by guest blogger, Bill
I hate Christmas parades!
Don’t get me wrong. I love the holidays. The Christmas stuff starts going up the day after Halloween and stays up til after Super Bowl Sunday. It’s just Christmas parades that drive me nuts. Or maybe more like being in the parades.
After a two year unpaid sabbatical from the radio business where I dabbled in sports marketing, studentization (my fancy word for going back to school), substitute teaching, house remodeling, and bumming(the latter of which I was most successful according to my wife), I am back in the radio game. One of my most important responsibilities is to promote the station. Our particular station has a reputation of being heavily involved in the community. That’s a GOOD thing, believe me. I love the fact that the public knows who we are! The more people that listen, the bigger my bonus! A major part of promoting the station during the holidays is going to as many Christmas parades as possible.
Every little bitty Podunk town in North Mississippi has a Christmas parade. Some of these towns do not even have a stop light, but they have a parade. Last time I checked there were 18 Christmas parades in our listening area. That’s a lot of Santas!
A parade in North Mississippi means showing up an hour early, sitting in a parking lot looking at all of the pageant moms primping their freezing daughters AND/OR sons, driving very slowly behind the local high school band or alderman or antique tractor, blast “Merry Christmas from the Family” over and over and over, while waving at people, smiling, and pretending that they actually know who you are. A lot of them are fans of the station, but some just look at us and yell out the name of the competition (what are THESE fruitcakes thinking, that it’s going to hurt my feeling and I will give them a t-shirt?). FUN.
In years past we had four people on the full time staff to help with the parades and my show was so late that I only had to do two or three Saturday parades every year. Now there are only two of us (damn corporate budget cuts), me and my morning show partner, Kelli. She wants us to ride together to help promote our show, SOOOO that means a lot of pretending to be important! Luckily (for me at least) a lot of the towns picked the same dates to block traffic on Main Street. On the day of one of our most important parades, four other towns that we normally grace with our presence paraded at the same time.
Every parade has the beauty queens and kings. Yes, kings. Pageants are no longer just for the girls. And every queen has to be in the local parade. In the New Albany parade we met Miss, Mister, Little Miss, Little Mister, Junior Miss, Toddler, Baby, Teeny, and Itsy Bitsy Union County. NO JOKE! These were actual titles! Not to mention all the local school beauty review winners (male and female), and representatives of local dance studios! And every one has a crown! Now in most parades the queens are wearing the requisite formal gowns and high heels. If it is cold, like is has been around this area for the past few weeks, an expensive fur coat is of upmost importance. Hey, you gotta look fancy! The New Albany parade is a little different. I have never seen so many tiaras over camouflage EVER! That’s a look to go for! Mossy Oak and rhinestones! Nice!
We headed over to the metropolis of Mantachie for their parade on a Saturday afternoon. This is one of those no stop light back woods towns. Nice little town with a great place to get a chocolate shake! Every teenager with a four-wheeler decided that was the event for them. As we sat in front of the high school watching the parade go past us since we were important enough to escort Santa (while blasting Jeff Foxworthy’s “Twelve Days of Christmas”) I saw some interesting innovations. I never thought to install a car stereo in an old cooler and bungee it to the front rack of an ATV. Tres chic! One young man, who didn’t have a four-wheel, tractor, motorcycle, or horse, but REALLY wanted to be in the parade, decided to throw a bunch of tinsel on his old riding lawnmower and cruise the mile and a half stretch of highway.
The big parade, of course, is the Tupelo parade. Every politician and marching band from a three county area shows up. This is the one parade that the local TV stations actually show up for. A good friend of mine is the new community relations guy for the TV group in town so it is his job to get the news anchors to these public events. He borrowed a convertible and loaded up some of the news crew to wave to the adoring crowd. Half-way through the parade, he pulled over in front a store owned by some other friends of ours, GOT OUT of the car, and borrowed the facilities! Dude stopped the parade to go pee! Seriously! This parade is televised live on local cable and the dork makes the big time news guys sit in the car and wait while he recycles his diet coke! The biggest problem I have with this is we were WAAAAy in front and did not hear about this until late in the afternoon! Kelli and I tried to call him, but he has yet to return our calls. I don’t know why. He should be used to us making fun of him on the air by now. We’ve been doing it for years!
You know, maybe these parades aren’t so bad after all.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Monday, November 24, 2008
Kissing a Toad
Hannah finally had her first date!
Some may remember that I posted on EJ/JQ's bulletin board about some senior at her high school that had told her that she was gorgeous and asked her out over a month ago. The date never happened. To protect the name of the guilty, we'll call him "C" for this post. C had to work that night, and the date just never seemed to happen. They did meet up at a party at my sister's house (don't ask, long story!), and he gave Hannah her first kiss. Too bad for Hannah that Kristen walked into the kitchen during C's delivery and signaled everyone to the fact with her loud, "Ewwww! Get a room!" Yeah, cousinly love. Brotherly love is not a lot better. It had taken C and Hannah a while to sneak away from Colin, who had been shadowing them like a hawk. LOL! You can still ask Colin, "Do you like C?" His reply is always a definite, "No!"
After the kiss and the scare of Mono (yes, Hannah would receive her first kiss from someone who was diagnosed with Mono a week later *insert rolling eyes*), C led Hannah down the "I don't have time to date-I have a lot on my plate right now" path, which caused her friends, family, and especially me to dislike C with a passion, to the point of dislike, that I have been extremely creative with my name calling. *g* C has ceased being called by his given name. The first was before the so-called, wound up never happening date. When my sister showed me a picture of C on facebook, I could not help but call him Elder C. What's up with all the guys growing Amish beards? Don't get me wrong. The Amish have their share of cute guys, too, but their beards are their tradition/trend. It seems as if all the guys around here are growing beards without mustaches. C sporting one became fair game in my mind, and thus Elder C.
After meeting him at my sister's bonfire and being a reluctant witness to the kiss, C earned his second nickname of his real name being said to sound like Gaston's name. He likes to hunt. I don't. Deer and bunnies are cute. Leave them alone. So, I couldn't seem to help myself when Hannah, Kristen, Susie, and I were watching Beauty and the Beast during Susie's Disney movie marathon, and I started singing, "No one shoots like C'on..." C needed to rhyme with Gaston, and C'on worked well. The name change in the song stuck. You know that you've succeeded in irritating your teenage daughter when her five-year-old brother can be heard singing from his bath, "No one shoots like C'on..." Plus, Kristen and Susie walking around the halls of the school humming the tune. ;-)
Since the song, C and Hannah have been flirting in their biology class to the extent of their classmates thinking that they are dating and their teacher, who is also a coach, announcing that he's been inspired to write a young adult romance novel. From what I'm hearing, it's as if C is staking his claim. What a Neanderthal! During all the flirting, Hannah still pined for C and wondered what was wrong with her, with him, and all the other unanswerable questions of a first crush. C did earn another nickname during the month and a half of flirting. He did something extremely embarrassing in class. Something that I will be gracious enough not to name, but I will tell you I bestowed his additional nickname of the P.F.'er, which Susie believes to be the best nickname so far. Susie is so enthusiastic about the nickname P.F.'er that she chants it whenever she meets C in the hall and giggles aloud when he gives her a questioning look.
As stated, Hannah and C had been flirting on almost a daily basis since the Mono scare, and he even got up the nerve to text her, "I'm sorry for being an ass," once. But no request for a date, that is, until this past Thursday. After Hannah had led him on a merry chase of not seeming too interested anymore, making it appear as if she was flirting with Zach (another long story! poor Zach...he's my pick!), and making him think that she had met someone else while visiting her dad a couple of weekends ago, the P.F.'er came through with another request for a date. That's my girl. Make him crazy. ;-) Surprisingly, he followed through with his request, and Hannah went on her first date.
While Kristen, Susie, Bill, and I were at the movie theater, seeing Twilight, Hannah was suffering through introducing C to her Gram and Poppa. To Hannah's distress, my mother had threatened to give C the "Eunuch and the Nun" speech. LOL! Having been on the receiving end of that speech with whatever guy I was dating, I looked forward to someone else being the recipient. Unfortunately, it didn't happen. Hannah was saved that mortification, but my mother did expose her brilliant imagination. (Remember the picture on MySpace of the air-conditioner fastened to side of her Expedition? *g*) When my mother learned that C had been helping his grandfather weld something that afternoon, she said,"Oh! You can weld! I have something that needs to be welded. I have an exercise bike that needs a new seat welded on it, but I don't want a bicycle seat welded on it. I have a boat seat that I want welded on it. The regular seat hurts. I need something bigger and more comfortable." ROTFLMAO!!! Only MY MOTHER would come up with attaching a boat seat to an exercise bike! LOL! Hannah said that when mother started talking, she grinned and looked at the floor. C kept his cool and never laughed. Instead, he told her that he would take a look at it, and it would depend on the stability of the metal frame of the exercise bike. LMAO! Classic!
Well, Hannah and Wolverine had their long awaited date. He carried her to the Olive Garden and then to see the new James Bond movie. Hannah said that he smelled nice, and she never had to open a door. He was the perfect gentleman. I have to give credit to the guy. He is really sick. He had visited the doctor that day and received a shot. Apparently, he refuses to stay out of the woods during hunting season and cannot shake a cold. Thank God that it is no longer Mono! When Hannah learned that he was at the doctor's office the day of the date, she told him that since he was sick, they could postpone their date for another time. He refused, telling her that he KNEW that if their date didn't happen this time, then he would never have the chance to date her. (He's beginning to know Hannah's mood swings. Smart boy.) He told her that he would rather be sick and be with her, than not be with her at all. I haven't figured out if his reasoning is as romantic and he and Hannah believe it to be. LOL!
C told Hannah that maybe now that he carried Hannah on a date, then Kristen and Susie would quit giving him "go to hell" looks when they pass in the hall at school. LOL! Gotta love Kristen and Susie!
Since the date on Friday night, C has been in the bed where he needed to have been all along, but maybe he needs to suffer a little. You have no idea what I've endured this month and a half with Hannah "wondering" ALL THE DAMN TIME! (Been there, done that, know how it feels, not fun!) C has yet to receive the crown of approval. The verdict is still out for debate whether he will become a prince, meaning a respectful guy who should have the honor of dating my daughter, or remain a toad. I do believe that C likes Hannah, and everyone in this house and family KNOW that Hannah likes the P.F.'er. I'm happy for Hannah that C came through with their date. He says that he wants to go out again with her, but with his track record and the expense of the first date on a high school boy's wallet, I'm betting that their second date will happen after the first of the year, which is perfectly fine with me. Teenagers! They do entertain. ;-)
What about you? Want to share your first kiss or first date experience? Any experiences of waiting FOREVER to go on a date with a certain someone? Any advice? BTW...HAPPY THANKSGIVING!
Some may remember that I posted on EJ/JQ's bulletin board about some senior at her high school that had told her that she was gorgeous and asked her out over a month ago. The date never happened. To protect the name of the guilty, we'll call him "C" for this post. C had to work that night, and the date just never seemed to happen. They did meet up at a party at my sister's house (don't ask, long story!), and he gave Hannah her first kiss. Too bad for Hannah that Kristen walked into the kitchen during C's delivery and signaled everyone to the fact with her loud, "Ewwww! Get a room!" Yeah, cousinly love. Brotherly love is not a lot better. It had taken C and Hannah a while to sneak away from Colin, who had been shadowing them like a hawk. LOL! You can still ask Colin, "Do you like C?" His reply is always a definite, "No!"
After the kiss and the scare of Mono (yes, Hannah would receive her first kiss from someone who was diagnosed with Mono a week later *insert rolling eyes*), C led Hannah down the "I don't have time to date-I have a lot on my plate right now" path, which caused her friends, family, and especially me to dislike C with a passion, to the point of dislike, that I have been extremely creative with my name calling. *g* C has ceased being called by his given name. The first was before the so-called, wound up never happening date. When my sister showed me a picture of C on facebook, I could not help but call him Elder C. What's up with all the guys growing Amish beards? Don't get me wrong. The Amish have their share of cute guys, too, but their beards are their tradition/trend. It seems as if all the guys around here are growing beards without mustaches. C sporting one became fair game in my mind, and thus Elder C.
After meeting him at my sister's bonfire and being a reluctant witness to the kiss, C earned his second nickname of his real name being said to sound like Gaston's name. He likes to hunt. I don't. Deer and bunnies are cute. Leave them alone. So, I couldn't seem to help myself when Hannah, Kristen, Susie, and I were watching Beauty and the Beast during Susie's Disney movie marathon, and I started singing, "No one shoots like C'on..." C needed to rhyme with Gaston, and C'on worked well. The name change in the song stuck. You know that you've succeeded in irritating your teenage daughter when her five-year-old brother can be heard singing from his bath, "No one shoots like C'on..." Plus, Kristen and Susie walking around the halls of the school humming the tune. ;-)
Since the song, C and Hannah have been flirting in their biology class to the extent of their classmates thinking that they are dating and their teacher, who is also a coach, announcing that he's been inspired to write a young adult romance novel. From what I'm hearing, it's as if C is staking his claim. What a Neanderthal! During all the flirting, Hannah still pined for C and wondered what was wrong with her, with him, and all the other unanswerable questions of a first crush. C did earn another nickname during the month and a half of flirting. He did something extremely embarrassing in class. Something that I will be gracious enough not to name, but I will tell you I bestowed his additional nickname of the P.F.'er, which Susie believes to be the best nickname so far. Susie is so enthusiastic about the nickname P.F.'er that she chants it whenever she meets C in the hall and giggles aloud when he gives her a questioning look.
As stated, Hannah and C had been flirting on almost a daily basis since the Mono scare, and he even got up the nerve to text her, "I'm sorry for being an ass," once. But no request for a date, that is, until this past Thursday. After Hannah had led him on a merry chase of not seeming too interested anymore, making it appear as if she was flirting with Zach (another long story! poor Zach...he's my pick!), and making him think that she had met someone else while visiting her dad a couple of weekends ago, the P.F.'er came through with another request for a date. That's my girl. Make him crazy. ;-) Surprisingly, he followed through with his request, and Hannah went on her first date.
While Kristen, Susie, Bill, and I were at the movie theater, seeing Twilight, Hannah was suffering through introducing C to her Gram and Poppa. To Hannah's distress, my mother had threatened to give C the "Eunuch and the Nun" speech. LOL! Having been on the receiving end of that speech with whatever guy I was dating, I looked forward to someone else being the recipient. Unfortunately, it didn't happen. Hannah was saved that mortification, but my mother did expose her brilliant imagination. (Remember the picture on MySpace of the air-conditioner fastened to side of her Expedition? *g*) When my mother learned that C had been helping his grandfather weld something that afternoon, she said,"Oh! You can weld! I have something that needs to be welded. I have an exercise bike that needs a new seat welded on it, but I don't want a bicycle seat welded on it. I have a boat seat that I want welded on it. The regular seat hurts. I need something bigger and more comfortable." ROTFLMAO!!! Only MY MOTHER would come up with attaching a boat seat to an exercise bike! LOL! Hannah said that when mother started talking, she grinned and looked at the floor. C kept his cool and never laughed. Instead, he told her that he would take a look at it, and it would depend on the stability of the metal frame of the exercise bike. LMAO! Classic!
Well, Hannah and Wolverine had their long awaited date. He carried her to the Olive Garden and then to see the new James Bond movie. Hannah said that he smelled nice, and she never had to open a door. He was the perfect gentleman. I have to give credit to the guy. He is really sick. He had visited the doctor that day and received a shot. Apparently, he refuses to stay out of the woods during hunting season and cannot shake a cold. Thank God that it is no longer Mono! When Hannah learned that he was at the doctor's office the day of the date, she told him that since he was sick, they could postpone their date for another time. He refused, telling her that he KNEW that if their date didn't happen this time, then he would never have the chance to date her. (He's beginning to know Hannah's mood swings. Smart boy.) He told her that he would rather be sick and be with her, than not be with her at all. I haven't figured out if his reasoning is as romantic and he and Hannah believe it to be. LOL!
C told Hannah that maybe now that he carried Hannah on a date, then Kristen and Susie would quit giving him "go to hell" looks when they pass in the hall at school. LOL! Gotta love Kristen and Susie!
Since the date on Friday night, C has been in the bed where he needed to have been all along, but maybe he needs to suffer a little. You have no idea what I've endured this month and a half with Hannah "wondering" ALL THE DAMN TIME! (Been there, done that, know how it feels, not fun!) C has yet to receive the crown of approval. The verdict is still out for debate whether he will become a prince, meaning a respectful guy who should have the honor of dating my daughter, or remain a toad. I do believe that C likes Hannah, and everyone in this house and family KNOW that Hannah likes the P.F.'er. I'm happy for Hannah that C came through with their date. He says that he wants to go out again with her, but with his track record and the expense of the first date on a high school boy's wallet, I'm betting that their second date will happen after the first of the year, which is perfectly fine with me. Teenagers! They do entertain. ;-)
What about you? Want to share your first kiss or first date experience? Any experiences of waiting FOREVER to go on a date with a certain someone? Any advice? BTW...HAPPY THANKSGIVING!
Sunday, August 24, 2008
A Girl's Dream...Hardly! ~ by Guest Blogger Kristen Pemberton
Hi everyone! My name is Kristen. You may remember me from my Aunt Misty's blog,"Another Casualty for the Romance Genre." I'm the genius who made Hannah succumb to the charms of Sabrina Jeffries' book, The Dangerous Lord and Beware a Scot's Revenge. (Hannah, I know your shaking your head at the genius remark. Stop because you know it's true.) Since I'm a huge fan of my Aunt's blogs, I asked her when she was going write her next one. She generously offered to let me write a guest blog, and what can I say? I accepted! In the beginning, I wasn't sure what to say about myself or my life for that matter. But once I started thinking, I realized I could tell a fourteen year old girl's point of view on starting high school, trying to find your real friends, and the enigma of the teenage boy's mind. So to begin this blog, we will have to go back to the middle of June. My first boyfriend.
What is a teenage girl's top priority after you hit the thirteen age mark? Well, for most it is boys. I am in the most category. Anyway this summer, my friend, Susie, came over to spend the night. The entire night we were on Facebook talking to guys, and playing around. While we were checking out some pictures, we noticed some of our friends had gotten into an arguement on there over a guy. We jumped in trying to joke about the fight to calm everyone down, needless to say we were told quickly to keep out of it. We decided it was best to let it go, and I commented that the fight over the guy was better than watching a movie. The boy, who would eventually be my ex-boyfriend, thought that was funny, and he started chatting with me. At the time, I had no inkling of a clue that he might be interested. Of course, I got my clue when he asked me to be his girlfriend. I still haven't quite figured out why I said yes because I didn't think he was all that cute, and I'd never really liked his attitude towards people. After I said yes, the only thing going through my head was,"What did I just do?" I became more comfortable with the idea after a while, and excited even. My friend, Susie, was just happy I finally decided to get a boyfriend. From this point, we will call my boyfriend, Chubby Cheeks. We exchanged numbers the day he asked me out which was the biggest mistake of my life. Two minutes after I gave him my number, Chubby Cheeks texted me nonstop until we broke up. It drove everyone in my family insane because my phone was ringing constantly. Sometimes I would actually cut my phone off, just to have a moment of silence.
Then not even twenty-two hours since we had been going out, he told me he loved me. I wanted to faint on the spot but not from joy or any lovey-dovey feeling. I think it was terror. Hannah was like, "Kristen, he's crazy." I told Chubby Cheeks I didn't feel that way and probably never would, and he said it was okay with him. Couple of days later, I invited him to come over to my gram's to watch a movie with me, Hannah, and Susie. He brought a movie with him, and for some reason Hannah and Susie left me alone with him for like five minutes. This subject is disturbingly gross to me now, but I kissed him. It was my first kiss, and it was like kissing a horse with its mouth wide open. He slobbered on me. Yuck! I wanted to gag afterwards, and I actually never want to kiss anyone ever again.
The next day, everybody found out what happen since I'm the world's worst liar. My gram was so mad at me because she specifically said,"Don't touch each other. Don't even hold hands." My mother gagged about me kissing a boy, my Aunt Misty laughed because I told her it was nothing like the romance novel kisses, and Hannah hugged me and said,"Poor Kristen." It was horrible. Gram decided she didn't like him, and in came the nickname "Chubby Cheeks." This is where Chubby Cheeks' story ends. I broke up with him a week later because I found out he had lied about a lot of stuff. Stuff he did while he hung out with his redneck buddies. Yes, he was a redneck. *gag* I was so dissapointed with my first experience with the opposite sex. My mother explained there would probably be a long line of dissapointments to come, and I completely believe her now. Thank God for J.R. Ward which was my antidote to the whole situation. Go Black Dagger Brotherhood!
Aside from Chubby Cheeks, I love High School so far. I'm in the Air Force Junior Reserve Officer Training Corps. I basically learn military bearing, how to march, and wear a uniform. It is awesome, and I would recommend it to anybody who can take orders well and handle themselves with self-discipline. Recently, I have been attending drill practice every Tuesday and Thursday from three to five o'clock. Let's see, last Thursday, this guy came to practice, whom we shall call, Adonis. Adonis moved here from Florida this year, and even my mom when she saw him was like WOW!*eyes pop out of head* Yeah, the whole package: six-pack, blonde hair, and blue eyes. *shudder* He's positively dreamy, and of course, I told my bestie, Susie this. Thursday, during practice, we were taking turns marching. Adonis, one of my guy buddies, some girl I don't know, and I were on the wall watching. Anyways, Adonis started pacing in front of me, and of course I'm trying not to drool. He wiped the sweat from his forehead which gave me a full view of his abs.*I'm drooling right now.* My guy friend said something to me, but it was a faint echo because I was so engrossed in what I was seeing. Of course, my friend repeated himself, and I turned away from Adonis to talk to my guy friend. Before I knew it, Adonis had walked up to me, and slightly punched me on the shoulder. It wasn't a we're buddies type punch, it was a flirty punch. Trust me, there's a difference. *Insert happy scream here* I just grinned, and turned back around to my guy friend. Adonis said,"Hey, do you like me?" I'm shaking my head furiously thinking how does he know. Then I remember...Susie! He replies,"Susie told me you did at Camp Freshman." Camp Freshman is a day where Freshmen go to the High School and walk around the school to get used to it. It is also where I first saw Adonis. I said,"I didn't say that. My friend, Crazy did." We're are calling one of my girl friends, Crazy, because that is how she is acting at the moment. He smiles *swoon* and says,"No, I think she was talking about you. So you don't like me?" Quickly I answer,"I didn't say that." He then ends the conversation by saying,"So you do." It was more of a statement than a question. I feel like an idiot. *frown*
That night I told Susie about everything. She told me it was that day she was going to tell him Crazy thought he was hot. But I had argued with her over it, while he was sitting in front of us, and he thought we were talking about me liking him. Then Susie reassured me that he doesn't like Crazy because he thinks she is weird. I tell Susie to find out Friday if he likes me or not. The next morning Susie walks into class, he mouths to her that he needs to talk to her. He gets up, gives her a hug, and asked if I'm single. ME!?!*another happy scream* He interrogates Susie for five minutes trying to determine whether I like him or not. He tells Susie that he is going to talk to me Monday! Susie told me that night, and I screamed at the computer. My mom was almost excited as I was. He is so hot and dreamy! My thoughts have pretty much revolved around him this past weekend. My dad threatened to lock me in my room if I even thought about going on a date. Then he said he was going to talk to him, if I did. I'm actually not worried about daddy more, I'm worried about my mom. Need I explain further. Haha! I guess I'll just have to wait until Monday! Keeping my fingers crossed!
Thank you, Kristen, for such a TERRIFIC blog. I love it! You had me cringing at some points and laughing at others.
Now for Kristen's readers. Do you remember your first kiss? Want to share? Was it everything that you hoped it be or was it purely pathetic? What about the dreamy guy in high school with the six-pack abs? How many of you are keeping your fingers crossed for Kristen? *g*
What is a teenage girl's top priority after you hit the thirteen age mark? Well, for most it is boys. I am in the most category. Anyway this summer, my friend, Susie, came over to spend the night. The entire night we were on Facebook talking to guys, and playing around. While we were checking out some pictures, we noticed some of our friends had gotten into an arguement on there over a guy. We jumped in trying to joke about the fight to calm everyone down, needless to say we were told quickly to keep out of it. We decided it was best to let it go, and I commented that the fight over the guy was better than watching a movie. The boy, who would eventually be my ex-boyfriend, thought that was funny, and he started chatting with me. At the time, I had no inkling of a clue that he might be interested. Of course, I got my clue when he asked me to be his girlfriend. I still haven't quite figured out why I said yes because I didn't think he was all that cute, and I'd never really liked his attitude towards people. After I said yes, the only thing going through my head was,"What did I just do?" I became more comfortable with the idea after a while, and excited even. My friend, Susie, was just happy I finally decided to get a boyfriend. From this point, we will call my boyfriend, Chubby Cheeks. We exchanged numbers the day he asked me out which was the biggest mistake of my life. Two minutes after I gave him my number, Chubby Cheeks texted me nonstop until we broke up. It drove everyone in my family insane because my phone was ringing constantly. Sometimes I would actually cut my phone off, just to have a moment of silence.
Then not even twenty-two hours since we had been going out, he told me he loved me. I wanted to faint on the spot but not from joy or any lovey-dovey feeling. I think it was terror. Hannah was like, "Kristen, he's crazy." I told Chubby Cheeks I didn't feel that way and probably never would, and he said it was okay with him. Couple of days later, I invited him to come over to my gram's to watch a movie with me, Hannah, and Susie. He brought a movie with him, and for some reason Hannah and Susie left me alone with him for like five minutes. This subject is disturbingly gross to me now, but I kissed him. It was my first kiss, and it was like kissing a horse with its mouth wide open. He slobbered on me. Yuck! I wanted to gag afterwards, and I actually never want to kiss anyone ever again.
The next day, everybody found out what happen since I'm the world's worst liar. My gram was so mad at me because she specifically said,"Don't touch each other. Don't even hold hands." My mother gagged about me kissing a boy, my Aunt Misty laughed because I told her it was nothing like the romance novel kisses, and Hannah hugged me and said,"Poor Kristen." It was horrible. Gram decided she didn't like him, and in came the nickname "Chubby Cheeks." This is where Chubby Cheeks' story ends. I broke up with him a week later because I found out he had lied about a lot of stuff. Stuff he did while he hung out with his redneck buddies. Yes, he was a redneck. *gag* I was so dissapointed with my first experience with the opposite sex. My mother explained there would probably be a long line of dissapointments to come, and I completely believe her now. Thank God for J.R. Ward which was my antidote to the whole situation. Go Black Dagger Brotherhood!
Aside from Chubby Cheeks, I love High School so far. I'm in the Air Force Junior Reserve Officer Training Corps. I basically learn military bearing, how to march, and wear a uniform. It is awesome, and I would recommend it to anybody who can take orders well and handle themselves with self-discipline. Recently, I have been attending drill practice every Tuesday and Thursday from three to five o'clock. Let's see, last Thursday, this guy came to practice, whom we shall call, Adonis. Adonis moved here from Florida this year, and even my mom when she saw him was like WOW!*eyes pop out of head* Yeah, the whole package: six-pack, blonde hair, and blue eyes. *shudder* He's positively dreamy, and of course, I told my bestie, Susie this. Thursday, during practice, we were taking turns marching. Adonis, one of my guy buddies, some girl I don't know, and I were on the wall watching. Anyways, Adonis started pacing in front of me, and of course I'm trying not to drool. He wiped the sweat from his forehead which gave me a full view of his abs.*I'm drooling right now.* My guy friend said something to me, but it was a faint echo because I was so engrossed in what I was seeing. Of course, my friend repeated himself, and I turned away from Adonis to talk to my guy friend. Before I knew it, Adonis had walked up to me, and slightly punched me on the shoulder. It wasn't a we're buddies type punch, it was a flirty punch. Trust me, there's a difference. *Insert happy scream here* I just grinned, and turned back around to my guy friend. Adonis said,"Hey, do you like me?" I'm shaking my head furiously thinking how does he know. Then I remember...Susie! He replies,"Susie told me you did at Camp Freshman." Camp Freshman is a day where Freshmen go to the High School and walk around the school to get used to it. It is also where I first saw Adonis. I said,"I didn't say that. My friend, Crazy did." We're are calling one of my girl friends, Crazy, because that is how she is acting at the moment. He smiles *swoon* and says,"No, I think she was talking about you. So you don't like me?" Quickly I answer,"I didn't say that." He then ends the conversation by saying,"So you do." It was more of a statement than a question. I feel like an idiot. *frown*
That night I told Susie about everything. She told me it was that day she was going to tell him Crazy thought he was hot. But I had argued with her over it, while he was sitting in front of us, and he thought we were talking about me liking him. Then Susie reassured me that he doesn't like Crazy because he thinks she is weird. I tell Susie to find out Friday if he likes me or not. The next morning Susie walks into class, he mouths to her that he needs to talk to her. He gets up, gives her a hug, and asked if I'm single. ME!?!*another happy scream* He interrogates Susie for five minutes trying to determine whether I like him or not. He tells Susie that he is going to talk to me Monday! Susie told me that night, and I screamed at the computer. My mom was almost excited as I was. He is so hot and dreamy! My thoughts have pretty much revolved around him this past weekend. My dad threatened to lock me in my room if I even thought about going on a date. Then he said he was going to talk to him, if I did. I'm actually not worried about daddy more, I'm worried about my mom. Need I explain further. Haha! I guess I'll just have to wait until Monday! Keeping my fingers crossed!
Thank you, Kristen, for such a TERRIFIC blog. I love it! You had me cringing at some points and laughing at others.
Now for Kristen's readers. Do you remember your first kiss? Want to share? Was it everything that you hoped it be or was it purely pathetic? What about the dreamy guy in high school with the six-pack abs? How many of you are keeping your fingers crossed for Kristen? *g*
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Hell Hath No Fury Like A Woman On A Diet
Recently my stepdad came home and told my mother all about some co-worker who had lost 50 pounds on the low-carb diet. Mac thought that if that guy could eat low-carb and lose weight, then he could, too. My mother agreed to be a good wife and try the low-carb diet with Mac because it's difficult to diet and even more so if the people with whom you live aren't dieting as well.
Mother cleared every sweet, piece of bread, potato, and milk out of the house. The first day on the low-carb foods is tolerable. You think, "Man, this easy. I can eat all the fried foods I want, and I love salads. I can do this." But by day three or four, the withdrawals begin. The cravings for carbs hit full force. The cravings are so intense that you would eat a whole loaf of bread if given the chance. As my stepdad stated, "I never knew how much I liked bread until this diet." Even with the intense cravings, Mother and Mac remained true to their dieting, Mother making sure that Mac ate only the things he was supposed to eat by preparing all of his meals.
About two and a half weeks into the diet, Mac began bragging about the 13 pounds that he had already lost. To hear him tell it, he was practically wasting away to nothing. He needed to buy new clothes. Mother said that was all he would talk about, and he would ask her how much weight that she had lost. How dumb can a man be? Is there an epidemic of dumb males going around, or what? Everyone knows that inquiring about weight is not a good question to ask a woman, especially your wife. A man loses weight a lot quicker than a woman does. It sucks, but it's genetics.
After a few days of listening to Mac's gloating, my mother decided that she had had enough. While peeling apples at my mother's house, Mother confessed her irritation to me and my sister. She had decided that she was "going to fix his smart ass." As Tracy and I sat there, laughing and listening to her plans, I thought to myself, "Poor Mac hasn't a chance in hell." Hannibal could have used my mother's war tactics against Rome. She would have made those Romans quake in their sandals.
My mother intentionally sabotaged Mac's diet. Lucky for her that he's lazy and gullible. Without him having a clue, she replaced the low-carb milk in the low-carb container with whole milk. She gave him fruit to eat that she told him was low-carb and real Reese's peanut butter cups instead of the low-carb version. The low-carb ice cream was replaced with real ice cream, and the low-carb jelly was replaced with real jelly. Within a week Mac had gained 5 pounds back of the 13 he had lost, and he ceased to brag to Mother to her satisfaction.
Yes, my mother can be evil sometimes, but it's evil at its best. She's always coming up with fantastic ideas for paybacks. She never ceases to amaze me. I'm proud to be her daughter, and I hope to one day to aspire to her level of genius. Poor Bill. LOL!
Anyone else ever been on a diet with another person and that person rubbed it in your face that he/she was losing more rapidly than you? Or have you ever just grown fed-up with someone's bragging? Did you do anything about it?
Mother cleared every sweet, piece of bread, potato, and milk out of the house. The first day on the low-carb foods is tolerable. You think, "Man, this easy. I can eat all the fried foods I want, and I love salads. I can do this." But by day three or four, the withdrawals begin. The cravings for carbs hit full force. The cravings are so intense that you would eat a whole loaf of bread if given the chance. As my stepdad stated, "I never knew how much I liked bread until this diet." Even with the intense cravings, Mother and Mac remained true to their dieting, Mother making sure that Mac ate only the things he was supposed to eat by preparing all of his meals.
About two and a half weeks into the diet, Mac began bragging about the 13 pounds that he had already lost. To hear him tell it, he was practically wasting away to nothing. He needed to buy new clothes. Mother said that was all he would talk about, and he would ask her how much weight that she had lost. How dumb can a man be? Is there an epidemic of dumb males going around, or what? Everyone knows that inquiring about weight is not a good question to ask a woman, especially your wife. A man loses weight a lot quicker than a woman does. It sucks, but it's genetics.
After a few days of listening to Mac's gloating, my mother decided that she had had enough. While peeling apples at my mother's house, Mother confessed her irritation to me and my sister. She had decided that she was "going to fix his smart ass." As Tracy and I sat there, laughing and listening to her plans, I thought to myself, "Poor Mac hasn't a chance in hell." Hannibal could have used my mother's war tactics against Rome. She would have made those Romans quake in their sandals.
My mother intentionally sabotaged Mac's diet. Lucky for her that he's lazy and gullible. Without him having a clue, she replaced the low-carb milk in the low-carb container with whole milk. She gave him fruit to eat that she told him was low-carb and real Reese's peanut butter cups instead of the low-carb version. The low-carb ice cream was replaced with real ice cream, and the low-carb jelly was replaced with real jelly. Within a week Mac had gained 5 pounds back of the 13 he had lost, and he ceased to brag to Mother to her satisfaction.
Yes, my mother can be evil sometimes, but it's evil at its best. She's always coming up with fantastic ideas for paybacks. She never ceases to amaze me. I'm proud to be her daughter, and I hope to one day to aspire to her level of genius. Poor Bill. LOL!
Anyone else ever been on a diet with another person and that person rubbed it in your face that he/she was losing more rapidly than you? Or have you ever just grown fed-up with someone's bragging? Did you do anything about it?
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Revenge of the Skank-Ho
I’ve introduced my brother Stephen, a.k.a. Redneck Casanova, in a previous post, and he will be the subject of yet another blog from me. I can’t seem to help myself. He’s just too damn rich in material. Stephen is one those people in life that was never meant to be a marginal character. He takes center stage.
Stephen is a charmer. Where he acquired the charm, my sister and I haven’t a clue. We grew up with him in a house where there was only one bathroom. There were lots of times that my sister and I could have killed him. Charming is the not the adjective that I would use to describe Stephen. Lucky for him that some females are not picky. He can walk into a bank to make a deposit and walk away with the teller’s phone number written on his receipt. He meets women all the time in places where you would not think that a woman would enter. (The pictures with the deer antlers speak for themselves.)
As pointed out, Redneck Casanova can find a woman, but he never seems to keep her. Not that I’m saying that he should keep any of his victims. He’s only dated one person whom I would have gladly welcomed as my sister-in-law, but she was too logical and intelligent for him. His great loss. The rest are entertaining tidbits in my life, such as the Skank-Ho whose nickname shall be Butch.
Butch came to my attention last summer at my son Colin’s fourth birthday party. I had cleaned my house and invited the family to celebrate with us. Stephen showed up with a female that I wasn’t too sure was female. I had heard about Butch a few days before from my mother. At the time, Redneck Casanova was living at our mother’s house, and being unable to flee her own home, mother was introduced to numerous women in Stephen’s company. Not that he was permitted to bring a woman home for a night of debauched sex at his mother’s house. Mother would meet them the morning after when Stephen was dropped off after a night of debauched sex at the female’s house. One morning Mother walked outside to check on the dogs or something, and there was Stephen sitting in an unknown vehicle, kissing what looked to be another man. Mother immediately turned around and headed back into the house to wait on Stephen. After some time, he came in, and Mother proceeded to ask him why he had been kissing a man. LOL! I wish that I could have seen Stephen’s face. Stephen shit. He hurriedly informed Mother that he hadn’t been kissing a man, but a woman. Mother replied, “I know a woman when I see her, and THAT wasn’t a woman!” Stephen finally convinced Mother that Butch was indeed a woman, which brings us back to Colin’s birthday party.
There stood Stephen and Butch in my den, looking like Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, in their mirroring attire. When I questioned Stephen later about their clothing choice, he looked embarrassed and said, “I had no clue that she was going to wear that.” Both were wearing boots, jeans, belts, navy blue and white striped polo’s, and baseball caps. No kidding. I have a picture. Now what type of sister would I be to ever allow my brother to leave without a shot to preserve his humiliation? But I haven’t figured out how to load the picture onto this blog page. As I told Ely in an e-mail, when Stephen and Butch stood side-by-side, you couldn’t tell where Stephen ended and Butch began. They were just one big stripey flow. (Is "stripey" a word?) When Stephen asked me later in the evening what I thought about Butch, what was I suppose to say?!? Lie to him. Never. Sometimes in life a sister has to be brutally honest with her dear brother, and I rose to the occasion, hysterically so.
Stephen wound up breaking Butch’s heart. Threw her battered manly-ish heart to the side with his other victims, but Butch wasn’t one to take rejection very well. She trained horses for a living, and she meant to train the Redneck Casanova, too. And she had a plan.
Stephen, being the idiot that he is, agreed to drive Butch and a group of “her girlie friends,” all of whom look and act like Butch, to Beale Street in Memphis for a fun night. I guess Stephen thought that he was really going to have a good time with just him and a group of women. How dumb can one man be? Where is his internal detection for warning signs? Wait that would take a brain. He was alone with Butch and her friends. Stephen said that he drove, and Butch rode in the back seat on the way to Memphis. During the drive, Butch kept thumping Stephen in the back of the head, which in turn pissed Stephen off. They argued, and he vowed to himself that he would not get back in a car with Butch, he would find another way home. His reasoning was that he had never been to Beale Street and not run into someone he knew. But Fate would decree otherwise.
Once on Beale Street, Stephen managed to separate himself from the Amazons, but Butch didn’t want to be separated. While Stephen was fleeing, she, being the predator mode, stalked him through the clubs. Stephen knew that she was hot on his tail because she had text messaged him the whole time, telling him that he would never get away and that she and her friends were going to take him back to her house and teach him how to treat a lady. The hunter had become the hunted.
Eventually, Butch snared her prey. Stephen’s shirt was almost ripped off him in the capture, and he was bullied into Butch’s car by the Amazon pack. At least Stephen was smart enough to be scared. He knew that he had to escape. They had to stop for gas, and the women decided to fill up the car at one of the truck stops on Hwy 78/Lamar and Winchester. While at the truck stop, Stephen managed to escape and hide himself in the maze of eighteen wheelers in the parking lot. I can just imagine Stephen running around idling eighteen wheelers, stopping periodically and squatting to look underneath the the sea of trailers for running legs. Crouching Redneck, Hidden Skank-Ho. Butch was furious. She had a plan, but she was unable to capture her prize again.
Stephen made it to the truck stop across the street and hid there until he was sure that Butch had given up. Then, he called another ex-girlfriend, waking her from sleep, and asked her to drive all the way to Memphis to get him, which she did. Is one woman's loss another woman's gain? Snag him while you can. What are these women thinking? *shaking head*
You would think that the Redneck Casanova learned his lesson, but remember that he’s not that smart. It’s been almost a year since Stephen’s escape transpired, and Mother told me a couple of days ago that she thought that Stephen had hooked-up with Butch again. What the hell? LOL! Is my brother stupid or what? I can’t wait to hear about what happens this time. That dumb ass.
What about you? Any family members who never seem to learn their lessons? Any friends who refused to see reason? Any experiences like the Redneck Casanova? What are the odds that this will lead to another revenge from the Skank-Ho?
*NOTE: My brother is not crazy. He's rather intelligent in many areas of life. He's just dumb when it comes to women, like a lot of men. I love him, and it's my hope that one day he will settle down with a wonderful woman for his happily-ever-after. Until then, he keeps me entertained.
Stephen is a charmer. Where he acquired the charm, my sister and I haven’t a clue. We grew up with him in a house where there was only one bathroom. There were lots of times that my sister and I could have killed him. Charming is the not the adjective that I would use to describe Stephen. Lucky for him that some females are not picky. He can walk into a bank to make a deposit and walk away with the teller’s phone number written on his receipt. He meets women all the time in places where you would not think that a woman would enter. (The pictures with the deer antlers speak for themselves.)
As pointed out, Redneck Casanova can find a woman, but he never seems to keep her. Not that I’m saying that he should keep any of his victims. He’s only dated one person whom I would have gladly welcomed as my sister-in-law, but she was too logical and intelligent for him. His great loss. The rest are entertaining tidbits in my life, such as the Skank-Ho whose nickname shall be Butch.
Butch came to my attention last summer at my son Colin’s fourth birthday party. I had cleaned my house and invited the family to celebrate with us. Stephen showed up with a female that I wasn’t too sure was female. I had heard about Butch a few days before from my mother. At the time, Redneck Casanova was living at our mother’s house, and being unable to flee her own home, mother was introduced to numerous women in Stephen’s company. Not that he was permitted to bring a woman home for a night of debauched sex at his mother’s house. Mother would meet them the morning after when Stephen was dropped off after a night of debauched sex at the female’s house. One morning Mother walked outside to check on the dogs or something, and there was Stephen sitting in an unknown vehicle, kissing what looked to be another man. Mother immediately turned around and headed back into the house to wait on Stephen. After some time, he came in, and Mother proceeded to ask him why he had been kissing a man. LOL! I wish that I could have seen Stephen’s face. Stephen shit. He hurriedly informed Mother that he hadn’t been kissing a man, but a woman. Mother replied, “I know a woman when I see her, and THAT wasn’t a woman!” Stephen finally convinced Mother that Butch was indeed a woman, which brings us back to Colin’s birthday party.
There stood Stephen and Butch in my den, looking like Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, in their mirroring attire. When I questioned Stephen later about their clothing choice, he looked embarrassed and said, “I had no clue that she was going to wear that.” Both were wearing boots, jeans, belts, navy blue and white striped polo’s, and baseball caps. No kidding. I have a picture. Now what type of sister would I be to ever allow my brother to leave without a shot to preserve his humiliation? But I haven’t figured out how to load the picture onto this blog page. As I told Ely in an e-mail, when Stephen and Butch stood side-by-side, you couldn’t tell where Stephen ended and Butch began. They were just one big stripey flow. (Is "stripey" a word?) When Stephen asked me later in the evening what I thought about Butch, what was I suppose to say?!? Lie to him. Never. Sometimes in life a sister has to be brutally honest with her dear brother, and I rose to the occasion, hysterically so.
Stephen wound up breaking Butch’s heart. Threw her battered manly-ish heart to the side with his other victims, but Butch wasn’t one to take rejection very well. She trained horses for a living, and she meant to train the Redneck Casanova, too. And she had a plan.
Stephen, being the idiot that he is, agreed to drive Butch and a group of “her girlie friends,” all of whom look and act like Butch, to Beale Street in Memphis for a fun night. I guess Stephen thought that he was really going to have a good time with just him and a group of women. How dumb can one man be? Where is his internal detection for warning signs? Wait that would take a brain. He was alone with Butch and her friends. Stephen said that he drove, and Butch rode in the back seat on the way to Memphis. During the drive, Butch kept thumping Stephen in the back of the head, which in turn pissed Stephen off. They argued, and he vowed to himself that he would not get back in a car with Butch, he would find another way home. His reasoning was that he had never been to Beale Street and not run into someone he knew. But Fate would decree otherwise.
Once on Beale Street, Stephen managed to separate himself from the Amazons, but Butch didn’t want to be separated. While Stephen was fleeing, she, being the predator mode, stalked him through the clubs. Stephen knew that she was hot on his tail because she had text messaged him the whole time, telling him that he would never get away and that she and her friends were going to take him back to her house and teach him how to treat a lady. The hunter had become the hunted.
Eventually, Butch snared her prey. Stephen’s shirt was almost ripped off him in the capture, and he was bullied into Butch’s car by the Amazon pack. At least Stephen was smart enough to be scared. He knew that he had to escape. They had to stop for gas, and the women decided to fill up the car at one of the truck stops on Hwy 78/Lamar and Winchester. While at the truck stop, Stephen managed to escape and hide himself in the maze of eighteen wheelers in the parking lot. I can just imagine Stephen running around idling eighteen wheelers, stopping periodically and squatting to look underneath the the sea of trailers for running legs. Crouching Redneck, Hidden Skank-Ho. Butch was furious. She had a plan, but she was unable to capture her prize again.
Stephen made it to the truck stop across the street and hid there until he was sure that Butch had given up. Then, he called another ex-girlfriend, waking her from sleep, and asked her to drive all the way to Memphis to get him, which she did. Is one woman's loss another woman's gain? Snag him while you can. What are these women thinking? *shaking head*
You would think that the Redneck Casanova learned his lesson, but remember that he’s not that smart. It’s been almost a year since Stephen’s escape transpired, and Mother told me a couple of days ago that she thought that Stephen had hooked-up with Butch again. What the hell? LOL! Is my brother stupid or what? I can’t wait to hear about what happens this time. That dumb ass.
What about you? Any family members who never seem to learn their lessons? Any friends who refused to see reason? Any experiences like the Redneck Casanova? What are the odds that this will lead to another revenge from the Skank-Ho?
*NOTE: My brother is not crazy. He's rather intelligent in many areas of life. He's just dumb when it comes to women, like a lot of men. I love him, and it's my hope that one day he will settle down with a wonderful woman for his happily-ever-after. Until then, he keeps me entertained.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Snake Charmer...NOT!
Have any of the rest of you noticed the high volume of snakes this summer? The warm weather began with Bill killing two small snakes in our yard. I told him to rake the leaves last fall, lazy man.
That slaughter was in April. Since then, my cousin, Tina, has been dealing with an invasion of snakes in her yard. She’s lucky because Jake, her yellow Labrador, and his sidekick Black Betty, a canine of unknown origins, enjoy killing any snake that wonders into Tina’s yard. Black Betty finds the snakes, and Jake kills them. Unfortunately, Jake spent a few days in the vet’s hospital from a lethal dose of snake venom a few weeks ago. He survived and is back to his favorite pastime of dispelling all snakes around his home.
Besides snakes in yards, I’ve seen snakes streaking across simmering asphalt several times in the past month. Two weeks ago on a week night, Hannah and I driving through the neighborhood on our way to Books-A-Million for a caramel macchiato witnessed just two houses down from my house, a snake slither out of the brush in front of my vehicle. I screamed, and my legs flew up in the air, well, as much as the steering wheel would allow. I know. I was in the safety of my Explorer so why throw my legs up? Beats me. It’s just a natural reaction for me. Bill and Hannah have tried to rationalize with me about the absurdity of my reflex to snakes outside the vehicle, but my brain refuses to compute. This past Friday, I was driving through the local back roads to a job interview at a county school, and a snake swirled across the road into the heated knee length grass on the side of the road. Yes, my legs went air born again.
Seeing snakes on the roads cannot compete with what I witnessed this past Thursday. Tina, Chrissy, Maw, Stuart, Mary Eden, and Grant met me, my mother, and Colin at my mom’s house to follow us to my sister’s house to go swimming in her pool. (Poor Tracy was miserably sweating it out camping in Grenada, and we were relaxing in her pool. *g*) After we returned to mother’s house, Maw, my grandmother, wanted to gather some vegetables from two small gardens that my mother and stepdad have planted in their yard. My mother went to the lower garden, and my grandmother went to the garden beside the driveway.
The garden that Maw decided to visit has a small shed beside it. Unbeknownst to Maw, lurking in the small structure, was a very big, ugly, and nasty snake, which had staked a claim to the small shelter because of its appetite for mice. Stuart was the first to spot the snake, and Maw, being the country girl that she is, grabbed a hoe and began to do battle. Now, Maw is 77 years-old, but in that aged body beats the heart of a warrior. (Cue Xena battle cry.) Her sight is not as well as it used to be. However, her hearing is just fine to Hannah and Kristen’s amazement. As they say, you can’t cuss around Maw! But I digress. Sorry. Now, back the story.
Maw with her chosen weapon commenced to whack at not the snake, but at a green painted chain that was curled up next to the snake. She walked all over that snake as she pounded the chain, and she was miraculously never bitten. The snake, being the smart type, that of slithering for its life, was trying to get the hell out of there, but Maw realized that she was taking whacks at the wrong thing. She began striking blows at the snake, and the snake, knowing that retreat was futile, began fighting back. The rest of us, except for my mother who was not witnessing this battle, were frozen in mute horror watching the matriarch of our family do ferocious battle with this venomous enemy. Too bad the damn hoe was blunt and not sharpened. Poor Maw was just beating the hell out the snake instead of cutting off its head. And the snake was rising up in the air to a striking poise and exposing its fangs and tongue as Maw leaned in for each whack. If she didn't chop off its head, then at least it would be one brain damaged snake. Later on, Maw claimed that she believed that she knocked the snake out a few times, but the snake refused to stay down. Maw said that the more that it would hiss at her, the more she thought, “I’m going to kill you.”
During the fight, Tina, being the seasoned snake killer that she is, realized that Maw needed a sharper hoe. None of us volunteered to take Maw’s place. I’m not that brave. We knew that the blunt hoe would never end the struggle, and gladiator-hearted Maw was tiring. Somehow, Tina saw another hoe on the carport and yelled for me get it. We got the sharper hoe into Maw’s deadly hands, and the snake’s head was lopped off. Upon investigation, the snake was discovered to be at least several feet long and almost as big around as a 16 ounce Coke bottle. Also, the triangular head identified it as poisonous and the markings on its skin revealed it to be a Cotton Mouth, or Water Moccasin, a very deadly breed of snake that inhabits the south. *shudder*
On discovering what had transpired while she had been in the lower garden, my mother scrambled into her house and refused to go outside again. I’m scared of snakes, but my mother is terrified of snakes. I’ve seen her kill a huge Weeping Willow tree as a repercussion of shooting at a snake. I missed that tree. It was great for playing Tarzan. Even with this recent snake killing by Maw, my mother wanted to know why nobody had yelled down to the garden for her to get her gun, a 30.06 (thirty-ought-six), and scope the blasted thing. She would have blown away the small shed and anything else in the vicinity, too. Poor Mother is afraid of other snakes lurking in her yard, and she is threatening to buy a pig. Supposedly pigs kill and eat snakes. When I asked her how she was going to keep the pig in her yard and out of the road, she said that it would be easy. She has an underground wire system running around her yard to keep her Schnauzers from getting into the road. The wire has a small electrical current running to it, and the dogs wear collars that shock them when they get too close to the underground wire. My mother said that she would buy another collar for the pig. My mother and her ideas! A pig running around with a dog-shock-collar on! LOL!
It’s Sunday, and no pig has appeared at my mother’s house. But I’m not ruling out the possibility of a pig showing up in the future, especially if another snake is spotted in or near her yard. She lives within the city limits, and I highly doubt if the city would turn a blind eye to her pig or the smell.
What about you? Any snake problems, stories, or remedies to get rid of snakes? If I can keep my mom from a pig, lots of people will be grateful. I've heard that moth balls work, but then again, I've heard that they don't. I'm sick of snakes. I hate snakes, and everyone is predicting that snakes will be out in droves this year because we had such a mild winter. I guess I could always dig up my roots and move the family to Ireland. Now, that doesn't sound too bad. :-)
That slaughter was in April. Since then, my cousin, Tina, has been dealing with an invasion of snakes in her yard. She’s lucky because Jake, her yellow Labrador, and his sidekick Black Betty, a canine of unknown origins, enjoy killing any snake that wonders into Tina’s yard. Black Betty finds the snakes, and Jake kills them. Unfortunately, Jake spent a few days in the vet’s hospital from a lethal dose of snake venom a few weeks ago. He survived and is back to his favorite pastime of dispelling all snakes around his home.
Besides snakes in yards, I’ve seen snakes streaking across simmering asphalt several times in the past month. Two weeks ago on a week night, Hannah and I driving through the neighborhood on our way to Books-A-Million for a caramel macchiato witnessed just two houses down from my house, a snake slither out of the brush in front of my vehicle. I screamed, and my legs flew up in the air, well, as much as the steering wheel would allow. I know. I was in the safety of my Explorer so why throw my legs up? Beats me. It’s just a natural reaction for me. Bill and Hannah have tried to rationalize with me about the absurdity of my reflex to snakes outside the vehicle, but my brain refuses to compute. This past Friday, I was driving through the local back roads to a job interview at a county school, and a snake swirled across the road into the heated knee length grass on the side of the road. Yes, my legs went air born again.
Seeing snakes on the roads cannot compete with what I witnessed this past Thursday. Tina, Chrissy, Maw, Stuart, Mary Eden, and Grant met me, my mother, and Colin at my mom’s house to follow us to my sister’s house to go swimming in her pool. (Poor Tracy was miserably sweating it out camping in Grenada, and we were relaxing in her pool. *g*) After we returned to mother’s house, Maw, my grandmother, wanted to gather some vegetables from two small gardens that my mother and stepdad have planted in their yard. My mother went to the lower garden, and my grandmother went to the garden beside the driveway.
The garden that Maw decided to visit has a small shed beside it. Unbeknownst to Maw, lurking in the small structure, was a very big, ugly, and nasty snake, which had staked a claim to the small shelter because of its appetite for mice. Stuart was the first to spot the snake, and Maw, being the country girl that she is, grabbed a hoe and began to do battle. Now, Maw is 77 years-old, but in that aged body beats the heart of a warrior. (Cue Xena battle cry.) Her sight is not as well as it used to be. However, her hearing is just fine to Hannah and Kristen’s amazement. As they say, you can’t cuss around Maw! But I digress. Sorry. Now, back the story.
Maw with her chosen weapon commenced to whack at not the snake, but at a green painted chain that was curled up next to the snake. She walked all over that snake as she pounded the chain, and she was miraculously never bitten. The snake, being the smart type, that of slithering for its life, was trying to get the hell out of there, but Maw realized that she was taking whacks at the wrong thing. She began striking blows at the snake, and the snake, knowing that retreat was futile, began fighting back. The rest of us, except for my mother who was not witnessing this battle, were frozen in mute horror watching the matriarch of our family do ferocious battle with this venomous enemy. Too bad the damn hoe was blunt and not sharpened. Poor Maw was just beating the hell out the snake instead of cutting off its head. And the snake was rising up in the air to a striking poise and exposing its fangs and tongue as Maw leaned in for each whack. If she didn't chop off its head, then at least it would be one brain damaged snake. Later on, Maw claimed that she believed that she knocked the snake out a few times, but the snake refused to stay down. Maw said that the more that it would hiss at her, the more she thought, “I’m going to kill you.”
During the fight, Tina, being the seasoned snake killer that she is, realized that Maw needed a sharper hoe. None of us volunteered to take Maw’s place. I’m not that brave. We knew that the blunt hoe would never end the struggle, and gladiator-hearted Maw was tiring. Somehow, Tina saw another hoe on the carport and yelled for me get it. We got the sharper hoe into Maw’s deadly hands, and the snake’s head was lopped off. Upon investigation, the snake was discovered to be at least several feet long and almost as big around as a 16 ounce Coke bottle. Also, the triangular head identified it as poisonous and the markings on its skin revealed it to be a Cotton Mouth, or Water Moccasin, a very deadly breed of snake that inhabits the south. *shudder*
On discovering what had transpired while she had been in the lower garden, my mother scrambled into her house and refused to go outside again. I’m scared of snakes, but my mother is terrified of snakes. I’ve seen her kill a huge Weeping Willow tree as a repercussion of shooting at a snake. I missed that tree. It was great for playing Tarzan. Even with this recent snake killing by Maw, my mother wanted to know why nobody had yelled down to the garden for her to get her gun, a 30.06 (thirty-ought-six), and scope the blasted thing. She would have blown away the small shed and anything else in the vicinity, too. Poor Mother is afraid of other snakes lurking in her yard, and she is threatening to buy a pig. Supposedly pigs kill and eat snakes. When I asked her how she was going to keep the pig in her yard and out of the road, she said that it would be easy. She has an underground wire system running around her yard to keep her Schnauzers from getting into the road. The wire has a small electrical current running to it, and the dogs wear collars that shock them when they get too close to the underground wire. My mother said that she would buy another collar for the pig. My mother and her ideas! A pig running around with a dog-shock-collar on! LOL!
It’s Sunday, and no pig has appeared at my mother’s house. But I’m not ruling out the possibility of a pig showing up in the future, especially if another snake is spotted in or near her yard. She lives within the city limits, and I highly doubt if the city would turn a blind eye to her pig or the smell.
What about you? Any snake problems, stories, or remedies to get rid of snakes? If I can keep my mom from a pig, lots of people will be grateful. I've heard that moth balls work, but then again, I've heard that they don't. I'm sick of snakes. I hate snakes, and everyone is predicting that snakes will be out in droves this year because we had such a mild winter. I guess I could always dig up my roots and move the family to Ireland. Now, that doesn't sound too bad. :-)
Monday, May 26, 2008
Boxie -by guest blogger Bill
Misty and I have three kids. Hannah is 14 going on 23. Donovan is 11 and a Black Belt in Karate. And then there is Colin.
Colin will be 5 at the end of July. Like a lot of kids he really enjoys watching cartoons. I have gotten him hooked on MY cartoons like Animaniacs, The Simpsons, and, now, Johnny Bravo. He is also into Star Wars and had a great time watching the new Indiana Jones movie yesterday. Colin thinks he is a big kid since he is playing Tee Ball this spring.
Like most overly spoiled four year olds, Colin has way too many toys. They spill out of his room because he refuses to clean it (he takes after his sister who cleans every 4 months, period). He has a ton of stuffed animals. One of his first was a “Bear in the Big Blue House” he picked out at the Disney Store. Since then he has gotten several bears, dogs, and cats. Santa brought him Mickey, Donald, Goofy, and Pluto. His cousin got him Chip and Dale. He stole one of my Opus’s from Bloom County (yes I had 2, what of it?). Colin has dozens of Hot Wheels and almost all of the die cast “Cars”, plus a bunch of “Transformers”, Star Wars action figures, and untold hundreds of toys that will end up at a yard sale in the next couple of years.
Yesterday Colin got a new “toy.” Colin’s big brother came to visit for the next week. They were sitting on the couch watching “Space Balls” when Colin went back to his room and dragged in a small box. Donovan found a sharpie and started drawing on the box. He ended up drawing a face, arms, and a moustache. Boxie was born. Colin and Boxie have been inseparable since. They have joined together in adventures like running into town with me to run errands, watching TV, and defeating Donovan in epic light saber battles. Colin cried a little when Donovan said that Boxie was dead. For a little while they played video games together. Boxie even donned Colin’s Superman cape to become “SuperBoxie.” During the Cub’s game this afternoon, Colin and Boxie were enjoying the game from the floor. All of the sudden, wham! Colin punched Boxie in the “face.” Boxie decided he wanted to wrestle. It’s always an adventure!
In the electronic age where kids spend hours in front of a big screen TV while playing Mario on the Nintendo DS and listening to Hannah Montana on their IPods, it is refreshing to be reminded that it’s the simple things that mean so much in life.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to find a sharpie. I have an old refrigerator box waiting for me in the storage building.
later,
Bill
Colin will be 5 at the end of July. Like a lot of kids he really enjoys watching cartoons. I have gotten him hooked on MY cartoons like Animaniacs, The Simpsons, and, now, Johnny Bravo. He is also into Star Wars and had a great time watching the new Indiana Jones movie yesterday. Colin thinks he is a big kid since he is playing Tee Ball this spring.
Like most overly spoiled four year olds, Colin has way too many toys. They spill out of his room because he refuses to clean it (he takes after his sister who cleans every 4 months, period). He has a ton of stuffed animals. One of his first was a “Bear in the Big Blue House” he picked out at the Disney Store. Since then he has gotten several bears, dogs, and cats. Santa brought him Mickey, Donald, Goofy, and Pluto. His cousin got him Chip and Dale. He stole one of my Opus’s from Bloom County (yes I had 2, what of it?). Colin has dozens of Hot Wheels and almost all of the die cast “Cars”, plus a bunch of “Transformers”, Star Wars action figures, and untold hundreds of toys that will end up at a yard sale in the next couple of years.
Yesterday Colin got a new “toy.” Colin’s big brother came to visit for the next week. They were sitting on the couch watching “Space Balls” when Colin went back to his room and dragged in a small box. Donovan found a sharpie and started drawing on the box. He ended up drawing a face, arms, and a moustache. Boxie was born. Colin and Boxie have been inseparable since. They have joined together in adventures like running into town with me to run errands, watching TV, and defeating Donovan in epic light saber battles. Colin cried a little when Donovan said that Boxie was dead. For a little while they played video games together. Boxie even donned Colin’s Superman cape to become “SuperBoxie.” During the Cub’s game this afternoon, Colin and Boxie were enjoying the game from the floor. All of the sudden, wham! Colin punched Boxie in the “face.” Boxie decided he wanted to wrestle. It’s always an adventure!
In the electronic age where kids spend hours in front of a big screen TV while playing Mario on the Nintendo DS and listening to Hannah Montana on their IPods, it is refreshing to be reminded that it’s the simple things that mean so much in life.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to find a sharpie. I have an old refrigerator box waiting for me in the storage building.
later,
Bill
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Redneck Casanova
I miss the Boondocks. The weekends at the Boondocks were always interesting. Drinks flowed, and hormones raged. Budweiser worked as an aphrodisiac, and most consumers succumbed to the mating call of leaving at 2:00 a.m. with whatever he or she had been wrapped around on the dance floor. Unfortunately, my brother was no different from the other men in the bar, looking to go home with just about anything that would shake her boobs or booty at him.
Stephen’s seduction skills with easy, skank-ho women are becoming legendary amongst his friends. So much so, that I have bequeathed him the well earned title of Redneck Casanova. In order to understand the Redneck Casanova’s suave charisma, I’ll entertain you with some of his encounters with the fairer sex, and I use the term “fairer” loosely. Remember that the lights at the Boondocks were dim, and the smoky haze aided in the allusion of beauty in the bar. All that I am about to relate to you transpired over the course of one night at The Boondocks.
The evening began for Stephen when he looked at a fellow bouncer, and said, “K-Dawg, let’s go have a look around so that I can pick out what I’ll be waking up next to in the morning.” Famous last words or what?
A couple of hours later, I looked up to discover my brother was standing a few feet from my podium at the Boondocks’ entrance. Before I could greet him, a woman approached him with wrapping her arms around him and shoving her tongue down his throat. Ewwww! Gross. He is my baby brother after all. When the lip-lock finished, I yelled at the woman, “Hey! You know that he was born with a cloven hoof, don’t you?” The woman must have thought that I was bitter competition because she gave me a look of “haha…I have him and you don’t” and said with a bitchy smile, “I don’t care.” At this point, Stephen grinned and told the woman, “This is my sister.” The woman immediately changed her attitude by walking up to me with a smile and introducing herself. I refused to shake her outstretched hand. I didn't have any Germ-X with me.
Our sister was there with her ex-husband and some of their friends. When I laughingly told Tracy about the skuz that Stephen had kissed, she told me about what she had witnessed earlier in the evening. The women’s bathroom had overflowed with toilet water yet again, and Tracy had sought out Stephen to let him know. When she found him, he was talking to a girl that Tracy described as “actually pretty.” You would have to see the women at the Boondocks to appreciate my sister’s surprising description of the girl. A pretty girl at the Boondocks is a rarity. However, this pretty girl would not be a “morning-after-bed- partner” for Stephen because he screwed up in a big way. When Tracy interrupted him, he tried to play all suave and in control. He introduced the girl to Tracy by saying, “This is my sister, Tracy,” but when he was to introduce the girl to Tracy, he hesitated. Instead of stating the girl’s name, he told the girl, “I hate it when this happens. Sweetheart, what’s your name again?” The girl became huffy and walked away. The Redneck Casanova had struck again.
After the bar closed, Bill and I met Tracy and her group at a local truck stop. Not much is open at 3:00 a.m. in the morning. There’s a Waffle House, but I refuse to patronize the town’s Waffle House because of a case of police brutality that I witnessed at the establishment one long ago Saturday night. That’s a story for another time. While we chatted and waited on the cook to kill the cow out back for our burgers, Stephen walked in. On his arm was his conquest for the night, or was Stephen her conquest for the night? His victim was yet a different woman, and she seemed happy to have him. When she excused herself to the bathroom, Tracy and I, being the loving sisters that we are, kidded him without mercy. He defended himself by telling us that it was just for the night, and she didn’t have a way home. Her friends had apparently left her stranded at the Boondocks. Don’t you think she could have come up with a better line to reel him in? In Stephen’s estimation, she would do for the night. At least his legendary reputation would continue to grow with another notch on his bedpost. Wait a minute. I’m wrong. The Redneck Casanova doesn’t mark his bedpost with each conquest. Using the camera on his phone, he takes a picture of each woman the morning after while she is still in his bed. You know that it his bed because of the strategically placed deer antlers above it. The Redneck Casanova claims that those antlers are famous. *insert rolling eyes here*
I know that my brother is just enjoying his singleness after being married to a vile woman, but I worry about him. He lives with two other guys, and their place is the party pad. Every weekend after the bars close, lots of partiers migrate to their house. He’s invited me to come out, but I told him that I’m afraid that I would catch something just by walking through the door. He had the audacity to look offended and informed me, “We stock up on bleach and Lysol!”
Stephen has confessed to me that he longs to meet someone nice, but he’s not meeting anyone interesting. He needs to meet someone who is not only attractive and nice but respectable, too. I love my brother and would love to see him happy. I could always place an ad in the classifieds of the local paper.
WANTED: Attractive, nice, respectable, and mature woman to date my brother. Skank-ho’s need not apply!
I could always use some help with writing the ad that I would post in the paper on my brother's behalf. What would you say in the ad? *g*
Stephen’s seduction skills with easy, skank-ho women are becoming legendary amongst his friends. So much so, that I have bequeathed him the well earned title of Redneck Casanova. In order to understand the Redneck Casanova’s suave charisma, I’ll entertain you with some of his encounters with the fairer sex, and I use the term “fairer” loosely. Remember that the lights at the Boondocks were dim, and the smoky haze aided in the allusion of beauty in the bar. All that I am about to relate to you transpired over the course of one night at The Boondocks.
The evening began for Stephen when he looked at a fellow bouncer, and said, “K-Dawg, let’s go have a look around so that I can pick out what I’ll be waking up next to in the morning.” Famous last words or what?
A couple of hours later, I looked up to discover my brother was standing a few feet from my podium at the Boondocks’ entrance. Before I could greet him, a woman approached him with wrapping her arms around him and shoving her tongue down his throat. Ewwww! Gross. He is my baby brother after all. When the lip-lock finished, I yelled at the woman, “Hey! You know that he was born with a cloven hoof, don’t you?” The woman must have thought that I was bitter competition because she gave me a look of “haha…I have him and you don’t” and said with a bitchy smile, “I don’t care.” At this point, Stephen grinned and told the woman, “This is my sister.” The woman immediately changed her attitude by walking up to me with a smile and introducing herself. I refused to shake her outstretched hand. I didn't have any Germ-X with me.
Our sister was there with her ex-husband and some of their friends. When I laughingly told Tracy about the skuz that Stephen had kissed, she told me about what she had witnessed earlier in the evening. The women’s bathroom had overflowed with toilet water yet again, and Tracy had sought out Stephen to let him know. When she found him, he was talking to a girl that Tracy described as “actually pretty.” You would have to see the women at the Boondocks to appreciate my sister’s surprising description of the girl. A pretty girl at the Boondocks is a rarity. However, this pretty girl would not be a “morning-after-bed- partner” for Stephen because he screwed up in a big way. When Tracy interrupted him, he tried to play all suave and in control. He introduced the girl to Tracy by saying, “This is my sister, Tracy,” but when he was to introduce the girl to Tracy, he hesitated. Instead of stating the girl’s name, he told the girl, “I hate it when this happens. Sweetheart, what’s your name again?” The girl became huffy and walked away. The Redneck Casanova had struck again.
After the bar closed, Bill and I met Tracy and her group at a local truck stop. Not much is open at 3:00 a.m. in the morning. There’s a Waffle House, but I refuse to patronize the town’s Waffle House because of a case of police brutality that I witnessed at the establishment one long ago Saturday night. That’s a story for another time. While we chatted and waited on the cook to kill the cow out back for our burgers, Stephen walked in. On his arm was his conquest for the night, or was Stephen her conquest for the night? His victim was yet a different woman, and she seemed happy to have him. When she excused herself to the bathroom, Tracy and I, being the loving sisters that we are, kidded him without mercy. He defended himself by telling us that it was just for the night, and she didn’t have a way home. Her friends had apparently left her stranded at the Boondocks. Don’t you think she could have come up with a better line to reel him in? In Stephen’s estimation, she would do for the night. At least his legendary reputation would continue to grow with another notch on his bedpost. Wait a minute. I’m wrong. The Redneck Casanova doesn’t mark his bedpost with each conquest. Using the camera on his phone, he takes a picture of each woman the morning after while she is still in his bed. You know that it his bed because of the strategically placed deer antlers above it. The Redneck Casanova claims that those antlers are famous. *insert rolling eyes here*
I know that my brother is just enjoying his singleness after being married to a vile woman, but I worry about him. He lives with two other guys, and their place is the party pad. Every weekend after the bars close, lots of partiers migrate to their house. He’s invited me to come out, but I told him that I’m afraid that I would catch something just by walking through the door. He had the audacity to look offended and informed me, “We stock up on bleach and Lysol!”
Stephen has confessed to me that he longs to meet someone nice, but he’s not meeting anyone interesting. He needs to meet someone who is not only attractive and nice but respectable, too. I love my brother and would love to see him happy. I could always place an ad in the classifieds of the local paper.
WANTED: Attractive, nice, respectable, and mature woman to date my brother. Skank-ho’s need not apply!
I could always use some help with writing the ad that I would post in the paper on my brother's behalf. What would you say in the ad? *g*
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Another Casualty for the Romance Genre
Spring Break is a memory, the bruises are fading from St. Patrick’s Day, and the Easter Bunny has hopped on down the bunny trail. I’m extremely late in blogging, and my conscience, aka Hannah, will no longer allow my laziness. So, this one is for Hannah.
Last summer, Hannah begged and pleaded to read The Secret Diaries of Miss Miranda Cheever by Julia Quinn. Her pleas began after she heard my laughter while I read it. I succumbed. Why not? I was the same age when I picked up my first romance novel, A Rose In Winter by Kathleen Woodiwiss. Hannah is not exactly the most respectful of other people’s things, mainly my stuff, so I could not stomach handing over my copy of Secret Diaries. I bought her a copy to read on her trip with her Gram, my mother. When Hannah gleefully showed Gram her reading material, my mother’s eyes took on the look of a deer in headlights. I reminded her that I read romance novels at Hannah’s age. My mother replied by telling Hannah, “Save all your questions for your mother. I don’t want to hear it. I mean it.” And Hannah shockingly obeyed. (Obeying of any demand is a rarity for Hannah. She’s the typical, high school teenager.)
When Hannah returned from her trip, she praised Secret Diaries and Julia Quinn. She told all her friends about the book. I overheard her tell one of her friends, “When I get ready to marry, I’m finding a man like that.” When she told me the same thing, I laughed and told her, “Good luck.” Hannah read Secret Diaries a second time and put it away, which surprised me. I thought she had been bitten and infected by the romance novel bug, but she hadn’t. Her antidote was Harry Potter.
This past Spring Break, Hannah was reintroduced to the romance genre via her cousin. Kristen is six months younger than Hannah, and she reminds my family so much of me that my sister claims that Hannah should have been her child and Kristen mine. Kristen has been reading romances for about six months now, and her praises of Sabrina Jeffries convinced Hannah that she was missing something. Kristen loaned Hannah two of Sabrina’s books, and Hannah is truly addicted this time around. In the past three weeks, Hannah has consumed eleven romance novels. I hate to think about what her new hobby is doing to her grades. After reading a few of Sabrina Jeffries’ books, she found my “keeper stash” of romances. She’s rapidly consuming Julia’s Bridgerton series, and her next target is Eloisa’s Essex Sisters. I predict another Bon Bon in the making. Kristen is enthused with my stash, too. I’ve explained to both that I’ll share, but to consider me like a lending library. Check out one, read, return, and receive another. Call me “anal.” My books are a passion. Hannah and Kristen are driving their Gram nuts with all their discussions about the heroes in these books. Call my sister and I “amused.” ;-)
Not only is Hannah reading romance, she is craving romance movies. Besides reading eleven novels in three weeks, she’s watched the BBC North & South at least three times, maybe more. She’s smitten with Richard Armitage. Who’s not?!? That man is Adonis come to life. He NEEDS to be seen in more movies. (Bill, if you read this, Richard can’t compare to you. No, I’m not lying to make you feel better. Hannah, stop laughing.)
Hannah’s two newest addictions, romance novels and Richard Armitage, have influenced her plans for the future. My sister, Kristen, and I became the entertained confidants of Hannah’s discoveries during Spring Break. Hannah intends to finish high school, graduate from college, and move to England, home of perfect men, especially Richard. Once in England, she’ll find her ideal man, preferably one with a title, maybe even a duke, but he must have money and that certain charisma. (Now, where have we heard this plan before? How many of us are guilty of this fantasy? *g* ) Hannah decided that she would be able to obtain her goal of her ideal man, or should I say, “hero,” by her special something that sets her apart from most of the female population over the age of 12. Hannah proclaimed to my sister, Kristen, and me that she is special because she is a virgin. The virgin gets her hero in the end of the novel, and if it is good enough for the heroine, then damnit, it’s good enough for her, or so she believes. Now keep in mind, my sister, Kristen, and I are all roaring with laughter at this point of the conversation, but it gets better. Hannah decides that she should create a symbol for special status. Superman has the “S” on his chest; Hannah has the “V.” No, she doesn’t wear a “V” on her chest. Instead, she makes the sign of the “V” with her two index fingers. (Thank you, Jennifer, for helping me with explaining this sign!) Put your hands and fingers together like you were going to do the church, people, and steeple thing-a-ma-jig. When you do the steeple with your index fingers, don’t connect your index fingers at the tips but spread them apart, forming a “V.” This is Hannah’s “virgin symbol.” Ingenious, huh? Yeah, specialness goes hand in hand with ingenious. Now, every time Hannah says the word virgin, she does the “V” sign. Sometimes she doesn’t even say “virgin,” she just does the “V” sign. I wonder if she thinks if that sign will lead her English duke to her in England. Hmmm...makes me think of searching for water in the desert with a stick. Can’t you imagine the headlines in the British newspapers, “Crazy American Voodoo Woman Stalks Actor Richard Armitage With Her “V-ed” Fingers.” I would be a proud mother. My baby would be famous.
I know that Hannah was entertaining us to ease my sister’s mind. Her youngest was going in for an exploratory surgery the following morning. I’m happy to report that my nephew Ryan is doing well now, but he did scare us for a few days.
My daughter is a natural comedian. She’s inherited the comical gene that runs rampant in my family. I’m finding her antics funny. Also, I’m her mother. I want her to remain focused on school and college. (Forget the boys now, Hannah. You have a level head on you shoulders. You’re smart enough to succeed with your dreams.) She plans on seeing the world, and she refuses to jeopardize her dreams with falling for some guy in a small town who drives a muddy pick-up, swaggers in a pair of cowboy boots, thinks camouflage is not only a must for any wardrobe but a decorating phenomena, too, and lacks a British accent. Whoever says that a girl looks for her daddy in her future husband is not always right. However, I’m old enough to know that dreams can always be sidetracked or changed. Love you, Pooh Bear.
What about you? How was your Spring Break? How were the holidays? Does Hannah remind you of yourself when you began reading romance? Last but not least, any advice or well wishes for Hannah?
Last summer, Hannah begged and pleaded to read The Secret Diaries of Miss Miranda Cheever by Julia Quinn. Her pleas began after she heard my laughter while I read it. I succumbed. Why not? I was the same age when I picked up my first romance novel, A Rose In Winter by Kathleen Woodiwiss. Hannah is not exactly the most respectful of other people’s things, mainly my stuff, so I could not stomach handing over my copy of Secret Diaries. I bought her a copy to read on her trip with her Gram, my mother. When Hannah gleefully showed Gram her reading material, my mother’s eyes took on the look of a deer in headlights. I reminded her that I read romance novels at Hannah’s age. My mother replied by telling Hannah, “Save all your questions for your mother. I don’t want to hear it. I mean it.” And Hannah shockingly obeyed. (Obeying of any demand is a rarity for Hannah. She’s the typical, high school teenager.)
When Hannah returned from her trip, she praised Secret Diaries and Julia Quinn. She told all her friends about the book. I overheard her tell one of her friends, “When I get ready to marry, I’m finding a man like that.” When she told me the same thing, I laughed and told her, “Good luck.” Hannah read Secret Diaries a second time and put it away, which surprised me. I thought she had been bitten and infected by the romance novel bug, but she hadn’t. Her antidote was Harry Potter.
This past Spring Break, Hannah was reintroduced to the romance genre via her cousin. Kristen is six months younger than Hannah, and she reminds my family so much of me that my sister claims that Hannah should have been her child and Kristen mine. Kristen has been reading romances for about six months now, and her praises of Sabrina Jeffries convinced Hannah that she was missing something. Kristen loaned Hannah two of Sabrina’s books, and Hannah is truly addicted this time around. In the past three weeks, Hannah has consumed eleven romance novels. I hate to think about what her new hobby is doing to her grades. After reading a few of Sabrina Jeffries’ books, she found my “keeper stash” of romances. She’s rapidly consuming Julia’s Bridgerton series, and her next target is Eloisa’s Essex Sisters. I predict another Bon Bon in the making. Kristen is enthused with my stash, too. I’ve explained to both that I’ll share, but to consider me like a lending library. Check out one, read, return, and receive another. Call me “anal.” My books are a passion. Hannah and Kristen are driving their Gram nuts with all their discussions about the heroes in these books. Call my sister and I “amused.” ;-)
Not only is Hannah reading romance, she is craving romance movies. Besides reading eleven novels in three weeks, she’s watched the BBC North & South at least three times, maybe more. She’s smitten with Richard Armitage. Who’s not?!? That man is Adonis come to life. He NEEDS to be seen in more movies. (Bill, if you read this, Richard can’t compare to you. No, I’m not lying to make you feel better. Hannah, stop laughing.)
Hannah’s two newest addictions, romance novels and Richard Armitage, have influenced her plans for the future. My sister, Kristen, and I became the entertained confidants of Hannah’s discoveries during Spring Break. Hannah intends to finish high school, graduate from college, and move to England, home of perfect men, especially Richard. Once in England, she’ll find her ideal man, preferably one with a title, maybe even a duke, but he must have money and that certain charisma. (Now, where have we heard this plan before? How many of us are guilty of this fantasy? *g* ) Hannah decided that she would be able to obtain her goal of her ideal man, or should I say, “hero,” by her special something that sets her apart from most of the female population over the age of 12. Hannah proclaimed to my sister, Kristen, and me that she is special because she is a virgin. The virgin gets her hero in the end of the novel, and if it is good enough for the heroine, then damnit, it’s good enough for her, or so she believes. Now keep in mind, my sister, Kristen, and I are all roaring with laughter at this point of the conversation, but it gets better. Hannah decides that she should create a symbol for special status. Superman has the “S” on his chest; Hannah has the “V.” No, she doesn’t wear a “V” on her chest. Instead, she makes the sign of the “V” with her two index fingers. (Thank you, Jennifer, for helping me with explaining this sign!) Put your hands and fingers together like you were going to do the church, people, and steeple thing-a-ma-jig. When you do the steeple with your index fingers, don’t connect your index fingers at the tips but spread them apart, forming a “V.” This is Hannah’s “virgin symbol.” Ingenious, huh? Yeah, specialness goes hand in hand with ingenious. Now, every time Hannah says the word virgin, she does the “V” sign. Sometimes she doesn’t even say “virgin,” she just does the “V” sign. I wonder if she thinks if that sign will lead her English duke to her in England. Hmmm...makes me think of searching for water in the desert with a stick. Can’t you imagine the headlines in the British newspapers, “Crazy American Voodoo Woman Stalks Actor Richard Armitage With Her “V-ed” Fingers.” I would be a proud mother. My baby would be famous.
I know that Hannah was entertaining us to ease my sister’s mind. Her youngest was going in for an exploratory surgery the following morning. I’m happy to report that my nephew Ryan is doing well now, but he did scare us for a few days.
My daughter is a natural comedian. She’s inherited the comical gene that runs rampant in my family. I’m finding her antics funny. Also, I’m her mother. I want her to remain focused on school and college. (Forget the boys now, Hannah. You have a level head on you shoulders. You’re smart enough to succeed with your dreams.) She plans on seeing the world, and she refuses to jeopardize her dreams with falling for some guy in a small town who drives a muddy pick-up, swaggers in a pair of cowboy boots, thinks camouflage is not only a must for any wardrobe but a decorating phenomena, too, and lacks a British accent. Whoever says that a girl looks for her daddy in her future husband is not always right. However, I’m old enough to know that dreams can always be sidetracked or changed. Love you, Pooh Bear.
What about you? How was your Spring Break? How were the holidays? Does Hannah remind you of yourself when you began reading romance? Last but not least, any advice or well wishes for Hannah?
Monday, March 10, 2008
What's In A Bed?
Would that which we sleep in by any other name feel just as comfortable? No! Besides thinking that I’ve borrowed and played havoc with Shakespeare’s words, have you ever thought about the word “bed” and the images and feelings that spring to mind by thinking of your bed? When I think of my bed, soft, smooth sheets and cuddling comfort come to mind. One of my favorite things in life is to slide my freshly shaven legs against cool, soft, clean sheets when I climb into my bed. I know. I’m not hard to please. But would the feeling be the same if my bed was not cuddly soft, but hard and lumpy? Hell no, and I’m learning this lesson in life the difficult way.
About a week and a half ago, I was convinced that I needed a bigger bed, a king size to be specific. Bill and I had a queen size bed, and it just wasn’t enough space for the occupants. Besides me and Bill in the bed, Cleo, a.k.a. Cujo, our seven pound poodle, sleeps with us. It’s amazing how much room a little dog can take up in a bed. Not only does Cleo sleep with us, but Colin, our four-year-old son, awakens at odd hours during the night, which results with him claiming a spot in our bed for the rest of the night. Bill and I are not small people; so, you can imagine our sleepless nights with so many bodies in a queen size bed. My mother had an extra set of king size mattresses, and when she offered them to us, I gladly accepted them, not knowing the misery that was in my future.
In order to understand my misery, you need to understand the devastating impact that erupted in my life at the loss of my queen size bed. I LOVED my queen size bed. I WORSHIPED my queen size bed. The mattresses are superb. I’ve never felt any better. Bill and I purchased the set of queen size mattresses in 2001, paying $1,000.00 for the set, and they were well worth their price. I remember that when we were in the mattress store, we laid on every display in the store to pick the perfect mattresses, and we did for us. We picked a one sided, pillow-top mattress set that never had to be flipped, and the set came with a twenty year warranty. Perfection at its best. Nothing could be better, except that I made a mistake with the purchase. We had a queen size bedroom suite, and we bought mattresses to fit. At this point in our lives, we were newly married, and Cleo and Colin had not come on the scene. Now, seven years later, after four years of four bodies in my bed, Bill had convinced me that we needed a bigger bed. So, a week and a half ago, we moved my queen size bed up to Hannah’s room and replaced it with the king size, double-sided pillow top mattresses that my mother gave us. Double-sided meaning that the top mattress must be flipped. No perfection there.
Due to having three collapsed discs because of Degenerative Disk Disease, I have a bad back, and I have to be careful about my bed. The wrong mattresses can throw out my back. Also, I associate my bed as a safe haven for my back. I keep a heating pad plugged in beside my bed at all times. When the pain becomes unbearable in my back, I cuddle into my bed with the heating pad underneath me. This “therapy” has allowed me to avoid taking pain killers on a daily basis and has aided me in my passion for reading.
After Bill completed setting up the king size mattresses, minus rails because the ones that we had did not fit, I laid on the double-sided, pillow top mattress for fifteen minutes before I jumped up and logged on to the Internet to order a 4 inch memory foam bed topper by Serta that comes with a three year warranty and two free memory foam pillows. I also tossed in a set of 400 count Egyptian cotton king size sheets to round out my purchase. The only king size sheets that I had are the ones that my mother gave to me with the mattresses. Old knotty sheets, lacking any kind of smoothness. Hey, they were free, and it was thoughtful to an extent. I can’t blame her. I wouldn’t give away good sheets either, but that doesn’t make me like the knots any better. Why shave for sheets covered in knotty balls?!?
I did sleep on the uncomfortable, non-warranty, double-sided pillow top, flipping mattress and knotty sheets that first night. Should I call it sleep? I was awake practically all night because of that demonic sleeping structure. I missed my queen size sanctuary with a passion. Before I left for work the following morning, I met a smiling Hannah in the kitchen. When I asked her how she had slept the previous night, she lit up. Seriously, she glowed and praised her new bed. Her pleasure failed in putting me in a good mood. I wasn’t happy for her, far from it. Fate was laughing at me, rubbing my dissatisfaction in my face, reminding me that she had gifted me with the PERFECT bed, and I show my gratitude by giving it away for an inferior king size pallet.
Fate’s laughter did not end with my perky daughter’s laudable glow. Fate continued with her ridicule of my stupidity by slipping little jibes into my reading material. You may think that I’m crazy, but I’m not. There I was, stretched out on the king size with my heating pad on medium, reading “The Accidental Vampire” by Lynsay Sands, and biding my time for the arrival of what I hoped to be my salvation in the form of a 4 inch memory foam mattress topper, when the heroine races to the mattress store after discovering that she does not have to sleep in the coffin anymore. I connected with the heroine. I understood her frustration, and I cheered her on, all the way to the mattress store. When she opted to try every display, I thought, “Yeah! That’s the way to do it. Try them all.” But when the heroine wound up purchasing, and I kid you not, the one-sided pillow-top, no need to flip, twenty year warranty mattress set, my feelings changed for her dilemma. My mouth fell open, and I thought, “What the Hell?!? The bitch just bought MY mattresses." What hurt the most was that the heroine was smart enough to buy a king size set. What a blow. Fate is cruel.
I now have rails under the mattresses. They are no longer sitting on the floor. Since last Thursday night, I’ve been sleeping on the Serta 4 inch memory foam. I’m still not accustomed to the feel of the foam, but it feels better than the double-sided, pillow top mattress. This morning UPS delivered my Egyptian cotton sheets. They’re washed and on the bed. I’ve shaved my legs, and I’m hoping for the best.
Peaceful dreams to all.
About a week and a half ago, I was convinced that I needed a bigger bed, a king size to be specific. Bill and I had a queen size bed, and it just wasn’t enough space for the occupants. Besides me and Bill in the bed, Cleo, a.k.a. Cujo, our seven pound poodle, sleeps with us. It’s amazing how much room a little dog can take up in a bed. Not only does Cleo sleep with us, but Colin, our four-year-old son, awakens at odd hours during the night, which results with him claiming a spot in our bed for the rest of the night. Bill and I are not small people; so, you can imagine our sleepless nights with so many bodies in a queen size bed. My mother had an extra set of king size mattresses, and when she offered them to us, I gladly accepted them, not knowing the misery that was in my future.
In order to understand my misery, you need to understand the devastating impact that erupted in my life at the loss of my queen size bed. I LOVED my queen size bed. I WORSHIPED my queen size bed. The mattresses are superb. I’ve never felt any better. Bill and I purchased the set of queen size mattresses in 2001, paying $1,000.00 for the set, and they were well worth their price. I remember that when we were in the mattress store, we laid on every display in the store to pick the perfect mattresses, and we did for us. We picked a one sided, pillow-top mattress set that never had to be flipped, and the set came with a twenty year warranty. Perfection at its best. Nothing could be better, except that I made a mistake with the purchase. We had a queen size bedroom suite, and we bought mattresses to fit. At this point in our lives, we were newly married, and Cleo and Colin had not come on the scene. Now, seven years later, after four years of four bodies in my bed, Bill had convinced me that we needed a bigger bed. So, a week and a half ago, we moved my queen size bed up to Hannah’s room and replaced it with the king size, double-sided pillow top mattresses that my mother gave us. Double-sided meaning that the top mattress must be flipped. No perfection there.
Due to having three collapsed discs because of Degenerative Disk Disease, I have a bad back, and I have to be careful about my bed. The wrong mattresses can throw out my back. Also, I associate my bed as a safe haven for my back. I keep a heating pad plugged in beside my bed at all times. When the pain becomes unbearable in my back, I cuddle into my bed with the heating pad underneath me. This “therapy” has allowed me to avoid taking pain killers on a daily basis and has aided me in my passion for reading.
After Bill completed setting up the king size mattresses, minus rails because the ones that we had did not fit, I laid on the double-sided, pillow top mattress for fifteen minutes before I jumped up and logged on to the Internet to order a 4 inch memory foam bed topper by Serta that comes with a three year warranty and two free memory foam pillows. I also tossed in a set of 400 count Egyptian cotton king size sheets to round out my purchase. The only king size sheets that I had are the ones that my mother gave to me with the mattresses. Old knotty sheets, lacking any kind of smoothness. Hey, they were free, and it was thoughtful to an extent. I can’t blame her. I wouldn’t give away good sheets either, but that doesn’t make me like the knots any better. Why shave for sheets covered in knotty balls?!?
I did sleep on the uncomfortable, non-warranty, double-sided pillow top, flipping mattress and knotty sheets that first night. Should I call it sleep? I was awake practically all night because of that demonic sleeping structure. I missed my queen size sanctuary with a passion. Before I left for work the following morning, I met a smiling Hannah in the kitchen. When I asked her how she had slept the previous night, she lit up. Seriously, she glowed and praised her new bed. Her pleasure failed in putting me in a good mood. I wasn’t happy for her, far from it. Fate was laughing at me, rubbing my dissatisfaction in my face, reminding me that she had gifted me with the PERFECT bed, and I show my gratitude by giving it away for an inferior king size pallet.
Fate’s laughter did not end with my perky daughter’s laudable glow. Fate continued with her ridicule of my stupidity by slipping little jibes into my reading material. You may think that I’m crazy, but I’m not. There I was, stretched out on the king size with my heating pad on medium, reading “The Accidental Vampire” by Lynsay Sands, and biding my time for the arrival of what I hoped to be my salvation in the form of a 4 inch memory foam mattress topper, when the heroine races to the mattress store after discovering that she does not have to sleep in the coffin anymore. I connected with the heroine. I understood her frustration, and I cheered her on, all the way to the mattress store. When she opted to try every display, I thought, “Yeah! That’s the way to do it. Try them all.” But when the heroine wound up purchasing, and I kid you not, the one-sided pillow-top, no need to flip, twenty year warranty mattress set, my feelings changed for her dilemma. My mouth fell open, and I thought, “What the Hell?!? The bitch just bought MY mattresses." What hurt the most was that the heroine was smart enough to buy a king size set. What a blow. Fate is cruel.
I now have rails under the mattresses. They are no longer sitting on the floor. Since last Thursday night, I’ve been sleeping on the Serta 4 inch memory foam. I’m still not accustomed to the feel of the foam, but it feels better than the double-sided, pillow top mattress. This morning UPS delivered my Egyptian cotton sheets. They’re washed and on the bed. I’ve shaved my legs, and I’m hoping for the best.
Peaceful dreams to all.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Tragic Ending
I am no longer employed at The Boondocks, not because I was fired, but because I am a sane person, who knows not to tempt fate. Bill is no longer an employee, too. Self-preservation is more important than making needed extra money. I hate that it ended the way that it did. A few weeks ago, I joked on the Eloisa/Julia bulletin board that the port-o-potties looked like a crime scene after my brother had wrapped the area in yellow caution tape. I had no idea that my joke was to foreshadow a future tragedy.
This past Friday night as I sat home with the kids, Bill reported for duty as the ID checker for The Boondocks. Up until 12:30 a.m., it had been a typical night at The Boondocks, with the occasional "Convicted Sex Offender" stamped across the random driver's license. The music was loud, liquor was flowing, and skank ho's were in an abundance on the dance floor. Then, all hell broke loose.
While standing between the entrance doors checking driver licenses, Bill heard a gunshot above all the other noise. Within seconds, two women ran through an entrance, screaming that gunshots had been fired in the parking lot. Boo, one of the bartenders and son of the owner, jumped over the bar and ran outside, as Bill flashed his flashlight to notify security of the problem. When security arrived on the scene, they found an African-American just a few feet from the entrance, lying on the ground dying from a gunshot wound to the head. As my brother knelt to check for a pulse, blood poured from the guy's mouth. Poor guy didn't have a chance. He died right there, lying on hard gravel and music blaring from inside the building.
The shooter had left the scene, but Boo had been able to see the tag number on the vehicle leaving the parking lot. Bill called 911, and an ambulance and the police were on the scene before long. Of course, the bar shutdown, but it took some time before everyone could be evacuated. The police were able to arrest two of the shooter's accomplices in the shooting. In fact, the two were apprehended at the Tupelo hospital because the shooter had accidently shot one of his friends in the leg when he was shooting at the other guy. The killer has not been arrested.
Bill is still somewhat shocked by the experience. I think that the image of the dead guy haunts him. Bill placed the chairs from the bar around his body to be roped off with yellow caution tape. I'm thankful that none of the shots entered the building. With the shooting taking place so close to the entrance, Bill could have easily been hit by a stray bullet. It scares me now just thinking about it.
All the men involved in the shooting, including the victim, had been in the bar a few minutes before the shooting. The victim's girlfriend said that her boyfriend and the other guys had argued the weekend before, and their argument had continued at the bar. They ran into each other at the bar and had gone outside to finish it. At least they took it outside. I can't help but wonder if the killer had been carrying the gun inside the bar. *shudder*
My heart goes out to the families and friends who have been affected by this senseless act of violence. I pray that they find peace.
So, after the events of Friday night, Bill walked up to my brother and told him, "You know that Misty won't let me come back." Stephen replied, "You don't need to come back. You have a family." Then, they discussed that there was no way that I would be allowed back, too. Like I couldn't make that rational decision on my own! Isn't it just like men to start laying down the laws for us mere females? I know that they are trying to protect me, but they need protecting, too. I did tell Bill that I didn't want him going back. I can't do anything about my brother being there. He needs a wife to control him. I worry about him.
This will not be the end of The Boondocks in my posts. I still have a few funny stories of patrons to relate from previous weekends. Sorry about not posting last Sunday. My kids and I were sick over the weekend. Long story there. I won't bore you with it.
Hope everyone's Sunday is relaxing and enjoyable. I think today is a good day to finally watch my birthday gift from my kids, the dvd of "Becoming Jane." (If I can talk the four-year-old into watching his movies on the TV in his room rather than his controlling the TV in the den!) I want something to smile about. I need something to smile about.
This past Friday night as I sat home with the kids, Bill reported for duty as the ID checker for The Boondocks. Up until 12:30 a.m., it had been a typical night at The Boondocks, with the occasional "Convicted Sex Offender" stamped across the random driver's license. The music was loud, liquor was flowing, and skank ho's were in an abundance on the dance floor. Then, all hell broke loose.
While standing between the entrance doors checking driver licenses, Bill heard a gunshot above all the other noise. Within seconds, two women ran through an entrance, screaming that gunshots had been fired in the parking lot. Boo, one of the bartenders and son of the owner, jumped over the bar and ran outside, as Bill flashed his flashlight to notify security of the problem. When security arrived on the scene, they found an African-American just a few feet from the entrance, lying on the ground dying from a gunshot wound to the head. As my brother knelt to check for a pulse, blood poured from the guy's mouth. Poor guy didn't have a chance. He died right there, lying on hard gravel and music blaring from inside the building.
The shooter had left the scene, but Boo had been able to see the tag number on the vehicle leaving the parking lot. Bill called 911, and an ambulance and the police were on the scene before long. Of course, the bar shutdown, but it took some time before everyone could be evacuated. The police were able to arrest two of the shooter's accomplices in the shooting. In fact, the two were apprehended at the Tupelo hospital because the shooter had accidently shot one of his friends in the leg when he was shooting at the other guy. The killer has not been arrested.
Bill is still somewhat shocked by the experience. I think that the image of the dead guy haunts him. Bill placed the chairs from the bar around his body to be roped off with yellow caution tape. I'm thankful that none of the shots entered the building. With the shooting taking place so close to the entrance, Bill could have easily been hit by a stray bullet. It scares me now just thinking about it.
All the men involved in the shooting, including the victim, had been in the bar a few minutes before the shooting. The victim's girlfriend said that her boyfriend and the other guys had argued the weekend before, and their argument had continued at the bar. They ran into each other at the bar and had gone outside to finish it. At least they took it outside. I can't help but wonder if the killer had been carrying the gun inside the bar. *shudder*
My heart goes out to the families and friends who have been affected by this senseless act of violence. I pray that they find peace.
So, after the events of Friday night, Bill walked up to my brother and told him, "You know that Misty won't let me come back." Stephen replied, "You don't need to come back. You have a family." Then, they discussed that there was no way that I would be allowed back, too. Like I couldn't make that rational decision on my own! Isn't it just like men to start laying down the laws for us mere females? I know that they are trying to protect me, but they need protecting, too. I did tell Bill that I didn't want him going back. I can't do anything about my brother being there. He needs a wife to control him. I worry about him.
This will not be the end of The Boondocks in my posts. I still have a few funny stories of patrons to relate from previous weekends. Sorry about not posting last Sunday. My kids and I were sick over the weekend. Long story there. I won't bore you with it.
Hope everyone's Sunday is relaxing and enjoyable. I think today is a good day to finally watch my birthday gift from my kids, the dvd of "Becoming Jane." (If I can talk the four-year-old into watching his movies on the TV in his room rather than his controlling the TV in the den!) I want something to smile about. I need something to smile about.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
The Boondocks
I'm taking the plunge. I'm blogging. I can hardly believe that I am doing this, but since I am a person with opinions on just about everything, blogging fits.
As most of my friends and family know, last weekend I began working a part-time job as a cashier in a bar. My brother considers me part of his security team, in other words, a bouncer, but I think of my role as the money handler. It's a good thing that I'm paid in cash at the end of every evening because I would never want to put this on my resume.
By nature, I'm a people watcher, and this new gig allows me to observe southern humanity in Mississippi's most natural environment, the redneck bar. However, observances of patrons shall come later. For now, let's set the stage.
My new place of employment is called The Boondocks, subtle huh? The Boondocks resides in a building that was originally meant to house a resturant, probably what southerns most enjoy in their fatty dietary needs, a steak and fish house. This structure reigns on prime reality in the central hub of a small Mississippian town, next door to the local Dollar General store. Yet, where this magestic building once leaked the sizzling aroma of cooking meat to the surrounding community, it now contributes rhythmic sounds of loud music, tire slinging gravel, and drunken parking-lot brawls to the nightly rituals of the once slumbering, but now sleep-deprived residents.
Inside, The Boondocks decor can be described as charmingly rustic. Worn out work boots nailed to the walls, a life-size portrait of Elvis, and pieces of old bicycles present a junkyard appeal to the noble patrons, reminding them of their creature comforts of home. The central point of festivities is, of course, the bar, which is adorned with a decorative awning, held up by raw cedar trees. Four hundred, or more, indigenous species, most of whom smoke, lend a mystical aura to the ambiance of this regal dwelling on a nightly basis. I am sorry that I cannot adequately guess the color of the ceiling or the walls due to habitual actions of the patrons, who obviously garner the esteem of Phillip Morris.
The Boondocks is located outside the Tupelo city limits; so, therefore it is one of the few places available to continue getting drunk. Due to a city law, the bars in Tupelo are mandated to shut down at midnight, leaving revelers to continue their partying elsewhere, thus bringing about the significance of The Boondocks. Since The Boondocks is situated only five minutes from the Tupelo city limits and remains open, serving liquor until 2:00 a.m., its clientele creates an interesting mixture, a social experience one would not assume to be found in Mississippi. In short, The Boondocks does not discriminate on race, creed, sex, nationality, or disability. It is an equal opportunity bar, servicing all walks of life and then some. What other redneck bar in Mississippi can claim the same?
This distinguished establishment does require a fee to enter. Customers aged twnety-one and over pay $5.00. Customers between the ages of eighteen and twenty pay $10.00. The bar serves beer and cheap wine, but if a customer wishes to drink hard liquor, then he or she must BYOB (bring your own bottle), paying an additional fee of $5.00 per bottle upon entry.
Because of the diversity of the clientele, there is a diversity in the music. If one does not like Hank Williams, Jr., singing "If You Don't Like Hank Williams, You Can Kiss My A$$," then he or she only has to wait a few minutes to hear Buck Cherry's "Crazy B!tch" or Flo Rida's "Low." By midnight, the dance floor is so packed that the dancers are not individuals, but one body moving to the beat of the music.
The Boondocks is an enigma for a Mississippi redneck bar, but amazingly, it works. There are some fights, but in general, everyone is at The Boondocks to have a good time, getting along with his or her fellow sots.
I hope that I have painted a vivid picture, setting the stage for the characters/customers to distinguish themselves through forthcoming blogs. Of course, I will not limit my musings to just happenings at The Boondocks, but I felt it was a worthy subject for my first blog.
For evidence that The Boondocks really exists, you can check out its MySpace page at myspace.com/downatboondocks.com.
Please excuse all grammar mistakes in this blog. I didn't get home until 4:30 a.m. this morning after my shift at The Boondocks, and I've only had a few hours of sleep.
As most of my friends and family know, last weekend I began working a part-time job as a cashier in a bar. My brother considers me part of his security team, in other words, a bouncer, but I think of my role as the money handler. It's a good thing that I'm paid in cash at the end of every evening because I would never want to put this on my resume.
By nature, I'm a people watcher, and this new gig allows me to observe southern humanity in Mississippi's most natural environment, the redneck bar. However, observances of patrons shall come later. For now, let's set the stage.
My new place of employment is called The Boondocks, subtle huh? The Boondocks resides in a building that was originally meant to house a resturant, probably what southerns most enjoy in their fatty dietary needs, a steak and fish house. This structure reigns on prime reality in the central hub of a small Mississippian town, next door to the local Dollar General store. Yet, where this magestic building once leaked the sizzling aroma of cooking meat to the surrounding community, it now contributes rhythmic sounds of loud music, tire slinging gravel, and drunken parking-lot brawls to the nightly rituals of the once slumbering, but now sleep-deprived residents.
Inside, The Boondocks decor can be described as charmingly rustic. Worn out work boots nailed to the walls, a life-size portrait of Elvis, and pieces of old bicycles present a junkyard appeal to the noble patrons, reminding them of their creature comforts of home. The central point of festivities is, of course, the bar, which is adorned with a decorative awning, held up by raw cedar trees. Four hundred, or more, indigenous species, most of whom smoke, lend a mystical aura to the ambiance of this regal dwelling on a nightly basis. I am sorry that I cannot adequately guess the color of the ceiling or the walls due to habitual actions of the patrons, who obviously garner the esteem of Phillip Morris.
The Boondocks is located outside the Tupelo city limits; so, therefore it is one of the few places available to continue getting drunk. Due to a city law, the bars in Tupelo are mandated to shut down at midnight, leaving revelers to continue their partying elsewhere, thus bringing about the significance of The Boondocks. Since The Boondocks is situated only five minutes from the Tupelo city limits and remains open, serving liquor until 2:00 a.m., its clientele creates an interesting mixture, a social experience one would not assume to be found in Mississippi. In short, The Boondocks does not discriminate on race, creed, sex, nationality, or disability. It is an equal opportunity bar, servicing all walks of life and then some. What other redneck bar in Mississippi can claim the same?
This distinguished establishment does require a fee to enter. Customers aged twnety-one and over pay $5.00. Customers between the ages of eighteen and twenty pay $10.00. The bar serves beer and cheap wine, but if a customer wishes to drink hard liquor, then he or she must BYOB (bring your own bottle), paying an additional fee of $5.00 per bottle upon entry.
Because of the diversity of the clientele, there is a diversity in the music. If one does not like Hank Williams, Jr., singing "If You Don't Like Hank Williams, You Can Kiss My A$$," then he or she only has to wait a few minutes to hear Buck Cherry's "Crazy B!tch" or Flo Rida's "Low." By midnight, the dance floor is so packed that the dancers are not individuals, but one body moving to the beat of the music.
The Boondocks is an enigma for a Mississippi redneck bar, but amazingly, it works. There are some fights, but in general, everyone is at The Boondocks to have a good time, getting along with his or her fellow sots.
I hope that I have painted a vivid picture, setting the stage for the characters/customers to distinguish themselves through forthcoming blogs. Of course, I will not limit my musings to just happenings at The Boondocks, but I felt it was a worthy subject for my first blog.
For evidence that The Boondocks really exists, you can check out its MySpace page at myspace.com/downatboondocks.com.
Please excuse all grammar mistakes in this blog. I didn't get home until 4:30 a.m. this morning after my shift at The Boondocks, and I've only had a few hours of sleep.
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