.

It sounds like I'm down on love or that I'm just jealous. But I'm not, really. Since my anatomy and stone body keep me from having that kind of relationship with any one lady, it means I'm free to love 'em all in a different way. And let me tell you, that's a lot of fun. I get the biggest kick of my day out of greeting the ladies as they enter the office building. I like sayin' something nice to make 'em blush and giggle. That's just my little way of brightening their day. I also like playing protector. You can have your Lancelot types, the big strapping knights with their shiny swords defending their lady's honor, but you really can't beat a gargoyle as a guardian. We can go where others can't, see what others don't, and hide from the bad guys. When a gargoyle walks you home at night, you know you're getting there safely. I may not get the girl at the end of the story, but I know that the happy couple might not have made it without my keeping them in one piece.

There's a particular couple taking up most of my time these days. Not only do those two need all the protecting I can give them -- as well as half my staff -- but they may also need a little nudge in the right direction. The guy works for my company, good kid, incredibly brainy, but utterly clueless about women. I may have to take him aside one day and give him a good talking to. And there's this gal who also works for us, cute as a button and sweet as can be, but also a little clueless, but considering how quiet he is about things, I can kind of understand why she hasn't figured him out. They're crazy about each other, as anyone who's seen 'em together can tell, but let's just say I'm glad I'm more or less immortal or I might not be around to be at their wedding unless they get their act together. Still, it can warm even a heart of stone when you see two good people who manage to find each other.

Now, if you'll excuse me, there's a lady approaching who looks like she needs a door opened for her and a nice compliment, and I'm just the gargoyle for the job.

About the author:
Sam the Gargoyle is head of security for Magic, Spells, and Illusions, Inc. in New York City. He also occasionally handles security on a freelance basis for various churches in the city. His experience as a guardian dates back to the Middle Ages. Author Shanna Swendson has chronicled some of his more recent adventures in the books Enchanted, Inc., Once Upon Stilettos and Damsel Under Stress.

Many thanks to Shanna Swendson for making herself available to her readers(such as me!).

Starbucks Therapy

2007-04-26T13:25:00.000-05:00

The Gay Boyfriend(upon looking at his pale, freckled arms): "I had a tan once but it cracked."

I took advantage of The Gay Boyfriend's affection for me as well as his need to be needed and I made him come over last night. I said I needed help moving a desk. What I didn't say was that we would be moving the desk out of my apartment and all the way to the State Fairgrounds where Bargain Barn* is being held this weekend. Hee hee, I'm sneaky like that.
As long as he was there, I decided I might as well load the smaller boxes and bags of donated things into his Explorer so I wouldn't have to make a second trip. And I wouldn't have to drive. I'm all about the not driving. Especially since I will have to drive out there Friday night and Saturday morning. Damn these mandatory work shifts.
I promised The Gay Boyfriend that I would take him out to dinner next week as a way to say thank you for helping me. However he wanted to go to Starbucks right then and there so I told him he would have to pay for both of us. And he did. 'Cause in spite of being gay, he claims to be an Alpha Male, and his momma raised him right. I do so love him when he's not angsting over some wackaloon** who wants to move in on the first date. What is it with gay people--I swear their relationships move so much faster than hetero relationships?! And why is Starbucks named "Starbucks"? Seriously, I'm not obsessed with Star Wars, but really the name of the coffee shop sounds like something you would spend at a mall in the Dagoba system.
So we sat in Starbucks, watched the rain, and talked of many things. Agnosticism vs. atheism. Our Very Own Personal Psychic Friend. Relationships. His ex-wife***who is pregnant by by a bartender and whose husband left her when he found out but has since come back. The really hot guy who came in for a coffee and who totally strutted in front of us. Our pale skins. Tanning beds vs. the spray tans. Rickie Martin. All the really philosophical things.
I realized last night that I have entered a Time of Inner Peace. I really do love my apartment. I have lived in it for 5 years this month, which is the longest I've ever lived in any one residence in my entire life. I have the best friends I could want. I have Goals. I have a Career Plan for the future. I have good relationships with my extended family (Hi Uncle Lee! See you Saturday!!) and I've come to terms with my crazy mother and TM4. I have my precious two kitty cats. So maybe I am Crazy Cat Lady Who Lives Alone and Whom Children Will One Day Be Afraid to Trick-or-Treat. But that's okay for now. Yes, I'd like to get married and have a child but I'm not obsessing over it. If it's meant to be, it will happen. Que sera, sera and all that.

*I was shocked last Friday night at the knitting confab to learn that there were women in Little Rock who had never heard of Bargain Barn. It's been going on forever (this is the 29th year) It's really just the Jr. League's annual rummage sale which raises money for the gazillion community projects and services we steer, but there's a lot of treasure mixed in with the trash. I have never actually attended BB because I generally do not get up that early on a Saturday morning, but this year I'll be behind the scenes, working my little heart out.

** Yes, I stole your word. You know who you are. This is the first time I've had a chance to use it and I love it.

***I know, I know. 2+2=5. Gay Boyfriend + Ex-Wife=????? In Ye Olden Days, when Gay Boyfriend was a good little Assembly of God-going choirboy, he denied his True Self and got married to someone who thinks life is a soap opera in which she has a starring role. They even had a kid before he quit living the lie and came out of the closet.

Blinded by the Light(bulb)

2007-04-25T16:34:00.000-05:00

I had a near-death experience today. Well, maybe that's a teensy bit of an exaggeration but I *did* have a near-scary experience today.
In our office suite, we have the lovely overhead fluorescent lights which really resemble light sabers in a way. When the bulbs burn out, The BossMan climbs up on the stepladder, unscrews the old bulbs, and replaces them with the new bulbs. My role in this is to hover around the ladder, squeaking "Don't fall" and other helpful hints. I'm responsible for walking out to the dumpster and carefully disposing of the bulbs. I do this quite well, even if I do talk to the snakes that are hiding out there. I'm armed and dangerous. I am the Jedi Master(Mistress? Queen?) of the Fluorescence.
I'm always very, very careful with these bulbs. They are very long. That's a lot of glass to pick up, should I drop one.
Today, I was holding the bulbs with one hand and opening the dumpster lid with the other when suddenly one of the bulbs spontaneously combusted! In! My! Hand!
It was a rather weak Pop!, to be honest. Looking back, it was anti-climatic. My scream was much louder. The clang of the dumpster lid as I dropped it was loudest of all. I could feel the glass shards hitting my arm, my neck, my face! Periously close to my eyes!
I ran to front doors and burst into The Girls Across the Hall's office. We picked a little glass out of my hair. Amazingly enough I don't have a single cut or scratch on me. I guess I used a Jedi Mind Trick and created a Force Field or something. Or those pesky fairies who play tricks on me felt bad for stealing my camera and they used their powers for good. (BTW, they returned my camera last night. I found it under the dining room table. It disappeared from the living room floor.)
So all's well that ends well, and I'm glad I don't have to make The BossMan sue the lightbulb people. Now I have the perfect excuse to go home and slather on my new Asquith & Somerset Mango & Lime all-over body moisturizer. No scratches and I'll smell yummy.

The Good, The Bad, and The Woo-Hoo

2007-04-20T11:55:00.000-05:00

The Good
1) It's Friday
2) I am Totally Authorized to talk to Ye Olde Opposing Counsel about a possible deal on one of our cases. Yes, I have Authority! I am She-Ra and I have The Power!*
3) Knit Nite tonite!
4) Arkansas Literary Festival tomorrow--I might finally re-meet** Laura Parker Castoro, author and homegirl!
5) I agreed to babysit tomorrow night and Monday night...which is like getting free money AND a chance to play with Barbie dolls. All of the joys of motherhood but I get to leave at the end of the night.
6) I remembered to grab the stack o' library books to return.

The Bad
1) I have to clean my apartment. Really clean it.
2) Stupid Natural State weather and stupid allergies and stupid drowsy-making Benadryl.***
3) I forgot my knitting.****
4) PMS
5) Purposely ignoring an assignment to watch tivo'ed episodes of "Buffy" and "Angel"
6) The newest Lillian Jackson Braun mystery contains an average of at least one exclamation point on every page! *****

The Woo-Hoo
After driving to and from the JLLR building downtown on average twice a month for the past 12 months, I actually didn't get lost for the first time while driving home last night! Sometimes I would end up on the wrong side street and pretend I wasn't on the wrong street. Ha! Justin Timberlake might have brougt Sexxyback, but I'm bringing Sense-of-Directionback.******

* Actually, (and it's quite sad that I still know this of the top of my head) She-Ra, the Princess of Power, didn't do anything "by the Power of Grayskull"; she was all about "for the honor of Grayskull". I had a stepbrother who liked He-Man.

**I met her once when I was 6 and she was a bodice-ripper romance novelist. I wasn't interested in her books then but I was ASTOUNDED! to learn that books didn't appear out of thin air...someone had to write them first. She doesn't write the bodice-rippers any longer.

***After 30 years of taking Benadryl and laughing at those who complained it made them sleepy, it's all I can do to keep my eyes propped open the coffee swizzler stickie-things.

****I can remember the library books which aren't even due yet, but I can't remember to grab my knitting? I blame the Benadryl.

*****All the exclamations are very exhausting, and the characters come across as idiots. Truthfully I think it's been this way for the last several books but this was the first time I decided to scientifically survey the use of exclamations. There were perhaps 4 pages in all that did not contain an emphatic exclamatory statement, but subsequent pages contained at least two.
Altho, it is kinda fun to randomly capitalize and exclamation point words! FUN I SAY!

******Which is erroneous(spelling?). I've never had a Sense of Direction, so I can't really bring it back. After living in my apartment for 5 years. I've finally figured out that my bedroom windows face south. ish. Southish. Which is good to know because I'm southernish.

Meme'ing Me

2007-04-17T16:14:00.000-05:00

I try to avoid memes because they usually require a lot of thought. "3 Things You Don't Know About Me", "10 Places I Would Like to Live", etc. However I came across this meme on someone's blog (and I've already managed to forget which one) and I couldn't resist.
It's not a true meme because it is not a "unit of cultural information" and it's not really about me. I've come across this before, but I didn't play along until now.
It's so easy....you Google your first name and the word "needs". Then you take the top 10 results and find out what you really need in life...
"Susannah needs"...
...help deciding now. (Well, I am very indecisive)
...your stories. (Okay, why not? Maybe I'm supposed to write someone else's memoirs.)
...information about the unwelcome visitors to her body. (Do what???)
...high levels of personal care. (Only if it involves a spa and a masseuse)
...a new band. (I've always wanted to learn to play the drums)
...money badly. (Duh)
...your help to win Miss Student. (Oh, it's an honor just to be nominated)
...a creative outlet that doesn't involve electrocuting frogs. (And again I say, do what???)
...wash-and-wear hair at its simplest. (Please, please, please! I really do need this one.)
...to find a way to settle down. (Yeah, because I'm such a wild woman, with my two cats and all. Although I wouldn't mind settling down with Mr. Right if he ever comes along)

So I can't say that I really learned anything about myself here but it was fun to see that there are other "Susannah"s out there. There's even a Susannah with my exact same last name who is a track and field star. I think the funniest part of that is after looking at link after link for her running accomplishments, there's a link from when I participated (WALKED) in the Jingle Bell Run. It's a small world even on the world wide web.

* No frogs were harmed in the making of this blog*

Lar-ry! Lar-ry! Lar-ry!

2007-04-10T15:24:00.000-05:00

How sad is my life? I just did a little victory dance, Elanie Benis-style, when I heard the paternity results.
Not that my opinion really matters but I do think Larry Birkhead will be the better daddy.

Shoot Her, Wardell...

2007-04-09T19:38:00.000-05:00

Do you ever have *those* weeks? Where everything is in a blur and there's not enough time in the day and things go kablooey? That was my last week. I had pricing shifts for Bargain Barn and a GROW committee meeting, I've resorted to re-reading Nutrition for Dummies 'cause my brain seems to be in meltdown and can't handle anything more complex, and our computers at work suddenly decided to white-out Hotmail. We could get to the sign-in screen and then everything went white. It was very, very interesting.
But on a happy note, we were closed for Good Friday! I love 3 day weekends, especially when I can run away to visit a friend, with lots of wine and really bad movies. We particularly love Sordid Lives. Who doesn't love a black comedy about white trash???
I've made a little progress on The Poncho. Not much, mind you, but a little. I've become addicted to books on CD. I listen to them in the car instead of the radio now. However I was so involved in "Between, Georgia" last week that I broke my own rule and brought the CD inside and listened to it while I knit. Now I'll admit that there were time when I wished I could crawl into the story and shake Nonnie until she grew a spine, but for the most part, it was a enjoyable story. And that's all I'm looking for...a little fun in life.

I Can't Think of a Title...

2007-04-02T20:40:00.000-05:00

This is my plate. I painted it myself. While I could never earn a living a plate painter person, I'm kinda pleased with this.

To celebrate the birthday of One of the Girls Who W orks Across the Hall, The 2 Girls Across the Hall, The BossMan's Wife, and I went to Firefly Pottery that afternoon. I warned them going in that I have the talent of a toddler. I get frustrated when the art I create does not look like the art I envision in my mind.

However Firefly has STAMPS. So anyone can make something halfway cute.

So we stenciled and stamped and painted our little hearts out. And today we were able to pick up the finished products. Fun, fun, fun!

Hissy Giant Anaconda Boa Constrictor Python Cottonmouth

2007-03-30T12:37:00.001-05:00

I am a city girl at heart. I like pavement and manicured landscapes.
I do not like wildlife, particularly snakes.
That being said, a snake was in my office.Free-range, I'm sure.
A. Snake. In. My Office.
Today.

We've been discussing snakes all week. In spite of our office building being in the middle of a thriving area of town, we do have a small wooded area behind the office. Earlier this week, a freakishly huge snake was curled up on the doormat outside the back door. The BossMan's wife discovered it and hysteria ensued. BossMan himself refused to kill it, saying the snake would probably prevent mice and other critters from visiting.
Mice. Snakes. I don't know which is worse.
The Girls Across the Hall and I talked about the snakes and decided to gently hint to The People Down the Hall that perhaps their habit of propping open the building doors for fresh air is not so much of a good idea. Apparently not long before I started working here, a snake was discovered in the ladies' room and IT WAS ALL THEIR FAULT FOR PROPPING OPEN THE DOORS. Had I known this then, I might not have accepted the job. Or at least I wouldn't have worn open-toed shoes all summer.
Yesterday a black snake was spotted loitering near the building's front entrance. Now I don't know anything about snakes, other than the fact that I don't like them. So, black snake, green snake, purple snake...they're all evil.
So not five minutes ago, I was sitting here at my desk. I saw The BossMan drive in, coming back from Very Important Lawyerly Business (aka, lunch at the club). I'm sitting here in my lovely snake-free personal office when BAM! Our office suite's front door flies open.
Now this is strange, I think. The BossMan always uses our office suite's back door because it is closer to his personal office.
The BossMan looks at me and rambling about needing a golf club. I'm still trying to recover from the fright I received when the door bashed into the wall so I'm not much help at all. Naturally I'm a little confused. Are we going to play golf in the building's hallway? I've suggested it before. I think it would be an excellent de-stressing activity. Like putt-putt, but without the windmills and dinosaurs.
The BossMan returns and starts poking the club into the corner and that's when I see something flipping and flopping. I hear hissing.
THERE IS A FREAKING SNAKE NOT TEN FEET FROM MY FEET. AND I'M WEARING OPEN-TOED SHOES!!!!
I can not begin to explain how badly I want to faint.
I'm sure the following scene was like something out of a bad movie. The snake is trying to bite the golf club. The BossMan is brandishing the golf club as if it's one of the Muskeeteer's swords. And I'm dancing around uselessly while hoping my heart doesn't beat it's way out of my chest.
I couldn't begin to tell you the actual size of the snake. In my mind, it's the size of Godzilla. Or bigger. It's the biggest snake that ever lived. And we don't know how it got into the building. The doors were all securely closed.
Somehow The BossMan manages to corral the snake to the front doors. I somehow make my five-foot, 2 inch body stretch fifteen feet so I can open the door without actually GETTING NEAR THE SNAKE. Snake is pushed out, and in a Buffy-like manuever, the Big Bad Snake is staked.
I retreated the safety of my desk and then realized that it's dark under my desk. Almost like a little cave. Renegade snakes could be hiding under there.
So I'm sitting on top of my desk for the rest of the day.

Tagged by the Prom

2007-03-26T17:55:00.000-05:00

So Jen at SundayUndies.com is playing along with blogger -R-'s Prom Tag. So here's the thing: you're supposed to post your prom picture(s). And as I lurve any excuse to drag out the photos from when I was young, cute, and skinny, I'm in....
Actually a little word of explanation first: In my hometown, Prom is only for seniors. I've heard of other schools that hold Junior Proms as well or even open-to-all-classes Proms, but ours was exclusive. Seniors only. The only way you could go was to either be a Senior or to be a Senior's date. One girl in my class went all three years(our high school was composed of sophomores, juniors, and seniors. Freshmen were stuck back in the Jr. High where they ruled.) Prom was, and still is, I believe, held immediately following graduation. So if you, an underclass(wo)man were going to Prom with a Senior, you had to sit through graduation and then race home to get dressed. As a graduating senior, you had to graduate and then run the gauntlet of greeting the thousands of family members congregrated on the convention center floor who came to see you, race to one of the beauty parlors in town (they kept special Prom Night hours for this purpose) to get your hair fixed because it simply could not be done before graduation (those mortarbord cap thingies were hell on the 'do), and then race home to get dressed. The graduation ceremony was held in the convention center in the evening , and then prom was held in convention center ballroom. Our convention center is attached to a large hotel where all the rooms were *suites* (Arkansas definition of suite: teensy-tiny living room and bedroom with decent-sized bathroom) and that's where the real party is held. Unofficially, of course. You rent rooms, change into cut-offs and t-shirts and party hard. You only go to Prom itself long enough to take the Official Prom Pictures and maybe check out the casino. I never actually set foot on the dance floor either time I went.
So rewind to 1992. Junior year. I was between boyfriends at this time so when my dear high school friend MM called and asked if I would go to prom with a certain friend of hers, I said sure in spite of Never Actually Having Spoken to the Guy in My Entire Life. Hello, it was Prom. And many, many people thought he looked a lot like Christian Slater, so from hereonafter he will be referred to as CSLA (Christian Slater LookAlike). And he drove a sporty little car. CSLA and his long-term (2 years, which was forever in high school)girlfriend had broken up and he didn't know who to ask so he called our mutual friend who knew I was always looking for an excuse to dress up.
Now for some reason, my parental units were less than thrilled at the idea of giving me permission to stay out all night with a Total Stranger. I begged and pleaded until they said yes. I was good at that when it really mattered.
Then I realized that perhaps I should know CSLA before donning a fancy dress and all that. So we started hanging out. I should have known he was not quite right when he insisted on showing me his gun collection and then reenacting the "...funny like a clown" scene from the movie Goodfellas. But he was my only chance to go to Prom so I ignored my misgivings and polished my party shoes. (Please notice they are lovely dyed-to-match shoes...).
So after sitting through his graduation, I raced home and I dressed up, rolled my hair, used approximately one bottle of Aqua Net to hold the curl, clipped in my rhinestone comb that matched my earrings, and off we went. Although the theme that year was "A Vision of Paradise", our night was less than heavenly. I didn't really consider it a date thing--I wasn't interested in CSLA, and I thought he was still recovering from his break-up. So I kissed another guy, in the hallway--ummm, perhaps there was alcohol involved. And CSLA was a little ticked off. Quite ticked off actually. CSLA's friend JB ended up driving me home at 5 AM because I was crying and CSLA had disappeared. Weeks later JB broke into CSLA's bedroom to rescue my half of the prom pictures b/c CSLA wasn't going to give me my fair share. So, I'm terribly sorry for ruining his prom, but I'm even more sorry for ever having worn a dress with big ol' pouffy shoulder-sleeve thingies. As for CSLA, last I heard he was managing some big ol' country western bar in Dallas. I'm convinced that my dress is somehow to blame.
Now fast-forward to May 1993. " A Magical Trip to Wonderland". As you can tell by the seriously sophisticated French Twist updo(this picture does not do it justice, I swear), I have matured. I no longer kiss random guys in hallways. My Stu and I had been dating since Halloween. It was Luv with the capital L. He's an older, mature, COLLEGE man.
So I did the graduating thing, in what was at the time the smallest graduating class in PBHS history. We began the year with almost 550 students and we barely graduated with 525. Nevertheless the graduation ceremony took forever. So long in fact that Stu decides he has time to run from the convention center big room to our hotel suite and have a beer before I receive my diploma. Yeah, not so much. My then-boyfriend missed seeing me graduate. I've never let him forget it either(no, we're not still together, but we talk a couple of times a year). So anyway I race to the beauty shop and home to get dressed and then we race off to his house so his parents' can take pictures and his little nephew woke up long enough to think I was a fairy princess (Yes! Someone who finally recognized my true destiny!) and then we raced off to a Pre-Prom Champagne Party (Just like "90210". Except no one got falling down Donna Martin drunk),where one of the straps on my shoe broke. Thankfully our hostess was able to fix it to hold thru the rest of the evening. So off we go back to the convention center for Official Prom Photos and even a quick jaunt thru the casino. I wish someone would explain to me why the PTA thinks it's a good idea encourage gambling among impressionable young teens, even if it's only fake money. I was not very good at it, in spite of having kicked *ss at the country club's Casino Night party for seniors a few weeks before. At Prom I lost all of my Zebra Bucks. :( I did not win the Sony DiscMan with car adapter. That was a Big Ticket Item back in the day. So off we toodled to our suite which we were sharing with my friend Wendy and her then-boyfriend, now-husband. So drinking and carousing and room-hopping ensue until Wendy has one screwdrive too many. She's hypoglycemic and the OJ combined with the fact she had skipped dinner pushed her over the edge. So the wee hours of my Prom Night were spent with Stu & me watching Steve sit on the floor with Wendy, the wastebasket, and a towel. She had taken great exception to the bathroom and refused to lay down in there. So there's a party in our living room, we've set up a makeshift bar on our bed, and we're laying back watching Steve watch his wristwatch. Actually it was a lot of fun. The party ended up coming to us. We had a blast. It really was fun, except for the part when we thought maybe Wendy was dying. That might have been a bummer. But the best part is that I wasn't wearing big pouffy shoulder-sleeves again!
Speaking of the big pouffy shoulder-sleeve thingies, I just want to make the point that I was not a fashion freak. I had worn the dress to a Christmas dance at the club before I wore it to CSLA's Prom. I was not able to talk the parental units into buying a new dress for CSLA's Prom. My point being that while those who were daring were moving into the world of strapless dresses, big pouffy sleevey things were still a fashion do.

My thanks to -R- for this fun walk down memory lane!!! It seems especially appropriate since I spent Saturday in my hometown visiting my grandma. And I've been reading Boob Pencil's blog in which she is transcribing her diary from her 'teen years, circa 1985. And my baby brother will be graduating from high school and going to his very own Prom in less than two months!

My Once-Upon-a-Time-Best Friend's Wedding

2007-03-22T23:05:00.000-05:00

In the springtime, so they say, a young man's fancy turns to love. Which begs the eternal question: who is this *they* and why do they talk so much?

Truth be told, I am sitting here in my bed listening to a v. v. interesting conversation outside. I couldn't attach faces or names to the voices, but this couple have had several conversations of highly personal natures in the parking lot of our apartment complex. It's even better than a soap opera.

It would seem that She has done something of a naughty nature with His Buddy. She won't actually admit to having done Him wrong, but She's not denying the accusations either, as He just pointed out. She wants to take the conversation inside (Yes! Privacy is good!) but He's not moving. Whoops-he is Laying Down The Law. They will not (emphasis on the *not*) hang with The Buddy in Question alone or with a group. He is on a roll and She is apparently walking into her apartment. I can deduce this because (a) I read a lot of Nancy Drew stories while growing up, and (b) her voice is getting fainter. Now they're both inside and I'll never know how this ends.

Which is okay, actually. I've lived through my fair share of such conversations in the past. I've been the accuser, the accusee, and even once I was the guilty(not my proudest moment but this is my blog and I have to be honest). There really is nothing new under the sun. College kids today are having the same conversations I had 10 years ago.

Speaking of college, my friend Nurse Charla called today. As always, we've been playing phone tag for weeks, hindered by my bout of bronchitis and her training in Nashville. Her mother saw an engagement announcement this past weekend for Charla's high school honey, X. That's the problem with being from a small town-your past is always lurking just around the corner. When my high school sweetheart's grandmother died, his mother didn't acknowledge the flowers my grandmother sent, even though our grandmothers had been friends for decades. His mother was still mad at me for breaking up with him, and to this day if she runs into my grandmother in the grocery store, she makes a point of saying how happy he is with the current girlfriend, as well he should be. She's smart and cool. Some people just can't let it go. Nurse Charla is not one of those people. She moved on, is married and is A-OK.

I, on the other hand, am not so much okay. X was my Contingency Plan. It was all very strange. His sister was one of my pledge sisters, and Charla was an active member already while we were pledging (except, of course, it wasn't PC to call it pledging). I really didn't get to know X until my sophomore year, after he & Charla broke up. For whatever reason he started hanging out at my apartment. I shared it with 2 other girls, and while there were a lot of jokes about the frequency with which he crashed at our place, not one of us was ever involved with him in any way, shape, or form. It was all innocent, Your Honor. I swear.

After we 3 girls went our separate ways, I assumed custody of X. He was mine. Which was v. v. awkward in some ways b/c Charla and I were becoming really good friends, so I had to compartmentalize my social groups. Their break-up had been really bad. So when it was time for me to write a marriage contract for a sociology class I was taking, I turned to X to play the role of the husband-to-be. Our contract was kickass good, and since it was so easy to write, we decided that if we were still single when he was 30 and I was 28, we'd get married. He agreed to this knowing that my culinary skills were limited (I tend to get distracted) and I even burned chili when making dinner that night. Whoops. Thank the heavens for chinese delivery.(Not so funny story---when the delivery driver was killed in a car accident, the phone lady answered the phone for weeks with the words "No delivery!" Not "Hello" or "---Restaurant". "No Delivery" said it all. We were all happy when the new delivery driver was hired.)

X was always there when I needed him. After his frat brother broke my heart, X went to the pledge dance with me and understood when I cried on the dance floor during Toni Braxton's Breathe Again. Thankfully it was a slow song so no one else noticed. X was there at a formal when my date went unaccountably ballistic and vanished. (Not so thankfully, X tried to cheer me up by picking me up and throwing me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Did I mention this was a formal? I was wearing the ubiquitous Little Black Dress and, well, it wasn't my best moment. On a happier note, I was a size 4 and I had a cute derriere in those days)

Now, keep in mind, when we made this agreement, I could not even begin to imagine that I would still be single at the advanced age of 28. Then the movie My Best Friend's Wedding came out a couple of years later and I swear they stole that idea from us. All I want to know is where are my royalty checks?

Well, my 28th came and went, and X and I, via email, both agreed to extend our deadline. We realized that we were still young. Also, I don't think either of us really wants to marry the other person, even though we lurve each other. Just not in *that* way. In a nostalgic old friends way. So no hurt feelings and I'm still secure in the knowledge that I have a back-up plan.

And now my ace-in-the-hole has been shot right out of my hand. (Doesn't that sound like something from a cool cowboyish movie?). I'm not crazy or delusional. I never truly intended to marry him, but the option was open. He was my safety net.

But do I need a safety net? Perhaps hanging on to this old antiquated notion from the past has somehow hindered my present and my future. It's an interesting thought. Maybe I need to feng shui and clean out my inner closet of emotions. 'Cause if it's anything like my actual real live closet, it's in need of some serious reorganization!

Driving Miss Daffodil

2007-03-17T16:39:00.000-05:00

Every spring Central Arkansans eagerly await the blooming of the daffodils. I have no idea when this tradition began but I have, over the years, ooohed and aaaaahed over oodles and oodles of pictures of toddlers romping amongst the daffodils. The Wye Mountain United Methodist Church owns several acres cultivated with daffodils and each spring a festival grows around the blooms. Every spring on select weekends families grab their cameras and picnic baskets and spend a day in the fields.
In spite of having been an Arkansas resident for all of my 31 (gasp!) years, I have never been to the Daffodil Festival. I decided to change that today. I grabbed my purse and my camera and off I went.

The directions from my apartment were amazingly simple. Turn left and drive in straight line on big street which eventually becomes a little highway. Take little highway to even littler highway on right and follow the signs. And after about 20 miles, I found the first sign. Now being a city girl, I'm used to fancified glossy signs and such. I loved seeing this home-grown sign.

Now as you're driving to the Daffodil Festival, you leave nice, civilized Pulaski Co. and enter Perry Co.

Home of Emu-Eating Dogs and Retribution Seeking Farmers with Big Guns.

Oh yeah!

Seriously.

When Mandy was clerking for The Judge, one of their trials involved a farmer who was raising emus. When the farmer's neighbor's dogs attacked the emus, the farmer shot the neighbor's dogs. Hi. Welcome to Arkansas. We have our own brand of crazy here.

Cows! I've seen lots of cows in my life. Aunt Ann and Uncle Don (in their hippie farming days) kept an orphaned, premature, sickly calf in their laundry room during an unseasonal ice storm when I was little. My grandma's car was run over by a bull. I was driving to a party at the lake when I came upon a cow jogging along the side of the road. Cows happen. In spite of all this up close and personal contact with cows, I've never taken a picture of cows before. So here's my cow picture.

Now here is the worst picture ever of horses sleeping. Actually I have pictures of Horses I Have Known and Ridden in my photo album but again I've never actually taken a picture of a horse myownself.

With both the cow and horse pictures I could have gotten out of the car and walked up to the fence for better shots. Again, I say Emu-Eating Dogs! Farmers with Guns! I'll stay in the car, thankyouverymuch.

Finally, after 6 or so miles of countryside scenery, I saw:

Yay! Wye Mountain! Daffodils!

Now I have to admit that I thought I was being smart by getting there before 11 Am. Yes. 11. AM. On a Saturday.

Mmmmmm, not so much. It was crowded. But beautiful. And festive.

One thing that I think is really cool about the festival is that admission is free. You can buy a dozen bulbs for $5.00, or you can pick your own blooms, $1.00 per dozen. All the money raised goes towards paying the minister's salary. It's a risky chance actually, since they can't pre-advertise the exact dates of the festival since you don't know exactly when the daffs will be in bloom.

In order to keep daffodil-lovers from picking the flowers willy-nilly from all over the field, the organizers set aside an area for the those who pay to pick. Otherwise, you'd best not pick out of those bounds. The people somewhat captured in the right corner of this shot were reprimanded by a church lady. A church lady who took her flower-guarding duty seriously. She escorted them to the picking area. Natalie Wood might have had Splendor in the Grass but I witnessed Drama in the Daffodils!

Past, Present, and Future

2007-03-15T20:33:00.000-05:00

Thanks to this blog, I discovered this website.
So according to my birthdate, this is my past life:
...but you were female in your last earthly incarnation.You were born somewhere in the territory of modern Israel around the year 375. Your profession was that of a artist, magician or fortune teller.
Your brief psychological profile in your past life:
As a natural talent in psychology, you knew how to use your opportunities. Cold-blooded and calm in any situation.
The lesson that your last past life brought to your present incarnation:
Your task is to learn, to love and to trust the universe. You are bound to think, study, reflect, and to develop inner wisdom.
Which is freaky on many levels...as evidenced above, my cousins and I liked to play "Gypsies" and instead of setting up a lemonade stand like everyone else, we tried running a fortune-teller's parlor on my front porch. We had very few customers. In 1984, the gift of foresight, even fake foresight, was not popular in our small Southern town, aside from Halloween carnivals.
(BTW, I'm the one in the middle. I'm wearing my lovely taffeta Christmas skirt. Tobi is wearing my mother's lovely skirt, circa 1970-something, and as for Elizabeth, the baby, well, there's no telling what we stuck that poor child in.)
And hello, the sample birthdate is mine....well, almost. The day and the month are right, but the year is way off. Still, as the great philosopher Meatloaf once said, "two out of three ain't bad.".
Also, among my many majors in college, psychology was one of my favorites. It was actually my first major. It tied with Art History for top billing as My Favorite---if only I had had the chutzpah to tell my parents to jump off a bridge each time they made me change my major. But that was then and this is now, and I'm just trusting the universe, as suggested above.

P.S. I did leave my trash outside my door last night. Naturally I had no expectations. Happily my trash *walked away* during the night. Nice neighbors or fairies? You decide.

Friday Night's All Right for Fightin'

2007-03-12T16:37:00.001-05:00

*Technically the events outlined below occurred in the wee hours of Saturday morning

2:20 AM
Susannah, Boo, & Ellie are all blissfully snoring in bed.

2:20:01 AM
Vehicle roars into parking lot behind apt.
People spill out
Male voice is shouting that his wallet is in *her* bedroom and *she*
won't let him have his driver's license back
Giggly girlie voices encourage his rant
Cell phone is dialed apparently and yelling about driver's license ensues
Whoops. *She* apparently tells him that she threw away his wallet & its
contents and gave away the other shit he left behind
Much, much loud yelling ensues

2:25 AM
Vehicle motor is still running
Girls still giggling
Rant still continuing but slight less audible
Susannah, Boo, and Ellie pull pillows and covers over their respective
heads

2:30 AM
Noise still very loud
Susannah gets up, opens bedroom windows, and immediately slams it shut,
hoping to send noverbal message

2:31 AM
Nonverbal message not understood, or perhaps ignored
Noise continues
Car doors slam (Response to nv m?)
New voice joins the fracas
Original male still angry over the driver's license
Another car pulls into parking lot
Mutter, mutter, mutter

2:32 AM
Susannah (clad in lovely much too long men's flannel jammie bottoms and
white tank top) pushes pink sleep mask to top of head, yanks on purple bathrobe and
flies out front door (Susannah officially has channeled her Grandmother
Sharlotte at this point as Grandmother Sharlotte did not hesitate to cross the street in her jammies and such in the middle of the night one Thanksgiving to track down her granddaughters and their assorted boyfriends when she felt it was too late to be *visiting* )
Susannah accosts innocent neighbor smoking on breezeway on floor above
with
"Do you know those *ssholes?" (Perhaps not so much channeling of Grandmother
Sharlotte displayed in manner of speaking)
Response is in negative
Susannah barrels down stairs (purple robe flapping attractively in her
wake) towards back parking lot
At bottom level, Susannah crashes into large male body (another upstairsneighbor)
Susannah accosts this newcomer with "Are they with you? "Cause they
really need to shut up already. It's 2:30 in the morning!" Perhaps stronger language was used.
Neighbor replies that they are not his friends but he's already warned them that he could hear them as he was turning into parking lot from Very Busy Main Road.
Susannah notices that silence is prevailing, except for her yapping.
Neighbor introduces self as Ben Casey, hugs Susannah (???), apologizes
for any noise that have ever come from his posse, and walks her to her door
Ben Casey states that he & roommate work nights and will be happy to
carry out Susannah's trash anytime she leaves it by her door

2:35 AM
Susannah, Boo, and Ellie return to bed

6:00 AM or sometime shortly thereafter
Susannah finally falls back asleep (*this lack of sleep will later show itself when Susannah tries to produce stockinette stitch while knitting in the round; garter stitch was inadvertently achieved and it took quite some time to figure out what went wrong. Always blame it on lack on sleep!)

A night fraught with no-sleep and a day of sagy, baggy eyes, but who I am to turn down a trash-removal service?

Freaky Friday

2007-03-09T19:05:00.000-06:00

Today was a day fraught with oopsie-daisies.
1) I apparently didn't rinse the conditioner out of my hair this morning.
2) I didn't notice this until this afternoon when I took it out of the ponytail.
3) The library mixed up my books and I almost didn't get "Chicks with Sticks(Knit Two Together)"...however I did catch it before I left so I do have my book. On a positive note, thru some magical fluke of fate, I am the first person to check out this copy, which I think is some sort of happy omen. At the very least, it guarantees that I don't run the risk of finding a dried slice of american cheese in this volume.
4) After 2 days of not needing a nap after work, I did lay down this afternoon since we closed the office early.
5) I still don't have *my* voice back, but I no longer sound like "Froggy" from The Little Rascals
6)Because of my accidental nap, I was late for Knit Night
7) I forgot my WIP (still The Poncho; I missed my self-imposed Feb. 14th deadline)
8) I didn't think to verify the meeting place, and I ended up at Sufficient Grounds while everyone else was at Old Worlde Pizza
8a) I had thought about asking Cherilyn if she'd pick me up, but I fell asleep instead
8b) I was craving pizza so I'm really p*ssed that I settled for hummus & veggies because I was dumb enough to order even tho I was alone in the meeting room
9) I should be trying to shovel my way throught the laundry that is lining my hall way but I'm not
10) I should also be cleaning my bedroom which is crowded with my old computer & desk, 2 weeks worth of books on the floor, and other sundry items, including 2 baskets of clean clothing that have been sitting there for almost a week(actually I've been wearing items from the baskets, so between the 2, there's probably really only enough clean clothes left to fill 1 basket)
11) I started introducing a new diet for Boo and Ellie yesterday but I forgot to defrost their organic chicken patty. (They're starting the Nature's Variety Grain-Free dry food as well as the raw food (which is actually kind of gross--raw chicken; blech) because cats are *obligate carnivores* and need meat)

So TGIF and hopefully I'll get my act together tomorrow. As Scarlett, the ultimate Southern princess-diva-goddess, said, "Tomorrow is another day."

Feeling my Wheaties

2007-03-01T11:32:00.002-06:00

I have never eaten Wheaties actually. I begged my mother to buy a box of the "Breakfast of Champions" back in 1984 when Mary Lou Retton graced the box. She was smart enough to know I would never actually eat the Wheaties, so she said "No."
One more item to add to my List of Grievances. Just think what I could get on eBay for a mint-condition Mary Lou Retton Wheaties box.
I can tell that I am on the mend after having been flattened by the cold to end all cold which led to a bronchial infection, with a touch of laryngitis on the side. I still sound like Froggy from "The Little Rascals" and sentences of more than 8 words do cause fits of coughing, but I feel quite frisky again.
Perhaps a little too frisky. In yesterday's mail (which I checked this morning) I received a survey from the Ballroom, Latin, and Swing dance association. I haven't actually attended a dance since October, and that was only because it was a dance held in protest of the dress code changes. I would ahve been a natural in the 60s with sit-ins and such. My membership with the BLS ends at the end of March and I have no plans to renew it. There are many reasons (neck-lickers, men with cotton in their ears, and men who don't understand the difference between constructive criticism and plain all-out rudeness) but the main reason I don't want to renew is because of all the stupid drama. I think it is impossible for any organization to exist without differing factions. But honestly, if you're holding dances at the YWCA on 12th and Ghetto in Arkansas, you should be happy that the membership isn't wearing blue jeans & Dixie t-shirts and call it a day.
With the survey, I carefully evaluated each and every statement and selected the appropriate degree of "agree" or disagree" ("1" is "Strongly Agree, "5" is Strongly Disagree, and there are varying degrees in betwixt). I was fair and openminded, understanding of the Board's desire to make this a *formal* affair, yet mindful of the casual-dressy preferences of most people.
And then I hit the Comments section and My Evil Twin took over. And while in theory the surveys are anonymous, my handwriting is rarely mistaken for anyone else's. I have this sloppy, bubbly thing going on. I hold my pen funny, curve my wrist, and tilt the paper to the left. And in my eagerness to educate others, I perhaps became a little overzealous.
Whoops. No, I didn't fill out my survey in blank ink. No sirree bob.
Survey, what survey?
I get very passionate about things until I lose interest. Personally I think this helps make me a more well-rounded person. (Ha. Well-rounded!) My newest obsession is my cats' nutrition. Maybe I'll be the first Registered Dietitian who specializes in feline cuisine. What is it about knitters and cats? We just go so well together. (Except for those rare individuals who have dogs. Do dogs chase balls of yarn? Ellie & Boo both could care less about the balls of yarn but they are both fascinated with the yarn as it is being knitted. I have a few snags here and there in The Poncho that are cat-related yarn injuries and therefore not my fault.) So my new wide, wide world of web friend Tsocktsarina blogged about the dangers of commercial cat food and inspired me to start doing a little online reading. Wow. There's a lot of info out there. Too much. So I trotted myself down to the little local we-love-animals pet store (not the giant mega-corporation we-love-your-money pet store*) and talked with the nice lady from California who might be the owner, I'm not sure. She validated my first pick of dry kibble but was sad to admit that she can't carry it for distributor-related reasons. However she helped me order it from (and I am entirely serious about this) the Canine Country Club of Arkansas. My nice lady is also going to help me introduce a raw foods diet to my kitties. We're going to be a dual-entree household; the raw foods for maximum nutrition and kibble for snacking.
So hopefully I have gotten all of my pent-up energy and obsessions out of my system for the week. I'm working on an Excel spreadsheet for (human!) nutrition for a project. I thought it was a really great idea when I started it, but now I'm thinking I should have made flash cards instead. I think I am an ideas person. I can come up with really great ideas but I get bored easily. I need a personal assistant to handle the follow-through.

*Disclaimer: I am not slamming the mega-corporation pet store. They do carry the only litter that Ellie will deign to use. Without them, she would still on a dirty protest.

Books in the Mist

2007-02-22T22:54:00.000-06:00

When I was young, sick days always meant books. Grandma Wanda, bless her heart, could never stand to be out-grandparented by my other grandparents (Grandpa was a doctor which meant he was always the first to know when I was sick----in fact, I used to beg to go see a real doctor, one who would give me a lollipop, when I was sick. I did not appreciate having bedside service when I was young--and Grandmother always accompanied him on his house calls and usually stayed with me). Since she was unable to actually diagnose whatever illness had befallen me, Grandma would always ask me what I needed....and I needed a new book. Or ten. It didn't matter that I never planned my sick days ahead of time. I always knew what books I wanted.
So it's not a surprise that the one good thing about this week is that I've had time to read. I love books; they take me out of my small little world and into a whole new place (and usually it's a place that is not littered with discarded kleenex). My idea of heaven is a big giant neverending library. That's where I want to go when it's my time to cross over.
Not that I'm planning on that anytime soon. I have laryngitis not an old-fashioned Victorian wasting disease. I actually feel fairly normal; I just sound beyond awful. A woman in the grocery store today startled me by asking me if I knew Hershey's had a new caramel centered candy bar (why do the weird ones always find me??? Why?) and when I croaked "Why, no. I had no idea.", a look of utter horror crossed her face and she backed away quickly. Muttering about hot toddies and honey-lemon tea. Yeah, she'll think twice about starting conversations with random strangers from now on.
Anywhoodles, I always have a stack of library books at hand. Sometimes I even get to read them. Even when I'm too busy to read, I check books out. I love the look, the feel, the smell of books. Today I devoured "Princess on the Brink", the latest delightful installment in The Princess Diaries series and I finished "The Thirteenth Tale" by Diane Satterfield. Oh. My. Gosh. It was so enthralling. I pieced together the obvious bits and pieces of the *mystery* surrounding the reclusive, elusive antagonist (yes, I'd call Vida Winters the antagonist), but I certainly didn't expect the final twist to her tale. I love it when a book catches me off guard and surprises me.
So I have my lovely new little vaporizer(or is it a humidifier? Whatever.) plugged in, the movie "Deep Blue Sea" playing ('cause who doesn't love genetically-modified sharks on a rampage) and I have Amy Hassinger's "The Priest's Madonna" and John Harwood's "The Ghost Writer" stacked beside me. Right now I'm skimming through the first three Traveling Pants books-I reserved a copy of the fourth & final book, "Forever in Blue: The Fourth Summer of the Sisterhood" and my favorite librarian says it should come in this weekend. I'm also waiting on "Chicks with Sticks: Knit Two Together" but at last count, I was the 8th of 10 holds on the book. It might be a while.

Pop Goes My Ear

2007-02-21T10:56:00.002-06:00

First things first, if you haven't seen "Music & Lyrics" (or is it "Lyrics & Music"? I never can remember), it's totally worth it just for the retro-80s style video of the song "Pop Goes My Heart". Totally cute.
I've just realized that today is Ash Wednesday. How strange---it snuck up on me this year. Which makes sense now that I'm no longer the event planner for a Catholic healthcare system. In my old life, I was the one who made the Mardi Gras plans....last year we had a pancake breakfast. The year before we pulled an impromptu Mardi Gras float (the red wagon decorated with lots of yellow, purple, & green tissue paper) around the hospital and threw beads. I always helped coordinate the Ash Wednesday service in the chapel. Even though I am not particularly religious in any way, shape, or form, I've always observed Ash Wednesday & given up something for Lent. It's strange to sit here and realize that I have even given it any thought at all this year.
So it's Wednesday and I have been stuck at home since Sunday. This winter will go down as the Year of the Cold. I really thought I had strep this time, but I don't actually. Just a severe cold. And a cold really is the most miserable thing to have. Because it's *just a cold*. But I've lost my voice this time. And I like to talk. I like to talk a lot. So this is pure hell.
Friday morning there was snow on the ground. Today it's 70 degrees outside. And they say the greenhouse effect is not real. Ha.
Boo & Ellie are giving me the evil eye at this point. They were thrilled to have me at home & in bed on Monday. Extra cuddle time-yay! Yesterday they were a little less thrilled, and today they're avoiding me. I swear they practically have little thought bubbles over their heads, reading "Why isn't she out earning more kitty kibble for us?"
One would think that I could use this time to catch up on my knitting. Not so much. Coughing & sneezing is not conducive to maintaining control over knits & purls. Tension-shmension.
Studying. Ha. It makes my head hurt. Sadly even trying to read for fun is not so fun. I keep drifting off and losing my place. Or worse, I'll fall asleep in the middle of a sentence and I'll dream that I'm still reading but the plot suddenly changes and pink elephants enter the story. Fever dreams, you know.
I'm really getting tired of watching the Anna Nicole hearing, and there's not much else on TV.
I'm bored.

One of These Things is Not Like the Other

2007-02-13T20:41:00.000-06:00

1. I'm watching CNN right now
2. I wear a tiara when I vaccuum
3. I'm Anna Nicole's babydaddy

Well, I would hope that it would be obvious which one of the above statements is a lie. Two Truths & a Lie is one of those oh-so-fun icebreaker games. Since August (when I began my Jr League provisional year) I have played more icebreaker games that I can even begin to count. My personal favorite was when we were divided into our small groups and we had to figure out what we had in common. Our group was very boring--our commonality was that we all worked full-time. We decided to spice it up, so when it was our turn to announce what tied us together, we said we had all slept with the same man. Yeah, we're a regular bunch of comedians and we almost caused a few older members to have heart attacks. We loved it.
Oo--someone from Fort Smith is calling in to Larry King right now. About a stolen cat. Gotta love Arkansans.
It was a lot harder to come up with 2 truths than you would expect. Before the meeting officially began, I sat there knitting while talking about chemistry class. Wendie & I compared stories about the courthouse security guard who gets embarassed when one's underwire bra sets off the beeper-thing,, and Anna and I discussed our Singleton Valentine's Day plans & our favorite books to read while taking bubble baths. So before the game even began, I had basically covered all the things in my life that I use to identify myself---knitter, student, legal admin asst., single white female, bookworm, & bathing connesseuir. Coming up with a lie wouldn't be hard...but finding a truth that I hadn't already covered. That was a little harder.
1) I've driven a dog sled across the frozen Alaskan tundra
2) I've swum with a shark in Puerto Vallarta
3) I've tubed down a river in a Belizan jungle
Not to brag, but I have to say that my submissions were more interesting than anyone else's. (BTW, it was a dolphin, not a shark in PV so that was my lie; I'm totally jealous tho: I found out that Beverly actually has swum with sharks!) Also, given that we've spent at least 2 evenings a month together, not counting additional time spent on special projects, most of us know a little something about our co-provisionals. Yes, I usually meet someone new each time we get together (after all, ours is the largest provisional class).
So I was a little stressed earlier this year about meeting & losing friends at school. I'm the kind of person who needs to have at least one person in each class to whom I can talk. I had a good group of school friends last semester. But they all disappeared after finals. These are friends for the moment, after all.
I think I'm coming to terms with it. I have so many different circles of friends in my life---childhood friends, college friends, post-college friends, knitting friends, work friends, JL friends, internet friends...I probably need the variety of changing schol friends occasionally just to remind me how much I appreciate the constants in my life.
So my early Valentine gift to my friends are the three truths below:
1. I love each and every one of you for the uniqueness of each friendship you bring
2. I appreciate everyone's patience & loyalty while I work on balancing the different parts of my life
3. I'm sending special pink, sparkly, happy thoughts to you today (I'd send chocolates if I could)

Po' White Trash Little Rich Girl

2007-02-11T00:24:00.000-06:00

If it turns out that Anna Nicole Smith's death is indeed related to drug overdose, I won't be surprised. Saddened, yes. I remember when she was the Guess? girl...she was beautiful. I remember standing in the Dillard's at Park Plaza mall, looking at one of her ads, and my stepmother telling me that ANS was married to a rich very older Houstonian. On a subsequent trip to Houston, I talked my father into driving me past Gigi's, the bar where she *danced*. Since she and I both adored Marilyn Monroe (I went through a phase in high school when I had Marilyn posters on my walls, and I read every biography I could find) and since Anna danced in a club that shared my middle name (well, one of them--I will always maintain that my mother was high on somthing when she named me, complete with two middle names) and I like fried chicken, I think I felt an affinity to Anna.
I eagerly watched all the episodes of her reality show. Kim and I had many conversations on Cousin "She ain't got no teef" Shelley, and Howard K.'s big nose, and Sugar Pie, and just the basic trainwreck quality of the show. You didn't want to watch, but you couldn't look away. Although the sight of her eating donuts and drinking strawberry milk did turn my tummy the slightest bit.
But now it is Dannielynn Hope Marshall Stern to whom my heart goes out. Maybe it's because she has two middle names too.
That poor little baby is an orphan for all practical purposes. Now they're saying that not one but four, count 'em FOUR, men could be her daddy. Now I'm willing to discount Prince Mr. Zsa Zsa Gabor (hello, he's not really a prince anywaY) as well as the frozen stuff from J. Howard (Like Anna would have confided anything to her sister), and I have never once believed that Howard K. Stern could possibly be the daddy(I do think he was an enabler, providing Anna with all the drugs she could want, so he could control her). My money is on Larry Birkhead.
I don't know why I'm so worried about this. I always hate legalistics that involve the children. I was thinking about this earlier today...the baby was born in the Bahamas, therefore she is citizen of the Bahamas. At most, she'll have dual citizenship. But since she is residing in the Bahamas, do our courts have any jurisdiction over her? I know that my stepgrandmother came back to the U.S. to give birth to both my stepmother and my stepuncle, to prevent any citizenship issues (Nana and Grandaddy were living in Europe at the time). And my stepcousins, while considered U.S. citizens because of their father even though they were all born in South America, consider themselves Venezuelean more than American. It's just so confusing. It really makes my head hurt.
Although I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall when Prince Mr. Zsa Zsa told his wife that he might be the babydaddy. I'll bet she slapped him too.

Stressing & Obsessing

2007-02-07T15:02:00.000-06:00

Have I mentioned my love affair with the library? I love, love, love the library. I joined last year in an effort to save money. I think I would spend all of my money on books if I could. I love to read. Always have. Always will. I’ve been reading new books as well as re-reading classics (and not-so-classics but nevertheless beloved stories) from my childhood. And best of all, it’s free!

I discovered the joys of books on CD last year on a road trip. It’s a fabulous thing—you can listen to a book and still do something with your hands. Like knit. It’s better than watching TV and knitting because you can give your total ocular attention to your WIP.

Last night, after a much-dreaded introduction to That Man My Mother Married (TM4), and a dinner that will never be recorded for posterity in a Norman Rockwell style painting, I grabbed my needles and yarn, popped a childhood favorite (Margaret Sidney’s “Five Little Peppers and How They Grew”) in the CD player, and curled up in my bed and knit my anxieties away.

To paraphrase Chris Rock (from that movie with Jackie Chan), I do not understand the words that are coming out of his mouth.
"Excuse me?"
"Pardon?"

I felt like a book on CD that was scratched and stuck last night. TM4's accent is thick and his voice is gravelly. I don't know what else to say about him. He tries to be funny. He just doesn't fit in, from his greased back hair to his long gold chain with 2 charms dangling from
it. Not to mention the tattoo on his forehead which consists of 3 blue dots(gang sign for La Vida Loca) or the blue tattoo on his neck, or the woman's name tattooed on the back of his neck, or the tattoo on his chest which
I really didn't want to see and have thusly attempted to block from my mind.

Now I don't have anything against tattoos, being a marked woman myself. However mine are discreet. You won't see them unless I show them to you.

My mother was obviously nervous about seeing everyone. It looked like she was drinking scotch & water. She tends to go overboard when she does drink...it's like the potato chips commercial, "No one can eat just one." Susan can't drink just one. Her first words to me were "That's my
scarf. Take it off, you b*tch.". She was only semi-joking. Not exactly the warm welcome I was hoping for considering it’s been two years since we last saw each other. And then she harped on the scarf throughout the night.

I held out my hand when TM4 and I were introduced, and he hugged me. Now I am a very affectionate person, but I prefer to know someone first. He made an effort--he gave me his seat at the bar and he hung up my coat. He is mannersome. I’ll say that much.

So we sat in the lobby with our assorted drinks, Mother, TM4, Cousin Walter, Uncle Lee, and me, and made small talk. Not an easy feat with 5 people. Finally(!) we decided to head out for dinner so we took the
shuttle from the hotel to the Rivermarket. A traveling businessman staying at the hotel was on the shuttle so my mother invited him to join us for dinner. And the poor fool accepted.

So there we were, my uncle and I, and our slightly odd but earnest & loyal cousin Walter who is fixated on carrot & raisin salad, and my semi-intoxicated (and therefore loud and cussing) mother and her husband who is practically a stranger to us, and a complete stranger named Glenn.

Glenn is from Houston. He works as a security consultant. He was a good sport. I’m sure he called his wife as soon as he got back to his room and told her all about the crazy people who took him to dinner.

We ate at one of the breweries. Mother tried the beer sampler and ended up with her face hovering dangerously close to the table. After dinner we took the shuttle back to the hotel and TM4 vanished while everyone was saying good-bye.I took my mother to her room, which is when I was treated to the view of TM4's chestal tat.

My mother’s Bischons, Iris and Ivan, have been shaved and
they look terrible with their tiny tufts of hair. They do have really cute collars with rhinestones, though. It’s all about the bling.

Mother asked, in front of TM4, what I thought of my "stepfather". Then she asked why no one said anything to her about what they thought of him. I didn't know what to say, so I changed the subject.

In a way, I do feel sorry for him. He seemed to like all of us. But it’s so obvious that they come from different worlds. My mother’s father was a doctor. TM4’s father was a janitor.

Mother outlined her plans to take TM4 to Pine Bluff today to see where she grew up. They're also going to the cemetary. TM4 said that he thinks he & my brother would have gotten along wonderfully if they had ever met.
Now I have no idea if that is true or not. But he does not need to be talking about my brother, pretending he knows the first thing about Darryl. Yes, I have idolized my
brother and put him on a pedestal, but he was the one male I could count on when I was young. I do know that he was highly protective of my mother and me. I don’t think he would be happy about this. He knew as well as I do that our mother doesn’t make the best relationship choices.

We're having dinner tonight at Casa Manana. Because it's authentic Mexican food and Mother thinks TM4 can converse with the staff. I know I could have come up with an excuse to not go to dinner with them. But the little girl inside really wants my mommy and I can’t help but think she’s in there somewhere. Although I don’t want the mommy who made me wear knickerbockers in second grade. I hated those things. I was a girl. I wanted to wear dresses. Anyway who besides Little Lord Fauntleroy ever wore knickerbockers? Well, me, obviously. I will carry that emotional trauma for the rest of my life.
As for dinner tonight, well, at least there will be margaritas.

Welcome to Blizzard 2007

2007-02-01T16:21:00.000-06:00

The first snow of the year. Quite possibly the only snow of the year, at least here in Arkansas. I love how the slightest hint of incoming snow can bring the city to a standstill. I made the mistake of going into the Kroger yesterday during lunch.
Chaos. Utter chaos.
There was a run on milk and bread. Why do we always buy bread and milk when the bad weather comes?
I admit I wish I were snugged up in my cozy little apartment. However it's that time of year when my parents and their friends go skiing in Utah, and I am drafted to dogsit for Gracie the Wonderdog. And I do love Gracie, in spite of her being a dog. And this house is quite lovely and large and there is a jacuzzi tub in my bathroom upstairs.
But it's not home. And quite frankly, if I'm going to be snowed in somewhere, I want to be in my apartment with my pillows and blankies and my digital cable with 3 million channels. There's just the normal extended cable here. No digital, no DVR, no premium movie channels. Plain old 70-odd channels.
Anyway, I met the girls for Knit Nite last Friday. Apparently it was Knitter's A Capella Karaoke Night. We spontanteously sang a variety of 80s hits and even went so far as to sing a chorus of "Who Let the Dogs Out". It was very scary. And we wondered why our waitress was avoiding our table....
Progress, slow but steady, is being made on The Poncho. I'm going to have to buckle down but I really would like to finish it by Valentine's Day...which is only 13 days away. Yikes!

To Continue My Week of Faux Pas

2007-01-25T22:14:00.000-06:00

And now for a funny story...
Backstory first: when I was in Jr. High at the Parochial School from Hades, my mother and I lived in a condo complex in the Heights/Hillcrest area. One of our neighbors was Allyson W., a young woman from Pine Bluff who was slightly older than my older brother. My mother's family and the Ws had been friends forever. Somewhere I have a photo in an album of Allyson & my brother playing in the diapers. I used to catsit for Allyson's cats whenever she went out of town. (Kodak, a calico, and Elliot, a Persian).
When I was in high school, Allyson (who also happened to be my stepmother's stockbrocker) became really sick. Her parents moved her back to Pine Bluff sick. Mayo Clinic sick. Really, really sick. In fact, I was under the impression that she passed away.
Fast-forward to tonight: JLLR meeting. We have a featured guest speaker, Allyson Lewis, a motivational speaker who travels around the US. She recently wrote a book...The 7 Minute Difference, or something. As Our Esteemed President, is introducing Ms. Lewis, she mentions that this is the former Allyson W. of Pine Bluff.
I turn to the 7 women at my table (5 strangers, 2 aquaintances) and hiss, "I used to catsit for her. But she died years ago!". We decide that either we have a zombie approaching the podium (and wouldn't you know it; Buffie the Vampire Slayer was not in attendance) or that perhaps I had been misinformed at some point.
So I settle in and listen to what she had to say. And she made some very good points.
You should make a "To Do" list everyday and do everything on it.
You should get up 15 minutes earlier so you're not rushing around in the mornings(I managed to lose my sunglasses in my apt. this morning--I had them on my head one moment and then , while I changed shoes, they vanished and I didn't have a lot to time to look for them. Still haven't found them. I think it was the faeries again)
If you have multiple voicemails, you should write them down so you don't forget to call people back. (Hmmm...how could she know that this is one of my biggest faults. Oh wait, I suppose you actually have to listen to the VMs in order to write them down. Good to know. I'll start doing that.)
You should read 10 pages of a NONFICTION book each day to improve your mind. (NOw I love me some fiction but I've never really been a fan of nonfiction with the exception of Marilyn Monroe biographies, and somehow I don't think that's the nonfiction she means.)
You should organize your grocery lists by aisles so you're not wandering all over the store (In fact, she has a template list for Wal-Mart which she's going to email to those of us who said we were interested!)
So all in all, it was a pretty cool night. There was miraculous raising of the dead (okay, so she wasn't really dead, but now I know this) and some handy-dandy tips and free wine. Life is indeed good.