Tuesday, July 31, 2007

Long Story Reasonably Short A.K.A. The Head Injury

Friday afternoon I was treating one of my fav-o-right kiddos. He’s 5 years old and the most beautiful boy you’ve ever seen. He has eyelashes and porcelain skin that all women would kill for. He’s the kind of kid you look at and know he’s going to break hearts when he’s older.

Unfortunately, he’s also one of my most severe children. He suffered severe brain injury (frontal lobe) directly after birth. He has no impulse control, frequent seizures, Autism, an unusual form of Tourrettes with ticks and vocal outbursts and on top of all of this, he was born profoundly deaf. He’s had a cochlear implant, but only recently has it aided him enough to enable some sounds to get through.

It’s not unusual to see him in a foam helmet, for his own protection, because when he’s angry (which is frequent) he’ll bash his head against any surface available to him. If he wants to leave a room and can’t get out, he’ll bash his head repeatedly against the doorknob. If he’s locked in his restraining chair and wants something you won’t give him, he’ll bash his head into the tray.
If he wants outside, he’ll bash his head against a window. You get the idea.

Poor *Greyson spends a great deal of his day locked in that chair. Mostly because he’s a danger to the other kids and his two classroom teachers have 11 other children with severe disabilities in the room. They don’t have the time, patience or resources to be one-on-one with him at all times - which is what is necessary. He is into absolutely everything before you can blink. Especially if it’s mechanical or a form of plant or flower.

*Sarah, one of his classroom teachers, had received flowers from her husband Friday for her birthday. *Greyson saw them delivered and immediately started pointing at them and signing "want". Knowing he would destroy them, we placed them on a high shelf and signed "No. Not yours. Teacher’s." He may not understand all of it, but the word "No" is well known to him. He got angry for a bit, but then calmed.

Since I was one-on-one with him, and because I can’t stand to see him in that chair, I had unlocked him from his chair and we were venturing around the room pointing to objects as I was signing and saying their names and trying to get him to mimic me. We got within sight range of the flowers and he started pointing and grunting. I signed "No" and began to pull him away to another section of the room. He lashed out and began flailing and screaming. I knew I had to get him back into his restraining chair before he harmed one of the other children, but he was refusing to walk. I lifted him in front of me and he instinctively wrapped his legs around my waist. But now, he was on level with the flowers and began pointing with a renewed vigor. I took one hand from under him and signed "No."

Needless to say, that wasn’t what he wanted to see. He began bashing his forehead into my own. I quickly shifted him to my hip, but he did not stop slamming his head into me - I’d only succeeded in directing the hits to my temple and cheek. But, I couldn’t put him down until I reached the chair - to which I traveled as quickly as possible.

I felt the headache forming before I even had the strap around his waist or the tray locked onto the chair. What I didn’t anticipate was the bruise it would leave. The left side of my face looks like my boyfriend used it as a punching bag. I’m black, purple and green from upper temple to the bottom of my cheek bone. In other words, I’m HAWT!

It wasn’t *Greyson’s fault. He was confused, upset and lacks impulse control of any kind. It was my own fault for not having a better plan of action and not having placed him in his helmet the moment the flowers were delivered and he was denied them. When he sees something he wants, even if he seems to forget about it for a bit, he continues to go after it. I like to think I’ve learned my lesson in that respect. I treated him with a newfound respect this afternoon and always had his helmet close at hand. I prefer not to injure either of us like that again.

Monday, July 30, 2007

Non-Track Mind

I can't really form coherent, flowing thoughts at the moment.
They're mostly random flashes. So, I'm afraid you'll be subjected to them.

  • I'm pissed. Neither the damn maid nor the electrician never showed Friday. My calls went unanswered. She finally answered today and claimed to have come down with the flu and swore she would be here this afternoon to clean and let the electrician in. She even called to make certain that it would be okay for them to be here after I'd gotten off work and was here, too. I assured them it was fine. And yet . . NO ONE EVER SHOWED UP.
  • I'm ecstatic. One of my therapy kids has made great strides in the last three weeks. His new aid for his cochlear implant seems to be functioning much better than the last. He's said three words (he was previously completely non-verbal) and has learned a handful of new signs.
  • I'm sad. My Kady puppy has been "visiting" my parents for a while and has picked up a ton of bad habits from my dad's ignorant dog Maddox. She was the most well-behaved, sweetest puppy on Earth. She wouldn't jump on you and she would always come when called. Now she leaps on you the entire time you're near her and wanders off on walks. Re-training her is going to be a long process. I can tell.
  • I'm confused. Men make very little sense to me. While chatting with a male friend about football, it would often take him 3-5 minutes to respond to an IM. That's fine. No big deal. Whatev. Though, not a conscious decision, I think part of me wanted to show him what it was like: So I went to the kitchen to get a drink in the middle of our chat. I was gone maybe 3 minutes, max. I come back to a bevy of "Meghan?", "Are you there?" and "I'm leaving in 5, 4, 3 . . " messages. Yet, when I bring it to his attention that I STILL answered faster than he answers MOST of my messages, he couldn't believe me. Thank God for timestamps. Men are a little clueless sometimes.
  • I'm enamored. I'm completely in love with two of my therapy children. A little girl - 13 months old and a little boy - 15 months. I never want to take them back to class after I've seen them. And I think they feel the same since any time I walk into either of their classrooms they attack me at the door and won't let go. I may just have to kidnap them.
  • I'm lethargic. The many hours of sleeping this weekend have left me drained and useless. I pulled a 9 hour work-day which NEVER bothers me, but today I feel like I was run over by a train. I'm not sure I can move from the couch to my bed. I may have to sleep here and hope my internal alarm wakes me in time for work.
  • I'm eager. My summer is almost over, yet hasn't really started. I have two trips coming up, at least. Both of which are still in the pre-planning stages. But, both of which WILL happen come Hades or high water. I'm going to the beach and I'm going on my annual girls' weekend out trip. Damnit.
  • I'm done. I have nothing else to share today.

Sunday, July 29, 2007

Excuses, Excuses

I've been rather under the weather lately. Now, one could ask "Who get's sick in the summer?" Well, not me. I managed to sustain what I was worried was a concussion, but thankfully was just a blow hard enough to leave me deeply bruised and has brought upon me a migraine that rivals all others. Out of the last 72 hours, I've slept at least 60.

Which explains the complete lack of a blog entry.
Stay tuned. Your regularly scheduled drivel will return soon.
Most likely - tomorrow.

Thursday, July 26, 2007

Kids, I Swear

I've decided that kids - in general - are strange.

One of my therapy kids (age 3) spent, literally, 5 minutes methodically putting jelly on his biscuit. It was this huge long process that took up the majority of his breakfast time.

He then set the biscuit aside, ate all of his sausage, all of his pears, drank all of his milk and then picked up his perfectly jellied biscuit and threw it in the trash.

For some reason, it tickled me silly. I sat there for a full minute laughing until tears ran down my face and a stitch formed in my side.

Wednesday, July 25, 2007


You would think that after four weeks, one would grow accustomed to having no ceiling fan in the bedroom. You would be wrong. It is still stiflingly hot and I've been counting the seconds until the maid service was to have an electrician install the new fan. Today was the day. Or, it was supposed to be.

In theory - the electrician was supposed to arrive at 10 this morning, in conjunction with the maid, to install the ceiling fan while the service was cleaning.

In reality - neither the electrician NOR the maid showed up and no one felt it pertinent to contact me. I had a less than stellar day at work and was greatly looking forward to coming home to a clean, brand-new-fan-having house. Instead, I walked in to find stagnant air and dusty surfaces. Woe is me. I call the service and discover my maid is sick, the electrician had to postpone until Friday and no one notified me because . . . well, I still haven't worked that out in my mind. I only know that no one contacted me and no one offered any explanations when I called. They just assured me that Friday morning my new fan will be installed and my house will be spic-and-span. And, because of my inconvenience, it will all be free.

Free. Free is good.

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

Never Have I Ever

I'm abashed to admit that until Friday, I'd never played a round of miniature golf. Yes, it's true. 27 years old and I had never set foot on a putt-putt course.

I've done a great many things that others will never do. Some won't even think to do them. But there are a few things I haven't done that might surprise you:

1 - I've never driven or ridden in a Go Kart.
2 - I've never seen a Star Wars, Star Trek or James Bond film.
3 - I've never paid rent.
4 - I've never changed a flat tire . . even though I've had a LOT of them.
5 - I've never mowed (is it mown or mowed?) the lawn at my house.
6 - I've never enjoyed a Jim Carey movie.

Okay, so we've moved from shocking to downright absurd. I'm sure there are a host of other things I've never done in my life that would shock you more than my dislike of all things Jim Carey . . . but I'm currently at a loss. Settle for what you've got. I'm sure I'll add a few in the comments section.

Sunday, July 22, 2007

Whining for Whining's Sake

Is it football season, yet?
I’m wasting away in this off-season of nothing to do.

Baseball is only fun if you’re there - and it’s too damn hot to be there. I’ll admit to having attended a Roller Derby, which rocked, but it made me want to be part of the action . . .and thanks to crappy self-employed medical insurance, that foray of fun can be eliminated from the list of possibilities. Though, I admit to being intrigued by another, related, option: Cassie’s cohorts in Roller Derby Crime have asked me to consider coaching the team.
Oooh, telling everyone else what to do while I stand safely out of harm’s way?? Sounds tempting to me.

But there is no substitute for football.
My mainstay. My love. Oh dear Lord, I miss football.
I can see I’m going to have to break down and attend an Arena game.
It’s not REAL football, but it will have to do. For now.

Friday, July 20, 2007

It's Just Not Right

The scourge of the South and the bain of my existence are the fashion offerings down here come mid-to-late-July.

I went shopping last Friday hoping to find cute camisoles, flirty skirts, short-sleeved baby-doll dresses and strappy sandals. I rarely get the urge to shop, seeing as how I loathe the activity to my very core, but when the desire strikes - it's best to move fast. So I flitted from store to store in what was later deemed a very vain attempt to jazz up my summer wardrobe.

In every store I entered were huge signs proclaiming "Clearance!" and "50% Off!" and "Biggest Sale of the Year!" Well, YIPPEE! I thought. If I have this unlikely urge to shop, at least I can catch things on sale! What's better than a sale?

Unfortunately, it didn't dawn on me until much later what this would mean: All summer clothing items are now non-existent in the South. If, by some miracle of fashion, you are a size 2 or a size 22, you can procure hordes of cute summer clothes at low-low get-'em-while-they're-hot prices. However, if you fall anywhere between the two sizes . . well, you're relagated to the full price FALL items. Which wouldn't be so bad . . . if the South had a Fall.

There are two seasons in the Deep South: Hot as Hades Summer and Still Hot but Bearable Summer. If you doubt me, I can probably find pictures to post of myself in short sleeved attire in front of the Christmas tree.

The fashion moguls who supply the Southern stores with their wares have yet to discover the above fact. I spent hours flicking through rack after rack of kicky jackets and jaunty sweaters. Jackets and sweaters. In near-August. In the South. And, ha ha!, most of them were made of some form of wool-blend.

Disheartened, I realized I would have to stick with the summer wardrobe I'd already attained. Sad, I know. Hopefully, some buyer for Dillard's will run across this post and realize that Summer attire will always be needed in stock in the South. However, I know how unlikely that is.

Thank the Lord that I wear scrubs 5 of 7 days.

Thursday, July 19, 2007


Recently, an acquaintance committed suicide and I use the term acquaintance as loosely as possible since I'd met the man a sum total of twice. But regardless of the depth of our relationship, his suicide affected me greatly.

Cradling a baby at work, slowly and cautiously working on his oral motor goals, I overheard the classroom teachers talking:

"Did you know that *Ethan committed suicide last night?"

"Where'd you hear that?"

"Jenny told me."

"Jenny'd know seeing as *Ethan's her cousin."

"Yeah. Well he did it right in front of his momma and his girlfriend. You knew they'd moved in with his momma, right? After they'd gotten evicted from that apartment."

"He did it in front of them?"

"Yeah. Just up and pulled the gun outta the couch cushions and stuck it to his head and he was gone."

"Who keeps a gun in their couch cushions?"

"Ain't that kinda beside the point."

"I was just wondering."

"Well, I think suicide's gotta be the most selfish thing a person can do. They're not thinkin bout nobody but themselves."

Suddenly I was in 7th grade again. My mother was telling me how Jennifer had hung herself with a pink and purple jump rope and left a note that simply said, "I've always hated jump ropes."

I remember thinking about how tortured she'd always seemed. And how unhappy. No 7th grader - no child of any age - should have that much pain in their eyes. Part of me felt relieved for her. That she didn't have to feel those things anymore. I don't think it occurred to me to think about how it affected the other people in her life.

Funny that 15 years later, that thought should finally occur.

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

Addictions are Hard to Feed

I'm completely addicted to OneRepublic.
I've been searching online and doing everything I can to feed the addiction since I can't find their CD anywhere around here.

Apologize floats through my mind all day.
And, odd for me, I actually like the remix - though I still prefer the original.

If anyone feels like making a wild gesture of adoration, feel free to email me for an address to send this CD to. Typically, I'm a very private person in regards to location information - but I'll make an exception for this. :)

I *think* that I'm kidding.

Tuesday, July 17, 2007

I Don't See Nothin' Wrooonnng . . . With a Little Bump and Grind

Excuse the early 90's (possibly late 80's, but SURELY not) R. Kelley lyrics. I know it's wrong, but I like his music. Just his music. Not his taste in women, ahem, I mean girls.

I've given up on the stupid elliptical crap this week and have abandoned all hope of laps in the pool uninterrupted. Excuse me while I mutter to myself about home-owner's associations and liability and can't be allowed in the pool without a lifeguard present during regular pool hours and nevermind that I was a lifeguard for five years and a swim team coach and I still teach swimming lessons but whatever *urgh*.

Where was I?
Oh, yes.
I've given up on the stupid elliptical.
I'm tired of working my butt off to stare at the same paint on the wall every day.
If I'm going to move, I prefer to actually move every now and again. Move in the sense of from one place to another.

Therefore, I've dragged out the best video work-out EVAARRR.
And by best I, of course, mean probably burns fewer than 100 calories, the music that was once hot is now cheesy and out-dated and why did I ever think Eric was attractive, but still this video is nothing but fun and will forever epitomize my Freshman year of college where almost my entire dorm had the video and we would get together in groups to work out to it . . oh dear, I've said to much, stopping now.

Anywho . . . I will not be on that stupid machine again for at least a week.
Instead I will be working out to: drumroll please

MTV's The Grind Workout: Hip Hop Aerobics circa 1995.

You know anything that was already three years old when you STARTED doing it is bound to be timeless. Oh yeah, baby. Tae-Bo ain't got nuttin' on this.

Monday, July 16, 2007


There are a pair of coral colored, peep-toe, sling-back heels strewn across my kitchen floor.

I like them there. The only thing out of place.
They give the appearance that something untoward happened on the hard, cool floor.
Or perhaps on the counter.
Maybe against the cabinets.

I like planting those questions in people's minds.
I think I'll leave them there for a while.

Just for appearances sake.

Sunday, July 15, 2007

There's Truth in Advertising

I'm rarely a huge fan of greeting cards.
It seems as though you spend endless minutes (which feel more like hours) searching for that just-right card and you end up settling for something that's kinda-close-but-not-really.
Somehow, though, the SO found one that I agree with.

I won't quote it all, but just the pertinent part:

Real love isn't found in the falling - it's found in the staying . . . the day-to-daying . . . the ups and downs and the smiles and frowns . . .

Here's hoping you all find your Real Love.

Now back to your regularly scheduled BS and sarcasm.

Friday, July 13, 2007

An Anniversary of Sorts

I'm semi-cheating on this 30-days of blogging thing, but sue me. Today, July 13th is an anniversary of sorts for me. What's truly ironic is that the end of the story below occurred exactly on FRIDAY, July 13th. Therefore, I'm re-posting it for all to read. I'm relatively certain the majority of my readers (all 5 of you!) have not read it.

The Beginning

I smelled him before I felt him.
His aftershave mingled with the clean smell of soap.
He wrapped his arms around me from behind. “Hey there.”
The sound of his voice in my ear made me tingle.
Through the butterflies in my stomach and the choke in my throat, I managed to get out, “Hey there, yourself.”
“Miss me?”

Without hesitation I practically screamed, “Yes.”
I felt his hand sweep my hair aside a second before his lips touched the nape of my neck.
I shivered. There were so many things I wanted to say. “Is this really happening?”
His nose burrowed in my hair a little deeper, “Is what happening?”
“Is this what this feels like? Am I really in love with you?”

I felt his chest shake with laughter as he pulled me tighter into him.
“Do you have to analyze everything? Can’t it just be?”
I tried not to hurt when he said it.
“When it’s this unreal, I have to question it.”
A bit of water dripped onto my shoulder.“Did you even bother to towel off?”
“I didn’t want to be gone from you that long.”

He brushed his cheek against mine.“I wish you hadn’t shaved.”
“I didn’t want to scratch you.”
“I like it. Feeling your stubble scrape against my cheek.”
“You’re not like other girls.”
“Comparing me to anyone in particular?”
“Stop questioning. Just accept it for what it is. I love you.”
“Don’t go to work. We’ll both stay home.”

He looked at the bed and I could almost feel his glance as it swept me from head to foot.
“You didn’t get enough last night?”
“I waited 5 months for that, and after last night, I’m not sure I can ever get enough.”
He laughed and then pushed me unto the bed.
“I’m not staying. I just want to kiss you a little before I leave you.”

He fell next to me and our legs tangled together.
I pulled him into me and closed my eyes.
Seconds elapsed without a kiss. “What are you waiting for?”
“I want you to look at me.”
I opened my eyes.
Watch me as I kiss you.”
I looked into his eyes as his lips met mine.
He stayed for three days.

The End(18 months later)

He led me to the gazebo.
I felt like a prize fool. Everyone on the grounds could see me crying.
“Why can’t we just talk about this in the apartment?”
“Do you want Amber to know what is happening?”
“Then we are sitting out here.”

We reached our destination and I sat down.
I expected him to sit next to me, hold me, tell me everything was going to be okay.
He sat across from me.
Staring at me without seeing me.
The distance between our bodies echoed in his eyes.

"Did you do this on purpose?”
“You’re serious????”
“Yes. I need to know. Did you do this to speed things up?”
“You’re really a piece of work! Of course I didn’t do this on purpose! Do you think this is a great time for me either? I’m in my senior year, I have a thesis to finish, applications to grad school, we’re in different cities. NO! I didn’t do this on purpose.”
“I had to ask.”
I could feel my heart tearing a little.

“You trust me so little? Then why did you ask me to marry you?”
“I trust you. I want to be with you. But this changes things. A lot.”
“Do you think I did this alone?”
“Shut up. I have to think.”
A million retorts rushed down my head to my lips, but none crossed them.

“What does the doctor say?”
“I want to know what you want. Not what the doctor wants. Doctors always want omething different. I’m asking you. What do you want?”
“I’m not answering that until I know all the details.”
“Do you want this baby? Do you want our child?”“
"God, yes, you know I want children. I want them with you. But now? After everything we’ve found out. With you still in school?”
“Then let’s do it.”

My heart was in my hand and I was timidly holding it out to him. Please, don’t hurt me. Please, let this be the future. Let this be real. Don’t let everything else control our lives. Make this decision with me.

“I can’t. You can’t.”
“You won’t.”
“You’re a selfish bitch, you know that? You’re right I won’t! You’re 21! You just found out you have a tumor! You could die if you carry this child to term! But all you can think about is what you want, you want a baby, you want a family, you want happily ever after. What about what I want? I want to see you finish school, I want to see you raise our children, I want to grow old with you. Will those things happen if you ignore the tumor to save this baby??? We can always have children, but if we do it now, I can’t be sure I’ll always have you.”

The tears I had succeeded in blinking back came rushing forward again.

Why does it have to be either/or? Why can’t it be both?”
“Can it? Did the doctor tell you that we could have both? If we ignore the tumor and focus on the baby, will you still be around?”
“I can’t answer that.”
“Then we’re not doing it. Call the doctor tomorrow. Schedule the abortion. If it’s the baby or you, I pick you.”
“It might be NOTHING. I’ve been healthy for over two years! This mass or tumor or whatever they found could be scar tissue, it could be ruptured cysts, it could be nothing. You’re willing to give up our child for a chance?”
“With your medical history, with everything you’ve been through, with the medications you’re on . . . do you think it’s nothing? What about the medicines? Have they harmed the baby already? You’re 7 weeks pregnant, you think they haven’t had an effect? Just do it. Just call the doctor. Just have it arranged. I’m not letting you take the chance.”

The crying became uncontrollable.
He pulled me across the space between us into his lap.
His arms wrapped around me.

“I love you. I love you. Don’t make me lose you.”
“But you’ll accept the loss of our child.”
“To know that I’ll have you? Yes.”

The next day, I made the appointment.

Monday morning came and he never showed up.
I called Emily and “Ruby” to take me.
They held my hands through the procedure.
They yelled at the protestors waving cameras in my face.
They half carried me, half led me to the car.

Jeff called and apologized while I was waiting on my exiting counseling session.
“Big meeting at work, I couldn’t get out. Baby, I’m so sorry. I’ll be there tonight.”

He arrived at 8 P.M.
No explanations or excuses for where he had been since he got off work.
No more apologies for being absent for the death of our child.
He didn’t speak at all. He just held me.

And that’s when I noticed.

He smelled of something. Sweet and musky.
A perfume that wasn’t mine. Mingled with something else.
I recognized that smell.

I watched him sleep that night. His chest rising and falling with each breath.
He slept soundly. What we did, what I did, what he did - didn’t trouble him at all.

That’s when they left.
My feelings of love, of safety, of security, of trust.
They were all gone. I felt apathy move to fill the emptiness.
And it took up residence.

Thursday, July 12, 2007

Is There a Lost and Found for These Things?

*Sigh* I don't know where my willpower has gone, but it has vanished like a virgin on prom night . . . or an underage boy in the vicinity of Michael Jackson's house.

Just a few short months ago, I was able to resist most any temptation of appetite. Keep your sugary sweets and your tempting treats! I want none of them! I need only a bottle of water and a trek around the track or a lap or 14 in the pool.

But recently, and unexpectedly, my willpower jumped ship. I think I saw it waving to me from the distant shore. It seemed to say, "Good luck on your own, sucker! You didn't appreciate me while I was around so I'm going in search of someone who will. Perhaps an anorexic or Nicole Ritchie." Whoops, I forgot the two were mutually exclusive. Anywho . .

My willpower is gone and I'm not liking it one bit. Now I have to rely on myself to deny my sweet tooth. And while I'm doing alright for now, I know the next temptation is around the corner and I believe that short of wiring my jaw together and handcuffing my wrists behind my back - - there's no way I can continue to say "No."

Nancy Reagan would be so dismayed. Wait, umm, is she still with us? I'm drifting off topic. Again.

I need a Lost and Found to search through and relocate my willpower. Or someone else's. It doesn't even have to be as strong as my old one. Any strength will do. As long as I'm not on this ship alone sailing towards Temptation Island.

*Urgh* I'm weak and weary. Someone throw me a Life Vest.

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

Temporary Insanity

For just three seconds yesterday I was besieged with the need to run out and purchase the Spice Girls album that played on repeat in my car's tape deck for a month my Sophomore year of High School.

Look, I never claimed that I'd always had good taste. And, if we're being honest, I've always been so schizophrenic in my music tastes that it shouldn't surprise anyone that the next month my tape of choice was God Lives Underwater.

My point being that, no matter how bad it is for us, we sometimes long for something from our past. Most of the time it's a flight of fancy that will never be followed through on, but we still have those momentary pangs of desire for something we once had.

I should also admit that a few months ago the SO and I were in a used CD store and he laughed as he held up a Mariah Carey CD and said, "Maybe we should get this." I'm not sure I've ever told him that I desperately wanted to and wonder now if I went there next weekend, would there still be a used copy for $4.99? crosses fingers

Hello! That tape was the first present I unwrapped at my tenth birthday party before heading to the Roller Rink to be pushed around in a Giant Skate while they played my song of choice: New Kids On the Block's immortal hit Covergirl.

I have no idea what I was attempting to say in this post - other than I have, in the past, had horrendous music tastes. Oh, and that I sometimes long for the things of my past. Like certain Judy Blume books or that feeling of dread and excitement that overtook me at the beginning of every swim meet and, of course, that one Spice Girls album that everyone secretly loved but few of us admit to.

Random Aside:

When and Why did Posh go blonde?? Did she not realize that as a dark brunette she was one of the most gorgeous women in the world and now she just looks like some trashy OC divorcee? What's next . . a boob job? Posh, dear, you were the only classy thing in that group. Come back to us. Re-dye your hair before the Spice Girls tour kicks off in December. I'm sure even Becks would agree.

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

My Memory Has Just Been Sold

Admit it, you're still singing the J. Geils Band. It's okay. I won't tell anyone.

I had forgotten how addictive blogging can be!

I had also forgotten how easy it can be to make blogging friends and start to feel like some of the readers/commenters are almost like family.

I just hope I don't forget how dangerous that can be, sometimes.
Even when it seems like it isn't.

Blogging confession of the day: I have two other blogs.
One that I post on semi-regularly and one that I haven't posted on in months, but it was extremely cathartic when I was posting there.

I've been thinking about starting a third (Or, I guess it's a fourth? Since it's the third one no one knows about but the fourth that I have?). We'll see if that happens. I tend to doubt it considering my inconsistent habits on the blogs I already have.

Monday, July 09, 2007

The Morbidity of My Family Astounds Even Me

As I've noted about 12 times, my family came to visit for my birthday. It was a short visit, but long enough for my father to make me laugh until my sides ached and my breath was stolen. Though, in actuality, I suppose it was my mother that caused the real laughter.

Dad: "So I was reading the Arkansas Democrat Gazette this morning and you know how the front page has that side bar thing with the little blurbs about things going on in the world and stuff, well there's this story about this guy who was at another guy's house for a dinner party and apparently the guy was pretty familiar with the guy's house or whatever and they were cleaning up from the dinner party and the guy went down to the guy's basement to put the leftovers in his freezer, now get this, he opens the freezer and . . . pause for dramatic effect . . . there's the guy's wife and twelve year old kid. He'd killed them and put them in the freezer and this guy found them!"

Me: "Ummm . . . call me crazy, but if I'd killed my family and hid them in my freezer, I'm not thinking I'd let anyone near the basement. WHAT was this guy thinking letting his friend go down there to put leftovers in the freezer??"

Dad (laughing): "What gets me is that the guy had the gall to have a dinner party! I mean, what, did he just decide, Hey! I killed my wife and kid a few days ago, but I'm getting kinda lonely, I should throw a dinner party!"

Me (ashamed to be laughing): "What is wrong with the world??!?!? People are insane."

Dad: "Yeah, well there was another story on there. But this was a sad one . . . "

Mom: "Oh! I guess the other one wasn't sad!?!?"

Dad: "Oh. . . . . Yeah. I guess it was . . . . kinda."

Needless to say when we all went out to eat with my friends and my significant other that night for my birthday, I made dad tell the story again. Hoping beyond hope that mom would pipe up with her asides again. Unfortunately, that didn't happen.

Sunday, July 08, 2007


So much for that newfound love of delayed gratification.
Though, in my defense, it wasn't truly my fault.

I opened all my presents last night at 9:00.
Not because I couldn't wait another second . . .
But because my family had to leave unexpectedly and wouldn't be here for my actual birthday.
And because I wanted them to see everything I'd gotten.

So, here it is, my actual birthday and I find myself without a gift to open.

I'm wondering if it will be just as exciting to re-wrap then re-open the presents?
Or perhaps I should take him shopping with me and make him buy me things? :)
I would never do that. And by never I mean, I would but I don't want to seem like that kind of girl on here with you strangers.

I think I'll go with the re-wrap and re-open the presents gig.
It should go along nicely with my plan to make my own birthday cake!

Woo hoo!

*Don't feel too badly for me.
My actual birthday party has yet to occur.
Each year my friend Cammie and I have our parties together since our birthdays are two days apart. I anticipate a few more presents. However, I am slightly dismayed that I have nothing to open on my actual birthday and no one to fault for that but myself.*

Saturday, July 07, 2007

Delayed Gratification

When I was younger, and by younger I could even mean as recently as last year, I couldn't wait to open my birthday presents. If I knew someone had something for me, I wanted it right then and right there. Now, now, now! was my mantra.

I guess something in me has matured this year, though the hows and whys of it escape me. But tomorrow is my birthday and yesterday my mother set 3 huge presents and a massive gift bag in one of my back bedrooms. Then, last night, my significant other walked in with a very large gift bag and a smaller one.

As we were sitting down to dinner, he asked: "Aren't you going to open your presents?"

My odd, even by my standards, answer?

"Of course. But not today. It's not my birthday, yet."

Friday, July 06, 2007

Never Around When You Need One

So, I had an interesting/scary/pissed me off experience this morning.

I take Hwy 64 from my house into Menifee (a town of 450 with the cattle and the chickens) simply because it's more convenient and fewer miles from my house. But, at Menifee, I merge onto I-40 to travel the rest of the way to work. A) Because I get tired of driving 55 MPH and B) Because there are fewer police just aching to show their superiority.

It is now obvious to me that I should have stayed on Hwy 64 this morning.

I knew something was amiss the moment I got onto I-40. This Chevy, extended cab, Z-71 immediately started bearing down on me while swerving erratically from lane to lane. I noticed other drivers were giving him a wide berth, so I attempted to do the same - to no avail.

He and his cohort would pull up directly beside me, smile maniacally and then start to edge into my lane until I would speed up or slam on the brakes; at which point they would swerve in the opposite direction, throwing up dirt and grass in the median.

I should have known he was insane the moment I saw the Tennessee plates and the "Go Vols!" sticker. If I had to guess, based on driving habits alone, I would believe him to be a Memphis resident. Though, judging on facial expressions and hurled Spanglish insults, he could be from any insane asylum in the U.S. or Mexico.

On the third round of Interstate Tag, I'd decided I'd had enough. I dialed 911 and alerted the area police to a crazed lunatic driver terrorizing the roads at 6 A.M.

All I could think was, "It's too early for this mess. I prefer to limit my police interactions until, at least, noon."

Thursday, July 05, 2007

Why Are Some of the Best Men Imaginary?

One of my favorite movie characters is from a movie few of you will know, but all of you should:

Steve Dunne played by Campbell Scott in the 1992 cinematic classic Singles.

Cameron Crowe did an amazing job creating the character of Steve and writing his lines. If Steve Dunne were a real man, I would want to marry him. Why? Because he says things like this:

Talking to his friends about Linda:
If I had a personal conversation with God, I would ask him to create this girl.

Calling Linda for the first time after meeting her:
Linda Powell? Steve Dunne. Hey, yeah, I met you... 61 hours ago. Yeah, that was me. Listen, uh, do you want to get some dinner? Uh, how about some lunch? No lunch. Coffee? Water? How about some water? I'll meet you where you're already having lunch, and we'll have some water.

What he says to Linda when she answers the door to an unexpected visit from Steve:
I was just... nowhere near your neighborhood.

Explaining his upbringing in regards to relationships:
My dad left home when I was eight. You know what he said to me? Have fun, stay single. I was eight.

Trying to comfort Linda when she thinks she might have accidentally gotten pregnant:
I'm probably sterile. It runs in my family.

Steve is just that right combination of awkward, endearing, honest and beguiling. He's unsure when it comes to women, but he knows that he's unsure and he hangs it all out there anyway!

I want a man to tell me: I was just nowhere near your neighborhood.
In a completely, non-stalkerish, cute and sexy kind of way.

I don't think that's too much to ask.

Wednesday, July 04, 2007

There's No Breeze in Here!!

If you've ever lived in the South, you know the value of a ceiling fan. No amount of central air conditioning can slay the heat on it's own. It requires the assistance of the mighty fan - circulating it's cooling goodness throughout the room.

To be quite honest, even I didn't realize the full value of the ceiling fan until last week: When my less-than-spectacular new maid killed my poor little innocent fan. What it did to incur her wrath, I will never know. But it must have done something horrendous, because she made certain it would never rotate on it's shiny nickel-plated axis again.

So, night after night, I've laid in the sweltering heat and stiffling humidity of the Deep South. Air conditioning cranked down to 65. Comforters and sheets thrown haphazardly onto the floor. Anything resembling clothing abandoned. Hair tied firmly in a knot atop my head. Praying for the Ceiling Fan Gods to bring my fan back to life or for my maid service to cough up the $200 for the new fan they've promised to purchase and install, all to no avail.

I can see I'm going to have to visit the dreaded Wal-Mart and purchase temporary relief in the form of a standing, oscillating fan.

What an attractive piece of decor! I can't wait to display it in the center of my bedroom. Ah, the joy. Traditional Homes should be calling any moment.

Tuesday, July 03, 2007


I'm going to try and be a better blogger. Or, at the very least, the blogger that I once was. So, for the next thirty days I'm going to attempt to post at least a little sumpin', sumpin' every single day. Granted, it might be a little blurb like this, but at least it's better than nothing!

Seriously??? Has the ACLU nothing better to do with it's time?


The only thing worse than the bible beaters are the anti-bible beaters. Find a happy medium people, I beg of you. It doesn't appear to me that anyone in Slidell had a problem with the painting . . . so why should anyone else?

*sigh* People should really mind their own business and let others live their lives.