Travels with Atticus the Cat

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.

My Own Backyard

As summer approaches, I try to come up with a travel plan. Last year, I went to New York City twice and Cancun, Mexico. This summer, I am reminded of the great Dorothy Gale quote from the Wizard of Oz:

“…and if I ever go looking for my heart’s desire again, I won’t look any further than my own backyard.” 

Dorothy was a smart girl. I think I will follow her advice. I think I will braid my hair, grab a dog and a little picnic basket purse. and travel around my home state of West Virginia.

It’s funny how people live close to something so wonderful but don’t even notice it’s there. I’m guilty of that. I live close to Prickett’s Fort State Park and hate to say that the last time I had been there was about fifteen years ago when we took our children there. So, I went there a few weekends ago to take pictures with my new camera.

Prickett’s Fort is about ten minutes from my home. I should be slapped. On approach, the first thing I came upon was a creek full of Canadian geese and three honking white geese.

The atmosphere of the creek (I pronounce it crik, because that’s how we talk in Weirton), made me feel calm and mellow. The area is stocked with picnic tables for those who want to picnic with about twenty pooping Canuck ducks. It’s not so bad further away from the geese. I hung out there for awhile, talking to the geese and just taking in the beauty of the area. This was fun. I was by myself, but that doesn’t equate loneliness at all. It was fun. After about ten minutes, I hopped in my car and headed to the state park. But, wait, on my right was a very old cemetery begging me to visit. So, I did.

The Prickett’s Fort Cemetery is an old one indeed. The Prickett family is buried here. The founder of Morgantown, a fellow by the name of Morgan, is buried here too. Morgan Morgan was supposedly the first inhabitant in what is now known as West Virginia. This guy had to be a relative, but I am just way too lazy to research that right now. But, the cemetery was a bit eery, even in the morning.

I then pulled into the parking lot of Prickett’s Fort. The visitor Center is really nice and since I am fifty-five, got a discount on my entrance fee. There is also a museum and nifty time line of the fort upstairs. On the right of the visitor’s center is a bathroom and amphlitheather where plays are performed. The following are pictures I took of the fort and fort area.

The inside of the fort

I won’t go into detail about the fort, but it was used by the Prickett family as their primary home. They have a wonderful website that explains all that is Prickett’s Fort.  When word that Indians were in the area hunting, neighbors would quickly ride to the fort and stay with the Prickett family. If you happen to visit this lovely park, you will meet people dressed in period clothing, and watch them work at their craft.

But, what is great about Prickett’s Fort State Park is that it is also a great place to park your car and head to the Rails to Trails on foot or on your bike. Many people use this popular trail, known as the Mon River Trail.

And if you don’t feel like walking or riding your bike, then bring down your boat and enjoy the Monongahela River.

I had a great morning at Prickett’s Fort State Park. And it is in my own backyard. Yes, sometimes the grass is greener on the other side of the fence and you need to travel and explore what lies beyond your local boundaries. But, if you don’t have that wanderlust and want to stay nearby, just look around you. You maybe be surprised at the sights that are in your own backyard.

Reading is Eating Up My Blogging Time

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.

Love,

Nancy Drew

 

My Crazy Google Seach Engine Terms

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?

I Won Something

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.

Hold Your Breath, Here Comes the Tunnel

 When I was little, we lived about 25 minutes from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. It was nothing for us to drive to the airport to watch the planes take off.  We were also close to the Pittsburgh Zoo and Kennywood Park, a well-known amusement park in our area. We went to the big city quite often. But, it was always a thrill to approach the Fort Pitt Tunnel.

  As noted in Wikpedia, “Before entering the tunnel at its southwest end, one sees a commonplace view of Western Pennsylvania’s rolling green hills, but upon exiting at the northeast end, one sees a spectacular view of Pittsburgh’s skyline, often famous as “the best way to enter an American city”. So true, so true.  It is just a barren drive on the parkway. And after exiting the tunnel, a whole world of skyscrapers and bridges appear before you, magically, like Dorothy seeing Munchkinland for the first time. Well, except, this was Pennsylvania and not the great land of Oz.

The one thing that I didn’t like about the drive to Pittsburgh was the tradition of holding your breath when you go through the tunnel. I mean, really? We have to do this? Whose messed up parent invented this?  And is it just with this Pittsburgh tunnel, or is everyone across the nation demented? Everyone was always excited about

I have no idea who this hamster is

 the prospect. “Ooooh, here comes the tunnel. Hold your breath!” And with that, everyone would blow up their cheeks and sit quietly, if not passing out, while they traveled through the tunnel.

From what I understand, if you are able to hold your breath all the way through the tunnel, and then make a wish, that wish is supposed to come true. That’s just wrong. I have always had the lung capacity of a worm. I would never have a wish come true. And what happens if you are in the car with someone who is a slow driver. Like my Grandpa, creator of the traffic jam. He drove like he was heading towards  yesterday. Whatever the hell that means.

the light at the end of the tunnel

My sister could hold her breath until she attained brain damage. That explains so much about her nowadays. So could my brother, David. They would sit through that whole drive through the tunnel and then let out an explosion of air noise when we reached the other side.

So, I did the only thing I knew how to do. Ask questions. My dad rarely answered questions while he was driving. My mom was more than happy to answer questions when she wasn’t swiping us with her hand  when we were fighting.

Now, this does explain a lot

“Vickie, why are you talking? You are supposed to be holding your breath……..Because you are…………..No, it isn’t a law…….I don’t know if the president holds his breath when he goes through a tunnel……..Vickie, you won’t be able to make a wish if you don’t hold your breath…………..Because that’s how it is……….It just is…………..Vickie, that’s ridiculous, dogs don’t hold their breath………..Please be quiet…………..Please……………..Vickie, ENOUGH!”

And then we would be through the tunnel. Sometimes I would pretend to hold my breath. I would puff my cheeks out like a stuffed, over-fed  hamster and still breathe through my nose. I wasn’t born yesterday.

Former tunnel breath holding champion, now mermaid

  In the end, I have no idea why people hold their breath when they go through tunnels. Perhaps parents wanted a bit of peace and quiet and created this as a nice diversion. Perhaps people enjoyed passing out from lack of oxygen.

I know it thrills me to no end.

Guinea Pig Children

    With Christmas just around the corner, it reminds me of  the toys and games I received for Christmas when I was young.  The 1960′s and early 197o’s were the decades of  “The Misfit Toys.” 

      I don’t think they had testers back then. If someone invented a toy or game, perhaps the toy manufacturers just packaged it and put it on the shelves. I really think that  if there were toy testers back then, some of them surely would have died. I’m thinking specifically of  my first chemistry set. I can’t find any research on “toy tester deaths.”  I did look. If they would not have perished,  toy testers  would have received brain damage,  an amputated finger, or if not injuries, than stains on their clothing. And on the carpet. And on the couch.  Which piss mothers off to no end. Probably worse than the brain damage. This mother hates glitter. Just thought I would add that because if glitter gets in your eye, you WILL  go blind. For that reason, it is banned in my house.  I know I read that somewhere. You can’t dispute facts. Especially if you make them up.

Anywho,  children got to be “guinea pigs” when the product actually game out.  And of course you know that a “guinea pig”

Gus testing a new product

 is a person  is a person who is subjected to experimental or other observational procedures.  Like children of the 1960′s and early 1970′s. That would include me. I very well may have been one of the “Guinea PigChildren.”   I was, after all, hit in the temple by flying clackers. 

     I loved my Clackers…. until  THE incident. Clackers were popular in the early seventies, when I was about 13-16 years old, perhaps.  Clackers  were  two hard plastic  marbles, (if marbles can be plastic), each about two inches in diameter. They are attached to a ring with a sturdy string. A person  puts their index finger in the ring, allowing the marbles (or balls) to hang below. Through an up-and-down  motion, the two balls swing apart and together, making the clacking noise that give the crazy toy its name. With practice, it is possible to get the marbles swinging so that they ”clack” together above and  below the hand.

     Clackers were discontinued because children were being injured. I continuously hurt my fingers while honing my clacker craft. Not all children follow rules. They also made an excellent weapon. If you swing them over your head, and let them go, they could fly across the room and either hit or strangle a kid…. Or a poodle. I read that cave men used Clackers. Or bola’s, as the South American gaucho called them. (See, I do research). I heard that if struck too hard, the acrylic balls could shatter, with flying consequences. I became really good at clackers. I could hit them above and below. I was the Crystal Lane Clacker Queen.  Self-imposed title, perhaps, but queen, nontheless. 

Clack...clack....crack

One day, several of us were “clacking”, and mine flew across the room and knocked over a glass of water that was on the coffee table, which in turn, spilled the water, which then flowed  into my mom’s pack of Salem cigarettes. I guess water-logged cigarettes aren’t easy to light. I tried to get one out of the pack and it just wilted in half. So, I put it back in there. We were done clacking for the day. My sister told on me and off to my room I went. When I came out, my Clackers were gone.  Damn….

  I really don’t know what the fascination was with Clackers. You didn’t win anything. You didn’t have a high score. But, you could be timed to see how long you could “clack.”  Time clackers, so to speak.  Maybe it was a lesson in eye-hand coordination.

 I really think that I could have been a ninja assassin with my clacking skills. But, I preferred to grow up and become a teacher.

Same thing.

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People Pee in Pools

Beach trips are supposed to be fun. Well, unless you are a mother. You can never really rest when you are on a beach vacation. But, when you are in your fifties and your kids are old enough to be doing their own thing, a trip to the beach sounds peachy.

Well, this one wasn’t. I went to the beach with a good friend, who, um, is not a friend at all anymore. And I don’t even know where to start.

Let’s not start at the beginning. The beginning was normal. Let me jump right in to say that I sat on the beach beside my friend who believed that the world may be flat.

I’m sorry, what?

Sitting on a sand chair, looking out over the ocean, my friend began the morning with a very interesting question. I mean, it is, coming from someone in their mid-fifties.

“Vickie, now this ocean…is it infinite, meaning does it go on and on or does it end somewhere?”   Oh, she was serious. I just looked at her for a few seconds to see if there was a follow-up smile. No smirk, just wonderment.

Well, I’ll be. My friend was stupid. So, I thought I would play along. “You mean like at a country somewhere?”

“Well, yeah.  This is the Atlantic Ocean, right? So, does it just go on and on…or does it stop somewhere?

I just looked at her and replied, “I believe it ends in Africa.”

“You’re shittin me?”  She was surprised.  Wow. Africa. Who would have thought?  What I found cute was the fact that she felt it necessary to define “infinite” for me, like I was the one who was stupid.

Now, remember, I didn’t start this story at the beginning. You probably think that I am throwing around the “Stupid” moniker a little to easily, since I am supposed to be a friend and all. I would tend to agree…if I hadn’t experienced a few days of similar chatter before this nonsense.

“Lifeguards…Vickie, do you think they have like a special training session where they learn how to save a life? I mean, I know that their main job is to watch people on the beach.”

“I read somewhere where they have like an afternoon or two of a lecture.” Might as well make up some lies.

It all started when we arrived at Myrtle Beach. We actually had a nice trip down and talked about a lot of different things. To back up, I had met her when she was my aide when I taught special needs at an elementary school. She was often forgetful and had probably lost several pair of glasses and her mother’s ring just in the first few months that I was there. She repeated things often. I didn’t think anything of it. She was fun and we became friends. She had mentioned that she didn’t want to go to the beach with the same group of ladies that she went with every summer, so I asked her if she would want to go to Myrtle.

So, the trip down was nice. It took us about nine or ten hours to get there. We got to our resort and immediately hopped back into the car and went to dinner. I looked over at her and saw she was crying behind her menu.

“What’s wrong?”

She missed her daughter…..who I should mention was twenty-six years old.

Um…ok..I felt like a bad mom because I didn’t cry about my kids. My twenty-three year old daughter was getting ready to move to freaking Japan for a year. I should have been the one crying.

Things sort of spiraled out of control from there.

She repeated on a time delay everything I said like I never said it in the first place…I’m talking like fifteen times a day…She forgot everything..

I began and ending the day with reminders. “Don’t forget your breakfast card.” (Walk to the elevator)

“Vickie, do you have the room key? I forgot my breakfast card.”  Of course you did. She forgot her camera. She forgot her shampoo. She forgot flip flops for the sand. She forgot her brain. By the end of the week, I wanted to feed myself to the sharks.

We went to a grocery store after our interesting first dinner to buy food and drinks for our small kitchen. She was upset about something, but I thought maybe she was now missing her husband. Shit, this was going to be fun.

Found out during our screamfest on the way home that “I have ALWAYS went in with my friends for food when we went on vacation.”

She was mad because I bought what I wanted to eat and drink. There were only two of us. I don’t like freaking blueberries. I don’t want them on my cereal because was going to eat at the resort restaurant. We had free breakfast coupons for each morning. But, she bought blueberries. Why buy stuff that I am not going to eat. We were only going to eat lunch in the room. What the hell was the big deal?

I heard disturbing stories about the women she usually went to the beach with. First, the five of them would always get an apartment several blocks from the ocean to save money. Then, as she explained, they would go to a breakfast buffet at a nearby resort that didn’t check to see if anyone was wearing a bracelet or had a coupon. On their way out, they would pocket hard boiled eggs, lemons, tea bags, and everything else they could get their hands on so they could make egg salad sandwiches for lunch. The bread was split five ways.

She went on to tell me that after lying on the beach before lunch, they would go to another resort and lie by the pool for the rest of the day. They cooked dinner everynight with the things they brought from home or stole that day. They went out for pizza maybe one evening.

I just sat there. I just couldn’t believe that women my age would steal lemons so they could make lemonade for lunch.

So, imagine my surprise the next day, our first day on the beach,  when I inquired about a beach umbrella rental. We brought our own sand chairs, but I wanted an umbrella since I stay out on the beach all day. I told her I would pay for it. No biggie. It was $15.00 a day. But would she sit under it? Nope..she wouldn’t even put her beach bag (my bag, she forgot hers) under the umbrella, for fear of feeling she would have to share the cost each day, even though I told her I would take care of it. She sat in front of me. What the hell?

She fell asleep in the sun and had her mouth open and I thought she kinda looked like she just had a stroke..everything was sort of drooping on one side. She had no idea I took her picture, which made me feel like I was getting away with something…..which was great. The rest of the day she had a towel on her face. Again, just because she wouldn’t sit under a rented umbrella. Notice how far back my umbrella and chair is. I had to almost yell to talk to her. Stupid.

At the end of the first full day, my friend had repeated things I had just said. She told me the same stories that she told me on the nine hour drive down to the beach. I would just smile. By the end of the second full day, I replied with a,” I know. I just told you that.” By the end of the third full day, I was a little edgy with a, “Oh my God, I just said that.” By the end of the fourth full day I was hoping a shark would eat me.

For example, our state’s elderly senator, Robert C. Byrd, had just died. I saw it on the internet and told her about his passing. At dinner, two hours later, she told me:

“Oh, while you were in the shower, I heard that Robert C. Byrd died today.”

One evening while entering the elevator in the lobby, I noticed a coupon for Domino’s Pizza. “Hey look, pizza coupon if we want to have pizza some evening.”

Sure, we made a few stops to drove off some people, but she noticed the coupon and took it as we approached our floor. “I saw this coupon when we got on the elevator. I didn’t want anyone else to take it.”

Oh, you did, eh?

On the last day on the beach, I wished I brought a pen with me to write in the back of my book all the “Rita-isms” that came out of her mouth. I decided I could write a book.

I pulled my chair out into the sun a little each day so I didn’t look like a fruitcake yelling over to her as she sat by herself.  When she started talking, I couldn’t pretend write fast enough.

“Vickie, if I stepped in one of these holes that those kids are digging, and broke my ankle, could I sue the lifeguard since it is his job to watch the beach?”

“No, I think you would have to sue the kid.”

“How would I know which one to sue.”

“He would be the one with the shovel.”

I wrote a note in the sand to some of my facebook friends. I wanted to write, “Please help me.”

I wanted to go home.

We went to a buffet for dinner the last night. I told her it was going to be $27.99. She knew this. She also knew that it was a BUFFET. There would not be any ordering off of the menu. Again, it was a buffet. As soon as we got there, her eyes got real wide, like she didn’t hear me say that it was going to be….$27.99 and promptly asked the waiter for a menu.

I was having trouble with the wireless connection and she told me that a CONNECTION means that it has to CONNECT somewhere, so I should have a plug. I told her I didn’t have to have a plug because it was a wireless connection.

She laughed, like I needed to be humored. “It is called a CONNECTION for a reason. It has to CONNECT in a plug in the wall. That’s why you can’t get on the internet.” Even though I had been on there most of the week here and there with no PLUG. As I sat on the balcony that night, I was wondering if the fall would kill me. This was just miserable.

During a walk along the beach right before dark on our last night at the beach, we went down to a little lagoon-area. There was a couple with two beautiful springer spaniels who were galloping after each other in and out of the water. There were small fish that swam into the little inlet and it was fun seeing some other creatures.  After we finished talking to the couple and a fisherman who caught a small shark, my friend pointed and asked,  ”Now, Vickie, what kind of thing would have made those kind of marks…they are are along the beach here, in and out of the water. What would make those I wonder?”  “Well, Rita, those would be dog paw prints.”  The damn dogs were just running through there.  I started to walk out into the ocean. Ok, I didn’t really, but I thought I just should end it now.

The ride home was much different than the ride down to the wonderful beach vacation. On the way home, she screwed up the TomTom GPS because the end destination was her daughter’s home address, not mine. (We live in the same town.)  She got mad when I said, “Seriously, I think I can get home fine after we hit the Virginia line, let alone Fairmont.” She gave me a dirty look.

I think what made her go off on me was the fact that she had an ice cream cone and it was melted down all over the seatbelt.  I don’t know how she even let that happen, but she looked like a child sitting in a highchair left alone too long. There was ice cream everywhere. I was driving and had an ice cream cone and I was fine. I just really wanted to get home.

Everything changed when we stopped at a rest stop somewhere in West Virginia. We both used the bathroom, and I saw that she was done first, standing by the front door. I went and stood by her and said, “For a rest stop, this place is beautiful.” She turned around and went over to look at maps. So, I went out to the car. She never came out. Minutes passed. I called her on her phone. I heard the phone ring, as it was lying on the floor. She dropped it once again. So, I thought I would just let her read her damn map and come out to the car whenever. I couldn’t take it any longer so I went back in to the rest area lobby. She was standing by the door.

“Why didn’t you come out to the car?” I was huffy, I admit.

“I thought you were in the bathroom.”

“I came over and told you how pretty this place is.”

“You did not.”

We screamed at each other the rest of  the way home. She said I belittled her for repeatedly saying, “Oh my God, Rita, I JUST said that!” and that I didn’t want to do anything in the evening. Yeah, I did too want to do something, I  actually wanted to jump off the balcony. I returned the yelling by saying that I had never seen anyone so cheap in my whole life and I was afraid to ask her if she wanted to go anywhere because I didn’t really want to have to sneak in.

She was also mad because I didn’t want to lie by the pool.  I didn’t drive eleven hours to lie by a pool. People pee in pools. Why would I want to sit my butt in an inner tube and float down the stupid lazy river…hello? It is not a river. I told her before we left that I was a beach person and that I sat on the beach all freaking day. People do pee in pools. People I don’t know. She said she was a beach person too. Then I screamed at her, “Why didn’t you go up to the pool area by yourself? It’s not like you were sitting with me anyway. You were afraid I might charge you to sit under the umbrella.”

By the time we pulled into my driveway, we were no longer talking. She slammed the door, and then had to re-open it to get her suitcase. I laughed out loud, because that spoke volumes to how the week went.

Needless to say, we are no longer friends. I do have to thank her for one thing, though. When I got home, I wanted to remember everything she said and did. So, I found wordpress and wrote this little story about it.

So, this is my first blog post.

And, um, the Atlantic Ocean also stops at Portugal.