Live for today....Plan for tomorrow...Party tonight! ~ unknown
Here's the situation: Hubby is out of town on boat business. Daughter is at Girlfriend's sleepover for the big 13th birthday celebration. Teacher Workday tomorrow (for me that means Hello, Weekend a day early!). That left Son and I available for social activity. After all the responsibilities of today (work, tutoring, preparation for & delivery to said birthday party, taking Son & Finley to Brother while I attended Step Class & Cult Weigh-In), I was torn between going home and having an uneventful night - unless gorging on large quantities of food after the weigh-in counts - or trying to find some way to misbehave. Basically, after the Cult, I was ready to go home. I didn't run into Ethel at the meeting so I called her to see how she had done. As it turned out, she had not gone to the meeting for various reasons, one of which being the fact that Fred was out of town. Fred & Hubby out of town at the same time? The Fates were speaking....a Girls' Night! Oh, the days of yore...drinking, laughter, ultimately - spillage of some bodily fluid. So....we weren't going out AND the kids (sans Daughter) would be around, but hey, it was worth a shot. Did I mention the dogs?! Yes, Vida & Finley would get a Girls' Night, too. I stopped by the house to pick up the remainder of the vanilla vodka from last weekend, change out of my exercise attire, and then headed straight to Ethel's. A definite departure from those old party nights. NEVER would I have even contemplated a night of festivities without a shower and make-up partnered with a well-thought-out outfit. Tonight: jeans, athletic socks (one with holes), and my UNC xxl sweatshirt. The epitome of hot, let me tell you. As soon as we arrived, my exhausted dog found new life playing with her sister. This went on for hours. Luckily we freely poured the vodka and DIET ginger ale (like I cared about calories while drinking in my previous life) so we laughed when we discovered the trail of urine that encircled the kitchen island. Didn't know dogs could walk and pee simultaneously. So, here was the expulsion of bodily fluid (or so I thought). The dogs played so hard that blood was shed. At first we thought Finley had bitten Vida's ear...we later came to the conclusion that it was from Finley's bleeding gums. Apparently she is losing her baby teeth (Daughter found one the other day) at an amazing rate. The one side of her mouth resembles the Bumble from the Rudolph story. Ethel and I laughed, gossiped, ate, and drank. The kids played until all but one had fallen asleep. Son was on my lap until I finally had to go to the bathroom. I placed him on the love seat so my Girls' Night could continue. Then we found The Blues Brothers on tv. HHMMM...just like one night at Kensington Trace when I tried to watch it but just had to sleep for some reason. While laughing about how we really didn't remember the parts we were watching, Son (who had been coughing on and off throughout the evening) sat up from his restful state and puked all over the blanket that had been covering him. Yay...more bodily fluid. A puking boy...definitely resembling old times, although Son's was not induced by large quantities of alcohol. He proceeded to puke all over the floor of Ethel's bathroom. I think one teaspoon of it ended up in the toilet. Yay. Ethel offered a change of clothes to Son, but, being the anal soul he is about his clothes, he refused to change. After cleaning up the puke, we promptly left, son clutched to me in his puke-splattered clothing....puke blanket and bag of pukey paper towels in hand (couldn't leave that mess in someone's house - unlike olden days where it was common practice to NOT clean up any mess that you or anyone else had made). Now I sit here in my quiet home still in my sweatshirt that most assuredly has puke-transfer all over it while Son is peacefully resting in his Zyrtek sleep and Finley is restful after her wild night. Did I mention the fact that Ethel and I saw her hump her sister?! Yikes! Sounds like the Duke lacrosse party (oooh, bad form). I guess in that respect our evening DID resemble parties of our youth...dogs engaging in sexual behavior in public. What was it Luscious said earlier when I told her that I had never been home alone overnight with only Son and I didn't know what I would do with myself after he went to sleep? Her one-word response: BLOG. I told her I wasn't inspired to write anything. Funny what a Girls' Night can produce. All in all, the same elements in an entirely different setting with a contrasting set of characters. The memories (or lack thereof in some cases) of those days are priceless, but I wouldn't trade my life now to relive that period in time. I couldn't imagine my life without Hubby and the Kids. I DO miss the proximity of my girlfriends. Carolina, my friend...not the institution, is SO far away ready to deliver her new bundle of joy and I SO want to be there (no, not in the delivery room!). BUT girlfriends like the ones with which I have been blessed are always close...they live in my memories and my heart. Now, as I get ready to hit Publish Post, I toast (figuratively, of course, as a good mommy I stopped the consumption when the vomit flew forth) my former and present lives and send hugs and love to all my girlfriends.
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Friday, March 24, 2006
At the Mercy of Strangers
Taxi Rules:
1. Driver speaks no English.
2. Driver just got here two days ago from someplace like Segal.
3. Driver hates you. – unknown
There is nothing that compares to the feeling of being recklessly driven by a taxi driver. Ethel and I subjected ourselves to this as infrequently as possible during our adventure in Vegas. We felt we could justify eating whatever we felt like eating after walking mile after mile to our destinations. For instance, we treated ourselves to a fabulous Mexican lunch at the Venetian after walking extensively down “the strip” and throughout the shops that line the faux streets inside the luxury establishment while gazing up at the eternally blue sky painted upon the ceiling. Of course we couldn’t forgo an opportunity to sip on mojitos, either. Another case in point was the day that we HAD to have Asian food from P.F. Chang’s. We “just knew” we weren’t that far from it….we had passed it on the way to the Riviera on our mini-bus from the airport for goodness sake. Four and ½ miles later we finally reached our destination…hot, sweaty, and famished! Again, we rewarded ourselves with a delicious lunch of MuShu Chicken and another round of mojitos (Asian Pear flavored this time). Knowing that even though we had indulged and probably would benefit from more walking, we were unwilling to walk back to the Riviera. Shortly after being seated, we asked our waiter about getting a taxi at the conclusion of our meal. He said that the hostess would call or hail one. Guess what…this was complete junk! The hostess said it would take ½ an hour for her to call. COUGH – lazy and unwilling to help –COUGH! We could also walk across the street to a place called Terrible’s (the name speaks for itself) and get on the taxi line there. We didn’t find anyone at the valet stand so we went inside to see if we were missing something. Nothing but white trash gamblers in there. We exited. As we were strolling back to the valet area, we saw two fine-looking youth (bah, hah) walking around with open bottles (obviously not against the law in Vegas as we saw this a lot). Then, one of the upstanding individuals threw the empty bottle on the ground, shattering it. I was filled with such a feeling of contentment! I felt a bit more secure about being there when I realized that the whole place must be under heavy surveillance because as the two yutes (tee hee) approached the front door, they were immediately stopped because of the bottle incident. Ethel finally found the valet dude and was able to get him to go out into the traffic to hail a cab. While waiting, we observed two middle-aged men waiting in the area as well. We overheard them saying that they were going to the Riviera, too. Yay. I knew right then and there that we were somehow going to end up in a cab with them. The one guy was either really stupid or an incredible braggart because at one point he had a huge wad of cash visibly exposed for all to see….he even had a $100 bill on the outside. Duh! Even a small-town girl like myself knew this was the dumbest move ever! The lazy valet only ended up hailing one cab, knowing that we were going to the same place, forcing our premonition to become true. Thus began the first taxi ride of the trip. Tons of fun. Since Ethel had spoken to the valet (something she hates to do), I took the seat in the middle of the backseat, placing me next to one of the “high rollers”. The cabbie was interested in making chit chat. His driving skills weren’t too bad which was wonderful because it kept me from making any contact with “high roller”. As the passenger in the front seat was rambling on about himself I gazed straight out the front window. It was then that I saw it…the mini camera with the red light next to the word “REC”. OH MY GOSH! He was filming us! All I could think about was the times I had watched Taxicab Confessions on HBO with Luscious. EWE! I knew I wasn’t giving him anything worth broadcasting and the freaky men had better not have any ideas either!!! As the ride seemed to get longer and longer, seeming longer than the 4 + mile walk to Chang’s, it was suddenly my turn to face the questions of the driver. He wanted to know what I did for a living. Disappointing him by only being a teacher and not some kind of fiend that would find him any fortune with Confessions, he had to give his two cents about No Child Left Behind. Oh what a commentary! “Thinking is wrong!” BLAH BLAH BLAH! I was thankful for that ride to be over. However, I soon learned that this was one of the tame rides!
At this moment, I cannot remember many details about the driver from our second taxi extravaganza. It was on our last day and we had the taxi take us to New York, New York. We were a bit pressed for time so we knew that there was no time for walking. Actually, as I type, this ride’s details are coming back to me. I must have tried to repress the vulgarity of this moron. This guy took us “another way to avoid the traffic accident” (ie. He took us this way because we went ass-end around our elbow to get to our thumb which put more money in his pocket!) He also felt the need to tell us about how he often transports strippers and hookers and knows many of them quite well. I was so impressed with his display of self-importance. He told us that one cab patron had been shocked that he hadn’t seen hookers while in Vegas…he scoffed at the person saying that if he HADN’T seen a hooker he should get a dog and sunglasses. So politically correct! I must need these tools, too, since I didn’t see flocks of stereotypical hookers traveling around Vegas. Trucks with ads offering to bring these fine female specimens directly to the room of any takers – YES. Scantily dressed tramps with more make-up than Maybeline – NO. (Ethel and I did question the reputation of one woman one night in our elevator, but that was it!) Finding out we were from North Carolina, he told the lame jokes that North Carolinians normally use to talk about West Virginians. But, and this will make all of us from NC proud, the strippers always speak fondly of the rednecks from NC (who flock there for NASCAR) because they use big bills when sticking cash in the g-strings. “They may have octopus hands, but they tip well.” Brings a tear to my eye…..couldn’t be prouder. Having a low tolerance for bull, I contributed as little as possible to this conversation, leaving Ethel to carry on with this fool who was determined to speak endlessly. Sorry, Ethel. I just knew I’d deliver some unappreciated (by him at least) smart ass remark if I spoke. Imagine that! I marveled at Ethel’s ability to banter with this crass individual. Of course I picked on her later about one of the more so-anti-Ethel comments ever uttered! Prior to this, if presented with a list of comments that I never expected to hear come out of Ethel’s mouth, this one would rank near the top! As the driver spoke so lovingly about his stripper friends, easily conveying to us how difficult a job he thought they had, Ethel responded to him…agreeing with him…that stripping must be a really difficult job. I was waiting for her to jump up on a soapbox and rally for strippers’ rights! Unbelievable! In any other situation Ethel would almost vomit thinking about the stripping “profession” (the filth, the bodily fluids,etc.)…here she was lamenting about their poor working conditions with the cabbie!!! I am still amazed! It was a good thing that the ride was almost over at this point…he probably could have gotten her a spot on Confessions, although I don’t think there was a camera in this jalopy.
Our third taxi experience was the ride from New York, New York back to the Riviera. OK, now I know I have basically gotten the point across that I think random, senseless banter in a cab is enough to irritate me fully. But, having experienced the alternative, I think I prefer the mindless babble. We climbed into the taxi van, neglecting to put on our seatbelts. A move I will regret for eternity! As we readied for take-off (yes, we were being propelled by NASA), I happened to look at the driver’s info card near the glove compartment. Before I could even get to read his name, I noticed a pair of glasses tucked into the plastic designed to protect the name card. Super! A driver refusing to wear glasses. Getting past that shock, I glanced at his name. Foreign. Suddenly, my train of thought (worries) were interrupted by the whiplash-induced pain in my neck (embellishment) created by the 0 to 50 in .5 seconds propulsion forward followed by the 50 to 0 in .2 seconds deceleration to avoid complete wreckage at the speed bump. This continued multiple times as Commie Cabbie exited the parking area, crossing innumerable obstacles. Once we were out of the parking area of New York, New York, we were treated, free of charge, to the Dukes of Hazard driving simulator, better known as the illegal u-turn in the middle of the road. No, not at an intersection, right in the middle of the heavily-occupied street. Not being familiar with the roadways of Vegas, I cannot cite exactly which road we were on, but it was a four-lane road. This roadway also contained quite a few cars. As we sped forward, I was waiting to be sent back in time since, according to the speedometer, we were traveling at speeds only reached by the DeLorean made famous in the Back to the Future films. At that point, I didn’t care where I went…I wanted OUT! We rounded some curve and Commie Cabbie slammed on the brakes so we could stop for the train! Screeching combined with the sweet scent of burning rubber…oh, the imprint on my mind. To conserve fuel, he turned off the cab. Perhaps eliminating the ridiculous acceleration and deceleration driving maneuvers would help with the gas issue, too! Whereas the other cabbie had diverted us from the most direct path citing an accident to gauge us, this guy took us directly to the train. Clever. Finally, without any time travel, we reached the Riviera. Never had I been so happy to see that place. We threw the money at him and baled, no words ever exchanged.
Our last taxi ride was basically uneventful. We shared it with another woman to the airport. Talking with her resembled what Ethel and I view as normalcy and we didn’t really have to carry on with the cabbie. We didn’t get dropped off at our airline’s drop-off point, but the walking gave me even more incentive to finally get the frothy delight from Starbucks that I had delayed the entire trip. Thank goodness for my car! Cabs suck!
1. Driver speaks no English.
2. Driver just got here two days ago from someplace like Segal.
3. Driver hates you. – unknown
There is nothing that compares to the feeling of being recklessly driven by a taxi driver. Ethel and I subjected ourselves to this as infrequently as possible during our adventure in Vegas. We felt we could justify eating whatever we felt like eating after walking mile after mile to our destinations. For instance, we treated ourselves to a fabulous Mexican lunch at the Venetian after walking extensively down “the strip” and throughout the shops that line the faux streets inside the luxury establishment while gazing up at the eternally blue sky painted upon the ceiling. Of course we couldn’t forgo an opportunity to sip on mojitos, either. Another case in point was the day that we HAD to have Asian food from P.F. Chang’s. We “just knew” we weren’t that far from it….we had passed it on the way to the Riviera on our mini-bus from the airport for goodness sake. Four and ½ miles later we finally reached our destination…hot, sweaty, and famished! Again, we rewarded ourselves with a delicious lunch of MuShu Chicken and another round of mojitos (Asian Pear flavored this time). Knowing that even though we had indulged and probably would benefit from more walking, we were unwilling to walk back to the Riviera. Shortly after being seated, we asked our waiter about getting a taxi at the conclusion of our meal. He said that the hostess would call or hail one. Guess what…this was complete junk! The hostess said it would take ½ an hour for her to call. COUGH – lazy and unwilling to help –COUGH! We could also walk across the street to a place called Terrible’s (the name speaks for itself) and get on the taxi line there. We didn’t find anyone at the valet stand so we went inside to see if we were missing something. Nothing but white trash gamblers in there. We exited. As we were strolling back to the valet area, we saw two fine-looking youth (bah, hah) walking around with open bottles (obviously not against the law in Vegas as we saw this a lot). Then, one of the upstanding individuals threw the empty bottle on the ground, shattering it. I was filled with such a feeling of contentment! I felt a bit more secure about being there when I realized that the whole place must be under heavy surveillance because as the two yutes (tee hee) approached the front door, they were immediately stopped because of the bottle incident. Ethel finally found the valet dude and was able to get him to go out into the traffic to hail a cab. While waiting, we observed two middle-aged men waiting in the area as well. We overheard them saying that they were going to the Riviera, too. Yay. I knew right then and there that we were somehow going to end up in a cab with them. The one guy was either really stupid or an incredible braggart because at one point he had a huge wad of cash visibly exposed for all to see….he even had a $100 bill on the outside. Duh! Even a small-town girl like myself knew this was the dumbest move ever! The lazy valet only ended up hailing one cab, knowing that we were going to the same place, forcing our premonition to become true. Thus began the first taxi ride of the trip. Tons of fun. Since Ethel had spoken to the valet (something she hates to do), I took the seat in the middle of the backseat, placing me next to one of the “high rollers”. The cabbie was interested in making chit chat. His driving skills weren’t too bad which was wonderful because it kept me from making any contact with “high roller”. As the passenger in the front seat was rambling on about himself I gazed straight out the front window. It was then that I saw it…the mini camera with the red light next to the word “REC”. OH MY GOSH! He was filming us! All I could think about was the times I had watched Taxicab Confessions on HBO with Luscious. EWE! I knew I wasn’t giving him anything worth broadcasting and the freaky men had better not have any ideas either!!! As the ride seemed to get longer and longer, seeming longer than the 4 + mile walk to Chang’s, it was suddenly my turn to face the questions of the driver. He wanted to know what I did for a living. Disappointing him by only being a teacher and not some kind of fiend that would find him any fortune with Confessions, he had to give his two cents about No Child Left Behind. Oh what a commentary! “Thinking is wrong!” BLAH BLAH BLAH! I was thankful for that ride to be over. However, I soon learned that this was one of the tame rides!
At this moment, I cannot remember many details about the driver from our second taxi extravaganza. It was on our last day and we had the taxi take us to New York, New York. We were a bit pressed for time so we knew that there was no time for walking. Actually, as I type, this ride’s details are coming back to me. I must have tried to repress the vulgarity of this moron. This guy took us “another way to avoid the traffic accident” (ie. He took us this way because we went ass-end around our elbow to get to our thumb which put more money in his pocket!) He also felt the need to tell us about how he often transports strippers and hookers and knows many of them quite well. I was so impressed with his display of self-importance. He told us that one cab patron had been shocked that he hadn’t seen hookers while in Vegas…he scoffed at the person saying that if he HADN’T seen a hooker he should get a dog and sunglasses. So politically correct! I must need these tools, too, since I didn’t see flocks of stereotypical hookers traveling around Vegas. Trucks with ads offering to bring these fine female specimens directly to the room of any takers – YES. Scantily dressed tramps with more make-up than Maybeline – NO. (Ethel and I did question the reputation of one woman one night in our elevator, but that was it!) Finding out we were from North Carolina, he told the lame jokes that North Carolinians normally use to talk about West Virginians. But, and this will make all of us from NC proud, the strippers always speak fondly of the rednecks from NC (who flock there for NASCAR) because they use big bills when sticking cash in the g-strings. “They may have octopus hands, but they tip well.” Brings a tear to my eye…..couldn’t be prouder. Having a low tolerance for bull, I contributed as little as possible to this conversation, leaving Ethel to carry on with this fool who was determined to speak endlessly. Sorry, Ethel. I just knew I’d deliver some unappreciated (by him at least) smart ass remark if I spoke. Imagine that! I marveled at Ethel’s ability to banter with this crass individual. Of course I picked on her later about one of the more so-anti-Ethel comments ever uttered! Prior to this, if presented with a list of comments that I never expected to hear come out of Ethel’s mouth, this one would rank near the top! As the driver spoke so lovingly about his stripper friends, easily conveying to us how difficult a job he thought they had, Ethel responded to him…agreeing with him…that stripping must be a really difficult job. I was waiting for her to jump up on a soapbox and rally for strippers’ rights! Unbelievable! In any other situation Ethel would almost vomit thinking about the stripping “profession” (the filth, the bodily fluids,etc.)…here she was lamenting about their poor working conditions with the cabbie!!! I am still amazed! It was a good thing that the ride was almost over at this point…he probably could have gotten her a spot on Confessions, although I don’t think there was a camera in this jalopy.
Our third taxi experience was the ride from New York, New York back to the Riviera. OK, now I know I have basically gotten the point across that I think random, senseless banter in a cab is enough to irritate me fully. But, having experienced the alternative, I think I prefer the mindless babble. We climbed into the taxi van, neglecting to put on our seatbelts. A move I will regret for eternity! As we readied for take-off (yes, we were being propelled by NASA), I happened to look at the driver’s info card near the glove compartment. Before I could even get to read his name, I noticed a pair of glasses tucked into the plastic designed to protect the name card. Super! A driver refusing to wear glasses. Getting past that shock, I glanced at his name. Foreign. Suddenly, my train of thought (worries) were interrupted by the whiplash-induced pain in my neck (embellishment) created by the 0 to 50 in .5 seconds propulsion forward followed by the 50 to 0 in .2 seconds deceleration to avoid complete wreckage at the speed bump. This continued multiple times as Commie Cabbie exited the parking area, crossing innumerable obstacles. Once we were out of the parking area of New York, New York, we were treated, free of charge, to the Dukes of Hazard driving simulator, better known as the illegal u-turn in the middle of the road. No, not at an intersection, right in the middle of the heavily-occupied street. Not being familiar with the roadways of Vegas, I cannot cite exactly which road we were on, but it was a four-lane road. This roadway also contained quite a few cars. As we sped forward, I was waiting to be sent back in time since, according to the speedometer, we were traveling at speeds only reached by the DeLorean made famous in the Back to the Future films. At that point, I didn’t care where I went…I wanted OUT! We rounded some curve and Commie Cabbie slammed on the brakes so we could stop for the train! Screeching combined with the sweet scent of burning rubber…oh, the imprint on my mind. To conserve fuel, he turned off the cab. Perhaps eliminating the ridiculous acceleration and deceleration driving maneuvers would help with the gas issue, too! Whereas the other cabbie had diverted us from the most direct path citing an accident to gauge us, this guy took us directly to the train. Clever. Finally, without any time travel, we reached the Riviera. Never had I been so happy to see that place. We threw the money at him and baled, no words ever exchanged.
Our last taxi ride was basically uneventful. We shared it with another woman to the airport. Talking with her resembled what Ethel and I view as normalcy and we didn’t really have to carry on with the cabbie. We didn’t get dropped off at our airline’s drop-off point, but the walking gave me even more incentive to finally get the frothy delight from Starbucks that I had delayed the entire trip. Thank goodness for my car! Cabs suck!
Duck Fook!
All season long, the seniors told the story of how much their recruiting class expected to achieve when they came to Duke. They were going to win multiple National Championships. Four years later, Redick, Williams, Dockery, and Melchionni have played their last game for Duke without winning one. ~ Alex Fanaroff
ADIEU!!!!!
Sunday, March 19, 2006
Into the Wind
The bicycle is a curious vehicle. Its passenger is its engine. ~John Howard
Ride it like you stole it. ~ Pink Floyd
Growing up is full of big moments. Some of them you can see from a mile away; and some you can't see at all. ~ unknown
I knew it was happening, but it pains me terribly to see that my baby has grown into a little boy. He has learned how to ride a two-wheeler without the training wheels (that part must be emphasized as much in writing as it is when my son says it). The pride and satisfaction that oozes forth both when he talks about riding and actually rides fills my heart with joy and sorrow simultaneously. I was always so eager for Daughter to hurdle new challenges in life: learning to read, doing gymnastics, going to sleepovers, losing a tooth, etc. I find myself wanting to pull back the reins with Son for my own selfish reasons. Don't get me wrong, I love watching Son accomplish new feats, too, but it also saddens me because as he does so, it means that he is not my baby. It would not be fair to deprive him the opportunities that come with being a "big boy", so I encourage all of it. However, I think it's okay to privately yearn for my "big boy" to not get too "big" too fast. Now that Daughter is 10, I find myself not only wanting to pull back the reins, but feeling the need to pull the emergency brake. I am not ready for the physical aspects of puberty and certainly not ready for all the emotional aspects of it either. Yikes. Ready or not, here it comes. Despite all my sullen words, I am thrilled with Son's new accomplishment. He rides like he was born to pedal. I am jealous of his ability to do so with such carefree abandon. No fear, just fun. Just how it's supposed to be. OK. Now that all that is out, I can get on with watching time fly right before my eyes and rejoice in the fact that my babies are growing into healthy, happy people with minds of their own and joy in their hearts.
PS ~ To any of you who remotely think that this means that a third is the remedy, the answer is NO!
Ride it like you stole it. ~ Pink Floyd
Growing up is full of big moments. Some of them you can see from a mile away; and some you can't see at all. ~ unknown
I knew it was happening, but it pains me terribly to see that my baby has grown into a little boy. He has learned how to ride a two-wheeler without the training wheels (that part must be emphasized as much in writing as it is when my son says it). The pride and satisfaction that oozes forth both when he talks about riding and actually rides fills my heart with joy and sorrow simultaneously. I was always so eager for Daughter to hurdle new challenges in life: learning to read, doing gymnastics, going to sleepovers, losing a tooth, etc. I find myself wanting to pull back the reins with Son for my own selfish reasons. Don't get me wrong, I love watching Son accomplish new feats, too, but it also saddens me because as he does so, it means that he is not my baby. It would not be fair to deprive him the opportunities that come with being a "big boy", so I encourage all of it. However, I think it's okay to privately yearn for my "big boy" to not get too "big" too fast. Now that Daughter is 10, I find myself not only wanting to pull back the reins, but feeling the need to pull the emergency brake. I am not ready for the physical aspects of puberty and certainly not ready for all the emotional aspects of it either. Yikes. Ready or not, here it comes. Despite all my sullen words, I am thrilled with Son's new accomplishment. He rides like he was born to pedal. I am jealous of his ability to do so with such carefree abandon. No fear, just fun. Just how it's supposed to be. OK. Now that all that is out, I can get on with watching time fly right before my eyes and rejoice in the fact that my babies are growing into healthy, happy people with minds of their own and joy in their hearts.
PS ~ To any of you who remotely think that this means that a third is the remedy, the answer is NO!
Saturday, March 18, 2006
Overall Betrayal
If overalls are held up by the snaps at the top, then why do they have belt loops? - unknown
Apparently the answer to this is simple, based upon my own life experiences: so I could conceivably strap dangerous contraband or explosives to my body to sabotage a flight to Vegas.
Air travel: being stuffed into a suppository-shaped metal tube while smashed into seats next to an odd assortment of strangers who have the capacity to be the most annoying humans ever placed on the planet. Is this a quote from Webster's? NO! It is from the mental book written in my head entitled The World According to Me! Hey, if that old guy on 60 Minutes or that guy from the John Boy & Billy show can make a career out of sarcastically sharing their thoughts with the world, then I am entitled to do so on my blog!Anyway, in my quest to seek the smallest bit of comfort on the flight, I sought out the most comfortable outfit I owned: my beloved overalls. Baggy, roomy and completely unflattering...ahh, how I love my overalls! Comfort personified....or so I thought! Not being flight savvy, I donned my unsightly farmer attire thinking of nothing but my need to be comfy on the long flight. I could easily wear my clogs with this ensemble....making it easier to remove my shoes to walk through the metal detector. PERFECT! Unconsciously smiling many times during the drive to the airport thinking about my love for my overalls, I truly believed I had made the perfect attire selection. Not until I approached the metal detector and visibly saw the dude look directly at my waist (or more accurately, where my waist should be if it was not concealed by the bagginess of my overalls), did I even contemplate that overalls were anything less than wonderful. Instantly, in my mind I envisioned the "thought bubble" above this man's head containing visions of the wide variety of horrors my overalls were more than likely concealing: knives, clippers, guns, bombs, toothpicks, enough trinkets that could create the end of the world if I were MacGuyver. Immediately I knew that I was going to be lucky enough to get an added bonus: a wand-over and pat down from the next level of security. I was so glad that I had three metal fasteners at each hip....the wand beeped over each one, inviting a rub from Queen Latifah's rubber-gloved hand. This chick was like Mama in Chicago. Each wave of the wand was verbally described as was the pat down. I wondered if she had been trained by a gynecologist...ladies, you know how they describe EVERY move they make: "You are going to feel something....blah, blah, blah...as I blah, blah, blah!" After the hip search, I was even more delighted to have all the metal fasteners holding the straps to the bib of the overalls. Had it not been for the padding in my bra, this could easily have been a free breast exam! Good thing the medical community hasn't discovered this because I would have been slapped with a bill that insurance more than likely would not have covered! Not only were there metal fasteners on the straps, there were pockets on the bib pockets of the overalls! Thank you GAP designers for all the fashionable do-dads you affixed to my overalls. Thank you Brother for purchasing these overalls for me so I could get the bonus groping I was awarded. Thank you overalls for betraying me! Although you provided a comfortable flight, I could have done without the groping, gloved hands of Queen Latifah. Note to self: DO NOT WEAR OVERALLS TO FLY!
PS....On the return flight I opted for form fitting black exercise pants...again unflattering, but making it clear to the airport security team that there was NOTHING being concealed. Cottage cheese must not be considered a threat to Homeland Security. I threw my comfortable, oversized sweatshirt in the gray box for electronic scanning. Successful, non-groping boarding was the reward! :0)
Apparently the answer to this is simple, based upon my own life experiences: so I could conceivably strap dangerous contraband or explosives to my body to sabotage a flight to Vegas.
Air travel: being stuffed into a suppository-shaped metal tube while smashed into seats next to an odd assortment of strangers who have the capacity to be the most annoying humans ever placed on the planet. Is this a quote from Webster's? NO! It is from the mental book written in my head entitled The World According to Me! Hey, if that old guy on 60 Minutes or that guy from the John Boy & Billy show can make a career out of sarcastically sharing their thoughts with the world, then I am entitled to do so on my blog!Anyway, in my quest to seek the smallest bit of comfort on the flight, I sought out the most comfortable outfit I owned: my beloved overalls. Baggy, roomy and completely unflattering...ahh, how I love my overalls! Comfort personified....or so I thought! Not being flight savvy, I donned my unsightly farmer attire thinking of nothing but my need to be comfy on the long flight. I could easily wear my clogs with this ensemble....making it easier to remove my shoes to walk through the metal detector. PERFECT! Unconsciously smiling many times during the drive to the airport thinking about my love for my overalls, I truly believed I had made the perfect attire selection. Not until I approached the metal detector and visibly saw the dude look directly at my waist (or more accurately, where my waist should be if it was not concealed by the bagginess of my overalls), did I even contemplate that overalls were anything less than wonderful. Instantly, in my mind I envisioned the "thought bubble" above this man's head containing visions of the wide variety of horrors my overalls were more than likely concealing: knives, clippers, guns, bombs, toothpicks, enough trinkets that could create the end of the world if I were MacGuyver. Immediately I knew that I was going to be lucky enough to get an added bonus: a wand-over and pat down from the next level of security. I was so glad that I had three metal fasteners at each hip....the wand beeped over each one, inviting a rub from Queen Latifah's rubber-gloved hand. This chick was like Mama in Chicago. Each wave of the wand was verbally described as was the pat down. I wondered if she had been trained by a gynecologist...ladies, you know how they describe EVERY move they make: "You are going to feel something....blah, blah, blah...as I blah, blah, blah!" After the hip search, I was even more delighted to have all the metal fasteners holding the straps to the bib of the overalls. Had it not been for the padding in my bra, this could easily have been a free breast exam! Good thing the medical community hasn't discovered this because I would have been slapped with a bill that insurance more than likely would not have covered! Not only were there metal fasteners on the straps, there were pockets on the bib pockets of the overalls! Thank you GAP designers for all the fashionable do-dads you affixed to my overalls. Thank you Brother for purchasing these overalls for me so I could get the bonus groping I was awarded. Thank you overalls for betraying me! Although you provided a comfortable flight, I could have done without the groping, gloved hands of Queen Latifah. Note to self: DO NOT WEAR OVERALLS TO FLY!
PS....On the return flight I opted for form fitting black exercise pants...again unflattering, but making it clear to the airport security team that there was NOTHING being concealed. Cottage cheese must not be considered a threat to Homeland Security. I threw my comfortable, oversized sweatshirt in the gray box for electronic scanning. Successful, non-groping boarding was the reward! :0)
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
A Ball Like None Other
You're not drunk if you can lie on the floor without holding on. - Joe E. Lewis
If this is the case, then it must apply to the horrors of an ear infection as well. I must be the epitome of health. Never in my life have I been so miserable. I compare this pain to the pain of childbirth (at least the contractions ease up between the crests) and the gas that resided in my shoulders after surgery. HORRIBLE! I woke to sheer pain at 3am on Sunday morning. The doctor saw me at 11am. After receiving the "scrip" for the infection, I humbly asked for pain relief...risking the chance of being viewed as one of our friendly neighborhood pill hounds. The codeine, which usually knocks me out quicker than a punch from Tyson, didn't come CLOSE to touching this pain or providing any form of unconsciousness. The dizziness, which still has not gone, is annoying to say the least. Shortly after seeing the doctor on Sunday, my eardrum ruptured! Oh the fun of that!!! Bloody pus oozing from my ear until Tuesday morning. Joy. Did I mention the nausea?! I didn't have to worry about any point counting on Monday because everything I consumed sought to live elsewhere! I am now on antibiotics for the infection and motion sickness medication to ease the dizziness which leads to the nausea. The constant ringing in my ear is a total nuisance. So, if you want to experience the shortcomings of alcohol consumption....dizziness and nausea....I suggest finding yourself a good old-fashioned ear infection!!! It will do the trick.
Saturday, March 11, 2006
TAR HEELS!
Futility: Knowing that a freshman is handing you your ass, in your last game, in front of your parents, and that there isn't a damn thing you can do about it. - Some Brilliant Person
I am faced with immense trepidation about whether or not to post this, yet alone write this, considering that we may face our sworn enemies yet again if they defeat Wake and if we overcome Boston College. I seriously doubt I can single-handedly jinx the outcome of the ACC Tournament. Let's hope I am correct!
OK...time travel back to Thursday, March 2. I am waiting to board our plane to Vegas. My ears are suddenly filled with the most horrendous noise known to man: the sound of a Duke fan. He was commiserating with another fool who was making a feeble attempt to show that his blood runs dook blue by donning a hat and sweatshirt with the "D-word" emblazoned upon it although they had just lost to Florida State. The loudmouth, henceforth referred to as Jackass, was trying to console Mr. Fashion Statement (the kid w/the hat & sweatshirt) by assuring him that the slump would soon end since they were going to beat the Heels on Saturday, especially since they were going to be playing at home and had just come off the loss. Not wanting to cause a scene, but wishing that G.P., the Heels' biggest male fan (can't give him the full title....my friend Carolina would strangle me as she is the biggest female fan), was there to dish out all the smack he could. I love the Heels, but I have not committed all the stats and games to memory as G.P. and Carolina have. Perhaps I would have been more apt to loudly verbalize the thoughts that I was mumbling under my breath to Ethel if we weren't waiting to board a plane....the scene playing in my head had me lashing out at Jackass in such a way that would illicit a response from airport security, ultimately leading to me not being allowed to board. Couldn't have that. "Oh...and it's not like the Heels didn't just kick Virginia's asses 99-54 and are pumped to kick Duke's next." ARRRG! Jackass!
Ethel and I flew Southwest to Vegas. Seats are not assigned. Rather, when you confirm, you are given a letter: A, B, or C. This determines when you can board the plane. On the trip out we were in the B line....of course Jackass was in the A line. I bet he camped out in a tent just to get it like those freaks at Duke in "Shuchefski Shanty". As we boarded, Ethel was in the lead. She turned around and said, "We'll just take the first two seats together, ok?" To our horror, you can easily guess who had the first two seats available....Jackass! After exchanging looks of disgust, Ethel and I trudged further down the aisle. No way in hell were we going to sit next to Jackass for five and a half hours! Of course neither of us were shocked that the loser was alone!
We ended up taking two seats on the opposite side of the plane. Jackass ended up depriving us of seeing the best sights of the trip. We lived out the Paula Poundstone routine except we were the people on the left side of the plane hating the people on the right side of the plane because we did not get to see the Grand Canyon or the Rocky Mountains. I thought it was so convenient that all of these magnificent natural masterpieces abruptly ended beneath our plane, just so we couldn't see them! Jackass!
Fast forward to Saturday night. It is after 5. The game began at 6 just as the betting opportunity ended. We had been glancing over at the sports area of the casino throughout our stay toying with the idea of betting on the game. There was absolutely no way we could bet against our boys. How much could we wager comfortably? Talk began at $5. On Friday we had even ventured into the area to get the dude in the ref uniform to explain the chart to us. I am sure he had a good chuckle at our expense due to our naive knowledge of gambling as well as our accents....I don't hear me talking with a Southern accent, but it seems that the rest of the world hears me that way. We had our own chuckle at his expense. Having to wear that ridiculous ref shirt while working behind the counter at the sports betting area was pretty hilarious to me. Prior to leaving our room to go place the bet, I called G.P. in Atlanta. He was at his favorite place...the Cheyenne Grill (which he proudly displayed to us a yr. ago when we were in town for Carolina's wedding- It is a Tar Heel paradise!). In one of his many appreciated emails he had referred to his newborn son as the Golden Child because the Heels had not lost since the birth of his son. I told him that he had better rub that baby or perform whatever ritual he had concocted in order to produce the win since Ethel and I were in Vegas getting ready to place a bet on the Heels to win.
We made our way downstairs and Ethel strolled up to the counter exuding confidence like I had never seen. She owned the place! She slapped a twenty down on the counter and told Dorky Ref Guy, "Twenty on Carolina." The board showed that Duke was favored to win by 7. Dorky Ref Guy retorted, "You must be a fan." Then he explained that if Duke won, but did not win by 7, we would get our money back. Since the first encounter had left us behind by only 2, we did not think losing our money was likely, but as first time gamblers, we weren't willing to plunk down anything more. I hadn't planned to bet twenty; my type A personality couldn't handle the possibility of throwing away twenty bucks....heck, I got stressed playing the slots! Thanks to Ethel and the Dorky Ref Guy, I forked over my twenty. There was no way I could only put a five dollar bet after Ethel had been obviously mocked by the Dorky Ref Guy for betting twenty on the Heels. The ticket that I was given in return showed that with a $20 bet, I would get $38.20 for a Tar Heel victory. Not much, but almost double. PLUS, every true Tar Heel knows that victory over Duke is reward enough!!!!!!!!!!
We watched the 1st half of the game in our room. It was thrilling....the gambling enhanced our thirst for victory! At half time we went to the photography banquet. Ethel's son sent us text messages during the banquet citing the score at different intervals. Another dude at our table was receiving them, too. He did not share in our excitement, leading us to believe that he must have been a dookie. The cool people at the table, yes - Ethel and I included, along with the people at the next table over celebrated with every report, sick that we couldn't watch the Heels kick Duke's butt on Senior Night! Losing to us on their home court on Senior Night. PRICELESS!
We never saw the Dorky Ref Guy to rub it in his face that it pays to be a Carolina fan. I was primed for the possibility of seeing Jackass again on our return flight. I was decked out in my Carolina shirt that has a black and white photo on the back containing a darling little boy seated between two little girls: one wearing a Duke shirt and another wearing a Carolina shirt. Naturally he is kissing the adorable girl in the Carolina shirt while turning his back on the dook dog. The slogan reads: "You picked the right one, baby!" I also had my oversized Carolina sweatshirt. I waited and waited for Jackass to show up, but as would be expected by a Duke fan, he let me down. As I waited at the back of the plane to enter the bath-closet (no way is it large enough to be called a bathROOM), one of the flight attendants looked at me and over her knitting asked, "Are you wearing that because you went to school there or because Carolina beat Duke last night?" With a large, toothy grin and an abuncance of pride emanating forth, I answered, "Both." As I have seen in many emails since, I echo the quote, "God Bless those Tar Heel boys." Not only did they earn me $18.20 and bragging rights to winning in Vegas, they also provided a wonderful memory and a reason to blog! What could be better?! Is winning the ACC Tournament too much to ask?
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
The View From Above
From a distance the world looks blue and green, and the snow-capped mountains white. - Julie
Gold
O beautiful for spacious skies, For amber waves of grain, For purple mountain majesties, Above the fruited plain! - Katharine Lee Bates
As I was rambling, that ribbon of highway I saw above me, that endless skyway I saw below me, that golden valley, This land was made for you and me. - Woody Guthrie
If you have never had the opportunity to experience the beauty and splendor of our country from an aerial view, I highly recommend doing so. My favorite part of air travel has always been to gaze out the window, staring down upon the land. Until my trip to Vegas, I had only flown as far west as Charlotte, NC (is Atlanta further west?), as far south as the Virgin Islands, and as far north as NY. With the exception of my excursion to the Virgin Islands, much of the scenery has remained the same. On previous flights, the Cotton ad has been the mantra in my mind: "The fabric of our lives". I think there was once an ad that compared our land to a quilt and that is why that phrase has always come to mind while soaring above the land. Our country does resemble a quilt from an aerial viewpoint. The colors and shapes side by side creating an intricate pattern remind me of the quilts we have at our home that were lovingly stitched by hand many years ago. This trip broadened my view so much more! Although Ethel and I were obviously being made to repent for our sins by being deprived of the opportunity to see the Grand Canyon and the Rocky Mountains from the seats we selected on the left side of the plane to avoid a jackass Duke fan (full story to follow in another post - yes, Ethel, it will come!!), it was still incredible to watch the land change as we traveled west. All of the quotes cited at the beginning of the post ran through my head at some point during the flight. (Ethel, didn't know all that drivel was going on inside the likes of my head, did you?) I wish I knew WHERE we were, but for some distance all I could see when I looked down were circles. It must have been some farm area where the crops had been harvested. I wondered why crop circles were considered to be so amazing after seeing circle after circle. OK, so they weren't as intricate as those that "aliens created" (whatever!), but still quite nifty from thousands of miles above. The circles led to the area I sarcastically called DIRT. Yes, there were crevices and carved areas to be seen, but essentially all that could be seen was orange-brown DIRT as far as the eye could see. Ethel was voraciously reading her book while I viewed the scenery below. I am lucky that she didn't end up smacking me because I interrupted her many times just to tell her that there was dirt outside the window. "Hey, look...dirt!" I did manage to break up the monotony by pointing out what quite possibly could have been a lake....the color of dirt. Following Dirt came the majestic mountains...some even covered with snow! Awesome! I believe I came up with an easy way to make my fortune during this trip...I told Ethel that for geeks like me who love to look out the window acting like a dog sticking its head out of the car window, it would be wonderful to have a booklet with aerial views and labels identifying what was below. "When you see the land covered with crop circles, you are above Kansas (I pick on Kansas because the geology prof I had at UNC constantly spoke unfavorably of the land in Kansas..."flat, like Kansas"....Kansas being said with complete and total disgust). The Land of Dirt is Arizona." How fun it would be to try and match the pictures to the views below! "Hi, my name is Kristin. I am a dork." Ultimately, flying above practically nothing and then seeing Las Vegas appear in the valley of the mountains was breathtaking! It was not what I had pictured at all! And then at the airport while on the runway...those casinos rising up out of nowhere...unbelievable! The return trip was equally interesting, but quite different since the majority of the flight was dark. Watching the sun set behind us as we traveled into the darkness was incredible...the sky was a multitude of colors: pinks, yellows, purples! After the sky was completely dark, I could only make out a few landmarks. The snow from the Rocky Mountains contrasting from the dark of the mountains was the only indication of land existing below. I could not believe just how dark everything looked and that only enormous cities with their multitude of lights were visible. Do people really live that far apart or does the flying altitude prevent one from seeing only the most populated areas? Even when the clouds and darkness blocked my view, I still could not keep my face away from that window. As far as flying goes, I hate the take-off and landing....the idea of how many things could actually go wrong combined with the stomach-turning dips makes for an unpleasant few minutes. Additionally, the ascent and descent pain my ears horribly! The first and especially the last 30 to 45 minutes of flight are pure torture. However, the pleasure I derive from pressing my face to the glass, gazing down at the view below is one I cannot fathom ever waning. HHHMMM....Deep thoughts by Jack Handy, er, I mean Kristin.
Ethel, bet you didn't know all that was going on in my demented mind!
Gold
O beautiful for spacious skies, For amber waves of grain, For purple mountain majesties, Above the fruited plain! - Katharine Lee Bates
As I was rambling, that ribbon of highway I saw above me, that endless skyway I saw below me, that golden valley, This land was made for you and me. - Woody Guthrie
If you have never had the opportunity to experience the beauty and splendor of our country from an aerial view, I highly recommend doing so. My favorite part of air travel has always been to gaze out the window, staring down upon the land. Until my trip to Vegas, I had only flown as far west as Charlotte, NC (is Atlanta further west?), as far south as the Virgin Islands, and as far north as NY. With the exception of my excursion to the Virgin Islands, much of the scenery has remained the same. On previous flights, the Cotton ad has been the mantra in my mind: "The fabric of our lives". I think there was once an ad that compared our land to a quilt and that is why that phrase has always come to mind while soaring above the land. Our country does resemble a quilt from an aerial viewpoint. The colors and shapes side by side creating an intricate pattern remind me of the quilts we have at our home that were lovingly stitched by hand many years ago. This trip broadened my view so much more! Although Ethel and I were obviously being made to repent for our sins by being deprived of the opportunity to see the Grand Canyon and the Rocky Mountains from the seats we selected on the left side of the plane to avoid a jackass Duke fan (full story to follow in another post - yes, Ethel, it will come!!), it was still incredible to watch the land change as we traveled west. All of the quotes cited at the beginning of the post ran through my head at some point during the flight. (Ethel, didn't know all that drivel was going on inside the likes of my head, did you?) I wish I knew WHERE we were, but for some distance all I could see when I looked down were circles. It must have been some farm area where the crops had been harvested. I wondered why crop circles were considered to be so amazing after seeing circle after circle. OK, so they weren't as intricate as those that "aliens created" (whatever!), but still quite nifty from thousands of miles above. The circles led to the area I sarcastically called DIRT. Yes, there were crevices and carved areas to be seen, but essentially all that could be seen was orange-brown DIRT as far as the eye could see. Ethel was voraciously reading her book while I viewed the scenery below. I am lucky that she didn't end up smacking me because I interrupted her many times just to tell her that there was dirt outside the window. "Hey, look...dirt!" I did manage to break up the monotony by pointing out what quite possibly could have been a lake....the color of dirt. Following Dirt came the majestic mountains...some even covered with snow! Awesome! I believe I came up with an easy way to make my fortune during this trip...I told Ethel that for geeks like me who love to look out the window acting like a dog sticking its head out of the car window, it would be wonderful to have a booklet with aerial views and labels identifying what was below. "When you see the land covered with crop circles, you are above Kansas (I pick on Kansas because the geology prof I had at UNC constantly spoke unfavorably of the land in Kansas..."flat, like Kansas"....Kansas being said with complete and total disgust). The Land of Dirt is Arizona." How fun it would be to try and match the pictures to the views below! "Hi, my name is Kristin. I am a dork." Ultimately, flying above practically nothing and then seeing Las Vegas appear in the valley of the mountains was breathtaking! It was not what I had pictured at all! And then at the airport while on the runway...those casinos rising up out of nowhere...unbelievable! The return trip was equally interesting, but quite different since the majority of the flight was dark. Watching the sun set behind us as we traveled into the darkness was incredible...the sky was a multitude of colors: pinks, yellows, purples! After the sky was completely dark, I could only make out a few landmarks. The snow from the Rocky Mountains contrasting from the dark of the mountains was the only indication of land existing below. I could not believe just how dark everything looked and that only enormous cities with their multitude of lights were visible. Do people really live that far apart or does the flying altitude prevent one from seeing only the most populated areas? Even when the clouds and darkness blocked my view, I still could not keep my face away from that window. As far as flying goes, I hate the take-off and landing....the idea of how many things could actually go wrong combined with the stomach-turning dips makes for an unpleasant few minutes. Additionally, the ascent and descent pain my ears horribly! The first and especially the last 30 to 45 minutes of flight are pure torture. However, the pleasure I derive from pressing my face to the glass, gazing down at the view below is one I cannot fathom ever waning. HHHMMM....Deep thoughts by Jack Handy, er, I mean Kristin.
Ethel, bet you didn't know all that was going on in my demented mind!
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
American Storm
What is it about a beautiful sunny afternoon, with the birds singing and the wind rustling through the leaves, that makes you want to get drunk? - Jack Handy
Better yet, what is it about a Sunday morning in Vegas that allows you to run into individuals who are openly drunk and still drinking? Daughter and Girlfriend inquired about the "juicy details" that I said I would be leaving out. Well, their inquiry led me to share this anecdote about a brief encounter Ethel and I had with some of the freaks of Vegas. As we were leaving the final gathering of photographers, we were grumbling about the many things that angered us about the awards ceremony. Suddenly behind us there were these two extremely loud voices yelling, "American Storm!" repeatedly. I, for one, thought they were yelling at the lone group of Asian people I saw while in Vegas. I continued to look forward, hoping desperately to make myself invisible so these freaks would not engage me in ANY way, shape, or form. Nothing like total sobriety to make one consider drunks heathenish. I knew I should have brushed up on my magical talents when I felt a tap on my shoulder. As I turned around, the smell of beer from the open bottle the 20-something girl was occasionally swilling met me directly. Ah. Stale beer breath in the morning...delightful!
GIRL (slurred walk and talk): Do you know the American Storm?
ME: No. (GO AWAY AND LEAVE ME ALONE!)
GIRL: You don't?
ME: No. (GET AWAY FROM ME NOW, FREAK!)
GIRL (pointing to the poster seen in the photo that accompanies this blog): Them. [Yes, her words were eloquent.]
ME: Oh, yeah.
GIRL: Are you interested in them? [note the big word from the 10 am drunk]
ME: No.
GIRL: You're not?
ME: (DUH!) No.
GIRL: Why not?
ME: (unbelievably without some smart retort) We're leaving today.
GIRL (SLURRING MORE PROFUSELY): Well, I can get you in for free. Jus let me know if you wanna go....I'll set you right up.
Thank the Heavens for the elevator. The guy who was helping her yell, "American Storm!" [and is my hero in this scenario] grabbed her before this pathetic exchange could continue and dragged her into the depths of the elevator. Do I know her fate? Do I care? No. HOW she could have gotten me into American Storm was intriguing, although I do not think the American Storm fellas probably liked her type (being female, that is). So, being harassed by drunks in the morning is the juicy tidbit that I will share with the girls. I am sure that the quotes from this girl will be imitated quite well by Daughter and Girlfriend (who, by the way, LOVES the Girlfriend pin I bought her in Vegas) and will (hopefully replace "I love to eat grass!"). I shudder to think that they will both continue to haunt me.
Monday, March 06, 2006
Home Sweet Home
Yadda, yadda, yadda. - Seinfeld
I could not let this evening pass without posting at least one small little blog (if I can create such a beast). I am back from Vegas and had a spectacular time traveling the world (Paris, New York, Venice - hee hee) with Ethel. Just to warn you, the blogs that I compose about this trip will be highlighting and creating humor out of every obnoxious encounter we had with a variety of freaks under less than stellar circumstances. These rantings may seem to make me appear unappreciative of Ethel's generosity. Things, however, are not always as they appear as was well demonstrated by the smoke and mirrors that create the city of Las Vegas. Sharing my dark sense of humor, Ethel is eagerly awaiting my sarcastic recollections of our trip....she offered me pen and paper many times to begin composing, but we both know that my words will come when they are ready. She is depending on me to capture every odd moment of our trip, creating humor out of events that must be laughed about. My retellings are what she is craving as a memento of the trip. She has promised to post a waiver stating this so readers will not peg me as an ungrateful wench. If she does not do so, as agreed upon while on the trip, I will send her to the chicken farm and make her ride on the left side of the plane for eternity. Sorry...inside jokes that will be revealed as my trip recaps (yes, there will be many - look forward to No Fear, But Definite Loathing in Las Vegas in an upcoming post) are composed. It's fun to get away, but good to be home. Thanks AGAIN, Ethel. I love you!
I could not let this evening pass without posting at least one small little blog (if I can create such a beast). I am back from Vegas and had a spectacular time traveling the world (Paris, New York, Venice - hee hee) with Ethel. Just to warn you, the blogs that I compose about this trip will be highlighting and creating humor out of every obnoxious encounter we had with a variety of freaks under less than stellar circumstances. These rantings may seem to make me appear unappreciative of Ethel's generosity. Things, however, are not always as they appear as was well demonstrated by the smoke and mirrors that create the city of Las Vegas. Sharing my dark sense of humor, Ethel is eagerly awaiting my sarcastic recollections of our trip....she offered me pen and paper many times to begin composing, but we both know that my words will come when they are ready. She is depending on me to capture every odd moment of our trip, creating humor out of events that must be laughed about. My retellings are what she is craving as a memento of the trip. She has promised to post a waiver stating this so readers will not peg me as an ungrateful wench. If she does not do so, as agreed upon while on the trip, I will send her to the chicken farm and make her ride on the left side of the plane for eternity. Sorry...inside jokes that will be revealed as my trip recaps (yes, there will be many - look forward to No Fear, But Definite Loathing in Las Vegas in an upcoming post) are composed. It's fun to get away, but good to be home. Thanks AGAIN, Ethel. I love you!
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Vegas, Baby!
To alcohol - the cause of, and solution to all of life's problems. - Homer Simpson
In the morning I embark on an adventure taking me to a place farther than I have ever traveled before: Las Vegas! I am basically packed, not sure if what I have in the suitcase is appropriate or not. I am nervous and excited all at the same time. I still can't believe that this time tomorrow I will be in Nevada!!! I am a bit stressed out, trying to make sure I have taken care of as many details as possible. I am walking out the door leaving a trail of disorganization in my wake. I still need to put a few last minute things together....oh well. I won't be able to attend the Cult meeting tomorrow. How horrific it will be to attend next week to see just how naughty I was in Vegas. Although one of my friends reminded me of the quote, "What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.", I truly doubt that the laws governing calories and weight gain adhere to the motto. Wouldn't it be lovely if they did? I have, however, at least packed exercise attire. The intention to exercise should count for something, shouldn't it? I'll be sure to take notes so I can relay the kinder and gentler version of the trip's events upon my return....I can't let the kids read all the juicy stuff (right, Daughter and Girlfriend?).
In the morning I embark on an adventure taking me to a place farther than I have ever traveled before: Las Vegas! I am basically packed, not sure if what I have in the suitcase is appropriate or not. I am nervous and excited all at the same time. I still can't believe that this time tomorrow I will be in Nevada!!! I am a bit stressed out, trying to make sure I have taken care of as many details as possible. I am walking out the door leaving a trail of disorganization in my wake. I still need to put a few last minute things together....oh well. I won't be able to attend the Cult meeting tomorrow. How horrific it will be to attend next week to see just how naughty I was in Vegas. Although one of my friends reminded me of the quote, "What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.", I truly doubt that the laws governing calories and weight gain adhere to the motto. Wouldn't it be lovely if they did? I have, however, at least packed exercise attire. The intention to exercise should count for something, shouldn't it? I'll be sure to take notes so I can relay the kinder and gentler version of the trip's events upon my return....I can't let the kids read all the juicy stuff (right, Daughter and Girlfriend?).
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