Its been almost a week. I miss it already.
Jackson went back to work full time this week. First time in nearly five years. I'm not sure I'm happy about it.
Jackson was diagnosed with colon cancer in 2001. It had spread to his lymphnodes and they originally didn't give him much chance. But he had some really outstanding doctors and some pretty aggressive treatment and after five years of recovery and dealing with other health problems he is back at work.
Yippie.
When he first began to realize that he couldn't handle the daily grind and recovery at the same time, he trotted over to the local Social Security office to see what his options were. They said something along the lines of "Oh, you poor thing!" and he received his first disability check less than 30 days later. If you've ever worked with people who are trying to get on disability, you know how insanely rare that is!
Then, last year, when he went back to Social Security and said he wanted to go back to work, you'd have thought he was the second coming of Christ. They really kiss your feet over there when you get back into the workforce.
Unfortunately, a four year gap in your employment history is pretty noticeable on a resume. And when you explain that no, you weren't in prison - you were sick - no one wants to touch you. You'd have a better chance of getting hired with a prison record. Unclean! Unclean!
So, a year and a few more college courses added onto the master's degree later, he is back at work.
And I'm bummed.
Don't get me wrong, I am way all happy that he's healthy again. But I am so going to miss our 1950's domestic arrangement. No wonder the feminist movement caused such a stir! This lifestyle with one person earning the dough and the other one kneading it is to die for!
I haven't been inside a grocery store in years. Years, people! That alone makes this all worthwhile. I go to work and when I get home, there's Jackson slaving over a hot stove and putting dinner on the table. I sit down, read the paper while he's finishing up, then we eat a hot homemade meal. After dinner, being the generous and giving person that I am, I help clear the table. And Jackson does the dishes.
He takes out the trash. He makes sure the cats are fed. He does the laundry. He mows the yard and keeps the cars serviced. He deals with repairmen and the Jehovah's Witnesses.
Last year, after Katie moved in with us, he was everyone's favorite homeroom mother. He volunteered for everything and was up at the school for at least an hour a day. He took Katie to school. Made sure she had lunch. Picked her up in the afternoon.
This year, I have to accompany them to "Meet Yer Teacher" night. (I suppose the teachers prefer "your".) Katie will have to go to an afterschool program at the YMCA. I'll be the one at the awards ceremonies and taking cookies to the Valentine's party.
Poor Katie. heh.
I'm really proud of Jackson and I'm very glad he is going back to work. That whole second income thing won't be bad either. He's going to be great at his job.
But I am totally going to miss my Ward Cleaver days.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
You Are Here
This is where
I work.
For reals.
The top two floors still look the same. The bottom floor, which houses our office and the tax assessors office, has been "modernized". This means that they bricked up all the windows and squared the curved corner sometime along about 1974. Bleh.
My friend Janet, champion lurker, found this postcard on Ebay. The upper two floors are storage for county office documents. I've posted pictures of it before. It is knee-deep in mouse parts, pigeon crap and killer dust bunnies. It's really wonderful up there.
There are spooky staircases.
And nifty radiators.
Interesting bathtubs.
And many, many
pigeon carcasses.
If you are in my part of the country, holler and we'll give you the tour. Provided you aren't too worried about the chicken flu. *cough, cough, choke*
Friday, August 04, 2006
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
So don't even THINK about asking for a Travel Permit!
QUOTE: "THE STATE OF SOUTH DAKOTA ONCE AGAIN IS RESPECTFULLY REQUESTING THAT PAROLEES AND PROBATIONERS NOT BE ALLOWED TO VISIT
SOUTH DAKOTA OR ATTEND THE STURGIS MOTORCYCLE RALLY DURING THE WEEK OF AUGUST 7TH - 13TH, 2006. YOUR COOPERATION AND ASSISTANCE IN THIS REQUEST WOULD GREATLY ASSIST OUR LOCAL LAW ENFORCEMENT'S ABILITY TO ENFORCE THE LAW DURING THIS TIME PERIOD WHERE THERE HAVE BEEN UP TO 500 THOUSAND PEOPLE IN ATTENDANCE."
SOUTH DAKOTA OR ATTEND THE STURGIS MOTORCYCLE RALLY DURING THE WEEK OF AUGUST 7TH - 13TH, 2006. YOUR COOPERATION AND ASSISTANCE IN THIS REQUEST WOULD GREATLY ASSIST OUR LOCAL LAW ENFORCEMENT'S ABILITY TO ENFORCE THE LAW DURING THIS TIME PERIOD WHERE THERE HAVE BEEN UP TO 500 THOUSAND PEOPLE IN ATTENDANCE."
Monday, July 31, 2006
Woo-hoo! Power to the People!
Your Power Level is: 73% Your Power Level is: 73% |
 |
How Powerful Are You?
Edited to fix the LINK.
Random bullets for Monday:
- Successfully avoided temptation to smack a curly-headed Napoleon up-side the head today. So far.
- BBQ Chicken for lunch. Left over from actual homecooked meal last night. UMmm!
- My office plants seem to have the Black Death. Sadness.
- I'm really tired.
- Partially because I went to bed at 9:30 last night (exhausted) and woke up at 1:30 this morning (infuriating). The adrenaline high should last me until about 6:00 p.m.
- This week I have learned that people who have a large portion of the right lobe of their brain removed are still fully capable of making damn funny jokes. They are no so capable of comprehending that their daughter-in-law is joking. Heh.
- Also, when you have mostly your left half of your brain intact, you get real peeved by random word lists presented by therapists. Randomness is not tolerated. Logical progression is. It's sort of fascinating.
- I just noticed my Wonder Woman clock has never made it into Daylight Savings Time. Oh, well. Rock on in your own little time warp, WW clock!
- I have Maxwell Smart and Agent 99 action figures hanging on my office wall. They make me happy!
- My Edward Gorey Neglected Murderesses Notecards came in the mail. That also makes me happy!
- I know that there is a difference between magic and miracles. I don't think God is a big ol' David Copperfield up in the sky, picking and choosing who to benefit with bits of devine prestidigitation. 'Expect A Miracle' if you must. But recognize the miracles when you see them and don't hold your breath waiting for magic.
- Remember that tin of Shinola you found at that garage sale that time, Janet? Hee hee. I wish I had that.
- What is your greatest garage sale purchase? Can you beat my parents? They bought their cemetery plots at a garage sale.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Friday Cemetery Blogging
So, we went to a cemetery in Deaf Smith County. Isn't that a great name? Didn't even make it up. We were snarfing about for interesting gravestones and I saw this guy. He gave us some direction.
So we did. And we, quite literally, stumbled upon a most interesting find! Not many people know this, but Count Dracula was never really bested by Van Helsing or even those meddling kids from Mystery, Inc. History records that he hung around Transylvania for a few eons before a long series of bad investments and castle taxes caused him to have to moonlight as a hit man for the Mafia.
The mob eventually tired of the expense associated with running an operation like Dracula's castle. The property taxes were outrageous and the cost for the black mold clean-up was absolutely insane, so they began out-sourcing hits to the Asian syndicates. This miffed the Count and he turned mob informant, testifying before several closed-door sessions of Congress, some 15 years before Joe Valachi.
Unfortunately for the Count and his lovely 93rd wife, Helen, the federal Witness Protection Program was not yet fully funded. In addition, the U.S. government had a bit more of a grasp of moral irony back then and the powers that be felt a little iffy about loosing a centuries old vampire into Truman era America to be supported by tax dollars. After several weeks of debate, it was decided that there was really only one place that could become the American version of Soviet Siberia. The Count was banished to West Texas.
The feds set him up with a new identity, although Helen refused to change her first name, and they lived in quiet anonymity for several years. The count subsisted on coyotes and jackrabbits for the most part. Then in 1952 he got ahold of a rattlesnake, for the first and last time.
Helen stayed in Deaf Smith County following the Count's final demise and became active in the local WMU chapter at the Second Baptist Church. She was famous for her green jello salad, the kind with the little marshmallows, a staple at local funerals for 30 years.
"Psst, look over there, dudes."
So we did. And we, quite literally, stumbled upon a most interesting find! Not many people know this, but Count Dracula was never really bested by Van Helsing or even those meddling kids from Mystery, Inc. History records that he hung around Transylvania for a few eons before a long series of bad investments and castle taxes caused him to have to moonlight as a hit man for the Mafia.
The mob eventually tired of the expense associated with running an operation like Dracula's castle. The property taxes were outrageous and the cost for the black mold clean-up was absolutely insane, so they began out-sourcing hits to the Asian syndicates. This miffed the Count and he turned mob informant, testifying before several closed-door sessions of Congress, some 15 years before Joe Valachi.
Unfortunately for the Count and his lovely 93rd wife, Helen, the federal Witness Protection Program was not yet fully funded. In addition, the U.S. government had a bit more of a grasp of moral irony back then and the powers that be felt a little iffy about loosing a centuries old vampire into Truman era America to be supported by tax dollars. After several weeks of debate, it was decided that there was really only one place that could become the American version of Soviet Siberia. The Count was banished to West Texas.
The feds set him up with a new identity, although Helen refused to change her first name, and they lived in quiet anonymity for several years. The count subsisted on coyotes and jackrabbits for the most part. Then in 1952 he got ahold of a rattlesnake, for the first and last time.
Helen stayed in Deaf Smith County following the Count's final demise and became active in the local WMU chapter at the Second Baptist Church. She was famous for her green jello salad, the kind with the little marshmallows, a staple at local funerals for 30 years.
Monday, July 24, 2006
867-5309
It started like this: I peered at the caller ID display. "Christ Life A G," I said towards the hallway. "What the hell is that?" *
"I have no idea," Mindy answered from the office next door.
"Well, I ain't answering it. Maybe they'll tell voice mail what they want."
They did tell voice mail. Three times in the 10 minutes before I sucked it up and returned the calls.
Never once has the Catholic priest called me. Nor the Presbyterian minister. Likewise the Lutheran pastor has never felt the need to contact me. My own minister hasn't even called.
And that's a good thing.
I do hereby apologize to evangelical ministers everywhere. We, your congregants, have done you the horrible disservice of measuring your success exclusively by the number of our fellow pew-warmers that you attract to each and every church service. This need for numbers has driven us all to do some pretty dumb things.
One of those dumb things is calling me to explain that even though John Q. Sinner has been screwing up his probation, all is well because you (and Jesus) are intervening in his life. No matter how sincere John Q. Sinner is, never - ever - call the probation officer. And if you must call, please don't tell me how J.Q. Sinner, after you spent five hours with him on Friday afternoon, eventually prayed "the sinner's prayer".
(I also apologize for responding to this grand revelation with a terse "And?")
(Nah, I take that back. I don't apologize. If you spent five hours with me I'd be willing to say whatever it took to get your money and get you out of my hair.)
C'mon y'all! We evangelicals appear to be the only ones falling for this bullshitola. Its getting to be embarrassing. Even if J.Q. Sinner is for real and becomes involved in church, he is likely only going to stick with it for a few months. We have to face the fact that our churches are middle-class institutions. J.Q. probably isn't compatible with a middle-class institution. He doesn't really want to fit that mold. I know it surprises you, because it damn sure floored me, but he'd have to give up a lot of good things to live a middle-class life. Its culture/class-centric of us to think he wants to be us.
I hope J.Q. is sincere. I know that you are. So, kick him in the butt and then work right along side him as he takes care of business. Show him that God isn't going to make life easy. Teach him that God will give him strength and purpose. But stop trying to park him in a pew.
And don't stand between John Q. and I. I've got my butt-kickin' boots on.
*It was Christian Life Assembly of God.
"I have no idea," Mindy answered from the office next door.
"Well, I ain't answering it. Maybe they'll tell voice mail what they want."
They did tell voice mail. Three times in the 10 minutes before I sucked it up and returned the calls.
Never once has the Catholic priest called me. Nor the Presbyterian minister. Likewise the Lutheran pastor has never felt the need to contact me. My own minister hasn't even called.
And that's a good thing.
I do hereby apologize to evangelical ministers everywhere. We, your congregants, have done you the horrible disservice of measuring your success exclusively by the number of our fellow pew-warmers that you attract to each and every church service. This need for numbers has driven us all to do some pretty dumb things.
One of those dumb things is calling me to explain that even though John Q. Sinner has been screwing up his probation, all is well because you (and Jesus) are intervening in his life. No matter how sincere John Q. Sinner is, never - ever - call the probation officer. And if you must call, please don't tell me how J.Q. Sinner, after you spent five hours with him on Friday afternoon, eventually prayed "the sinner's prayer".
(I also apologize for responding to this grand revelation with a terse "And?")
(Nah, I take that back. I don't apologize. If you spent five hours with me I'd be willing to say whatever it took to get your money and get you out of my hair.)
C'mon y'all! We evangelicals appear to be the only ones falling for this bullshitola. Its getting to be embarrassing. Even if J.Q. Sinner is for real and becomes involved in church, he is likely only going to stick with it for a few months. We have to face the fact that our churches are middle-class institutions. J.Q. probably isn't compatible with a middle-class institution. He doesn't really want to fit that mold. I know it surprises you, because it damn sure floored me, but he'd have to give up a lot of good things to live a middle-class life. Its culture/class-centric of us to think he wants to be us.
I hope J.Q. is sincere. I know that you are. So, kick him in the butt and then work right along side him as he takes care of business. Show him that God isn't going to make life easy. Teach him that God will give him strength and purpose. But stop trying to park him in a pew.
And don't stand between John Q. and I. I've got my butt-kickin' boots on.
*It was Christian Life Assembly of God.
Saturday, July 22, 2006
Back In Town
We are back. A good time was had by all.
We went to Dallas, which was a bit of a change in plan. But Love Field was only 45 minutes from a hospital room, if need be. Pray for Jackson's family.
Unfortunately, we didn't have time for any meetups. Bummer. Hell, my own parents were in Dallas at the same time as us and we didn't even see them!
As sort of a substitue meet-up, I've decided to post a picture of myself on the blog - something I've never done before. I'm not all that concerned about anonymity or privacy. And I'm pretty normal looking, not some sort of oozing, plauge-ridden cave-woman. I just never had a picture I wanted to post. You know how it is when you are the family photo-geek. There are no pictures of you in existence.
Anyway, while at Six Flags, Jackson snapped my photo with Wonder Woman and Flash! Here it is:
What? You didn't actually think that I'd post an undoctored photo of myself taken on a day when it was 107 degrees outside, with an ungodly amount of humidity? A photo taken after 4 hours of roller coasters and water rides? Silly readers.
We went to Dallas, which was a bit of a change in plan. But Love Field was only 45 minutes from a hospital room, if need be. Pray for Jackson's family.
Unfortunately, we didn't have time for any meetups. Bummer. Hell, my own parents were in Dallas at the same time as us and we didn't even see them!
As sort of a substitue meet-up, I've decided to post a picture of myself on the blog - something I've never done before. I'm not all that concerned about anonymity or privacy. And I'm pretty normal looking, not some sort of oozing, plauge-ridden cave-woman. I just never had a picture I wanted to post. You know how it is when you are the family photo-geek. There are no pictures of you in existence.
Anyway, while at Six Flags, Jackson snapped my photo with Wonder Woman and Flash! Here it is:
What? You didn't actually think that I'd post an undoctored photo of myself taken on a day when it was 107 degrees outside, with an ungodly amount of humidity? A photo taken after 4 hours of roller coasters and water rides? Silly readers.
Friday, July 14, 2006
It's Friday Afternoon...
...and I am trying desperately to accomplish a few last minute things before leaving on vacation. However, my brain has fizzled to a complete stop and I decided to play with the site meter.
I'm glad I did. Did you know this site is number one for google searches for anti-alien aluminum foil hats? I am so proud. Really.
I may post again before leaving town. If not, have a great week. We are doing one of the major Texas metropolitan theme-parkish kinds of trips. If you are in one of those areas, and you see some chick with startlingly white legs, a ratty t-shirt, and bozo-ish, semi-red hair poking out from under a slightly weird hat, approach her cautiously and say "the password is Swordfish". It might be me.
I'm glad I did. Did you know this site is number one for google searches for anti-alien aluminum foil hats? I am so proud. Really.
I may post again before leaving town. If not, have a great week. We are doing one of the major Texas metropolitan theme-parkish kinds of trips. If you are in one of those areas, and you see some chick with startlingly white legs, a ratty t-shirt, and bozo-ish, semi-red hair poking out from under a slightly weird hat, approach her cautiously and say "the password is Swordfish". It might be me.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Friday Not-So-Cemetery Blogging
Don't worry - it'll be back. As soon as the developing company finds the roll of film they lost!! I have so gotta go digital. Soon.
So, instead, I thought I'd post a letter I sent to NPR. Its not that great, but its something. Oh, and by the way, I'm coming looking for you Jim! I'm gonna kick yer butt after yesterday's comment. Writing about that earworm had finally purged it, until your comment plunked it right back in my head.
Check out this story first:
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=5554134
Dear NPR,
I’ve always thought that the calls for making English our official language were unnecessary and a complete waste of time. Now, I’ve had to rethink my position. After listing to this morning’s interview with John Yoo, I now completely understand the need for an official language.
Mr. Yoo, a former justice department employee, does not seem to have much of a grasp of the English language. He complains that phrases such as “outrages on personal dignity” and “principles of justice followed by civilized nations” are ambiguous and he’s unable to understand them.
We certainly need people running this country who can understand the language our laws and treaties are written in at least as well as the average American. Maybe we should start some sort of a work program that hires immigrants to read and explain these laws for our administration.
Sincerely,
spookyrach
So, instead, I thought I'd post a letter I sent to NPR. Its not that great, but its something. Oh, and by the way, I'm coming looking for you Jim! I'm gonna kick yer butt after yesterday's comment. Writing about that earworm had finally purged it, until your comment plunked it right back in my head.
Check out this story first:
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=5554134
Dear NPR,
I’ve always thought that the calls for making English our official language were unnecessary and a complete waste of time. Now, I’ve had to rethink my position. After listing to this morning’s interview with John Yoo, I now completely understand the need for an official language.
Mr. Yoo, a former justice department employee, does not seem to have much of a grasp of the English language. He complains that phrases such as “outrages on personal dignity” and “principles of justice followed by civilized nations” are ambiguous and he’s unable to understand them.
We certainly need people running this country who can understand the language our laws and treaties are written in at least as well as the average American. Maybe we should start some sort of a work program that hires immigrants to read and explain these laws for our administration.
Sincerely,
spookyrach
This morning...
I was outside playing with the camera phone and feeding the birds. It was too hot to be inside. Outside was much prettier, anyway.
All the dark area at the bottom of this photo is corn. It has now reached elephant eye proportions.
Anybody know what these flowers are called? The previous owner planted them.
All the dark area at the bottom of this photo is corn. It has now reached elephant eye proportions.
Anybody know what these flowers are called? The previous owner planted them.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Jumping on the Bullet Bandwagon
All the cool kids are doing it!
· I bought a new eye shadow called Aubergine Queen. I really like it, but that name has become an ear worm. All week long I’ve been singing a bastardized version of Billy Idol’s Caribbean Queen in my head. Over and over and over…
Aubergine Queen
Now we're sharing a purple dream
And my eyes they blink as one
’Cause my makeup is done.
· Jackson and Jonboy are coaching Katie’s softball team. They are playing in a tournament to end the season this week. Have I mentioned that they’ve occasionally played five games a week? Every freakin’ night? Last night they lost their first game, and had to play a double header. This was their third game in two days. They showed a lot of character and came back to win the second game, which keeps them in the tournament and ensures them a game tonight. Dammit.
· Speaking of Katie – she’s always lived in Big Flat City before coming to live with us full-time. Sheltered little thing is fascinated by our tiny vegetable garden. This year I am only growing 4 tomato plants and 4 pepper plants. I’ve hired her to keep it free of weeds and grass. Now she is also getting to harvest the spoils of her weed war. She. Is. Thrilled. Being a chemical-free gardener, she can pick the cherry tomatoes and pop ‘em in her mouth straight off the plant. I can’t tell you how cool she thinks that is. Actual food on plants right in her own back yard!
· Also speaking of Katie, she came to live with us full time because her mother died last August. We had just had our first consult with an attorney to attempt, for the second time, to get full custody of her, when her mother died from long-term prescription drug abuse. Katie has adjusted wonderfully and we couldn’t have asked for a better situation. Until recently. Now she is finally beginning to progress to some new stages of grief. Stages which involve the need for actually talking about her mother instead of pretending she never existed. Katie is not comfortable with this yet, but she’s trying. As are we. Its kind of hard. I sat down with Katie a couple of weeks ago and tried to talk to her about good memories of her mom. I ended up praising the fact that she always bought Katie really cool school supplies. Yep. That woman could pick out one hell of a good ruler. Heh.
· Does anyone want a really huge and happy tropical plant for their living room? I have grown this plant from a wee bairn of a secretary’s day gift from lo these many years ago into a three foot by four foot monstrosity that has been relegated to the front porch for the summer. I just don’t think I’m gonna bring it back in the house this fall. But I hate to let it die.
· We’re going on vacation next week! Yay for us! I need suggestions for good vacation books. Preferably, but not necessarily, mysteries.
· I bought a new eye shadow called Aubergine Queen. I really like it, but that name has become an ear worm. All week long I’ve been singing a bastardized version of Billy Idol’s Caribbean Queen in my head. Over and over and over…
Aubergine Queen
Now we're sharing a purple dream
And my eyes they blink as one
’Cause my makeup is done.
· Jackson and Jonboy are coaching Katie’s softball team. They are playing in a tournament to end the season this week. Have I mentioned that they’ve occasionally played five games a week? Every freakin’ night? Last night they lost their first game, and had to play a double header. This was their third game in two days. They showed a lot of character and came back to win the second game, which keeps them in the tournament and ensures them a game tonight. Dammit.
· Speaking of Katie – she’s always lived in Big Flat City before coming to live with us full-time. Sheltered little thing is fascinated by our tiny vegetable garden. This year I am only growing 4 tomato plants and 4 pepper plants. I’ve hired her to keep it free of weeds and grass. Now she is also getting to harvest the spoils of her weed war. She. Is. Thrilled. Being a chemical-free gardener, she can pick the cherry tomatoes and pop ‘em in her mouth straight off the plant. I can’t tell you how cool she thinks that is. Actual food on plants right in her own back yard!
· Also speaking of Katie, she came to live with us full time because her mother died last August. We had just had our first consult with an attorney to attempt, for the second time, to get full custody of her, when her mother died from long-term prescription drug abuse. Katie has adjusted wonderfully and we couldn’t have asked for a better situation. Until recently. Now she is finally beginning to progress to some new stages of grief. Stages which involve the need for actually talking about her mother instead of pretending she never existed. Katie is not comfortable with this yet, but she’s trying. As are we. Its kind of hard. I sat down with Katie a couple of weeks ago and tried to talk to her about good memories of her mom. I ended up praising the fact that she always bought Katie really cool school supplies. Yep. That woman could pick out one hell of a good ruler. Heh.
· Does anyone want a really huge and happy tropical plant for their living room? I have grown this plant from a wee bairn of a secretary’s day gift from lo these many years ago into a three foot by four foot monstrosity that has been relegated to the front porch for the summer. I just don’t think I’m gonna bring it back in the house this fall. But I hate to let it die.
· We’re going on vacation next week! Yay for us! I need suggestions for good vacation books. Preferably, but not necessarily, mysteries.
Friday, June 30, 2006
Friday Not-So-Cemetery Blogging
I haven't had time to find a cemetery picture for you this week. Its been really hectic. Its been a week of unhappy change at work and non-stop softball at home. I am really pretty damn tired of softball.
That's not really true - I enjoy watching the kids play, but I think when the Good Lord sees fit to actually send us some rain we should do our damndest to be thankful for it. If the rain causes the cancellation of your frickin' softball game, so be it. Take it as a sign from the Almighty and cross it off your list.
Well, enough from that soapbox. In addition to having a really full week, the corn is now shoulder high in the field next to my house. Have I mentioned that I am allergic to corn? The year we bought the house, the farmer was growing sunflowers. It was lovely. The rest of the time we've lived there, he's grown corn. Sneeze, sneeze!
In addition to all the snot, my nose has had a rather rough week. I have a rather protuberant proboscis. This week I slammed it with a car door. That hurt real bad, let me tell ya. The top of Jackson's car door comes to a protuding point right at the level of the bridge of my nose. I reached for door handle, pulled the door open, and wham! It left a lovely bruise and a small knot that looks just like a big zit. I can't tell you how happy I am about that. Now when I sneeze, the bruise hurts as well. And it doesn't even rate a show of sympathy because everyone just thinks I have a touch of pizza face.
Then there is the cat, Evil Steve.
I don't know what her deal is. I feed her. I let her sleep behind my knees on the bed. I present an unshod foot whenever demanded for her nuzzling pleasure. I buy her toys and make sure her big brother doesn't do any lasting damage to her when he finally tires of her nagging, back-biting and occassional eye gouging.
Is it too much to ask that she be available for the occassional bit of furry comfort during a long and difficult week for me and my nose? Evidently, yes, it is too much.
I picked her up to snuggle against my cheek. She said "Put me down, bitch!"
Ever the optomist, I said, "Oooh, sweet baby Steve...you don't really mean that."
So she bit me. On the eyebrow.
I had blood running down from my eye like tears. If I'd been a statue of the madonna, y'all would've all been trooping through my living room to gape at me and ask for miracles. Sorry-ass cat.
Of course, how many times have I told Katie "Put the cat down! She doesn't like to be held and she is going to bite you. Put her down!" Uh-huh.
And the best part? The bite left a big scab which I decided was rather unsightly. I scrubbed it away and dabbed and blotted and hoped for the best. I got all the blood off and the puncture wound swelled just a bit. Now it looks like - you guessed it - a big zit.
I'm hoping next week is better.
That's not really true - I enjoy watching the kids play, but I think when the Good Lord sees fit to actually send us some rain we should do our damndest to be thankful for it. If the rain causes the cancellation of your frickin' softball game, so be it. Take it as a sign from the Almighty and cross it off your list.
Well, enough from that soapbox. In addition to having a really full week, the corn is now shoulder high in the field next to my house. Have I mentioned that I am allergic to corn? The year we bought the house, the farmer was growing sunflowers. It was lovely. The rest of the time we've lived there, he's grown corn. Sneeze, sneeze!
In addition to all the snot, my nose has had a rather rough week. I have a rather protuberant proboscis. This week I slammed it with a car door. That hurt real bad, let me tell ya. The top of Jackson's car door comes to a protuding point right at the level of the bridge of my nose. I reached for door handle, pulled the door open, and wham! It left a lovely bruise and a small knot that looks just like a big zit. I can't tell you how happy I am about that. Now when I sneeze, the bruise hurts as well. And it doesn't even rate a show of sympathy because everyone just thinks I have a touch of pizza face.
Then there is the cat, Evil Steve.
I don't know what her deal is. I feed her. I let her sleep behind my knees on the bed. I present an unshod foot whenever demanded for her nuzzling pleasure. I buy her toys and make sure her big brother doesn't do any lasting damage to her when he finally tires of her nagging, back-biting and occassional eye gouging.
Is it too much to ask that she be available for the occassional bit of furry comfort during a long and difficult week for me and my nose? Evidently, yes, it is too much.
I picked her up to snuggle against my cheek. She said "Put me down, bitch!"
Ever the optomist, I said, "Oooh, sweet baby Steve...you don't really mean that."
So she bit me. On the eyebrow.
I had blood running down from my eye like tears. If I'd been a statue of the madonna, y'all would've all been trooping through my living room to gape at me and ask for miracles. Sorry-ass cat.
Of course, how many times have I told Katie "Put the cat down! She doesn't like to be held and she is going to bite you. Put her down!" Uh-huh.
And the best part? The bite left a big scab which I decided was rather unsightly. I scrubbed it away and dabbed and blotted and hoped for the best. I got all the blood off and the puncture wound swelled just a bit. Now it looks like - you guessed it - a big zit.
I'm hoping next week is better.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Fuzzy Photo!
I'm probably just being picky, but...
If you have to be told, in writing, not to eat the plastic vegetation, then you are not real likely to get the whole "Faux Fruit" cuteness-thing.
If you have to be told, in writing, not to eat the plastic vegetation, then you are not real likely to get the whole "Faux Fruit" cuteness-thing.
Monday, June 26, 2006
I live on Woebegone Draw*.
*A draw is a lengthy dent in the earth that water drains down when it rains. Eventually, miles and miles from here, the draw will finally drain into a river. We like to pretend that draws are waterways, but they are really just big wide dips in the road.
One of the things Jackson and I did this weekend was go to the movies. We have a decent little theater here in Fake Cow County. The best thing about it is the full price movie admission is $4.25. Matinees for two bucks! It's small and the sound system is not the greatest, but it'll do. (I still miss the dollar movie at the old Granada Theatre, but that's another story.)
Being in a small town in a highly mobile society, our local theater has to appeal to the lowest common denominator to stay in business. That means kid movies and slasher movies. If you want to see some of the better stuff, you have to travel. So, we searched out the only multi-plex monstrosity in Big Flat City that was showing "A Praire Home Companion." (Last door on your right - dinkiest little screen in the whole place.)
One of the things Jackson and I did this weekend was go to the movies. We have a decent little theater here in Fake Cow County. The best thing about it is the full price movie admission is $4.25. Matinees for two bucks! It's small and the sound system is not the greatest, but it'll do. (I still miss the dollar movie at the old Granada Theatre, but that's another story.)
Being in a small town in a highly mobile society, our local theater has to appeal to the lowest common denominator to stay in business. That means kid movies and slasher movies. If you want to see some of the better stuff, you have to travel. So, we searched out the only multi-plex monstrosity in Big Flat City that was showing "A Praire Home Companion." (Last door on your right - dinkiest little screen in the whole place.)
Let me admit, up front, that I do not listen to Praire Home Companion as a general rule. I don't much care for the music. Its like baseball - I enjoy the games in person, live, but can't stand to watch it on TV or listen to it on the radio. This type of music is the same for me.
I enjoy going to small town oprys and jamborees. I like open air concerts on the Fourth of July. I love county festivals and fairs where this music and schtick is performed live. MostIy I have fun watching other people enjoying old jokes and old songs.
But, to steal from Cheesehead, Garrison Keillor is my radio boyfriend. He will always remain only a radio boyfriend because of his startling resemblance to a bullfrog. He looks like a child killer in a cheezy horror film. But then he speaks and all at once God is in his heaven and all is right with the world. Watching this movie is like sleeping in a feather bed under a heavy quilt on a cold, cold night.
I want to be him when I grow up.
Jackson and I got there early, but the theater was already filling up. We were the only ones there who were not drawing social security. A frosty-haired foursome arrived after we did, but still well before the previews. (Promptness is a virtue.) They sat right in front of us. The men had evidently imbibed a bit at the all-you-can-eat catfish buffet before heading over to the picture show. They were having a good time. They shot a lot of crummy old jokes back and forth before the lights dimmed. We smiled.
There is a bit of a scene at the end of the film when the group tells a joke. It is so old that they all know what's coming before its told. So old that they can each contribute a part of the punchline. So old - but we (the audience and the performers) all still laughed. Why do we still laugh? I don't know. Why do you still recite creeds even though you memorized them years ago? Is it the same thing?
The movie ended with an old hymn. As the credits rolled, one of the guys in front of us stood up and announced to his companions that he didn't need to go to church on Sunday. He'd already been. *rimshot*
I think he was right.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Friday Cemetery Blogging
I was looking for something 
to post for Friday. While I was going through some old photos, I came across some of my black and white stuff. I haven't done anything in black and white for quite some time. The B&W photos don't scan as well as the color ones do. I don't know why. But they have a great look and I'm going to have to do more.
These next two photos are from Caprock Canyon. (Hope you like them, Cowtown Pattie!) I took these seven years ago, while Jackson and I were hiking around the canyon on a date.
In amongst all the other stuff, I found one of my favorite scenes, which I didn't photograph as well as I would have liked. If you 'bigger it up' you'll see that the sign on the garage of the burned out building says:
Montague Volunteer Fire Department.
Hope you have a great weekend. We are sending Katie to my parents for the weekend, so we will have a child free weekend full of decadence and debauchery, the likes of which are seldom seen. We'll probably even see an R-rated movie at the theater. Or wander aimlessly around a flea market. And maybe skip breakfast. Yeah. I know you are jealous.
This has been a good week. I've learned some interesting and valuable stuff at work. I haven't felt the need to strangle any of my close personal acquaintances before dismembering and scattering their remains. And it rained.
Its also good to see some comments from some new readers. I hope you stick around. I hope we all have a restful weekend. See you next week!
to post for Friday. While I was going through some old photos, I came across some of my black and white stuff. I haven't done anything in black and white for quite some time. The B&W photos don't scan as well as the color ones do. I don't know why. But they have a great look and I'm going to have to do more. These next two photos are from Caprock Canyon. (Hope you like them, Cowtown Pattie!) I took these seven years ago, while Jackson and I were hiking around the canyon on a date.
In amongst all the other stuff, I found one of my favorite scenes, which I didn't photograph as well as I would have liked. If you 'bigger it up' you'll see that the sign on the garage of the burned out building says:
Montague Volunteer Fire Department.
Hope you have a great weekend. We are sending Katie to my parents for the weekend, so we will have a child free weekend full of decadence and debauchery, the likes of which are seldom seen. We'll probably even see an R-rated movie at the theater. Or wander aimlessly around a flea market. And maybe skip breakfast. Yeah. I know you are jealous.
This has been a good week. I've learned some interesting and valuable stuff at work. I haven't felt the need to strangle any of my close personal acquaintances before dismembering and scattering their remains. And it rained.
Its also good to see some comments from some new readers. I hope you stick around. I hope we all have a restful weekend. See you next week!
Monday, June 19, 2006
You might agree with his theology, but...
First in a list of really bad ideas:
Forego your formal education, along about grade seven, for the wonders of weed. Smoke copious amounts of said plant until all higher brain functions have pretty much ceased.
2. Give up on the idea of gainful employment and instead determine to support yourself and your progeny through the glories of common theivery.
3. Make the less than fortuitous choice to break into a home without first ascertaining if said home is currently unoccupied.
4. Have the crap beaten out of yourself. This is Texas, after all, and you were just lucky the gentleman of the house did not avail himself of his sidearm while you were present in his abode.
5. Show up in court for your sentencing with an elaborate tatoo on the front of your neck, just above the collar of your bright orange inmate jumpsuit. Said large-lettered tatoo should read: "Only God Can Judge Me."
Forego your formal education, along about grade seven, for the wonders of weed. Smoke copious amounts of said plant until all higher brain functions have pretty much ceased.
2. Give up on the idea of gainful employment and instead determine to support yourself and your progeny through the glories of common theivery.
3. Make the less than fortuitous choice to break into a home without first ascertaining if said home is currently unoccupied.
4. Have the crap beaten out of yourself. This is Texas, after all, and you were just lucky the gentleman of the house did not avail himself of his sidearm while you were present in his abode.
5. Show up in court for your sentencing with an elaborate tatoo on the front of your neck, just above the collar of your bright orange inmate jumpsuit. Said large-lettered tatoo should read: "Only God Can Judge Me."
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Things I Recommend
Amazon is always recommending things for me and I find it highly entertaining. So, I thought I'd recommend some things for you.
Firstly, you need some good music. My current favorite is the soundtrack from Desperado. I play it over and over and over. I'm a huge fan of rock and blues, especially when they mesh together and this CD has some of the best. I first bought it because of my love for Robert Rodriquez movies. (I've told you about my thing with RR, right? I think we both read all the same books when we were kids. ) I have continued to listen to it because the music is really outstanding. Antonio Banderas - all that and he can sing, too. Wow.
My other current music recommendation is Canciones de mi Padre by Linda Ronstadt. This may not be the best music for driving down the road, but it is the dead-on-perfect soundtrack for sitting on the porch, drinking something cold and watching the sun go down. (Sensing a theme? I'm discovering a real appreciation for a lot of Latin music. Everything from Santana to Ozomatli. I don't understand all the words, but I love the sound!)
Are you looking for a good show on TV? Watch Midsomer Murders. It comes on like six times on Sunday afternoons on the Biography channel. It makes a great background accompaniment to all those lazy Sunday projects - painting, laundry, or small engine repair. Like lots of British television, this show is dialogue driven, so it doesn't make too much difference if you are actually watching it or just listening to it. It makes me want to live in England. (Do they really have church bell-ringing guilds with cut-throat ringing contests? Really?)
If you need something cold to drink while sitting on the porch and you want to be kind of faux-healthy, try Lipton's Diet Green Tea with Citris. This stuff in so dang good. Its hard to find it in the stores around here because everyone in town is drinking it by the gallon. If you are seen in public with a bottle in hand, be prepared to have complete strangers strike up conversations centered around your obvious good taste in beverages. Its like you have the symbol for some secret tea-drinking society tattooed on your forehead. And that's ok.
You should eat bread and butter pickled jalepenos. Especially if they are homemade. Don't ask questions, just do it. You'll be happier and the world will be a better place. (Ahem. Rose, I have not had any of your homemade b&b jalepenos in like, two years. I'm just sayin'...)
What else would make you happy? I'm glad you asked. Converse Shoes. I love me some good ol' Chuck Taylors. Uh-huh. When you go to the Converse website, play around with the design your own option. And check out the knee-high Converses. These are SO DAMN COOL.
You also need at least two cats. They are an excellent return on your entertainment investment. Plus you'll live longer if you have cats. And that will give you more time to enjoy your Converses and pickled jalepenos.
And, since we're on the subject of tennis shoes - go out and buy a package of new socks. Nothing makes your feet happier than fluffy new socks. And if your feet ain't happy - you ain't happy.
That's probably plenty of recommendations for one day. What do you recommend?
Firstly, you need some good music. My current favorite is the soundtrack from Desperado. I play it over and over and over. I'm a huge fan of rock and blues, especially when they mesh together and this CD has some of the best. I first bought it because of my love for Robert Rodriquez movies. (I've told you about my thing with RR, right? I think we both read all the same books when we were kids. ) I have continued to listen to it because the music is really outstanding. Antonio Banderas - all that and he can sing, too. Wow.
My other current music recommendation is Canciones de mi Padre by Linda Ronstadt. This may not be the best music for driving down the road, but it is the dead-on-perfect soundtrack for sitting on the porch, drinking something cold and watching the sun go down. (Sensing a theme? I'm discovering a real appreciation for a lot of Latin music. Everything from Santana to Ozomatli. I don't understand all the words, but I love the sound!)
Are you looking for a good show on TV? Watch Midsomer Murders. It comes on like six times on Sunday afternoons on the Biography channel. It makes a great background accompaniment to all those lazy Sunday projects - painting, laundry, or small engine repair. Like lots of British television, this show is dialogue driven, so it doesn't make too much difference if you are actually watching it or just listening to it. It makes me want to live in England. (Do they really have church bell-ringing guilds with cut-throat ringing contests? Really?)
If you need something cold to drink while sitting on the porch and you want to be kind of faux-healthy, try Lipton's Diet Green Tea with Citris. This stuff in so dang good. Its hard to find it in the stores around here because everyone in town is drinking it by the gallon. If you are seen in public with a bottle in hand, be prepared to have complete strangers strike up conversations centered around your obvious good taste in beverages. Its like you have the symbol for some secret tea-drinking society tattooed on your forehead. And that's ok.
You should eat bread and butter pickled jalepenos. Especially if they are homemade. Don't ask questions, just do it. You'll be happier and the world will be a better place. (Ahem. Rose, I have not had any of your homemade b&b jalepenos in like, two years. I'm just sayin'...)
What else would make you happy? I'm glad you asked. Converse Shoes. I love me some good ol' Chuck Taylors. Uh-huh. When you go to the Converse website, play around with the design your own option. And check out the knee-high Converses. These are SO DAMN COOL.
You also need at least two cats. They are an excellent return on your entertainment investment. Plus you'll live longer if you have cats. And that will give you more time to enjoy your Converses and pickled jalepenos.
And, since we're on the subject of tennis shoes - go out and buy a package of new socks. Nothing makes your feet happier than fluffy new socks. And if your feet ain't happy - you ain't happy.
That's probably plenty of recommendations for one day. What do you recommend?
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Friday Cemetery Blogging
The cemetery at Silverton, which we explored last weekend was pretty nice, if a little boring. However, I did find this interesting juxtaposition. Maybe it explains how some of these people ended up here.
This doesn't have much to do with cemeteries, but M2 and I have come up with a new plan for our retirement. We've decided to become nuns who solve crimes. Kind of a Murder, They Prayed sort of a thing. There are a couple of kinks we'll have to work out. For one thing, I'll have to convert. But given my generally shallow brand loyalty with regards to religion, that shouldn't be much of a problem. The big hickey in the deal is our husbands. I figured we could just divorce 'em, but M2 said the church frowns on that. She says we'll have to hope they kick off of natural causes or we'll have to bump them off ourselves. Its still all in the planning stages, but I'll keep you updated.
Jackson says he hopes we become crime-solving Episcopalians.
This doesn't have much to do with cemeteries, but M2 and I have come up with a new plan for our retirement. We've decided to become nuns who solve crimes. Kind of a Murder, They Prayed sort of a thing. There are a couple of kinks we'll have to work out. For one thing, I'll have to convert. But given my generally shallow brand loyalty with regards to religion, that shouldn't be much of a problem. The big hickey in the deal is our husbands. I figured we could just divorce 'em, but M2 said the church frowns on that. She says we'll have to hope they kick off of natural causes or we'll have to bump them off ourselves. Its still all in the planning stages, but I'll keep you updated.
Jackson says he hopes we become crime-solving Episcopalians.
Monday, May 29, 2006
What I did on my Memorial Day Vacation.
Jackson and I went camping.
We went to Caprock Canyon.
This is our campsite.
This is our campsite.
We are easy to find if you look for the pirate flag.
We (and by that I mean "he") did a lot of dutch oven cooking this time. Here are the pots cooking the bisquits and gravy we had for breakfast.
And these are the remains of the beans and cornbread
We (and by that I mean "he") did a lot of dutch oven cooking this time. Here are the pots cooking the bisquits and gravy we had for breakfast.
And these are the remains of the beans and cornbread
we had for supper one night. Yummy!
We saw some sights.
And some prickly pear blooms.
And of course we visited the cemetery.
We saw some sights.
And some prickly pear blooms.
And of course we visited the cemetery.
Jackson and Spooky had a very nice time.
The End.
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Friday Cemetery Blogging
Doesn't this make you wish you'd known this guy?
I bet he was a ton of fun.
The bottom line of the inscription reads: Real Men Wear Pink
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
This is fun!
I saw this on Educated and Poor:
And yes, I do know all the words to "Sweet Transvestite".
| The Movie Of Your Life Is A Cult Classic |
 Your best movie matches: Office Space, Showgirls, The Big Lebowski |
If Your Life Was a Movie, What Genre Would It Be?
And yes, I do know all the words to "Sweet Transvestite".
Monday, May 22, 2006
The Big One Oh
Katie turned 10 today.
One day last week, faced with her looming cross-over into the double digit ages, she decided to watch country music videos instead of yet another God-awful, teeth-grindingly insipid episode of Full House before going to school. (What is the frickin' deal with Full House??? I HATED Full House when it was first on the air. And now every kid I know LOVES it! Bah!) I was pretty ok with this - as country music is slightly less insipid than those ugly-ass Olsen twins - until they aired a new Toby Keith video.
I have a big ol’ set of preconceived notions about Toby Keith and was fully prepared to hate this video. And Toby did not disappoint. The video was a cross between the The Cask of Amontillado and a snuff film. The girl in the video seemed to be portraying the dualistic message of “Oh, please don’t kill poor li’l helpless me!” and “Oh baby, you’re so hot, especially when you want to hit me.” Quality stuff! Naturally I went off on a long tirade about misogyny, mixed messages, and fantasy-land garbage. At the end of the video, Katie turned around and asked Jackson and I, “Do you think that really happened?”
We were floored. In a world where kids are so cognizant of special effects and such things, I tend to forget that they don’t filter information the same way I do. Jackson and I both gave voluminous speeches about make-believe, truth in advertising and downright misleading information that we see on television, etc, etc. She’s gone back to watching Full House before school.
That was early in the week. Towards the end of the week, we decided we were going to go see The DaVinci Code on Friday night. It is PG-13. What would we do with Katie? We finally decided to take her with us, pending a long pre-movie discussion about the meaning of fiction. Just because a movie says it, don’t make it so.
Katie was exhausted by Friday evening. I felt sure she’d fall asleep by the time the previews were over. No way, Jose. She sat wide-eyed through the whole show. Except, of course, for the obligatory trip to the restroom halfway through. At what point did she hear the call of Nature? The point where Gandolf/Magneto explains to Sophia what exactly the Holy Grail is. Pretty pivotal point, eh? Yeah. She missed all that.
When we left the theater, we asked if she had any questions.
"Why were they looking for that lady?”
Insert long explanation of the Grail theories, Gnostic gospels, bits of archeological history and a generous dose of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table as well as additional harping on the difference between fact and fiction here. Did she have any other questions?
"Uh, what’s an ancestor?”
So, the good news is she asks questions. The bad news is she and Jackson and I all have such hugely different frames of reference. It’s like the kid who asks his dad where he came from. After listening to Dad’s halting, embarrassed, long-winded explanation of sexual reproduction, the kid says that’s really interesting ‘cause Johnny came from Cleveland. Yep. Just like that.
One day last week, faced with her looming cross-over into the double digit ages, she decided to watch country music videos instead of yet another God-awful, teeth-grindingly insipid episode of Full House before going to school. (What is the frickin' deal with Full House??? I HATED Full House when it was first on the air. And now every kid I know LOVES it! Bah!) I was pretty ok with this - as country music is slightly less insipid than those ugly-ass Olsen twins - until they aired a new Toby Keith video.
I have a big ol’ set of preconceived notions about Toby Keith and was fully prepared to hate this video. And Toby did not disappoint. The video was a cross between the The Cask of Amontillado and a snuff film. The girl in the video seemed to be portraying the dualistic message of “Oh, please don’t kill poor li’l helpless me!” and “Oh baby, you’re so hot, especially when you want to hit me.” Quality stuff! Naturally I went off on a long tirade about misogyny, mixed messages, and fantasy-land garbage. At the end of the video, Katie turned around and asked Jackson and I, “Do you think that really happened?”
We were floored. In a world where kids are so cognizant of special effects and such things, I tend to forget that they don’t filter information the same way I do. Jackson and I both gave voluminous speeches about make-believe, truth in advertising and downright misleading information that we see on television, etc, etc. She’s gone back to watching Full House before school.
That was early in the week. Towards the end of the week, we decided we were going to go see The DaVinci Code on Friday night. It is PG-13. What would we do with Katie? We finally decided to take her with us, pending a long pre-movie discussion about the meaning of fiction. Just because a movie says it, don’t make it so.
Katie was exhausted by Friday evening. I felt sure she’d fall asleep by the time the previews were over. No way, Jose. She sat wide-eyed through the whole show. Except, of course, for the obligatory trip to the restroom halfway through. At what point did she hear the call of Nature? The point where Gandolf/Magneto explains to Sophia what exactly the Holy Grail is. Pretty pivotal point, eh? Yeah. She missed all that.
When we left the theater, we asked if she had any questions.
"Why were they looking for that lady?”
Insert long explanation of the Grail theories, Gnostic gospels, bits of archeological history and a generous dose of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table as well as additional harping on the difference between fact and fiction here. Did she have any other questions?
"Uh, what’s an ancestor?”
So, the good news is she asks questions. The bad news is she and Jackson and I all have such hugely different frames of reference. It’s like the kid who asks his dad where he came from. After listening to Dad’s halting, embarrassed, long-winded explanation of sexual reproduction, the kid says that’s really interesting ‘cause Johnny came from Cleveland. Yep. Just like that.
Friday, May 19, 2006
That which does not kill you...
Earl gets 19.46 miles per gallon.
Ouch.
I discovered this fact when Opie Capone and I took a road trip down south on Wednesday to pick up our wee grandmother from our parent's house where she'd been spending a few days.
She didn't used to be a wee grandmother. She used to be a damn good pool hustler, a crack shot with the .22 pistol and the world's best all-around southern cooking goddess. But now she is 84 and my grandfather has been dead for several years and she has become wee.
And that's ok.
On the way down I got really hungry and told Opie/Jonboy that we were stopping in Brownfield. I didn't make that up - Brownfield is the town's real name. I cannot think of any more aptly named place in the state, unless of course it is the real name of Fake Cow City. (If you're real curious about it, email me and I'll tell ya what it is.)
This is where we ate:
Ouch.
I discovered this fact when Opie Capone and I took a road trip down south on Wednesday to pick up our wee grandmother from our parent's house where she'd been spending a few days.
She didn't used to be a wee grandmother. She used to be a damn good pool hustler, a crack shot with the .22 pistol and the world's best all-around southern cooking goddess. But now she is 84 and my grandfather has been dead for several years and she has become wee.
And that's ok.
On the way down I got really hungry and told Opie/Jonboy that we were stopping in Brownfield. I didn't make that up - Brownfield is the town's real name. I cannot think of any more aptly named place in the state, unless of course it is the real name of Fake Cow City. (If you're real curious about it, email me and I'll tell ya what it is.)
This is where we ate:
Oh, man, it was goooood. Its a bar-b-que joint right on the highway. If you ever go through there, stop and chow. When we rolled out the door and climbed back in the truck, Opie said "That was really good and it didn't even give me a headache."
"A headache? What are you talking about?"
"Don't you ever get a headache if you eat too much bar-b-que?"
"Uh, no."
After we picked up grandmother and headed back north toward home, I had to stop at the rest area just north of their town. I'd seen this sign on the way in:
It made me laugh.
Friday, May 12, 2006
Feelin' Friday
Its been a long and snotty week, resulting in a trip to the doctor. Trips to the doctor always result in dignity wrenching hillarity, don't they? Or is it just me? I will tell you about it when I can figure out how to do so without T.M.I. So, instead of anything cemetery-ish or otherwise entertaining, here is a bit of internetish fun:
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Tuesday, May 09, 2006
I feel certain Christopher Lowell would approve...
So, we decided to buy some furniture. A couple of years ago, we bought recliners. It was sort of a necessity since one of us couldn't sleep lying down. But the overall decorative effect was not the greatest, as you may well remember.
We needed a new couch so we bought a purple one. And believe it or not, the salesman did not lie. Cats really don't enjoy sharpening their claws on microfiber. They do, however, thrill themselves by shedding copious amounts of white and/or black fur on said purple couch.
We also bought the green Rachelounge. So named because Jackson claims he can't say chaise. It is way all cool in a fluffy art deco sort of a way. Excellent for reading. Well placed between the fire place and semi-fake sheepskin rug. (Its not supposed to be fake, but I can't see touting anything I bought on the home furnishings aisle of Sam's Wholesale Club as the real thing.)
Now, all we need are end tables. I wonder if I can convince Jackson that these are THE ONES.
Quaint, Unassuming, Highly-Functional and Generally Well-Accepted Tables.
We needed a new couch so we bought a purple one. And believe it or not, the salesman did not lie. Cats really don't enjoy sharpening their claws on microfiber. They do, however, thrill themselves by shedding copious amounts of white and/or black fur on said purple couch.
We also bought the green Rachelounge. So named because Jackson claims he can't say chaise. It is way all cool in a fluffy art deco sort of a way. Excellent for reading. Well placed between the fire place and semi-fake sheepskin rug. (Its not supposed to be fake, but I can't see touting anything I bought on the home furnishings aisle of Sam's Wholesale Club as the real thing.)
Now, all we need are end tables. I wonder if I can convince Jackson that these are THE ONES.
Quaint, Unassuming, Highly-Functional and Generally Well-Accepted Tables.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
There's no I in meme.
I am: tired. Very, very tired. But happy!
I want: to be more creative
I wish: Vincent Price had held on for six more days.
I hate: sad endings, boiled eggs, Kevin Costner, sunshine during the rain, and white cake
I miss: staying up long into the night, devouring a good book. Even if I were able to stay awake that long, my back would hurt and my hip would be killing me from sitting too long. How old is that?
I fear: getting stuck in my own world view, convinced that it is the best, most interesting, most right
I hear: excuses when I should be listening for reasons
I wonder: if it is safe to exhale
I regret: a few things, but all of them involve me not keeping my mouth shut or not speaking up
I am not: scared
I dance: in my head
I sing: poorly, but never better than when driving
I cry: about weirdly impersonal things - like coffee commercials. This started when I got my thyroid "fixed". Its so bizarre.
I'm not always: fun to be around
I make with my hands: little bits of art
I write: because of a teacher in high school. Among other things, she said my humor reminded her of Vince and Larry.
I confuse: Robert Duvall and Robert DeNiro
I should: be in bed by now
I start: on time
I finish: as soon as possible so I can go the hell home
I want: to be more creative
I wish: Vincent Price had held on for six more days.
I hate: sad endings, boiled eggs, Kevin Costner, sunshine during the rain, and white cake
I miss: staying up long into the night, devouring a good book. Even if I were able to stay awake that long, my back would hurt and my hip would be killing me from sitting too long. How old is that?
I fear: getting stuck in my own world view, convinced that it is the best, most interesting, most right
I hear: excuses when I should be listening for reasons
I wonder: if it is safe to exhale
I regret: a few things, but all of them involve me not keeping my mouth shut or not speaking up
I am not: scared
I dance: in my head
I sing: poorly, but never better than when driving
I cry: about weirdly impersonal things - like coffee commercials. This started when I got my thyroid "fixed". Its so bizarre.
I'm not always: fun to be around
I make with my hands: little bits of art
I write: because of a teacher in high school. Among other things, she said my humor reminded her of Vince and Larry.
I confuse: Robert Duvall and Robert DeNiro
I should: be in bed by now
I start: on time
I finish: as soon as possible so I can go the hell home
Friday, April 28, 2006
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
More Self-Indugent Memism
Accent: Texas Drawl. Oh, lordy, its horrible. Gettin' worse by the year. If I put my mind to it, I can sound somewhat presentable and intelligent, but mostly I just say things like dawg (dog) and awl (as in 'ain't thay-ut uh big ol' smelly awlwell', or 'chainge thuh awl in thuh ca-ar'.)
Booze: Margarita-ville.
Chore I hate: I don't mind chores as long as I feel like its my choice whether or not I do them. If I HAVE TO DO them, I hate 'em.
Dog or cat: Dobermans. Until I tried cats. Cats are so cool! I don't know if I will ever go back to dogs. Unless I adopt a greyhound...
Essential electronics: I loves me some internet, yessirreebob.
Favorite cologne(s): Estee Lauder's Knowing!!! (I like how Clinique's Happy smells on other people. On me it smells just like the citrus air-freshener my grandmother used to keep in her bathroom.)
Gold or silver: Silver. But gold works a lot better with my coloring. Unfortunately it doesn't work nearly so well with my bank account.
Hometown: Born in Fake Cow County, actually. Never really lived here until college. Lived all around West Texas while I was growin' up with a short stint in Montana. (Do you know they have high school football games on Saturday afternoons in Montana? Whut thuh Hel-yul?! Its like livin' in a whole state full of Seventh Day Adventists or somthing.)
Insomnia: Occasionally. I almost never have trouble going to sleep, its staying asleep after 2:00 a.m. that is sometimes hard.
Job title: Community Supervision Officer, Supervisor, Training Officer, Officer of the Day, for a while it was Interim Director, and a few others that shall remain nameless here.
Kids: One soon to be 10-year-old step-daughter who recently became a full-time resident.
Living arrangements: A huge double-wide a couple miles out of town that we laughingly refer to as the Spooky R Ranch.
Most admirable trait: I never take anything seriously. Whatever happens, it ain't gonna be permanent, so why worry?
Number of sexual partners: Nunyabidness.
Overnight hospital stays: Well, if you count all the times I stayed overnight with Jackson, it is a freakin' lot. Other than that, the only time I've been in the hospital, since my birth, was for 15 minutes when I had to be admitted to the hospital so I could take a radioactive pill to kill my thyroid. I went to the admissions office, signed a form, rode an elevator down to the basement where the nurse handed me a lead vial and said "Don't touch that pill, just swallow it." I did, then rode back upstairs, got in the car and went home. Didn't get any flowers or cards or anything. What a rip-off!
Phobias: I don't know if it counts as a phobia, but I hate certain words. (Dollop and tarpaulin, for example.) Bleh. I dunno why, but I just can't stand 'em.
Quote: Oh man, I love quotes! Tons of quotes! And right now I can't think of a single one.
Religion: Christian. I'd also like to be buddist and pagan. Although not all at once. I just want to be a monk on top of a mountain somewhere for a while and/or run around in the woods at night, worshipping the moon. (I tend towards shallow religious commitment that way.)
Siblings: One brother. Adopted. Our parents sent him to a plastic surgeon early on and had some work done so he would look exactly like me. It worked so well, we look like twins. Except we're not. And he's adopted.
Time I wake up: weekdays? 5:40. Weekends around 7:00. I would really like to sleep later, but I can't. If I sleep past 8:00 a.m. I always have an incredible headache the rest of the day. Its like having a hangover, but with nothing to show for it.
Unusual talent or skill: I have lots of talents, but none of them particularly unusual.
Vegetable I refuse to eat: any part of three bean salad. Retch!
Worst habit: Pshaw. Like I have any bad habits! heh, heh.
X-rays: teeth, throat, arm, head, chest
Yummy foods I make: Why is there always a cooking question?
Zodiac sign: Capricorn. I think it means I am supposed to be somewhat anti-social. I somewhat am. Sometimes.
Booze: Margarita-ville.
Chore I hate: I don't mind chores as long as I feel like its my choice whether or not I do them. If I HAVE TO DO them, I hate 'em.
Dog or cat: Dobermans. Until I tried cats. Cats are so cool! I don't know if I will ever go back to dogs. Unless I adopt a greyhound...
Essential electronics: I loves me some internet, yessirreebob.
Favorite cologne(s): Estee Lauder's Knowing!!! (I like how Clinique's Happy smells on other people. On me it smells just like the citrus air-freshener my grandmother used to keep in her bathroom.)
Gold or silver: Silver. But gold works a lot better with my coloring. Unfortunately it doesn't work nearly so well with my bank account.
Hometown: Born in Fake Cow County, actually. Never really lived here until college. Lived all around West Texas while I was growin' up with a short stint in Montana. (Do you know they have high school football games on Saturday afternoons in Montana? Whut thuh Hel-yul?! Its like livin' in a whole state full of Seventh Day Adventists or somthing.)
Insomnia: Occasionally. I almost never have trouble going to sleep, its staying asleep after 2:00 a.m. that is sometimes hard.
Job title: Community Supervision Officer, Supervisor, Training Officer, Officer of the Day, for a while it was Interim Director, and a few others that shall remain nameless here.
Kids: One soon to be 10-year-old step-daughter who recently became a full-time resident.
Living arrangements: A huge double-wide a couple miles out of town that we laughingly refer to as the Spooky R Ranch.
Most admirable trait: I never take anything seriously. Whatever happens, it ain't gonna be permanent, so why worry?
Number of sexual partners: Nunyabidness.
Overnight hospital stays: Well, if you count all the times I stayed overnight with Jackson, it is a freakin' lot. Other than that, the only time I've been in the hospital, since my birth, was for 15 minutes when I had to be admitted to the hospital so I could take a radioactive pill to kill my thyroid. I went to the admissions office, signed a form, rode an elevator down to the basement where the nurse handed me a lead vial and said "Don't touch that pill, just swallow it." I did, then rode back upstairs, got in the car and went home. Didn't get any flowers or cards or anything. What a rip-off!
Phobias: I don't know if it counts as a phobia, but I hate certain words. (Dollop and tarpaulin, for example.) Bleh. I dunno why, but I just can't stand 'em.
Quote: Oh man, I love quotes! Tons of quotes! And right now I can't think of a single one.
Religion: Christian. I'd also like to be buddist and pagan. Although not all at once. I just want to be a monk on top of a mountain somewhere for a while and/or run around in the woods at night, worshipping the moon. (I tend towards shallow religious commitment that way.)
Siblings: One brother. Adopted. Our parents sent him to a plastic surgeon early on and had some work done so he would look exactly like me. It worked so well, we look like twins. Except we're not. And he's adopted.
Time I wake up: weekdays? 5:40. Weekends around 7:00. I would really like to sleep later, but I can't. If I sleep past 8:00 a.m. I always have an incredible headache the rest of the day. Its like having a hangover, but with nothing to show for it.
Unusual talent or skill: I have lots of talents, but none of them particularly unusual.
Vegetable I refuse to eat: any part of three bean salad. Retch!
Worst habit: Pshaw. Like I have any bad habits! heh, heh.
X-rays: teeth, throat, arm, head, chest
Yummy foods I make: Why is there always a cooking question?
Zodiac sign: Capricorn. I think it means I am supposed to be somewhat anti-social. I somewhat am. Sometimes.
Monday, April 24, 2006
Splish, Splash
I ruined my favorite T-shirt yesterday.
While we were snarfing around in Hobby Lobby on Saturday, Jackson saw an abstract print that he thought would look great in our bedroom. We started to buy it - then had a better idea. Its just some big blocks of color - how hard could it be to paint it myself?
Turns out it was a little more difficult than I thought, what with painting straight lines and all that. But I tweaked the colors a bit so my version of the painting would match our decor better and it was all good.
Except...
I know not to wear good clothes when I paint. I know that. We all learned about smocks back in kindergarten, right? Right. I also know to come to a full and complete stop at the stop sign and that I should floss everyday for optiumum oral health. Right.
I dropped my paintbrush, fully loaded with a deep dark purple paint. Dropped it right down the front of my shirt where it bounced all over the topography. Boing, boing, plop.
Oh well, at least I can replace the shirt.
While we were snarfing around in Hobby Lobby on Saturday, Jackson saw an abstract print that he thought would look great in our bedroom. We started to buy it - then had a better idea. Its just some big blocks of color - how hard could it be to paint it myself?
Turns out it was a little more difficult than I thought, what with painting straight lines and all that. But I tweaked the colors a bit so my version of the painting would match our decor better and it was all good.
Except...
I know not to wear good clothes when I paint. I know that. We all learned about smocks back in kindergarten, right? Right. I also know to come to a full and complete stop at the stop sign and that I should floss everyday for optiumum oral health. Right.
I dropped my paintbrush, fully loaded with a deep dark purple paint. Dropped it right down the front of my shirt where it bounced all over the topography. Boing, boing, plop.
Oh well, at least I can replace the shirt.
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Alas Poor Bob,
I knew ya well.
Bob and I had been together for nine years. Nine years of travel. Sometimes we traveled to the mountains. Sometimes across the plains. And sometimes we traveled to the library, across the street from the Christian Science Reading Room.
Bob was getting older. He had asthma, lumbago and a touch of leprosy around the front fender. He was 135,000 miles old. I don't know what that is in dog or people years, but it was time to let him retire. However, instead of letting him move into an assisted driving facility with mechanics on duty, the used car manager at the dealership put him on a block of ice and set him adrift in the sea. The last time I saw him, he was floating off towards the Albuquerque Auto Auction.
Bob had a couple of bumps and bruises. The leprosy on the front fender resulted after I dropped my motorcycle on him. Bob caught the bike and probably saved me a costly repair bill. But he got a couple of dimples and some scratched paint out of the deal.
There was a really interesting cross-hatched pattern that was scratched into the paint right in the middle of the driver's side door. It was about two inches square. The scratches showed up one day after I 'd been at work and the probationers were doing community service at a thrift store next door. Bob was sort of proud of it - like a scar that makes a good barroom conversation starter.
Bob liked to travel the back roads and the dirt roads. He liked to take the "long-cut" from our house to Big Flat City. It took longer, but you could get half-way there before getting on the interstate. If the roads were dry, that is.
Bob has been a good friend and a trusted part of the family. Bob only broke down and left me stranded one time in all the years we were together. But, Bob is a two-person truck. That wasn't a big deal when Katie was a little kid and only rode in Bob on rare weekend occasions. But things have changed and none of us is getting any smaller. When the three of us pry our way out of Bob's front seat, we resemble the start of the clown act at Ringling Brothers.
So, we had a long talk and I explained it was time we parted ways. I was more sad than you know. Bob will always have a place under the carport.
But now there's Earl.
Bob and I had been together for nine years. Nine years of travel. Sometimes we traveled to the mountains. Sometimes across the plains. And sometimes we traveled to the library, across the street from the Christian Science Reading Room.
Bob was getting older. He had asthma, lumbago and a touch of leprosy around the front fender. He was 135,000 miles old. I don't know what that is in dog or people years, but it was time to let him retire. However, instead of letting him move into an assisted driving facility with mechanics on duty, the used car manager at the dealership put him on a block of ice and set him adrift in the sea. The last time I saw him, he was floating off towards the Albuquerque Auto Auction.
Bob had a couple of bumps and bruises. The leprosy on the front fender resulted after I dropped my motorcycle on him. Bob caught the bike and probably saved me a costly repair bill. But he got a couple of dimples and some scratched paint out of the deal.
There was a really interesting cross-hatched pattern that was scratched into the paint right in the middle of the driver's side door. It was about two inches square. The scratches showed up one day after I 'd been at work and the probationers were doing community service at a thrift store next door. Bob was sort of proud of it - like a scar that makes a good barroom conversation starter.
Bob liked to travel the back roads and the dirt roads. He liked to take the "long-cut" from our house to Big Flat City. It took longer, but you could get half-way there before getting on the interstate. If the roads were dry, that is.
Bob has been a good friend and a trusted part of the family. Bob only broke down and left me stranded one time in all the years we were together. But, Bob is a two-person truck. That wasn't a big deal when Katie was a little kid and only rode in Bob on rare weekend occasions. But things have changed and none of us is getting any smaller. When the three of us pry our way out of Bob's front seat, we resemble the start of the clown act at Ringling Brothers.
So, we had a long talk and I explained it was time we parted ways. I was more sad than you know. Bob will always have a place under the carport.
But now there's Earl.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
How to be a Butt-Hole:
Lesson 1.
As you walk down the hall behind your probation officer, say, in your most passive-agressive tone of voice: "I didn't see you at mass on Sunday."
As you walk down the hall behind your probation officer, say, in your most passive-agressive tone of voice: "I didn't see you at mass on Sunday."
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Long time - No see.
M2 - Did you just have someone arrested?
Me - Yes.
She - What happened?
Me - Well, this guy got probation on December 12th. I saw him on December 16th. He didn’t come back until 10 minutes ago when he walked in the door and told the secretary he was here to turn himself in.
M2 - Oh, so he wasn’t surprised.
Me - No, but I was.
Me - Yes.
She - What happened?
Me - Well, this guy got probation on December 12th. I saw him on December 16th. He didn’t come back until 10 minutes ago when he walked in the door and told the secretary he was here to turn himself in.
M2 - Oh, so he wasn’t surprised.
Me - No, but I was.
Thursday, April 13, 2006
Some stuff, that's all.
I'm in the mood to write and I have nothing to say. Notice how that doesn't stop me? Be fore warned that the following has no redeeming social value and nothing resembling a denouement.
It is already hot here! Temperatures are in the 90's and it isn't even Easter yet. There is no rain, my yard has been clear cut by grubs and the wind destroyed my early blooming tulips. Its going to be a long summer.
I bought some grub killer. It is more complicated than a fertility schedule. I'm thinking poison shouldn't be that complicated. Wonder if there is a natural remedy?
Hard boiled eggs are nasty things. Coloring them pink and other noxious pastels doesn't help matters any.
Pastels are the weenies of the color spectrum. Pick a color and go with it - don't waffle around! Pastels are for the bland! Bah!
A friend loaned me "A Light in the Window" by Jan Karon. It is the most god-awful boring book I have ever thoroughly enjoyed. We'd been discussing books that chronicle on-going characters. Next she's going to have to read some of my Martha Grimes collection.
Read Martha Grimes Richard Jury mysteries. Start from the beginning when the books are more concerned with the crime and a whole sort of P.D. James nuance. Then continue on to the later books where the mystery is still superb, but the wack-o characters really come into their own.
All the windows are open. I can hear the grackles or crows or whatever those big birds are debating in the thick of the evergreen tree. They seem to be pretty polarized over the issues. Quite a lot of mudslinging. Very little substantive discussion.
I was reminded of Carl Sandburg's "Fog" today. Thanks to Rachel. It is one of my all-time favorite poems.
Wouldn't you love to live where there is fog? I would. For a while, at least.
I'm teaching a DWI intervention course with Mindy. It is exciting to watch people in this class. Some people really understand what is going on in their lives. I don't know if they will do anything about it, but the light has at last dawned. Others keep building up their walls, higher and higher. Denial is a nasty business.
One bad thing about the course - I've had a terrible tendency towards thoroughly unintentional double entendre. And while these guys may be slow on the uptake in some areas, they are real pros with this stuff. *wink, wink, nudge, nudge, say no more* I take a very small comfort in the fact that I was not the instructor who used an analogy about licking cats early on in the class. Eh, Mindy?
I WANT TO GO CAMPING!
It is already hot here! Temperatures are in the 90's and it isn't even Easter yet. There is no rain, my yard has been clear cut by grubs and the wind destroyed my early blooming tulips. Its going to be a long summer.
I bought some grub killer. It is more complicated than a fertility schedule. I'm thinking poison shouldn't be that complicated. Wonder if there is a natural remedy?
Hard boiled eggs are nasty things. Coloring them pink and other noxious pastels doesn't help matters any.
Pastels are the weenies of the color spectrum. Pick a color and go with it - don't waffle around! Pastels are for the bland! Bah!
A friend loaned me "A Light in the Window" by Jan Karon. It is the most god-awful boring book I have ever thoroughly enjoyed. We'd been discussing books that chronicle on-going characters. Next she's going to have to read some of my Martha Grimes collection.
Read Martha Grimes Richard Jury mysteries. Start from the beginning when the books are more concerned with the crime and a whole sort of P.D. James nuance. Then continue on to the later books where the mystery is still superb, but the wack-o characters really come into their own.
All the windows are open. I can hear the grackles or crows or whatever those big birds are debating in the thick of the evergreen tree. They seem to be pretty polarized over the issues. Quite a lot of mudslinging. Very little substantive discussion.
I was reminded of Carl Sandburg's "Fog" today. Thanks to Rachel. It is one of my all-time favorite poems.
Wouldn't you love to live where there is fog? I would. For a while, at least.
I'm teaching a DWI intervention course with Mindy. It is exciting to watch people in this class. Some people really understand what is going on in their lives. I don't know if they will do anything about it, but the light has at last dawned. Others keep building up their walls, higher and higher. Denial is a nasty business.
One bad thing about the course - I've had a terrible tendency towards thoroughly unintentional double entendre. And while these guys may be slow on the uptake in some areas, they are real pros with this stuff. *wink, wink, nudge, nudge, say no more* I take a very small comfort in the fact that I was not the instructor who used an analogy about licking cats early on in the class. Eh, Mindy?
I WANT TO GO CAMPING!
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Ladies Who Lunch. At the Wal-Mart Cafeteria.
A friend of mine has a real knack for finding interesting magazines. She's always coming up with something new that's full of interesting ideas. Not necessarily do-able, or practical, but always interesting ideas. She recently loaned me a mag on paper art.
Paper Art: Schnazzy euphemism for scrapbooking.
If scrapbooking weren't so goll-durned hoity-toity, I could totally get into it. It combines two of my favorite things: photos and cutting stuff. How could you go wrong with that? Well, if you have ever watched one of those scrapbooking how-to shows, you'll learn real quick what the hell can go wrong with that!
Anyway, the "paper art" book had some pretty cool ideas, one of which involved aluminum duct tape. Who doesn't love aluminum duct tape? I continued to flip through a few more pages and came upon an interview with some sort of scrapbooking guru. The scrapo-journalist asked her a few fluffy questions about such things as her favorite glue and how she handles scrapbooking with her kids. They waited until the end to get to down to the hard stuff. The first questions were strictly Barbara Walters. The last was all Hugh Downs.
"After a hard day of scrapbooking, what do you like to make for dinner?"
God save us from Barbie Crocker!
Paper Art: Schnazzy euphemism for scrapbooking.
If scrapbooking weren't so goll-durned hoity-toity, I could totally get into it. It combines two of my favorite things: photos and cutting stuff. How could you go wrong with that? Well, if you have ever watched one of those scrapbooking how-to shows, you'll learn real quick what the hell can go wrong with that!
Anyway, the "paper art" book had some pretty cool ideas, one of which involved aluminum duct tape. Who doesn't love aluminum duct tape? I continued to flip through a few more pages and came upon an interview with some sort of scrapbooking guru. The scrapo-journalist asked her a few fluffy questions about such things as her favorite glue and how she handles scrapbooking with her kids. They waited until the end to get to down to the hard stuff. The first questions were strictly Barbara Walters. The last was all Hugh Downs.
"After a hard day of scrapbooking, what do you like to make for dinner?"
God save us from Barbie Crocker!
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Meme I stole from my brother. I'm trying for his wallet next time!
1) Who is the last person you high-fived? Rose, after she made a really biting, evil, and wickedly funny comment about a situation we are all stuck in.
2) If you were drafted into a war, would you survive? War? probably. Prison? no.
3) Do you sleep with the TV on? No way! Its not the noise, but the light that bugs me.
4) Have you ever drunk milk straight out of the carton? Geeze, not even in all the years I lived alone. Wow. How boring is that?
5) Have you ever won a spelling bee? Um, no. In fact the only time I was in a spelling bee I misspelled the first word. Which was "adverb".
6) Have you ever been stung by a bee? Yep. Or maybe it was a wasp. Right in the face. Ouch!
7) How fast can you type? I haven't been tested since high school, but I type constantly and imagine I can do 50-60 words a minute, as long as there are no numbers in the copy.
8) Are you afraid of the dark? No way. When I come home to an empty house, I play a game with myself where I try to see how long I can go without having to turn on a light. Sometimes I can hit 20 minutes or so.
9) Eye color – Sometimes blueish, sometimes greenish.
10 ) Have you ever made out at a drive-in? Yes. It was an abandoned drive-in. Does that count?
11) When is the last time you chose a bath over a shower? Very rarely, although Jackson convinced me to try a hot bath after killing myself redoing the bedroom walls a couple of weeks ago. It worked!
12) Do you knock on wood? All the time.
13) Do you floss daily? Um, of course. Sure. Uh-huh. Heh, heh, heh.
14) Who needs question 14?
15) Can you hula hoop? Lord no. I used to be able to as a kid. Don't really know when I lost the ability, but it is gone for good.
16) Are you good at keeping secrets? Absolutely.
17) What do you want for Christmas? I have no idea. Geeze! Its only April!
18) Do you know the Muffin Man? No, but I do know the girl at the Frisco Bakery.
19) Do you talk in your sleep? No, but I occassionally walk in my sleep.
20) Who wrote the book of love? Don't know, don't care.
21) Have you ever flown a kite? In West Texas, you don’t fly kites … you kind of throw one up there and hang on for the ride. (stole this answer from Opie Capone.)
22) Do you wish on your fallen lashes? Whut the hell?! I never heard of that before!
23) Do you consider yourself successful? As successful as I am willing to be, yes. I have a whole blog post on that subject that I intend to write someday. Soon as I polish up my soap box.
24) How many people are on your contact list of your cell? Oh, that's so boring I'm not even going to look. Sadly it is many more than it used to be and as a result I know no one's phone number. Not even my own.
25) Have you ever asked for a pony? Not that I remember.
26) Plans for tomorrow? Absolutely none. Which is good. See answer to #23.
27) Can you juggle? Nope. I have tried to learn, but have no patience for it.
28) Missing someone now? Yes. The dozen or so people who are on my list of absconders/fugitives.
29) When was the last time you told someone I Love You? This morning.
30) And truly meant it? This morning.
31) How often do you drink? Whenever there is a chance for a really good margarita.
32) How are you feeling today? Stressed. But less troubled about it than in March. We are facing a few layoffs and our once or twice a decade state audit. I cannot change it, but I have the serenity to say "Screw It!" and not worry.
33) What do you say too much? I probably cuss too much. But I try to be creative about it!
34) Have you ever been suspended or expelled from school? Nope.
35) What are you looking forward to? Picking up the RacheLounge on Saturday. Jackson has decided there is no way he will ever pronounce Chaise correctly, so it has been christened the RacheLounge.
36) Have you ever crawled through a window? Yes. And if I can ever get my hands on a full size mannequin while Mindy is out of town, I will do it again.
37) Have you ever eaten dog food? Yes. Gravy Train. The gravy part wasn't that bad. (I was just curious, ok? Wanted to make sure my puppy-dog was getting something good to eat, alright? You'd have done the same!)
38) Can you handle the truth? Yes, as long as I can manipulate it to meet my nefarious schemes.
39) Do you like green eggs and ham? Green ham, maybe.
40) Any cool scars? I have a scar on my left index finger from slamming it in a car door when I was in the 4th grade. It never broke the skin and there were was no scab, but it still left a little white scar.
El Santuario de Chimayo, the Lourdes of America
This chapel is located on the road north of Santa Fe towards Taos. Due to the miraculous appearance of a crucifix found in the dirt on the church's location - and the supposed inability of parishoners to move the crucifix from said dirt without having it end up back there a few days later - the magic dirt in the church is supposed to have supernatural healing powers.
Eh, whatever.
Regardless, the church was another interesting place to visit.
This is the doorway leading to the courtyard of the Chapel.
The altar decor:
Out behind the church, on one side of a moutain stream, is a chain link fence. The fence is covered with handmade crosses, left over from several years of ceremony and prayer held at an outdoor altar.
Inside and underneath the church is the shrine covering a small hole in the ground where the crucifix appeared again and again. The walls are covered in crutches, canes and depictions of Jesus and Mary. The hole itself is in the middle of the floor, about 12 inches across, and outfitted with a red plastic toy scoop. Probably my favorite part of the whole trip was this sign:
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
I'd be really dangerous with a slide projector.
You just thought I had already posted all my vaction pictures! HA!
Monday, April 03, 2006
I'm Ready! I'm Ready!
Yesterday was time-change-Sunday. Again. I was late for church yesterday. Not because I forgot to change the clocks. Not because I wasn't dressed. Katie was in Big Flat City with her grandparents, so not even because of her.
Nope.
I was dressed and ready to go with about 20 minutes to spare. (Don't be too impressed - church wear for me consists of jeans, Converse tennis shoes and a clean shirt.) I flipped on the television and Lo and Behold, Spongebob Squarepants was on. And wonder of wonders - it was an episode I'd never seen before!
I was late for church.
Nope.
I was dressed and ready to go with about 20 minutes to spare. (Don't be too impressed - church wear for me consists of jeans, Converse tennis shoes and a clean shirt.) I flipped on the television and Lo and Behold, Spongebob Squarepants was on. And wonder of wonders - it was an episode I'd never seen before!
I was late for church.
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