Merry Christmas!

Wishing everyone safe travels, beautiful memories, and a very Merry Christmas!

Oh, Yeah...

I don't have cancer! The biopsy showed that the lump is just a fibroadenoma. I have no idea what that is, but it's not cancerous! Yay for my left boob!

Two Years Today

At this very moment two years ago today, my parents, my younger sister, and I were waiting at my brother's house for my sister-in-law to get home from work. We had decided that Mike had to go back to the hospital. We could not care for him at home anymore. His pain was out of control, and we knew that he did not have long left on this earth. Leslie and I sat on the floor next to the couch where Mike had been for several days, unable to climb the stairs to bed anymore. We held his hand and stroked his forehead and tried not to cry. My parents were completely disraught, and yet numb. My mom tried to busy herself around the house, getting things ready for the trip to the hospital, while my dad just sat there an looked at his only son.

When Cherie arrived home, an ambulance was called. Mike was lifted onto the gurney and loaded into the ambulance. It was cold and snowy as we followed the ambulance all the way from the house to the hospital in a caravan of cars. I don't think Leslie and I said two words to each other for the 30-minute journey. I just kept thinking about how Mike would never go home again, how he would never make the drive to Morgantown again, how he would never see another football game or play with his children in the yard again, how he wouldn't at the table for Christmas dinner. It was overwhelming then, and it still is today.

By the time we arrived at the hospital and got Mike settled in, it was close to 3:00 or 3:30. My other sisters arrived, but none of us really spoke to each other. We were all having the same experience, but it was very personal to each of us; and so we were all having very different experiences. Mike was hooked up to an IV drip of morphine. The nurse gently instructed us that if it appeared that Mike was in any pain at all, we should call her for more. "It doesn't matter at this point. We just want him to be comfortable, so we can give him however much he needs," she said. And there it was: Finality. If the complications of cancer weren't about to kill him, morphine was. And yet we all still thought we had a few more days.

Once Mike's pain seemed to be under control, my sisters and I all decided to get something to eat. My parents went home to take a nap. (They had not slept in days.) We were all preparing for the end, the last days. Only there weren't days. There were only hours.

While we were all gone -- while Mike and Cherie were alone in that hospital room -- Mikey passed away. He just stopped breathing. And that was it. That was the end. And that's all I can bring myself to write about it right now.

I Waited in Line at Kroger for 35 Minutes for THIS?!

News spread quickly mid-week of an impending snow storm this weekend. Forecasts called for 1 to 3 inches, then 3 to 6, and then 6 to 10. And then all hell broke loose. Growing up in a place where snow laid on the ground from November to April, I hardly batted an eyelash. Maybe we'll have a white Christmas this year, I thought. And so I left work early yesterday afternoon (my last day before a glorious 2-week vacation) with visions of gift wrapping and cookie baking in my head. Of course, cookie baking requires supplies, so I stopped at Kroger on my way home. I thought it odd that I couldn't find a parking space within spitting distance of the door at 3:00 in the afternoon, but I figured it was probably just all of those lucky bastard retired folks who have nothing better to do than go to the grocery store or to Wal-Mart in the middle of the afternoon. I was wrong.

OK, let me just paint a picture for you: As I turned the corner from the vast plains of the produce department to the first aisle of dry goods, I saw a long line of virtual brake lights streaming past the canned vegetables. What the hell is this? I wondered...out loud. I squeezed my cart past all the others and turned down the next aisle. Another line of carts snaked down the aisle. I stood there in utter amazement. I followed the line with my eyes...all the way to the cash register. All these fools are standing in line to check out! Figuring that it would only get worse, I sprinted through the store, grabbing only what I needed to make a pot of chili and some Christmas cookies and headed back to the end of one of the check-out lines. I stood there for 35 minutes before finally checking out. It was, in a word, ridicuolous. I mean, let's just say, for the sake of argument, that we were about to get 10 inches of snow. It's not like we'd be trapped in our homes for the next week. Trust me on this one: There is no need to buy 3 gallons of milk, 4 loaves of bread, and enough canned corn to survive a nuclear winter. It just a little snow. Besides, if it gets really bad, the power is going to go out, and all that milk is just going to spoil anyway! It was really frustrating.

Driving home in the rain (not snow, rain), I finally got settled in for the evening, waiting for this massive snow event that had sent everyone in Huntington into an utter panic. By 6pm, it was still just raining. Around 8pm, I pulled up a weather map on my iPhone, wondering where all of this terrible, debilitating snow was. I kid you not, everyone around us was getting snow. But the entire Huntington "metropolitan" area was circled in a green blob -- rain, rain, and more rain. It didn't finally start snowing until 10pm; and even then, the snow was mixed with rain.

This morning, I woke around 8 and went to the window. We had gotten maybe three inches of snow. He Who Had Shopping To Do and I got dressed and headed out to the mall. The roads were virtually clear. I just shook my head and wondered how I could get back those 35 minutes I wasted in line at Kroger with all the snow birds.

Incidentally, everyone around us got slammed. A friend of mine posted on Facebook about her odyssey trying to get over the mountain to Greenbrier County (a 2 1/2-hour trip normally). She and her husband and their 2 young daughters ended up spending the night in their car on I-64. They sat for over 15 hours, not moving even so much as an inch. They even had to break into their Christmas gifts and pilfer a Hickory Farms gift set they had bought for some poor, unsuspecting relative. In the end, it took them 24 hours to get to their destination. My parents reported a foot of snow back home. Honestly, I'll take the 3 or 4 inches we got. I don't need some big, impressive snow fall. I do, however, need to go back to Kroger and finish my grocery shopping.

Do Not Look Directly at the Shoes

I saw these at TJMaxx, and my heart skipped a beat. I have never loved any pair of shoes like I love these shoes. Not the leopard print peep-toe pumps, not the red jelly peep-toe flats, not even the burgundy velvet ballet flats with the little string bow that I owned in the fourth grade and loved more than life itself. And at $40, these shoes are a steal. So I snagged a picture on my iPhone and texted it to He Who Loves the Leopard Print Shoes, saying, "Tell me it would be insane to get these." I just knew he'd say, "Those would look hot on you! Get them! Get them now!" Instead, he said, "Yes." I cried. The shoes cried. I barely made it out of the store without breaking down into a jellied mass right there in the shoe aisle. But I left the shoes on the shelf, wondering if I'd ever know shoe love like that again. (Did I mention that they have a metallic gold heel?)

My Left Boob

I have to say that I am really proud of myself. I made it through my biopsy without shedding a single tear or having to take a Xanax. I was a total trooper, which is so unlike me. And, girls, it really wasn't as bad as what you always hear. The doctor gave me two shots of local anesthetic (I didn't even feel the second shot) before making a small incision through which she inserted a vacuum needle. I didn't feel any pain at all. I felt the suction of the vacuum needle a tiny bit, but that was it. It was a completely pain-free procedure. The doctor took two samples, and then she was done. She didn't even have to stitch me up -- just a few steristrips and a bandage. I'm a little sore this morning, but it's nothing I can't handle.

The only crappy part is that the doctor wants me to come in to discuss the results next Monday...the 21st. That's the two-year anniversary of Mike's death. When the nurse asked me if that was a good time for me, I said, "Well, it is if it's good news. If it's bad news, then that's a really bad day for me." But I feel confident enough that it's not going to be bad news that I went ahead and took the appointment.

Anyway, after it was all done, He Who Was a Very Good Nurse, took me to dinner at the restaurant of my choice, then bought me a gin and tonic and put me to bed early. I heart him.

December 14th Officially Goes on the List

That would be the list of shitty days. On this day two years ago, a Friday, my mom called me at work to tell me that they had taken my brother to the hospital. His pain was out of control and completely unmanageable. For all of his strength, he finally had to admit that he couldn't take anymore, and he agreed to go to the hospital long enough to get a handle on his pain. "Should I come home?" I asked. "I don't know," she answered. It was the day of our office Christmas party, and I still had lots of things to do at home before I was ready to leave. I hadn't planned to go home until that following Monday, so I decided to stay. I would just go home on Monday as planned.

Not long after that first call, my mom called again. The doctor had told them that my brother's liver was failing him completely. He was being slowly poisoned. Before long, he would likely slip into a hepatic coma, and he would never wake up again. It could last for days, or it could last for weeks. "I think maybe you should come home after all," she said. I dropped everything, told my boss that I didn't know when I would be back, and headed back to my house to pack for who knew how long. On the way, I stopped at the mall to buy clothes that would be appropriate for the funeral. I remember standing in front of the mirror of a dressing room thinking, Is this for real? Am I really buying clothes to wear to Mikey's funeral? Really? By dinner time, I was at the hospital to see Mike. He was in and out of consciousness, heavily medicated and unable to keep his eyes open. Still, the next day, he insisted on going home. A week later, he died.

Two years later, on December 14th, I am going to the hospital to have a breast biopsy. A lump I felt in my left breast several weeks ago raised a "low suspicion of malignancy," and so at 3pm, I am going to have an ultrasound-guided needle biopsy performed. A good friend of mine who has had two non-cancerous lumps removed from her breast reminded me that the numbers are on my side. Very few breast lumps are actually cancerous, so I'm actually very positive. Still, there's a tiny part of me that wonders if this is an unlucky day.

In the meantime, I'm not telling my parents. If there is something to tell, then that's that. But chances are that there is nothing to tell, so why worry them, especially with the anniversary of Mike's death just a week away?

Food Baby, Or Why I'm Never Eating Again

I am officially 2 days pregnant with a 13-pound food baby, and I am "this close" to just throwing in the towel and buying a zip-up house dress on my home today. How I'm not in a coma right now defies all reasonable explanation. In the last two days, I have eaten 2 servings of homemade macaroni and cheese, pasta salad, jalapeno and hashbrown casserole, broccoli casserole, Honeybaked ham and turkey, a pepperoni roll, a roast beef sandwich, cornbread, vegetable lasagna, cheese, pepperoni, peanut butter brownie dessert, various and sundry cookies, and pumpkin roll. Damn those 2 back-to-back office Christmas parties!

He Who Actually Cooked Me Dinner

More or less. He Who Has Never Even Used His Stove and I dashed back to his apartment after SciFiles trivia and a couple of beers last night with hungry bellies. It was way too cold to even think about going back out to get something to eat, so instead, HWHNEUHS cooked us dinner. We had buttered wheat toast and slices of ham warmed in the microwave. Oh, and cheese cubes. I know it doesn't sound like much, but it was a perfect meal because he made it. And as he put together our plates, he told me about the ham, which was a particular type of ham that his parents always ate back in their home state of New Jersey. He talked about how they would eat it on Kaiser rolls and how his mom gets all excited when he brings her some from Kroger. It was an incredibly sweet gesture and the best buttered toast and warmed ham I have ever eaten.

Reason #4 to Stay Away from Wal-Mart During the Holidays

The check-writer.

Last night, I stopped at Wal-Mart to pick up some things to make a dish for our office Christmas party and to finish off a wreath for my mom. I had already stopped by Hobby Lobby, Kohl's, and Michael's before that, so my once comfortable Aerosole boots were by then two brown torture devices squeezing in around my feet and bringing tears to my eyes with every step. On top of that, I was trying to hurry to get out of there in order to meet He Who Embraces His Inner Nerd for SciFiles trivia. (He plays; I watch.)

Of the 20,000 registers clustered at the front of the store, only 3 were open on the non-grocery side of the store (where I had parked), and only one of the self-checkouts was operational. Remember the good ol' days when every Wal-Mart register had a sign above it that said, "If there are more than 3 people waiting in line, we'll open another register"? Yeah, well, those days are over. So there I stood in the shortest line I could find, the lady ahead of me only carrying 4 items and the lady in front of her half-way through checking out by the time I jumped in the line. Let's call that lady Ima Slowpoke.

So the cashier finished ringing up Ima and announced the total. Ima then took her purse out of the cart, plopped it on the check stand, and fished out a checkbook. She then put her purse back in her cart and began to write her check. Her hand moved slowly across the little piece of paper. Every letter was formed with perfect care, as if her very life depended on it. If it took her one minute to write the date, it took her 20. She wrote, and wrote...and wrote. I thought, Is she filling this check out in triplicate? And then she must have made an "o" that looked too much like an "a" or something because she tore that check out, ripped it up, and started all over again. I really felt like my head was about to explode. The cashier just stood there looking at her. I'm not kidding, 5 minutes elapsed between the time she was first told the total and the time she tore out that second check and handed it to the cashier. The cashier then scanned the check, asked the woman to sign the little screen thing, and handed back the check. After all that, Wal-Mart didn't even keep Ima's check! The cashier later told me that you don't have to write anything on the check. You don't even have to sign it! They just scan it, print some gobble-di-gook on it and hand it back these days.

My feet were so disgusted that they almost detached themselves from my legs and planted themselves in Ima's ass. But I reigned them in, and we just went home instead. I said a silent prayer as I drove home: Please, God, don't make me have to go back to Wal-Mart again before the first of the year. I promise that I won't say the "f" word anymore. Just don't make me need anything from that f***ing cluster f*** of a store between now and Christmas. Shoot. I won't say the "f" word anymore, starting...now.

WTF Wednesday: Inaugural Edition

In my job, I review a lot of abuse and neglect cases. When I say that I have seen it all, you need to not ask, "Really? What all have you seen?" Because I have seen it all, and you would be horrified. I guess at some point, you just build up this little wall of sunshine and go into denial about it. I think I must be there because I opened a record today where the allegation of abuse was mainly that the newborn baby had spent the first 26 days of her life in the hospital suffering from "severe withdrawl symptoms" and had to be put on methadone, and I thought to myself, Oh, good. This isn't a bad one. So let me get this straight, Self: A child is born addicted to 5 different drugs and is suffering painful, mind-numbing withdrawl...and that's not a "bad one"? What the f***?

What I'm NOT Asking For This Christmas:

Perfection.

I'm not asking for perfection in life because it's unattainable. I'm not asking for perfection in life because I'm not perfect. I'm not asking for perfection in life because it's boring. Instead, I'm just asking for 99% great in life. For overwhelmingly right. For mostly like how I wish life could be.

At the same time, I feel like there is a certain sort of perfection in the fact that life isn't perfect. In life, people won't always agree. Plans will fall apart. Feelings will be hurt. Accidents will happen. Loved ones will die. But at the end of the day, it's all these perceived imperfections that make life more nearly perfect because even the "bad" things enchance our lives. They teach us humility. They teach us values. They teach us to better appreciate the "good" things that life brings us.

I have said many times that He Whom I Love and I never fight. I know he has read those words and thought, Really? Because I can remember a few disagreements. But to me, there is a big difference between disagreeing, or even arguing, and fighting. We are two very strong-willed people who often don't see things the same way. Of course we're going to disagree, and even argue, sometimes. But we respect each other, and we always try to resolve our differences quickly and reasonably. We don't let things turn into all-out fights that fester and build resentment and hunker in the corner of our hearts for weeks or months to come. Yes, we disagree and argue now and then, but that doesn't bother me. If we always agreed with one another on everything, that would bother me because that would mean that one of us was not being true to ourself. One of us would be compromising too much. I'd rather deal with a little raised blood pressure now and again than to think that one of us was giving up everything to the other.

Take the holidays, for instance. Last night, HWIL and I sat down to try to schedule the 101 things we need to do in the 9 days that we have to do them. HWIL was frustrated. I was frustrated. We began to get upset with each other. Both of us felt like we were having to compromise too much. But as I lay there in bed later in the night, I thought, You know, I'm pretty lucky to have someone to hash out a holiday schedule with. And I'm pretty lucky to have the holiday opportunities that felt like obstacles earlier tonight. I need to just let go and enjoy it all. It isn't going to be easy. It isn't going to be how I wish it could be. It isn't going to be perfect; but, again, life isn't perfect. The important thing is that, for at least part of the week, we'll be together. And when we aren't together, it will be because we're doing the other things we need to do to make our holidays happy. And that's OK. It's also OK that we each took the initiative to argue for our own needs.

Of course, I say all this, but sometimes I forget. Sometimes I do get my feelings hurt. Sometimes I do get frustrated. Sometimes I do get upset. So what I am asking for this Christmas is patience and wisdom and a little clarity to see the big picture...the never-going-to-be-perfect picture.

And It's Still Coming Down

Yesterday morning, the forecast for today was for a dusting to an inch of snow. Last night, it was crisp, but dry. This morning, all bets were off. Huntington got it's first snow of the season.




Poor, poor Garden gnome. He always suffers so.

And Then My Soul Died

I hate to admit it, but I am hopelessly addicted to cellular phone service. I lived 19 glorious years of only being able to make or take a call when I was at home and then another 6 years of only being able to afford to make or take a cellular call when my life was in imminent danger, and I managed to survive with little or no trouble. But now, my ability to function as a human being is completely powered by the notion that at any second and in any place, I can call or text anyone that I want, be it for a good reason or no reason at all. There have been days when I left my phone in the car, and I managed to wait until lunch time to go back and retrieve it; but those were the longest mornings of my life. If I had to go without for an entire day... Well, I don't even want to think about that scenario because it probably ends with me incarcerated.

Scarcely 2 months ago, I made the switch to an iPhone. Now, not only can I call and text at every hour of the day, but I can also look up basketball scores in an instant...check the weather in Kingwood...find a phone number for a restaurant...find the title for whatever new song is playing on the radio...even Facebook, all from my phone. It's like what I imagine it must be like to go from smoking pot to smoking heroin -- the world is at your fingertips. Only it's legal. And it's not likely to cause you to die, unlike heroin. With my iPhone in hand, my life was complete.

Then this morning, my alarm went off like it does every morning. Only this time, when I slid the little "unlock" bar on the screen to turn off the alarm, the bar stuttered, and the screen went to the Apple logo reboot screen. Hmmm...why is it rebooting? I thought. But it wasn't rebooting. It wasn't doing anything, but mocking me. I tried to do a hard reboot, but that didn't work. I began to panic. "It's fine," He Whose iPhone Was Functioning Properly said, "just give it a minute." "It's not fine! I've already given it 2 minutes!" I tried a hard reboot again. Nothing. We scrambled out the door and to my car. As I dropped HWIWFP off at his boss's house for a short trip out of town, he said, "I'll call you later." "No, you won't!" I said, surprised at my level of panic, "My phone is dead!"

I rushed home and booted up my computer (my non-Apple computer, I would add). I quickly Googled "iPhone Apple logo reboot screen." It came up with literally dozens of pages described with anxious clips like, "Help! My iPhone is frozen!" I clicked on the very first link, which was to a chat room filled with angsty Apple product users. The poster had described my problem exacly. I quickly scanned the responses (mostly from other people who had the same problem) and finally found a solution. I did what the poster said to do...and it didn't work. So I tried again. Bupkus. So I tried a third time, this time holding my breath and squeezing my eyes shut (no, I'm not exaggerating). Mercifully, it worked. It took over 30 minutes for the phone to be completely reset and resynced through iTunes. I cannot measure my relief. It was like being 18 and finding out that you aren't pregnant after all, only better. Imagine that: It was a greater sense of relief than knowing that you aren't tied to that loser boyfriend for life and that you're parents aren't going to kill you and then kill themselves. How did I get to be that dependent on a single piece of electronic equipment? It's just scary.

Lovely

Several years ago, as I was strolling through the arts and crafts exhibits at the Buckwheat Festival, I spotted the most beautiful glass Christmas bulbs with flowers decoupaged on them. They were hanging from a wire stand, and as I bent over to look more closely at them, the light from an adjacent display caught one of them. I ended up buying four that year. The next year, I bought six more. And a few more the next year...and the next year. The artists, who were from Morgantown, don't come to the Buckwheat Festival anymore, but I still have my ornaments, and they are some of my favorites.

The Haul

Dear Isaiah,

I hope you have a very merry Christmas.

Love,
Santa

An Open Letter to Any Would-Be Burglars

Dear Lady Who Was Casing My House Today,

I just wanted to let you know that, yes, I did see you. I saw you, I saw your vehicle, and I saw your license plate. And I called the police.

I cannot believe you had the nerve to do something like that in the middle of the day! On a Sunday no less! My neighbors saw you poking around my house, you know. I mean, it was broad daylight! I'm just glad I drove up when I did. I know that ruined your little plan, but it worked out better for me.

By the way, if you're trying to look inconspicuous, don't wear black pants, black shoes, and a black sweatshirt with the hood pulled over your head on a 65-degree day. Oh, and when your plan is foiled, it stands out even more when you run to your truck, jump in, and peel away like a bat out of hell.

Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that you might as well forget about my house. Not only would you likely be caught, but there is nothing worth stealing in my house anyway. Really. No jewelry, no high-priced electronics, no tools, nothing.

Sincerely,
The Neurotic Atty

Good Morning, Sports Center!

I have not watched a post-WVU game edition of Sports Center all season. There has not been a reason to watch because, really, who wants to watch lowlights? But then last night, WE BEAT PITT! They have embarrassed us for the last two years, most notably when, in 2007 (with a great deal of help from Rich Rodriguez's pride), they upset WVU to keep us out of the national title game. This year, we beat a #8 Pitt team in the waning seconds of the game. On a 44-yard field goal. Made by a redshirt freshman. After we lost the 2007 game on missed field goals. Field goals missed by a guy who never missed. Crushing. Loss. Is that enough incomplete sentences for you? That's just how excited I am!

I know it's pathetic to be "that fan," but I don't care what else happens in WVU's season as long as we beat Pitt. And we did. It wasn't pretty, and there were still plenty of lowlights in the game; but we won. WE WON, WE WON, WE WON! And Pitt lost. THEY LOST, THEY LOST, THEY LOST! My heart swells everytime I replay that image of Coach Wannstedt throwing his headset on the ground in frustration. Add that to an 88-yard Noel Devine touchdown run and 2 interceptions on Pitt's quarterback, and it was a beautiful night.

Oh, and one last thing...GO BEARCATS! BEAT THE HELL OUT OF PITT!

Let It Snow!

So I just got up, and it's snowing! I mean real snow! Big, fat, fluffy flakes pouring to the ground! This is why I love Preston County. I can practically guarantee you that it's not doing this in Huntington.

I Hope She Wasn't a Mother... (Up-Chuck Warning for the Wimps)

Tyler stopped by my parents' house tonight to show us his very first deer. It was a doe, and he shot her "right through the heart!"


Somehow, a dead male deer doesn't bother me. A doe, on the other hand, makes me think, Ooooohhhhh...what if she had babies? Of course, I would never say that to Tyler. I mean, look how proud he is?

Ten on Tuesday: Thanksgiving Edition

1. This may sound really...morbid...but I'm thankful that Mikey will not be spending this Thanksgiving in the hospital, as he did 4 years ago, or in incredible pain, as he did 2 years ago. While I miss him desperately, I'm thankful that he is no longer suffering.

2. I'm thankful for having a great job, even if I do complain about it now and then.

3. I'm thankful for beautiful blue skies peaking through now-bare tree limbs.

4. I'm thankful to have a house to decorate for Christmas.

5. I'm thankful for my church and to be able to share that church with He Who Doesn't Like to Sit in the Front.

6. I'm thankful for my mom's dressing (or stuffing, if that's what you want to call it), which is the best I've ever tasted. Just don't ask what the dark brown bits are...

7. I'm thankful that it's supposed to snow Friday for the Backyard Brawl.

8. I'm thankful for my life.

9. I'm thankful for HWDLSF, who makes me smile and who doesn't judge me for yelling out in the middle of the night when I have a bad dream (sorry, HWDLSF).

10. I'm thankful for my family, with parents who love me and support me unconditionally and siblings who may well be crazy, but who have helped shape my life.

Quote of the Week

The genius that is Rich Rodriguez made this comment following Michigan's 21-10 loss to Ohio State, which left Michigan bowl ineligible for the second straight year: "I have been humbled, but I do have a pretty good idea of what it takes to win in this league and every other league." My question is, if that's true, then why don't you win, Rich? Hmmm?

Reason #3 to Stay Away from Wal-Mart During the Holidays

The sheer WTF?!-ness of it all.

The other night, while buying socks, undies, a hat, and gloves for my Angel Tree child (and the 2-disc version of "Star Trek" for He Who Is A Total Trekkie and Needed the DVD As Soon As It Came Out), I heard a woman yelling at her kid to "get the hell out of the way, or I'm going to bust you!" I looked over to see a woman of maybe 25 riding one of those little scooters Wal-Marts provides. In and of itself, that is not an unusual sight. I have yet to go to Wal-Mart when I didn't see at least six people clogging up the aisles and backing into racks on those stupid little scooters. What set this woman apart was not only her young age, but also that she appeared to have no good reason to be riding the thing. She was overweight, but not grossly obese. She had no crutches. She was not wearing a brace or a cast of any kind. She was not carrying an oxygen tank. She didn't have an extra leg or a conjoined twin or anything. She appeared to be just plain lazy. She was yelling at her son (who looked about 9 or 10...you do the math) because he was pushing the cart between her and the pop cooler at the end of the register. God forbid she not get her Mountain Dew. I found the whole thing so annoying that I looked right at her and rolled my eyes. I would've been afraid of her red neck in normal circumstances, but how could she carry on this little "handicapped" charade if she jumped off of that scooter and kicked my ass? So I rolled my eyes, and she just looked at me, and I just looked back at her as if to say, "Yeah. Do it. Get off that scooter and show everyone that your only handicap is that you are a redneck...yeah, I didn't think so."

HWITTNDASAICO is always warning me against "writing checks that I can't cash," but Wal-Mart at Christmas brings out the impatient, easily annoyed bitch in me. What can I say?

Reason #2 to Stay Away from Wal-Mart During the Holidays

All the bargains are at Macy's anyway!

Last night, as I strolled through the mall trying to jump-start my Christmas shopping, I found a Salvation Army Angel Tree. I studied all the little tags carefully, and settled on a 5-year-old boy who wanted "anything." I usually try to pick an older child because I know everyone wants to buy for the babies and toddlers, but all the older children were asking for X-Box games and Nintendo DS systems and MP3 players. Frankly, I can't afford to buy a kid that kind of stuff, and God knows I don't want to be the one who disappoints a kid by buying him a handheld electronic Yahtzee game instead of a DS, so I settled on Isaiah, who would be happy with "anything."

I took my tag into Macy's and went straight to the children's section. As I was looking at the clearance rack (take an additional 50% off!), I noticed a wall display of 3-piece outfits for $14.99. I went over and found a set with khaki cargo pants, a long-sleeved t-shirt, and a zip-up fleece jacket. For $14.99! Then I found some Carter's pajamas for 50%, which made them $15. On top of that, I had a coupon for $10 off a purchase of $25 or more. So I got all of that for just $20!

As I was buying that stuff, I noticed a rack of winter jackets next to the register. Originally $65, they were on sale for $24.99. I ended up grabbing one of those, too, and taking it (with another coupon) to another register and getting it for $10 off! OK, so maybe I scammed the Macy's system a little by printing off and then using extra copies of the coupon, but even without the coupon, it would still have been cheaper than the winter jackets at Wal-Mart, which were $35.

In the end, for about $40, I got pants, a shirt, a jacket, a pair of pajamas, and a winter coat! All at Macy's! I love that place!

The Happy and the Sad of It All

This morning, my alarm went off, and I got up. Slowly. I was still tired. Just a few minutes later, as I searched my tired brain for my dreams (I always try to recall my dreams), I remembered that I had dreamed of my brother. The dream wasn't really about Mike; he was just in it. And he was happy and healthy and very much alive. I sat down on the arm of the couch and was just overwhelmed by the thought of it all. I was glad to have seen him in my mind's eye, but I wasn't satisfied with that. I wanted him back. Happy and healthy and very much alive. Bill came out and saw me there and asked what was wrong. I told him that I had dreamed about Mike, and he hugged me. And then I started crying. We decided that maybe it was best if I just slept it off a little, so I went back to bed for a couple of hours more. Only this time, I didn't dream.

This fall has been so much harder than last fall. It makes me dread the coming holidays. I think the difference between last year and this year is that last year, I had prepared myself. From the very minute I laid down in bed the night Mikey died, I started thinking about it. How will I feel a week from now? A month from now? A year from now? I anticipated the ebbs and flows of grief. I knew that the one-month mark would be hard, that Mike's birthday and the boys' birthdays and Father's Day and the start of football season and the holidays would be unbearable. I knew that I'd have nights when I'd cry myself to sleep and days that I wouldn't get anything done but look at pictures of him, studying his face and committing it to memory. I knew that some nights, I would make dinner out of a bottle of wine and that some weekends, I just wouldn't get out of bed at all. I knew that I was going to grieve for 365 days. But I never looked past that.

The beginning of this year wasn't so bad. Even when they set the headstone at the cemetery, I did OK. And then the fall rolled around. Mom reminded me at the WVU-UConn game that that was Mike's last game and the game where I took the last photos of him. The end of October reminded of when I first heard that he had cancer. Coming up is Thanksgiving. Mike had his first surgery the day before Thanksgiving. The day after Thanksgiving is the WVU-Pitt game. Mike so desperately wanted to go to that game in 2007, but he was too sick. He cried when he realized that he would have to miss the game of the season, the one he looked most forward to every year. And then there will be December 21st. And Christmas Eve. And a third Christmas Day without him. Somehow, it all seems more unbearable this year than it did last year.

So maybe that's why I dreamed of him last night. Maybe I just needed to remember him happy and healthy and alive for even one, unconscious minute. And in that case, I shouldn't be sad about it. I should be happy. I should be thankful. And I am.

The Culprit

This is what punctured my tire. Don't ask me what it is, because I don't know.

In Case There Was Any Doubt, It IS Friday the 13th

Not once today did I think about the fact that it was Friday the 13th. It was just Friday. And then I left work.

As I was driving home, my tire picked up something and immediately went flat. I barely got pulled over onto the shoulder of the highway. Of course, my dutiful and loving Dad taught me how to change a tire as soon as I got my driver's license. But that was well over 18 years ago. Fortunately, West Virginia provides its drivers a "Courtesy Patrol." So I called the Courtesy Patrol and asked them to come help me with the tire. "I'll send someone right out, Honey," the dispatcher said.

As I stood there along the side of road waiting for help, hundreds of people zoomed past me. Several honked, as if to say, "Hey there, poor traveler!" But not a single one of those people stopped. Jackasses.

Some 20 minutes later, a Courtesy Patrol truck approached...and whizzed right past me. Another 15 minutes passed, and I looked up to see another Courtesy Patrol truck pulling in behind me. As I turned back toward my car, I saw another truck had pulled in front of my car. I think he must have gotten there just before the Courtesy Patrol, but I hadn't noticed. The truck's driver was pulling on a reflective vest as he walked toward me. He immediately set to the task of changing my tire. Once he saw what had punctured it, he said, "Ma'am, I'm sure you can fix this tire. It wouldn't be any trouble at all." And then he said, "In fact, I think I can fix it right now." He took my tire over to his truck (he works for a local machine shop), patched my tire, and reinflated it, all in about 10 minutes. It was incredible. When he finished putting my tire back on my car, I thanked him and offered him what little bit of cash I had (about $18). He refused to take it. "Ma'am, I can't take that. My momma just raised me to do stuff like this. I didn't stop so you'd offer me anything." He was the kindest man.

Of course, I have to thank him. So I pulled up next to him on the highway and noted the name of the company he works for. I called them and arranged to send him a thank you and a gift card. It's the least I can do.

This Football Season Has Sucked!

Can I get an "Amen"? The polls this year have been filled with more overranked teams than any season in recent memory. Eleven weeks in, "power houses" are still playing doormats. The Big East is back to laying eggs (with the exception of Cincinnati, but then half of the teams on Cincy's schedule have been Big East egg-layers). The bowl season is shaping up to be a giant snooze fest. The Heisman will likely go to some kid with a lucky arm who we'll never hear from again (unless it's in some "Where are they now?" list ten years down the road). And now even the weather is thumbing its nose at me. Here it is November, and, for the second weekend in a row, I'm looking at a 68-degree football forecast. In November! I mean, I hate freezing my ass off as much as the next person; however, that's part of the deal. You start off the season in shorts and t-shirts, and you end it bundled up in scarves and ski jackets. That's the way it works. Except this year. This year, I haven't gotten to wear any of my cute little chilly weather and cold weather game clothes. No gold and blue goose down vest, no cute WVU hat and gloves, no Marshall scarf (the LawChick probably just threw up in her mouth a little), no UGG boots...nothing! And if I'm going to be forced to watch pansey-ass non-conference match-ups like Texas-UCF and Georgia-Tennessee Tech this late in the season, then, damn it, I at least want to endure it in football-like weather.

Reason #1 to Stay Away from Wal-Mart During the Holidays

As I was walking by the toy section of Wal-Mart on my way to housewares, I passed by an end-aisle display of "Fur Real Friends"...and they purred at me. In unison. How creepy is that?

Ten on Tuesday

1. I was racing the sunset this evening. I was in the home stretch, and the sky opened up in front of me. It was bright pink and red and curled with clouds. I was determined to get a picture of it, but, alas, the other commuters on the road were conspiring against me. I missed it.

2. I'm watching "V" right now. I'm not sold yet. It can never be as good as the original. I mean, two episodes in, and I have yet to see anyone with big hair eat a rat.

3. Speaking of the '80s...oooooooooh my...



4. He Who Is Tricksier Than a Hobbit recorded me snoring on his iPhone last night. He threatened to make it his ring tone. If he does, he can forget about ever getting shepherd's pie again.

5. Tomorrow is a holiday, and I have so much to do. I can't even think about it right now.

6. Is it wrong that I think I'm going to pay someone to rake up my leaves? Actually, they aren't my leaves. They're my neighbor's leaves. And by the way, how many leaves can one stupid oak tree have?

7. HWITTH's computer keeps yelling at him. It's making me tense. I can't have his computer yelling while I'm watching "V."

8. Sunday, as I was driving home from Kingwood, I came across a radio station that was playing all Christmas music. On November 8. Before Thanksgiving even. And I liked it.

9. I have a full glass of pinot noir sitting in front of me, and I'm too full to drink it. It's a crime.

10. Is it really sad that as soon as this show is over, I'm going to bed?

From the "What Were You Thinking?" Files

Back in the '80s, all the well-dressed preppy women -- notice, I said women -- had at least one pair of bermuda shorts or a skirt in their wardrobe that was made of khaki or pastel-colored fabric covered with little embroidered turtles or whales or mallard ducks. It was a cute design aesthetic back in the '80s. On women. Men, take note: It does not translate to the sports arena in 2009.

Exhibit A:


I actually saw a man at the Marshall-ECU game wearing these same pants, only with little pirate heads all over them. If I'm being honest, the little pirate heads were even more ridiculous and emasculating than the Flying WVs, but the Flying WVs are pretty bad. Unless you live in either Alabama or Mississippi and are the alum of one the SEC schools, embroidered khakis are unacceptable game day attire. Put simply, if you ask your wife, "What do you think of the pants?" and she says, "Oooohhhh, those are so cute! Do they make those in women's sizes, too?" then you shouldn't be wearing them.

God Would Like 10% of Your BMW

Ten on Tuesday: Inspired Halloween

Here are my picks for the top 10 costumes I saw this year...

1. My friend Celeste's chubby-cheeked little guy dressed as an Ewok. Yub nub, eechop yub nub!

2. The kid who came to my door dressed as Li'l Wayne.

3. The baby in the State Employees Day Care Center parade who was dressed as a garden gnome.

4. The guy at the Halloween party who was dressed as a "pussy magnet." Yes, I said "pussy magnet." He literally had a big red magnet draped across his shoulders with a bunch of cat heads at the ends.

5. The lady at the Halloween party who had been struck by lightening.

6. The couple at the Halloween party who were dressed as Max and one of his Wild Things.

7. The guy at the Halloween party who was dressed as the Joker dressed as a nurse.

8. The guy at a local bar who was dressed as a wet t-shirt contestant.

9. He Who Nearly Burst Into Flames dressed as a priest.

10. And last, but not least: Lily dressed in the scarecrow costume her mommy made her...

General Lewis Says Hello

He Who Spoils Me took me back to Lewisburg this Friday for a lovely dinner at the Stardust Cafe and a performance of Macbeth. I love Lewisburg any day and every day, but I have to say that I was even more geeked about our stay when we pulled up in front of the General Lewis Inn and saw this:




(How cool is that?)






And then this...my favorite...


It's an owl, get it?


I don't think HWSM was very impressed with the owl pumpkin. I thought it was fabulous. The whole evening was fabulous.

One Lone Reese's Cup...

That's all that was left at the end of the night. It isn't because we had a huge crush of trick-or-treaters, though. The first one didn't even arrive until about 7:00, a full hour into trick-or-treat. Thinking that I was only going to have a handful of visitors, I loaded her up with 3 pieces of candy...then 3 for the next pair...then a "crowd" of 4 came, so I gave them 2 pieces each...and then I started to panic. In a matter of about 30 minutes, I had about 20 trick-or-treaters. With 30 minutes left, I was down to about 5 pieces of candy. I started going through my cabinets: Gourmet cocoa packets? Microwave popcorn? (It had "expired" on October 4.) A solitary apple? A snack bag of BBQ chips? None of these would keep me from getting my house egged. I asked He Who Wanted the Last Reese's Cups to Himself to run out to Wal-Mart and get me some more candy, but he said I was crazy. "Just shut your door and turn off your lights," he said. When I was down to just 2 pieces, the doorbell rang again. I prayed to Jesus, Mary, and Joseph that there wouldn't be more than two kids standing on my porch. Luckily, there was only one. He was my last trick-or-treater. At 8:00, we locked the door and headed out for adult trick-or-treat (aka, a cold beer at our favorite bar).

* * * * * *

For those who are confused, yes, we had trick-or-treat on Thursday night. Even though Halloween is Saturday. And Saturday isn't a school night. Which Thursday is. You explain it to me.

* * * * * *

My own personal best costume award goes to the kid dressed as Li'l Wayne. While I am not really a fan, I have to give props to this kid for going balls to the walls with it. He had drawn all of Li'l Waynes tattoos on his face and was totally rocking the neckerchief. I think his sisters were amazed when I recognized who he was portraying. Hey, I'm not your ordinary suburban cracker housewife!

This Does Not Bode Well for My Ass...

Trick-or-treat started 30 minutes ago, and I haven't had a single trick-or-treater yet. I can't not eat the leftover candy. Reese's Cups and M&Ms -- it's too good to let it go to waste. Well, that, and I have no will power.

In other Halloween-related news, He Who Was Mildly Appalled will be happy to hear that I no longer want to be a pregnant nun on Saturday. My friend, Celeste, told me that she saw a picture of Octomom Nadya Suleman dressed as a pregnant nun surrounded by her devil children. No, that's not a suggestion that her children are the spawn of Satan; they were dressed as devils. Thank you, Nadya, for ruining my Halloween fun.

The Little Moments (Updated)

He Who is Very Thoughtful does lots of things to spoil me. He takes me on weekend trips, he sends me roses for no reason, he takes me to nice restaurants on random week nights. But it's the little moments that really make me think, "This is pretty great." Last night, I was laying with my head on his chest while he scrolled through all the apps on my iPhone. He sampled all of my games (totally wrecking my perfect score on Dots), and then he found my Finger Piano. He tapped a few notes, and then I realized he was trying to play something. Most people try to recall "Mary Had a Little Lamb" or "Heart and Soul" or some other song that everyone knows how to play on the piano. This definitely wasn't any of those, though. I couldn't put my finger on it. And then, like a flash, it came to him...he started tapping out the theme that plays whenever Darth Vader appears on screen. For a moment, I was speechless. How could I have not seen that coming? Then I laughed. I looked up at him, so serious and so determined, and I thought, You are such a nerd, but I love you.

UPDATE: I just received a text message..."Imperial March." That's it. That's all it said. I knew he would do that. It's part of his lovable nerdiness.

The Hills Are On Fire

Friday evening, I headed north up I-79 for another WVU football game. It was a really ugly, really grey evening. As I drove out of the city and into the boondocks of West Virginia, I noticed a glow on the hills. I figured that the skies behind me must be clearing, and the setting sun must be bouncing off the trees. But that wasn't it all. Looking in the rearview mirror, I saw that there were no clearing skies, no setting sun. It was the trees themselves that were practically glowing. The leaves were so bright gold and orange that the hills looked like they were on fire. It was the most beautiful thing I had seen in a long while.

An Open Letter to Frankie D. and His So-Called Fine Dining Establishment

Dear Frankie D.,

I regret to inform you that your restaurant has been removed from the list of dining choices by the Official Appetite of the Neurotic Atty. This was not a decision that was made lightly, nor was it a decision made in haste. On the contrary, the OANA feels that it has given you more than ample opportunity to impress the Neurotic Atty, but you have failed at every turn. Please find below a brief review of each of the OANA's dining experiences at your not-so-fine dining establishment.

* First experience: Approximately one week after your grand opening, the Neurotic Atty ordered your pasta bolognese with the caesar salad. The romaine lettuce was white and brown (not green) and was limp and suffocating under a pound of dressing. The pasta was very much overcooked, and the sauce was cold and tasteless. However, the OANA generously gave you the benefit of the doubt as you had just come off of a very busy opening week. Of course you had some kinks to work out. What new restaurant doesn't?

* Second experience: A few months after your opening, the Junior League of Huntington scheduled its Annual Dinner at your restaurant. The Neurotic Atty opted for the sirloin steak with garlic mashed potatoes and the molten lava cake for dessert. The steak was woefully overcooked and tough. The garlic mashed potatoes tasted suspiciously of "potato flakes" and cardboard. And the motlen lava cake's center was as hard as a rock. It is not always easy to prepare food for a group ahead of time, though, so, again, the OANA graciously agreed to return at a later date.

* Third experience: He Who Loves Good Food as Much as Anybody took the Neurotic Atty to your restaurant for one of their early dates. The Neurotic Atty decided to give the pasta bolognese another try. The pasta was cooked perfectly this time; however, the dish had clearly been plated while HWLGFMA's steak was cooking because by the time it reached the table, it was cold. It was so disappointing. In keeping with the "three strikes" rule, the Neurotic Atty vowed never to go back to Frankie D's.

* Fourth experience: Certain members of the Junior League were gathering to go over a few items of business, and the other members of the group voted that everyone meet at Frankie D's. The Neurotic Atty was skeptical, but out-voted. This time, the OANA chose to try the shrimp diablo. What a huge mistake that was! The huge pile of pasta was slathered in a gallon of some sort of pink alfredo sauce that was, all at once, sweet and cajun-spiced. It was completely off-putting. Placed on top were five of the smallest shrimp the Neurotic Atty has ever been served at a "fine dining" establishment. Thank God for the bread because the pasta dish itself was inedible.

* Fifth experience and sixth experiences: HWLGFMA employed his Jedi mind tricks to convince the Neurotic Atty to join him at Frankie D's for two late-night, post-happy hour dinners. Knowing by now that the entrees were consistently disappointing, the OANA cleverly made its choices from the appetizer menu: Side salad and bacon-wrapped scallops on both occasions. These seemed to be relatively safe choices, as both meals were passable. (Or maybe the Neurotic Atty had just had a very happy hour...)

* Seventh experience: HWLGFMA and the Neurotic Atty returned to Frankie D's to have a cool, crisp salad out on the patio one very warm evening. The OANA nervously ordered a salmon caesar. There was great potential for this to end badly, but, in fact, the salad was quite good. The salmon was cooked perfectly, and the salad was crisp and green. Still, the OANA was skeptical. One good meal out of seven isn't that great after all.

* Eighth (and final) experience: On a warm fall night, when the Neurotic Atty was overcome by her love for the HWLGFMA, the OANA distractedly agreed to yet another dinner at Frankie D's. Voraciously hungry, the OANA bypassed the relative safety of the appetizer and salad selections and went straight to the steak choices on the menu. The OANA settled on a the bacon-wrapped sirloin (medium) with the caesar salad and au gratin potatoes. The salad was not great. It was drowning in dressing and grated (probably straight out of a green can) parmesan cheese. Then the main dish arrived. Cutting into the steak, the Neurotic Atty found it to be be well done and, therefore, leathery. Moving on to the potatoes to which she had so looked forward, the Neurotic Atty scooped out a bite...which left behind it a small crater filled with about two tablespoons of butter. To be sure, the OANA enjoys butter; however, this was an unappetizing amount of butter. The Neurotic Atty looked at HWLGFMA and said, "Sweetie, this is the last time we're coming here. Frankie D's is officially off the list of dinner choices." HWLGFMA agreed.

So as you can see, Mr. D., is was with great patience and an incredible show of generosity that the OANA continuously extended its hand to you, but you slapped it away at every turn. I'm sure you can understand that you have left the OANA with no choice but to eliminate you from the list of potential dining experiences. It really is too bad. There aren't that many choices for "fine dining" in this town to begin with.

I don't look forward to your eventual closing. After all, this town does not need yet another empty store front. However, I feel confident that you will have no choice but to close your doors inside of a year. It will have been of your own making when it happens.

Sincerely,
The Official Appetite of the Neurotic Atty

Ten on Tuesday

1. I just mowed my lawn for the last time this season...I hope.

2. He Who Is Hooked Up and I had a lovely weekend in Morgantown this past weekend. And we only paid for one meal the whole weekend! (Like I said, he is hooked up.)

3. Of course, we were in Morgantown for the WVU-MU football game, and it was c-c-c-c-cold. And rainy. And miserable. I have never enjoyed a football game less. That's how crappy the weather was.

4. Even though it was warmer today, I made a killer pot of chili for dinner tonight. I'm not saying that it was better than my dad's...but it was.

5. HWIHU recently had his X-Box 360 repaired. As long as we have dated, it has been broken. I have a feeling our relationship is about to change dramatically.

6. HWIHU and I are dressing up for Halloween this year. I think we've settled on a theme. Now we just have to get the costumes.

7. Speaking of Halloween, remind me to tell you about the time I dressed as Dorothy...

8. My iPod on my iPhone has totally screwed up the "Brighter Than Sunshine" track. Disappointing since that is one of my favorite songs (and it makes me think of HWIHU).

9. My new favorite wines are Penfold's Shiraz-Cabernet and La Crema Pinot Noir. They're both dangerously delicious.

10. The Indian priest is apparently leaving our parish to take over another parish. I'll miss his slow, thick accent.

And Then I Was Arrested For Squeezing His Butt...

Frankly, Coach Huggins didn't seem very excited to be meeting me. As I told my friend, Kim, I don't think he realized what a big deal I am.

"Lovin', Touchin', Squeezin'"

The Boy hates Journey. I don't know if it's Steve Perry's hair or the stereotypical '70s album covers or the fact that Journey wasn't ever transformed into a cartoon version like Kiss was, but The Boy finds them more than mildly offensive. That means I can't play this Journey classic on the jukebox anymore, even though it's one of my bar playlist favorites. (Hey, it's usually his money...) I do sneak in a little Dwight Yoakam on him once in a while, though.

Ah, Columbus Day...

...or as we Staties like to call it, ANOTHER GLORIOUS DAY OFF! But before I get into that, I have to pay homage to my friend, Jodi, who cringes and then steams and then rants at the very mention of Columbus Day, or as she would call it, "The dumbest, most ridiculous excuse for a holiday! I mean, Columbus didn't 'discover' anything! He was LOST! And then all he did was bring sickness and pestilence to thousands of indigenous people, who were living a perfectly fine existence before Columbus rolled up on their shores and changed their lives forever! Columbus Day! That really pisses me off!" I love Jodi.

Anyway, while I have the day off, I don't have the day "off." I would love more than anything to just sit around watching 10 hours-worth of TLC and "America's Top Model" re-runs with the occasional nap (or three) thrown in for good measure, but I have lots of work to do here at the house. For the past several weeks, I have put off chore after chore, telling myself, "Well, I'll have all day Columbus Day to take care of all of that. Today I'm going to count the cracks in the plaster walls and try to imagine what I'd look like with extensions in my hair." You know, because that stuff is more important than being able to actually walk into your walk-in closet. But I cannot put it off any longer.

The refrigerator must be cleaned because I was absolutely mortified when I had a guest over for dinner the other night, and she opened the fridge to put a bottle of wine in it. The closets must be cleaned because I have lost a brand new pair of black pumps in the mess that is my bedroom closet and my other closet ate my duffle bag, which I will need to pack for my upcoming weekend out of town. And since I finally gave in and turned on the furnace last night when The Boy, who is always hot, shivered and remarked about how cold it was upstairs, I guess it's time to switch out the tank tops and tee-shirts for sweaters and...well...more sweaters. That's not even to mention the more mundane chores I need to do but probably won't get to today, like mowing the lawn (hopefully for the last time) and trimming the shrubs (because Christmas lights on overgrown shrubs just aren't as pretty), which will have to wait for a free evening later this week.

So, Jodi, this one is for you: Columbus can suck it because this year, his day isn't much of a holiday.

Oh, What a Beautiful Morning!

The weather eventually turned sour today, but when the girls and I were walking into the office this morning, this was the sight that greeted us...


I don't know which is more beautiful: The sun glinting off of the gilded dome or the sky behind it. I only wish that I had had my "real" camera with me. This photo was taken with my cell phone camera.

OK, time to get corny. This picture is what I feel like when I'm with Bill -- I feel warm and golden and peaceful and perfectly lovely. My life with him feels as perfect as this morning.

More Stephanie Nielson, This Time on Oprah

You know how I feel about Oprah Winfrey , but you also know how I feel about Stephanie Nielson, author of the NieNie Dialogues. If you haven't taken the time to learn about her story yet (which includes a stroll through her blog archives to read an account of her "old" life), maybe this will help inspire you to learn more. (Sorry, but that evil bitch Oprah doesn't offer an "embed" feature.)

Cows on the Interstate...Forgotten Car Keys...Steak for Dinner...

...I think we've come full circle, folks! So yesterday started off with cows trotting down the interstate, and I just knew it wasn't going to be a good day. But then the day itself wasn't so bad. It wasn't particularly productive, but that is the fault of Steve Jobs and his crack-coated iPhone, which I just got on Sunday, and not of the cows (and certainly not me). Anyway, my carpoolers and I left at 4pm as we always do, had an uneventful commute back to Hurricane (some 30 miles from Charleston), and pulled off onto the exit ramp sometime around 4:40pm. That's when things went sour.

I started digging around in my purse for my keys, but I couldn't find them anywhere. Then I remembered...I had put my keys in my coat pocket that morning...and I had left my coat at work. And since I had just switched out purses that morning, I did not have my spare car key with me. I panicked. I picked up my phone and called a co-worker who lives in Hurricane and who usually works until 4:30pm or 5pm. She had already left the office. Then I called Bill. I knew he had a meeting that evening, but maybe after that he could come pick me up and take me back to Charleston. Believe it or not, luck was actually on my side...his meeting was in Charleston! He was able to run down to the Capitol and retrieve my keys before the meeting.

One of my carpoolers let me hitch a ride to Wal-Mart with her, and I killed time (and spent $50) there until Bill was able to pick me up. (Thank you, Steve Jobs, for the gift of the iPhone!) By the time we left Hurricane, it was after 7pm, so Bill said, "Let's just stop at Outbeak on the way home." Eating a steak seemed the perfect way to put the morning's cow curse safely to rest, so I gladly agreed. We finally got home around 8:30pm. Talk about a long day...

(P.S. Bill is my hero.)

Caution: Crazy Week Ahead

If this morning's commute to work was any indication, I think I'm in for a wild week.

A few months ago, I was driving to work, and I came upon a dead cow on the shoulder of the interstate. That's right -- bovine roadkill. It wasn't a particularly rural stretch of highway, so it was a strange sight. I mean, I've seen dead deer and dead 'possum and dead raccoons and dead groundhogs, but never dead cows. I thought I would never see anything like it again as long as I lived. Well, as long as I lived in a non-ranchy, non-farmy sort of area of the country anyway.

Then this morning, as I was driving through a thick fog, I saw the lights of a police car flashing ahead in the west-bound lanes of the interstate near that same spot. You know, the dead cow spot. Another set of headlights beamed through the fog alongside the police car. I assumed that someone must have had an accident in the dense fog. I was wrong, though.

As I got closer to the flashing lights, the figures of two young black cows trotted out through the fog ahead of the police car and down the interstate. A truck (the other set of headlights) kept pace with the cows, preventing them from crossing the median. And behind all that were two long streams of headlights following this crazy little parade.

I don't know, but I don't think that's a good sign for the week ahead...

She Is the Root of All Evil

(Image by AP) So, apparently, it's considered a "stunning upset" that Chicago was not chosen to host the 2016 summer Olympic games. Really? A stunning upset? First of all, the choosing of the host city is not itself a sporting event, so how can this be an upset? Second of all, how is this stunning? Did we really think an American city would be picked for a third time in 32 years to host the summer Olympics? That's three times in just 8 Olympic games! I mean, come on, let's not get greedy here.

But if I had to guess what really put the nail in Chicago's proverbial coffin, I would guess that nail comes with a crazy weave and a tendency to yo-yo in weight. That's right, I think the nail was Oprah Winfrey. Think about it. What could have been so off-putting to the IOC that they eliminated Chicago in the very first vote? It sure wasn't the Obamas. Europe loves them some Barrack Obama. The questionable mob ties of Chicago? Europe has Sicily. I'll leave it at that. I suppose it could have been the fabled winds blowing off of the lake, but is that really a problem in the summer? No, I think it is far more likely that Oprah showed up in Denmark with her entourage and started throwing her weight around and doing her diva-bossy thing, and the IOC said, "Oh, hell no! We do not want to have to deal with her!" And you know good and darn well that the IOC is right.

Oprah would have tried to run the whole show. She would have insisted on emceeing all the events, obnoxiously chorteling things like, "Now entering the Olympic Stadium is the delegation from the Sooooooooooooviet Uuuuuuuuuuuuunioooooon!" She would have wanted all the athletes to adhere to Dr. Oz's newest eating plan. She would have required that her dogs be the mascots for the games. She would have demanded that all of the winners be made to appear on her show for "exclusive" interviews and then cut them off every third word. She would have replaced all of the medals with certain of "Oprah's favorite things," like a $960 cashmere wrap or a $300 Bakelite bangle bracelet. And then, in the end, she would have expected to be named the next president of the IOC. I'm right. You know I'm right.

And so, Chicago, I say collect your tears from this "stunning upset" and take them to the door of Harpo Studios because that crazy bitch is the root of all evil and the reason you lost your bid for the 2016 Olympics.

This Is Precisely Why Huntington Will Never Rebound

Tonight is the Marshall Homecoming parade, which, if I understand it correctly, runs right down 4th Avenue. Tonight also happens to be the WVU-Colorado game, and I am planning to watch it from Hank's (on 4th Avenue) with some friends. I figured that while I was downtown for the game, I would run in to Glenn's Sporting Goods (also on 4th Avenue) and pick up a new shirt for the Marshall game on Saturday. (WVU friends, please spare me your disgust. I am in love.) I figured that with the Marshall Homecoming parade passing right in front of their store and that with all that Marshall gear hanging in the window, Glenn's would probably be open for extended hours tonight. I was wrong.

When I called to ask how late they'd be open tonight, the guy said they'd only be open until 6pm, as if I was stupid to even ask. So let me get this straight: On the night of the big Homecoming parade, when all these Marshall fans (with KIDS, who always want to buy something) are sitting out in front of or walking by your store, you aren't staying open late? You're closing at your regular time? Which is an hour before the parade even starts?

Well, guess what, Glenn's (and the rest of Huntington for that matter)... I will be stopping at the MALL in BARBOURSVILLE tonight to buy that $24 Nike long-sleeve t-shirt because it's far more convenient for me than trying to rush downtown by 6pm. So when you have to close your doors in a few more years because you just aren't doing business anymore, think about that. Think about all the other parades that you've let pass you by. (And I'm speaking both literally and metaphorically here.)

We all want Huntington to rebound and be more successful, but nobody seems to want to take the steps to make it so. We have several local groups in town trying to map out strategic plans to save our city and our downtown businesses, but the businesses don't want to help themselves. No city ever turned itself around when the people and businesses in that city weren't willing to make the extra effort.

I can feel all of my Huntington friends cringing already, but look at Morgantown. Morgantown is one of the fastest growing (if not the fastest growing) cities in the state. You know what you don't see on High Street on the night of the WVU homecoming parade? Closed store fronts. And do you know what else? Most of those same stores say open until 5pm on Saturdays. So spare me your plans for big community vegetable gardens and your weekly cocktail parties...er, I mean "think tanks"...and let's start with basics: Stores open at convenient and sometimes "special" hours will attract people with money to spend in your downtown; whereas, closed stores will only attract graffiti artists and drug dealers who wait in your locked doorways for their next customer. Open businesses encourage spending and generate tax revenue. Closed stores don't generate any income or tax revenue. Locally-owned businesses that throw open their doors to local people generate more loyalty than national chain stores in malls staffed by slack-jawed flunkies. None of this is especially ingenious; it's just common sense. We have to help ourselves here, and right now, we're not doing that.

And That's Erica

My niece, Erica, had a birthday yesterday, and she just called me to thank me for her gift (cash monies -- what every college kid loves!) She said she was walking across campus (WVU) to the library and commented, "It sucks to have to study on a day like this," referring to the fact that WVU plays Colorado at home on ESPN tonight. "They should just cancel classes on days like this," she said. "Yeah, I'm sure it's hard to concentrate knowing there's a big game tonight," I replied. And then, knowing that Erica doesn't go to football games because "it's too cold and too crowded and there are too many drunk students breathing on me," I asked, "So, um, Erica, are you even going to the game tonight?" "Well, no," she answered, "but I still don't want to go to class today."

Stringing Thoughts

Saturday, as we all sat in church for the Buckwheat Mass, I had a flashback to Buckwheat Festival 2007. We were all (my parents, Boo, Lily, and me) standing on Tunnelton Street after the parade, where we had run into Mikey and his wife and kids on our way down to the arts and crafts. Mikey was in the middle of a chemo treatment, and he had his pack belted around his waist. He was sick and tired, and my mom and dad begged him to just go home and lay down for a while. He wanted to take the boys down to the fairgrounds, which were just around the corner, but he agreed that he needed to rest for a while. I looked at him and smiled like some clueless imbecile. I didn't see that he was all that sick and tired. He looked perfectly wonderful to me. Because that's what I wanted to see.

Before we parted, the conversation turned to Scott Argabrite. Scott had been a year ahead of me in school, and his younger brother, John, had been in Boo's class. Just seven months earlier, Scott had also been diagnosed with colon cancer. Just a week or two before the festival, Scott had died. He was only 33. Mikey was clearly shaken by Scott's death, but he wasn't shaken because he was afraid for his own life. He was shaken because he honestly cared. He cared that Scott had died so young. He cared that Scott's wife was left a widow with a one-year-old daughter. He cared that Scott had gone downhill so quickly. He cared that Scott had suffered. Mikey was genuinely devastated for Scott and for his family.

And then the conversation changed again. It turned to a report on the health of Richard, my cousin's husband, who was battling lymphoma. He had either just returned or was about to return from M.D. Anderson in Houston, TX, where he'd been undergoing treatment. It seemed that he was doing well and that the treatments had worked. He was returning home with new hope. At least we had that good news.

But as I sat there in church recalling all of that, I couldn't escape the fact that Mikey and Richard had since joined Scott, Mike just three months later and Richard just four months later. And then I thought, Mike knew. He knew that was going to be his last Buckwheat Festival, and that's why he insisted on going, even though he was in the middle of a chemo treatment. He knew, and I pretended.

Last night, I sat in church, and I started to think about Saturday night's recollections. And then I started to think, This time four years ago, I had no idea. I didn't even know that Mikey did have an idea. But in just a few weeks, I would receive a call from my dad. The night was rainy and pitch black. I had just left a Junior League meeting and was on my way home. I saw that my parents had tried to call me a few times, but they hadn't left a message. So I called the house, and my dad answered. "What's up?" I asked. "Well, your brother has cancer," my dad said. (My dad isn't very good at delivering that type of news.) I was flabbergasted. I hadn't even known that anyone thought he might have cancer. Questions poured out of my mouth: What do you mean he has cancer? What kind? What stage? Did you know he was sick? When did you find out? Why didn't anyone tell me? What's going to happen next? Should he look into Johns Hopkins or Duke or someplace? Frustrated and heartbroken, my dad let out an exasperated sigh and barked, "I don't know, Lara. I don't really know anything at this point." To me, that was not an answer. "Why don't you know? Didn't anyone bother to ask any questions?" I charged. As soon as I said it, I knew I'd made a mistake. My dad quickly dismissed me with, "Of course we asked questions, but there are no answers right now. No one has the answers right now. Don't call your brother right now. He asked your mom and me to tell everyone so he wouldn't have to." That was pretty much the end of the conversation. I climbed out of my car and went into my apartment and tried to put it all together. Cancer? I thought.

Do you know what's funny? At no point in that night did I ever think he would or could die. I was upset because I knew Mike would have to undergo chemotherapy, and that broke my heart. The thought of him being sick for months on end is what upset me. And the denial of any other alternative but recovery set in that very night. When Mikey finally told me just 25 months later that he wasn't going to make it, that he didn't have much time left at all, I was as gobsmacked as when my dad first told me the news that night.

Now, nearly two years after that and four years after this whole ordeal started, I almost feel disconnected from it, like it was all some bad dream that wasn't real. It was real, though. It was real, and now life is carrying us farther and farther away from it and from him. All I have left are memories of that bad dream.

William Mark Needs Your Help!

In my junk mail box yesterday, I found this e-mail. I guess these overseas con artists think people become more gullible when they invoke the name of God and tell stories of the tragic deaths of their loved ones and their own cancer. Sorry, William, but I can't help you. I'm still waiting for the payout on that Egyptian national lottery I won last year.

Dear friend,

greetings to you in the name of our heavenly God.This mail might come to you as a surprise and the temptation to ignore it as unserious could come into your mind; but please, consider it a divine wish and accept it with a deep sense of humility. My name is William Mark I,m a 55 years old man. I am British living in Dubai (United Arab Emirate). I was a merchant and owned two businesses in Dubai.

I was also married with two children. My wife and two children died in a car accident six years ago. Before this happened my business and concern for making money was all I lived for. I never really cared about other values in life. But since the loss of my family, I have found a new desire to assist helpless families. I have been helping orphans in orphanage/ motherless homes. I have donated some money to orphans in Sudan, South Africa, Cameroon, Brazil, Spain, Austria, Germany and some Asian countries. Before I became ill, I kept $4.5 Million in a long-term deposit account in a finance/security company .

Presently, I,m in a hospital where I have been undergoing treatment for oesophageal cancer. I have since lost my ability to talk and my doctors have told me that I have only a few months to live. It is my last wish to see this money distributed to charity organizations. Because relatives and friends have plundered so much of my wealth since my illness, I cannot live with the agony of entrusting this huge responsibility to any of them.

Please, I beg you in the name of God to help me collect the deposit and the interest accrued from the company and distributes it amongst charity organizations. your share of will be 30% of the total money for your help and for any cost you incur during the process of collecting and distributing the money to charity organizations.

I,m willing to offer you a reward If you are willing to help please reply as soon as you can. May the good Lord bless you and your family.

Regards,
William mark
williammark2009@gmail.com

Ten on Tuesday...After a Very Long Hiatus

It's been a long time since I did one of these. I'm not even sure I remember how it goes...

1. To go to the WVU-Colorado game or not to go to the WVU-Colorado game... Normally, I would sooner scoop out my own eyes with a plastic spoon than miss a WVU football game, and I haven't missed a week night game since I've been a season ticket holder (this game is on Thursday night), but it just seems like such a chore to make the trip up this year. I just spent a long weekend up there, and the prospect of turning around and driving right back up only to have to drive back down the next morning seems more than daunting. I'm exhausted even thinking about it!

2. The boy and I tried to go to Sam's Club last night. I figured it'd be open until 10pm or so. I mean, who loves money more than the Sam's/Wal-Mart empire, right? Wrong. We got there at 8:45pm to find the place pitch black and locked up tighter than a drum. Turns out they close at 8:30pm. Who closes at 8:30pm?!

3. OK, I've decided. I'm not going to the game Thursday night. It's just too much.

4. I'm upgrading to an iPhone in a few days. I hope I don't live to regret it...

5. If you live in the metro Charleston-Huntington area, then I'm sure you've heard about the Great Squirrel Holocaust of 2009. I have tried so hard to let it go without comment because WHO CARES?! So the stupid little rats are running out onto the highway and becoming road pizza en masse? That just exemplifies why humans rule the world and squirrels don't. But even I have to admit that it's pretty unsettling when you get to a stretch of highway that's divided by one of those big cement walls, and the squirrel carcasses are practically stacked up on the shoulder. It's like Gettysburg, only not history-altering.

6. The boy bought me the cutest little scarecrow-lantern made out of a gourd at the Buckwheat Festival the other day. I'll have to post a picture of it. Someone out there will be crafty enough to reproduce it, I'm sure.

7. The boy survived the Buckwheat Festival, by the way. He was a really good sport. He let me drag him through the arts and crafts several times and patiently slogged through the rain to eat buckwheat cakes, which he decided tasted like beer. Good thing he likes beer...

8. It is definitely fall now. Just last Thursday, the weather was hot and muggy. It felt more like mid-July than mid-September. But just like that, the temperature has dropped, and I'm wearing close-toed shoes and a coat again. I'm ready for fall, though.

9. Speaking of shoes, I need to replace all of my dress shoes. That's a huge (and expensive) task! I wear the hell out of them, though. Most of my dress shoes are at least 3 or 4 years old. Some are even older. I think it's time to let go and move on to shoes that aren't worn down to the nail in the heel.

10. Crap! Maybe I will go to the game... I just can't decide!

Who Doesn't Like Owls Wearing Mortar Boards?

I guess the guy who cleans our offices finds anthropomorphic owls offensive.


UPDATE: Someone (who is a real butthead) just said, "It looks like your owl is peeing on WVU." I'm turning the owl back around right now.