On dining out

I was at a buffet last Sunday for lunch. I don't particularly care for buffets, but I live in Kilgore, so....

While I was getting my fried rice, this little girl was waiting behind me. When finished, I stepped away and moved to the other side of the island. As, I was getting some Lo Mein, I witnessed this child spoon rice onto her plate then proceed to pick out the peas and carrots (with her dirty little girl fingers!!) and throw them back into the serving basin. I was horrified. I considered telling her to stop, but people are funny about having their children corrected by strangers and I didn't want to have a run in with anybody at that buffet. Trust me, this child couldn't have been raised by any sane, non-violent, respectable person. Instead of saying something, I just gave her the most disapproving look I could muster. She reciprocated with a what-are-you-gonna-do-about-it smirk and walked off. I wanted to smack her. But, I just thanked the Lord I had already gotten my fried rice and told my family to avoid that particular dish. I'm sure there are all kinds of cooties crawling around buffets. I think I will permanently remove them from my list of dining options. They just freak me out. Where's the quality control?

Three-day weekend, sort of

I contracted a demon stomach virus last week – so not by choice I checked out at 3:30 Thursday. I never got sick in the “classic sense” one thinks of when a stomach bug is involved, and for that I am most grateful, though I still begged my mother to give me intravenous drugs of some kind to knock me out. My skin hurt, my stomach hurt, and it sucked. I was awakened at 3 a.m. Friday to the sound of frogs outside my bedroom window. I sat up and listened, listened some more, then realized the sound was not coming from my amphibian friends. It was coming from my stomach. Something dark and unnatural was going on in my intestines, and I was dripping buckets of sweat, so I reached over and reset the alarm to 7:30, just in time to call in sick, or if I happened to be cured within the next five hours, call in to say I would be really late. I stayed home. There are some things you just don’t screw around with, and the risk of, well, I stayed home.

Ordinarily I love couch time. I had couch time on Friday. About 3:00 my brain was tired of couch time, though, but I didn’t feel well enough to walk around and do anything about it. I hadn’t had much to eat because everything my lips touched sent debilitating pain ripping through my abdomen. (Side note: The guy who brought the virus to work, quit on Friday. Chicken. He knew what was coming.) So, I just remained on the couch, in pain, I went to bed, in pain, and I woke up Saturday morning, in pain. But, to alleviate said pain, I went to the boardwalk in Shreveport with the parents, Rebekah and my Aunt Sheri and Uncle Larry. We rounded out the day by going to visit Sheri’s parents. Her mother is awesome. For those of you who think Texas is crazy, you should spend some time in Louisiana. They’re a breed apart, must be the gumbo. Her mom has been in a wheelchair for several years, I’m not sure why, but she is just the sweetest lady. So, we’re all sitting out on the porch and I mentioned the concealed handgun license class and the conversation briefly turned to firearms.

Sheri said, “I’d like to take a class and get that license.”

“Yeah, me, too” I replied. “But. I have to get a semi-automatic first, because - ”

“Oh, I want one of those, like my mama has,” said Sheri, as she pointed to her mother pulling a small pouch out of her wheelchair pocket.

I surveyed the pouch and considered the possible contents - manicure kit? Nope. Collapsible .22.

That’s freakin’ cool. You might think an older lady, confined to a wheelchair, alone during the day in a rural area would be vulnerable to hoodlums and such. Not this lady – she’s shot at people before and she’ll do it again. She also said if she had to shoot someone in the street, she would, then she’d drag them into her front yard and claim the blood trail was arterial spray. She probably has rope in that wheelchair pocket just for the purpose of a wheelchair body tow.

I’m considering writing a blog, shoot I could probably write a whole book, on things you only see and hear in the South. This story would make the cut, as would this observation: Why do people down here use Confederate flags as window treatments?

Rain and whimsical livestock

I live near a miniature donkey farm (save it!). When I drove past it during this morning's drenching, tree-up-rooting downpour, the fields where the donkeys graze (or do what miniature donkeys do) was an OCEAN! I have been worried about those donkeys all day. Did they drown? Can miniature donkeys swim? (Hahaha, there's a mental image for you: miniature donkeys swimming!! Hold on. Let me compose myself.)

The barn was also flooded, along with the house - where are the donkeys???

I sometimes forget that not all of you live in Texas, but if you don't live under a rock and you can at least hear, see and/or read, you know Texas has had a rough, rather wet time of it these past 44 days - hmmmmm, that's eerily biblical...

I woke up at 3:30 this morning, after having a dream I had swallowed a mango whole (that's for another post), to the sound of rain beating on the roof. I knew it was bad news. I stayed awake thinking of how I might have to drive our bass boat to work. I waited to feel the house break away and begin to float. That didn't happen, but I turned on the news at 5 a.m. and found out my area in particular was averaging two inches of rain per hour, and it had been raining (that I knew of) for at least two hours. That's a ridiculous amount of water, and I already live on a lake. "The rains came down and the floods came up (repeat)" has been stuck in my head all day. Oh, and brace yourselves, Longview has (gasp) cancelled the "Great East Texas Balloon Race." My life is forever changed.

The trip to Arkansas was fun. Andee and I arrived safely. The trip wasn't nearly long enough, but at least we got to play in the mountains a little. Rebekah and I got along so well. She was like my BFF all weekend. Things are back to normal now, however.

Does that make me crazy? Or just pathetic?

I am a big, fat chicken. I don’t like being home alone. I slept within five feet of a loaded 357-Magnum last night. Read on – this is a ridiculous story.

My family left yesterday on vacation, leaving me all by my lonesome. There is no conceivable reason for me to be frightened in my home; I AM ALMOST 24 YEARS OLD!! But, still I allow my mind to wander – this resulted in the 357 being placed at my bedside and all other firearms being hidden throughout the house, so no one could get to them before me. Or maybe it was my subconscious’ tactical defense plan. To my knowledge no kind of violent home invasion has ever occurred in our area, it’s rural, but safe. However, since I’m a paranoid lunatic, I went to a preposterous extreme in outfitting myself to handle a very unlikely life-threatening situation. I consider this irrational fear to be similar to how I used to feel about flying and riding roller coasters. The more I did it, the less scared I became until eventually it didn’t bother me at all. I never had a problem being by myself when we lived inside city limits, but the country setting and the woods adjacent to my home just make me a little nervous. I drugged myself last night, because I knew I would never fall asleep. This worked out well until 2:30 this morning when I woke up. I never, repeat never, wake up in the middle of the night naturally, especially after taking a sleep aid. So, I knew a noise was what had disturbed me and adrenaline took over. From that point on there was no stopping my brain. So I watched Fresh Prince re-runs and finally got sleepy again roughly 45 minutes before I had to get up. I will conquer this fear just like all the others.

One fear I will never conquer is my arachnophobia. Oh sweet mercy! When I walked out of my bedroom this morning the largest spider I have ever seen was blocking my entrance to the bathroom. Yet another problem with my family deserting me is, I usually make Rebekah kill spiders for me, they don’t bother her. Rebekah is, in general, cooler and braver than me. But, today she wasn’t there to save me. I considered my options. I could go to work unshowered and just rinse with mouthwash once I got there. My contacts were in the bathroom, but I could wear my glasses (even though they’re too weak of a prescription). The problem was, I went to the gym last night, so I really did need to shower, and also I am driving to join my family today, so I really needed to pack all the stuff in the bathroom. I would have to handle this. I went and got a broom, and from a safe five feet away knocked the spider off the bathroom door. When it hit the floor, it ran under Rebekah’s bedroom door. Good enough for me!

Andee is joining me on my drive into the dark Arkansas night. I’m sure there will be fun stories for next week. Don’t miss out!

Cold, cold-calling

It’s funny how the mind wanders. I have an hour-long commute. I listen to a morning show on the way to work, but it advertises a lot during morning drive time, so I’ve come up with lots of ways to keep myself entertained during commercial breaks. But, sometimes I just let my mind roam free, working through the day ahead, or trying to forget the day shrinking behind me in the rearview mirror – yes, at times I simply prefer to be left in silence with my thoughts

This morning I found myself singing, humming and/or “ooohhhing” all the parts – including guitar – of “Cold as Ice” by Foreigner. It’s a challenge, even for a well-trained musician like myself. Now, the meat of this tale is why I was singing it in the first place – we’ll get to that later. Honestly, it just popped into my head, but I believe there is a reason for everything. I haven’t heard the song in a while, but it was a college favorite. I was a Pi Phi, my best friend was a Kappa. Our sororities intermingled a lot anyway, but Molly and I were generally together at some point on the weekends at one party or another, and of course on all school holidays spent at home in Boise. My house song was “Shook me all night long” by ACDC (one of the reasons I pledged Pi Phi) and Molly’s, or the Kappa’s, was, you guessed it, “Cold as Ice.” Whenever either song came over the speakers at a Frat party or off-campus kegger, all members of the respective sorority were required to run out and shake it while squealing, “Oh my God – that’s our SONG!!!!!” While dancing, every girl sang along and did air-guitar solos. Remarkably, the Kappas, some of them obliterated, could actually organize themselves into a circular chorus line at the end of their song. My girls were not as talented.

Now the reason, I believe, the song was in my head this morning requires even more background. One task associated with my present occupation is traveling to different corners of our region to make contacts. They aren’t sales calls, per se, more like “relationship establishing.” For the most part I enjoy this part of my job, it breaks up the monotony. But, every now and then, someone is just rude, and it slaughters my confidence and sense of purpose. Some of the visits I made were follow-ups, others were cold-calls, meaning the person has never seen me and I’ve never seen them, I’m just walking in off the street with a business card, brochure and a smile, and a really nice pen, which can double as a weapon. Usually, people are cordial, even if they don’t require our services anytime in the next decade. They still say ‘thank you’ and take the pen and literature, promising to call us in the year 2025 when they are ready to embark on a project. Others show promise and tell me they’re planning a project in the next six months and THAT is what keeps me trucking on.

I walked into an establishment yesterday, smiling, approached the receptionist/secretary, made eye contact, and I was met with nothing. I waited for a “Can I help you?” or any kind of simple salutation. None came, and the silence grew more awkward with each passing millisecond. Finally, I introduced myself and explained whom I worked for and the purpose of my visit. She replied with a ‘no’ to every question and explained they had just completed a project. So, I thanked her, was complimentary of their beautiful building and made my exit. It’s not as if I asked to hold her baby or borrow her car. I don’t know, perhaps she was having a bad day. What’s that saying about never judging people because you don’t know what they’re going through? So, it’s not a big deal. I only shared the story to explain why I believed “Cold as Ice” was running through my head this morning – apparently, my brain was still processing yesterday’s events. Funny to me, maybe not to you – maybe I should consider psychology as a future profession.

Scientific Discovery

There was HUGE, BIRD-LIKE DINOSAUR discovered in China, well its fossil anyway. Guess what they named it?

Gigantoraptor.

Enough said.

Anecdote

I have nothing uplifting or even remotely funny to write about, well nothing acceptably funny. I can find humor in just about every situation, but I wonder is it really humor or just some hybrid breed of negativity and cynical sarcasm? I feel as though I’ve been neglecting my blog, but I don’t want to write about things that aren’t entertaining to the general public. I can chuckle myself into a frenzy over some pretty mediocre occurrences, but I doubt anyone else can find the humor in them. Few people join me on the rambling, wooded path that ultimately leads to my "humorous" outlook. When I try to verbally relay these anecdotes, most often they are met with the sound of crickets, so I figure writing them won’t get me much further, but at least I won’t be present for the uncomfortable silence that inevitably will follow – so here goes.

Last week I got a book deal – sort of. I still have to submit the final proposal, but after that, the contract will be faxed for me to sign and return. I set out Saturday to complete the proposal, which is not much more than an outline. I refused the antiquing trip the parents had extended an invitation for, I turned off the TV (wincing a little at missing my traditional Saturday morning movie), and I settled at the dining room table with my drafted outline, pens, reference books and a cup of coffee. I bent over my work with a determined demeanor and began writing, then scratching out, then writing some more, flipping through pages of my reference books, looking to the ceiling for inspiration. After approximately 12 minutes, I was finished. This task (which was not at all complex) I had assumed would take the majority of my Saturday, was completed before my parents even walked out the door. But, I still elected to park it on the couch in my pjs, where I stayed for roughly the next five hours. It was a good day.