And the Rockets' Red Glare

The sperm shooting in air . . .

No, Patient Reader, Roadchick has not lost her freaking mind. She went to the fireworks at Riverfront Park in Nashville last night with the Man. And they were lovely. And awe-inspiring. And amazing. Until. . .until. . .there were these white fireworks. And they were kind of squiggly-shaped. And Roadchick started giggling. And the Man was standing next to her, dumb-founded into silence for a moment. And he said it first - those fireworks look like....SPERM! And that was the point that Roadchick burst into all-out hysterics, glad that he said it first because she was wondering if it was her imagination. But no, it was not. Some people a little further back in the crowd were also announcing the stunning similarity to the aforementioned reproductive material. And there were a LOT of them. And they went all over the place. And Roadchick has not the words for further description. Only in Nashville, folks...only in Nashville.

What other activities of note? Let Roadchick ponder the choices. . .

Roadchick and the Man saw the real-life version of Bobby Hill (of King of the Hill fame) as a young adult at a local Waffle House. He was on a cellphone and had the same crewcut and even sounded like Bobby Hill.

Roadchick ordered coffee at the Waffle House and was given a cup with lipstick on it. Ewww. She asked the waitress for a new cup due to the lipstick and the waitress looked puzzled for a short moment until Roadchick explained: "Not my color." Roadchick received a new cup. Hopefully with new coffee, but she cannot be sure of that.

Y'all - Roadchick was under the impression that she had lots more adventures to share with you, but evidently, she does not. Or else, they've hidden themselves due to fatigue. Rest assured that if memory recovery is successful, y'all will be the first to know.

Only two more days until Friday.

On The Road Again

Because Roadchick loves y'all, she made an effort to get herself out of the house on this hot, hot weekend to scare up some adventure for you.

It came to her in a dream, Patient Reader. She woke up on this sunny Sunday morning convinced that she needed to choose a destination and go. Where did she go, you ask?

To Fayetteville. Now, Roadchick has been to Fayetteville before but she thought it would count because it's been years since she went and this time, she was going alone. With a camera and notebook. To see what there was to see.

The answer is - a lot, and not much. Timing, darlings, timing. Sunday morning is not the time to visit a small, Southern town. Unless one is interested in attending Sunday services at any number of churches. However, it is a perfect time to park wherever you would like and take pictures without people getting in the way. And Roadchick is about as patient as a hummingbird on speed so this was a decided advantage.

On a day when things are open, there are shopping opportunities galore, especially if you're looking for antiques or a sandwich. If you are going on a Sunday, take a page out of Roadchick's atlas and pack your own snackables and drink. Roadchick thought she would take advantage of a coffee shop to write down her impressions (how artistic!) while enjoying a latte. Alas, this was not to be. Elk Valley Coffee Company is closed on Sunday. As was the luncheonette (there is still such a thing in Fayetteville!) and the pool hall.

But, Patient Reader, if you love small town squares, Fayetteville is a gem.



Like Roadchick said, the streets were pretty much deserted. She does not know who owned the cars / trucks seen in the picture but they were not seen. Maybe there was a backroom poker game going on at the pool hall. Roadchick does not know.

As she prowled around, a lone skateboarded was parked around the square from her and he was watching her like she might whip out a badge and arrest him for public skateboarding. Cars slowed down to watch Roadchick taking pictures. She has never felt like more of a celebrity or "person of interest" in all her life.

As she wandered down an alleyway behind a church, there was a girl standing in the glass door of the church and she waved and said hi through the glass as Roadchick passed by. This startled Roadchick a little bit. But she managed to wave back to the young girl and then wondered how many Sunday dinner tables she would be discussed over this day. "Did y'all see that woman taking pictures?" "Yeah, maybe she's going to try to rob the luncheonette." "Maybe she's one of those big-time Hollywood location scouts and we're being considered for a movie." Roadchick's imagination gets the better of her sometimes.

In the interest of good reporting, Roadchick also checked out the Walmart. Because how can you go to a strange town and NOT go to Walmart? All right, Roadchick went to Walmart because it was just about the only place in town that she could go to and use the restroom and not have to buy something, like a Big Mac. And she didn't want a Big Mac - she had a nectarine and yogurt in a cooler in the car. Walmart is the same no matter where you go and sometimes that is a comforting thing. Like knowing where the bathroom is located.

There is a beautiful house that has been transformed into an antiques shop. Roadchick wants to live there. Minus the dusty, fusty antiques. It was so beautiful and made Roadchick think of other places - maybe New Orleans.



When Roadchick woke up this morning in a creative frenzy, she also woke up with the desire to paint. As in watercolors. So, Roadchick shot an entire roll of pictures of the things she loves best - buildings and doorways and flowers. She doesn't know that her talent for painting would bring accolades from anyone, but she loves to play with the colors. So, paint she will.

Roadchick and the Man went out on Thursday night. Things may be settling down for him a little bit - Roadchick hopes so, anyway, because she has missed him. But, Roadchick is also proceeding with caution. Her love life has been like a highway covered in black ice - it looks fine and then her ass is in a ditch before she knows it. But, a good time was had by all and there have been phone calls back and forth as well as some pretty amusing text messages. And, hopefully, plans to see Mr. Ronnie Milsap on the 4th of July. Roadchick hopes so, anyway.

Y'all, be careful over the holiday - enjoy & phone a friend if you've enjoyed it a little too much. Roadchick doesn't want to read about y'all in the papers.

From a Thursday Point of View

Nothin' matters but the weekend.

Y'all, Roadchick is tired. Too much work, not enough time off. She's workin' for the weekend - waiting for it to be finally Friday.

No stories, Patient Reader. Unless you want to hear about Roadchick knitting and passing out into a 9 hour sleep each night for the past 3 nights. No? Roadchick does not blame you.

She does, however, crave sleep like a "BLT on fresh French bread" (Merci Beaucoup, mes amis Ya-Yas!)

She'll be back soon, and hopefully with a story to tell. In the meantime, keep the shiny side up and the grimy side down.

10-4

I've Got All My Sisters With Me

Roadchick has had a very busy, very interesting weekend. Let's rewind, shall we?

Friday night, Roadchick went to her best friend's house to hang out for awhile. She was figuring on playing some cards and not much else. But, it was not to be. Best friend's stepdaughter was needing a ride to the other side of creation so Roadchick went along for the ride. Little did she know that on the way back, she would be treated to the East Side Tour.

What is the East Side Tour, you ask? It is a personally guided tour of the East Side of Nashville, led by none other than Best Friend's Husband. The exact details of the tour have escaped her at the moment, but Roadchick does remember there being something about the locations of various donut shops and other assorted establishments that one cannot live without. But, y'all, Roadchick could not hang. It was 10:00 and Roadchick was yawning like a toddler up past her bedtime. She headed home.

The next day dawned with a phonecall from a friend of Roadchick calling her to talk. At 7:15. In the morning. Now, to be fair to the friend, where he was, it was an hour later. And he had been up for several hours because he drives a truck. And he was bored. And returning Roadchick's call from the day before. So she talked to him until the first cup of coffee was consumed and then...got ready to go to Target.

No, Patient Reader, she did NOT go to Target on Friday like she said. She believes in shopping under pressure. So, to Target she went. And snagged baby gear and a gift bag. And a killer pair of shoes. And all the various stuff that she managed to run out of in the 8 weeks since she last shopped. Like shampoo. And lotion. No, she has not gone without bathing, but she did have to break into the travel stash to get her over the hump. So, Roadchick is now re-stocked and ready to go.

The baby shower. Oy vey. Did Roadchick mention that she HATES baby showers? Well, she does. But she went. And was forced to wear a nametag made out of a blue napkin folded into a diaper shape. With her name on it, obviously. Only to find out that it was part of a party game. When the moment arrived, everyone had to take off their nametags and unfold them to see if . . .it was a dirty diaper. Because if it was, the lucky (unlucky?) participant won a door prize. Roadchick did not win. Roadchick is not disappointed. After the gift opening, Roadchick bailed. And headed for Nashville.

Back to Best Friend's house and then to the movies to see Nacho Libre. Cute. Somewhat funny. The line "because sometimes, when you are a man, you will wear stretchy pants in your bedroom" will be used time and again. That's a promise.

After the movie, Roadchick, Best Friend, and Best Friend's husband headed out for drinks. Roadchick had a hard time because her Club ADHD affliction was not indulged and she had to stay stationary for what seemed to be a VERY LONG TIME. But then...Roadchick and posse headed for The Bad Karaoke Bar that was mentioned in a previous post about meeting Cleopatra. Roadchick has not been back to The Bad Karaoke Bar since that fateful New Year's Eve. Apparently, while Roadchick was away, pursuing the offerings of eHarmony and sampling the clubs downtown, The Bad Karaoke Bar has turned into a gay bar.

Roadchick was amazed. She was surprised. And the karaoke? Still bad. No drag queen divas struttin' it for the homefolks. She briefly considered doing some Judy for the crowd and then decided that there was still not enough beer in Tennessee to warrant such action. So, she played darts instead. And the evening did not suck. And Roadchick was no longer bored and wanting to move on.

But, it was time to go. Back to Best Friend's house to watch TV and hang out for awhile longer. And Roadchick was amazed to find out that Hulk Hogan has his own reality show a la The Osbournes. Hogan Knows Best. And Roadchick was entertained. It almost made her wish she had good cable. Almost. But not quite.

There was knitting this weekend also. The Preppy Warshrag is becoming a reality. And if Roadchick gets it together, she might even find a digital camera to take a picture of her masterpiece for you, Patient Reader.

But, just remember, y'all - sing it loud and sing it proud - we are family...

No Riders

Well folks, Roadchick is driving solo at the moment. The Man has a lot of stuff going on both personally and professionally so he's needing a little bit of space. This little development threw Roadchick - she was not expecting it, but it's all right.

So, to keep from unproductive brooding and sulking over the turn of events, Roadchick indulged in a little bit of retail therapy to get her over the hump.

She probably hasn't mentioned it before, but Roadchick is also a Knitter. So, to Stitch&Bitch she went and snagged some Sugar&Cream dishcloth cotton at her favorite yarn store. Yes, Patient Reader, Roadchick is knitting warshrags. They're addictive. They are the crack cocaine of knitting because they're so easy and so fast and oh, so satisfying.

Roadchick admits to stealing the picture below from Sheila, the owner of the yarn store. But, in the interest of keepin' it real, Roadchick's latest excursion into the land of warshrags will be completed in hot pink and lime green with some white thrown in for good measure. Not just warshrags, y'all - preppy warshrags. So prep, they're ready for Harvard.



Picture it, y'all - PREPPY warshrags. GO TO HELL warshrags. Just like your daddy's golf pants.

And, Roadchick also picked up the pretty pink & white yarn she needed to put decorative edging on the bambino sweater she is knitting for an as of yet to be decided bebe. She had a bebe in mind, but right now, she is not sure if the previously designated bebe will get the sweater, mainly because there is another man involved with that (it's his daughter that is pregnant) and he is also a Very Busy Man and very Wrapped Up In His Children And Their Various Activities And Pursuits. So, if Roadchick is feeling generous and the correct phone call comes when the finishing stitches are being put in, then the bebe shall have a pretty pink and white sweater.

And, speaking of bebes - Roadchick has to go to a baby shower this weekend. Roadchick hates showers of any kind be they baby, wedding, housewarming - it does not matter. She LOATHES them. So, on her way home tonight, if she remembers, Roadchick will fly into her local Target and grab some kind of baby gear and a gift bag and be done with the whole horrible project.

And after that? Hanging out with her friends, finally going to see DaVinci Code, eating some dinner, drinking some drinks, and playing some cards. And in her spare moments, knitting. But what Roadchick will NOT be doing is waiting for the phone to ring.

Never, In a Million Years

Did Roadchick think she would be seen at Fan Fair. Never. Well, now it's called CMA Music Festival or something like that, but still. The closest Roadchick got to the festivities was checking people into hotel rooms when that was her day gig.

The Man, however, is a big country music fan. Roadchick likes country music but is not of the fan mentality. Well, she didn't used to be. (See the post about Ronnie Milsap.) In order to spend time with the Man, Roadchick made her way downtown not once, but TWICE during the weekend. On Saturday, Roadchick also took her son and his girlfriend along because another friend's father is a musician and was performing. Chuck Gatlin is an awesome performer and if y'all are ever in Music City and have the chance to see him - do. Even if you have to Mapquest a map to where he's playing.

Roadchick's crew and the Man met up and listened to music for awhile and headed back to Hard Rock Cafe, because, after all, is there anywhere else to eat? Of course not.
The Man had a 4 day pass to all of the events and concerts so when he headed off for the evening concert at the Coliseum, Roadchick and her crew headed for home.

On Sunday, Roadchick and the Man made plans to meet up downtown and hang out for awhile before he headed off for the final concert of Fan Fair. The Man wanted pictures of Sammy Kershaw so he went to take those and Roadchick hung around the gate like the worst sort of groupie - the kind that is too CHEAP to purchase a ticket to the event but still hopes the band notices her. While she was hanging around and trying to look cool, one of the security guys started chatting to Roadchick. Asking her what she was "mixed with". Roadchick, ever the brightest bulb on Broadway, immediately thinks of alcoholic drinks and cut up fruit and lovely mixers. This, of course, made no sense whatsoever. Roadchick, undaunted, moves closer and says..."Excuse me?" The security guy who had cornrows that ended in braids on his shoulders, repeats himself. Unfortunately without clarifying what "mixed with" meant.

No, Patient Reader, do not point out that Roadchick should have figured it out by now, because she had NOT. Finally, security guy explains himself. "Are you part Indian?"

Now, of course, Patient Reader, you most likely do not know what Roadchick looks like. She is blonde. Almost white-blonde. With blue, blue eyes. And reasonably fair skin. She could not look like more of a Viking or German Beer Maid if she tried. Roadchick is NOT part Indian. Not the tiniest sliver.

But, now Roadchick is beginning to understand. (Remember - not the brightest bulb on Broadway.) Security guy is chatting her up. So, Roadchick chats back, explaining that she is pretty much a white girl and the Man is inside the fence, taking pictures. And she is waiting for him to return. Because he is inside the fence and she is not. Because she (sniffle) doesn't have a pass. If she had 5 more minutes, she would have been inside that fence, Patient Reader. Roadchick guarantees it. But, the Man returned and off they went, back down Broadway with the rest of the tourists.

All too soon, it was time for the Man to go to the concert and Roadchick to head home. So, the Man walked her back to the corner, hugged and kissed her goodbye, and headed off into the Fan Fair sunset while Roadchick turned the corner and headed to her car. Halfway down the block, Roadchick saw something hanging from a parking meter. She moved closer, approaching cautiously, not wanting to attract attention to the fact that THERE WAS A 4 DAY PASS HANGING FROM SAID PARKING METER AND NO ONE WAS ANYWHERE NEAR IT except for a group of skater kids that would have scammed the pass just to be mean to Roadchick. This was a sign from Above that she was MEANT to go to the concert.

Y'all, Roadchick got the pass and got her tail on a shuttle bus to the Coliseum. While on the bus, she called the Man. She asked him where his seat was and it was in the nosebleeds somewhere. He wondered why she was asking such a thing. Roadchick calmly informed him that her seat was Lower Level, Row 4. The Man was speechless for a moment and then asked if she had bought a ticket to the concert. Hell, no. If Roadchick was going to buy something like that, she would have had it a long time ago, not 3 minutes before the show was going to start unless she had planned it that way. Scalpers.

Roadchick explained where her ticket came from and the Man was amazed. He met her at the Coliseum after he finished walking there. Roadchick, on the other hand, was fresh as a daisy since she rode the bus. Because, she's a lazy tourist. No extra walking for her if she can help it.

And, on that night, the last night of the festival,Mr. Ronnie Milsap was performing with Los Lonely Boys. Oh. My. God. Roadchick has not the words. She is praying that there will be an album. She wishes she was a big enough dork to have smuggled in a video camera or something. Y'all - it was so worth it.

It was worth it even though she had to walk back across the pedestrian bridge that is 10,000 miles tall and all uphill both ways. In the rain. In flip-flops. And a white shirt. She would do it again in a heartbeat.

And, she would do it again in a heartbeat just to be able to spend that time with the Man.

Because, sometimes? She acts like she is 12.

Whew!

Y'all, it's been a busy, busy few weeks in Roadchick's life. (Which explains the lack of posting - there hasn't been time to write about it since she was out experiencing it! And all for YOU, Patient Reader, for YOU!)

Roadchick has been to Dukesfest 2006. What is Dukesfest 2006 you ask? It is only THE premier gathering of Dukes of Hazzard fans in the world! It is also really frightening to realize that there are that many caution-orange tshirts with the big "01" & General Lee printed on the front. And who knew that you practically needed one to get through the gates? Not Roadchick. She does not own a General Lee tshirt. She still does not own a General Lee tshirt. Toward the end, her resolve was wavering but she escaped without buying one.

And, at Dukesfest, there were 101 General Lees. The cars, not the tshirts. But, people, tell Roadchick if she's right or not - if you've seen one General Lee, you've pretty much seen them all. The same for the Hazzard County sheriff's cars. But, ladies - there was only ONE replica of Daisy Duke's jeep, Dixie. Roadchick knows why this is - the entire world has forgotten the existence of the Dixie. Roadchick knows this is the truth because until she saw the Dixie, she had forgotten it existed.

Roadchick, the Man, and her son took all of this in in about 30 minutes and then headed to the Hard Rock Cafe for refreshments and dinner. Roadchick and the Man were thankful that the tickets had been given to them for free because to have paid for all that Dukeness would have been....silly. There was nothing to actually DO there, other than walk around and look at General Lees.

Yes, Patient Reader, there IS a Man. The Man has been around for about 6 weeks and so far, so good. Roadchick and the Man have a lot in common and like to do a lot of the same things - even down to Club ADHD.

What is Club ADHD, you ask? Club ADHD is the inability to stay in the same club longer than it takes to finish exactly ONE beer. After one beer, one must get up and move on down the road to the next venue. It is permissable to return to an establishment that was entertaining but one is not allowed to remain for longer than one beer because that causes boredom to set in. This could be a match made in heaven. Well, eHarmony heaven. Thank you Dr. Neil Clark Warren.

What else? Allow Roadchick to consult her list of adventures. . .

Roadchick and the Man went to a radio interview of Ronnie Milsap. More precisely, "An Intimate Evening with Eddie Stubbs and Ronnie Milsap". Y'all, let Roadchick just say...Ronnie Milsap is an amazing man. Roadchick knew less than nothing of Ronnie Milsap other than he was a blind piano player that did country music. Roadchick could not have told you a song that he did if her life depended upon it. But, Roadchick has joined the brethren. Ronnie Milsap has converted her.

He was AMAZING. (Did Roadchick mention that already???) He told the audience of about 300 people that he would be glad to stay until everyone that wanted to meet him or have their picture taken with him had had the chance to do that. "Why do y'all think I wore this shirt?" AMAZING. And he was really nice and funny. Oh, and the piano? The man can flat PLAY the piano now. Roadchick was stunned into silence.

The same night that Roadchick joined the Ronnie Milsap Brethren, she also saw Wheatus (of "Teenage Dirtbag" radio fame) at a little small club. That was completely painted black inside. With nowhere for anyone to sit. Although the "management" did provide two barstools for the old folks to sit on. These were considerately placed against the sound booth for maximum vibration to all internal organs. Roadchick was glad to go home afterward. Although, she can now say that she saw Wheatus perform "Teenage Dirtbag" live and in person.

What? You want to hear more about Ronnie Milsap? Stay tuned, Patient Reader - there is another chapter to that story. . .

Where am I?

Menlo
Hoxie
Tasco
Studley
all on US Highway 24
visit Nicodemus or Stockton
keep moving east
or south, to Zurich
or north, to Glade
are there flowers in Bloom?
or hens, in Fowler?
Sun City and Lake City
side by side
vacationers' paradise
in a cold snap
(January, or so)
head north to Coats
and eastward, for Christmas
Partridge and a Pretty Prairie
Eureka! and Climax
10 miles apart in distance
light years in reality or actuality
but comforting to know, only 20 minutes by car
if only:
he'd ask for directions

Do You See What I See?

This is from an email that I received about growing up in the 70s and 80s. You knew you were a 70s or 80s girl if you wanted to be a Solid Gold Dancer when you grew up.

Heh.

There are so many places I could go with this.

Maybe I won't. But don't let me stop you.

I'm (finally) legal

~Proud Moment~

The State of TN...those lovely people....have finally gotten around to sending out the "lovely certificate suitable for framing and displaying prominently upon the wall" that I HAD to have in order to keep working in the job that I have. Since the state said so. Even though my directors love me. A lot.

When did I apply and test for this lovely piece of paper, you're wanting to know? That would be MORE THAN ONE YEAR AGO. Idiots.

By now, you're probably wondering what on earth I'm going on about - in order to be a "support coordinator" (translation: social worker/case manager) in TN, you have to be certified. (No, not certifiable, although I am certainly that on some days.)

In order to get certfied, you have to go through a three month training course at Clover Bottom.....and then have someone from the State of TN Department of We'll Certify You When We Darn Well Feel Like It come and watch you conduct a meeting for an annual plan and a home visit.

Then you wait for 18 months and hope that you actually GET the certficate, because it's all very secret and hush-hush. What happens if you don't pass and get a Lovely Certificate Suitable for Framing and Displaying Prominently Upon the Wall, you ask? You get to try one more time....and if you don't nail it then, you're free to do whatever you want with your life, but not to work as a support coordinator in the Gret Stet of TN.

Anyway. A good time was had by all.

We now return you to your regular day, already in progress.

Ancient History; or, In Which We Meet Cleopatra

As we join our brave heroine (heroin?!? Have you ever noticed that the word “heroin” is in the word “heroine”? More on that later. No reading ahead.)she is wondering why her boyfriend suddenly lost his freaking mind around Thanksgiving and had essentially abandoned her at the height (the very HEIGHT, I tell you) of the festive season. Well, said boyfriend did manage to make it to the Christmas day festivities at her brother's house. And collect several rather expensive and well-thought-out giftages that various members of our heroine's family had purchased just for him, because her family loves her and wants her to be happy. (Gift bribery, I tell you!) There were several other phone calls during the week between Christmas and New Year's. The villain of our piece told the heroine (now known as Cleopatra, baby) that he had to babysit his grandkids on New Year's Eve. (Shut up. Yes, I'm aware that maybe, just maybe, a man with GRANDKIDS might be too old for me. No, don't say it. Shhh.) And, our sweet, misguided, totally deluded heroine, Cleopatra, believed him and even offered to "help out". He declined her offer because "his daughter was not comfortable with that idea". (Shut up. No, really.) So, Cleo headed out on the town with her bestest friend Beth and her husband, and Dawn (who was having issues with her spouse) and went to the Bad Karaoke Bar downtown for an evening of Southern Rock played by a band that had mastered (!) a whopping 30% of their 20 song playlist. (We know this because 1.} We sat right in front of the amplifier and 2.} Every time someone made a request they were handed a ratty sheet of legal paper with the aforementioned 20 songs and told - "These are the only songs we know how to play." They did NOT mention that "know how to play" included "putting the CD into the stereo in the Ford Econoline van with the rebel flag airbrushed on it". But, I digress.) So, our heroine made the best of a sad situation, being danceless and kissless during the evening and did her best to ring in the New Year with a festive air.

Cleo made her way home without mishap and awoke the next morning, filled with the fresh hope of a New Year, called the boyfriend to extend wishes for a most happy and prosperous New Year. (We use the term "morning" loosely, since it was around lunchtime.) She got the boyfriend's voicemail so she left her New Year's wishes on the machine and went about her day. Her phone rang a couple of hours later and her heart leapt (LEAPT!) with joy, for it was he. (Him? Grammar police, where ARE you??) She answered the phone, dripping with Southern sweetness and holiday cheer. (Patient Reader, this part is known as the defining moment of our little tale.)

When Cleo answered the phone, boyfriend YELLED at her. The conversation is as follows:
Cleo: Hello?
Boyfriend: It's OVER.
Cleo: What?
Boyfriend: It's OVER.
Cleo: Wh..what? (shaky voice)
Boyfriend: Stop calling me. I don't want you in my life. Don't call me, don't contact me at all.
Cleo: - - - -
White Trash Voice in the Background: Tell her why.
Boyfriend: I'm back with Mary (previous girlfriend, who probably rates a story of her own)
Cleo: Ok - - -
Cleo: click of the phone being hung up by her in shock

So, our brave little (shut up. she is.) heroine managed to keep it together long enough to call Dawn, all the while wondering if she was going to die before she could draw a breath because oddly enough, her breathing apparatus seemed to have malfunctioned and she could not seem to remember how to exchange carbon dioxide for new oxygen. She spent the rest of the day at Dawn’s trying to reconstruct what could have happened to her wonderful relationship that was destined (DESTINED!) for happiness. To this day, we still do not have a good answer to that question.

However, after months of silence, boyfriend spoke to Dawn (about another issue because Dawn, being the good friend she is, was busily HATING (!) boyfriend by proxy and engaged in much amusing name-calling and reputation-smearing along with Cleo) and said that Cleo was "tying him down". Cleo and Dawn were confused by this statement, because although Cleo had visions of happiness and bliss, she had never once said the "M" word (marriage) and was always very easy-going about plans and such. She strived to be laid back and non-clingy. It should be noted for the record that boyfriend was the one that had actively pursued Cleo and called her several times a day and wanted to come over 8 days a week and bought her gifts (including several sets of matching (MATCHING!) t-shirts that they would wear at the same time, because, aw! how cute). Anyway. Boyfriend then had the nerve to tell Dawn that he "wanted to be Cleo's friend" but Dawn, being the good, good friend that she is, told boyfriend, "Leave her alone. She's going out with a really nice guy." (Which she is – she may have finally found the prince in the frog pond.)

When this information was relayed to Cleo, she used the immortal words of Kid Rock.
"I had plenty of friends 'fore I met you; I don't need no more."

The other thing, mentioned waaaaay up at the top of this entry when I saw "heroin" in "heroine" is....for some reason (Organic brain disease??) over the past few weeks, I've been seeing other words inside the words I'm looking at. The easiest time I have of doing this is in web addresses. For instance, in
sonicdriveins.com - we see the words dri veins. This has happened with alarming regularity recently. It's amusing, but I have to re-read things sometimes because my brain does not register what I'm reading correctly. This is in addition to a dismaying propensity for adding extra letters and/or syllables to words. I managed to confuse the fire out of our office manager one morning when I asked her to pull up a report for me. I had to stop and walk away and start over a minute later. I also cannot say the term "flat panel" (as in flat panel tv) without saying "flat planel". Curious!

Because, sometimes?

I'm lazy.

Your Linguistic Profile:

45% General American English

25% Dixie

10% Upper Midwestern

10% Yankee

5% Midwestern

What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

In Which We Learn to Follow the 5 P's

The eHarmony thing? I've learned something about myself. After answering the same question 40 kajillion times, it gets old and very deja vu. If I have to tell one more man my "3 wishes for the future" or "3 relationship skills that I possess" I may actually fall right off the deep end.

This is not eHarmony's fault. Apparently, I should have already found "the one" and then I wouldn't have to type the same things over and over again. I'm still meeting some really nice guys though and that is why I'm trying to put a fresh spin on what is basically the same answer.

What else?

Oh - the time change. Y'all, this messes me up every year. I woke up feeling all virtuous about being awake at 8:00 on a Sunday, especially after being up until 2 am and then I realized that I forgot to roll the clocks forward.

I was on vacation this past week. Vacationing at home, no matter HOW good they make it look in the ladies magazines touting budget-friendly tips such as stuffing throw pillows with dryer lint or making Halloween costumes from lawn&leaf bags and used meat trays. Y'all, vacationing at home sucks. This was due to my failure to follow the Principle of the 5 P's.

Prior
Planning
Prevents
Poor
Performance

But, I had a lot of vacation days that I had to use up or I was going to lose them. And I have a 16 year old on Spring Break that would have been on the phone to me every 10 minutes all week long wanting to go do something and could I please drive home (30 miles) to give him a ride? And pick up all his friends? And buy them all lunch because they're starving? People, I stayed home.

We did go to Chattanooga one day.....and there are stories there.....and I will share them....soon.

What the....?

So, I had a date tonight with one of the guys that I met on eHarmony. This is the second time that I've seen him and he's a nice guy. The thing that makes me wonder is why would you ask someone out and not give a thought to the fact that it's Saturday night in a reasonably large city and think that you're just going to walk into a restaurant at 7:00? Everything had a minimum of a 2 hour wait. Ok. On to plan B.

We went to the movies. I don't pay a lot of attention to what is playing at the movies but maybe I should start. We wound up seeing Date Movie because it was starting in a few minutes. This is the lamest movie I have ever seen. I don't really like those kind of movies anyway and this was a compilation of every bad date movie ever made from A Big Fat Greek Wedding to When Harry Met Sally and it even had a little Austin Powers thrown in. I admit I was more amused by the previews. I recommend Robin Williams' new movie, RV, when it comes out.

We finally ate dinner after the movie and it was all right. Not anything extra, but all right. When we left the restaurant at Megaopolis Mall, he said he figured he was going to head home AND THEN LEFT ME TO WALK THE MILE TO MY CAR ON MY OWN. I know that I was shaking my head in amazement all the way back to the car.

Guys, please, even if the date sucked - walk the female back to her car, especially at night, especially in the city.

Sheesh.

They like me...they really, really like me

So, I've been doing the eHarmony thing. No, it's not because I'm a sad loser who can't find a date. Well, ok, yes, in a way it is. But, y'all - I work in an office full of women and the single guys that I know are single for a REASON!

I signed up at the end of January and since then, I've been on at least 10 dates and everyone that I've met has been really nice. Have I found my true love yet? No, not yet, but there are some possibilities there. Will you be seeing me in a commercial anytime soon? Who knows? Has it been worth it? Definitely.

But here's the thing - I don't know a damn thing about adult dating. I know about high school dating. I did a lot of that. I know about getting married - I did that a year out of high school. So, my expectations are probably off. I don't know how much contact to expect from a guy that I seem to have hit it off with. If it's not to the serious one-on-one dating stage, how often should I expect to hear from him? I talked to some of my single girl friends and the consensus seems to be: expect nothing and you will not be disappointed.

And - how often does one call a guy? Is it a reciprocal thing? Is it too forward to call guys? Do they feel threatened? I'm sure I don't know so for the time being, I'm resorting to an occasional text message if I think it's been too many days without contact. If there is no response to that, then I just stop. Yes, I know that people are busy and I also know that a lot of these guys are just as confused as I am.

Where are the RULES, people? Someone write out some damn rules and post them somewhere.

And what is up with guys emailing, emailing, emailing; calling, calling, calling - then taking you out - and then....nothing. Now, I understand the "there's no chemistry there" thing, and that's fine. But, lord, y'all - just SAY so. Don't just disappear like Houdini.

All that said, it's been wonderful and if any of y'all are single and having a hard time to find someone to go out with, try it. I've met some wonderful people and it's really made it easier for me to talk to people I don't know since I'm getting so much practice at it.

Brainiac

Your Brain's Pattern

Structured and organized, you have a knack for thinking clearly. You are very logical - and you don't let your thoughts get polluted with emotions. And while your thoughts are pretty serious, they're anything from boring. It's minds like yours that have built the great cities of the world!

What Pattern Is Your Brain?

Which would you be?

Your HARE DAEMON represents your passive,
kindhearted, and honorable nature. Though you
are occasionally shy with new people, friends
admire your unshakable tranquility, even in the
face of chaos.


What Animal Would Your Daemon Settle As?
brought to you by Quizilla

Birthday

Your Birthdate: October 27

You are a spiritual soul - a person who tries to find meaning in everything. You spend a good amount of time meditating, trying to figure out life. Helping others is also important to you. You enjoy social activities with that goal. You are very generous and giving. Yet you expect very little in return. Your strength: Getting along with anyone and everyone Your weakness: Needing a good amount of downtime to recharge Your power color: Cobalt blue Your power symbol: Dove Your power month: September

What Does Your Birth Date Mean?

Selling to the Lowest Common Denominator

Am I the only one that’s noticed that television commercials are getting incredibly stupid? I’ll admit that I watch a fair amount of television, usually while I’m knitting. I don’t know if my tolerance is getting low or if I’m suddenly more aware or if the commercials are actually that stupid. I suspect it’s the commercials.

I’ve seen this one a few times: it’s the Tampax Pearl tampon commercial where the couple is in a rowboat in the middle of a lake and all of a sudden! the boat springs a leak. Oh my! What to do? Well, if it was me, I think I’d notice a HOLE in the bottom of the boat that looks like someone shot a bullet through it, but hey, that’s just me. So now, Mister and Miss Adorable Couple are in quite a pickle. There is water coming into the boat. The man scrambles, looks for a solution. Girlfriend sits quietly for a moment, considering the problem and then reaches into her tote bag and pulls out an entire BOX of Tampax Pearl tampons. Ladies, back me up here – on a date, got your period, take a tampon or two or even three . . .but the whole BOX? In a tote bag? On a BOAT? A ROWBOAT??? Where in the hell does she think she’s going to have the opportunity to use an ENTIRE box of tampons? Even the boat only has one hole in its bottom. And the next question is – if that tampon can stop an entire LAKE from coming into the boat, why can that same tampon manage to leak while you’re wearing white pants?

Another commercial that’s been annoying me is the KFC commercial where the whole family is gathered around the table, looking at each other the way that you would look at a stranger who sits next to you on the bus when every other seat is empty. Who are these people? Why are they here? What could they want? Wait, Mom is going to explain. We are here for dinner. The family is confused. “Dinner? What’s that?” they wonder. And Mom produces a bucket of KFC. Yay, Mom. The tagline of the commercial is priceless and shows exactly where America is as a nation: “Time for a real dinner, bring home KFC.” So, let me get this straight – real dinner is now takeout chicken as opposed to takeout burgers or tacos or sub sandwiches. I’ll admit I don’t cook dinner every night. There are times when I can only cook once a week – but I don’t think I’ve ever tried to kid anyone that bringing home KFC was like Mom had been in the kitchen all afternoon creating a meal. This slogan replaced the “KFC is Kitchen Fresh Chicken”. Whose kitchen? Not mine. Not yours either, I’ll bet.

Weight loss commercials are interesting too. Every diet program out there, from Weight Watchers to L.A. Weight Loss (does that stand for Lard Ass?) to Jenny Craig all parade these women across the screen in a clingy little number spouting about how she’s lost 83 pounds or 112 pounds or some other wondrous number and in small print it says:
“Results not typical”
What?!?
Then show me what IS typical. I don’t want to see your wonder girl in her wonder bra! I want to see the ordinary people with typical weight loss. I got the chance to meet a typical weight loss customer just this morning. She has been going to L.A. Weight Loss for about 7 months. She has lost around 35 pounds. She’s happy and I’m happy for her. I am not happy for Wonder Woman on the commercial.

The new Burger King commercial is just plain creepy. It’s the one for the “New Breakfast Whopper”. It’s a Whopper, all right at 730 calories. It has two of everything – two slices of egg, two sausage patties, two slices of cheese, two slices of bacon, two pieces of bun, and two paramedics to carry you to the emergency room once you’ve consumed one. The sandwich is creepy enough, but when you throw in a Burger King with a plastic head staring in the window at you while holding out his arms and all the birdies in the sky coming to roost on them – that shit is downright horrifying. I don’t want me no part of that. Uh uh. That’s Alfred Hitchcock food. And for breakfast.

Where are the Budweiser frogs when you need them?

Step Down Meals

Y’all, I have a question for you – if there is a step down system to quit smoking, why is there not a step down system for weight loss? Like the patch. Three different dosages errr. . . portion sizes. Do not confuse this with “stepping” or whatever that wacky exercise thing is where you hop up and down off a plastic platform. I mean step down. I’m talking gradual reduction of food intake. And don’t tell me that I can do this on my own at home. I could be making mattress ticking patio furniture covers too, but you don’t see that happening, now do you???

Today, for lunch, I had a Lean Cuisine meal. Glazed chicken to be precise. I like glazed chicken. I like the rice. I like the lil French cut green beans and mushrooms. What I do NOT like is the fact that there is approximately enough to feed an anorexic 4 year old.

People, do they not realize that we are hungry? That if there is not more food, we will devour candy and chips and popcorn to stave off the 2:00 hungries? That fat people NEED more food? Don't they realize that we've been gorging for years???

Here is what I propose – and remember, you heard it here first and if you see it in the supermarket and my name is not on it, someone (or some corporate entity) stole my idea.

There could be a 3 tiered system.

In tier 1 (for people just starting out) ~ a portion of food that would be considered “normal” by overweight standards. Now, I don’t mean a pound of chicken. I suggest adding more food by adding a ton more vegetables and rice. Give us something to EAT, for God’s sake! Something to make us feel full. Something with some bulk and fiber! And yes, I’d be willing to pay more for this. It’s still cheaper than Big Macs and fries and hopefully, better for me. Plus, I would have all that “eating my veggies” karma to float me through the afternoon. And water. Lots and lots of water.

In tier 2 (as we become accustomed to less food) ~ still more food than a standard frozen “diet” meal and still heavy on the vegetables and rice but less than in tier 1.

In tier 3 (because we’re on our way now!) ~ a regular diet frozen meal-sized portion – because we are adjusted to eating less and eating healthy.

I envy the people that get full on so little. I don’t understand it. I’m trying to re-train my body to think that way but my body is protesting. I know that portion size is really skewed in America and that we are not intended to consume 2 and 3 pound meals. I know that every bite after the first one tastes the same so a taste should be enough of some things. Why isn’t it? It’s like a friend of mine once said – I’m sorry that I’m full because I’m not done eating yet. Why don’t I feel that way about exercising?

Think about it.