Mikey passed away last night, with his wife of 19 1/2 years at his side. We had just moved him back to the hospital from home 5 hours before that. It was, by far, the worst day he had had, and I think we all knew that he didn't have much more time on this earth. After a week of sheer agony, he simply stopped breathing.
It has now been 26 hours and 23 minutes, and I'm still not sure that it has sunk in yet. For now, I am too tired to write any more about it, but I will post more about this wonderful man later. In the meantime, thank you for your thoughts and prayers. Please continue to keep Mikey's wife and children and my parents in your prayers. Naturally, it is hardest on them; although, we are all devastated.
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Saturday, December 15, 2007
I'm Home
(Again, I'm not going to commit much to writing because I don't want to come back later and relive it over and over.) I decided to come home a little early. Actually Mom said that she thought I probably should come home, which was terrifying, so I literally dropped everything, left work, packed a suitcase, and drove back up here yesterday. Mikey left the hospital this morning and is now at home resting. His pain is better, but it is not gone. Hopefully, though, he'll be able to keep it under control. I think it will help for him just to be home. He was insistent that he did not want to stay in the hospital.
This is such a difficult time. Even if I wanted to, I don't think I could describe it. It's just too overwhelming. But thank you all for your thoughts and prayers. They are so very much appreciated!
This is such a difficult time. Even if I wanted to, I don't think I could describe it. It's just too overwhelming. But thank you all for your thoughts and prayers. They are so very much appreciated!
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Update
Mikey had to go into the hospital today to try to get his pain under control. He didn't want to go, but he really needed to. He has been so very miserable. Needless to say, it was a pretty rough day, much like the day of his first surgery when I so wanted to be at home and to see him, but I was stuck here. Mom called tonight, though, and said that he already feels a tiny bit better. She said that he rated his pain as a 6.5 on a scale of 10. Liar. But even if it's a really an 8, that's better than a 10, right?
I was trying to save some of my vacation for later...for just in case. Now I'm thinking I may go home Monday; that is, if the weather holds out. Mom said they're calling for up to 12" of snow up there this weekend!!!
I just want to be at home.
I was trying to save some of my vacation for later...for just in case. Now I'm thinking I may go home Monday; that is, if the weather holds out. Mom said they're calling for up to 12" of snow up there this weekend!!!
I just want to be at home.
Who Here Watches Project Runway?
I do! I do! I love it! The tragic (read: tacky) design disasters, the overly dramatic queens who cry in the middle of their explanations, the drole and Lurch-like Tim Gunn, and the always fabulous Michael Kors. (I love it when he twists his face and says, "I don't like it. It looks like something my grandmother wore to a Boca beauty pageant in 1982.") I was waiting...waiting for so long for the new season, and so far, it hasn't disappointed. But you know what struck me right off the bat? THIS:
OK, OK, maybe you're not seeing it in this picture of Ricky Lizalde, but if you are a regular watcher, you know Ricky usually wears a black hat and a black shirt. So...am I wrong? Slap a mustache on ol' Ricky and you've got Mr. Slave!
But that's not all...
Steven Rosengard totally looks like French Stewart, right?
OK, OK, maybe you're not seeing it in this picture of Ricky Lizalde, but if you are a regular watcher, you know Ricky usually wears a black hat and a black shirt. So...am I wrong? Slap a mustache on ol' Ricky and you've got Mr. Slave!
But that's not all...
Steven Rosengard totally looks like French Stewart, right?
It Speaks to Me
After reading about Susie's Santa t-shirt, I had to go online to try to find it. While I was looking for it, I came across this one, which is so very me.
Sunday, December 09, 2007
Suspicious Activity
It's only 9:30, and already this is the least lazy Sunday I've had in a while. Let's see...I've already been up for two hours, I've written two blogs...oh, and I called the cops. That's right, I called the police first thing this morning to report a "suspicious vehicle." Around 7 this morning, I heard a bang, like a car door being slammed shut. I looked out my window to see an older van pulling away from my neighbor's house. The van stopped again between my house and the house on the other side of me, and a man got out with some sort of plastic bag in his hand. He then waved the van on, and the van left the man to walk down the street. I thought it was odd, but figured it might be the paper delivery, so I just went back to sleep.
About 30 minutes later, I heard another car door slam, so I looked out again. This time, a small black truck was parked in front of that same neighbor's house. Three people had gotten out -- two guys dressed all in black and a girl dressed in jeans and a pink jacket. They were giggling and talking as they walked past my house. They stopped and lit a couple of cigarettes and then continued walking down the street.
Now, my neighbor is not the sort of woman who would associate with the sort of people who were driving either the van or the truck, so I decided to call the police. As promised, they came right out and started checking into the black truck. The doors were unlocked, so the police started searching the vehicle. I went out to tell them about the van, too, and the officer said that the truck reeked of pot and had a busted steering column. He was running the VIN number and the license to see if it was stolen. He asked me if there was any other suspicious activity on the street, and I said no, but that I know there is drug activity just a couple of streets over. He asked me to call the police again if I saw the three people come back to the truck, but then just 20 minutes later, a tow truck pulled up and hauled the car away. I assume that means that it was stolen. As for the van, I have no clue. That might have just been coincidental, but the officer seemed to think it was probably related. Greeeeaaaat. Now I live in "one of those" neighborhoods.
About 30 minutes later, I heard another car door slam, so I looked out again. This time, a small black truck was parked in front of that same neighbor's house. Three people had gotten out -- two guys dressed all in black and a girl dressed in jeans and a pink jacket. They were giggling and talking as they walked past my house. They stopped and lit a couple of cigarettes and then continued walking down the street.
Now, my neighbor is not the sort of woman who would associate with the sort of people who were driving either the van or the truck, so I decided to call the police. As promised, they came right out and started checking into the black truck. The doors were unlocked, so the police started searching the vehicle. I went out to tell them about the van, too, and the officer said that the truck reeked of pot and had a busted steering column. He was running the VIN number and the license to see if it was stolen. He asked me if there was any other suspicious activity on the street, and I said no, but that I know there is drug activity just a couple of streets over. He asked me to call the police again if I saw the three people come back to the truck, but then just 20 minutes later, a tow truck pulled up and hauled the car away. I assume that means that it was stolen. As for the van, I have no clue. That might have just been coincidental, but the officer seemed to think it was probably related. Greeeeaaaat. Now I live in "one of those" neighborhoods.
The 7th Ring of Hell
OK, you caught me. I've never actually read The Divine Comedy, but I'm pretty sure Dante's rendering of the Inferno was conceived after shopping at the mall here around...oh, say...CHRISTMAS TIME!!! I could have spent a lovely Saturday at home, writing out Christmas cards and drinking cocoa while Bing Crosby crooned all the classic Christmas songs on my stereo. But no. I decided to go Christmas shopping.
From the beginning, it was an ill-conceived idea. My Christmas shopping rule of thumb is this: NEVER, EVER go within 1000 feet of any Wal-Mart, Target, or shopping mall between November 25th and December 25th unless you have a specific purpose (i.e. you know exactly what you want and exactly where it is located) and an absolutely dire need to fulfill that specific purpose. Otherwise, you face any combination of the following: Nervous breakdown, panic attack, hysteria, mental/emotional exhaustion, sudden-onset diarrhea, migraine headache, loss of will to live, sudden and uncontrollable rage, physical injury (to you or someone else), homicidal ideation, and even incarceration. But in a moment of sheer lunacy, I decided that it might be good for my spirits to get out there and shop. Well, it wasn't.
First off, I could not find a parking space. Anywhere. Now, I'm not talking a "good" parking space; I'm talking any parking space. Cars were parked from the mall entrance clear out to the road. I actually thought I might have to park across the road at IHOP, but even that lot was filled! So I decided to just start "sharking" people who were leaving the mall. I saw a woman leaving Macy's, so I inched my way down the aisle, following her closely as she made her way to her car. Ahead of me, coming in the opposite direction down the aisle, was some big-haired, gum-chomping, Jimmie Johnson-loving, Billy Ray Cyrus-listening redneck in a school bus yellow Firebird who was waiting for some guy loading packages into his car. My lady found her car, so I put on my signal and waited for her to pull out of the spot. Well, Miss Kentucky up there in the bright yellow Firebird, who was apparently tired of waiting for the other spot, swooped right in and took it! I almost pulled a "Fried Green Tomatoes" and rammed her car, but, instead, I vigorously flipped her off as she swung past me. I did eventually luck into a very good parking place, though -- 2 spots in from the Macy's entrance. By the time I parked, I was seething, vowing never again to patronize either Chili's or Panera, which are both plunked down in the middle of the parking lot and taking up at least 100 parking spots!
Anyway, I went into Macy's to look for something for my parents. I wasn't really sure what to get them, but I hoped something would jump out at me. The only things jumping out at me, though, were screaming kids hidden in clothing racks. The place was packed. Macy's was having another one of those 3-day "One Day" sales -- the third in the last month. There were old people shuffling slowly through the aisles, young mothers racing from department to department with their strollers and knocking over said old people, and clueless husbands bogarting the sales girls who were urgently needed at their registers. My head ached, and I very nearly started to hyperventilate. There was no time to wait for anything to jump out at me. I grabbed a few things and ran to a cash register. A guy named Blake waited on me, and his calmness helped calm me. Once I caught my breath, I decided to venture out of Macy's and into the mall. (Why had I not learned my lesson?)
Two weeks earlier, I had gone into a store to buy a gift, but the item I wanted was out of stock, so I put my name on the waiting list. The store's shipment was supposed to be in "in a couple of weeks," but they hadn't called yet. I figured while I was out, I might as well check and see if my order had arrived. Well, it hadn't. Worse yet, the guy said it would be another week and a half. I won't even be here in a week and a half! Discouraged and deflated, I started to head back to Macy's to leave. But then, in another moment of lunacy, I decided to go look for an outfit for Christmas. (Was I just a glutton for punishment?)
I pushed through the crowds of long-lost friends clogging the hallway with their stuffed shopping bags and their long-winded conversations, wondering why they didn't take these little reunions home or to a table at Chili's. I cursed myself for not having just left when I had the chance. Still, I had come this far. I went into New York & Co. where, just weeks before, I had seen several things that I liked. Now, though, they were cleaned out. Most of the pieces that I had my eye on were sold out, and the ones that remained were all extra smalls and smalls. No one has ever accused me of being extra small or small. Three trips to the dressing room yielded no Christmas outfit, but they did produce a gallon of sweat (is it just me, or do they use heat lamps for their lighting?) and a month's worth of frustration and self-loathing. Dejected, I left and headed back toward Macy's and the exit...the glorious exit.
Back in my car, I then faced the daunting task of getting back out to the highway...where I drove to the shopping center with the Marshall's and Target. Seriously, was I on crack? I mean, what possessed me to venture into another store? I didn't end up going into either store, though, because the traffic just getting to the parking lot was so crazy. So I got back out on the highway and went home, the first sensible choice I'd made all day.
Incidentally, for the purposes of making sure that there is, in fact, a 7th ring of hell in Dante's Inferno, I just looked it up. According to this clever little site, the 7th circle is marked by three kinds of violence: Violence against neighbor; violence against self; and violence against God, art, and nature. Yep, I'd say that pretty well summarizes my Christmas shopping experience. I wanted to throttle my fellow parkers and shoppers; I wanted to starve myself in order to fit into those smalls and extra smalls; and I took the Lord's name in vain many, many times. I think I'll finish my shopping online.
From the beginning, it was an ill-conceived idea. My Christmas shopping rule of thumb is this: NEVER, EVER go within 1000 feet of any Wal-Mart, Target, or shopping mall between November 25th and December 25th unless you have a specific purpose (i.e. you know exactly what you want and exactly where it is located) and an absolutely dire need to fulfill that specific purpose. Otherwise, you face any combination of the following: Nervous breakdown, panic attack, hysteria, mental/emotional exhaustion, sudden-onset diarrhea, migraine headache, loss of will to live, sudden and uncontrollable rage, physical injury (to you or someone else), homicidal ideation, and even incarceration. But in a moment of sheer lunacy, I decided that it might be good for my spirits to get out there and shop. Well, it wasn't.
First off, I could not find a parking space. Anywhere. Now, I'm not talking a "good" parking space; I'm talking any parking space. Cars were parked from the mall entrance clear out to the road. I actually thought I might have to park across the road at IHOP, but even that lot was filled! So I decided to just start "sharking" people who were leaving the mall. I saw a woman leaving Macy's, so I inched my way down the aisle, following her closely as she made her way to her car. Ahead of me, coming in the opposite direction down the aisle, was some big-haired, gum-chomping, Jimmie Johnson-loving, Billy Ray Cyrus-listening redneck in a school bus yellow Firebird who was waiting for some guy loading packages into his car. My lady found her car, so I put on my signal and waited for her to pull out of the spot. Well, Miss Kentucky up there in the bright yellow Firebird, who was apparently tired of waiting for the other spot, swooped right in and took it! I almost pulled a "Fried Green Tomatoes" and rammed her car, but, instead, I vigorously flipped her off as she swung past me. I did eventually luck into a very good parking place, though -- 2 spots in from the Macy's entrance. By the time I parked, I was seething, vowing never again to patronize either Chili's or Panera, which are both plunked down in the middle of the parking lot and taking up at least 100 parking spots!
Anyway, I went into Macy's to look for something for my parents. I wasn't really sure what to get them, but I hoped something would jump out at me. The only things jumping out at me, though, were screaming kids hidden in clothing racks. The place was packed. Macy's was having another one of those 3-day "One Day" sales -- the third in the last month. There were old people shuffling slowly through the aisles, young mothers racing from department to department with their strollers and knocking over said old people, and clueless husbands bogarting the sales girls who were urgently needed at their registers. My head ached, and I very nearly started to hyperventilate. There was no time to wait for anything to jump out at me. I grabbed a few things and ran to a cash register. A guy named Blake waited on me, and his calmness helped calm me. Once I caught my breath, I decided to venture out of Macy's and into the mall. (Why had I not learned my lesson?)
Two weeks earlier, I had gone into a store to buy a gift, but the item I wanted was out of stock, so I put my name on the waiting list. The store's shipment was supposed to be in "in a couple of weeks," but they hadn't called yet. I figured while I was out, I might as well check and see if my order had arrived. Well, it hadn't. Worse yet, the guy said it would be another week and a half. I won't even be here in a week and a half! Discouraged and deflated, I started to head back to Macy's to leave. But then, in another moment of lunacy, I decided to go look for an outfit for Christmas. (Was I just a glutton for punishment?)
I pushed through the crowds of long-lost friends clogging the hallway with their stuffed shopping bags and their long-winded conversations, wondering why they didn't take these little reunions home or to a table at Chili's. I cursed myself for not having just left when I had the chance. Still, I had come this far. I went into New York & Co. where, just weeks before, I had seen several things that I liked. Now, though, they were cleaned out. Most of the pieces that I had my eye on were sold out, and the ones that remained were all extra smalls and smalls. No one has ever accused me of being extra small or small. Three trips to the dressing room yielded no Christmas outfit, but they did produce a gallon of sweat (is it just me, or do they use heat lamps for their lighting?) and a month's worth of frustration and self-loathing. Dejected, I left and headed back toward Macy's and the exit...the glorious exit.
Back in my car, I then faced the daunting task of getting back out to the highway...where I drove to the shopping center with the Marshall's and Target. Seriously, was I on crack? I mean, what possessed me to venture into another store? I didn't end up going into either store, though, because the traffic just getting to the parking lot was so crazy. So I got back out on the highway and went home, the first sensible choice I'd made all day.
Incidentally, for the purposes of making sure that there is, in fact, a 7th ring of hell in Dante's Inferno, I just looked it up. According to this clever little site, the 7th circle is marked by three kinds of violence: Violence against neighbor; violence against self; and violence against God, art, and nature. Yep, I'd say that pretty well summarizes my Christmas shopping experience. I wanted to throttle my fellow parkers and shoppers; I wanted to starve myself in order to fit into those smalls and extra smalls; and I took the Lord's name in vain many, many times. I think I'll finish my shopping online.
Darwin Award Nominee
So I was dutiful little Junior Leaguer and went to the League's Christmas party last night even though I wasn't much in the mood. First of all, there's Mikey. Second of all, I am utterly opposed to paying $25 to attend a Christmas party. Finally, I had just spent the afternoon Christmas shopping, which sucked every last vapor of the Christmas spirit out of me. More on the Christmas shopping later, but for now, back to my story.
One of the girls in the League and her husband own a pharmacy, which happens to be very near my house -- just a block away. The other day, they were robbed. In broad daylight. A man pulled up in a cab, got out, went inside, held his hand in his pocket as if he had a weapon, and robbed them! Of course, in this day of debit cards, they had very little cash in the register -- only about $100. Thankfully, no one was hurt. But wait for it...wait for it...
The robber's total take was only $70 because he had a $30 cab tab. No cab ride in this little town should cost $30, though, right? So what gives? Well, apparently, this scholarly thief had called the cab, but then didn't have the money to pay the fare, so he asked the cab to drive to one business, which he apparently tried unsuccessfully to rob. Then to a second business...then to a THIRD! By the time he drove to my friends' pharmacy, he had racked up a $30 cab fare and had slowed himself down enough to be easily apprehended by the police. I'm sure now he's wishing he had just walked to wherever it was he was going in the first place. Robbery in this state is wiiiiide open as far as sentencing is concerned, and in this county in particular, it usually draws around 40 years!
One of the girls in the League and her husband own a pharmacy, which happens to be very near my house -- just a block away. The other day, they were robbed. In broad daylight. A man pulled up in a cab, got out, went inside, held his hand in his pocket as if he had a weapon, and robbed them! Of course, in this day of debit cards, they had very little cash in the register -- only about $100. Thankfully, no one was hurt. But wait for it...wait for it...
The robber's total take was only $70 because he had a $30 cab tab. No cab ride in this little town should cost $30, though, right? So what gives? Well, apparently, this scholarly thief had called the cab, but then didn't have the money to pay the fare, so he asked the cab to drive to one business, which he apparently tried unsuccessfully to rob. Then to a second business...then to a THIRD! By the time he drove to my friends' pharmacy, he had racked up a $30 cab fare and had slowed himself down enough to be easily apprehended by the police. I'm sure now he's wishing he had just walked to wherever it was he was going in the first place. Robbery in this state is wiiiiide open as far as sentencing is concerned, and in this county in particular, it usually draws around 40 years!
Friday, December 07, 2007
What Do You Think?
I've had some strange traffic to my blog this week. I've had a few visitors (including 3 foreign visitors) whose "referring URLs" come up with an error message. None of those show the same "referring URL." I have to say that I'm a little creeped out by that. So I'm thinking of either changing the address of my blog or taking it private. If you are a regular reader or lurker, please leave a comment and let me know if you would like to be apprised of my new address, if, indeed, I decide to change it or if you'd like to receive an invitation if I decide to make my blog private. Please do not leave your e-mail address in your comment just in case there is any funny business going on here. Instead, if you wish to share your e-mail address with me, please send me an e-mail at neuroticattyblogger at gmail dot com. Thanks!
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
Snow Big Deal...
...it could be a lot worse, really. My parents got about 10" of the white stuff today. Still, I do hate to wake up to this:
Notice that my Griswold snowmen are covered with snow. Oh, the irony.
Notice that my Griswold snowmen are covered with snow. Oh, the irony.
Thing 4
Not to be outdone, Tyler just had to have his own wig...
You can't really get a picture of Tyler these days without him making some sort of funny face. He looks a bit like an elf in this one.
You can't really get a picture of Tyler these days without him making some sort of funny face. He looks a bit like an elf in this one.
The Pride of West Virginia...
...Mountaineer Marching Shane!
And here he is again with his 2 favorite cousins...for that moment anyway.
If you look closely, you can see WVU choking in the background.
And here he is again with his 2 favorite cousins...for that moment anyway.
If you look closely, you can see WVU choking in the background.
Monday, December 03, 2007
On a Lighter Note
One of the guys on the WVU sports board I read has a new signature:
The caption reads, "Rodriguez giving the team the game plan for Pitt." Hey, if I didn't laugh, I'd cry.
The caption reads, "Rodriguez giving the team the game plan for Pitt." Hey, if I didn't laugh, I'd cry.
What a Weekend
There is just nothing good to say about it at all. I'm hesitant to write much about Mike's situation. Frankly, I know that if I commit it all to writing, I will just torture myself by going back and reading it all over and over and over again. Suffice it to say that my parents are very upset. They aren't the sort of people to just sit around and sob all day long; they're really very strong, put-on-a-brave-face sort of people. However, Friday night I saw my mom cry for maybe the fifth time in my life. And my dad, who is usually up and dressed and out in his barn putzing around by 8am, just laid around in his pajamas all morning, seeming to be in no hurry to start the day. At times, both of them seemed to be almost lost, like they had no idea where to turn or what to do. As much as it hurts for me to have to think about losing my only brother, I cannot imagine how much it must hurt them to think about losing their only son.
Mikey has been accepted to a trial in Pittsburgh; however, it is not a cancer trial per se, so I don't know how much hope it offers. Still, I fully believe in miracles, and I have every hope in the world that it could make a difference. In the meantime, he is in a tremendous amount of pain. You can see it in his posture, and you can hear it in his voice. He really is trying, though, not to show it in his disposition. He cracked wise a few times yesterday and ate a full plate of dinner PLUS dessert. (We had a belated Thanksgiving dinner since my parents were in China for the real deal.) And like the rest of us, he lamented the Mountaineers' loss on Saturday.
Mikey did not make the WVU-Pitt game, much to his disappointment. He wanted so badly to be there. Perhaps he was the lucky one, though, as it was very cold...and heartbreaking. As pessimistic as I am (my personal philosophy in all things but Mikey is that if you expect the worst, you will never be disappointed in life), it never crossed my mind that WVU would lose that game. Not once. I believed that WVU would be playing for the national title...and might even win. Alas, it wasn't meant to be. See, this is where that personal philosophy comes in handy -- I wouldn't be disappointed now if only I'd stuck to it.
And the perfect end to the perfect weekend? I had to drive home, alone and crying, through a driving rain and high winds.
Of course, as bad as the weekend was, I wouldn't trade it for anything because above all, I got to spend time with my family, who I love so very, very much. Even the difficult times with family are worth experiencing.
Mikey has been accepted to a trial in Pittsburgh; however, it is not a cancer trial per se, so I don't know how much hope it offers. Still, I fully believe in miracles, and I have every hope in the world that it could make a difference. In the meantime, he is in a tremendous amount of pain. You can see it in his posture, and you can hear it in his voice. He really is trying, though, not to show it in his disposition. He cracked wise a few times yesterday and ate a full plate of dinner PLUS dessert. (We had a belated Thanksgiving dinner since my parents were in China for the real deal.) And like the rest of us, he lamented the Mountaineers' loss on Saturday.
Mikey did not make the WVU-Pitt game, much to his disappointment. He wanted so badly to be there. Perhaps he was the lucky one, though, as it was very cold...and heartbreaking. As pessimistic as I am (my personal philosophy in all things but Mikey is that if you expect the worst, you will never be disappointed in life), it never crossed my mind that WVU would lose that game. Not once. I believed that WVU would be playing for the national title...and might even win. Alas, it wasn't meant to be. See, this is where that personal philosophy comes in handy -- I wouldn't be disappointed now if only I'd stuck to it.
And the perfect end to the perfect weekend? I had to drive home, alone and crying, through a driving rain and high winds.
Of course, as bad as the weekend was, I wouldn't trade it for anything because above all, I got to spend time with my family, who I love so very, very much. Even the difficult times with family are worth experiencing.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Confuscious Say..."You're a B*@#&$!"
Some of the girls at work had Chinese delivered for lunch today. I stuck to my packed lunch (both nutritionally and fiscally responsible -- yay me!), but I did swipe a fortune cookie from the stash. I think I was hoping it would say something about Mike, but it didn't. What it did say was this: "Work on your diplomatic skills and avoid conflict at all costs." Hmmm...not exactly what I was hoping for, but I think we could all agree that it definitely speaks to me and my personality.
Oh, and my lucky numbers were 7, 32, 15, 29, 41, and 6. Feel free to use them yourself. Everyone knows that undiplomatic b*@#&$es like me don't hit the Powerball.
Oh, and my lucky numbers were 7, 32, 15, 29, 41, and 6. Feel free to use them yourself. Everyone knows that undiplomatic b*@#&$es like me don't hit the Powerball.
O-Ryan, the Mighty Hunter
Ryan shot his first buck the other day. His grandad (my SIL's father) talked him through it a little, but Ryan shot it himself. If you ask, he'll gladly tell you precisely how the bullet tracked through the lung and made the heart explode. Breakfast anyone?
His grandad is having the head mounted for him. I'm sure Cherie can't wait to add that to her home decor. I think it would look best in the basement. In a storage closet. That's rarely used. And isn't lit. Poor, dead deer head without a body.
His grandad is having the head mounted for him. I'm sure Cherie can't wait to add that to her home decor. I think it would look best in the basement. In a storage closet. That's rarely used. And isn't lit. Poor, dead deer head without a body.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
You've Heard of Thing 1 and Thing 2...
...this is Thing 3. Ryan showed up for the UConn game with a newly acquired...um...hair piece. The crazy thing shed like a cat! He wore it through the whole game. I was kind of surprised because I'm sure it was hot, and it kept hanging down in his eyes. I think his mom will probably "accidentally" burn it the first chance she gets. It certainly is a look...
If any of you are "Bob & Tom" fans, you know that they have a character named "Donnie Baker" on the show. Donnie is a crass wannabe-ladies-man who seems to be stuck in the 80s and who has no respect for authority. This is sort of how I picture ol' Donnie...
If any of you are "Bob & Tom" fans, you know that they have a character named "Donnie Baker" on the show. Donnie is a crass wannabe-ladies-man who seems to be stuck in the 80s and who has no respect for authority. This is sort of how I picture ol' Donnie...
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Why Everyone Loves Mikey
In the midst of telling me the bad news, Mikey commented on how Ryan had just shot his first deer (an 8-point buck) and won his big soccer tournament. He gestured toward the field and said, "Now it looks like we're going to play for a national title. It just seems like God is making all this happen now so I can see it." Cherie said, "I think you're reading way too much into this." Mikey looked at her and said, "Well, we'll know for sure if we hit the lottery tonight." I couldn't help but smile through my tears. That's so typical Mike! He's a real wisenheimer!
The Big Game, Part II
As I've said before, Mountaineer Field is my happy place. It's my Disney World -- the happiest place on earth. Or it was anyway.
Saturday afternoon, when I got to the stadium, my brother and sister-in-law and nephew were already there. When I got in my seat and turned to say hi to Mikey, the first thing I noticed was that his eyeballs were yellow. At first, I thought I was just imagining it; but when I turned to look again, they were undeniably yellow. I immediately started wondering if Mikey had noticed it. I started trying to think of how to get Cherie alone to tell her that she should probably call Mikey's doctor and tell him about it. (Can you believe that? I actually thought that they might not have noticed!) I distracted myself with the game until I got a chance to steal Cherie away. In the meantime, Mikey talked about the plays and bad calls and bad spots and seemed to be doing pretty well.
It never once occurred to me to ask him how his latest PET scan had gone. I had asked Cherie earlier in the week if he had gotten the results, and she had told that they wouldn't be getting the results until after the holiday. I noticed a couple times, though, that he had his eyes closed and wondered briefly it was because of pain. But I figured he was probably just drowsy from the pain medications that he's been on, and I let it go. Really, I thought he looked pretty darn good -- better than he looked with that awful rash anyway.
At halftime, we were just talking about this and that and the other, when he leaned in and said, "The news from the scan wasn't good, by the way." He then gestured across his abdomen and toward his upper chest and said, "It's all over in here and in my chest." He was so matter-of-fact about it, and I instantly felt a lump coming up in my throat. He said that the doctor didn't seem to think there was any point in continuing with chemo because it clearly wasn't working. Mikey said that he was still fighting, though, and was going to talk to UPMC and Duke. Still, he said that he didn't want to continue with chemo if it wasn't going to change anything. He said, "I'm pretty much on borrowed time at this point." Cherie leaned in and said, "And did you notice his eyes? Do you know what that means?" I just tried to swallow back my tears because I didn't want to cry in front of him and because his 11-year-old son was sitting right next to me (did he even know yet?). I wanted to ask him to stop, but what was the point? Was anything going to be different just because he didn't actually say the words out loud?
All these thoughts started running through my head. This was his last football season. This was his last Christmas. Ryan and Tyler would lose their father when they were only 11 and 6. Cherie would be a widow at 40. In the not-so-distant future, we would have to adjust to a new life without my only brother and my parents' only son in it. It started to overwhelm me, and I had to get up and leave.
Once I composed myself, I returned to my seat and pretended as though we had never had the conversation, but grief hung over my head like a rain cloud.
I will be the first to admit that I am generally a very glass-half-empty sort of girl. Somehow, though, I never let myself believe for one minute that Mikey's battle would end so soon. I mean, I knew, realistically, that he would not live to see his boys get married or have children of their own. But I never thought he would have less than 10 years. Why I fixated on that number, I don't know, but that's what I focused on -- 10 years. Of course, not even 10 years was enough for me, so I was utterly devastated to know that we probably aren't even looking at 10 months.
I can't imagine any part of life without Mikey. Not WVU football games, not family dinners, not holidays or birthdays, not baptisms or weddings -- nothing. He is such a huge part of our family. He's the one we all sort of gravitate to; always quick with a witty jab and a big smile, the one who everyone loves. How can we possibly go on without him?
As I sit here, I'm already trying to hear his voice and picture his face. Even though I know I'll see him again this weekend, I'm trying to burn him into my memory, complaining about "that ridiculous nickel defense" and re-telling jokes from the guys at work. And I just wonder, How did we get to this place? Why did things turn out this way? I'm not angry, though, because I know Mikey isn't. I know he's at peace with it all because he told me two months ago that he was not afraid to die. Still, it hurts. It hurts more than I can even say.
The good news is that we were able to schedule a big family portrait for December 22. One day we won't have Mikey, but at least we'll have a reminder of how we were all together once.
Saturday afternoon, when I got to the stadium, my brother and sister-in-law and nephew were already there. When I got in my seat and turned to say hi to Mikey, the first thing I noticed was that his eyeballs were yellow. At first, I thought I was just imagining it; but when I turned to look again, they were undeniably yellow. I immediately started wondering if Mikey had noticed it. I started trying to think of how to get Cherie alone to tell her that she should probably call Mikey's doctor and tell him about it. (Can you believe that? I actually thought that they might not have noticed!) I distracted myself with the game until I got a chance to steal Cherie away. In the meantime, Mikey talked about the plays and bad calls and bad spots and seemed to be doing pretty well.
It never once occurred to me to ask him how his latest PET scan had gone. I had asked Cherie earlier in the week if he had gotten the results, and she had told that they wouldn't be getting the results until after the holiday. I noticed a couple times, though, that he had his eyes closed and wondered briefly it was because of pain. But I figured he was probably just drowsy from the pain medications that he's been on, and I let it go. Really, I thought he looked pretty darn good -- better than he looked with that awful rash anyway.
At halftime, we were just talking about this and that and the other, when he leaned in and said, "The news from the scan wasn't good, by the way." He then gestured across his abdomen and toward his upper chest and said, "It's all over in here and in my chest." He was so matter-of-fact about it, and I instantly felt a lump coming up in my throat. He said that the doctor didn't seem to think there was any point in continuing with chemo because it clearly wasn't working. Mikey said that he was still fighting, though, and was going to talk to UPMC and Duke. Still, he said that he didn't want to continue with chemo if it wasn't going to change anything. He said, "I'm pretty much on borrowed time at this point." Cherie leaned in and said, "And did you notice his eyes? Do you know what that means?" I just tried to swallow back my tears because I didn't want to cry in front of him and because his 11-year-old son was sitting right next to me (did he even know yet?). I wanted to ask him to stop, but what was the point? Was anything going to be different just because he didn't actually say the words out loud?
All these thoughts started running through my head. This was his last football season. This was his last Christmas. Ryan and Tyler would lose their father when they were only 11 and 6. Cherie would be a widow at 40. In the not-so-distant future, we would have to adjust to a new life without my only brother and my parents' only son in it. It started to overwhelm me, and I had to get up and leave.
Once I composed myself, I returned to my seat and pretended as though we had never had the conversation, but grief hung over my head like a rain cloud.
I will be the first to admit that I am generally a very glass-half-empty sort of girl. Somehow, though, I never let myself believe for one minute that Mikey's battle would end so soon. I mean, I knew, realistically, that he would not live to see his boys get married or have children of their own. But I never thought he would have less than 10 years. Why I fixated on that number, I don't know, but that's what I focused on -- 10 years. Of course, not even 10 years was enough for me, so I was utterly devastated to know that we probably aren't even looking at 10 months.
I can't imagine any part of life without Mikey. Not WVU football games, not family dinners, not holidays or birthdays, not baptisms or weddings -- nothing. He is such a huge part of our family. He's the one we all sort of gravitate to; always quick with a witty jab and a big smile, the one who everyone loves. How can we possibly go on without him?
As I sit here, I'm already trying to hear his voice and picture his face. Even though I know I'll see him again this weekend, I'm trying to burn him into my memory, complaining about "that ridiculous nickel defense" and re-telling jokes from the guys at work. And I just wonder, How did we get to this place? Why did things turn out this way? I'm not angry, though, because I know Mikey isn't. I know he's at peace with it all because he told me two months ago that he was not afraid to die. Still, it hurts. It hurts more than I can even say.
The good news is that we were able to schedule a big family portrait for December 22. One day we won't have Mikey, but at least we'll have a reminder of how we were all together once.
The Big Game, Part I
Well, I sure as heck hope you were watching that game on Saturday! It was a blow-out for sure, but not the boring sort of blow-out. Pat White and the boys put on a show that left me saying, "WOW!" I mean, I knew my secret boyfriend (Pat White) was good, but I had no idea he could pull out a Heisman performance like that ...with a stomach bug no less! It was just sick! As one sports writer said, "he put the zig in zag, the wiggle in the waggle." My brother kept talking about racking up "style points." Well, WVU did that and more!
I have to admit I was a little distracted, though. Every time I looked toward the north endzone, I saw this:
OK, so I know you're distracted by that stylish little reflective strip, but that wasn't what caught my attention. It didn't glow like that except when my flash hit it. No, I was distracted by this:
Yes, that's right. Dude was wearing sweat pants over his jeans! Granted, it was cold. I was wearing 3 layers myself. However, my top layer was my pair of jeans. This is simply unacceptable. Go out and buy some long-johns! And then put them on under your pants!
Oh, and just to keep things interesting, every time WVU scored (which was a lot), he'd stick his hands down by his side and pull out his finger "pistols" and start pretending to fire off rounds. Ugh.
I have to admit I was a little distracted, though. Every time I looked toward the north endzone, I saw this:
OK, so I know you're distracted by that stylish little reflective strip, but that wasn't what caught my attention. It didn't glow like that except when my flash hit it. No, I was distracted by this:
Yes, that's right. Dude was wearing sweat pants over his jeans! Granted, it was cold. I was wearing 3 layers myself. However, my top layer was my pair of jeans. This is simply unacceptable. Go out and buy some long-johns! And then put them on under your pants!
Oh, and just to keep things interesting, every time WVU scored (which was a lot), he'd stick his hands down by his side and pull out his finger "pistols" and start pretending to fire off rounds. Ugh.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Let's Goooooo...Mountaineers!
Alright, Law Chick, I'm eating my words. I called WVU to lose the Louisville game after the USF loss (which I also called, by the way), and I was wrong. You didn't lose faith, and you were right. And now, with a little help from Darren McFadden and our friends at Arkansas, WVU is on the verge of greatness. If WVU wins these last two games, we are all but assured a spot in the national title game. I can hardly believe it! After an early and devastating loss in Florida, the team pulled together the rest of their season and won week after week. If they win again today, they will be rewarded with a Big East Championship. And if they win next week against Pitt, they will be rewarded with a trip to New Orleans!!!
On the other side of that football in New Orleans? Well, it's hard to say. There are a lot of "ifs" in that scenario. But because Ohio State seems to have this fluke-ish luck that always serves them well (except, of course, against Illinois two weeks ago), I'll lay odds that both Kansas and Missouri will lose in the next two weeks (one of them will certainly lose today as they play each other), and Ohio State will slide right into that #2 spot. Another crack at the national title for the team who couldn't get it done last year.
Big East v. Big 10. A chance for WVU and its underdog conference to show yet again that they're worthy of a little respect. Yes, destiny awaits Pat White, Steve Slaton, Owen Schmitt, and the rest of the boys WVU! This could be the year! They COULD...GO...ALL...THE...WAY!
Or not. Ohio State 38, WVU 24. Sorry, Law Chick. As Pioneer Woman says, "I'm just keepin' it real!"
On the other side of that football in New Orleans? Well, it's hard to say. There are a lot of "ifs" in that scenario. But because Ohio State seems to have this fluke-ish luck that always serves them well (except, of course, against Illinois two weeks ago), I'll lay odds that both Kansas and Missouri will lose in the next two weeks (one of them will certainly lose today as they play each other), and Ohio State will slide right into that #2 spot. Another crack at the national title for the team who couldn't get it done last year.
Big East v. Big 10. A chance for WVU and its underdog conference to show yet again that they're worthy of a little respect. Yes, destiny awaits Pat White, Steve Slaton, Owen Schmitt, and the rest of the boys WVU! This could be the year! They COULD...GO...ALL...THE...WAY!
Or not. Ohio State 38, WVU 24. Sorry, Law Chick. As Pioneer Woman says, "I'm just keepin' it real!"
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Need a Good Laugh?
Then go directly to Kim's blog and read her latest entry. You have to love a girl who can laugh at herself, and I do love Kim! I'd never let her near my kitchen, but I love her and her crazy stories!
Monday, November 19, 2007
Drum Roll Please...
OK, so I've been going through a bunch of old pictures on my computer, trying to thin them out in preparation for saving them all to CD, and I found a particularly unflattering one of my ex, which I am dying to post. Still, I feel like I shouldn't, like it's some sort of violation to reveal his identity. But you know what? I'm going to do it anyway. I don't know why I've hung on to the pseudonym for so long either. I mean, I haven't said anything about him that is in any way untrue or defamatory. So here he is...this is Brian, the man I almost married:
BRRRRRRRR...
BRRRRRRRR...
BRRRRRRRR...
And because I really am a good person, I'll even show you a more flattering picture of him:
Hey, I said it was a "more flattering picture." I never said he was George Clooney.
Yep, that's him. Now, to answer your first question, he was only 38 in those pictures. Hand to Heaven, he's only 8 years older than me. To answer your second question, well...I don't know. I wasn't thinking. I mean, I was, but I was thinking, He looks good on paper. He'd be a good provider. He can be fun when he wants to be. He'll be a partner in 3 years. And I am too old not to be married. Look, the important thing is that we didn't get married, and I now realize the error of my ways.
So anyway, that's Brian, aka "Burt." Ahhhhhh...I feel so much better now.
BRRRRRRRR...
BRRRRRRRR...
BRRRRRRRR...
And because I really am a good person, I'll even show you a more flattering picture of him:
Hey, I said it was a "more flattering picture." I never said he was George Clooney.
Yep, that's him. Now, to answer your first question, he was only 38 in those pictures. Hand to Heaven, he's only 8 years older than me. To answer your second question, well...I don't know. I wasn't thinking. I mean, I was, but I was thinking, He looks good on paper. He'd be a good provider. He can be fun when he wants to be. He'll be a partner in 3 years. And I am too old not to be married. Look, the important thing is that we didn't get married, and I now realize the error of my ways.
So anyway, that's Brian, aka "Burt." Ahhhhhh...I feel so much better now.
And She's Humble, Too!
I just have to share this Lily story that Boo told me the other day. Lily and her mommy went shopping last week, and Boo found a little dress for Lily, so she said, "Come here and let's try this on." Lily, in her two-year-old way, said, "No, thanks!" Boo said, "No, come over here and let me put this on you." Lily said, "I think it's too big enough for me!" A lady standing nearby got tickled by that, and when Lily noticed that the lady was smiling at her, she said, "I'm so pretty! I'm so cute!" I think it's safe to say that self-esteem is not a problem for Miss Lily.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
My Mother Would Be So Proud
I found this t-shirt a couple of years ago, and the moment I laid eyes on it, I knew I had to have it. I found it crass, but deliciously so. It's the sort of thing that makes you gasp, but with a grin on your face. I decided the perfect place to test it out was the YMCA. They have a "no offensive clothing" policy which, according to the sign, includes t-shirts with obscene or offensive language or graphics. Part of me wanted to get my membership revoked so I wouldn't feel obliged to drag myself out of bed for the Saturday morning torture sessions of weighted workout anymore. Part of me just wanted to shock the little old ladies who stand behind me in said torture session and talk all through the calls. Maybe my shirt would finally shut them up! I was giddy at the prospect of them saying, "Well, I never! I should march right downstairs and complain to Mr. Smailes!" But they didn't. In fact, they didn't get it. One lady said, "West Virginia is more to the west of Virginia than 'on top' of Virginia." *Sigh* My evil plan was foiled.
Anyway, I found it in my closet this morning and decided to dust it off for your viewing pleasure. Sorry about the picture quality. My camera battery is dying, so the focus is a little off.
Ouch.
When I first moved down here seven and a half years ago, I worked for a judge who loooooved to karaoke. So on Wednesday nights, we'd go to this place called Jake's so he could sing his signature song, "Piece of Shit Car" by Adam Sandler. Of course, his performances were legendary around the legal community, so the place would be filled with lawyers and police officers and other employees from the courthouse.
The first time I went to Jake's, the judge took me around and introduced me to everyone as his new law clerk. As we were making the rounds, he introduced me to two sheriff's deputies who were sitting at the bar. The judge said, "Now hopefully you won't ever need their help, but if you do, they're good guys." "Nice to meet you," I said, and off we went to meet someone else. As I was leaving later (much later) that night, one of the deputies, Dale, reached out and grabbed my arm. He said, "You know what? I'm going to make you my woman." OK, now I will grant you that that's a little...primitive. But it was also sort of charming in a beer-fog sort of way. I just laughed and said, "OK, then," and I left.
A week later, Deputy Dale came to my office and asked me to lunch. Of course I went. He was carrying a gun. Actually, I went willingly. I knew from the scuttlebutt around the office that it had taken him 5 days just to work up the courage to ask me out, which I found very sweet. We went out several times after that, and I always had a very good time. He was very much the gentleman -- opening car doors and walking me to the door. However, because he had just gotten out of a long-term relationship, we agreed that we would take things slow. He even went so far as to say that perhaps we should even leave it open to seeing other people. Well, that was fine with me because, at that point, I had already met "Burt" and we were beginning to date. Each knew that there was someone else in the picture, but both insisted that they didn't care.
Truth be told, I liked Deputy Dale much better than "Burt." He was much more attentive and fun. There was something about him that made me feel very safe and comfortable (perhaps the fact that he carried a gun). But -- and I hate to say this -- "Burt" looked better "on paper." We were both attorneys who shared a circle of friends, and it seemed like the more natural fit. Still, I had not chosen him over Deputy Dale. I was honestly torn. It was clear to me, though, that I would have to decide soon. "Burt" had become enraged at a Christmas party when he found out that "the other one" was there, too. (Neither had ever met the other, but a mutual friend told "Burt" that I suddenly had a double-date on my hands.) I asked "Burt" if we wanted me to stop seeing "the other one," but he said no. I knew that "no" really meant "yes," and soon I'd have to decide. But then the decision was made for me.
Deputy Dale asked me out to dinner for my birthday a few weeks after that Christmas party, and I happily went. After dinner, he wanted to go for drinks, but I couldn't go. I explained that I needed to get home to study for the bar exam, which was in 5 short weeks, and we parted ways. Then I made a tactical error. Knowing that "Burt" was at my happy hour hideout playing darts, I decided to stop by to say hello. Instead of just saying hi, though, I decided to go ahead and order a beer. As I raised the beer to my lips, I heard the door open...and then I felt a pair of arms wrap around my waist. It was Deputy Dale. He whispered in my ear, "I thought you had to get home, but I'm glad you decided not to." I froze. My eyes fixed on the bartender's. Beth Ann's eyes were as big as mine! She knew both "Burt" and Deputy Dale and knew that I was in a whole mess of trouble. As did "Burt's" darts partner, Scotty. Scotty, devil that he is, said, "Well, hey there Dale! Hey Dale, I don't think you've ever met my friend, Burt. Burt, Dale. Dale, Burt." I just stood there, stunned, while Scotty went on. "Well, hey Lara! I didn't see you over there," as he winked. "Burt" was intent on his game and barely looked over his shoulder as he said hi to Dale. Dale, though, looked back at me and saw the look on my face. Instantly, he knew. He said, "Oh, I get it. OK. I'm just going to get out of here. Happy birthday."
It was the worst feeling. I tried to run after him, but he didn't even turn around. I went back in to pay Beth Ann, and I left. I tried for days to call and apologize, but he wouldn't return my calls. I tried to ambush him at the courthouse, but he made easy sport of avoiding me. I felt terrible.
A few months later, though, we did run into each other unexpectedly. I grabbed his arm and apologized profusely. I explained that I had only stopped in to say hello that night and that "Burt" and I had not had a planned date that night. I told him that I knew I had done the wrong thing and begged for his forgiveness, if only so that we could be friends. He said, "I appreciate your apology, but I don't think so." Wow. I was crushed. Dale really was a wonderful, wonderful guy. It was like that scene from "My Best Friend's Wedding" where Jules admits to Michael all the devious things she did to break up his wedding. I felt like the "pus that infects the mucus that cruds up the fungus that feeds on the pond scum." That was almost 7 years ago.
Well, last night, as I was walking down an aisle at Hell on a Stick (aka, Wal-Mart), who did I see walking toward me but Deputy Dale. My initial instinct was to duck down a side aisle, but I decided to keep walking. Feeling certain that he would at least smile at me, I decided that I would take the opportunity to say hi and ask him how we was doing. Surely he had forgiven me by now, and maybe we could at least be friendly again. As we passed each other, he looked right at me; but when I smiled, he didn't. He just kept walking. Ouch. Yep, I'm still the "pus that infects the mucus that cruds up the fungus that feeds on the pond scum."
The first time I went to Jake's, the judge took me around and introduced me to everyone as his new law clerk. As we were making the rounds, he introduced me to two sheriff's deputies who were sitting at the bar. The judge said, "Now hopefully you won't ever need their help, but if you do, they're good guys." "Nice to meet you," I said, and off we went to meet someone else. As I was leaving later (much later) that night, one of the deputies, Dale, reached out and grabbed my arm. He said, "You know what? I'm going to make you my woman." OK, now I will grant you that that's a little...primitive. But it was also sort of charming in a beer-fog sort of way. I just laughed and said, "OK, then," and I left.
A week later, Deputy Dale came to my office and asked me to lunch. Of course I went. He was carrying a gun. Actually, I went willingly. I knew from the scuttlebutt around the office that it had taken him 5 days just to work up the courage to ask me out, which I found very sweet. We went out several times after that, and I always had a very good time. He was very much the gentleman -- opening car doors and walking me to the door. However, because he had just gotten out of a long-term relationship, we agreed that we would take things slow. He even went so far as to say that perhaps we should even leave it open to seeing other people. Well, that was fine with me because, at that point, I had already met "Burt" and we were beginning to date. Each knew that there was someone else in the picture, but both insisted that they didn't care.
Truth be told, I liked Deputy Dale much better than "Burt." He was much more attentive and fun. There was something about him that made me feel very safe and comfortable (perhaps the fact that he carried a gun). But -- and I hate to say this -- "Burt" looked better "on paper." We were both attorneys who shared a circle of friends, and it seemed like the more natural fit. Still, I had not chosen him over Deputy Dale. I was honestly torn. It was clear to me, though, that I would have to decide soon. "Burt" had become enraged at a Christmas party when he found out that "the other one" was there, too. (Neither had ever met the other, but a mutual friend told "Burt" that I suddenly had a double-date on my hands.) I asked "Burt" if we wanted me to stop seeing "the other one," but he said no. I knew that "no" really meant "yes," and soon I'd have to decide. But then the decision was made for me.
Deputy Dale asked me out to dinner for my birthday a few weeks after that Christmas party, and I happily went. After dinner, he wanted to go for drinks, but I couldn't go. I explained that I needed to get home to study for the bar exam, which was in 5 short weeks, and we parted ways. Then I made a tactical error. Knowing that "Burt" was at my happy hour hideout playing darts, I decided to stop by to say hello. Instead of just saying hi, though, I decided to go ahead and order a beer. As I raised the beer to my lips, I heard the door open...and then I felt a pair of arms wrap around my waist. It was Deputy Dale. He whispered in my ear, "I thought you had to get home, but I'm glad you decided not to." I froze. My eyes fixed on the bartender's. Beth Ann's eyes were as big as mine! She knew both "Burt" and Deputy Dale and knew that I was in a whole mess of trouble. As did "Burt's" darts partner, Scotty. Scotty, devil that he is, said, "Well, hey there Dale! Hey Dale, I don't think you've ever met my friend, Burt. Burt, Dale. Dale, Burt." I just stood there, stunned, while Scotty went on. "Well, hey Lara! I didn't see you over there," as he winked. "Burt" was intent on his game and barely looked over his shoulder as he said hi to Dale. Dale, though, looked back at me and saw the look on my face. Instantly, he knew. He said, "Oh, I get it. OK. I'm just going to get out of here. Happy birthday."
It was the worst feeling. I tried to run after him, but he didn't even turn around. I went back in to pay Beth Ann, and I left. I tried for days to call and apologize, but he wouldn't return my calls. I tried to ambush him at the courthouse, but he made easy sport of avoiding me. I felt terrible.
A few months later, though, we did run into each other unexpectedly. I grabbed his arm and apologized profusely. I explained that I had only stopped in to say hello that night and that "Burt" and I had not had a planned date that night. I told him that I knew I had done the wrong thing and begged for his forgiveness, if only so that we could be friends. He said, "I appreciate your apology, but I don't think so." Wow. I was crushed. Dale really was a wonderful, wonderful guy. It was like that scene from "My Best Friend's Wedding" where Jules admits to Michael all the devious things she did to break up his wedding. I felt like the "pus that infects the mucus that cruds up the fungus that feeds on the pond scum." That was almost 7 years ago.
Well, last night, as I was walking down an aisle at Hell on a Stick (aka, Wal-Mart), who did I see walking toward me but Deputy Dale. My initial instinct was to duck down a side aisle, but I decided to keep walking. Feeling certain that he would at least smile at me, I decided that I would take the opportunity to say hi and ask him how we was doing. Surely he had forgiven me by now, and maybe we could at least be friendly again. As we passed each other, he looked right at me; but when I smiled, he didn't. He just kept walking. Ouch. Yep, I'm still the "pus that infects the mucus that cruds up the fungus that feeds on the pond scum."
Friday, November 16, 2007
Who Me? No, I'm Her Aunt, but Thank You!
This is my beautiful niece, Alex:
OK, so in this picture she looks a little sweaty and bedraggled and a wee bit splotchy, but in her defense, she had just finished running in the state cross country meet, which is 5K.
Here she is before the meet, less sweaty and bedraggled:
I'd say that she usually has better fashion sense than that, but I'd be lying. Her "street clothes" are pretty goofy, too. But I digress. As we were all standing around Alex and her team after the race, a father of one of the other runners said, "So you used to run, too, right?" I said, "Me? No. I couldn't run a 5K if my very life depended on it." He looked confused and said, "Oh, I thought one of you ran." And then it hit me -- he thought I was Alex's sister! I was so pleased to be mistaken for a 15-year-old's sister that I could hardly contain my excitement! I said, "Oh, no. That's Erica. She's Alex's sister, and she did run at MHS. I'm Alex's aunt. But thank you for confusing me for her sister." It literally made my week. By the way, that's him in the gold jacket in the first picture. Thank you, man in the gold jacket! It's good to know that, at 27...ish, I could still pass for 20...ish.
Anway, here are a few other pictures from the meet...
Alex's equally beautiful sister, Lindsey, who is 17.
Linds and Erica, who is a sophomore at WVU and who runs on the WVU XC team.
The team came in 2nd. They won the title in the 3 previous years. Guess it's true that you can't win 'em all!
OK, so in this picture she looks a little sweaty and bedraggled and a wee bit splotchy, but in her defense, she had just finished running in the state cross country meet, which is 5K.
Here she is before the meet, less sweaty and bedraggled:
I'd say that she usually has better fashion sense than that, but I'd be lying. Her "street clothes" are pretty goofy, too. But I digress. As we were all standing around Alex and her team after the race, a father of one of the other runners said, "So you used to run, too, right?" I said, "Me? No. I couldn't run a 5K if my very life depended on it." He looked confused and said, "Oh, I thought one of you ran." And then it hit me -- he thought I was Alex's sister! I was so pleased to be mistaken for a 15-year-old's sister that I could hardly contain my excitement! I said, "Oh, no. That's Erica. She's Alex's sister, and she did run at MHS. I'm Alex's aunt. But thank you for confusing me for her sister." It literally made my week. By the way, that's him in the gold jacket in the first picture. Thank you, man in the gold jacket! It's good to know that, at 27...ish, I could still pass for 20...ish.
Anway, here are a few other pictures from the meet...
Alex's equally beautiful sister, Lindsey, who is 17.
Linds and Erica, who is a sophomore at WVU and who runs on the WVU XC team.
The team came in 2nd. They won the title in the 3 previous years. Guess it's true that you can't win 'em all!
Dear Famous Equestrian Designer: Get Over Yourself!
So remember the other day when I was "pondering" why Ralph Lauren and Coach merchandise is never included in the extra 20% off coupons at Macy's, but they allow their stuff be sold at discount stores like Marshall's at far more than 20% off? Well, the absurdity of it all is far greater than I could ever have fathomed. Not only can you not walk into Macy's with your extra 20% off coupon and plunk it down to buy yourself a nice Ralph Lauren sweater, but Macy's cannot even advertise in its sale fliers that the Ralph Lauren sweater is on sale to begin with!
There I was, thumbing through my "one day sale" flier, when I noticed that it advertises things such as "Price break! Famous Equestrian Designer pima cotton sweaters. Orig. $98. Sale $69.99." The picture clearly shows a very good looking man (I'll have one of those, please!) wearing a navy blue sweater with a little red polo player on the left breast. Hmmm...I wonder who that "Famous Equestrian Designer" could be.
Are you kidding me?! Macy's can't freely advertise that it's over-priced $100 Ralph Lauren sweater is on sale at a still over-priced $70?! It's Macy's, for Pete's sake! Granted, Macy's is hardly Nordstrom, but it's not exactly Value City either. Why can't Ralph Lauren just admit that his stuff is hopelessly over-priced and that it has to be put on sale from time-to-time so that the stores who carry it can move the merchandise? And what -- pray, tell -- is the point of making Macy's disguise the designer name if they're allowed to feature a picture of the sweater which clearly displays the designer's very well-known logo?
Now, to be fair, it isn't just Ralph Lauren who needs to check his ego at the door. No, there are plenty of other offenders: The "Famous Flag Designer," otherwise known as Tommy Hilfiger; the "Famous Nautical Designer," otherwise known as Nautica (very clever pseudonym there); the "Famous Jeans Designer," otherwise known as Calvin Klein; and the "Famous Female New York Designer," otherwise known as Donna Karan New York, or DKNY. Here's the simple and brutal truth...You are all hacks who have sold out! You will never be Marc Jacobs or Michael Kors or Zac Posen again! It's over for you! It ended on the day you started mass-producing your clothes and producing breathy black-and-white commercials for your cologne. You make more than you can sell at your inflated prices, so the simple laws of supply and demand dictate that your stuff be put on sale now and then.
I mean, come on, Ralph. You produced this:
which you are currently selling at $265. Honey, really. Do you think anyone would actually pay $265 to dress up as a gay elf? The only way Macy's could sell this is if they deeply discount it. You've lost it, sweetie. The magic is gone. Get over yourself. Let Macy's put your name in their flier, and for the love of all that is good and holy, LET ME USE MY EXTRA 20% COUPON ON YOUR STUFF! (Because even though you're a sell-out hack, my brother-in-law loves your sweaters, and I kind of do, too.)
Of course, on the other hand, if I had made this woolen flap of crap, maybe I wouldn't want to attach my name to it either...
By the by, that "one day sale" runs from November 16 through November 17. You'd better hurry! "One day" only lasts 48 hours!
There I was, thumbing through my "one day sale" flier, when I noticed that it advertises things such as "Price break! Famous Equestrian Designer pima cotton sweaters. Orig. $98. Sale $69.99." The picture clearly shows a very good looking man (I'll have one of those, please!) wearing a navy blue sweater with a little red polo player on the left breast. Hmmm...I wonder who that "Famous Equestrian Designer" could be.
Are you kidding me?! Macy's can't freely advertise that it's over-priced $100 Ralph Lauren sweater is on sale at a still over-priced $70?! It's Macy's, for Pete's sake! Granted, Macy's is hardly Nordstrom, but it's not exactly Value City either. Why can't Ralph Lauren just admit that his stuff is hopelessly over-priced and that it has to be put on sale from time-to-time so that the stores who carry it can move the merchandise? And what -- pray, tell -- is the point of making Macy's disguise the designer name if they're allowed to feature a picture of the sweater which clearly displays the designer's very well-known logo?
Now, to be fair, it isn't just Ralph Lauren who needs to check his ego at the door. No, there are plenty of other offenders: The "Famous Flag Designer," otherwise known as Tommy Hilfiger; the "Famous Nautical Designer," otherwise known as Nautica (very clever pseudonym there); the "Famous Jeans Designer," otherwise known as Calvin Klein; and the "Famous Female New York Designer," otherwise known as Donna Karan New York, or DKNY. Here's the simple and brutal truth...You are all hacks who have sold out! You will never be Marc Jacobs or Michael Kors or Zac Posen again! It's over for you! It ended on the day you started mass-producing your clothes and producing breathy black-and-white commercials for your cologne. You make more than you can sell at your inflated prices, so the simple laws of supply and demand dictate that your stuff be put on sale now and then.
I mean, come on, Ralph. You produced this:
which you are currently selling at $265. Honey, really. Do you think anyone would actually pay $265 to dress up as a gay elf? The only way Macy's could sell this is if they deeply discount it. You've lost it, sweetie. The magic is gone. Get over yourself. Let Macy's put your name in their flier, and for the love of all that is good and holy, LET ME USE MY EXTRA 20% COUPON ON YOUR STUFF! (Because even though you're a sell-out hack, my brother-in-law loves your sweaters, and I kind of do, too.)
Of course, on the other hand, if I had made this woolen flap of crap, maybe I wouldn't want to attach my name to it either...
By the by, that "one day sale" runs from November 16 through November 17. You'd better hurry! "One day" only lasts 48 hours!
Who Steals 20' of Plastic Piping?!
When the plumbers left on that oh-so-expensive day three weeks ago, they took my $1200, but they left me 20 feet of plastic gas line. Wasn't that kind? It laid in my yard for days, loosely coiled and mocking me every time I drove up to the house. I fully intended to gather it up and stow it under the house with the lawnmower, but I just never got around to it. Nowadays, it's dark when I get home, and there's so little light out back...and there are spiders and who knows what else! And I've been out of town practically every weekend since then, so I just never had a chance to put it away. So there it sat, in my front yard. You know, mocking me and all.
Well last night, as I was laying in bed thinking about a million different things as I am wont to do at 10:00 at night, it occurred to me that I hadn't seen the yellow gas line when I'd pulled up to the house that evening...or the evening before for that matter. I sat up and peered out the window, and sure enough, the line was gone! Someone stole my friggin' yellow gas line! I felt so...so...violated!
OK, I know what you're thinking: It's a plastic yellow pipe, for Pete's sake. What's the big whoop? The "big whoop" is that it was my plastic yellow pipe, that I paid $1200 for and that I intended to keep. Moreover, it wasn't just laying on the edge of my property, where someone might have innocently thought that I intended to either leave it out for the garbage or for someone to take. It was in the middle of my yard! Someone had to come on to my property to scavenge it! And did I mention the part where it cost me $1200? OK, so that 20 feet didn't cost $1200; it cost $12. But shouldn't I have something to show for the other $1188 I spent that day?
It's just not right. I mean, who does that? Who comes on to someone else's property and steals a yellow plastic pipe that has virtually no value (except to me)? It's a violation, I tell you! A violation!
Speaking of the gas line, Mountaineer Gas called me today. I didn't have a chance to talk to the man, though, because I was driving. I wanted to be able to take notes of the conversation, so I explained that it wasn't a good time, and the man said that he would call me back after the holiday. I was hoping that they'd just cut me a check and put it in the mail, so I don't know what to think about the fact that they want to "talk" about it. I said all I had to say in my 3-page, single-spaced letter.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Quick Lobster Update
Robert's grandfather died last Wednesday, so, naturally, I went to the funeral home to pay my respects. When I first arrived, Robert wasn't there, and I was almost relieved. My first thought was to offer my sympathy to Robert's mom and sister and then bolt for the door because, frankly, I didn't know if he'd want me there, but I decided to stay a few minutes to wait for him. When he did come in, he didn't seem uncomfortable at all. I hugged him and told him how sorry I was, and we talked for several minutes before I left. (I couldn't stay for the funeral itself because I had a family obligation of my own that day.)
So everything is copacetic for now, I guess, but I kind of get the feeling that that's the last I'll see him for a while.
So everything is copacetic for now, I guess, but I kind of get the feeling that that's the last I'll see him for a while.
Like Chivalry, Customer Service is Dead
So my mom and I went Christmas shopping Friday afternoon. We really only went to 1 store, but she spent $200, and I spent $100 in one fell swoop. Anyway, the one store we went to was TJ Maxx in Morgantown. It didn't take me long to notice that there were lots of employees wandering the store, but no one seemed to be working. Mostly, they seemed to be "busy" griping to each other about what they had been asked to do for the day. At first, I didn't really care because I was sifting through racks and trying on shoes, and I didn't really need any help anyway.
But then I found something that I wanted to buy for a gift, but which did not have a price tag of any sort. I noticed that a store employee was standing just a few feet away, though, talking on a store phone located on a pillar. I figured it was a store-related call and she would be done shortly, so I just stood there and waited patiently. Let me correct that. I stood there and waited patiently for the first 3 minutes, when she was talking about work schedules. But then when she started talking about her son and his plans to go to medical school for another 10 minutes, I started to get a little impatient. I tapped my toe loudly and cleared my throat, trying to get her attention, but she just kept going on and on. Well, I just told him, "You're 23 now. You're going to have to pay for this yourself." I mean, I've already paid for 5 years of undergrad work. I can't support him forever, you know? So I pushed my cart closer and tried to position myself in her peripheral vision. I tapped my toe some more and let out at least 2 audible sighs. Still nothing.
Finally, a girl walked up to her and said, "I'm the new girl, I need to be trained." The lady on the phone said, "Look, I have to go, but I'll call you back later," and hung up. Before she could rush away with the new girl, I said, "Excuse me, I've been waiting to ask you -- do you happen to know the price of this? I can't find another one like it." She said, "I'll call Joanna, and she can help you." When Joanna came to help me, I asked if that woman -- the one on the phone -- was the manager. She said, "Well, she's not our general manager, but she's our manager for today." I told Joanna about the phone call and having to wait and said that I didn't think the woman was very professional. Of course, Joanna couldn't have cared less what I thought, but at least she said, "Sorry."
But the drought on customer service didn't end there. No, it only got worse at the check out. As I pulled my cart up at the next available register, I started to unload my things, all of which I had taken off the hangers and folded neatly with the price tags out so all the cashier would have to do was scan them and place them in the bag. Not only did I not get a "hello" or a "Did you find everything you were looking for?", the cashier pulled everything apart and literally stuffed it into the bags. At no point did he make eye contact with me. And as he mumbled the total, he wandered away to answer the phone. I swiped my card, but when it asked me my PIN number, I hit "cancel" because I didn't want to use my PIN. Instead of going to a signature screen as is the case in most stores I've been to, it went back to the beginning screen, so I assumed that it canceled the transaction altogether. When Grumpy, the angry gay dwarf, came back, I said, "When it asked for my PIN, I hit cancel because I didn't want to use my PIN." He mumbled, "It's a credit." I said, "Yeah, but do I need to swipe my card again?" He said, "IT'S A CREDIT!" with an annoyed tone. Then he hit some button and pulled off the tape and pushed it at me to sign. After I signed he didn't even so much as hand me my bag; he just left it there on the counter with my sales slip, slightly out of reach. As he started to walk away, I said, "I didn't get a 'hello.' Can I at least get a 'thank you?'" He mumbled, "Thanks," and then rolled his eyes as he walked away.
I would've asked to speak to the manager, but I think we've already established that there would have been no point in that.
But then I found something that I wanted to buy for a gift, but which did not have a price tag of any sort. I noticed that a store employee was standing just a few feet away, though, talking on a store phone located on a pillar. I figured it was a store-related call and she would be done shortly, so I just stood there and waited patiently. Let me correct that. I stood there and waited patiently for the first 3 minutes, when she was talking about work schedules. But then when she started talking about her son and his plans to go to medical school for another 10 minutes, I started to get a little impatient. I tapped my toe loudly and cleared my throat, trying to get her attention, but she just kept going on and on. Well, I just told him, "You're 23 now. You're going to have to pay for this yourself." I mean, I've already paid for 5 years of undergrad work. I can't support him forever, you know? So I pushed my cart closer and tried to position myself in her peripheral vision. I tapped my toe some more and let out at least 2 audible sighs. Still nothing.
Finally, a girl walked up to her and said, "I'm the new girl, I need to be trained." The lady on the phone said, "Look, I have to go, but I'll call you back later," and hung up. Before she could rush away with the new girl, I said, "Excuse me, I've been waiting to ask you -- do you happen to know the price of this? I can't find another one like it." She said, "I'll call Joanna, and she can help you." When Joanna came to help me, I asked if that woman -- the one on the phone -- was the manager. She said, "Well, she's not our general manager, but she's our manager for today." I told Joanna about the phone call and having to wait and said that I didn't think the woman was very professional. Of course, Joanna couldn't have cared less what I thought, but at least she said, "Sorry."
But the drought on customer service didn't end there. No, it only got worse at the check out. As I pulled my cart up at the next available register, I started to unload my things, all of which I had taken off the hangers and folded neatly with the price tags out so all the cashier would have to do was scan them and place them in the bag. Not only did I not get a "hello" or a "Did you find everything you were looking for?", the cashier pulled everything apart and literally stuffed it into the bags. At no point did he make eye contact with me. And as he mumbled the total, he wandered away to answer the phone. I swiped my card, but when it asked me my PIN number, I hit "cancel" because I didn't want to use my PIN. Instead of going to a signature screen as is the case in most stores I've been to, it went back to the beginning screen, so I assumed that it canceled the transaction altogether. When Grumpy, the angry gay dwarf, came back, I said, "When it asked for my PIN, I hit cancel because I didn't want to use my PIN." He mumbled, "It's a credit." I said, "Yeah, but do I need to swipe my card again?" He said, "IT'S A CREDIT!" with an annoyed tone. Then he hit some button and pulled off the tape and pushed it at me to sign. After I signed he didn't even so much as hand me my bag; he just left it there on the counter with my sales slip, slightly out of reach. As he started to walk away, I said, "I didn't get a 'hello.' Can I at least get a 'thank you?'" He mumbled, "Thanks," and then rolled his eyes as he walked away.
I would've asked to speak to the manager, but I think we've already established that there would have been no point in that.
Weekend Observations -- November 12th Edition
This past weekend was a holiday weekend, which I extended by an extra day because WVU played a home game against Louisville Thursday night. So I had 4 glorious days off to just rest and relax, more or less. Anyway, here are my thoughts on the weekend:
* A night game, the outcome of which comes down to the very last seconds on the clock, is all very fun and exciting...until you leave the stadium at midnight...and then sit on a shuttle bus in traffic for 45 minutes just trying to get back to your car...only to have to drive another 40 minutes home.
* When you visit a home with a 6-year-old in it, you should be prepared to "ooh" and "ahh" over every rock and dilapidated old toy that he has discovered (or re-discovered in the case of the old toys) since the last time you were there. And there will be lots of "oohing" and "ahhing."
* Buckwheat cakes are not as disgusting as I once thought.
* Four nights on a 40-year-old mattress will wreck your back.
* Apparently, there were only 6 articles of clothing manufactured for baby boys this year because my cousin got 2 of each outfit at her baby shower this weekend. (Seriously, why don't they make more clothes for little boys?)
* My parents own more luggage than Imelda Marcos owns shoes.
* Cable internet in Preston County is much slower than cable internet anywhere else in the free world.
* My mom is still enamored with JFK, and I'm not sure she wouldn't write him in in the next election, despite the fact that he's been dead for nearly 44 years.
* A night game, the outcome of which comes down to the very last seconds on the clock, is all very fun and exciting...until you leave the stadium at midnight...and then sit on a shuttle bus in traffic for 45 minutes just trying to get back to your car...only to have to drive another 40 minutes home.
* When you visit a home with a 6-year-old in it, you should be prepared to "ooh" and "ahh" over every rock and dilapidated old toy that he has discovered (or re-discovered in the case of the old toys) since the last time you were there. And there will be lots of "oohing" and "ahhing."
* Buckwheat cakes are not as disgusting as I once thought.
* Four nights on a 40-year-old mattress will wreck your back.
* Apparently, there were only 6 articles of clothing manufactured for baby boys this year because my cousin got 2 of each outfit at her baby shower this weekend. (Seriously, why don't they make more clothes for little boys?)
* My parents own more luggage than Imelda Marcos owns shoes.
* Cable internet in Preston County is much slower than cable internet anywhere else in the free world.
* My mom is still enamored with JFK, and I'm not sure she wouldn't write him in in the next election, despite the fact that he's been dead for nearly 44 years.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Short and Sweet
Driving 100 miles round-trip to and from work everyday, I see lots of bumper stickers. Most are the "I [heart] my [dog silhouette]" variety, but some are pretty cute, like the one that says, "Bush Again?!" and features a picture of Edvard Munch's "The Scream." (Sorry if you're a Bushie, but my blog, my politics.) Today I saw a bumper sticker that really struck me. It said, "God Bless the Whole World. No Exceptions." Amen, brother.
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Potty Mouth Update
I think I did fairly well today. I really tried to think about not cursing and using words like "dang" and "gosh." And you know what? It wasn't that difficult. I did let fly with a couple of "shits" and a few "asses," but only when they were appropriate -- sometimes they just are. I didn't drop the "f-bomb" at all, though. At all! Come on now, that's impressive, right?
Of course, the real test will come on game days. I have trouble controlling myself when I'm watching football. Well, when I'm watching on TV anyway. Not so much when I'm at the stadium with my family. These two keep me in check. But anyway, in the spirit of this new linguistic experiment, I say, "Luck Fouisville!" instead of...well...you know, the alternative. And "Eat Pit, Shitt!" Oh wait, that one doesn't really work...
Of course, the real test will come on game days. I have trouble controlling myself when I'm watching football. Well, when I'm watching on TV anyway. Not so much when I'm at the stadium with my family. These two keep me in check. But anyway, in the spirit of this new linguistic experiment, I say, "Luck Fouisville!" instead of...well...you know, the alternative. And "Eat Pit, Shitt!" Oh wait, that one doesn't really work...
The Lobster Speaks!
So I had just sent my friend, Christy, an e-mail griping that I still hadn't heard from Robert when what should appear in my mailbox but a message from the Lobster himself. RobLob (I'm tired and goofy, get over it) explained that he didn't "know how to process" what I had said (and what a certain friend, who shall remain nameless, said in her own e-mail about the situation) and that he just wasn't "sure what to say." As before, he explained that he values the relationship that we have right now so much that he would hate to ever risk it. He said that every other relationship he's had has ended badly, and he can't bear to think of that ever happening to us.
Of course, I think that's perfectly ridiculous. He's my lobster, and I'm his! Why would we ever fall apart? And, hello??? Have we met? I'm perfect and perfectly adorable (except when I'm tired and goofy)! Who would ever want to leave me once they had me in their life...well, except for my four ex-boyfriends, but they were all fools.
Alright, so I'm trying to cover my frustration and aching heart with humor, and, frankly, I'm mentally and emotionally drained at this point in our highly dysfunctional relationship. But what I really wanted to say was, "So??? What do a dozen other bad endings have to do with you and me? That's why we're different -- we already have a relationship that we'd be building from. We already like each other. We already care about each other. So how can it end badly? And why are you so sure that it would end at all?" But I didn't.
See, in the first part of the e-mail, RobLob (still tired, still goofy) explained that the recent radio silence was due, in part, to the fact that his grandfather is dying. (When I last saw Robert, they had called in Hospice.) Naturally, he's been spending as much time as possible with his grandfather. So, instead, I said, "You know what, it's not important right now. You have far more important things to think about, and it would be incredibly selfish of me to impose on that." I told him that he and his family and, especially, his grandfather were in my thoughts and prayers, and I left it at that.
Of course, I think that's perfectly ridiculous. He's my lobster, and I'm his! Why would we ever fall apart? And, hello??? Have we met? I'm perfect and perfectly adorable (except when I'm tired and goofy)! Who would ever want to leave me once they had me in their life...well, except for my four ex-boyfriends, but they were all fools.
Alright, so I'm trying to cover my frustration and aching heart with humor, and, frankly, I'm mentally and emotionally drained at this point in our highly dysfunctional relationship. But what I really wanted to say was, "So??? What do a dozen other bad endings have to do with you and me? That's why we're different -- we already have a relationship that we'd be building from. We already like each other. We already care about each other. So how can it end badly? And why are you so sure that it would end at all?" But I didn't.
See, in the first part of the e-mail, RobLob (still tired, still goofy) explained that the recent radio silence was due, in part, to the fact that his grandfather is dying. (When I last saw Robert, they had called in Hospice.) Naturally, he's been spending as much time as possible with his grandfather. So, instead, I said, "You know what, it's not important right now. You have far more important things to think about, and it would be incredibly selfish of me to impose on that." I told him that he and his family and, especially, his grandfather were in my thoughts and prayers, and I left it at that.
Monday, November 05, 2007
Ponderisms (or What the Junk?)
My mind wanders...a lot. I think about random things all the time, and I often wonder if I've developed late-onset ADD. It's really bad in the mornings when I'm driving to work. I can't seem to concentrate on any one thing for more than 15 or 20 seconds. Anyway, here are some of the things I've been thinking about lately:
* Why is Sam Adams beer always listed with the imports?
* Why is it that Ralph Lauren and Coach and other designer brands are too good to let their merchandise be included in the 20% off Macy's coupon sale, but they let their stuff be sold at discount stores like Marshall's at far more than 20% off?
* Speaking of Macy's, why do they call it a One Day Sale when it runs from Friday through Sunday?
* Why do the same charities spend so much money sending me address labels and notepads every year when I don't ever send them any money back? Aren't they losing out?
* Why is it that GoMart disables the trigger locks at all of their gas pumps?
* How is it that Lou Holtz seems to know so little about football when he spent all of those years coaching at Notre Dame? (And that was back when they were good!)
* Why is half of Saturday Night Live's programming pre-recorded "video shorts"?
* When did it become acceptable to wear legwarmers with hot pants? (No, seriously. Two weekends ago, I saw a sales girl at the mall wearing yellow gold short-shorts and brown legwarmers with brown 4" stiletto pumps. What the junk?)
* How come Tom Cruise wouldn't let Nicole Kidman wear high heels, but Katie Holmes is allowed to wear them whenever she wants?
* After 8 years, how is it that George Bush still hasn't learned how to say "nuclear"? Noo-klee-er. Nuclear! Not, noo-kyoo-ler.
As you can see, I only think about the truly important things in life. I mean, why waste grey matter thinking about how to achieve world peace when I can focus on the bigger issues, like the Macy's One Day Sale?
* Why is Sam Adams beer always listed with the imports?
* Why is it that Ralph Lauren and Coach and other designer brands are too good to let their merchandise be included in the 20% off Macy's coupon sale, but they let their stuff be sold at discount stores like Marshall's at far more than 20% off?
* Speaking of Macy's, why do they call it a One Day Sale when it runs from Friday through Sunday?
* Why do the same charities spend so much money sending me address labels and notepads every year when I don't ever send them any money back? Aren't they losing out?
* Why is it that GoMart disables the trigger locks at all of their gas pumps?
* How is it that Lou Holtz seems to know so little about football when he spent all of those years coaching at Notre Dame? (And that was back when they were good!)
* Why is half of Saturday Night Live's programming pre-recorded "video shorts"?
* When did it become acceptable to wear legwarmers with hot pants? (No, seriously. Two weekends ago, I saw a sales girl at the mall wearing yellow gold short-shorts and brown legwarmers with brown 4" stiletto pumps. What the junk?)
* How come Tom Cruise wouldn't let Nicole Kidman wear high heels, but Katie Holmes is allowed to wear them whenever she wants?
* After 8 years, how is it that George Bush still hasn't learned how to say "nuclear"? Noo-klee-er. Nuclear! Not, noo-kyoo-ler.
As you can see, I only think about the truly important things in life. I mean, why waste grey matter thinking about how to achieve world peace when I can focus on the bigger issues, like the Macy's One Day Sale?
Saturday, November 03, 2007
Um...Thanks? Or Not.
Every time Lily sees a dark-haired man, she gets all excited and thinks it's her daddy. Every time she hears a lawnmower, she runs to the door to look out, thinking it's her Pa. Well, the other day, Boo was watching the "Ellen" show when who should come on the screen but Victoria Beckham. Lily said, "Look! It's La-wa!" Yeah, not so much. And somehow, that doesn't really seem like a compliment.
Friday, November 02, 2007
What the Junk?!
So I have a reeeeaaaally bad potty mouth. I'm not kidding -- I've made truckers blush. I'm not sure how it started. I didn't really cuss much at all in high school, except for the random "damn" or "hell" or "bitch." But then in college I added "shit" and "pissed" to my repertoire, and by the time I finished my first year at law school, I could barely utter a sentence without including "the f-word" in it. (The Socratic method will do that to you.) It literally just rolled off my tongue. Noun, verb, adverb, adjective -- it really is a multi-dimensional word.
Of course, I was never really proud of myself for using "the f-word." I would never, ever utter it to anyone in my family but Boo and Erin (they're the only other 2 who have ever used it with me). In fact, I don't cuss much in front of my parents at all. So it occurred to me one day that I could, in fact, speak without cursing. I do it all the time when I'm at home. So I've decided to make a concerted effort to stop...more or less. My goal is to eradicate "the f-word" and "the s-word" from my vocabulary altogether, except for those circumstances where it is absolutely appropriate, like if you cut off your big toe with the lawnmower or you look in your rear-view mirror to find some idiot is about to rear-end you. I'm going to try to lessen my use of the lesser curse words like "damn" and "hell," but come on people. Baby steps here!
The trick is finding substitutes -- words and phrases that will take the place of the curses while still expressing my frustration, anger, or utter confusion. Hence, "What the junk?!" My niece, Erica, apparently started it and passed it along to my niece, Alex, who spent all of last weekend saying, "What the junk?" and "Junk!" I quickly picked up on it and have uttered it a few times myself this week. It hardly sounds intelligent or dignified, but it's far better than the alternative, right?
"Shit" is a harder word to substitute. "Poop" and "doody" just don't have the impact to convey my real feelings. Lily talks about "poop" all the time. If a 2-year-old uses it, it can't be a substitute curse word. Perhaps "Shingles!" or "Spit!" (By the way, my mom says "Fit!" and "Bullbutter!" I love that, but could never use it. It's her trademark.) As for "bitch," I'll probably just revert back to "wench," except when I'm referring to the Wicked Bitch of the East (my former co-worker), but then I'll just refer to her as the WBE. "Damn" and "hell," well, I hate to say it, but I just can't worry about those two. Monsignor says "damn" and "hell" from the pulpit nearly every week, and I ain't talking in the Biblical sense either. If it's good enough for him...
Of course, I was never really proud of myself for using "the f-word." I would never, ever utter it to anyone in my family but Boo and Erin (they're the only other 2 who have ever used it with me). In fact, I don't cuss much in front of my parents at all. So it occurred to me one day that I could, in fact, speak without cursing. I do it all the time when I'm at home. So I've decided to make a concerted effort to stop...more or less. My goal is to eradicate "the f-word" and "the s-word" from my vocabulary altogether, except for those circumstances where it is absolutely appropriate, like if you cut off your big toe with the lawnmower or you look in your rear-view mirror to find some idiot is about to rear-end you. I'm going to try to lessen my use of the lesser curse words like "damn" and "hell," but come on people. Baby steps here!
The trick is finding substitutes -- words and phrases that will take the place of the curses while still expressing my frustration, anger, or utter confusion. Hence, "What the junk?!" My niece, Erica, apparently started it and passed it along to my niece, Alex, who spent all of last weekend saying, "What the junk?" and "Junk!" I quickly picked up on it and have uttered it a few times myself this week. It hardly sounds intelligent or dignified, but it's far better than the alternative, right?
"Shit" is a harder word to substitute. "Poop" and "doody" just don't have the impact to convey my real feelings. Lily talks about "poop" all the time. If a 2-year-old uses it, it can't be a substitute curse word. Perhaps "Shingles!" or "Spit!" (By the way, my mom says "Fit!" and "Bullbutter!" I love that, but could never use it. It's her trademark.) As for "bitch," I'll probably just revert back to "wench," except when I'm referring to the Wicked Bitch of the East (my former co-worker), but then I'll just refer to her as the WBE. "Damn" and "hell," well, I hate to say it, but I just can't worry about those two. Monsignor says "damn" and "hell" from the pulpit nearly every week, and I ain't talking in the Biblical sense either. If it's good enough for him...
Thursday, November 01, 2007
The Cancer Curse
I've talked about my brother's cancer, but I don't think that I've mentioned that both my brother's best childhood friend, Andy, and my cousin's husband, Richard, are battling cancer as well. Andy, who grew up next door to us, is battling testicular cancer. Richard, who is married to my cousin, Kelly, who grew up in the house on the other side of us, is battling lymphoma.
I really can't believe that these three men -- young men -- are all battling cancer. It's just...it's unreal. Each one was healthy one minute and sick the next. Each one has children. Each one had everything in the palm of their hand. And now they're all struggling to survive. How can that be? Please keep them all in your prayers.
I really can't believe that these three men -- young men -- are all battling cancer. It's just...it's unreal. Each one was healthy one minute and sick the next. Each one has children. Each one had everything in the palm of their hand. And now they're all struggling to survive. How can that be? Please keep them all in your prayers.
Hahahahaha...Now THAT'S a Good One!
So my friend, Christy, is an Air Force JAG. If you knew Christy at all, you'd know that Christy in the military, in and of itself, is laughable; but that's not what I'm laughing about presently. No, I'm laughing at a suggestion she made today. See, Christy has decided to join a running club and start running 10-milers and marathons. She did the Army 10-miler last month and managed to finish before the "drop dead bus" caught up with her, so now she's really energized and has decided to do the Marines half-marathon. She forwarded the entry information on to me along with some of her other friends. I just laughed and wrote back:
Um, if you're somehow trying to suggest that some of us should sign up, too, you can just move on to the other people on this e-mail list. A half-marathon is still 10+ miles, isn't it? Yeeeeaaaaah, I've never even run 1 mile, so I'm going to have to pass. But thanks. And good luck. And God speed. (Am I in your will, by the way?)
Christy: 1/2 marathon is 13 miles....it really isn't that bad. You can do intervals (walk/run)...that's how I did the Army 10-miler. Do it!!! It will give you a goal. I thought you were going to start running. Plus...there are lots o'hot men that run.....with good endurance. 'Nuff said.
Yeah, I am going to start running. Every evening I get home and say, "I should go for a run. Well, not tonight. Tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow." EVERY EVENING. See how this running thing is working out for me? How 'bout I stand along the route and pass out water and butt-pats (but only for the men)?
She called me a wimp.
I would love to be a runner. I would. Have you seen Drew Barrymore lately? She slimmed down by running. And my friend, Kristen? She stays trim by running, and girlfriend loves her some Baskin-Robbins! But running seems so...hard. And dangerous. I mean, what if you slip on some gravel or something? No big deal if you're walking, but if you're running...roadkill! And what if I look like a spaz when I run? You know, like in that episode of "Friends" where Rachel doesn't want to run with Phoebe because she looks like a whirling dervish flailing through the park. I mean, how embarrassing is that? Guys don't dig chicks who look like spazoids when they run.
Still, I should do it. It is good for your heart, after all. Yeah, no, I'm totally going to do it -- I'm going to start running. But not this evening. Tomorrow.
Um, if you're somehow trying to suggest that some of us should sign up, too, you can just move on to the other people on this e-mail list. A half-marathon is still 10+ miles, isn't it? Yeeeeaaaaah, I've never even run 1 mile, so I'm going to have to pass. But thanks. And good luck. And God speed. (Am I in your will, by the way?)
Christy: 1/2 marathon is 13 miles....it really isn't that bad. You can do intervals (walk/run)...that's how I did the Army 10-miler. Do it!!! It will give you a goal. I thought you were going to start running. Plus...there are lots o'hot men that run.....with good endurance. 'Nuff said.
Yeah, I am going to start running. Every evening I get home and say, "I should go for a run. Well, not tonight. Tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow." EVERY EVENING. See how this running thing is working out for me? How 'bout I stand along the route and pass out water and butt-pats (but only for the men)?
She called me a wimp.
I would love to be a runner. I would. Have you seen Drew Barrymore lately? She slimmed down by running. And my friend, Kristen? She stays trim by running, and girlfriend loves her some Baskin-Robbins! But running seems so...hard. And dangerous. I mean, what if you slip on some gravel or something? No big deal if you're walking, but if you're running...roadkill! And what if I look like a spaz when I run? You know, like in that episode of "Friends" where Rachel doesn't want to run with Phoebe because she looks like a whirling dervish flailing through the park. I mean, how embarrassing is that? Guys don't dig chicks who look like spazoids when they run.
Still, I should do it. It is good for your heart, after all. Yeah, no, I'm totally going to do it -- I'm going to start running. But not this evening. Tomorrow.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Halloween 2000
So when I moved down here in June of 2000, I met this great, but crazy girl from Kentucky -- Jackie. Jackie looked very southern preppy with her Ralph Lauren button-down shirts and her sweaters tied around her shoulders, but girlfriend was more bourbon and beer than iced tea and mint juleps. We ended up becoming drinking buddies, and she's actually the one who introduced me to "Burt." (I don't hold that against her, though.) Long story short, Jackie loved to have fun.
When Halloween rolled around, she decided that we should get dressed up for happy hour. She said that she still had a St. Pauli Girl costume from college that she would wear, so I decided to try to put together something fun, too. I went to the Goodwill store for inspiration and ran across a blue gingham dress. I grabbed a pair of heeled loafers while I was there, too, and, with 2 jars of glitter and a bottle of tacky glue, turned them into a really impressive pair of ruby slippers. I borrowed a stuffed dog from one of my nieces and braided my hair. Voila! I was "Dorothy." So I drove down to Hank's (our happy hour hideout) and waited for Jackie. As usual, Jackie was late. Of course, I was the only person in the bar in a costume, and the dirty old men sitting around me were starting to creep me out. I kept looking at my watch and trying to call Jackie. Where the heck could she be?!
But that wasn't the worst of it. When Jackie finally showed up, she wasn't wearing a St. Pauli Girl costume...she was wearing jeans, a turtleneck sweater, and a blazer!!! I said, "Jackie...where's your costume?" She said, "It made me look fat. I didn't want to wear it." I said, "I don't care if it made you look like Anna Nicole Smith! You go home and put it on right now!" She whined and said that she just couldn't, and I soon decided there was no point in arguing. So I ordered another beer and took my lumps. Everyone laughed and stared and made their smart-assy little comments all night. I eventually just resorted to throwing up my middle finger anytime anyone even dared to open their mouth. I guess it wasn't so bad, but sheesh! The least Jackie could've done was throw a sheet over her head.
I haven't fallen for the old let's-get-dressed-up-and-go-out line since.
When Halloween rolled around, she decided that we should get dressed up for happy hour. She said that she still had a St. Pauli Girl costume from college that she would wear, so I decided to try to put together something fun, too. I went to the Goodwill store for inspiration and ran across a blue gingham dress. I grabbed a pair of heeled loafers while I was there, too, and, with 2 jars of glitter and a bottle of tacky glue, turned them into a really impressive pair of ruby slippers. I borrowed a stuffed dog from one of my nieces and braided my hair. Voila! I was "Dorothy." So I drove down to Hank's (our happy hour hideout) and waited for Jackie. As usual, Jackie was late. Of course, I was the only person in the bar in a costume, and the dirty old men sitting around me were starting to creep me out. I kept looking at my watch and trying to call Jackie. Where the heck could she be?!
But that wasn't the worst of it. When Jackie finally showed up, she wasn't wearing a St. Pauli Girl costume...she was wearing jeans, a turtleneck sweater, and a blazer!!! I said, "Jackie...where's your costume?" She said, "It made me look fat. I didn't want to wear it." I said, "I don't care if it made you look like Anna Nicole Smith! You go home and put it on right now!" She whined and said that she just couldn't, and I soon decided there was no point in arguing. So I ordered another beer and took my lumps. Everyone laughed and stared and made their smart-assy little comments all night. I eventually just resorted to throwing up my middle finger anytime anyone even dared to open their mouth. I guess it wasn't so bad, but sheesh! The least Jackie could've done was throw a sheet over her head.
I haven't fallen for the old let's-get-dressed-up-and-go-out line since.
Happy Halloween!
In their infinite wisdom, the powers that be have decided to have trick-or-treat on the night before Halloween. I don't really get it, but whatever. So I rushed home from work tonight and put on my "Boo!" t-shirt and my big, puffy ghost headband and readied myself for what I was sure would be another disappointing night of trick-or-treat. You see, I LOVE trick-or-treat. I love to see all the little kids struggling to walk up the steps in their costumes. I love it when the little ones get scared by the creepy noises blaring from my stereo and cling to their mommies' legs. I love giving a disapproving look to the 15-year-olds who come begging candy, but who don't even have the decency to at least put on a mask. I love it all.
Last year was my first Halloween in my new house, so I asked a neighbor how many trick-or-treaters I should expect. She said that they are never home because they take their own kids trick-or-treating, but that they leave a bowl out with around 200 pieces of candy in it and that the bowl is empty by the time they get home. So I went out and bought 250 pieces of candy and 60 eyeball erasers (just to be on the safe side) and awaited the onslaught. But there was no onslaught. Would you care to guess how many trick-or-treaters I had? I had 7. Yes, that's right...7. When the last girl came to my door in the waning minutes of the designated trick-or-treat period, I started shoveling handfuls of candy into her bag. After about the fifth handful, she actually asked me to stop and politely said that she didn't need anymore candy. I just smiled sheepishly and thanked her for coming.
This year, I only bought 57 pieces of candy and pulled out the 53 eyeball erasers that I didn't get to give away last year. The weather was markedly better than it was last year (when it poured the rain down), so I figured I might have a few more kids, and I did. I had 29 to be exact. Of course, to me, 29 is still a disappointing number. It seems like a hundred kids came to my mom's house when I was in high school and college. And we definitely had more than 29 trick-or-treaters when I lived with "Burt." Oh well, 29 is better than 7.
I didn't see any really spectacular costumes this year. Last year, a girl came dressed as a bowl of macaroni and cheese, which I was really impressed by. Her "macaroni" was made out of cut-up pool noodles, and her "bowl" was crafted out of a really big pair of pants with some sort of hoop in the waistband. I did have a very slutty 13-year-old ladybug, who was walking around with 2 very young kids. I didn't think she set a very good example, but I gave her some candy anyway. Oh, and I had 3 kids come to my door a full 25 minutes after trick-or-treat had ended. I wouldn't have gone to the door at all, but they kept ringing the bell and knocking, so I went down and said, "Sorry, but trick-or-treat ended 25 minutes ago, so I don't have any candy left." (OK, so I ate the leftovers myself. Sue me.) The oldest of the 3 kids said, "I take cash." I ignored him and said, "Sorry, guys." Then he said it again, more loudly this time, "I accept cash." I said, "Well, I don't have any cash either," then shut the door and turned off the porch light. Little bastard. I hope he doesn't come back and egg my house later...
Last year was my first Halloween in my new house, so I asked a neighbor how many trick-or-treaters I should expect. She said that they are never home because they take their own kids trick-or-treating, but that they leave a bowl out with around 200 pieces of candy in it and that the bowl is empty by the time they get home. So I went out and bought 250 pieces of candy and 60 eyeball erasers (just to be on the safe side) and awaited the onslaught. But there was no onslaught. Would you care to guess how many trick-or-treaters I had? I had 7. Yes, that's right...7. When the last girl came to my door in the waning minutes of the designated trick-or-treat period, I started shoveling handfuls of candy into her bag. After about the fifth handful, she actually asked me to stop and politely said that she didn't need anymore candy. I just smiled sheepishly and thanked her for coming.
This year, I only bought 57 pieces of candy and pulled out the 53 eyeball erasers that I didn't get to give away last year. The weather was markedly better than it was last year (when it poured the rain down), so I figured I might have a few more kids, and I did. I had 29 to be exact. Of course, to me, 29 is still a disappointing number. It seems like a hundred kids came to my mom's house when I was in high school and college. And we definitely had more than 29 trick-or-treaters when I lived with "Burt." Oh well, 29 is better than 7.
I didn't see any really spectacular costumes this year. Last year, a girl came dressed as a bowl of macaroni and cheese, which I was really impressed by. Her "macaroni" was made out of cut-up pool noodles, and her "bowl" was crafted out of a really big pair of pants with some sort of hoop in the waistband. I did have a very slutty 13-year-old ladybug, who was walking around with 2 very young kids. I didn't think she set a very good example, but I gave her some candy anyway. Oh, and I had 3 kids come to my door a full 25 minutes after trick-or-treat had ended. I wouldn't have gone to the door at all, but they kept ringing the bell and knocking, so I went down and said, "Sorry, but trick-or-treat ended 25 minutes ago, so I don't have any candy left." (OK, so I ate the leftovers myself. Sue me.) The oldest of the 3 kids said, "I take cash." I ignored him and said, "Sorry, guys." Then he said it again, more loudly this time, "I accept cash." I said, "Well, I don't have any cash either," then shut the door and turned off the porch light. Little bastard. I hope he doesn't come back and egg my house later...
Sunday, October 28, 2007
My Lobster Might Be Dead in the Tank...
This cannot be good... So Monday morning, I sent an e-mail to Robert thanking him again for dinner and saying that I had had a lot of fun. I mentioned that he had even managed to make my knees weak when he buried his face in the crook of my neck and that I had tried not to move a muscle to make the moment last longer. I said, though, that I knew it was just a moment and that I understood how he felt about the whole crossing-lines thing.
Um, yeah...I haven't heard back from him since. I'm thinking I probably scared him off for good. Well, not for good, but for a few months anyway. I predict that we won't speak again until Christmas, and then we'll pretend like none of this ever happened and we'll start all over again...like so many times before. Stupid, dysfunctional relationship.
Um, yeah...I haven't heard back from him since. I'm thinking I probably scared him off for good. Well, not for good, but for a few months anyway. I predict that we won't speak again until Christmas, and then we'll pretend like none of this ever happened and we'll start all over again...like so many times before. Stupid, dysfunctional relationship.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
The Damage
I now have heat and hot water, but I'm destitute. The plumbing supervisor softened the blow a little by only charging for 2 mechanics and 2 helpers when, in fact, there were 4 mechanics out here (a difference of $20/hour for each of the "helpers"), but it still cost me $1198.96. And the plumber does not offer financing. I could cry, but instead I think I'll do some laundry. And run the dishwasher. And wash my hands in hot water.
I Think This Is It!
The gas guy is here checking for leaks! If everything's OK, he's going to come in and relight my furnace and water heater!
Day 4 -- Could This Be It?
The plumbers are here! They showed up at 8 this morning and started working! This might be it -- I might get my gas back on today! No, you're right. I shouldn't get too excited, what with my crappy luck and all. There's still plenty of time and opportunity for something to go wrong. (After all, the water company showed up at 8:30, and they're the ones who created this problem in the first place.) But at least it's something. I was so happy to see the plumbers that I baked them some brownies. In fact, the oven timer is beeping right now...gotta run!
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Day 3 Without Gas
I still have no heat or hot water. I had to schlep my stuff over to Cheryl's house this evening for a hot shower. Will this rain ever stop? And I'm not just speaking metaphorically. The plumber cannot lay the new gas line as long as it's wet and soggy. It doesn't rain for months, and then when I need it not to rain, it pours. And I'm still not just speaking metaphorically.
I've decided not to write a letter of apology to West Virginia American Water. First of all, after talking to the gas man and the gas engineer at the Public Service Commission, I'm convinced that the water company is responsible for the leak. Second of all, Glenda had told me Monday night (when her supervisor refused to speak to me) that they would fix the line and that someone would call me the next day. No one ever called. Fools. I'm so going to sue them now.
I've decided not to write a letter of apology to West Virginia American Water. First of all, after talking to the gas man and the gas engineer at the Public Service Commission, I'm convinced that the water company is responsible for the leak. Second of all, Glenda had told me Monday night (when her supervisor refused to speak to me) that they would fix the line and that someone would call me the next day. No one ever called. Fools. I'm so going to sue them now.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
My Lobster...
...as Susie and Working*Mom refer to Robert (I love that episode of "Friends"!), and I had dinner Saturday night. We were supposed to go out Friday night, but he got held up at work, so we went Saturday instead. We met up at his house after the game. He had just gotten home from work and wanted to take a shower, which was perfect because I wanted to change out of my game clothes and fix my make-up. So I picked up my bag and took it into his bedroom to change. I didn't shut the door because I didn't think it was a big deal, but when he walked by and found me pulling off my jeans and with my shirt already off, he said, "What are you doing?!" When I said that I was changing, he said, "In here? Right here." I said, "Should I change in the living room in front of the open door?" He said, "No, but...this door's open, too." I said, "You've seen me a lot more naked than this, but you can close the door if you want." So he did, explaining that it seemed "pervy" to be watching me change my clothes. In other words, it made him antsy. I love to make him antsy! He's so easily thrown off his game.
So we both got ready and headed out to a small Italian restaurant across town. Post-game traffic was miserable, but that was fine by me. It gave us more time to chit-chat. I so wanted to ask him about his mom's little plan to fix us up this summer, but I decided the timing wasn't right. If the conversation didn't go well, it would ruin dinner. As it was, our dinner conversation was relaxed and easy. But I was so nervous! I was conscious of every little move I made, every little word I said. You would think I was having dinner with Prince William. (I love Prince William.) It wasn't anything he did; it was all me. I knew that after dinner, I would have to say something or I'd explode; so I was a wreck thinking about what to say and how to say it. At the same time, I soaked in every word he said, taken with how different he seems from that boy I knew in school. He's so much more poised now, so much more mature. That just made me even more nervous.
I don't even remember the drive back to his house...well, except for the part where the state trooper almost t-boned us...on my side! But anyway, once home, he tuned in the LSU-Auburn game for me, knowing that I would want to watch football. The conversation began to lag as I stalled and searched for a way to ask the question that had been on my mind all night. Finally, I just did it. I said, "I want to ask you something, but I'm afraid of what your answer will be. Still, I'm going to ask anyway. Did you tell your mom that I was the only girl you'd ever felt a real connection with? She told that to my sister or she told someone and someone told my sister." He paused and said, "I don't remember saying that. I don't know. She said that you said that you were ready to move back up here." I knew I hadn't said that (although I would move back home in a heartbeat if I could), but I didn't say a word, I just dropped it. No point in going further into the "is there anything on the other side of this" conversation. Clearly, the summer's attempted fix-up had been manipulated a little by the matchmakers. Fifteen minutes later, I said, "Well, I guess I should get outta here." I did have a 40-minute drive home, after all.
Robert got up, too, to walk me out. I tossed my purse in the car and then turned to hug him. We hugged, and then he kissed me. Now I was the antsy one. We hugged again...and then we kissed again, and then he pulled me in close and nervously laughed as he buried his face into the crook of my neck. I would have loved nothing more than to just stay right there, just like that. He said, "What do you want me to do here?" I said, "Nothing. I have to go." I climbed into my car and pulled out of the driveway. I drove all the way back out of his neighborhood and back out to the main road with my hand over my mouth, like I was still trying to feel that kiss. I was more confused than anything. I banged on the steering wheel with both hands and yelled, "What does that mean?!" It's just way too complicated. I would've been better off to go to Ft. Bragg!
By the way, don't worry about the Boy from Seattle. He wasn't lonely at all this weekend. His high school girlfriend flew in from Utah, and they drove down to the beach. He told me about it when he called last night. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to be jealous or if he was just mentioning it in passing. I didn't fall for it, though. I just said, "Oh, well that's good!" What do I care? I had my own date this weekend. Anyway, Christy saw him Sunday and said that he was "disappointed" that I hadn't been able to come, but that he understood. He leaves again for seven months on Thursday. I promised him I'd call him before then and that I would definitely see him when he gets back in May.
In the meantime, I'm still trying to figure out what happened back there in Robert's driveway. I have this nagging feeling that it meant way more to me than it did to him. Who knows?
So we both got ready and headed out to a small Italian restaurant across town. Post-game traffic was miserable, but that was fine by me. It gave us more time to chit-chat. I so wanted to ask him about his mom's little plan to fix us up this summer, but I decided the timing wasn't right. If the conversation didn't go well, it would ruin dinner. As it was, our dinner conversation was relaxed and easy. But I was so nervous! I was conscious of every little move I made, every little word I said. You would think I was having dinner with Prince William. (I love Prince William.) It wasn't anything he did; it was all me. I knew that after dinner, I would have to say something or I'd explode; so I was a wreck thinking about what to say and how to say it. At the same time, I soaked in every word he said, taken with how different he seems from that boy I knew in school. He's so much more poised now, so much more mature. That just made me even more nervous.
I don't even remember the drive back to his house...well, except for the part where the state trooper almost t-boned us...on my side! But anyway, once home, he tuned in the LSU-Auburn game for me, knowing that I would want to watch football. The conversation began to lag as I stalled and searched for a way to ask the question that had been on my mind all night. Finally, I just did it. I said, "I want to ask you something, but I'm afraid of what your answer will be. Still, I'm going to ask anyway. Did you tell your mom that I was the only girl you'd ever felt a real connection with? She told that to my sister or she told someone and someone told my sister." He paused and said, "I don't remember saying that. I don't know. She said that you said that you were ready to move back up here." I knew I hadn't said that (although I would move back home in a heartbeat if I could), but I didn't say a word, I just dropped it. No point in going further into the "is there anything on the other side of this" conversation. Clearly, the summer's attempted fix-up had been manipulated a little by the matchmakers. Fifteen minutes later, I said, "Well, I guess I should get outta here." I did have a 40-minute drive home, after all.
Robert got up, too, to walk me out. I tossed my purse in the car and then turned to hug him. We hugged, and then he kissed me. Now I was the antsy one. We hugged again...and then we kissed again, and then he pulled me in close and nervously laughed as he buried his face into the crook of my neck. I would have loved nothing more than to just stay right there, just like that. He said, "What do you want me to do here?" I said, "Nothing. I have to go." I climbed into my car and pulled out of the driveway. I drove all the way back out of his neighborhood and back out to the main road with my hand over my mouth, like I was still trying to feel that kiss. I was more confused than anything. I banged on the steering wheel with both hands and yelled, "What does that mean?!" It's just way too complicated. I would've been better off to go to Ft. Bragg!
By the way, don't worry about the Boy from Seattle. He wasn't lonely at all this weekend. His high school girlfriend flew in from Utah, and they drove down to the beach. He told me about it when he called last night. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to be jealous or if he was just mentioning it in passing. I didn't fall for it, though. I just said, "Oh, well that's good!" What do I care? I had my own date this weekend. Anyway, Christy saw him Sunday and said that he was "disappointed" that I hadn't been able to come, but that he understood. He leaves again for seven months on Thursday. I promised him I'd call him before then and that I would definitely see him when he gets back in May.
In the meantime, I'm still trying to figure out what happened back there in Robert's driveway. I have this nagging feeling that it meant way more to me than it did to him. Who knows?
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