Imagine my surprise when I got home from teaching, sat down at my computer, and opened my Facebook messages to find one that read, “Oh, Vickie, so sorry to hear about your mom. My mom said it was in the paper today. My thoughts and prayers are with you.”
What about my mom? My mom was in a nursing home 2 hours from where I live. Right then the phone rang. It was my brother, David. He told me he was sitting at work during his lunch, reading the newspaper, when he turned the page and saw my mom’s obituary and her face looking right at him. He was so shook up, he had to leave work.
Who does this? Well, apparently my sister, who was mad at my brother and me for not visiting my mom in the nursing home like she did. My brother immediately called her and she told him since we didn’t bother to visit her, why should we be told of her death?
How vile.
Regardless of any kind of estrangement or past arguments or discussions that we may have with my sister, she should have picked up the damn phone and called us. My brother lives in the same city, so this was especially cruel. My mom died last Saturday, and it was in the paper on Tuesday. My brother was told she was already cremated. There was to be no service of any kind. Done.
How’s that for closure?
The obituary read “she is survived by a loving daughter, (name inserted here), David Mendenhall, Vickie Mendenhall.” We were just added on like we were people that just happened to share the same last name. I also just noticed that she didn’t put my name after hers because people might think I was also a loving daughter. Our children, my mom’s grandchildren, were not even told their grandmother had died. Their names weren’t even listed. “4 grandchildren.” If she were such a loving grandmother, why not list their damn names?
I know this “revenge by obituary” must have you laughing, little former sister…
Well, I know how much you were laughing until you read the condolences on the online funeral home site. Many people wrote condolences, but also added how sorry they were that we had to find out in such a manner. And then, voila, the funeral home took down all the condolences and no one can write or express their sympathy any longer. I wonder who was behind that?
I went to work the next day and told my principal that my mother had died. We are given 3 personal days when a close relative dies. Well, I mean, what was I to do? There’s no viewing, no memorial service, nothing. She was already cremated by the time my brother talked to her on Tuesday. So, I stayed at school. A co-worker and friend said it best, “This is absurd…like an episode of Seinfeld.” So true.
I actually thought of driving the two hours to where my dad is buried, sit by his headstone and have a talk with him. He was one of those hen-pecked husbands who kept their mouths shut. Dad never talked back to my mom. Instead, he would make faces behind her back and then get on his lawnmower and run over her flowers. I loved that guy. But, I didn’t drive up to visit with him. I would have probably continued driving and may have ended up at my former home, the one my sister now lives in after my mom went to live in a nursing home. I know I would never have done that. I may have driven around the block, slowed down in front of her house, and flipped her house? off. How’s that for revenge for the revenge? But, no, I stayed in school, sat at my desk, and wondered what the hell kind of closure is this?
English: The face of a black windup alarm clock (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
For those of you who follow my blog, you know tomorrow is my least favorite day of the year. I’ve surely written enough about Daylight Savings Time and how it turns me into a zombie for a few weeks after the time change.
So, how many times can I beat this dead horse? Apparently, at least five times. I guess I just need to really get my opinion out there. Daylight Savings Time just sucks the life out of me…….and millions of other people too.
But, I have to admit, the whole time change did have one perk: church. Now, don’t judge, but I just did not care to attend church when I was younger. My dad was a Sunday school teacher, so we had to get up every Sunday morning and drive downtown to church. And, I’m sorry, but I just didn’t like it. I had a problem with the whole Noah’s Ark story when I went to that private hell of a Catholic school from first through third grade, and was tired of arguing about it with Sister Maria and then at Sunday school. I just didn’t buy it. I was mad at God for drowning animals. Taking only two of a kind was really mean, and when I was little, I held a grudge for a tremendously long time. So, I just thought the whole church thing was a big ole fat lie to get money in a collection plate.
So, there was one Sunday each year that I didn’t have to go to Sunday school, and that was when it was Daylight Savings Time. Oh, I remember my parents talking while sitting on the couch about how they had to remember to turn the clocks ahead before they went to bed. I always wanted to try to sneak into my parent’s room and change the Big Ben alarm clock my dad kept by his bed, but after getting caught the first time, I decided I was doomed and would have to go listen about multiplying fishes and walking on water. None of the Bible lessons were believable to me. People can’t get that old. I told my mom Caspar the Friendly Ghost cartoon was more real than church. I remember my dad looking at me like I needed an exorcism. His Bible was all marked up and his handwriting in the margins. He was clearly into it, but his nine year old heathen daughter wasn’t buying any of it.
I know my dad would change the kitchen clock above our lovely gold refrigerator that Saturday night before he went to bed. He would change the time on his wrist watch. He would change the time on his Big Ben alarm clock and set the alarm to get up for church. But, every Daylight Savings Time Sunday morning we would always miss Sunday school. We slept it! My mom would yell first.
“Elwood, wake up! We’ve missed church!” I would wake up and smile. But, then, my mom would march into my room and ask why I pushed down the alarm clock so it wouldn’t go off.
The problem with all of this is that I was a great liar and lied every chance I got. So, when I really told the truth and tried to explain that I didn’t do it, no one believed me. I would be just like me to sneak into my parent’s room and push in the alarm buzzer thingy.
For years I thought my sister was the culprit because she would laugh at me for getting yelled at for turning it off. She wanted to go to church because she liked wearing her white patent leather shoes. She would deliberately put on a pair of white anklets that had a hole in the big toe so she could entertain while sitting in the pew at church. But, you know, I never ever pushed down the alarm button to keep us from waking up on time. I mean, I wouldn’t wait until Daylight Savings Time to do that. I’d do it every damn Sunday.
Years later, when I had my own children and complained how my husband wanted to go to church the next day when it was Daylight Savings Time, I would always try to balk. “Oh, come on. We are losing an hour. Let’s just sleep in.” My mom was visiting during one of those time changing moments and just smiled when I was complaining about being blamed for turning off the alarm.
“Mom, I really wasn’t the one who would push in the alarm so we could sleep in after losing an hour.”
“I know.” I looked at her and she was wearing a shit-eating grin on her face.”
“God dammit, Mom! …….You were the one?…….and then you came in and blamed me?” She smiled and nodded.
Well, there was only one thing I could do….
I stood up and clapped.
“I needed that hour,” she said with a shrug.
So, in the end, the heathen’s mother threw her own daughter under the proverbial bus in order to garner a lost hour of sleep once a year.
Map of West Virginia counties (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
The governor of West Virginia, Earl Ray Tomlin, introduced Senate Bill 359, an educational reform bill, which will be voted on soon. Teachers have given the bill a big, fat F, which in my opinion has nothing to do with reform.
Reform- to amend or improve by change of form or removal of fault or abuses.
I’m not going to go into each point of the bill, only to say that it is a slap in the face to all educators in the state of West Virginia. You know, teachers in the Mountain state make one of the lowest salaries in the nation. Many teachers head east to work outside the state borders to garner higher wages. But, in the end, teachers are working the best they can, despite the obstacles that are coming directly from the higher ups.
Obstacles, you say? Absolutely. Someone a few years ago had decided teachers need to test more. I give a beginning Math and Reading test at the beginning of the year. I give Benchmark tests twice a year in four subjects and the students have two online writing tests to get ready for the big one in March. The Westest is held in May. Now, mind you, this is on top of the tests I give weekly in Social Studies, Reading, Spelling, and Science. I also have to give end of the year tests.
I would just rather teach.
I’m 56 years old and I think I received a pretty good education when I was young. We memorized our multiplication tables. We learned our state capitals, had spelling bees, and wrote and presented book reports. It was all about Reading, Writing, and Arithmetic. We grew up fine. Some of my peers did better than fine.
Ok, this was before my time….but we had those desks.
But, something along the way changed. Someone has decided that to exist in the 21st century, we must bathe our children in technology or they will surely die. So, in the elementary setting we are testing, and we are teaching technology….on top of Handwriting, Math, Spelling, Grammar, Reading, Science, Social Studies, and Health. And we are doing this in crowded classrooms.
If you want to reform, let’s first take a look at teacher/student ratio.
The governor wants to require early childhood education programs to be made available five days a week for the full day; allowing program to be for fewer than five days per week and less than full day under certain circumstances.
I don’t understand this. This is not the reform that we need. Before adding new programs, we need to address the teacher/student ratio in k-2. Class size should be limited to no more than 16 students and the curriculum should be restricted. Let me explain:
Years ago, there were a lot of two-parent households. A lot of the moms did not work outside the home. Someone was there to make sure students did their homework, and were more hands-on. Now, I’m not saying that a lot of people don’t still do that. Of course they do. But, for the most part, it is fact that the divorce numbers are much higher than they were years ago. Even without divorce, economics force both parents to work. Some single parent households need help. Grandparents are raising many of the children. Many children come from homes where abuse is a way of life. Drug use is more prevalant than it was years ago. Some children go to bed hungry. Yes, I realize that has also happened in the past, but in the end, the classroom is now a home- away- from- home for a lot of children.
I have fifteen students this year in my fourth grade classroom. Last year I had twenty-one. Six less students makes a world of difference. And those teachers with twenty-five and twenty-six students are overwhelmed. I know my students. I can look at one and know she is not feeling well because I know her so well. I send her to the office to get her temperature taken…101.6. I smile and give her a hug as she leaves to go home. I know not to give much homework because it is an unfair advantage to the several who are lucky to have a piece of notebook paper or pencil at their homes. No one goes through their backpacks at night. No one helps them practice their multiplication table. My mom drilled me nightly when I was in third grade. I knew them when I went to fourth grade. Some students in general just have no clue. Some children have behavioral issues. Some are learning disabled. Some have attention deficit problems. This is not the same mix of students that I went to school with, but yet, nothing has changed in the way of class size.
So, I teach time management skills in the classroom and basically let them do some homework during class time. This only seems fair to those who aren’t lucky enough to have help at home. Sure, in the end, fourth graders can learn to do their homework on their own, but they need guidance and direction..but sadly, a few are not receiving it at home. They are allowed to sit and kill things while playing their video games. And I know a majority of the boys do this. I ask these things…. Technology at its finest. When I was young we had three channels on tv and the World Book Encyclopedia as our internet. We honestly didn’t have much to do but our homework on school nights.
When you shove many children into a classroom, something is lost. So, let’s begin our educational reform by taking a look at teacher/student ratio. I know you won’t, because that would mean hiring new teachers. It’s bad enough that the governor wants to hire anyone with a bachelor’s degree to enter the classroom. You are going to be opening a can of worms if this hiring practice is passed, however. It will change the scope of teacher education in this state forever.
I know some of you will not agree with me on this next point, but I think technology is making us stupider. (Yes, I realize that is not a word.)
“The fog of information can drive out knowledge.”
Don’t get me wrong. I think technology in the classroom is great. I use it in some form every day. If we are studying volcanoes, I have a volcano simulator waiting on one of the computers. I have a penguin cam up some days. There are many, many internet sites that are extremely beneficial. That’s not what I am talking about.
The state of West Virginia implemented a program called Tech Steps. All students from kindergarten on must complete about six assignments. In my opinion, this program should not be used in the elementary school setting. Why do elementary school children need a technology component when we should be concentrating on core subjects? If you want our test scores to rise, don’t inundate us with work that can wait until fifth or sixth grade. You are making us waste precious time. Do third graders really need to learn how to use a spreadsheet? Sure, we are in a different world now, where computers and technology are at our every turn. I get it. I think it has merit in junior high, but not in the early grades where everything depends on them learning the basics so they can go on to the next year and build on that.
In the end, it is not the same as it was. We are forced to test too much when we should be teaching. We are forced to teach more children in our classroom than is beneficial to their educational growth. We are forced to teach technology, when in fact, we should review our multiplication one more time instead of completing yet another techsteps assignment that will have no bearing on other important educational milestones, such as defining words, rounding numbers, and correcting a run-on sentence. K-2 teachers should be teaching a limited curriculum, plain and simple.
There are only so many minutes in a day for an elementary school teacher. We have to teach Spelling, Social Studies, Science, Math, Reading, Grammar, handwriting, and Health. We are also referees, bankers, counselors, and health inspectors.
So, Senate Education committee people, there you have it; the rambling of a fourth grade teacher. If you truly want an educational reform in West Virginia, start with kindergarten and give those teachers a small class size. We teach with kids squished into our classrooms because that’s the way you want it. We test and test and test to make sure we are testing because that’s what we have to do. We teach technology subjects that the wee ones should not have to be introduced to until an older age. We do all this because you told us to. If something is broken, it’s not with the teachers. It is with the system. Please be careful with every point of our governor’s education reform bill. It needs to be chewed up and digested to see if it sits well with teachers. Take us in consideration instead of pointing fingers at us. Because after all,
You can lead a student to the test, but you can’t make him pass it.
Enjoy this story? Jumping in Mud Puddles is now an ebook that you can download on your Kindle. Don’t have a Kindle? No problem. Amazon will let you download their Kindle app FREE…Yes, free. Have a look see. My literary debut….. Amazon.com for $3.99. It’s sort of funny.
It’s really easy to get me addicted to new things. After my divorce, my friends talked me into coming over to Facebook….to farm. I did. Farmville kept me up late at night. Well, someone had to harvest the damn wheat crop. And then Pinterest reeled me in. I have over one hundred boards. Why the hell would I need one hundred boards? Yes, I’m easily addicted. I’m just glad I never started smoking.
Several months ago I started playing Angry Birds. I mean, what the hell is wrong with me? I play one game a day and am in a weekly tournament. And this on top of writing two books this summer. As I look around my living room, I notice that it is neat as a pin. Well, it should be since I have been on this damn computer most of the time. And now SongPop has invaded my life. But, I’m not too happy about this one.
SongPop is my newest obsession. A friend invited me just last week to play them in this fun Facebook game. I didn’t understand how to play at first, so I was already screwed for the week. A friend sends an invitation to listen to a few tunes and then you can pick the answer from four choices. No one told me there was a time limit. Right now I am playing about nine people. And I’m ready to throw in the towel and I will tell you why.
This game is a great test of reaction times. Most of the people I play are about 20 years younger than me and I can’t press the button fast enough. I know a lot of the answers, but it’s like I mosey on over to the button with my mouse. What the hell? This is a sure way to let me know that I am getting old. It’s actually pissing me off, because I am actually really trying and I just can’t ring in fast enough. I’d suck if I were on Jeopardy.
A Facebook friend wrote that she was done with SongPop due to the fact that she feels that she has a neuropathy problem. She is a sarcastic lass like me, and I hope she doesn’t really think that she has a problem. I’m just pissed off that age has robbed us of our rapid fire response finger. We are getting old and SongPop has just slapped us across the face. We can’t play with the big dogs anymore. Well, I guess I should only speak for myself. I can’t play with the big dogs anymore.
But, that’s not all. I don’t know music like I used to. I still know all the words to Aqualung and Hotel California. I know my Disco and Classic Rock. I don’t know a damn thing about Modern Rap or Latin Radio. My daughter was home this week and she sat on the couch playing SongPop and would send me songs in the Latin Music genre. Thanks, sweetie.
The fastest I have been able to buzz in on a song is Ice Ice Baby. How sad is that?
In the end, I guess the older I get, the worse my response time will be. Pretty soon someone will take my car keys away from me for fear that I will hesitate and then pull in front of a truck or something.
But, then again, I always sucked at Hungry Hungry Hippo. Maybe it’s just me.
I just cranked out my second book. I finished my first book on July 7 and have been working on this one ever since. I didn’t get to go to the beach this summer, so I concentrated on my writing. This book is up for sale as an ebook on Amazon also.
I have always been a fool for play on words Halloween costume ideas. Some of you may remember my Halloween posts every October in which I share more costume ideas. I bought an idiom two weeks ago and have been highlighting those idioms that I could turn into Halloween ideas. I uploaded the damn book before I realized that I hadn’t even added the ones I found in the idiom book. Live and learn.
Anyway, if you plan to attend a Halloween party or wear a costume to work or school, this book has something for everyone. Check it out. And I am going to have to start visting my gym again. I’ve been writing non stop and doing not much else.
My literary debut, Jumping in Mud Puddles is free for download today, Thursday, July 12, through Amazon. If you don’t have a Kindle, don’t worry. It can be downloaded to your iPad, iPhone or even your computer. There is a quick and painless download from Amazon. I bought a Kindle last week before I knew you could even do this.
Jumping in Mud Puddles is a book of stories that I have taken from my blog of the same name. I have added and tweaked my posts into 44 chapters.
Here is the book description:
“Raise your hand if you-
1) Have ever been chased by a nun.
2) Have been stung by a bee because it was injured and you tried to hug it and then you went into anaphylactic shock because the damn thing stung you on the cheek and you had to be rushed to the hospital (The bee didn’t make it).
3) Have ever made a tent caterpillar/dandelion meal in your cabin in the woods and have fed it to unsuspecting neighbor children.
4) Were slipped a mild tranquilizer and was told it was a car sick pill……for years.
5) Have killed the Boogeyman after lying in wait for it/him under your bed.
6) Have peed your pants from laughing because a monkey has stepped onto your best friend’s head and the best friend doesn’t know what is on her head.
7) Have puked on the school bus and all the kids had to raise their feet while the bus was going up hills.
If you have not been able to raise your hand for any of these normal every day experiences, you are invited to join Vickie as she revisits her childhood during the fifties, sixties, and early seventies. Visit the private Catholic school where she was sent because she flunked an early entrance exam. Sister Potato Head is waiting to stick you into the low reading group, “The Slow Sloths.” Follow Vickie as she takes you for a walk around the best neighborhood in Weirton, West Virginia. Don’t eat anything she tries to feed you in her cabin in the woods, however, especially if she is giggling as she hands it to you, but yet promises it doesn’t contain “real” things.
Jumping in Mud Puddles is a witty self-deprecating memoir with stories that will either make you smile because it reminds you of your own childhood or it will make you laugh because you are glad you weren’t a picky, hyper, big fat liar like Vickie.
And for the record, the cursing throughout the book is a really bad habit that grown-up Vickie acquired while teaching fourth grade. I mean, she doesn’t curse in front of the class…..yet. She apologizes for her potty mouth and hopes that you will see that she is just a grown up version of that skinny child of the sixties. Well, you can leave out the skinny part.”
***************************
Thanks! If you feel so inclined to give me a review after you finished reading my little book that would be great, or tag and like me. If not, again, the download is free just today.
Photograph of a Green Frog en ( Rana clamitans en ). Photo taken at the Tyler Arboretum. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
When I was young, there were always smashed frogs in the middle of the road in front of my house. Ok, I realize that I may be talking about toads, but for this post I am going to group them together and call them frog toads. The boys in the neighborhood used to pick them up and fling them at us girls. The poor unfortunate frog toads would be hard and paper thin. I guess if you were repeatedly run over by a car, you would become flat too. I don’t see dead frog toads on the road anymore. I mean, not that I am looking for them or anything. But, yeah, I guess I am. And I just don’t see them.
According to Wikipedia, there has been a decline in populations of amphibians in the past three decades. From scientific studies that were performed, it was found that 32% of species are threatened and between 9 and 122 species have become extinct since 1980. There is also another list that puts 486 amphibians as “critically endangered.” And I just bet those smashed frog toads on the road are part of one of those studies.
Wouldn’t it be awful to never hear the sounds of the spring peepers? Their choir down by my old pond performed for me all the time. Bullfrogs would bellow periodically. I used to love to sit outside on my front porch at night and listen to their wonderful music. What if that goes away too?
I’ve noticed a lot of changes since I was young. We all know about the plight of the honeybee. I really don’t know if tent caterpillars serve any purpose, but I really don’t see those white sticky nests like I used to years ago. I think I’m still paying attention. And what about the Japanese beetles? They used to be a huge pain in the ass just ten years ago. They would always appear in my part of West Virginia the last week of June.
And what about the grasshopper? Dear god, where the hell are you, Hopper? I saw one yesterday and I swear it is the first one I have seen in a long time. Is it just me? Maybe bugs don’t like West Virginia anymore. I don’t think that would be the case. We are a lovely place for insects.
I guess I’m just scared. I don’t have grandchildren yet, but I would hate it if my future grandson wasn’t able to fling a dead smashed frog toad onto his sister.
When I began teaching full time, I was 51 years old. I previously stayed at home with my two children and as they began high school started as a substitute teacher. I was excited to get the fourth grade job. But, what kind of teacher was I going to be? Well, I just had to be myself. And so my new kids had to get used to my rules. I only had several.
1. “Do not rock on your chair. You don’t want to end up like Mark Harper. (made up name.) He fell and hit his head and to this day has no idea what is name is. So, if you want to end up like Markie, rock on your chair.”
2. “Don’t even think about making fun of anyone. I got made fun of for being skinny. Sure, I would welcome it now, but getting called chicken legs is not funny.”
3. “This is the most important rule. You guys need to learn to laugh at yourself. If you fall, people will laugh, so you might as well laugh rght along with them. Don’t get mad. Don’t get embarrassed. Laugh.”
So, then I tell them the story of my embarrassment in college….
I was a freshman in college and had a crush on a guy I will call Robert P. It was winter and the goofy campus employees hadn’t shoveled the sidewalks yet. It was snowing pretty hard and I was wanting to walk down the sidewalk to the student center, The Nickel, but the sidewalks were all covered with snow. It was pretty icy.
Ahhh, I spotted Robert P. coming out of the student center with some other football players. If I hurried I could run right into him. So, I decided to walk on the road that ran down beside the student center since the sidewalk was a mess. I thought I looked pretty. Well, until I wiped out. But, I didn’t just wipe out. No, that would be too easy. I tried to baby-step it down the hill. I was wearing the wrong kind of shoes for snow tromping. I don’t think I ever had a pair of boots while attending college. Well, do earth shoes count? Plus, there was the fact that we all wore wide legged jeans that dragged on the ground. It was the seventies, and we were into our bell bottoms.
I fell on my knees. Nothing bad about that, except for the pain, but it didn’t end like that. Not only did I fall, but I kept going…on my kneees. The roads were pretty icy, so I slid by the football players, on my knees, still holding my books in my left arm, and my purse on my right shoulders. So, I said, “Hi” to them as I slid right by them. While I was looking at him, wishing I would just die, I slid right into the back of a stupid truck that was unloading something at the book store that was in the same building as the student center.
Oh, no, I’m not done. After my books I was carrying hit the bumper, I bounced backwards and somehow stopped, but my books kept going under the truck and right into the path of a car coming up the hill. The car was able to straddle the books and pass by them.
All I could hear was laughing. It was deafening. There were only about 5 guys outside, but it might as well been 100. I wanted to cry, but somehow managed to stand up on my poor deformed knees, turn around to them, and said, “I meant to do that.” And smiled. A couple of them clapped. I then curtsied. And damn if I didn’t slip and fall when I took my right foot back, curtsy-style. Then they really laughed. And I just had too also.
So, I tell my class that story every year. But, the whole point is to let the kids know that if you fall, people will laugh. And that the teacher will most likely laugh the hardest.
And then she will trip and fall on her way back to the desk.
I just got back from taking my son to the Dulles airport. I wrote earlier that Adam was moving to Tbilisi, Georgia, which is pretty far from West Virginia. And he decided to take his cat, Atticus, with him.
This wasn’t an easy feat. First Adam had to make a flight arrangement with an airline carrier that would permit a cat on board as carry-on. I guess some frown on letting a mewing cat hang out under a seat. Turkish Airlines would let Atticus travel with them. But, hold on. They looked through the reservations, as they only permitted one cat or dog per flight. I guess that makes sense. I wouldn’t want to travel with five barking dogs on one flight. But, as my son pointed out, crying babies are just as bad. So true, Adam, and they don’t have to be put into a carrier and shoved under the seat. Not yet.
There are too many reports about animal deaths and loss after being checked as baggage. I would have let Atticus stay with me if Adam couldn’t keep him on the airplane. Most cargo compartments are kept unventilated. Delta Airlines doesn’t permit animals in the cargo area during the summer or winter months. Sometimes dogs or cats get loose somehow during transit. According to the U.S. Department of Transportation, 224 dogs were lost, injured, or killed during airline travel between 2005 and 2009. Airlines currently do not have to report the deaths, so that number could be much higher. So, checking Atticus as baggage was out of the question.
So, Adam was able to book a flight for he and his cat for June 19. Well, that was easy. Oh, but Adam had only started. There were so many procedures that Adam had to follow:
1. Quarantine or No Quarantine- Each country has a different protocol for pets entering their country. Adam had to first find out if Atticus would be warmly welcomed or thrown in the slammer for a certain amount of time. Adam found out that Georgia would welcome Atticus with no problem, whatsoever. But, he also had to make sure that since he had a layover in Turkey that Atticus would not be taken into custody and thrown into a Turkish kitty cat quarantine for a while. Adam had to have the vet examine Atticus, however, and sign the proper health certificate that he was a healthy cat. It was his passport, so to speak. He also had to have a USDA endorsement on the health certificate, I think.
2. Vaccinations and shit- While Atticus was at the vet’s office, he also had to have entry-required vaccinations that were quite expensive. I am sure one was the rabies vaccination and another may have been a feline shot. Throw in a prescription for kitty cat Xanax, and he was on his way.
3.. Pet carrier- Adam couldn’t just shove Atticus into the carrier that most people use. You know, the metal white carrier with the door and bars on the front.
Wrong one
No, Atticus had to have an expensive one that could be put under the seat on the plane.
Right one
I really liked the pet carrier Adam purchased. There was also a zippered compartment where he could put Atticus’s leash and Xanax..
4. I can not stress the Xanax enough. The vet wrote a prescription for Atticus. It was a “real people” Xanax that would calm Atticus down. Because, he had quite the adventure ahead. First of all, we had to travel by car for four house from West Virginia to Dulles Airport, outside of Washington, D.C. Adam told the vet that Atticus freaked out in the car just to get to the vet’s office. After the drive, there would be a 2 1/2 hour wait for his international flight. The fight was then twelve hours to Istanbul, Turkey. There was going to be a seven hour layover before boarding again for another 1 1/2 hour flight and then the drive to the university. So, yeah, Atticus needed to be knocked out, or at least given an anti-anxiety drug. Hell, I would need to be knocked out for an itinerary like that.
5. Pretty blue harness- Atticus could not wear just any collar. He would be able to slip right out of a collar. Some people have their pet microchipped. That probably would have been a good idea for Atticus. I don’t think he had any identification on his body whatsoever. That probably wasn’t a good idea.
5. Animal diapers- Oh yes, Atticus was going to have to wear a diaper. It was going to be a long day. Adam quit feeding him right before we left for the airport and gave him 1/2 of a Xanax right before we left.
Ok, so we were ready to head to Dulles. Atticus was given a Xanax and Adam put the blue harness on him. He had a hard time walking with it on, and I have no idea why. We put the kitty litter box in the far back of the car since we were going to let Atticus hang out inside the car. I was going to drive while Adam played baby sitter to his cat.
Well, he was fantastic. The Xanax just made him mellow out and he sat on Adam’s lap the entire trip, listening to music and letting the air conditioner hit his face. He really enjoyed the air. When we pulled into the parking lot, Adam put a diaper on him, which was hysterical, because Atticus just lay on his back and let Adam put the damn thing on him. There was a hole for his tail. It was too small, so I am sure it came off during the flight.
Adam put Atticus in the cat carrier and we were on our way into the airport. I left as soon as he checked in with his airline and he was headed to security.
I drove the four hours home and while I was driving, got a text from Adam. I pulled over to read it, and smiled. Adam had to take Atticus out of the carrier and lead him through the x-ray machine at the security check-point, diaper and all. I hope someone was amused. Adam said the cat was excellent.
Adam has arrived in Tbilisi and sent me a Facebook message that they got in safe and sound and that Atticus did great. Of course, I read where there were only two pieces waiting at the baggage claim for Adam, instead of three. I sure hope it isn’t lost forever.
Because it could have been the suitcase that had Atticus’s kitty litter box and food.
In the end, if your pet must travel with you, make sure he will be comfortable. There is no way that Atticus could have gotten through everything that he had to go through if he was not doped up. Just sayin.
You tore up my couch and terrorized my cat, but I’m going to miss you, you little shit.
I pull my car into the parking lot behind our elementary school every day. Well, except for weekends, of course. I normally do not pay attention to my surroundings as I gather my little teacher bag, purse, and other paraphernalia that clutters my passenger seat each morning, and make my way to the side door.
Oh sure, once in a while, like after a big rain, I may stop to pick up a few earthworms that I know will never make it back to the grass before the sun beats down on them and fries their little bodies. I help them. Worms are people too.
Once in a while I talk to the cat who lives somewhere in the neighborhood but prefers the parade of people sweet talking to him as they make their way with their own teaching paraphernalia into the side door.
But, yesterday, I looked farther than the back parking lot. We are faced on two sides by a cemetery. On one side is a church with a yard full of tombstones. To the back are more tombstones. I look at them all the time as I pull in. I even asked a co-worker one time during Halloween, “You do see that woman by that grave, right?”
But, yesterday, I really looked at them. We were dismissed early due to water problems, so I was in no hurry to go nowhere. I sat in my car and surveyed all of the memorials. The cemetery is filled with love and rememberance. It was sad, yet lovely at the same time. So, I took out my camera and starting snapping pictures.
There is understandable sadness among the residents. Some left this earth too soon. I am sure some left without being able to say goodbye. Some had a long, painful goodbye. These people were loved. I spotted one statue from my car.
The grass was wet, so I didn’t attempt the walk to the grave. I also have a bit of a problem walking through other people’s memories. Forever marked. Forever loved. So, I closed in on this particular point of interest.
Some of the tombstones, once erect, bend towards the sun. Others are crumbling from the effect of acid rain and time. But, this little angelic marker stands tall and begs me to get a closer look.
On closer inspection with my camera’s zoom, I notice that the poor angelic figure is crumbling. His sad face will be but a memory. How long has it been there, I wonder? I just don’t want to invade its privacy.
I for one, will not have a headstone or marker, for I want to be cremated so I can sit on my kids’ mantles and listen to everything that is going on, for that is how I roll. I just can’t grasp the idea of being placed underground. Oh, I know that I will be dead, and it won’t matter. But, being in a lovely vase where my children can talk to me seems fitting for the kind of person I am.
As I put my camera away after one final photo of the cemetery, I have to admit that it has opened my eyes to the other cemeteries that I pass every day. I don’t even give it a thought as I drive by each one. It’s a graveyard, after all. Nothing more, nothing less. But, I now want to take pictures of the wonderful memorials that are placed there as a result of grief and enduring love.
Time may overtake these wonderful reflections of loss.
I think I will pay more attention on my daily drive.
I guess there are a lot of things that just grate my nerves. I already wrote about the whistler that was following me in Walmart. I loathe people who chew their food and make that disgusting smacking noise. Keep your mouth shut please. And I want to be a teacher and hold out the palm of my hand to all gum snappers. You know who your are.
I would have to say that gum snapping ranks in my top 5 of “Things That Make Me Want to Slap Someone.” I really can’t stand it.
Years ago, while I was sitting in church, I heard a woman behind me snapping her gum. I looked behind me and gave her a look. Oh, it was just a fake smile kind of look. I wanted to connect the sound to the face to see if I could take her. Gum snappers have no place on this earth. Well, she must have just put the Dentyne in her mouth (I saw the wrapper) and she just really went to town on it. My daughter, also a gum snapper hater, gave me a look that rivaled mine. I was impressed and proud. But, the church gum snapper lady would not stop. No one else seemed to be bothered. Gum snappers remind me of cows chewing their cud. And this cow had to stop.
The church I belong to is not one of those raise your hands in the air and talk out loud kind of churches. But, I wanted to turn it into one of those that Sunday morning. I wanted to raise my hands in the air, sway them from left to right and then stand up and exclaim to the congregation-
“Dear people…. the lord just spoke to me!…… (Gasps from the crowd I am sure) And he told me that this woman (pointing to the gum snapper) is going to be struck down by a Mack truck…..this afternoon….if she does not stop her gum snappin ways.”
I could only dream. Well, I stopped attending church and so I don’t have that problem anymore. Yes, I run away from my problems. It’s hard to do when you are on a plane, however. Yes, there was a huge gum snapper in the airport while we were waiting for our flight to Cancun last summer. There was no way I was going to sit with a gum snapper in a closed in space for a couple of hours. It was not going to happen. I would have to shake and then slap her. I moved from where I was sitting at gate whatever and could still hear her. Shit. Thank God she ran out of gum and even told her husband she was out of gum. She was going to hurry and buy some before boarding the plane, but her husband told her no. She looked like a drug addict waiting for withdrawl. I was pleased.
So, imagine my surprise when I was looking at images on pinterest last night and came across a photo of a gum wrapper chain. Wow, I haven’t seen one of those………..since I made one in the early seventies. Completely forgot about those things.
Wow. I made a gum wrapper chain. I forgot about that. I made one either in junior high or high school. I hung it in my bedroom, running it all around the perimeter of my room. Sort of looked like a narrow little border. My room was about 13×13, so it was a long chain. And I made it. So, was I a reformed gum snapper? I had to think back.
You know, reformed people are the worst kind. Former cigarette smokers are judgemental. They will tell you to your face how bad cigarette smoking is for you. Well, some of them are. I don’t want to piss anyone off here. Some people who never wore their seat belt until they had an accident now won’t start the engine until everyone is fastened up. And some people who didn’t attend church and now found God will let you know all about it. So, was I a gum hater because I once was a gum snapper?
I don’t know how I came across making gum wrapper chains, but I was all about making one. It was easy to learn. Not so easy yesterday, when I tried to make one on my own. I forgot how it was done. Luckily, the interneter gods have photos and videos all about making a gum wrapper chain.
First, you need about a thousand gum wrappers. I remember asking my friends for their empty chewing gum wrappers. Throw away the silver inner wrapper and give me the outer one. I also remember chewing a lot of gum for the gum wrapper chain.
I don’t remember how long it took me to make the chain. I wanted to wrap it around my bedroom. And I refused to stop until I was done. I kept it as one long chain, so I am sure I kept standing on my bed to see how far it had made it around my room. I realize that I could have just laid it on the floor and run it around the same way, but I was an airhead, so I did it my way.
I never made a pattern with my gum wrapper chain like the person did in the above photo. I had no time to be colored coordinated. It was like one of those pot holders I weaved. Random colors. I was all about being random. My OCD anal ways didn’t rear its ugly head until much later.
It’s funny how memories can be supressed. I now remember my mom yelling at me to stop snapping my gum. Dentyne to be exact. It was the most snapable gum. Really. Dentyne.
So, I was one of those………..Wow.
I don’t chew gum so much anymore. I only chew it when I fly because that’s what I was told to do so my ears wouldn’t explode. I was fine this last trip to visit my daughter in New York City. And I didn’t sit by anyone who was a gum snapper either.
I wish I would have kept my gum wrapper chain. I remember taking it down when I went off to college when my little sister took over my room. I simply threw it away. I spent hundreds of hours making that damn thing and I just threw it away.
Maybe I didn’t want to be remembered as a gum snapper.
While teaching my fourth graders about solid figures during Math class the other day, I decided to show them how to draw a cube. You would have thought that I just found a cure for cancer.
Earlier in the year, one of my students was almost distraught because he couldn’t make a star. So, I had him come up to the board and baby-stepped a star for him. He was weirdly excited about this. I guess it’s the little things in life.
In my attempt at teaching my students how to make shapes and draw stars, however, I realized that I have created doodling monsters.
And it made me take a trip back to when I was their age.
I am not sure what age kids start doodling. If you have never doodled before in your whole life, then there is something wrong with you. Well, unless there is something wrong with those who doodle. Regardless, people doodle. What the hell does that word even mean? I had to go back to colonial days and name calling to find out.
When the colonists started getting pissed at the British for enacting ridiculous taxes on the colonists, such as the stamp and sugar acts, the beginning of grumbles and throwing tea off boats and the like, they started calling the British names.
“Hey, you stupid lobster……..Hey red-coat!” They wanted the British soldiers to go home. They didn’t want to pay taxes to read a newspaper or to put sugar in their newly imported tea. So, they decided that name calling that helped them cope with high taxes and soldiers walking around wearing white knee socks under their black go-go boots.
And they call us a "doodle."
So, the British soldiers, in their bright red lobster red coat uniforms, called back. They called those silly colonists, “Yankee Doodles.” Now, I teach the Revolutionary War to my fourth graders, so I know all about this time period. I am a little too enthusiastic about teaching it. But, we all know that a “yankee” is a northerner or another name for a colonist. A “doodle” is a “fool” or “simpleton.” In the seventies, we would have used the synonym, “retard,” but it is politically incorrect to say that word now. Retard. I just really like that word.
Anyway, that is what a doodle means. So, what does that have to do with scribbling on the side of your paper? Is that a reference that all people who doodle are retarded? In the seventeenth century, it meant to be lazy or wasting time. But, according to Wikipedia, “In the movie Mr. Deeds Goes to Town, Mr. Deeds mentions that “doodle” was a word made up to describe scribblings to help a person think.” Ahhhhh, this makes so much sense. So, people are not retarded. They are pausing.
So, what Mr. Deeds is telling us is that doodling is good. It is a pause mechanism so to speak. You are pausing while you are thinking about what you want to write about. I learn something new every day. I also learned that if you put toothpaste on a pimple, it will clear up. See, every day, new information.
The modern meaning emerged in the thirties, and meant to “dawdle.” Mr. Deeds, you are confusing me.
Thomas Jefferson, Ronald Reagan and Bill Clinton are some of our famous doodlers. They had been known to doodle during meetings. Reagan most likely doodled with one hand while popping jelly beans in his mouth with the other. Regardless, did they doodle because they were bored, lazy, or retarded? I am sure that the answer could be debated.
I don’t know if the kids doodle in third grade. I only have a few who have started doodling in fourth. It’s usually just a happy face or a “hi” to me on a paper they have to turn in to me. I have a feeling I will be seeing a few cubes in the next week or so, since I told my kids that’s what I doodled when I was in high school. Or was it junior high? I think it was junior high. And I remember exactly what I doodled.
Cubes, flowers, and my name for one. Notice that it isn’t necessarily artistic people who doodle. I can’t draw worth a lick. So, I thought that I would perform an experiment. I decided to doodle and then see if doodles can be interpreted, like dreams. Maybe it can tell me if I am happy or sad, lazy or determined. Smart or retarded.
Some “experts” seem to think that there is a reason that we draw and that like dreams, these symbols have meaning. Well, let’s look into that. I’m sure there is a doodle interpreter somewhere on google…….Yeppers. Found one.
“Doodles can certainly reveal something of a person’s mental state, but it should be noted that no graphologist or psychologist would use them as the sole indicator.” Uh oh. I bet my little cubes mean that I feel boxed in. And writing my name and intials mean I am arrogant. And my balloons mean I want to be a social climber. Am I close? The following information is from drawsketch.about.com.
“Why no, Vickie……Regular patterns from geometric shapes tend to indicate an organised and efficient mind. Triangles are a geometrically stable shape but also suggest direction and sense of purpose.”
So, the author of this study is telling me that I have an organized and efficient mind, eh? I am stable and I have a sense of purpose? Simply splendid.
So, do you doodle? Look at what some of your doodling may mean. Because, you may be mentally unstable and not even be aware of it.
1. Boxes-”3-D boxes indicate an ordered mind and love of routine. Often drawn by people with a good sense of spatial relationships.” Ok, now boxes were and still are the number one thing that I doodle. So, that obviously means that I have an ordered mind and I love routine. Ok, the routine thing is true. Some of my co-workers would argue about the ordered mind part.
2. Flowers- “Doodles of flowers indicate a gentle personality, a love of nature, sometimes childlike innocence or wistfulness. They represent the feminine, passive aspect of the universe.” Oh, yes, I have a gentle personality. Go on please.
3. Stars-”Stars are drawn by ambitious people and may suggest a desire for self-promotion. Little stars indicate optimism, while asymmetrical stars suggest excess energy.” Well, I used to be hyper when I was little. Had to take a little green pill every day before I went to school. That’s probably when I stopped drawing stars.
4. Mazes- Uh Oh..my mazes are not good. “Mazes can suggest a feeling of being lost with nowhere to turn, being unsure of which direction one ought to take, or may indicate mental disorganization.”
5. Hearts- Notice I have none. “generally, hearts are drawn by people in love, but may also indicate a romantic disposition.” Does this mean I should join eharmony?
6. Repetition of doodles- “Repetition is a common feature of doodles that suggests a methodical, patient approach to tasks. Repetition also increases the significance of a particular motif.” I’m thinking that it could mean that one just isn’t creative to think of other doodle marks.
7. Zig zags- “Some sources suggest that zig-zag lines indicate an experience of harsh reality and a need for comfort.” Wow, I’m just all over the place. Does that mean I am unstable?
8. Wavy lines- “Wavy lines are sometimes drawn to represent long hair, meaning a desire for beauty and femininity.” Would that mean if I desire it, I must not have it?
9. Arrows- I have always doodled arrows. “Arrows represent direction and ambition. Drawn aggressively, they represent a desire for action. Drawn in careful outline, they indicate a desire for progression or advancement, especially if pointing upwards.” Aw, look. My arrows are pointed up. I want to advance.
10. Eyes- I would draw eyes with glasses sometimes. I don’t know why. But, according to the doodle doctor, “They are sometimes regarded as showing a wish to be desirable.” So, I’m ugly. Is that what you are saying? Oh, this just keeps getting better.
I personally like to doodle. Will I like seeing doodles on the margins of my fourth graders’s papers? Sure, as long as they have their work done. I usually let them draw when they get done with their work anywho.
In the end, like dream interpretation, doodling symbols and shapes can be interpreted too. So, the next time you draw a balloon, know that that really means that you are emotional and long for love and harmony. If you draw straight lines for boxes and houses, you like to be in control. And finally, if you draw stars and things with triangles in them, you are looking to vent.
Remember when you were very young and you were given shapes and had to put them in the holes of the same shape? Well, you shouldn’t, unless you played with them when you were eleven. But, most of us have played with those little shape finders. Some kids were stared at by some guy with a clipboard, clad in a long white jacket to determine how long it took you to put the circle block in the circle hole. If it took too long, then you were retarded. (Sorry, my word in my generation.) Regardless, we had to fit things where they belonged.
And now I am doing that again with an addiction called Pinterest.
Pinterest. It’s going to what gets me fired from my teaching job. I haven’t gone to Pinterest from school yet. But, I want to. But, for those of you who have not received your invitation yet, you are probably wondering, “Vickie, what exactly is a Pinterest?” Hell, I don’t know how to explain it.
It’s like gathering and sorting and putting things in their places. Things we like. And we put them in little squares and rectangles. And then we give those little “boards” names, like “My Style” or “Bucket List.” You see, Pinterest is for pinning our interests. Hence, the name Pin terest.
Say you like cats. Well, there are cute little images of cats that other pinteresters (my word) find on the web and upload onto one of their little boards. And then someone might see it and smile and think, “I like that, and then you would re-pin it, which means steal it in a way. Someone is doing the work finding an image online and you can take it for your own little categorized board. And then maybe your friend likes that picture and takes it from you. Oh, they don’t take it, per se, but copy it. And it goes on and on. It’s all the rage.
Being that my explanation sucks, let me say that lot of well known people have pinterest. Martha Stewart, Ellen DeGeneres, and Maria Shriver, to name a few. Maria Shriver is now following me. Yeah, you can follow people if you like their boards. You can even see if someone repins one of your pins. Doesn’t this sound fun?
So, as mentioned so precisely, a board is where you put everything from one category. Here are some random boards that people have on their pinterest:
Recipes to Try Travel Furry Friends Quotes My Style Christmas
Humor Sweet Tooth For the Birds For the House Products I Love Fall
You can have as many boards as you want on Pinterest. Some people only have five. Some have hundreds and thousands of followers. As of today, I have 70 boards. I am following 74 people and I have 50 followers. And right now I need to wash clothes. But, here I am, writing a blog post on my wordpress addiction about my new Pinterest addiction. I’m so glad I don’t smoke or drink.
I do worry about myself when I look at some of my board titles. I have some “normal” boards, but then I have weird ones. I mean, I have one titled, “Ventriloquist Dummies Creep Me Out,” where I have repinned a bunch of disturbing scary wooden people.
“Nuns Scare Me” is another board. Because, well, they do scare me.
And then I followed it with some food. A board just for dips. “Dip It, Dip It Good.” I liked that title.
Here’s a list of some of my other boards. Well, just in case something may catch your eye. And then you could say, “Hey, Vickie likes that too!”
1. My Blog-Jumping in Mud Puddles
2. Wanderlust
3. I Love Central Park
4. Favorite Movies
5. Quotes and Written Stuff
6. My Fascinating People
7. Hang it On a Wall
8. Animals I Like
9. I Dont Think So…
10. History Dork
11. Funny
12. Bare Ware
13.When Pigs Fly
14. Saturday morning Cartoons
15 All Things Mendenhall
Yeah, I could go on for another 55 titles, but you can see my sampling and the things that “pinterest” me. Don’t you want to be a pinterester too?
Katie Couric just pinned a bunch of pictures for one of her boards, “Best Advice Contributors.” Pretty interesting selection. Or perhaps I should say pinteresting. She’s getting into it, I can tell.
All in all, pinterest is a lot of fun. I’ve tried new recipes and now know that I can use tootpaste on a pimple.
WordPress, please don’t be jealous. I have several categories just for you, “Photo’s For My Blog” and “Blogs I Follow.” Writing is still my passion. But, pinterest is my obsession this month.
And that’s how easy it is to put a round peg in a square hole.
I was an avid reader when I was younger. I always knew what that crazy Nancy Drew was up to. I knew the Ringmaster’s Secret. I knew where the Hidden Staircase was hiding. I knew that showboat was haunted. Yep, I read all of the books. I was a huge fan.
And sure, I read Dr. Seuss, but I was years beyond his silliness. Ok, I did fall for One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish and I stared a little bit too much at the dog party in the tree in my favorite, Go, Dog, Go, but I really felt a bond with Nancy. In fact, I felt like I could be Nancy. Except that I would have never worn a skirt while solving a mystery. I would have been all about pedal pushers and sneakers.
Fast forward many years and I was still able to keep up with my reading, even after I had my two children. Of course, then I was a huge Dean Koontz fan. His early book, Whispers, will always be my favorite Dean Koontz book. I also read a lot by John Saul. But, my reading time was diminishing. It was no one’s fault but my own. Al Gore had just invented the internet, you know, and I had surfing to do. I surfed the world wide web. And down went the book.
Bad Vickie. I never did sit and read Great Expectations again. Oh, how I love Miss Havisham. I purchased The American Tragedy last summer because I loved the movie version, A Place in the Sun, with Montgomery Cliff and Elizabeth Taylor. East of Eden and Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother are still staring at me from my nightstand. They realize it is never going to happen. Afterall, I then discovered Facebook and Farmtown. Farmville. Something on a farm.
And it was never going to happen once I discovered blogging. WordPress is really to blame for my inexcusable lack of reading. If I wasn’t writing, I was reading other blogger’s blogs. I was then commenting on them. Soon I decided, “Hell, I want to write my own book.” I was a frenzied writer. I found that I love to write. I don’t know if I am a good writer. I cringe when I notice that I have left out commas or spelled “threw” for “through.” Not professional, Vickster. But, just put me in a cabin in the woods with a typewriter and some paper laptop and my username and password, and I could just write all damn day long. But, I guess I have to earn a living, so a fourth grade teacher I shall be.
But, something got me back to take another look at books.
No, it wasn’t the new-fangled Kindle Fire. That may get to me to read again. It didn’t.
No, I didn’t fall for the Harry Potter or Twilight books. I hated Eat, Breathe, and Die or whatever it was called. The movie version starred Julia Roberts. I saw the movie and hated it. You know that woman got an advance to write the book before she even took the journey to find herself, right? She surely laughed all the way to the bank.
No, it was Hunger Games.
I don’t know why it was Hunger Games that made me head to the couch, curl up with a lightweight throw on my lap, and settle in for the evening. Ahhhhhh, a good book. I felt like I was home. Oh, sure I was home, but I felt so satisfied, so complete, so intelligent. I was reading again. Yeehaw!
But, wait. I am torn. My lost love of reading has been reborn. But, alas, what the hell is to become of my blogging? I plan on reading all three of the Hunger Game books in the next week. I can’t put the first one down. Well, I did, just to write to all of you a farewell of sorts, until this reading foolishness subsides.
Yes, blog buddies, I am not going to blog again for a week or so. I want to read. And read I must. And I can’t do both. That would feel like cheating.
So, I bid adieu to all my old and new blogging friends as I need but a brief respite….so I can read. After all, I want to go see the Hunger Games movie this weekend, so I must get a move on. All of my teacher friends at school have already read all three books and are getting tired of not being able to talk about it. I need to catch up before they bust at the seams.
I bought the book yesterday and am on Chapter 11 right now. I am hooked.
Well, time is up. I gave myself fifteen minutes to write this. Times a tickin. My book is calling out to me.
My best to you and I will see you in a week’s time.
I have been tagged. I didn’t know what that meant at first, so I headed over to Marina Sleeps to see what was up.
It isn’t an award. But, it’s almost like one. It’s a diversion! I don’t think people realize how these things are a great way to build readership and in the process discover some other really great blogs. I mean, not saying my blog is great, but you know what I mean. (My blog is great.)I really enjoy these things. I can get into this. So, here are the rules:
*You must post the rules.
*Answer the questions the tagger set for you in their post and then create eleven new questions to ask the people you tagged.
*Tag eleven people and link them to your post.
*Let them know you tagged them.
Eleven? Ok, I can ask questions all day.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Here are the questions that Marina Sleeps has asked eleven bloggers and here are my answers.
1.What does the saying “Kicking ass and taking names” even mean???
When you see someone kicking a donkey, you need to find out who they are so you can turn them in to the animal cruelty people.
2. You are driving. Someone flips you off. What is the best reaction?
Ah, Olympic gymnast Mary Lou Retton’s mom flipped me off one time. She was in front of me in her stupid little convertible, looking at herself in the mirror when the light turned green. I had to honk my horn, and she flipped me off. I laughed and did the little motion with my index finger circling the side of my temple that means one is crazy, and she flipped me off again. The best reaction, however, is to hit them with your car.
3. If you could be someone else for a day who would you be?
Oh, that is so easy. Wait. Would I also be able to time travel? If so, I would be my grandfather, circa 1965. I would change my will to leave everyone out but my favorite grandaughter, Vickie.
4. What is the craziest thing you have done?
Ihave done so many crazy things. When I was in college, I was on the costumes crew for a play and we were not allowed to miss dress rehearsal AT ALL. If we did, we would get a cut in our final grade. Well, I was invited by a really nice looking guy to attend the Billy Joel concert that same night. So, over the course of two weeks, I became progressively sicker each practice (the director kept telling me to go home, but I told her I would be ok) The night before the concert and dress rehearsal, I told the director I just had a blood test to see if I had mono. She felt my forehead and told me to go home and that she didn’t want to see me for three nights. I went to the concert, and on the way home stopped at a club and Billy Joel was there. We had drinks with him and he sat at our table for about 45 minutes, and I couldn’t tell anyone. Karma bites me in the ass.
5. How will you survive the Zombie apocalypse?
Zombies have poor motor skills, so I would have to be faster than them. And that means, I will need GatorAde. Yes, electrolytes will save me. I would also hide out at a carnival’s House of Mirrors. The poor undead would be so confused. I would be able to get out and be on my way to my next hiding place. He would then forget what he went in there for.
6. Can you explain what is wrong with the Olsen Twins and Lindsey Lohan?
It’s a twin thing. Ashley Kate or Mary….Ashley Mary and Kate…..Kate Mary and Ashley…shit…wait…I can get this….Mary Kate and Ashley. Ok, Anywho, they have an identity problem. Remember, only one of them were able to be on Full House. Lindsey Lohan had to play two kids on The Parent Trap. Lindsey thinks there really are two of them. The Olsens think there should only be one. That’s why they are photographed standing so close to each other. They are trying to morph into one. Lindsey is a lost soul because she can’t find herself.
7. What deadly sin are you guilty of committing?
Oh, how easy is this one. Writers are vain. My deadly sin is Pride, the “excessive belief in one’s own abilities, that interferes with the individual’s recognition of the grace of God. It has been called the sin from which all others arise. Pride is also known as Vanity.” I think I am awesome. I’m so vain, I probably think this blog is about me…. Don’t I? Don’t I? Don’t I?
8. What is one song you are embarrassed to like?
I’m going to go with the first song that popped into my head…”I want a Hippopotamus for Christmas.” I can really sing this one.
9. What is a day in your life like?
Well, it is excitement with a capital E. Let’s take a weekday….a Tuesday. I get up at 5:30 and play on the computer until 6:10. I take my shower, get ready for work, talk to my cat, back out of the garage, drive through Hardees and order a butter biscuit and a medium Coke, drive 40 minutes on back roads, dodging stupid drivers who drive left of center, get to school, put the schedule on the board, after the rugrats come in, teach all day, only taking 30 minutes to have lunch with “The Lunch Bunch,” (best group of ladies ever), where we curse and bitch about the kids, drive to the gym on the way home, curse at the elliptical, stop at Subway for a 6 inch turkey breast on Italian with provolone, lettuce, just a few onions and one line of mayonaisse, and a medium Coke, go home, eat, get on the internet, do some house crap, and then watch New Girl at 9:00, talk to the cat, and then go to bed after talking to friends on Facebook. Fun times on a Tuesday.
10. Can you dance like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever?
Uh, yeah. I was there.
11. What kind of child are you? 60′s child? 70′s child? etc etc?
Well, I was born in the mid-fifties. I was ten years old in 1966, and sixteen in 1972. I touched base with all of them. I am old. But, you could never tell because I look so damn young. Plus, I am vain. See deadly sin question.
Ok, that was fun. Now my turn to ask questions to the people I shall tag……
1. What one movie could you watch every day?
2. If you had to change your first name, what name would you fancy?
3. You just got kicked out of your country. You aren’t allowed back. What country would move to? Why?
4. You are only allowed to eat one vegetable for the rest of your life. Discuss.
5. You get to bring home a celebrity. Do with them what you want. Who would you bring home?
6. Name three adjectives that describe you best.
7. You have to pick one…cat or dog? Why?
8. You have just been chosen to be in the Olympics. And you get to pick any sport you want. What sporting event will you be participating in? For what country?
9. Pick an idiom that you would like my fourth graders to draw this Friday for Idiom Friday.
10. My favorite cartoon character was Foghorn Leghorn? And yours?
11. A two-part question: What is your favorite smell? Your favorite sound?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
TAG, YOU’RE IT!!!!! Answer the questions, and follow the rules. And if you don’t, I totally don’t care. People will click and come visit your blogs and find out what great writers you are, and will then follow you and write wonderful replies to your posts. And then they will find more blogs to click on and so it goes.
If your blog is not one of those up above, and you read this post and want to play along, just copy the questions and answer them in the reply. Don’t forget to put your link on the reply so we can visit your blog.
Ok, so I have done my part. Well, except for letting the eleven know that I tagged them. They will want to hug me, I am sure. Or throw rocks. But, in any event, I have done my part.
So, “Tag, you’re it!” And I am now sterilized forever.
When I was little, I had to look up words to see what they meant in a gigantic red dictionary my mom kept alongside our World Book Encyclopedias. I was never able to look up phrases like we can today on the internet. I was so curious about everything. But, you know, I used to have to be nibby and ask people about things I was curious about. I would have never met most of our neighbors if I had the internet and all the answers to my childish questions. “Mrs. Jones, why does that man drive into your garage in the middle of the night almost every night and then leave right before I get on the bus? Is that your brother?” Ok, just kidding, but I could have just looked up “What is an affair” into the google search engine that would have answered all of my questions. But, how lonely that would have been for me. I would have salivated over the opportunity to travel all over the freaking world without leaving my chair………. Um, like I am doing now at age 55…….. Shit. I am a loser.
I have to admit that I really enjoy reading all of the search terms that pop up every day on my Word Press dashboard. For those of you who don’t blog here, we bloggers are able to see what search engine terms brought people to our site. For example, I wrote a blog about a monkey, and tagged the post with words such as, “monkey,” “fun,” laugh,” and ”pet store.” Meanwhile, some stranger in Internet Land typed in the Google search bar, “monkey poop,” and it showed up as a search engine term. That internet person would be able to read my blog post if he wanted to, or just say to himself, “Well, hell, this is about a monkey on someone’s head. Monkeyshines Where’s the monkey poop?
Of course, I didn’t know the monkey poop question poser was from. But, since I have started blogging, I have seen bizarre search engine terms pop up. I’d like to share some of them with you. And my blog posts that brought them here.
1. Was Helen Keller black slave- This poor person has no idea what is going on in life. I wrote One Tough Cookie about several strong personalities. Helen Keller was one of them. I’m pretty sure she wasn’t a black slave. I also wrote Play Time, where I discussed how my bff, Ramaine, and I used to play Helen Keller and Annie Sullivan. I always got to be Helen. Bad Karma. My hearing is shot nowadays.
2. How old is a 1 year old pig- I got this one yesterday. I just don’t know where to start with this one. I guess a one year old pig is different ages. Maybe the searcher wants to know how old a one year old pig is in human years. I have no idea, but here, pig googler, read one of my pig blog posts. And This Little Piggy…., Guinea Pig Children and an early post, Feeling Like an Oinker-Pig
3. Billy Joel fat ugly- Aw, that is just so not nice. Where you looking for a picture of Billy Joel? Because what you got was this. Lies That Bite Back
4. Fish guts stains your teeth- Um, okay…I wonder what this guy has been eating. Evidently his teeth are now black. Or some color. I just shuddered…again. My story is about fish guts, but someone was wearing them, not eating them. The Fish Head Story. It is also the second hardest I have ever laughed in my life. That’s right. I have them numbered.
5. Can nuns carry guns- Uh, oh, someone is in trouble or planning to make a hit on Bingo night at the church. I have a lot of posts about nuns. I am afraid of nuns. I do think they carry guns. They keep it in a thigh holster. I’m pretty sure. But, while you are contemplating robbing Sister Betrille, sit awhile and read about my nun stories. Snakes, Gasoline, and a Nun, Vickie With an E, Edgewood, and one of my favorites, Bring Back the Nuns Arrrgh!
6. I have mosquito bite boobs 15- Oh, honey, I can relate. This blog post will not help whatsoever. But, I once was a mosquito bite boober. Sigh. Mosquito Bites
7. dirty potato- What was this person thinking when he searched for this? Maybe he forgot to wash potatoes before cooking and now thinks maybe bugs were all over them? I’m sure he is going to die. If you take your lap top to the Emergency room, you can read these posts while they take an x-ray of those dirty veggies in your stomach. Rats! is about how we fed a rat in our apartment to keep him from coming upstairs and eating our faces while we slept. Or try, Old Wive’s Tales, where you need to know the importance of washing behind your ears.
8. boogey man just called me- Ok, let me get this right. The boogey man just called you, and you get off the phone and google, “Boogey man just called me.” Wow, you are a brave soul. I would have run upstairs and hid under my bed. Which would probably not be a good idea, because that’s where the boogey man is. Dear God, I’m not going to be able to sleep tonight. I Killed the Boogey Man
9. Wont be fooled April 1- I used to be the Queen of April Fool’s jokes. But, someone finally got me. Got me good. So, April Fool’s Day google searcher, read this post and feel for me. D-I-V-O-R-C-E
10. catsup is catsnip- Ew, and my God you are stupid. The whole Ketchup/catsup scenario is mind boggling I know. I wrote a post on ketchp sandwiches, which is not the same as catsup sandwiches, which is somehow cat related, I was told. I should google it. Ketchup Sandwiches
So, those are just a random sampling of some of the search terms I receive each day. I really like the idea of how tagging can bring more traffic to my blog. It’s a great idea. But, the next time you want to search for something and you don’t want anyone to know about it, just know that we know.
Here are some more search terms that are just weird as hell:
*What is it when I have white stuff on my gums near my molars.
*pee in my snowsuit
*video girls in mud
*vomiting hid in nightstand
*the longest poop in the world
*ant bit lips
*detergent poison how to poison
*green snot infection
*stuck his tongue down my throat
*is eating paint chips still bad
*Hitler had son Jimmy Hitler
*armpit smells like garlic
*pet dead dog infreezer til ground thaws out bury
Yes, search terms are interesting, that’s for sure.
I remember the very first thing I did a search on when I got the internet……Wooly worms. Do you remember what you searched for?
Hi. I teach fourth grade in a small, country school in West Virginia. As some people know, that is in the western part of Virginia. But, we sort of are our own state. As a fourth grade teacher, part of my job is to teach Social Studies. Now, I realize that the textbook people only put in the books what they want to put in there, so my facts may be a bit off. But, my intentions are swell.
Today is President’s Day. Banks and post offices are closed today. Some schools are closed. I do think my garbage is going to be picked up this morning, but it’s nothing you have to worry about. But, today is the day when we honor George Washington. His birthday is February 22. Well, it is now called Presidents’ Day, originally known as Washington’s Birthday. Someone complained that since Abe Lincoln’s birthday is February 12, that they should be combined for one big hybrid of a birthday party. So, President’s Day falls on the third Monday of February. This year Presidents’ Day falls on February 20, 2012.
Ok, but that is not why I’m writing. I am writing today to the French people of France, Canada, and to the pockets of French people hanging out in New Orleans and any place called Louisville, to thank you for letting us have the opportunity to celebrate Georgie’s birthday. Your ancestors were nice people. Really nice people.
Now, you have to understand that I have to teach the textbook. Sort of. Sure, I let my kids know what a nut case Christopher Columbus was, and how Amerigo Vespucci may have told little white lies about his adventures, but I teach what I know. And I make up the rest.
The French basically came to the Americas for beaver fur. I guess. Maybe. Oh, my goodness, though, how they loved trapping! From what my textbook tells me, their route was mainly down the St. Lawrence River. The British, on the other hand, were swatting mosquitoes further south in Jamestown, years after a whole colony disappeared from Roanoke. The only thing left behind was a carving on a post or tree that simply read, CROA. I personally think they were trying to write, “Croak,” as in they all died. The last colonist, God love him, just didn’t have enough strength to write that final letter. Well, ok, I guess there was a Croatoan tribe nearby, so historians seem to think that is what someone was trying to write. But, you know, if one group disappears from the area, why would you try to go there again? Gluttons for punishment, those British were.
But, the first French explorers made friends with the Native Americans and learned all about hunting, fishing, and this will be important in a little bit, fighting. So, they hung out. Made hats made out of beavers. Meanwhile, the colonists are pushing westward. The Native Americans are pissed because their hunting ground is disappearing and they just really were tired of the colonists sneaking at night, stealing their crops because they didn’t realize that, duh, maybe they should have planted stuff when they arrived. The first colonists to arrive in the new land were not so bright.
To the French, the Ohio Valley was an important link between France’s holdings in Canada and Louisiana. The British saw it as an area for trade and growth. By about 1750, the French had moved to make their claim to the Ohio Valley stronger. They sent soldiers into the region to drive out the British traders. They also began building a line of forts near the eastern end of the valley.
But, both sides decided they wanted the Ohio Valley. The French began building a series of forts in the disputed land. In 1753, Lieutenant Governor Robert Dinwiddie of Virginia (the name always makes my students giggle), was pissed. He said this was like an act of war. So, he sent a young Georgie Washington with a letter to the French that they had to leave the area. How dare they build forts in the land that they wanted to eventully steal from the Indians. Washington headed over the Appalachian Mountains, all by his lonesome, and delivered the message.
He knocked on the fort’s door. (I’m making this part up because my textbook doesn’t tell me where he went when he delivered the message. So, you know, I am improvising.)
“Hey, um, yeah, hello…..My name is George Washington. I’m 21 and new to this. I have a message from Lt. Governor Robert Dinwiddie (the French giggled) Hey, um, you guys are going to have to leave. You can’t build forts in this area.”
“Go home, Georgie,” said the French guy who answered the fort door. “We are not leaving. Go away, you silly boy.”
Well, they could have captured him or killed him, but they let him go. They could have even laughed at him for coming such a long distance with no real back up, only to leave without even as much as a cup of coffee. So, Washington had to sleep somewhere, right? You see all those places that used to say, “Washington slept here.” Well, uh, yeah, because Dinwiddie made him travel so damn much.
Dinwiddie was not happy with the response from the fort building French. He sent a small force of soldiers from Virginia. Their orders were to build a fort at the Forks of the Ohio River, where the city of Pittsburgh now stands. Two can play this game, dammit.
Where the hell is the fort?
The Virginians had barely finished the fort when the French attacked it. The French drove off the Virginians and built a larger fort on that site. They called it Fort Duquesne, after some French guy named Duquesne. The French didn’t care for the Colonial look, evidently, and wanted a more Woodsy look to their fort. Unaware of the French attack, Dinwiddie sent young George once again to the Forks of the Ohio River to reinforce the Virginian’s fort. So, Washington didn’t know this, because his internet was getting spotty reception. He was all set to get to the fort with supplies, ready to make the fort pretty and maybe hang some curtains. Can you imagine if he actually got to the fort, and wondered why the key didn’t open the door? Or something like that.
So, Washington left Williamsburg with an army of 150 Virginians. On their way to the fort, the Virginians surprised a small group of French soldiers on patrol. Thinking “we might be attacked by considerable forces,” Washington later wrote, they built a makeshift fort that they called Fort Necessity. Because, well, it was necessary. Within days a large force of more than 600 French soldiers and 100 indian allies attacked Fort Necessity. Washington and his men surrendered in what turned out to be the opening battle of the French and Indian War. And guess what? The French let Washington and his soldiers return to Virginia.
“Go home, Georgie.” they said in a thick, French accent. (Ok, I’m taking liberties with the facts once again.) “Haven’t you learned your lesson, little boy? We are the French, and you are……not.”
Now, that makes two times that the French let George Washington go. They could have killed him. But, they didn’t. The next thing you know, Washington is fighting alongside Braddock. The French and Indian War. I don’t know why they called it this, because the French did not fight the Indians.
In April of 1755, General Edward Braddock was ordered to capture Fort Duquense. Oh, God, here we go again. He and more than 1,800 british and colonial soldiers began the long trip to the fort. He invited George along as an advisor. I mean, why wouldn’t he? George knew the route blind folded by now. Well, they made it as far as nearby Fort Necessity, when they met up with a force of about 900 French and Indian soldiers. Those damn French and Indians fired upon them from trees and boulders. What the hell? The British were used to open field fighting, so this threw them for a loop. They had never fought an enemy this way before. They “broke and ran,” Washington later wrote, “as sheep before the hounds.” We call that AWOL nowadays. When the battle ended, two thirds of the British were dead or wonded. Braddock was killed.
I should mention that the British should have caught on fairly quickly that bright red uniforms and a drummer making a racket would maybe give the French the heads-up that they were coming. Just sayin. Quit the damn rat-a-tat-tat, for God’s sake. You need to be quiet, stupid Red-coats.
It doesn’t say what happened to Washington after this battle, but he somehow managed to limp home. Was this guy lucky, or what? Some historians mention that Washington was standing close to Braddock when he was killed. It was just wasn’t a good day for Eddie Braddock.
So, French people, your ancestors could have easily killed Washington at least three times. But, they didn’t. If they had, we wouldn’t have the cool quote about Washington choppping down the cherry tree. Denzil would not have a last name. We wouldn’t have Mount Vernon. Washington DC may very well be called DC or Columbia District. Thousands of streets would go nameless. Washington, Pennsylvania, would be called Braddock or Necessity, or something totally different. There would never have been a crossing of the Delaware. Hell, maybe we would never be a nation because his army would not have been there. This is like It’s A Wonderful Life, starring George Washington as George Bailey.
So, yeah, thank you, French people, for letting me teach about Georgie Washington, father of our country.
This period of history is my favorite time period to teach. And I have my fourth graders write pretend thank you cards to the French every year after we study this.
If you give me an address maybe we will mail them for real.
Sincerely,
V. Mendenhall, fourth grade Social Studies teacher and occasional smart ass
We have become a society of abbreviators. Our words are abbreviated. Our actions are abbreviated. I’m sure everyone has heard the phrase,”as a crow flies.” That means a shortcut or diagnonally in some crow talking circles. And that’s what we have all become. We are crows. Well, that’s not all that bad. Sure, maybe crows enjoy pecking dead things on the side of the road. I know some people who are peckers. (She laughed writing that) But, all in all, crows are intelligent birds, and if they have found a shortcut home, more power to the them. God bless us, for being stupid. Crows don’t follow a road, Goofball Head. They don’t think in those terms. We do.
“Well, if I was a crow, I guess I would live diagonally about, um, 6 blocks over. Yeah, so I live 6 blocks from here……..as a crow flies.”
I was a smart ass when I was in college and replied to someone who said that with a “How close for a blue jay?” He just looked at me like I was stupid. I’m not stupid….. I’m a crow.
But, we have become a nation of shortcutters. But, it didn’t start with our generation. People abbreviated long before we knew what the hell “LOL” meant.
It all started with contractions. They are similar to an abbreviation, but not really. “Hey, Bob, You know, I’m getting tired of talking and writing. I think I am going to shorten my words. Do ya see how I already did it? I shortened ” I am” to “I’m.” It’s amazing how he took a very long word and shortened it. And that’s how it started. A very lazy man came up with a way for all of us to be lazy. We have a whole list of ass-long words that we have shortened into contractions:
it’s - it is
don’t - do not
you’re – you are
isn’t - is not
we’ve-we have
Who would not want to shorten their words? Who wouldn’t want to shorten their words? See how easy that was? I will get done with this post so much faster now.
Since I am a school teacher, I have noticed that buses are now shorter. Well, some of them are.There are short buses because, well, they are special. I will leave it at that.
Yes ,we have become oh so lazy. We can blame our great grandparents…………..and poets. Poets used “Tis” a lot. Like that wild party girl, Emily Jane Bronte:
‘Tis moonlight, summer moonlight, All soft and still and fair; The solemn hour of midnight Breathes sweet thoughts everywhere…”
And Edgar Allen Poe’s The Raven (Which is like a crow, but maybe even smarter.)
’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door; Only this, and nothing more.”
Tis means “it is”. Wait…. So does it’s. No wonder foreign people who want to learn English hate us. We have a screwed up language.
And we all know the famous, “Twas the Night Before Christmas.” Abbreviated.
Let’s take a look at some abbreviations that people used long ago and then some that we use now. Back then, people didn’t have the luxury to burst into laughter on paper like we can now. LOL
P.S.- This means post script, which I didn’t know for longest time. The term comes from the Latin post scriptum, meaning “written after.” When I was in elementary school and we first used P.S., I thought it meant like “Pssssssst, hey listen to this, there’s more.” My teacher never told us what it meant. It’s her fault that I got laughed at when I was in high school when I raised my hand to answer, “What does P.S. mean?” with a “Pssssssst.” I think I was called a space cadet….. No, I was a crow.
RSVP- Hey, we need to hear back from you. Respond soon veryplease. Or something like that. That’s what I said it was. Again, not my fault. Sucky teacher. RSVP comes from the French phrase, répondez s’il vous plaît. I know French very well and translated, it really means,” respond with your plate.”
TNT- Pulled this one out of my hat, didn’t I? Well, I thought of TNT only because I grew up with it. Wile E. Coyote lived at my house and was always trying to kill the Road Runner. He had a bunch of Acme products to use on the little speedy bird. “TNT” was written on the box.
I had no idea what TNT really meant. It was dynamite, but not really. You light the string and things blow up. TNT actually stands for trinitroluene. Nobody cares about that.
lb- pounds. This abbreviation just pissed me off. It makes no sense whatsoever. It should be pd. Everyone knows that. I remember getting this marked wrong when we had a measurement test in fourth grade. I remember it because stupid Miss Emler wrote on the board, “John weighs 200 lbs.” She wanted to show how pounds is abbreviated in a sentence. Well, I missed that part because I was thinking about this imaginary John fellow, and was hoping he was not in fourth grade somewhere. Totally missed the point and missed it on the test. Fat John kept me from having a perfect paper, dammit.
Boo- Right now I am teaching my fourth graders about the events leading up to the Revolutionary War. We read about how people gathered in the streets of Boston, yelling, “No taxation without representation.” The British to tend to make a few words into pages of long words, and it spilled over to their descendants. So, I had my class chant that phrase three times. You could not tell what the hell they were saying. It sounded like mumbled gibberish and they knew it. That’s when my lies kicked in and I told them how that phrase evolved over years to be. “Boooo” when we aren’t happy with something. Makes sense. We Americans shortened, “We are mad as hell, and we don’t like this one iota” to “Boooo!” Means the same damn thing, only shortened. Boo isan expression of disgust, dissatisfaction, or disapproval.
XL- Sigh. Extra Large. You know, this sucks. Why doesn’t it just say on the label, ”Bigger than Large.” It would make us previous size 0′s feel better about gaining 5 pounds every freaking year to the point where you have to wear an XL and draw pictures of pigs to put on your refrigerator in an effort to keep you from eating. One last sigh.
tv- Easy one. Short for television. I don’t think anyone ever says television anymore. “I think I will watch television right now.” Nope. Doesn’t work anymore. “We are heading to Walmart to buy a new television set.” (Thought I would try it one more time. Still doesn’t work.)
IQ- “He has the IQ of a worm.” “He has an intelligence quotient of a worm.” Well, I did feel smarter writing the second one. The only time I use the word quotient is when I am teaching division and I don’t use it that much becauss they have a hard enough time dividing.
St.- I don’t know about this one. Why would anyone abbreviate a saint? It’s like taking away their sainthood. Right, Saint Christopher? Saint Christopher was the patron saint of many many things, such as athletes, mariners, and travelers. He was against lightning, pestilence, bookbinders, epilepsy, floods, and um, fruit dealers. I’m really not making this stuff up. I wonder if a fruit dealer didn’t give him the correct change or his watermelon had too many seeds. You just can’t trust fruit dealers.
I.O.U.- No brainer. I owe you some money.
Yes, we are a society of abbreviators. And we are also shorter than usual. Our height is indeed, abbreviated. Studies show that we are getting shorter than our hunter-gatherer ancestors. So, everything is shorter. Except for maybe skirts. They were at their shortest in 1974. I know, because I wore one of them. You could not bend over.
So, go ahead and head home as a crow flies. RSVP to a friend’s wedding. Wear high heels to make you taller. Sit in front of the tv and watch your favorite show. Write a poem that starts with Tis. Call a married woman, Ms. or an unmarried woman Mrs. and see if they correct you. You can get short changed at the fruit dealer like our friend, St. Christopher. Abbreviations are all around us.
I have been playing Words with Friends and have become quite addicted to the little game. I can understand how Alec Baldwin just couldn’t put it away. I play it from Facebook. I’ve always been a Scrabble player, and I didn’t think this would match what Scrabble offers. When I first started playing, I thought you had to sit there and play it. I mean, that’s what you do with Scrabble. But, no. I found out that you can play a word, go out to eat, watch a movie, and then play your next word. It would suck if your opponent had no such plans, and was waiting for you. But, after playing a couple of times, you finally figure out that you can lead a life, be a mother, wash clothes, AND play Word with Friends. But, I’m not writing about how wonderful the game is. Oh, it is wonderful. I’m writing about particular opponents who are just pissing me off.
They are pissing me off because it reminds me of games I played when I was little. My mom taught me how to play everything from 500 Rummy , Gin, chess, to Yahtzee and chinese checkers. As I have written numerous times, I was a hyperactive child, but games and strategy kept me in focus. I was all about the game. But now, my opponents, well, they weren’t in the same league as me. At eight years of age, I was a gaming professional, dammit, and I expected those who played with me to follow the rules. Just follow the rules.
It all started with Candy Land. If my sister was losing, she would quit. I would have my little gingerbread man close to the end, ready for a little gingerbread victory dance. It would be exciting. Everyone likes to win. But then, she would simply stand up and make an exit.
“I quit. This is a stupid game.” What the hell, stupid sister? You always finish what you start. I was hyperactive as that little cartoon dog that follows the huge Bulldog, Spike, and I even knew that. I was three years older than she was, and she was an easy mark, but that is no excuse for a five year old. Get off the short bus and finish the damn game. But no. If was ahead by much, she would just stand up and quit.
Get back up and fight, soldier.
When we played Go to the Head of The Class, and if I was winning, she would quit. If we were playing Button, Button, Who’s Got the Button, and she was on a lower step, she would just get up and walk away. If we played Chutes and Ladders, she would pout for a while, and then get up and walk away. I mean, come on. It was Chutes and Ladders. That is one game that should be played to the very end. Well, like all freaking games. What the hell is wrong with you? Games are meant to be played until the end. End of discussion. Like my mom always said:
Quitters never prosper.
Dear God, I think she said that several times a week. I didn’t know what the hell “prosper” meant for the longest time, but that didn’t matter. I learned about context clues all on my own. Quitters never something…..Quitters never won…..Quitters were always losers. Yeah, that’s it. Quitters were losers. My sister was a loser. God, I wish someone would have thought to put their finger in an L shape over their forehead years ago. I would never have had to talk. There were a lot of losers in my household.
So, why do people quit? Did the ClemsonTigers leave the football field during the Orange Bowl when the West Virginia Mountaineers were pummeling them 70-33? No. They stayed until the very end. Thank goodness, or we wouldn’t be able to put these billboards up on the interstate near Morgantown. I love my WVU.
Yeah, it's a real sign.
It reminds me of the kid who brings the ball and if doesn’t get his way, snatches the ball and walks home. Cry baby. But, for the most part, sports teams stay until the very end. My son had a ten-run rule when he played baseball when he was younger. But, no one was quitting. They were just sent home early, dignity intact abeit tail behind their legs.
I did get confused about the whole quitting scenario because my mom used to always tell me when I got in trouble:
Quit while you’re ahead
Understand my confusion? First she was telling me all Kung Fu Caine-like that “Quitters never prosper” and then she turns around and tells me to “Quit while I’m ahead.” I’m thinking my mom may have been wise, but not all the way. She was a Sybil quoter, split personality and all. I should add that she used to also say, “Cheaters never prosper.” No one prospered with that woman.
I guess my rant should make a sharp point. Well, let me back up. Now that I have been playing Words with Friends for a few weeks now, I have gotten used to the people I play. I can tell which ones use other sources because, I mean, what the hell does “distome” mean? Well, I will tell you what it means. It is a parasitic flatworm. Ok, sure maybe Player #1 had an opponent play it and they remembered to play it with me. I guess I shouldn’t complain. I am using new words that I have learned. I’m not talking about the vocabulary geniuses/Scrabble dictionary users. Right now, I’m talking about the quitters.
I am currently playing twenty people. Well, sixteen people, since my son and I are in the middle of four games. But, I have two opponents that I play a lot who just quit if there are only about seven tiles left and I am way out in front. Then they immediately start another game. What? Oh my God, is my sister on the other end? Why do you do this? I don’t do it when someone is beating the hell out me, 419-302. I know I’m going to lose. But, I don’t quit. I play to the very end. Sure, I may send a friend a note that reads: “Is there any stopping you?” like I did today to a friend I just can not beat. She is good. And she probably appreciates the fact that I don’t quit.
I received this award from Mr. Tinney, one of my new blogging neighbors. The great thing about awards is how you get to visit the other nominee’s blogs, etc. etc., and the next thing ya know, you aren’t washing the dishes or vacuuming anymore, because you can’t step away from their recent blog posts. I love this place.
Ok, I have to complete the following:
1. In a post on your blog, nominate 10 fellow bloggers for The Versatile Blogger Award.
2. In the same post, add the Versatile Blogger Award.
3. In the same post, thank the blogger who nominated you in a post with a link back to their blog.
4. In the same post, share 7 completely random pieces of information about yourself.
5. In the same post, include this set of rules.
6. Inform each nominated blogger of their nomination by posting a comment on each of their blogs.
ok, #2, check. #3, check.
#4. 7 random pieces of information.
1. I went to Disney World by myself to see if I can travel by myself. I figured if I could go to the one place where a solo traveler rarely goes and not feel lonely, I could go anywhere
2. I have never had cheesecake. Ever.
3. I once watched a snapping turtle try to dig a hole for hours to deposit her eggs. Seeing that she wasn’t getting too far, I went out and dug a hole right by her and she moved over and used that hole. (I can feel a new blog post coming on..lol)
4. I once owned a guinea pig named Quincy Bozo and a skunk named Thumper.
5. I cut my own hair. Because I am stupid.
6. I once purposely put gum in my hair to see if peanut butter really took it out.
I’m allergic to bee stings. Like anaphylatic shock allergic. So, imagine how mad I was this week when two of my co-workers started using bee pollen to help them lose weight. Bee pollen? The hell you say!
Apparently, bee pollen is the brand new weight loss magic. And I can’t take it because I’m allergic to stupid bee stings.Wrong bees
Back in the early sixties, summertime fun included running through the grass barefoot. I couldn’t. Of course, I didn’t want to, because there was all kinds of shit in the grass, just waiting for your feet to apply pressure on it. You are probably thinking that I stepped on a bee, and that’s why I am barefoot-in-the-grass challenged. But, the answer is no. It was much more complicated than that.
To understand how I got stung, you have to understand the kind of kid I was back then, in 1962 or so. I loved animals. All animals. When my dad found a copperhead nest in our backyard and my brother, David, almost stepped on one, it left my dad no choice but to set the whole yard on fire. Ok, I’m teasing. He killed the snakes. And I cried. I just loved animals that much.
No, I got stung in a way that made my siblings make fun of me for years afterwards.
I was sitting on the wooden seat of our sandbox. A bee with long skinny, bent legs flew right by me. It scared me, because it came right out of the blue, and I didn’t know what the hell it was. So, I swatted at it, and it fell to the ground, which was the sand in the sandbox. I felt horrible! I may have killed the poor unknown creature. Upon further inspection, I saw that it was a bee. It was injured. Or so I thought. I somehow was able to scoop it up into the palm of my hand, and what I did next was best deemed as “ridiculous.” I put the bee up to my cheek and said, “Awwwww. I’m sorry!”
Bzzzzzzttttt!! The son of a bitch stung me on the cheek!
I think that I was more pissed than hurt. I mean, really? I try to hug you and you reciprocate by stinging the hell out of my little child face. Well, it didn’t take me long to realize that I was in pain. I ran inside. My younger sister followed me into the kitchen.
Mommy!!……… Vickie got stung by a bee!……………. She tried to kiss it!” Hahahahahahahaha. What a little snot.
I didn’t try to kiss it, stupid sister. I tried to hug it. Big difference.
Well, I guess some bees like to leave their calling card behind. The stinger sometimes stays with the injection of bee poison. My mom tried to take a look, tweezers nearby. But, she didn’t have time to dig the shit out of my cheek. I was having trouble breathing. Uh oh. My mom grabbed her suitcase of a purse, and me, and we flew down the steps to the garage, where her Cadillac sat waiting for a day just like today.
My mom rushed me to the hospital. Rushed was an understatement. She drove like Mario Andretti. We didn’t wear seat belts back then, so I was in quite a pickle. I was going into anaphylactic shock. I’m sure when the doctors found out that I put a bee to my cheek, they probably decided to run some other tests. I’m surprised that didn’t take me up to the fifth floor. My mom looked at me like I was retarded for a few weeks afterwards. I heard her on the telephone, talking to the neighbor ladies.
“Did you know that I had to take Vickie to the hospital? Get this. She tried to hug a wasp……..She swatted at it and it fell to the ground and she picked it up and told it she was sorry and put it up to her cheek and…..” I eavesdropped enough. I got out of my eavesdropping hiding place and went to my room.
After I got stung, I was always on the lookout for wasps. After doing some research on wasps, yellowjackets, and hornets, I read where, “Wasp stings are more painful than the sting of any yellowjacket, hornet or bee.” No shit, Sherlock. I cried. Well, I was a kid. Kid’s cry if someone looks at them wrong. But, I remember how much it hurt. But, then I forgot, because, well, my throat was closing in.
After years of searching, I found the son of a bitch that stung me.
I went to a police sketch artist and this is what he came up with after I gave detailed information on what the wasp looked like. He did a wonderful job, don’t you think? It’s an uncanny resemblance to the real culprit.
I never got stung by a wasp again. I’ve been stung by other kinds of bees over the years, and have promptly taken Benadryl and waited for my throat to close in. I did well. I think it was the wasp sting that sends me off to the hospital.
So, it brings me back to bee pollen and the want to lose some weight. My co-workers aren’t hungry and swear by the 60 capsules @ $60. Bummer. Should I take the chance and see if my body can handle the bee pollen? I went searching for answers.
“Some side effects are allergic reactions like itchy throat, wheezing, coughing, hives, and skin flushing.” Ok, I should maybe just actually try to diet and exercise, perhaps. Hives suck. I read on…
“Severe allergic responses are also possible, including anaphylactic shock.” Shit.
Well, I guess I will have to skip the bee pollen way of losing weight. I’ll have to visit the elliptical, instead, and drink a boat load of water every day.
Thinking back, I guess it wasn’t such a smart idea to try to hug a wasp.
I should have thought BEEfore I did something so unBEElievable…… Like write that previous line.
Imagine my surprise when I checked my email this morning and found that I won The Prestigious 7X7 Link Award. I didn’t know what it was, but I was excited, as the last thing I won was a jar of jelly. And it was strawberry, so that pretty much sucked. Cristy Carrington Lewis, aka Paltry Meanderings of a Taller Than Average Woman, gave me the award. A recent post of Cristy’s was recently Freshly Pressed, which was exciting. I sort of feel that I know greatness, as I was the first one to post a comment when she first wrote the piece, before it was Freshly Pressed. She is a wonderful writer. I think I should have her write on my book jacket of my future Jumping in Mud Puddles book.
“Looking to reminisce about someone else’s childhood because yours sucked? Join Vickie as she explores, with plentiful humor and jocularity, her idyllic past as a fascinating, but domineering, color-inside-the-lines kind girl who hated her remedial reading group, probably has mercury poisoning from regular exposure to Mercurochrome, and was secretly-tranquilized by her mother – daily – because she was hyperactive. I thank God my mom didn’t know her mom. If she’d known she could drug me legally, I’d have slept my way through elementary school. Try not to pee your pants when you read this because, if you’re like me, your mom never remembered to send you to school with an extra pair of undies either.”
Wait. She thinks I was a domineering child? WTF? Was not. Ok, maybe she sees something I didn’t.
Anywho, there’s no statue involved, just a little bit of work. There are three things I need to do after accepting this award. It’s sort of like a pay-it-forward thingy.
Reveal 7 things you don’t know about myself that you already don’t know (Or something like that)
1. I’m a movie quoter. If you know what movie, “How ya doin little Tony?………….Bad” comes from, then you are someone I want to hang out with. My favorite quote is, “He is not the one, Steve.”
2. I think Tim Matheson is the most handsome man on the face of the earth. I would join a fan club if I wasn’t already tied up with the Steve McQueen fan club. (He be number 2) Ok, I jest. Although when I was a tween, I did belong to the Davey Jones Fan Club. I loved the Monkees. So, yeah, Tim Matheson.
3. I have only pumped my own gas maybe once in my 55 years of life. Ok, I couldn’t reach the nozzle when I was three, but yeah, I have a fear of gasoline. Trapped in a car, ready to explode, will do that to you every time.
4. I had drinks with Billy Joel. I did. I don’t think he would remember me, cuz he was absolutely smashed after his concert in West Virginia, but he did tell me some secrets, like how much he disliked Hall and Oates. Really.
5. I’m adopted and am 98% sure I have a twin. My mother was Marilyn Monroe. She stopped by Wheeling in 1956 and gave birth to me. You’d be surprised at the resemblance. I’m sure the stories are true.
6. I stepped on Joe DiMaggio’s foot- Didn’t mean to. I wanted to get my picture taken with him. So what if I didn’t have my camera that day.
7. I called one of my fourth graders a Goober today. Well, he is one.
Link seven of my posts to the following categories: Most Surprisingly Successful, Most Underrated, Most Popular, Most Beautiful, Most Helpful, Most Controversial and Most Pride-Worthy
1. Most Surprisingly Successful- Queen of Halloween Costumes…’Tis True was freshly pressed on October 15, 2010 and has garnered about 9,900 hits since then. It’s amazing how many emails I received from people who wanted me to give them specific ideas for their Halloween costumes. What a ride!
2. Most Underated- MonkeyShines It’s my favorite blog post, mainly because it is the hardest I have ever laughed in my life. I retell the story each year to my fourth graders, and cry from laughing while repeating it. It has only been read 105 times. Poor monkey.
3. Most Popular- Well, it would probably have to be when I was Freshly Pressed for the one above, but honestly, Wisdom Teeth Removal Removes Wisdom, has been very successful with google searchers. It’s been viewed 9,200 times. It’s amazing how people google this, especially after Christmas. It must be a great time to get your wisdom teeth taken out. Although, I wonder how many actually go through with it after reading this blog about my son’s adventure at the oral surgeon’s office.
4. Most Beautiful- I just don’t understand. Now I have to go searching through them all to find one that is pretty. Be right back……Ok, I don’t write beautiful blogs. I have one with a skunk, two with stupid ex husbands, and this one Well, That’s a Nice Gesture
5. Most Helpful- Oh, I have many a blog post that educates. I truly do. But, the most helpful. hmmmmm…Be right back…Old Wive’s Tales I wanted to share the stupid things parents tell their kids. I mean, I won’t have freaking potatoes growing behind my ears if I don’t wash real good. I mean, come on.
6. Most Controversial- Oh, that’s so easy. I have two. Am I allowed to have two? The first one is Eavesdropping 101. I had a lot of compliments, but also got into a fight with two people over my childrearing practices. Stupid people. But, ya know, I was Freshly Pressed with that one, and thought it was pretty good. I was tickled to death to be Freshly Pressed so soon after the first one.
The other one was me just telling the truth. It’s Pop, Not Soda, Stupid. Some people don’t get “tongue in cheek.” One reader was very offended that I thought Soda people were stupid. Well, they are.
7. Most Pride Worthy- Oh, without a doubt, CSI:West Virginia It really shows what a really good mom I was.
Now I get to pass on this coveted award to 7 other blog poster people. I don’t like to impose. You guys don’t have to play if you don’t want to. I actually had fun writing this. So, once again, thanks Cristy!
I wish I had the time to write a more profound introduction for each of my recipients. I will keep it short and simple, because, well, it’s almost time for NCSI.
1. Brown Road Chronicles -Steve writes about country living and throws in a hysterical poem now and then. His post on goats was very creative. I wish I had the time to visit his blog more often. Head on over and say hi.
2. Working Tech Mom -I like her blog. She writes on a variety of subjects, and injects her wonderful sense of humor with great photography. Oh, hell, she is off again. I like traveling with her, where ever she goes.
3. Inkjot- I don’t know why, but this cracks me up. I always wish I could draw. This blog has the artistry and the humor. My kind of combination. Jealous.
4. My Naked Bokkie I need to ask her what a bokkie is. I’m assuming cutie pie or something like that maybe. Anywho, I need to visit her more often. She writes on a variety of subjects and it is fresh and fun. He recent post on Pinterest is great.
5. Edward Hotspur Funny, funny guy, with a great writing style. So glad I found his blog.
6. Back on My Own When I just went to Pat’s blog, I saw where she nominated me for The Versatile Blogger Award. How did I not see this? Did I see it? Am I senile? I’m a mess. Anywho, I just found Pat’s blog, and I think that if she lived near me, I would want to hang out with her. Make her teach me some Spanish. Nice person. Much nicer than me. She would probably not return my calls.
7. Herding Cats in Hammond River I feel horrible that I don’t get to Wendy’s blog more often. A wonderful writer. Check her out.
Ok, so I am done. Thanks again Cristy, for the award. It was actually fun to write all this stuff. My butt is numb though. I mean, it really is.
When I was young, my dad loved using idioms. I think he is the one that started them. Really. His favorite was, “All hell broke loose.” I could picture fire and the devil breaking out of a jail somewhere. I’ve loved idioms every since.
I teach fourth grade and every Friday we have “Idiom Friday.” I can’t help it, I have to do it. It’s more for me than for the kids. I write the idiom on the board, we discuss its meaning, and then the students draw the idiom. After they are finished, their pictures go out in the hall for a week, and then are put away in their black writing notebook. At the end of the year they are able to take their idioms home.
Some of the more popular idioms were, “Couch Potato,” “Raining Cats and Dogs”, “You Crack Me Up”, and “My Eyes are Bigger Than My Stomach.” The students have fun and I am always amazed by their creative drawings. Here’s one of mine that I really shouldn’t use. Fun stuff.
But, one day, I was a little slap-happy from a tossing, restless sleep the night before, and thought about the idioms you shouldn’t use in school. I asked my facebook friends on my status one day, “Would ‘Smelling Like a French Whore’ be appropriate for fourth graders?” I was teasing, of course. I don’t want to be fired just yet. So, to amuse myself, I started thinking of others that you really shouldn’t use in fourth grade. I apologize for using curse words, but I didn’t make these up. I think my fourth graders would like these….I think the members of the board of education would too, since I am sure I would be visiting them if I wrote any of these on the board….
Picture these written on a board:
All hell broke loose (in honor of my dad)
Beat his brains out
That’s a load of crap
wearing a shit-eating grin
He’s a chicken shit
kick the bucket
He likes to stir shit
Let’s blow this joint
Beat a dead horse
He’s in deep shit
kill 2 birds with one stone
bite someone’s head off
He’s on my shit list
cold as a witch’s tit
Make your blood boil
break a leg
I was scared shitless
clip someone’s wings
cook somebody’s goose
He will be shitting bricks
kick some ass
pain in the ass
he beat the hell out of him.
smart ass
his ass is on the line
Get your shit together
kiss my ass
talking out of your ass
He has shit for brains
Holy Shit!
The shit hit the fan
Shoot the bull
Beat his brains out
That’s a load of crap
I guess I just may have too much time on my hands. (Normal idiom)
I put on a pair of pedal pushers the other day. Sure, some of you out there would say they look just like capris, but they’re not. They’re pedal pushers. They’ve always been pedal pushers, even before I learned how to ride a bike. So, I thought about some other words for items that would seem “old-fashioned” nowadays.
1. Pedal pushers- Ok, people use the word “capri” to describe the same thing. Capri pants were actually introduced by designer Emilio Pucci di Barsento in 1949 in his boutique on the Isle of Capri, Italy. Everyone then started wearing his Capri’s. Audrey Hepburn was probably the most famous wearer of the capri pants. Marilyn Monroe, Sophia Loren, Annette Funicello, and Sandra Dee all had publicity photos taken in Capri’s. Same thing as pedal pushers. They are.
2. Davenport- Some of you are too young to know what a davenport is. Well, it is a couch or sofa. You know how Kleenex is the same thing as a tissue? And Scotch tape is the same as ???tape?? Well, Davenport was a genericized name for the Davenport company that once issued sofas. My mom always used to tell company, “Have a seat on the davenport. Would you like some coffee?”
3. Dungarees- My ex-mother-in-law still calls jeans, dungarees. “I bought Alex a pair of dungarees today.” The term came from the fabric that was made and sold in Dungari Killa in Bombay (now Mumbai) India many years ago.
4. Ice box- Ahhhh, gotta love technology. An ice box is the same thing as a refrigerator. Well, sort of. I have heard my grandparents use this term when I was growing up. An ice box was a nice looking piece of wooden furniture. According to Wikipedia, “Iceboxes had hollow walls that were lined with tin or zinc and packed with various insulating materials such as cork, sawdust, straw or seaweed. A large block of ice was held in a tray or compartment near the top of the box. Cold air circulated down and around storage compartments in the lower section. Some finer models had spigots for draining ice water from a catch pan or holding tank. In cheaper models a drip pan was placed under the box and had to be emptied at least daily. The user had to replenish the melted ice, normally by obtaining new ice from an iceman.” Yes, an iceman would come around on his horse and carriage to deliver blocks of ice to the melting public.
5. Pocketbook- This is another word my mother-in-law uses. “Go get my pocketbook for me.” I think many people have heard someone use this term for a purse. From what I have researched, looks like “pocketbook” was used until around 1955 , when women started using the word, “purse.” Originally, a pocketbook was just that, a small book that you could put in a pocket. Then it became a holder for paper money for women. And then small items like a tube of lipstick, etc.
6. Poke- I’ve heard elderly people still refer to a paper bag or a sack as a poke.
7. Babushka- I don’t know if it is because the area I am from has a lot of Russian Orthodox people or not, but my mom used to use the word, “babushka” all of the time. It’s another name for a headscarf that is tied under the chin. Queen Elizabeth wears a babushka a lot. Some people call those little nesting dolls “babushka.” We used to wear babushka’s a lot, but tied them behind our head. “Scarf on head” is what we would say.
8. Toboggan- Ok, where I come from, we use the word, “toboggan” to mean a winter hat, not a sled. Sure, there is a toboggan that you jump on to go sled riding, but there is also a toboggan that you wear. People debate this. It’s a knit cap. End of story.
9. Penny Loafers- Are these still around? Because I used to wear them all of the time. I would put a shiny penny in each one. Later, I used dimes because I am that cool. Actually, it was an emergency use for a pay phone. All you had to do is take the coin out of your shoe and call home. Voila!
10. Culottes- I wore culottes. They were so cool. Until someone decided to start calling them skorts (skirt/shorts) and just ruined everything. I still have a couple pair…of culottes. I won’t wear a skort.
So, there you have it. Items that now have other words to describe them. It’s funny how thinking about pedal pushers has taken me on a three hour journey. And now I look outside, and it is raining. There goes my day.
Unless of course I put on my slicker and galoshes and head outside.
Isn’t it a wonderful thing that the Weather Channel has started a mosquito activity forecast? All I have to do is type in my zip code, and a chart and hourly forecast pops up.
”Forecast covers a broad range of mosquito types. Specific mosquito species may be more or less active than the overall forecast, depending on weather conditons or time of day.”
There was no such thing as West Nile Virus when I was little. We played outside and compared the sizes of our mosquito bites. Yes, they itched like hell, but they were a kind of rite of passage, a transition from whiny childhood to less whiny childhood. We quit running to our moms to be sprayed with OFF. We wore our mosquito bites with pride. “Hey, look at my mosquito bite. It’s huge!” Only pansies cried over the wounds left by these insect vampires.
But, you can’t do that anymore. Mosquitoes are now vicious, blood scalpers. And the Weather Channel is letting us know when the thugs are in our area.
“Because mosquitoes tap into the blood of birds, animals and humans, they can be ghoulishly efficient at transmitting certain diseases. Fortunately, fewer than 100 of the world’s 2,700 mosquito species carry disease, according to the U.S. Department of Agriculture. While some mosquito-borne diseases can be deadly to humans, many cause only minor, passing symptoms in most people.”
Ghoulishly. That’s what they wrote. Mosquitoes are “ghoulishly efficient”. Although I’ve never seen anyone dress like a mosquito at Halloween, this may all change now. But, seriously, how did this happen? Why can’t kids go outside during the summer, catch lightning bugs and get bit by mosquitoes anymore? When my kids were little, I put up a bat box on a high tree. Well, I didn’t. I made my husband climb up a tree and place it facing south, as the directions stated. We had bats at night. Might as well let them live close. Bats eat over 500-1000 mosquitoes in one hour. I’d like to meet the man who actually saw one do this, but if this is true, bats rule!
Of course, when West Nile virus first made the news and we found a few dead birds lying about, I did become concerned. I would be a bad mother if I did not. But, I was confused. I thought mosquitoes only wanted human blood, and here they go landing on birds.
The CDC warns of mosquitoes on their site and has a cute title, “Fight the Bite.”
The CDC states: “If mosquitoes are still flying there is still a danger from West Nile virus. Infected mosquitoes spread West Nile virus that can cause serious, life-altering, and even fatal disease. Keep using insect repellent, wear long sleeves and long pants and dump out standing water in the yard where mosquitoes can lay their eggs.”
There goes another childhood excitement: puddles. Kids love to jump in puddles, make mud pies, and some goofy kids will even sit down in puddles. Well, not anymore, puddle jumpers. Mosquitoes lay their eggs in shallow puddles. Any standing water is a no-no. A bird bath is a prime example. No water cooler talk for the birds anymore. There are baby mosquitoes ready to attack. They are like Navy seal mosquitoes, but with a different modi operandi.
While you take a bite out of your burger – don’t let mosquitoes take a bite out of you! Use an effective insect repellent to avoid being a Bug’s lunch.
This is from the CDC site. They don’t want you to bite into a mosquito. I think that’s what that means.
I don’t know. I don’t mean to make light of this. Many people have died after being bit by a mosquito. Florida, for example, is mosquito stalker heaven. It’s a vast swampland, and mosquitoes hang out at Disney World, searching for their next meal. But, don’t worry, mouse house visitors, I do know that Disney World has a full-fledged mosquiter stalker on site. The guy goes into the swamps every day, retrieves his traps, and then heads back to his lab. He knows where the concentration of mosquitoes are, and he maps out a plan of counter-attack. From what I have read, they are very pro-active in the fight of the West Nile virus.
My daughter accidentally discovered how not to get bit by mosquitoes. She was studying abroad in Guanajuato, Mexico, and was living with a host family. She did not have a screen on her bedroom window, so she woke up every morning with bug bites all over her body. She noticed that after the nights they went out dancing and drinking, she didn’t have any bug bites. So, she tried an experiment and drank a beer before she went to bed. No bites the next morning. So, every night she had a beer before she went to bed. She swears that she was never bitten by a bug when she did this. She probably should have a drinking problem, but she doesn’t. Her roommate should have chugged some beer, as she was bitten by a scorpion that was on her dresser handle.
I guess we could spray kids with OFF, and then give them a glass of beer before they went outside to play. That would be interesting in a neighborhood.
So, in the end, mosquitoes have mutated into a terrible, blood sucking, death provoking insect. It is no longer cool to see who has the biggest mosquito bite. There are little pens you can put on your bite to take the sting out of it. Kids are wearing long sleeves in 90 degree evenings. Many are staying in, playing video games and don’t know what the hell Flashlight Tag is. They are being sprayed with chemicals to keep the gnawing insects away. Adults burn citronella candles on their patios. Bats are flying overhead. Chaos.
Years ago, when a guy wanted to ask a girl out, he would call her on a telephone. There was no such thing as internet dating. Most people met and married people in their own backyard. Well, not literally in their own backyard, but you understand what I mean. Men out in the west would send away for Mail Order Brides. You never knew what they looked like until they got off the train. Oh my. Nowadays, there is online dating with various sites, such as Match.com, Chemistry.com, and E-Harmony. I joined one of them this past week. I really don’t know why, but I did.
Since I can’t keep quiet about anything I do, I told my co-workers. My friend, Shawna, looked at me and said, “You know, Vickie, I’m thinking that you shouldn’t do anything unsupervised. You need supervision.” So, we spent the rest of our lunch time googling to see who could find the goofiest “real” dating site. I found one for carnival workers. Someone found one for farmers. Another one for people who like to fish. One for non-smokers. There is a dating site for everyone. So, for those of you who are thinking about joining an online dating service, let me tell you how mine is going so far.
The site I went to offered free registration. You were more than welcome to check out the profiles and see if there is anyone who strikes your fancy. I immediately began seeing some nice looking guys and thought, “Heck, I should join.” I joined for 3 months at $59.00.” They did tell me that it renews automatically, so if you want to cancel, you have to cancel before that date, or you are tied to another minimum period that you signed up for.
After I signed up, it took me to my home page so I could work on my profile. My profile sounds a bit stupid, but hey, as Forrest Gump says, “Stupid is as stupid does.” When I finished that, I went back to my homepage to find that I had 8 winks. What the hell? Apparently, people can send winks to you. That supposedly means, “I like what you look like even if your profile sounds stupid.” Or something like that. At the same time, guys started IM’ing me. So, I started talking. Wow, I was feeling pretty. They immediately wanted my phone number or my regular email so we could start talking. Thank goodness I decided not to chat to these guys, because I found out they were mostly spammers. Spammers are guys who start talking to women, and over the course of time start asking for money, etc. I was shocked as to how many women were scammed out of a lot of money. I went through a whole discussion board full of them. It was sad. And I became very, very suspect of the whole thing.
I would say that 50% if not more of the profiles I looked at were spammers. And this is what I picked up on my own. If men, for example, listed their age as 49 and put the range of ages they were interested in was from 30-70, that’s a spammer. On top of that, if they listed that they were a widow, spammer. If they then had poor grammar, it’s a sure sign that he is a spammer. I read on a forum that they steal other people’s profile pictures and snippet’s of other people’s profiles and then lie in wait. It is pretty sad, actually.
The hardest part of all of this is the real people, who are really hunting for love, seem a little too eager. A guy emailed me and all he wrote was, “I like your profile. I would like to discuss meeting.” Or, another simply wrote. “Are you free for dinner tomorrow night?” Tomorrow???? That’s like the day after today. I’m not ready for this. Speed dating. People act like they only have a week to live. Do I really want to do this? I don’t know.
There are real people out there..
The site I joined lists the profiles of the men who match you 100%. This was a bit frightening at first, because I thought I saw the Unabomber, Ted Kaczynski, as one of my matches. And Santa Claus. And Wally Cox. (People my age will remember who he was.) But, there were attractive people as well. Not to say that Santa Claus isn’t a hunk. He does have a lot going on for himself when he’s not covered in soot.
You have to write down how many miles you are willing to reach out to a potential match. I put 3,000 miles. I mean, can you really put a mile marker on love? But, in truth, most people limit the area in which they want to search. Which makes sense. But, didn’t you watch Sleepless in Seattle? They ended up at the top of the Empire State Building. They didn’t let distance separate them. ?????? I want to do that. All women want to do that.
The part of the profile that I was not a fan of was the ole “What kind of body do you have?” You had to check one of the following for yourself: No answer, Slender, Big and Beautiful, Curvy, About Average, Athletic and Toned, Full-Figured, Heavyset, A Few Extra Pounds, or Stocky. Um, okay. First of all, I don’t understand what the difference is between Big and Beautiful, Full-Figured, and Heavyset. Why can’t someone be Heavy-Set and Beautiful? Well, I knew I wasn’t slender. Sigh. Why did I complain so much when I only weighed 95 pounds in college? I was 108 at age 37, and that was after I had two kids. And then, what the hell happened? Where did the girl go who drove to her doctor and seriously told him that she thought she had a tape worm because she couldn’t gain weight? How did weight sneak up on me the past 15 years. I guess if you let 3 pounds attack you every year, in 15 years you would be where I was. I say “was” because I just lost 23 pounds. I’m determined to get the rest off by my 55th birthday in November. That’s when I was going to join the online dating site. But, noooo, I have to join now and am forced to click, “A Few Extra Pounds.” Dammit. Already feeling like a loser.
If you decide to join an online dating site, put a profile picture on there that is not more than 2 years old. I have a friend who is on the same dating site and met a woman he had been talking to and she had pictures online of herself from 10-15 years ago. He drove a far distance to meet her too. And there she was, all grandma looking. I personally hate my profile pictures. I just can’t take a good picture. But, I put a few on there because I thought I needed to be truthful and not hide. Some people don’t put pictures on until you ask, “So, what do you look like?” I decided to never ask a person for a picture because how do you answer if there isn’t a physical attraction? “Um, thanks for the picture. Hope you find what you are looking for?” I can’t do that. The last thing I want to do is hurt someone’s feelings. But, yet, I was forced to when a man sent me his picture without me even asking. I just told him that I just started with this online dating thing and was overwhelmed and was going to wait before I met anyone in person. Which is what I’ve decided. I am overwhelmed.
Don’t get me wrong. There are real people out there, and they are just waiting for the right connection. And there are friendships that can be formed.
Anywho…so my advice to singles out there is this…..if you think you are ready for online dating, spend the money and see how things go in a couple of months. You are worth it and in the end, even if you don’t find true love, chances are you will find a good friend or two.
At least you won’t have to send anyone back on a train.
I know some people are afraid of clowns. I get it. I really do. But, for me, nuns creep me out more than anything. http://dyingbraincells.wordpress.com/2010/08/07/nun/ Sister Maria scared the hell out of me. I guess when it comes down to it, nuns should scare the hell and Satan right out of you. I think, though, they went above and beyond their call of duty.
Even as I got older, the nuns still scared me. This nun, Sister or Mother? Angelica, had a program on the Eternal Word Television Network. I would quickly change the channel when I would see her. Until of course, she donned an eye patch. I had to watch her, a pirate nun. Who would have thought? Arrrrhhhh, I’m a nun.
My ex-husband prides himself on getting the most “whippins” from the nuns at Saint Peter and Paul. Later, he was kicked off the prestigious “altar boy” status for drinking the wine and singing “Ollie Ollie Oxen Free, Prayer for Us” during one of those Catholic chants. The head nun was the definition of “evil.” She ruled that school like a tyrant and treated the kids whose moms sucked up to her like they were the “golden child.” She played favorites and if your parents didn’t give a lot of money on Sunday, she wouldn’t have a problem with beating the hell out of you on Monday. I’m not exaggerating. I’m so glad I only had four nuns at the Sacred Heart of Mary Mary Quite Contrary Academy or whatever the hell it was called.
I thought all nuns were supposed to be like Sister Bertrille in The Flying Nun. Where was Sally Fields when I needed her? I fell one day during recess and Sister Maria was more than happy to scrub the gravel out of my bloodied knee. I cried, not so much from the pain, but because Sister Maria had invaded my personal space. Her habit kept knocking against my face as she scrubbed my poor skinny gravel-imbeded knee. I would rather have a clown standing beside my bed, just staring at me every night than one minute with a nun.
But, this past week, I began thinking about nuns. Maybe we need them. I am at my wits end with my students and how they botch the English language. How many times do I have to hear, “We was gonna go, but my dad was tard” or “We ain’t got no?” I remember watching Sister Maria haul off and slap a kid named Winston across the knuckles because he asked, “Can I go to the bathroom?” Uh, oh, Winston. Goodbye. It was nice knowing you. Sister Maria asked him, “I don’t know, CAN you?” The saintly correct question would be, “Dear wonderful nun lady, MAY I use the bathroom?” We would get yelled out for not being more assertive and talk in her class, and get yelled out for talking in her class. We were screwed no matter what.
I don’t know. I don’t want to be that kind of teacher. I won’t be that kind of teacher. But, I mean, who the hell is going to be the one who tells people that they talk like they have been living in a box. A stupid box for stupid people. People in general just don’t know how to talk. So, let’s bring in some nuns. Maybe nuns can patrol malls and restaurants after they recite the rosary and slap the hell out of anyone who uses poor English. The Nun Patrol. Then, when they go home after the nun-appointed punishment, they may correct their own children who talk like their parents. That would make my job easier.
In the end, if parents would correct their children, I wouldn’t have a headache by the end of the day. And maybe, just maybe, I would let up on the nun-hating.
When I got back to my room (after walking past creepy jester statue guy) after my time at Epcot, I thought I’d better figure out a type of itinerary for Hollywood Studios. It is funny, but when we took the kids when they were little, I had an itinerary down to the minute. I was a Disney nazi. But, it did save time standing in what my daughter, Alex, called the “Ride of Misery.”
So, as soon as I got to the park, I went straight to the Tower of Terror. This was the one thing I wanted to experience at Disney World.
I decided not to take a Dramamine today. I took a 1/2 pill yesterday and although it said, “non-drowsy formula,” they lie. The Tower of Terror was so much fun. When I got off the ride, I noticed that there was already a 30 minute wait listed on the board. I got there just in time. I headed over to the Aerosmith roller coaster and got a Fast Pass because it was already a 30 minute wait. I had to come back at an assigned time period to ride it. I then went to stand in line at Toy Story, the most popular ride at Hollywood Studios. Oh Dear God, it was a 100 minute wait. So, I decided to get a Fast Pass. I got this instead.
Damn. I messed up. I didn’t even really want to ride the Aerosmith Roller Coaster. I had my head torn off by a maniacal roller coaster at Kennywood Park called the Steel Phantom. I didn’t want to die again. So, what to do? I decided to stand in line. For 100 minutes. Which is like almost two hours…This was going to be more fun…than a barrel of monkeys.
I do have to admit that it was a great queue. And the ride didn’t disappoint. It snaked through Candy Land, and dominoes, Chutes and Ladders, toy soldiers, Mr. Potato Head and other games that were enlarged, like this picture of Candy Land with the red queue bars in front of the wall. It really wasn’t a bad wait.
I then went back to ride on the Aerosmith ride. As soon as it started I knew I was in trouble. I put my head to the left and closed my eyes. I breathed through my mouth because I knew that one more loop would do me in. I hate roller coasters with loops. I was feeling pretty brave by this point, ready to experience what I couldn’t before. Well, motion sickness is not in your head. It’s real and I’ve lived with it all my life. I can’t even swing on a swing. I HATED the Aerosmith ride. Hated.
Disney boasts of the ride on its Web site, “Zoom from 0 to 60 mph with the force of a supersonic F-14, take in high-speed loops and turns synchronized to a specially recorded Aerosmith soundtrack and zip through Tinseltown in the biggest, loudest limo you’ve ever seen….The 3,400-foot-long track is more than a half mile of sudden accelerations, dips, loops and twists and turns.”
Well, you go from 0 to 60mph in 2.8seconds. That’s when I knew to shut my eyes and hold my head to the left. The picture that they take of each car, you know the one that you can buy at the end of the ride? Well, mine was hysterical. I should have bought it.
I loved Hollywood Studios. I took my time and enjoyed all of the shows and street entertainment throughout the day. Muppet 3D was fun. I’m a muppet/Swedish Chef fan, so I was in my element. The whole park was wonderful. It was a lot of fun. I got back at dark, walking past Jester and Jester junior. I quickly turned around, half expecting them to be right behind me. I scared myself..lol
Well, hopped back on the plane to Pittsburgh yesterday evening and headed home. I learned a lot about myself on my first trip. First of all, what was I thinking? I teach small children. Why in the world would I want to use my spring break to go where there were children running amok?
I think, though, that I did great and now know that I can travel by myself…if I HAVE to. Would I go to Disney again by myself? Oh hell no.
In the end, I think traveling solo is fine. But, I like to talk. I enjoy companionship, camaraderie. So, in the future, I will first see if anyone wants to join me. Then, maybe join a travel group. And if I still want to go bad enough, I can go by myself. Because, again, in the end, I won’t be lonely. Afterall, I will be with me. And I think I’m pretty good company. That’s my new Puerto Rican attitude talking. I learned a thing or two while standing in lines.
I set my alarm for 6:00. I had a hard time getting back to sleep after Ted Bundy delivered my luggage at my door in the middle of the night. So, I hit snooze a couple of times. I hoped to take a quick shower, get some breakfast at the Sassagoula Floatworks Food Court, and hop a bus to Epcot Center. I only had two days at Disney, and decided to head to Epcot and Hollywood Studios. I thought they would be best for me, the solo traveler. I had never been to Animal Kingdom, but I knew from being a Weather Channel dork that the temperatures were supposed to soar to 94F, and there isn’t much shade or inside time at Animal Kingdom. So, I scratched that from my choices. Plus,would zebra poop stink in the heat? Sorry zebra’s, you were the first animals I thought of. Anywho, off to Epcot I went. But, first, breakfast. I decided to get biscuits and gravy. I tried to behave myself and the eggs, bacon, pancake and sausage platter seemed too much for me. I got under the bus shelter and within 3 minutes a bus going to Epcot pulled up.
The great thing about Walt Disney World is a thing called Fast Pass. Too freaking bad that I didn’t understand how it worked. Evidently, you can go to a ride and if the queue area is long, you can get a fast pass ticket to come back later. I was going to do that. By the time we got to Epcot, it was almost 9:00am. People are allowed in the park, so far and then you are stopped by Disney folks holding ropes. To hold us back, because people were on a mission. That’s when I first noticed Disney tattoos on people. Real tattoos with Disney stuff. Wow. I had no idea people were so obsessed with Disney. I mean, I know a teacher who has a Disney license personalized license plates. That means she is was the first one in WV who wanted one. How special.
I didn’t know what the hell I was doing or where I was going. Was I supposed to be in a hurry. I thought maybe I should be. So, I decided to get to Test Tracks first, located on the left side of the map. You’d think that Epcot would be easy. The map is great. Except that the park is s p r e a d out, making the map quite wrong. You can’t use the Great Golf Ball spaceship Earth as a focal point because it is circular. You don’t know if you are coming or going. I decided to ask where most people are rushing to. “To Test Tracks.” one replied while looking at me like I didn’t own Disney stock. I guess I need to know where I was going. My bad.
Well, the ropes dropped and people took off like a bat out of hell. I walked quickly and it paid off. Well, except that there was a “single rider” line and well, I was right up front in no time. Score one for the loser by herself. The one without a Disney Tinkerbell tattoo. So, I rode Test Track, a roller coaster sort of thing by GM. After the ride, everyone got to see the new cars GM is coming out with. I fancied the new Camaro. But wait, people were rushing off to another ride. Damn. Why didn’t I prep for this journey?
One thing one should never do is travel to Disney World during Easter. It is about the worst time to go there. So, of course, I go there. Another test, so to speak. Did I have patience to endure long, snaking queues? Could I handle being behind little screaming children who needed to get out of the heat, and perhaps fly back where they came from? Would I hit them? (Well, you just never know) I was lucky there wasn’t much of a line during the first ride. Oh, but that was the end of free time. It was crazy after that.
Ok, lunch time. The place was packed. All the food places were packed. I headed to the Land and ate at the Sunshine Seasons place because they use the foods they grow in their greenhouse as stuff on the menu. I ordered a turkey with monterey Jack cheese on foccacia with chipotle mayonnaise and a side of their potato salad. It was the best sandwich I have ever eaten. That or I was just really hungry. But, it was delicious. It was also the first time that I noticed people looking at me. Ahhh, they finally noticed I was a solo traveler. Well, apparently, if you are by yourself, you really shouldn’t sit at a table that four people can sit at, even if that’s all they have in the whole place. I even told a familyof three they were welcome to sit with me if they wanted to, trying to be nice and all. And the mom said, “Well, are you done?” Uh no, and I have lice. Please sit down.
After taking in as much as I could in Future World, I headed to World Showcase. By this time I was hot and miserable. It was 94F and World Showcase was out in the hot sun for the most part. People took advantage any way they could.
April in Florida. Yikes. I don’t know why, but I couldn’t get into World Showcase. I think it was because I was so hot. I got back to the resort at around 9:00. I had pizza and a salad (well, it was like a cup o salad) or more like an ice cream scoop o salad.) I had to walk past a statue of a jester back to my room. He was creeping me out because his eyes look like they are following you. His friend on a stick was creepy too.
I had a bit of a culture shock my first day at Disney World. I always talk to strangers. I guess it is for all the times when I wasn’t allowed to when I was little. But, I don’t know much Espanol and a majority of the guests at Disney World were Spanish speaking. A majority for sure. The nicest people were the Japanese, but I couldn’t understand them. I loved the British. They were fun. I tried to talk to a couple from Scotland, but I couldn’t understand them at all, and they were talking English. I smiled, because I thought how much fun it would be if I broke out in my Appalachian dialect. “I’m so tard.” The Puerto Ricans were not friendly at all. A bit arrogant. This whole “lost in translation” made me feel, well, …quiet. I can’t be quiet. I never expected this.
I headed to Hollywood Studios on my second and final day. This was by far my favorite. See Feeling Mousey (Part Three)
When I decided that I wanted to take a solo trip somewhere, I thought hard about the places I wanted to go. My ultimate adventure is to take a train across Canada. To get ready for such a solo venture, I needed to pull up my big girl pants and journey on, alone. At first I thought I would go to the beach. The relaxation would be nice, but it wasn’t how I wanted to test myself.
Yes, I guess I felt the need to test myself. You have to understand that I was married for 25 years and really didn’t have to do anything by myself. I was a stay-at-home mom. I didn’t have to take out the garbage, although I was the weekly “house gatherer.” I didn’t have to fiddle when my car started making noises like a mechanic was traveling under the hood of the car, banging on something that would soon smoke. I didn’t do anything that inconvenienced me. I guess I pretended to be a princess. I made my husband check the air pressure in my tires about once a week because I have issues with my tires looking low. Everyone has issues. Mine are pronounced, however.
Well, fairy tales don’t always come true, and next thing you know, you’re divorced after 25 years of marriage, you no longer can get by acting like a princess. I mean, there are limits to how long one can get away with that. (imagine Bette Davis in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane). One day, you wake up and actually have to work for a living, and make your own appointment to get your car fixed. And I think I’ve done well. Well, I still whine about garbage night, but really, I honestly don’t think I should do that one. But, someone has to, right?
Ok, so I felt the need to scratch the beach trip off of my list. I needed to go somewhere that was filled with families, with couples ogling each other, and friends laughing and pointing. If I could get by a few days of being inundated by this test, I could go anywhere by myself. Remember in Sex and the City, when Carrie went off to Paris to be with the Russian? She saw four girls walking by and immediately called home, lonely. And she was only there for like a day. I didn’t want to be Carrie Bradshaw. I didn’t want to phone home and cry..in the middle of a train trip across Canada. No, I had to make sure this solo travel is for me. And so that is why I chose a harsh environment for a single traveler. I chose…Disney World.
Say what? Yes, the one place where people don’t go by themselves. Disney World. I thought that if I had many “boo-hoo” moments, then solo travel would not be for me. So, I made my reservation, and decided to embark on a quest to celebrate my independence, to acknowledge that I had fortitude and perserverance to sit by myself at an eatery, and to leave and return still inflated. That was my goal.
So, I made my flight and hotel reservation through Orbitz. Now mind you, I haven’t flown in 30 years. I have inner ear problems. But, I was ready. I had my gum to chomp on, my ear plugs and yawning techniques so the descent wouldn’t make me grimace in pain. After all, there would be no one there to listen to me whine. I had to…..(worst phrase EVER)…..”Buck up.”
Well, I did fine. I’ve been to Pittsburgh Airport plenty of times. I just never had to park all the way in section 19E in the extended lot. I could have hopped on the shuttle, but I was trying to toughen up, right? So, I strolled with my two bags and my lead laden purse all the way in my “clompy” shoes to the terminal…only to find that the People Mover was not moving..More walking. No problem, I can walk.
Checking in was a breeze. Disney had sent me a voucher book called Disney’s Magical Express. And magical it was. They also sent me a yellow tag to put on my checked suitcase. Once in Orlando, I could bypass baggage claim and just hop on the Magical Express bus to my resort. How easy does that sound? I was feeling pretty princess-like once again. Once at the resort, my bag would be in my room, waiting on me, or there shortly after my arrival. Well, up to 3 hours perhaps. So, I packed things I needed in my carry-0n.
My flight to Orlando left on time. I liked Air Tran. They are ranked the safest airline in the United States. I was feeling pretty safe.I sat wedge in between a man who was with his family, who were seated across the aisle, and a dermotologist from Ohio. We talked most of the way. The descent was pretty bad on my ears, and although this is funny now, I couldn’t hear a damn thing for a few hours after the flight. It was like the ear plugs were still in my ear. I am sure I was shouting to people. Poor Helen Keller.
The Orlando airport was easy to manuever and great that I got to bypass the baggage claim. I could walk straight to my waiting Disney Magical Express. What efficiency. People from three resorts were jammed into a very comfortable thirty minute bus ride to the resort. For those of you who do not know this, Disney World is actually located in Kissimmee, Florida, not Orlando. Which is nice, because Orlando is the 3rd. most dangerous city in the United States. Really. I’m glad I was staying on Disney property.
By the time I go to the resort, it was about 9:45pm. That was probably a stupid move on my part. I should have arrived early early to take advantage of the day. But, hey, you live and learn. But, it was a cheap flight with a safe airline, so I booked it. The check-in was quick and easy. The one thing that I couldn’t believe is that there was no wi-fi in the resort. AND there was a $9.99 fee for 24 “contiguous” hours. I thought that was a loop hole, because I had no idea what contiguous meant. But, yeah, I want internet. Put it on my charge. Sure, two days at the Disney parks. Just put it on my charge.
The Port Orleans French Quarter resort is inspired by New Orleans. The man holding the door open reminded me of the Mayor of Munchkinland, only a tad bit taller. After check-in, they gave put beads around my neck, Mardi Gras fashion. I got to my room and my suitcase was not there, smiling at me. Not to worry. They said it may take up to three hours to get my luggage. I was surprised to see a fully refurbished ugrade. I was supposed to have a room with 2 double beds overlooking the parking lot. When I got to my room, it had a king sized bed and was beside the Sassagoula River, which was quite pretty. Upgrade. Yay! There was also a greeting on my bed, created by the lady who had my room spotless each day. I’m talking spotless. Immaculate. Never in my life have I seen a room so clean. Of course, I didn’t know at the time that the room was totally re-done in March. I loved my comfy room.
I was starving. So, I changed out of my “It’s damn cold in West Virginia” clothing, and threw on some shorts and flip flops. I went to hunt for something to eat. The Sassagoula Floatworks and Food Factory is a warehouse where old Mardi Gras float props are hung. It was 10:30pm and luckily the place stays open until midnight. I decided to go with a meatball hoagie. Well, the meatballs were huge and one actually fell out of my bun and onto the floor. I sat and stared at it, looking back at me. Well, the whole thing was a mess and so I ate as much as I could with my 25 napkins, and gave up on the mess. Time to get back to the room and plan my next day. I was heading to Epcot Center.
Oh, did I forgot to mention that someone knocked on my door with my suitcase at 2:29a.m.? Yeah, that’s what I thought. What’s worse, is that I was half-asleep and opened the door without looking in the peephole. Just glad I had on my long buttoned down sleep shirt, because I obviously didn’t reach for a robe that I didn’t bring with me. I was half asleep. Glad the 3rd dangerous city in the United States robbers didn’t pretend to bring people their luggage at 2:29 in the morning.
A friend let me know this morning that I wasn’t using the right symbols when I cursed on a facebook status. Apparently, one must use the pound symbol, #, like Beetle Bailey does in the comic strip. For example, the symbols %$#* would be correct, as would *#&!, but never ^($@. See? It really doesn’t look right. So, if you must cuss, use the pound symbol.
People have been cursing since the beginning of time. I don’t know that for sure, but I can only imagine. “Holy sh*t!” was probably uttered in biblical times. There were enough miracles and weird stuff going on to mutter that. Case in point: Parting of the sea. You know that had to amaze someone enough to curse. Maybe something happened to a cow. “Holy cow!” It could have happened like that.
One thing I want to straighten out before I get into the meat and potatoes of this post is that you can say either “curse” or “cuss.” Cuss is an American alteration of “curse.” You know we love to cut words down when we get the chance. So, both words are correct. Well, unless you put a curse on someone. That takes on a whole new meaning.
When I was little, my mom and dad never cursed/cussed in front of us. Well, except for the one time my dad had a flat tire when we were driving on vacation somewhere. I was sitting in the backseat, fighting with my brother and sister, when I heard my dad say…the F word. I don’t know how old I was, but I started crying. My mom got mad because we had to get out of the car so he could change the tire. He was cussing under his breath and I heard every word. My mom didn’t understand why I was crying.
“Vickie…..why in the world are you crying?………………..Well, he is really mad………Well, your dad isn’t a cartoon character, so he doesn’t say dagnabbit……..I don’t know what Gadzooks means, Vickie……Yes, people say “heck” instead of “down there. (She pointed down, to hell, without saying such an awful word in front of a child.)…..Vickie, I have no idea what you are asking………..Who is Betsy?”
I wanted to know why Grandma always said, “Heavens to Betsy.” What the hell did that mean? There were a lot of alternate curse words that I just didn’t understand when I was little. I always enjoyed words. That is probably one of the reasons I was an English minor in college. Words fascinate me. And curse words and the “other” words that were used that you know damn well were meant to be curse words. And here is a list that I collected around the internet.
crud
F-ing
Geez
Holy Cow!
piddle
shucks
Sheesh
Gee whiz
land sakes!
blimey
jeepers
gadzooks
pshaw
hotdiggity
my word
egads
Golly
diddly squat
crap
red cent
bull
blasted
bloody
dagnabbit
fiddlesticks
frick
friggin
flippin
shoot
sugar
fudge
gosh darn
drat
Poo
Mamma Mia
heck
son of a gun
jeepers
Aye chihuahua
dang it
Shucks
bloomin
gee willikers
Oh, my stars! (Thanks, Wendy)
for the love of Pete
Jiminy Cricket
effin
F-U
____________________
My dad’s best friend cussed like a sailor. But, when he was stuck in our family room and we were still awake, he tried to behave himself. I remember he used, “that son of a gun,” “shoot”, and “piddly” a lot. I am sure it got more colorful when we went to bed. So, I thought I would find out. I sneaked out of my bed and sat in the darkened hall so I could listen to them talk. Oh my! I crawled back in bed and cried. My dad had a very foul mouth. I thought that he really needed his mouth washed out with soap. Like with the Lava soap he had downstairs.
I think people make up their own phrases. My childhood friend, Lori, used to say, “Sugar” all the time. “Oh, sugar, look, I closed the door on my finger.” She was the type that probably never cussed in her life. She is probably still saying, “Sugar!” When I grew up, I really didn’t cuss much. I probably would make myself cry. I never cussed around my children when they were little, either. But, I made up my own curse words. For some reason, I always said, “Geez Oy, Marie.” Why? Hell, I don’t know. It’s what came out of my mouth. I did start to use the word, “freakin” as they got older, probably because I wanted out of the “freakin” house. It really was hard being a stay-at-home mom, dammit.
The funniest story I heard about a child cussing is a story that happened to a kindergarten teacher that my children had. A friend’s son, Joseph, told a child to “Pass me a God-damn crayon” and then looked at the teacher and added, “And turn off the f *%#@*! light.” Well, it was nap time, after all. It’s funny how people will blame other members of the family for their cursing. “I don’t know where he learned how to talk like that. We don’t use those words in our house.” Sure.
I don’t know why, but it amuses me to hear elderly people cuss. Like Betty White. She has quite the foul mouth. My mother-in-law cusses and it just cracks me up. She uses the “F-bomb” a lot. It makes my daughter cackle. Well, she is 23 now, so I am sure she has heard curse words by now. But, not coming out of her grandma’s mouth. She is funny when she gets on a roll. When my dad passed away and I was elected to go to the nursing home to tell my grandmother that her son had died, she slapped me and told me to get the hell out of the God damn room. Ok, Grandma. See you later. Ok, maybe the cursing wasn’t so funny that particular day. My dad probably was laughing from above, though.
My fourth graders often come up to me to let me know that a student used “a dirty word.” They are shocked and I know where they are coming from, remembering the first time my dad cursed in front of me. They are so cute. “Ms. Mendenhall, he said the “s” word.”
In the end, the internet has changed the way people cuss/curse. We use symbols to fill in the letters of our cursing. TV shows are using the word “Bleep” when we damn well know they mean, “S*it.” I still don’t know how they got away with that one.
The biggest curse symbol or abbreviation that is a modern wonder is “WTF.” We always had S.O.B., but the internet is changing the way we talk. I’m surprised more people don’t vocally say, “lol” instead of laughing. Well, they do write ROFLMAO (Rolling on Floor, Laughing My Ass Off)
And that is just the way the blasted ball bounces.
I don’t know why skunks get such a bad rap. They are my favorite animal, next to squirrels. I think people need to embrace the skunk. And I will tell you why.
Skunks, even though a member of the weasel family, are not weasely (Yes, weasely). They aren’t sneaky or mean. They go about their business, foraging for larvae, insects, mice, and fruit. They don’t disrupt. People should be happy to have a mice-chewing skunk outside their home.
The reason people don’t like skunks is not because they are ugly. Look at these pictures. Skunks are beautiful. Even more so up close. They really have it going on. They have long black fur and white stripes. They have adorable little feet. I mean, if you can get by the initial realization that there is a skunk in front of you, take a look at their feet before it sprays you. Adorable.
Other animals have embraced the skunk. Cats have been known to accept orphaned baby skunks as their own. Cats and skunks get along. The cat on Pepe le Pew didn’t want anything to do with Pepe, but it was the 60′s and people weren’t so open to inter-racial couples back then. But, in reality, other animals hang with the skunk.
This is obviously not Stinky and PoopyButt.
I had a skunk named Stinky (who I will talk about later) who hung out with an opposum named Poopy Butt. They foraged for food together. They were together for several years, coming nightly to eat at my kitchen nook door. I sat out cat food for our outside cat that we really didn’t have. So, now we know that cats and opposums like skunks. So, why can’t people?
Dogs even want to be skunks
No, the reason people don’t care for skunks is because of their smell. I personally like their smell. I knew someone who liked the smell of gasoline a little too much and well, let’s just say her elevator doesn’t go to the top floor if you know what I mean. So, embrace the skunky smell. It’s a fine fragrant.
Skunks only spray when they feel scared or threatened. If you slowly make friends with a skunk like I did, you will be fine. Skunks are great marksmen. They can hit a mark from a distance of 9 feet, sometimes up to 12. So, make sure you take out a measuring tape when you go outside to visit a skunk. By the way, they have enough ammunition to fire about six times in a row before needing some time to re-load. They are like a little black and white Uzi.
Skunks give warning. When they see you, they don’t immediately spray you. That would be rude. No, they tap their adorable little feet. That’s warning #1. If you are still standing too close to them and are too stupid to heed the warning, they give you another chance. Their tail goes up in the air. Sometimes they will even put their legs up in the air. Like in this video. If you are still stupid after these warnings, you deserve to be sprayed.
When I was in college I purchased a skunk from Kmart. I swear I did. They sold skunks in the Weirton WV store in the mid seventies. I bought it for $35 during the summer before I went back to school. I named him Thumper. My mom was quite happy.
“Vickie….Dear God, you are holding a skunk…….Vickie, Kmart does not sell skunks…….No, they don’t.” So, she called Kmart because she didn’t believe me. I don’t know why. “Vickie, you’re taking it back to school with you, right?……………You can’t keep it here….It will attack Cricket.” Cricket was my little white dog. While she was saying that, I had put Thumper down, and Cricket came over to smell him. Instant connection. eHarmony circa 1975.
My dad spoke up. I almost fell over. My dad never spoke back to my mom. He was Wally Cox with Ronald Reagan’s voice. “I’ll take care of the skunk while you are in school.” My mom shot him a look, like “How dare you speak.”
So, Thumper slept all day, like skunks do, and kept Cricket up all night. The dog was exhausted. Thumper went to the bathroom in the kitty litter box, but also enjoyed digging in my mom’s many potted plants she had littered around the family room. Well, that’s what vacuum cleaners are for. Cleaning. My dad LOVED Thumper. Probably because my mom hated the poor little thing so much. I would sometimes walk into the family room and Thumper would be curled up, sleeping on my dad’s lap. He would just look up and smile. When I went back to school in the fall and when my dad wasn’t looking, Mom sold Thumper. Witch. Not only did she sell Thumper, she sold him for $40 and told me she was keeping the $5 to buy more potting soil for her plants. Wicked witch.
Fast forward many years and I made friends with Stinky. We could open the kitchen door and yell his name, and he would come
This is Stinky
running. For a peanut. We even got him to step into our kitchen. We loved Stinky. He was like part of the family. One night, during the huge March snowstorm we had in the early 90′s, Stinky showed up in the newly plowed drive-way, bloody and disoriented. Someone had hit Stinky. He was badly injured. I begged Jay to put him out of his misery. We buried Stinky out on the ridge, under the grand daddy hickory tree, next to Chuck the hamster and Sweetheart the Squirrel. I cried for days.
So, people, if you see a skunk in your yard, he may help you out by munching on mice that would otherwise try to enter your home and eat your cereal and poop in your corners. Mice don’t poop in the middle of the floor, everyone knows this. But, skunks don’t mind when you haven’t taken a shower. So, don’t get grossed out with the smell. It’s not a bad smell.
In the end, skunks have a place in our lives. I can’t wait to move to a place that is near the woods and a creek (prounounced crik in my world), so I can start feeding wildlife again.
Happy Valentine's Day
And I hope to find something stinky in my backyard.
I found out that I have been nominated not once, but twice, for the coveted Stylish Blogger Award.
When I started blogging, I didn’t really know what I was doing. I still don’t. But, along the way, I met other bloggers who I now consider friends. Sure, we don’t know each other, not really, but I know that I really enjoy reading their blogs. I’m quite a procrastinator, so chances are that I probably will never get around to following the rules of the award like I am supposed to, but know that I cherish the thought that these women, who both could outwrite me in a blogging duel HANDS DOWN, thought of me to nominate for this award. I am soo glad that I have met you guys. Thank you.
Working Tech Mom at http://workingtechmom.wordpress.com/ , is such a great writer. She is such an optimist. She is classy and her blog is informative, fresh and she takes great pictures. I enjoy visiting her whenever I get the chance. Go visit her blog right now.
Wendy, who is also WriterWoman61 at http://writerwoman61.wordpress.com/ , is a wonderful blogger whose grammar and correct sentence structure puts me to shame. Her blogs are so well written. She wrote a piece on the Bay of Fundy, which is sooo good that I am thinking of taking a trip up there and camping out on her porch.
Thank you so very much. Some of your blogging friends have visited my blog as a result of your kind gestures, and in turn, I just be making some new blogging friends. And if they are anything like you guys, I am a happy camper.
Ok, well, let me try to at least fulfill some of the award requirements..lol
As she described in her post, the award comes with four basic tasks to be completed:
Present seven things about yourself
Name about a half-dozen bloggers you think deserve the award
Contact those people
Create a link back to the person who gave you the honor
Ok, number 4 is completed. This is quite an accomplishment for me…lol
Present 7 things about yourself…
1. I was a stay-at-home mom and wife until the age of 51, when I was hired as a full-time teacher. I was probably the oldest “new” teacher in WV that year. Maybe ever..lol
2. I have been divorced for almost 2 years and was married for 25 years. I am tickled pink to be by myself and love every minute of being independent.
3. I love writing. I used to write poetry as well and have found that I can throw a poem together pretty quickly. For example, after I saw a shooting star this past summer, I wrote:
“A summer visit on a dark lonely night illuminates the vacuous sky with a warm greeting, not wishing to wear out its welcome, but teasing me for want of another.”
I know, great, right? lol I wrote that in 1 minute. This divorced, living life as I choose, is just so great…lol
4. My children are my biggest joy. They have turned out to be such awesome young adults. Of course, it is all because of me. Adam is 25 and is studying for his PHD in Economics. When he graduates, I am taking him to Scotland. We plan to rent a bag pipe player, get some beer, and go sit at the shore at Loch Ness and wait with our cameras for Nessie. Alex is 23 and is teaching English in France right now. She spent a year in Japan doing the same. I can’t wait to get both of the kids on the same continent again.
5. I want to travel!!! I have my passport ready and I’m thinking train travel across Canada for my first solo venture. Of course, I have to wait until my 15 year old cat passes, because I just can’t leave her. Which brings me to #6.
6. I love wildlife. I am like the animal whisperer. I can tame almost anything that would walk in my yard…except for crows. They don’t give me a chance. I’ve tamed raccoons, opposums, skunks, blue jays, feral cats, chipmunks, deer, and turkeys. I had a squirrel named Sweetheart that would knock on my kitchen nook door for a peanut. Stinky the skunk would even step into the house to get a peanut.
7. I want to move. When I divorced, I move out of the home that we built and into a small apartment. I want to buy, and am looking at places on the internet all the time, so that is why I am not blogging as much as I would like to. I just don’t know if I want to go the townhome route or a home route. I guess I will know when I see it.
8. (I’m adding 1 more because I like to ramble) My biggest thing going on right now is my biggest thing, literally. I’m on a mission to lose a lot of weight. I’ve lost 14 pounds so far and I am hoping to lose 55 by my 55th birthday. I joined a gym last summer but didn’t get any determination until I got the news from my doctor that my cholesterol was quite high. So, I am trying to lose a pound a week. I’m starving myself during the week and eating fun stuff on the weekends..because that is how I roll. I WILL get back to where I was. It’s funny, but I got made fun of when I was in college because I was lucky if I weighed 95 pounds. Even after I had my kids I was able to get back to my 108. Somewhere along the line, I quit caring. Didn’t know I was unhappy all that time. Isn’t that weird? I think I’m a good pretender. Anywho, I am going to get myself back, and then boy am I going to enjoy life. I do now, but it will be better when I can recognize the person in the mirror.
Well, I am also supposed to pick people to pass the award on to. This is where the procrastination part kicks in, as I am pressed for time. I guess what I can tell you is to go to my blog roll and visit all the people I have listed. They have great sites. I will, in the meantime, try to get my act together and nominate 6 people to pass the award to. If I don’t, this isn’t like a chain letter is it, where I will die or my hair will fall out if I don’t follow the directions, right? Gosh, I hope not.
Thanks again, dear blogging friends. I really appreciate it.
When I was in fourth grade, Miss Emler had us make Valentine boxes out of shoeboxes for our Valentine cards. I really worked hard on mine. I was a new student that year, transferring from a private Catholic school where there was no Valentine’s Day. Being a student at the Sacred Heart of Mary Juana Academy was pretty close to being in hell, I was sure. So, I was excited to get Valentines from my new friends.
Miss Emler made us take our Valentine boxes home and wouldn’t let us open it to see our Valentine’s. I was really hoping to get one from Doug. He was the cutest boy in fourth grade and I think everyone liked Doug. So, I took my Valentine box home and after dropping my books on the couch, plopped myself down on the floor. I was excited.
Inside were a lot of Valentines. I read each one and put it aside like it was quite fragile. This was fun. But, then, my mom spoke up.
“You know Vickie, enjoy Valentine’s Day now, because when you get married, your husband won’t buy you a damn thing.” she said, as she sucked on her Salem cigarette, and exhaled up into the air. That smoke just kept coming out of her mouth. ” Your father never buys me flowers or candy.” I just looked at her. “Vickie, when you get married, don’t expect your husband to be buying you flowers and candy all the time. It doesn’t happen. You need to go to college and get a degree so you can support him.”
Um, Mom, you’re raining on my Valentine Day experience here. My dad probably bought her flowers one time and she made him take them back or something. I knew he didn’t like her too much. He deliberately ran over her flowers with the lawn mower. I saw him do it. He looked at me and laughed and went back over them again. He was a quiet guy, but he got back at the rolling-pin woman.
“Vickie, then again, you may not even get married, so go to college and get a degree.”
I decided to talk back a bit to my mom. I remember this conversation. ” I will so get married and my husband is going to buy me a lot of flowers and candy and even a dog.” So, there, you loon.
I opened all of my Valentine cards and I didn’t get one from Doug. I was crushed. The next day at the bus stop I asked Ramaine and LeeAnn and Lori if they got a Valentine card from Doug. They did. Now I was ready to cry. Doug didn’t give me a Valentine’s Day card. Life was over….at nine years of age.
At school, I over heard Kacey tell people that she got two Valentine cards from Doug. Two? Way to rub salt into my oozing wound, Kacey. It got back to Doug and he went to her and told her that he didn’t give her two cards. “Yes, you did. You signed both of them.” Seems like Doug put a Valentine card without a name on it in Kacey’s Valentine box by mistake. I heard him tell Scott that he made one for everyone.
So, I went home that day, knowing that that Valentine card was meant for me. But, it didn’t mean anything a day after Valentine’s Day. I hated Valentine’s Day.
Fast forward to February 14, 1984. It was my first Valentine’s Day as a married person. The phone rang. It was my mom.
“Vickie, Happy Valentine’s Day! I love you.” Yeah, me too, Mom. Small talk, then….”Sooooo, what did your husband get you for Valentine’s Day?”
I wanted to lie. You have no idea how I wanted to lie. I wanted to say that he bought me a dozen roses and took me to dinner and wrote me a poem. Because poetry is sexy.
She didn’t give me a chance. She noted my hesitation. “Do you remember when you were little, Vickie? I told you that when you got married that you wouldn’t get anything for Valentine’s Day, didn’t I? Your old mom is pretty smart, isn’t she?”
“Mom, he got me a Valentine’s Day present.” I didn’t lie.
“Oh, he did, did he? …Vickie, I know when you lie. You can’t fool your mother. Ok. What did he buy you?”
Yeah, I know.....
Long pause…..then the truth.. “He um, bought me a hamburger maker.”
After she started laughing, I just walked over and quietly hung up on her.
I guess nothing says “I love you” like pressed ground beef.
Childhood Funk. That’s what mother’s should call it. Children are afflicted with the strangest maladies: Lice, Impetigo, ring worm, and scabies. Those are the things that make childhood traumatic, from a parent’s upstanding citizen point of view.
The last thing parent’s want to see is a note from the school that their child has lice, a strange ring on their arm or critters digging under their skin, such as scabies. It makes us look like we are dirty, living among rat feces and bathtub rings.
Scabies is caused by mites that burrow into the skin and lay their eggs, causing intense itching and a pimple-like rash. Scabies is contagious and spreads, making the condition common in childcare centers and schools It’s not related to socioeconomic class. That doesn’t matter. It makes all parents feel like pond scum. My college roommate had scabies when she was student teaching. It was on her stomach and it just grossed me out, thinking that there was something literally crawling under her skin, and if that wasn’t bad enough, had the audacity to leave eggs behind as a parting gift. And then they would hatch and so on and so on, and the next thing you know, she would be a scabie. I told her that too.
So, when I became a parent, I was like an OCD queen of cleanliness. My home was going to be a “Scabies Free Zone.” And there was no way my child was going to serve lice on a platter to the other children. I was sure that parent’s would do the same. But, oh, I was living in a germ-free bubble, and one day it got popped.
Alex was in kindergarten and had to take something in for Show and Tell. She decided to take her favorite stuffed animal, Fluffy the
Pretend this looks like Fluffy
dog. Fluffy was a good dog, and she knew that he would behave himself in school. By all means, Little One, take Fluffy to school with you.
I loved watching her get off the school bus and run to me. That day was no different. Well, maybe not for her. “Mommy, guess what? Stephanie has lice.” Now, you have to understand that this was the first “lice in the classroom” situation I had encountered. Adam was one year ahead, and there was never any jumping scalp partiers to mention of before. I was aghast. Like finding out Jeffrey Dahmer ate people for lunch aghast.
I followed her to the house and realized I had to stop her before entering my lovely foyer, before taking lice hitch-hikers into my family room, where we lie on the couch, not worried that scurrying little bugs were walking on us. No, this had to stop before I went mental.
I told Alex that we would go into the house through the garage so we can empty her backpack. I tried not to let Alex know that having lice could be a royal pain in the house. I told her I just had to make sure that lice didn’t follow her home. We dropped off her back pack in the garage for now, and had her kick off her shoes before we entered the mudroom. Once in the mudroom, I told her to stand still, and I ran up to her room to get a change of clothes for her. She was going in the shower. After I interrogated her scalp. I went over her head with a fine-toothed comb. Literally.
Well, after I scalped her, I put her in the shower. You know, to drown any lice that may be hiding in her eyelashes. I put her in a change of clothes and put her lice-infested clothes in a bag to wash. While she was eating her after school snack , I put the clothes in the washing machine on hot. Well, on the soak cycle, so again, the little buggers would drown. I felt pretty good that I prevented lice from visiting our fine abode. But, wait, Mom, not so fast.
“Mommy, what about Fluffy?” Alex looked up at me, with that sweet, innocent of bugs face. Oh, shit. Fluffy. The stuffed animal that she sleeps with. The dog that sat with her when she watched tv. Fluffy even ate cereal with her. I was screwed. Well, let me think? Would lice like fake fur? Well, hell yes, I thought, how would they know the difference? They were lice. I’m sure they were stupid.
There was only one thing I could do. Fluffy would have to be quarantined. I couldn’t wash the furry guy. He would have fallen apart in the washer. Trust me. And never ask me about Bongo. Poor monkey. Anyways, I didn’t have the internet to refer to, and I was pretty sure that the Medical dictionary didn’t have an entry about stuffed animals with lice. I had to figure out a solution, short of having a note left one night by her door that Fluffy was kidnapped. That was just a fleeting thought, mind you.
So, I did the only thing I could do. I put Fluffy in a huge Zip-lock bag. To suffocate the lice, of course. At the same time, he could still travel with Alex and sleep with her and do all the things a girl and her dog in a bag would do together. It was perfect. You know what they say, “It’s a dog’s lice.” I’m pretty sure that’s what it is.
Fluffy stayed in oxygen-deprived quarantine for 2 weeks. I didn’t have to deal with lice again until I started teaching full time several years ago. Karma. Lice all around me. My head starts itching.
I need quarantined most days. Just put me in a bag.
Imagine my surprise when I got home from teaching, sat down at my computer, and opened my Facebook messages to find one that read, “Oh, Vickie, so sorry to hear about your mom. My mom said it was in the paper today. My thoughts and prayers are with you.”
My literary debut….. Amazon.com for $3.99. It’s sort of funny.
8. Animals I Like
Where the hell is the fort?
Wrong bees
