I Just Wasn't Feeling It

I've been doing pretty good about posting something every day.  Probably not all that exciting to anyone but me, but really, posting every day means something to me.  It's a sign of commitment, for me, anyway.  Since I am trying to write more creatively, I need to write something. 

And then Thursday night, when I was going to sit at my computer and write my piece for Write on Edge...I just didn't feel like it.  It wasn't that I didn't have any ideas, because I did.  I admit to feeling a little discouraged because every other blogger out there has 4,000 comments daily, but that wasn't it. 

I've just been feeling very tired.  As in exhausted.  Run down. Like I am right on the edge of catching some sort of summer virus.  Part of this has been because of my work hours.  Ten hour days are just "off" my routine enough to completely wreck it.  I don't sleep as well because of it. 

I told myself that I would just go to sleep and then get up early on Friday to write.  Except that I didn't.  I slept in, and then I didn't have any time to myself to do anything at all for the rest of the day, because that's how it seems to work in my house. 

I felt guilty, a little.  Like I was deserting someone, namely myself.  And then I thought about all the efforts I make to post daily, even if it means staying up later than I want because I have to write after my son is asleep.  Efforts that I make because I want to write, even if they are blog posts that nobody reads.  I decided that I was being hard on myself, when I didn't need to be. 

I'm not going to stop blogging, but I am not going to get all anxiety ridden if I miss a day or two.  Well, I'm going to try.  Anxiety is one of my personality traits, and those are difficult to let go. Sometimes, however, we need a break.  I need a break. I am my own worst enemy in this arena, but I'm going to try to work on it.   

A Year Ago Revisit

Mamakat's Excellent Prompt:   Share what you were blogging about last year at this time…what has changed?  It was easiest just to copy the post from last year, with extra.  It's about 4000 degrees outside, and that makes one lazy. Lazy-er.  Hey, I pulled a snake out of my cat's nose on Tuesday--I deserve a small rest!
 

Larry and I have been married for ten years. We've pushed past most of the growing pains and grown rather comfortable with each other. There's a level of trust that has been established that allows us to shrug things off that would result in fights for other couples. Some things, at least

We are driving home the other day, and Larry is telling me about the summer workshop he had attended. My husband hates workshops/trainings/staff development with the heat of a thousand white-hot suns, but his attendance at this one was mandatory. There was group discussion at this workshop. At one point during this activity, the woman running the workshop came over and started rubbing Larry's back.

"What?!!!" I interrupted. "Wait a minute--are you telling me that some woman who is not related or married to you just randomly came over and started rubbing your back?"

"Yes," Larry replied. "That is what I am telling you."

"You aren't just saying that because you think I'm not really listening to you?"

"No," my husband responded. "I was really uncomfortable. Wait--what do you mean that you don't really listen to me?"

I was experiencing a sudden urge to find this woman and scratch her eyes out, and I didn't want to scratch a person's eyes out and then hear my husband tell me that he was only joking.

This sudden feeling took me by surprise.

My husband is rather handsome with his blue eyes and curly brown hair and beautiful smile. I certainly can't blame other women for wanting to hang around him. But Larry does not have a wandering eye, except for computer games and large, expensive electronic toys. I don't ever catch him looking at pretty women when we are out in public. I don't find strange phone numbers in his pockets. He does not hang around in strip joints, throwing dollar bills into random g-strings.

It's not like I was going to go challenge this woman for touching my husband. Fighting is messy, especially between women. Most women don't know how to fight. There's usually a lot of flailing about with the eyes closed, and it's the poor bystanders who get hit, clawed, and pulled around by the hair.

So why the sudden bout of jealousy? I have no idea. Hormones? 

I still don't know where the jealousy came from.  It's popped up a couple of other times since then, but not as intensely.  He spends a lot of time at the soccer fields, and most of the other soccer commissioners are women, and occasionally I begrudge the time he spends with them while I sit at home with our son, even if he is just striping the fields or hanging up posters.  I don't think that counts.  Does it?

First in Weirdness

My cat Zena likes to go outside. For Zena, hunting is a sport for which she is constantly training.  If she is not outside hunting and stalking, then she is inside hunting and stalking the significant numbers of ankles, knees and toes.  She runs around through the tall grass, getting covered in sticker burrs and catching small mammals.  The usual cat behavior.  I let her go out there, and when she brings me live animals, such as the bunny, I make a fuss over what a wonderful hunter Zena is, while I quietly let the critter go on about its business.  Sometimes the animal is too far gone, and if that is the case then we place them somewhere that they can either die in peace or recuperate enough to flee. 

Last evening, I called to her.  I heard something that sounded like a sneeze, then another.  Then another sneeze, muffling the sounds of Zena leaping up the fence.  My eight pound cat came running to the door sneezing a lot.  As she came in, I noticed that she had stuff in her nose, and that is why she was sneezing.  Poor widdle kitty, I called as I approached with tissues in hand.  That is when I noticed that the snot coming our was a greyish brown.  Zena had about three inches of it coming out of her nose, and I figured out that this was not your garden variety of snot. It wasn't even snot.  It was a SNAKE.  A Texas Blind Snake, which grows up to a foot long. 

Let me repeat this. My cat had three inches of SNAKE coming out of her nose, and I wondered where the other six or more inches were.  I immediately informed Larry(with his fear of snakes) and told him to stay away.  He kept Zane pacified.   I had to get that snake out of the cat safely, since she was sneezing so fiercely.   I had to think about this.

Zena was sneezing because she had a snake up her nose, right?  I decided to grab the SNAKE and help her get it out of there.  I had the tissues, and I just reached out, grabbed the snake, and pulled. One more pull after that and the snake was free.  I, on the other hand, was in the grip of the heebie-jeebies. I shuddered, too.

Source: google.com via Tina on Pinterest

I put the wrapped snake on the counter in the kitchen and heaved a sigh of relief that I wouldn't have to take Zena to the vet to have it pulled out.  The wiggling of the tissue made me realize that the snake WAS NOT dead!  Okay, I jumped a bit, and a curse word might have slipped out.  Then I had the two men in the house wanting to know what was going on, why I had jumped, was Zena dead, and did the snake die. I got myself together enough to grab the wad of tissue with the snake in it and carry it into the back yard.  I found a place to release it, which I covered, so that the snake could either recuperate or die in peace. Meanwhile, I ran upstairs to blog this!


I'm still dealing with a bad case of the heebie-jeebies.  What are the odds that a snake would end up in my cats nose, or that I would have to pull that snake out of her nose?  I know it's girlie, but right now I keep shivering and saying EEEEEEEWWWWWWW!!!!


Have you ever had to do anything even remotely similiar to this?  Or am I the only person on the planet that this has happened to?

In The Halls of Random

For my birthday I had myself measured for a bra.  It is always best to see if you've grown or shrank or whatever.  For many years, I felt that I was a C cup size.  Somewhere along the way I graduated to a D cup...except when it's a molded cup.  Then I'm either a B or a C, but not a D, and certainly not a DD.  Don't get me started about the demis, the balconettes, the plunges.  How does that even work?  Is there some arcane aspect of physics involved in breast size?  Could this science be why men are so interested in mammaries? All this has made me realize that finding a correctly fitting bra requires some sort of college degree.  A doctorate.  A dissertation on why there are no CC bras would be a good start.

We have a little pool in the back yard, for Zane to splash around.  Except that we can't let it sit in one spot for too long, since it will kill the grass.  Also, standing water attracts mosquitoes, who lay their eggs in it.  Then there are the various accidental drownings which occur due to insects not realizing that the water is deep; bugs don't get swimming lessons, or learn to just float on their backs.  I tried to let some of the water out of the pool, and that was when I found out exactly how many cockroaches are in my backyard. Have I mentioned my morbid fear of cockroaches?  Here I am, barefoot, while these prehistoric monsters crawl toward me.  I did the only thing that I could, of course.  I leapt straight into the air and landed on the patio, a good two feet of distance.  Fear is a good motivator on occasion. 

Source: ohemmy.blogspot.com via Tina on Pinterest

I am supposed to have a Girls' Night Out to see the movie Magic Mike.  Not that I am all that into the whole stripper thing.  When I worked as a bartender at a club, they would have strippers come in on Fridays for the ladies.  Those guys were prissier than me, especially about their hair.   That sort of prissiness does not inspire lustful feelings, but it is interesting to observe the crowd behaviors.  I am joining my friends at this movie to show solidarity.   I am hopeful that there is a storyline to follow. 

I just finished World War Z.  It was interesting, if a bit disjointed.  That disjointedness may have come from my end.  Every time I started actually focusing on the book I was interrupted by a boy, or his dad.  That sort of thing is happening more and more often, so my reading time is becoming limited. I am hopeful that once Zane learns to read, we can have regularly scheduled reading time for both of us. 

My niece is about to embark on the gargantuan task of reading Stephen King.  It is certainly not for the faint of heart.  I started her off with Night Shift, small bites.  Although King's short stories scared me more than most of his novels.  I gave my niece The Shining also, so she can check into the Overlook hotel.  Then I tell her that the Overlook is a real place called the Stanley, and see if she wants to go there. Ghostbusters has nothing on my family!

So I am heading over to Stacy's place to drink her wine--looking forward to the sangria!





And I am also going to be visiting the lovelies over at Talk to Us Tuesdays

The A-List: Things That I Can Cook

I have deficient cooking skills.  My mother did all the cooking in our house, until I was sixteen. I was not allowed to cook in her kitchen without supervision, because I got everything messy and I never put stuff back where my mother wanted it.  (Perhaps I did that on purpose, mom!)  Since I became an adult, I've had to do my own cooking.  It's been difficult, mostly because a lot of cooking involves...*gasp*...math.  Who knew?  But I am able to follow a recipe, as long as I have my glasses on and double check that I didn't read "tsp" as tablespoon.  I have learned to cook a few items consistently well over the years. 


1. Lasagna  The first time I made lasagna, in college, I did it the hard way.   I boiled the noodles and hung them up, layered everything, and all that fancy stuff.  It took me two hours and I had two large pans of lasagna at the end of it.  Unfortunately, I also had invited a friend of mine who was a football player, and he brought three of his football playing buddies.  My first attempt at lasagna was gone in less than twenty minutes!  I did manage to save myself a couple of bites, and nobody got food poisoning.  Since then, I've streamlined the recipe a bit.  For instance, I use spaghetti sauce with basil and oregano already in it, so I don't have to add the spices.  I use the oven ready noodles, too.  My husband salivates just talking about my lasagna, and if he will eat it, I'll keep cooking it. 

Source: lasagnarecipewithcottagecheese.com via Tina on Pinterest

2. Eggs  It is fairly difficult to mess up eggs, I know.  I usually end up scrambling them, because I'm the only person in the house who likes them over easy.  When the eggs are almost done, I throw in chunks of ham and lots of melty cheddar cheese.  That's it.  If it is just me, I'll add some tomatoes, onions, and bell peppers. (If I am feeling really racy, I'll substitute gorgonzola cheese for the cheddar!)  That is our meal--breakfast, lunch or dinner.   Larry adds toast or tortillas, but I am okay without the extra carbs. 

3. Spaghetti.  It's not the spaghetti noodles, it's the sauce!  I'll add extra veggies to the sauce, large chunks of tomatoes and onions.  I'll throw in some extra garlic.  Meatballs are nice, if you have time, but just browning some hamburger is fine. I'll get some of that Morning Star Farms vegetarian crumble stuff that looks like hamburger and mix that in, just for a switch up.  Instead of the usual cheese on top of the mountain,  I like to go for a mix of mozzarella, parm, and asiago, because I'm just that crazy.  

4. Tacos  In order to live in Texas, you are required to be able to cook at least one dish from the local cuisine.  It's pretty difficult to ruin a taco, therefore it is safe for me to try to cook it.  I do not like lettuce on my tacos.  But that is the great thing about tacos--after the meat is on there, one is free to indulge in an assortment of choices regarding what else goes on the taco.  I prefer more tomatoes, and avocados, on my tacos, and therefore I can have them.  We even have soft tacos where the meat and the cheese is covered with barbeque sauce. 

5. Grilled cheese sammiches   Real people eat sammiches. Sammiches don't have to look pretty, they just have to get the job done.  Grilled cheese sandwiches are pretty simple--two pieces of bread, buttered, with cheese in the middle. Why stop with just one kind of cheese?  Why stop with just cheese?  This stuff is made for experimentation!  I'll throw in sharp cheddar and some bacon to go with the American slice.  Sometimes I'll throw bits of ham in there.   Unless you burn the bread, every grilled cheese sammich tastes great!

Source: grilledcheeseacademy.com via Tina on Pinterest

I have honorable mentions today! 

Fudge.  I found a recipe for microwave fudge that is beyond easy, and of course it is delicious. 

Chocolate cake.  I add more chocolate to the batter before it goes into the oven.  I drizzle chocolate syrup over the batter, and I throw in chunks of chocolate as well.  With all that, you don't need any icing!  I would like to try this with a butter cake--sprinkle melted butter over the batter and drop frozen butter pats into the batter--but I am a chicken.

Those are things that I can consistently 'whip up' in my secret labora--kitchen.  What are your tried and true recipes? 

It's My Birthday

Yes. Yes it is. On this day, back before the internet, I entered the world.  LBJ was president, the Beatles were big, and Elvis was still a hottie.

My husband is one of those people who expects a big to-do every year on his birthday.  He wants a party, and a parade float, and a blimp flying overhead.  My husband would love it if Iron Maiden was playing a special concert just for him.  Every single person who sees him must wish him a happy birthday.  It is the day of his birth, and therefore a grand day for celebration.  Larry basks in the glory that is his day.  He is all about the birthdays. 

I don't do that.  

Never mind that very few people not related to me remember my birthday.  Never mind that it's summer, and everyone is gone for their vacations.  Maybe when I was younger I would wallow in self-pity about all that, but these days I am just happy that I am still breathing.  I still have all my fingers and toes.  I can still speak, still see, still mostly hear.  I can still remember who I am and where I am.  Other than that, it's just another day for me.  Yep.  Just another day that I get to spend with my son and my husband and my family.  That is what is truly worth celebrating.

Oh, and there's cake. 

Source: especiallyforyouppkwallpepar.blogspot.com via Tina on Pinterest

Brighter Days

This is a crape myrtle in my back yard.  It's a pretty bright color, isn't it?  With a little rain, these particular trees tend to go crazy with blooms.  This is one of the trees my dad gave us when we moved into the house, and it's been pretty hardy.  The other trees in the yard have had various ailments, such as shiny evil insects, or a fungus or two, but this tree, and its twin, have been impervious.  I find this interesting because these two trees are also planted the furthest away from the house, where the soil is least accommodating.  They hardly ever get watered, because the hose takes forever to stretch out to their corner.  Essentially, they only get a good soaking when it rains.

Yet they have thrived.  They tower over me, as green as they can be, with these bright blooms.  What does that tell me?  It tells me that even when all hope seems to be lost, when what gives us joy seems to have dried up, we must hang on.  We must at least try.  Survival--not just our physical survival, but our spiritual survival--requires that we at least try.  Why?  I don't know the answer to that, not every time.  I do know that when I have been able to hang on for just a little longer, brighter days do come to me.

WOE: Active

Prompt:  Pick one and make it active voice.

1. [he/she/I] was devastated by [...]
2. [feeling] was experienced by [...]
3. [person/thing] was possessed by [...]

The loss devastated Catherine, but the time to stop and look for her favorite gun rushed past like a flash flood.  Before she figured out how to navigate the hysterical crowd, she found herself deposited  a mile away from her house.  Unarmed, she would have to find her way back home to her family.


How did I do?

You Know You're a Mom

Mamkat's Extremely Famous Prompt:  3.)  You know you’re a Mom when…


When I became a mom, lots of things changed.  In a good way, overall.  I joined a very esteemed club, filled with women who sacrificed their bodies to raise progeny. As someone who was always picked last for teams and such, I'm not used to belonging to such a great group.  We have a lot in common now.  We all know you're a Mom when:

You no longer close the door when you pee, just in case your very young child needs you.  This can lead to some embarrassment when you're at a dinner party. 

Your child's projectile vomiting is the only thing that gets you out of bed at night.

If no tissue is available, you just reach over and wipe your child's nose with your fingers, then wipe your fingers on your jeans, all without stopping your conversation.

Your boobs are not nearly as perky as they were before breastfeeding happened.  They are darn tired!  The girls' have a new nickname-Droopy.

You gain twenty pounds.  Why?  Because you end up eating the food that your kids don't want in addition to your own meals, so the food isn't wasted. 

When your boss comes back from the restroom, you absentmindedly ask him if he washed his hands.

Your purse contains diapers, wipes, gels, sprays, juice, sunscreen, band-aids, paper clips, and Jimmy Hoffa, just in case you need it.  Your purse also weighs seventy pounds.

Any and every conversation you have with another adult involves some mention of your child, along with photos, videos, written reports, as well as a Power Point presentation.

You are overwhelmed with the urge to make sure that everyone's garment tags are tucked into their appropriate shirts and pants.

You find yourself checking people's feet, to make sure that they have put their shoes on the correct foot.

After the child turns a certain age and is mobile, you not only close the bathroom door, you lock it, and you hold very still, hoping that your kids don't notice that you are in there.

A glass of wine looks pretty darn good at the end of the day.  The bottle looks even better.

Your greatest  fantasy involves a massage, a nap, and alone time.

You're at a dinner with your friends, and one of them has a schmear of something on their chin.  You have a napkin dipped in water and are reaching out to clean it off before you are aware of it.

Yet Another Sign of the Zombie Apocalypse?

I went out in to the backyard this morning, and this friendly little face was waiting to greet me.  A pretty little sunflower, just poking its perky little head into my yard, just to say hello.   I was so entranced that I went over to the fence to look closer.  And that was when I noticed what was behind my fence:

TONS of sunflowers.  In all directions. Everywhere you can see back behind our house, there are sunflowers jammy-packed.  I started to get a little nervous, seeing all those sunflowers.

Have you ever heard of the game Plants vs. Zombies? It's a game where the plants fight off the zombies trying to get into your house to eat your brains.  The main flower, the one that helps you the most, is the sunflower. 

Source: ripgamescenter.com via Tina on Pinterest

Maybe the zombies will be vegetarians? 

If Only There Were Random

My father claims that I was going to be named Bernadette.  The way he tells it, he had my mother convinced that Bernadette Marie was the perfect name for a girl.  My mother had other plans.  She named me Tina, after the actress Tina Cole.   Thank goodness!   I just cannot see myself as a Bernadette.  Do you think that your name suits your personality?

 

Yesterday was the first day of soccer camp for my son. British soccer camp.  As in, taught by actual people from Britain.  I was initially concerned about possible soccer hooligans, then I was slightly hoping that all soccer players from Britain might look like David Beckham.  You know--just like all old men from America look like Harrison Ford, and all teenage boys look like Justin Bieber. We all know how daydreams go!  Most of my daydreams tend to be very similar to those Old Spice commercials, actually.  Or the Direct TV commercials.  I watch too much television. 

My son does not like for me to read aloud to him. He prefers that my husband do the reading.  I don't begrudge that at all.  I have a tendency to read fast, and I don't have that "voice" that makes reading aloud pleasant listening.  I probably sound like Minnie Mouse reading aloud, if Minnie did a hit of helium. Does anyone who isn't in show business like the sound of their speaking voice?

I am an auditory mimic.  When I am listening to other people talk, I tend to start speaking with their accents.  For example, if someone from Mexico is speaking to me, all of a sudden I have their accent, complete with the random exclamation points, although I don't understand any Spanish but the bad words.  I usually don't realize that I am doing it, and some people might think that I am poking fun at them.  I am positive that I am doing it because it helps create rapport, but it drives Larry nuts. 

So I did get a pedicure. I wanted to go for a bold, royal purple. Then I wanted a bright red.  Then I saw a fuchia that I liked.  In the end, there were just too many choices. I was afraid that if I chose a color, I would want a different one twenty minutes later.  Now that I am thinking about it, that's pretty much how I think of food.  I went with the French manicure, which I am told is not actually something that they do in France.   Yes, my two middle toes are longer than my big toe.  I got lucky--most of the members of my family got the webbed feet gene.

I found out that one of my favorite state wineries, Llano Estacado, is now making sangria.   So I'm heading over to Stacy's Uncorked, to see if she's tried it.  I'm also going to visit Seriously Shawn and her friend Impulsive Addict because they are fun party girls, and they have snakes over there.   I'm kidding about the snakes.  

The A-List: People Who Annoy Me

I am not known for my social skills.  (Or my cooking, but that's another blog post.)  But I try to be polite.  I make eye contact on most days, and since no one has punched me in the face, I am probably not saying anything too horrible to tolerate.  But just because I am nodding politely or smiling doesn't mean that I don't get irritated or annoyed at some people.  Most of the time I hide my annoyance well, or at least I think I do.  Anyway, here are the five people guaranteed to irritate me.  I've given them nicknames because I watched too much Seinfeld.  Sorry.  Feel free to add your annoying people to the list in the comments. 

1.  One-Uppers  I guess that these sorts of people are competitive or something, but whatever story that you are telling, they must go one better.  You ran a marathon?  They run four a year.  You climbed Mt. Everest?  They've done it twice.  No matter what triumph or trial you've experienced, they've experienced it more.  Usually when a sentence starts with "Oh, that's nothing..."  you know you are in the hands of a one-upper.  I do okay when it is just me being one-upped; I am not the least bit competitive about stuff like that.  But when these people can't even allow me to discuss my child without jumping in with a one-up, I get annoyed.  It especially bothers me when I hear a parent of a special needs child talk about a glorious milestone, and the one-uppers can't even allow THAT.  If the discussion is ADHD, for example, then THEIR child has the worst-est case ever.  I think that we can all agree that this is annoying.  I just haven't figured out how to handle it, other than kicking the offender in the shins. 

2.  Jokesters  I don't mind the occasional joke.  Even if it is not that funny, I will still politely laugh. That's what you're supposed to do.  Jokesters take that little polite laugh and run with it. Then everything is a joke.   Except that I have usually moved on to the heart of the conversation, and I don't have a clue that you're still in jokester mode.  I don't always pick up on the nonverbal cues that indicate that a person is joking, so whatever you're saying?  I'm taking it seriously.  That means that if you start faking a heart attack to get a laugh, I will be hooking you up to the AED.  I may or may not stop the AED from shocking you, just because I'm annoyed.  Okay, I won't actually shock you.  But I'll certainly think about it.

3.  Won't Shut-Ups  I really shouldn't mind these people. After all, they do all the talking, for themselves and for me.  If I wanted, I could mentally be doing other things, like balancing my checkbook or creating menus for the month or curing cancer.  If I am on the phone with this person, I could put it on speaker phone and get my laundry sorted and the litter box cleaned out.  The WSUs wouldn't even notice, because they are too busy talking. That is all they do--talk.  Except that I've chosen to talk to this person for a reason, and I can't get a word in!  Conversations require reciprocity, right?  You talk, then you let me talk.  Rinse and repeat.   There's a saying that you hear at those motivational seminars:  You have two ears and one mouth, and that means that you are supposed to do twice as much listening.   The WSUs didn't get that memo. 
 
4.  TMIs    Hey, I just met you and this is crazy, but let me tell you about my colonoscopy and show you the pictures of my polyps!  Or let me tell you about my recent divorce.  Or my erectile dysfunction and how it ruined my date last night.  And yes, I have had these conversations with complete strangers. I have even had to sit and listen to a person tell me about their vaginal dryness.  There's some emotional scarring, some form of PTSD that those sorts of topics inflict on a person who is not prepared.  The mind immediately forms a picture, and what has been seen, cannot be unseen.  And I have to wonder:  where did these people get the idea that these were acceptable topics of conversation?  Has no one ever sat them down and told them that complete strangers don't want to hear these intimate details?  Hell, I don't think that even a person's friends want to hear about vaginal dryness, but icky conversations are part of that reciprocity required in friendships.

5. Mysteriosos  Some people live for that drama, and they want everyone hanging on their every word.  They want attention, so they create it.  They drop hints about things that have happened to them, using phrases such as "...after what I've been through", so you will ask them about what they've been through.  They'll call you and leave a rushed message asking you to call them, instead of telling you why they called.  They'll email you suddenly about a meeting, but when you ask, they won't tell you what the meeting is about. They want you to stew, or they want to stir the pot.  It drives me nuts, the drama.  Just tell me.  Rip that band-aid right off.   Communication is all about plain speaking, and we need more of that, not less.

Father's Day Musings

Being a father requires strength, selflessness and sacrifice.  It requires the strength to turn off that football game, even when it's the playoffs, to go and read a bedtime story.  It requires the selflessness to buy a toy that your child will enjoy instead of the video game you've been wanting to buy for months.  And it requires the sacrifice of never being able to have spontaneous sex in your own house for many years.  It is just a fact of life that not everyone is meant to be a father.  Oh, we are all biologically programmed to want to pass on our genes, but that doesn't mean that you automatically get the 'parent' gene.  Just because a man fathers a child doesn't mean that he has the capacity to be an actual dad. 

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Larry exhibits extraordinary patience with our son.  I am not a patient person.  It's something that I will always be working to improve, but I'm definitely not there yet. I am a 'get to the point' person, and children often take many detours to get to their point.   I don't like to repeat myself, and repetition is really the heart of all conversations with young children.  So I become frustrated easily.  Not my husband.  He will patiently explain, then re-explain three or four more times, what he is trying to say to our son.  He will sit patiently, listening to Zane tell a story, even if that story lasts longer than twenty minutes and he repeats the same sentence fourteen times.  I admire this, and I aspire to have the same patience.

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Zane wanted to play soccer, so my relatively sedentary husband became involved in soccer, and is going to be pursuing his coaching license, just so he can make sure that his son's sports experience is as positive as possible.  My husband doesn't handle the heat very well since his chemo, and he gets very sweaty, but he is out there, kicking the ball around and cheering for his son. Not many dads would do that for their kid.

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They built the Lego Millenium Falcon together, with Larry pointing out where some pieces went and Zane pushing them together.  It was a genuine father-son effort, but it was definitely a father moment when they finished, and Zane decided that he wanted to actually "play" with the ship instead of just looking at it. My husband is a geek, and geeks put things like Legos together so that item can be placed on display and admired by other geeks.  They don't actually "play" with said items!  Yet Larry did the fatherly thing and let Zane take the Millenium Falcon out for a spin, knowing that four-year-old boys tend to drop toys, and knowing that Legos don't tend to stay put together under that sort of stress.  Not many dads could do this. I am sure that he winced and cringed every single time Han Solo's ship came crashing unceremoniously to the carpet, but he never said a word. 

----

The NICU nurses allowed Larry to take a picture of our son before they whisked him off, he told me, but they had their jobs to do.  Later, after I had been stabilized and settled into my own ICU bed, Larry went to see our son, in his little incubator.  My husband told me that Zane's little hand had grabbed one of his fingers.  Zane had opened his eyes and looked right at his father.  That look, however brief, had a profound impact on Larry.  It was in that moment that Larry became a dad, when he realized what being a dad was going to be, when he embraced that ideal with both hands. He's never looked back.  

At The Mercy Of Technology

Last week I discussed how, in the middle of everything, our power went out.  It was not a horrible experience, in the grand scheme.  And yet...

Ever since the power outage, our 'big' computers have been misbehaving. 

One of the computers seems to have developed a form of sentience, and is using its powers for shenanigans. It keeps kicking me off the internet, often in the middle of everything.  It also doesn't like the current desktop setup. So when it boots, it pulls in a previous desktop that it likes better.  Maybe it doesn't like the Green Lantern desktop, I told my husband.

Computers don't care what their desktops look like, Larry says.  I pointed out that most of the time, we give the talking computers female voices, so why wouldn't they also have a female's interest in dressing up and looking pretty on occasion? 


It could happen, you know. 

WOE: Fate

Prompt: This week, write a fiction or creative non-fiction piece where fate plays a prominent role. You can write from the position of a complete belief or absolute disbelief in the role of fate in our lives or the lives of our characters.

 

The depths of despair didn't look that much different from the rest of life, Claire mused.   The bank about to foreclose on her home looked exactly the same as it had every other time she had passed through the doors.  She had come to ask for a reprieve.  The receptionist didn't even look up from her typing, but nodded her head in the direction of the crowded waiting area. 

Head down, Claire sat slumped in a chair, her arms crossed to hold her emotions in check.   Her vision blurred. She did not want to start crying; hysteria was threatening to overtake her.  There was a gentle cough to her right.  As her eyes cleared, she focused on the white cloth in front of her.  Her eyes followed the hand holding the hanky; a tall man in a black suit sat next to her, his face concerned.  She hadn't even noticed that anyone had been sitting there.

"I'm sorry--,"  Claire began as she accepted the hanky.  She stopped, her breath hiccuped in her chest, the tears threatening once more.  A kind, comforting hand was suddenly holding hers. Claire looked up, into the most intense blue eyes she had ever seen.   

"What is the matter?"  Those eyes seemed to be staring into the very heart of her.  

With that, her fears burst forth in a rush, along with the tears Claire had been withholding so fiercely.  At that moment, she didn't care that she was in a public place, telling her secrets to a complete stranger.  She just let everything go, trusting that stranger to hear her.  

"I am so sorry," she finally sniffled, feeling drained and strangely at peace.  "You surely did not come to the bank to hear me cry about life being unfair."

 

The tall man with the intense blue eyes chuckled.   He leaned closer to Claire and winked.  

 

"I have a good feeling.  I think that everything is going to turn out just fine."   

Smiling, he stood and walked away, vanishing around a corner. Claire remained seated, bemused, still clutching the white hanky, until the receptionist called her name.  She walked down the hall to where the loan officer, a tall man in a dark suit, waited for her. 

A Valuable Lesson

Another prompt from Mamakat's Extremely Important Writing Workshop:  2.) Share a lesson you learned from your Father that still sticks with you to this day.



It was a choir concert, just like every other choir concert ever.  I was standing on the top riser, surrounded by sopranos, sweating a bit under my robes, wishing I had won a place in a choir that had cooler uniforms.  Though my thoughts wandered, I had my eye on the choir director, singing my heart out; I could do this singing stuff in my sleep back then.  I knew my parents were out there in the audience, even though I couldn't see them.  They came to every concert, even though my dad worked three jobs and was going to school.

Suddenly I felt a weight on my shoulder. I glanced sideways to find my friend Ursula leaning on me.   Occasionally, standing on risers in heels was painful, and it was normal for one of us to lean on another to surreptitously step out of a shoe or rotate an ankle. My attention wandered again.  But Ursula kept leaning, a constant pressure on my side that I knew would interfere with my breath control. I glanced at her again; her eyes were open, but she was not singing. Maybe she forgot the words?

I did what any person would do: I flexed my elbow, to get her attention. Perhaps Ursula had no idea she had been leaning on my so long.

Ursula indeed did not know. She had fainted, standing up, in the middle of the concert, with her eyes wide open. My little push caused her to fall right off the back of the riser. Shocked, I watched her robes flutter as she fell. She crashed loudly to the floor, just as the choir was singing about stars beginning to fall from the sky.  I yelled, then jumped down to see to my friend.  A couple of other girls stopped singing to scream; there were murmurs from the audience.  The song faltered a bit, but the director kept things moving.  I saw my dad running for the stage from the corner of my eye, still in his coat. 

My dad wasn't freaking out, although he probably thought it was me who fell off the risers.  He just knelt next to Ursula and checked her pulse, breathing, etc.  I watched him for a moment.  He was so calm, his movements so measured, that I knew that my friend was okay.  I crawled back up on the riser to finish the song; the show must go on.  Ursula began to regain consciousness, my dad speaking to her softly.  His calmness seeped into her. Rather than the expected hysterics over fainting and falling, Ursula was able to sit up quietly until they were able to move her to a quiet room backstage.

What did I learn that day, besides the fact that people can faint with their eyes open?  I learned that people need calm in an emergency.  My dad was calm, and that helped calm everyone else, even a teenage girl known for her dramatics.  The incident also made me think about how much I relied on my dad to be calm in scary situations.  People need someone who looks like they know what they are doing, even if everything else is chaos.  As long as that person is calm, or is at least acting calm, they are the eye of the hurricane, people will gravitate toward that person and they will share in that calm.
I try very hard to stay calm during emergencies, because I know that my calm will help my son, and my husband, and I have my dad to thank for that. 

7 Things Necessary for a Good Barbecue

This is one of Mamakat's prompts.  I was hankering for some  brisket, and that's how this ball got rolling!

Barbecued meat is awesome.  Tender, juicy, melt in your mouth goodness.  I'm drooling already, thinking of those fajitas, ribs, and brisket.   Yummy doesn't even begin to describe it.  There are a few necessities before you start barbecuing, however.  Pay Attention!  


1.  A Grill with a Smoker   The best barbecue meats are meant to be cooked slowly over hours, sometimes days.

2.  A Person to Man the Grill  I am not allowed to be around open flames for the same reason that I am not allowed to touch power tools--accidents happen.  So I volunteer someone else to be the cook.

3.  A slab of meat   Some prefer pork, other prefer a nice brisket.  Ribs come in white and dark meat. It's all good.

4.  Marinade/rub  You may need to marinade some cuts of meat to get then softened up with a bit of flavoring. At least that is what most fajita aficionados claim.  Other cooks swear by a rub of spices over the meat prior to cooking. 

5.  Mesquite wood is a key component in Texas Barbecue  It's a good wood that burns well, and creates a pleasant smoke for smokers.   Other wood will do, but it won't be the same as mesquite.

6.  A Barbecue sauce  Nothing brings a meal together like a good barbecue sauce.  Not too runny, not too thick, a good sauce adds a bit of a tang to the meat that makes your mouth water.  It complements the flavor of the meat. 

7.  Lots of napkins   Barbecue is messy. Wear clothing that you don't mind getting messy, or maybe one of those disposable hazmat outfits. If you're not covered in at least three spots with barbecue sauce, you've done something wrong. 

Feeling So Very Random

We've come into a little extra cash(I'm working extra days this summer).  Remember when we were kids and you could save up your allowance or your earnings from a summer job for something extravagant and frivolous like sea monkeys or x-ray goggles?  I would love to be able to take all of the cash that I'm earning and spend it all on a spa weekend at a resort, or maybe a life-sized replica of Batman.  Except that...we need a new lawn mower, a new fence, new flooring, and a couple of other things around the house fixed.  I hate that I can't take any sort of childish joy in the idea of a new floor, but there it is.  Although a life-sized Batman would look really great on wood laminate.  (Can you imagine someone breaking into a house and seeing the silhouette of Batman standing there in the dark?) 

My son drew this.  I think it looks like a computer monitor and keyboard.  Which is funny, and probably a sign that we spend too much time online.   You never know where a kid's imagination will go.   I love listening to Zane playing with his toys.  He makes them talk to each other, and he has them fight and make up and be friends again.  In his world, the Joker and Superman can hang out and be buds, but only until there's shenanigans. (Note: four year olds don't really know how to say the word "shenanigans", and it's so adorable to listen to them try!)

True Blood started up this week!!!   Squeeee!  (Sorry, I'm told that sound is required.)  The next sentence is a spoiler: I am not sure how I feel about Tara living, let alone her being a vamp.  Okay, that is all of the spoilers for this episode. 

When I signed up to be a soccer mom, I had no idea what a seething cesspool of political machinations the recreational soccer world is.  Nobody talks about that part of the fun.  Is that part of every kid sport--the politics?  I hate having to watch what I say so I don't get my child 'blacklisted', and you know, if it's going to be that ridiculous, there's probably another soccer league out in our area, right?

My cat Zena is a wanderer, and she likes to wander through the tall grass out behind the fence.  Lately when she comes home, she is covered in sticker burrs.  Hundreds of them, all over!  I have to get out the brush and get as many out of her fur as I can, just because they seem so painful, all tangled up in her fur.  Is Zena appreciative of my efforts?  No, she is not.  She tries to nip me every single time.  Perhaps I am going about this the wrong way--maybe sticker burrs have fiber, and Zena was trying to get her daily dose?

What does this sign say?  It says that pets are prohibited in the pool. Check. It says that changing diapers in the pool is prohibited. Ew, and Check.  And it says that the use of the "public interactive water feature or fountain if a person is infected with a contagious disease or condition is prohibited."   My question would be regarding who is checking for contagious diseases before allowing people to enter the pool?  Is there someone in the dressing room asking people to pee in a cup or drawing their blood and checking it under a microscope?  I guess they're doing this one the honor system.  I didn't realize that I needed to make sure that my vaccinations were up to date before I hit the pool. 


I'm visiting Stacy today over at her site, to see what her latest vintage might be. Come over and visit her!






I'm also visiting Seriously Shawn and Impulsive Addict for their Talk to us Tuesday fun.  Join up--no rules!

The A-List: Rock Songs That Everyone Should Know By Now

Music is a very subjective experience, both personal and collectively.  It sometimes inspires, but mainly we listen because we just like the sound of a song.  Most of us grew up listening to the radio, and the radio told us what we were supposed to like by playing what they liked.  I would love to be able to say otherwise, that the DJs played an expansive list of new and old music so that their listeners would have a well-rounded musical experience, but that would be a lie.  Radio stations have always played whatever they think we will buy. If we liked the song, they played it more.  

As a consequence of this, some songs got played over and over,  eleventy-billion times.  Even if we did not want to, even if we did not particularly like the song, we often found ourselves humming along.   By sheer repetition, those songs crept into our consciousness, and have resisted removal, despite our current Disney-fied ways.  By virtue of repetition, then, there are some songs that everyone who listens to the radio, watches television, or hits the movie theater should have heard by now. 

These songs have been submerged into our culture just because we've heard them so many times.  I would bet good money that most of us could identify these songs pretty quickly, if we were playing Name That Tune.  These are not necessarily songs that I love or hate.  I am certainly not so pretentious as to think I have the ultimate list, and there's a good probability that I will change my mind by next week.  Feel free to add yours in the comments.   Except for "Sweet Child O' Mine", because I do hate that song with the passion of a thousand white-hot suns.   It is an ear-worm of plague proportions, and all copies of that song should be destroyed.   

1.  Bohemian Rhapsody--Queen    I love Queen.  Freddy Mercury was just a phenomenal vocalist, without the aid of Auto-tune.  This song has been featured in movies, and on Glee,  and it is still in heavy rotation on radio stations world-wide.  I don't think that it is the very best Queen song ever, but it is still very clever.



2.  You Shook Me All Night Long--AC/DC   There are a few AC/DC songs out there that are pretty popular, and many of them are easily recognized, like the intro to Highway to Hell(featured on Glee, of all places), Back in Black,  For Those About To Rock, etc.  You Shook Me All Night Long is a perennial party favorite, and I've not only heard it played on radio stations, but also at weddings, country bars, and street parties.  People still seem to want to dance when they hear it, at least in these parts.

3.  Layla  Eric Clapton(Derek and the Dominoes)    Eric Clapton is probably the best guitar player living today, and no, I do not want to argue about how Hendrix was better.    This song has not only been played on the radio every day since it was released, it's also been featured in movies like Goodfellas.  My husband feels that Sunshine of Your Love is a better representation of Clapton's genius, but unfortunately, this isn't a list about genius. 



4.  Iron Man--Black Sabbath   When I was growing up, Black Sabbath was considered devil music.  Which was just plain ignorant and silly, now that I am an adult and have listened to Taylor Swift(I kid!).  A song about a man made out of iron is devil music?  Pfft.  Hmmm...a man made out of iron...say, isn't there a movie about that?   

5.  Stairway to Heaven--Led Zeppelin   There is a reason that the movie Wayne's World discussed the "No Stairway to Heaven" rule in the guitar shop scene.  While this is certainly not Led Zeppelin's best work, it seemed to explode in popularity for some reason.  I don't even think that the record execs expected it to be so popular.  But the intro to this song should be as familiar to everyone as the names of their children.

So The Lights Went Out

We were in the middle of a favorite episode of Call of The Wildman.  The Turtle Man had just cornered a fox in the hen house, live action, and was hollering for his 'team' to bring him the cage.  I was wondering if the fox had signed a release form to be on television.

All of a sudden, the lights went out.  We don't know why.  There were no storms in our area.  We suspected that either someone had crashed their car into a transformer, or some random squirrel chewed on the wrong wire and got cooked.  However it happened, we were in darkness.

Zane did not understand why the lights were out.  He was a little nervous. We patiently explained about the electricity and how it ran things and made the lights come on, etc.  Zane listened to us, and then asked us why the lights were out, and more importantly, why the tv wasn't on.  We explained again, or at least, Larry did.  I was busy looking for the various lanterns and candles to put a bit of light on the subject.   I have them stashed all over the house for these sorts of situations.  I used to have flashlights all over, but my husband is notorious for picking things up and putting them in different places, never to be found again.  Lanterns are less likely to wander off.

I also remembered that I had this little beauty:

Source: amazon.com via Tina on Pinterest

The thing about a lot of 'emergency' items is that they require batteries.  What is the very first thing that sells out when there's an emergency?  Batteries.  I have been in the middle of the battery aisle right before a hurricane was supposed to hit land--I was lucky to escape with my dignity.  That radio/flashlight/cell phone charger is not only solar powered, but there's also a handcrank.  I couldn't use the solar battery, since it was dark outside, but not to worry!  You use the crank, and it provides power.  It doesn't need batteries at all.  I found it on Amazon, along with a 'self-powered'  lantern.   I cranked it up, turned on the flashlight, and put it next to Zane so he had a light in the darkness. 

Then I picked it back up, and started to play with it. I was just too fascinated by my newest gadget. I even found the USB plug, and plugged my cell phone into it, just to see it charging while I turned the crank.  I was in that zone Larry and I call 'nerdvana', playing happily in the dark. 

I was almost sorry when the lights came back on.

Now I See The Problem

My husband got a refund check in the mail yesterday.  It happens. I am the person who pays the bills in the house, and occasionally my brain transposes numbers.   I never claimed to be a math wizard.

Businesses are very anal about knowing how much money they have. They have entire squadrons of accountants who do nothing but make sure that all accounts balance to the hundredth penny.  When someone overpays, a check must be printed on very special paper, with very special printer ink, and mailed to the person receiving the refund.

Very special check paper costs money.

Very special printer ink costs money. Probably way more money than the very special paper, even with a bulk discount.

Mailing envelopes, to mail the check, cost money.

Stamps, to mail the check, cost money.

All that effort on the part of a business, just to balance their accounts.  My estimate as to the total cost to send us our refund is about a dollar. It might be more. Have I mentioned that I am not a math wiz?

Know how much our refund check was for?  Fourteen cents. 

Does that sound kind of silly? It does to me. Surely there was a more cost effective way to do this?

When companies come running to the federal government, hat in hand, and whine about not being able to stay solvent in these horrible economic times, I want everyone to think about this.  If a private corporation, the pinnacle of capitalism, can't manage their costs better than spending a dollar on a fourteen cent refund, why do we expect the federal government to do so?

WOE: To The Moon

Prompt:  you have 500 words to write a piece, fiction or non-fiction, which includes the phrase “to the moon.”    Sorry this is late, but the power was out here last night.  This is non-fiction.
 

"...to the moon."  

The announcer's voice pulled on my attention.  I wandered into the room where my parents sat in front of the television, curious.  My parents were mesmerized, staring at the screen.   A white, blurry, egg-shaped contraption with legs seemed to glow from the black and white picture.  An astronaut was jerkily bouncing down the ladder, looking as if he were made of marshmallows, big and puffy.  

"What's that?" I asked my parents. 

"It's men landing on the moon." My mother never took her eyes off the television, caught in the moment.   Surprised, I raced outside into the backyard.   I had just turned four, but I knew where the moon was.

The moon had already risen in the sky above El Paso, a slice of white and gray in the blue of the afternoon sky.  It seemed to be very close.  I strained my eyes and craned my neck, certain that I should be able to see the marshmallow men up there, bouncing on the moon.  


There was nothing to see. It seemed to me that if there were people walking on the moon, the moon should look different. There should be some indication, however small, that an event so momentous had occurred.  Instead, the moon looked as placid as it always did.   I kept my eyes on the moon, just in case, until my father came outside to find me.  My dad, when he was able to stop laughing, explained that the moon, though it looked close, was actually very far away.  I was disappointed, but undefeated.  

I continued to stare at the moon every chance I got for the entire summer, hoping to see a footprint, or the red of the American flag...something. I finally understood that I would never be able to see what was happening on the far-away moon with my naked eye, and that was a sad day for me.  Yet some imaginings don't fade so easily.  Even today, when I look up in the sky, there's still that little girl in the back of my mind, peering intently at the moon, still dreaming. 
 

To-Do List

Mamakat's Prompt:  1.) Ten To-Dos in June. (inspired by Denise)  These are my personal To-Dos. 

1.  Breathe.  I sometimes get overwhelmed with everything around me.  I start taking everything personally.  The economy down?  Regime overthrown?  Idiots winning recall elections?   The very best basketball team to ever exist, loses a game to a ridiculously inexperienced team with the help of horrible refs?  That one, at least, is not on me--I think these games are fixed by the owners.   Anyway, I get all wrapped up in the negative, and that is not the way I want to be.  So in June, I am making time to breathe and just be, let go of those problems that don't belong to me.  Maybe try some yoga breathing, some people swear by it.  

2.  Clear out the old stuff from the school year.  As part of the horrible that is my job, I have a ton of paperwork.  If I make a mistake and correct it, I have to print out another copy of the document. I can't throw the paper out, it has to be shredded to preserve confidentiality.  Over the course of the school year, a large pile of papers that need to be shredded rises up next to my desk. I could let someone else do the shredding, but I take a perverse pleasure in shredding things that annoy me. 

3.  Give away old school clothes.  Zane is growing fast.  By the time August rolls around, all of his pants will be too short, and half of his shirts will be too small.  My child has more clothes, and takes up more closet space, than me, thanks to well-meaning relatives.   I plan to go through all of his drawers and the closet and clear out these items so his grandmother, who is a bargain-shopping fool, can start buying him more clothes.   

4.  Eat more fruit.  I like fruit.  I enjoy the colors of blueberries, love the tang of a peach.   During the school year, I don't always remember to grab a banana to take to work.  I do not enjoy fruit sitting on my counter rotting because I am the only one who eats it.   All that fruit ends up in the backyard for the birds and some very healthy squirrels to snack on. I will be home more, and therefore, more fruit will be save from a life of rot, only to end up in my belly.


5.  Make gazpacho.  I love gazpacho.  I could eat gazpacho morning, noon, and night.  There is a restaurant near where I work that sells gazpacho, and every Thursday I order 32oz.  I don't even use a spoon, I just tip the big cup back and suck all that crunchy goodness down.  It's that good.  So I plan on trying a recipe for gazpacho on my own, to see if I can make it myself.  Things might end up messy, and there's an inherent risk of letting me use knives, but I am an adventurer. 

6.  Be a Soccer Mom.  Zane's soccer seasons have ended, but now we have soccer camps.  Specifically, my son will be attending British soccer camp.  That means there will be actual British people. Probably not soccer hooligans, but you never know.  Zane is excited, and he loves to run all over the place.  It will be fun, and I will be there for at least two days, to see him play and learn.   No minivan, however. 

7.  Work.  Yes, while all you slackers with your summers off are lazing by the pool, I will still be doing the 7:30-4:30 grind.  Day after impossibly long Day, Monday through Thursday.  It's is extremely difficult to work when you know that your slacker friends are sucking back drinks, getting tanned legs, and giggling at cabana boys.  It's nigh impossible.  I find myself pulled over to the window more days than not, and if there is an excuse to go outside, I am there!

8.  Plan some vacation.  With the little extra money that we are getting from me working an extra ten days, we will have enough for two mini vacations.  I would like to hit Dinosaur Valley State Park over in Glen Rose, Texas, and then I'd like us to head for the beach for a couple of days.  Rockport is the likely destination, since they have a bay.  It's easier to keep track of a four-year-old who wants to swim with the sharks when you're in a bay. 

9.  Remember summer birthdays  My birthday is in June.  Nobody ever remembers birthdays in June.  School has just let out, and people are just too busy having a great time to remember any birthdays.  My own family frequently forgot that I had a birthday, often singing the birthday cake song at some random date in July.  It bothers me, so I try to find people who have a June birthday and make sure at least one person remembers. 

10.  Play  I will have to plan for play.  Days of fishing.  Swimming, and trips to Fiesta Texas, and SeaWorld.  The Kiddie Park.  The Zoo.  Teaching Zane the correct way to slip and slide.  Play Lego Batman with Zane.  Also, I have plans for a good massage and a pedicure, as well as a couple of nights out with the girls to drink and maybe dance and possibly bad karaoke.  I don't play enough, and now it's my turn. 

What are somethings that are on your 'to-do' list for June? 

A Little Help

I was feeling blurry and brainless last night, and the blogging ideas weren't coming along.  My dearest spouse was kind enough to take the boy and head for a Scorpions soccer game, and the house was quiet.  This should have been the perfect time for me to write a blog post.  Nada.  No bright ideas popped into my consciousness.

I read other people's blogs, hoping that that would get the creative juices flowing. 

I turned off the television. 

I went outside. 

I fed Lalo and Smoky Bear, the two feral cats who live in the bushes in the back yard.

I got the coffee ready for tomorrow.

I actually did the dishes, and I hate doing the dishes in an extreme way.  I was that desperate for ideas.

And then, I had an idea.  I would ask my people on Facebook!  Those people are always giving their opinions--why not let them tell me what to write about?  Collectively they are an intelligent bunch.  I typed out my status/request and the responses I got:

What should I blog about for tomorrow? My brain is 'Le Tired', and not forming coherent sentences.

 

A. Just start typing and see what happens.

B. Awesome and disastrous implications of portal guns

C.  And expose on George Clinton called "Those Guys Have All the Funk"

Talk about bringing the challenge!    I can't really write anything about George Clinton.  George Clinton has always had The Funk.  He's always had The Funk.  I've never actually wanted The Funk, anyway.  Where would I put it?  You can't just leave The Funk lying around the house--what if my son gets into The Funk?  The Funk requires the ability to get down...and talk about the roof being on fire.  That's just not responsible parenting in my book.

Portal guns are a little harder, because I don't know much about them.   Of course, I googled and found what I was looking for .   I read all about them...and...yeah.  I have to face the fact that it is possible that my brain was taken by zombies while I was working today. All that physics stuff is going to take a bit to digest.  In other words, I'll have to ask my husband, the gamer, to explain.


But then my wonderful friend, Jillsmo, over at Yeah. Good Times. said to just "start typing and see what happens."  She is brilliant, isn't she?  She is my Zen master, and I heart her.   Any journey always begins with the first step, doesn't it? I do have a tendency to over think things, when I really should just let things flow.  If nothing else, I've at least got my ideas on the paper.  

On another topic, what do you think of my redecoration efforts?  I am not sure of the color--it's a bit darker than I would like.  Is it difficult to read?

   

 

A Hefty Dose of Random

I really, really hate it when I see someone speeding in a place where I got caught speeding.  I feel singled out. Like I am the only person ever given a ticket on this particular stretch of road. Hmph.  Darn cop was probably on the lookout for me.  If I am getting a ticket, everybody else who speeds at that particular intersection should get a ticket.  I have not even seen that cop car sitting there since I got a ticket!

Why do the soccer uniforms for the USA team make them look like gondoliers in Venice?  Who thought that would be a good idea?  I'm not even the least bit fashionable, and even I know that horizontal stripes are a bad idea unless you weigh less than a toothpick.  And even then, it's an iffy thing.  I don't know why clothing designers try to foist that stuff on us, except as a cruel joke.  They make the clothing smaller so it doesn't fit, and then put horizontal stripes on it so we will feel bad about ourselves and buy lots of diet products.  I may be on to something...

Source: nj.com via Tina on Pinterest

Why do cats have to claim whatever you are reading?  I've had cats lay down on newspapers, magazines, books, even pamphlets.  If I am paying attention to it, a cat shows up and plants their butt on it.  But the cake was taken today when my cat Pounce claimed my Kindle.  She just got in my lap and laid down right on top of my reading!

I saw this e-card, and I thought of all of you!  And, of course, now I am hungry...

Source: someecards.com via Tina on Pinterest

I have elevens. I haven't been watching This is Spinal Tap. When you have a lot of pain, such as migraines, you often furrow your brow.  Over time, two lines tend to form between your eyebrows, marking you.  Some people only have a one instead of an eleven.  It's like a secret club.  Do you have elevens?  Does all this sound like a commercial for Direct TV, where you're not supposed to attend your own funeral as a guy named Phil Schifly?

We may be hitting the beach for a couple of days this summer, and I would like to have a pedicure to go with my pasty white skin.  I don't usually get pedicures, but I am going to spoil myself, dammit!  So, when one gets a pedicure, is it best to go with the colored nails or the French manicure? If colored nails, should you go demure or bold?  My tendency is toward bold, edgy colors, such as purple. But that sort of polish tends to chip more quickly, in my experience.  Also, should I disguise my hammer toe with a catchy silver ring? Minus the snakes, of course! (Those are not my feet. My husband would divorce me if I had snakes on my feet. Well, after he woke up from his faint.)

Source: mysanantonio.com via Tina on Pinterest

I am randomly going to be swinging by Stacy's place today. Join  me!

The A-List: People You Meet On the River

New Braunfels, Texas was blessed with not one, but TWO rivers.  There's the Comal River, which is relatively calm and is the shortest navigable river in the state of Texas.  The entire Comal River exists within the city limits of New Braunfels, as a matter of fact.  The second river is the Guadalupe River, which starts far upstream and ends up in the Gulf of Mexico.  

Now that it is summer, everyone flocks to the rivers.  I love to people watch.  It's a perfect match.    Most river visitors are tourists, and many are there to tube down the river.  (Tubing involves sitting in an inner tube and floating down the river.)  Over the years, I have noticed some trends in the kinds of people who show up on the river frequently.

1.  Outdoor enthusiasts.  Fishermen, nature lovers, etc., flock to the rivers because they can indulge in their favorite outdoor activity.  Colorful kayaks and canoes dot the riverscape.  Bird watchers look for woodpeckers in the large trees beside the rivers. Fishermen compete with turtles for the catch of the day.  It's fun to watch.

2.  Families.  The river is a great place to bring kids and life vests, and tubing is a great activity for the whole family.  Mom and Dad can connect their tubes with their offspring, or let them float off on their own, depending on their age.  While most kids do not want to sit still for five minutes to watch a movie, there's just enough action on an inner tube floating along to keep them occupied.   Just tell them that there are snakes in the river; that way, they won't stray too far.

3.  Large people in spandex. I know, the very idea is horrible to contemplate, but we are a nation of fatties, and we need to get used to that.  I myself am rather potato-shaped.  However, being large is no excuse for putting on a swimsuit that you last wore when you were six sizes smaller.  Nobody wants to see that.  On second thought, keep wearing the spandex.  People will lose their appetites and slim down as a result.  Obesity problem solved!

4.  Girls who are looking for any excuse to remove their tops.   No matter how much time has passed since my giddy college years, I remain amazed at the number of 'drunk' women who remove their bathing suit tops while floating.  I say 'drunk', because I've become cynical and am pretty sure that most of these women aren't the least bit intoxicated.  There can't possibly be that many women out there with such horrible self-esteem issues that they must flash what they consider to be their best attributes, while excusing it as alcohol-related behavior.   That would destroy my faith in humanity.

5.  Boys dying to see a drunk girl remove her top.  I have decided that this must be some sort of annual rite of passage, this need to see a half-naked girl on an inner tube.  Remember that scene in the movie Sixteen Candles, where all the 'geeks' were shown Molly Ringwald's underpants?   All these young men gathering on the river reminds me of that. When a girl removes her top, it is as if all male eyes rivet toward her, even if she is around the bend of the river.  If Osama had been dressed as a young co-ed and took off his top, we'd have found him a whole lot sooner! Do you have a river near you? If so, what sort of people do you see?