Well, this won’t exactly be a typical post, so prepare yourself. Tonight I had the pleasure of attending the retirement party that my dad’s coworkers threw for him. There is no other way to put it, other than it blessed my heart. Truthfully, I don’t think that I can quite find the words to express all that I felt tonight.
See, Dad went there thinking that not many people would show up, but actually forty-two people gathered around to celebrate this time with him. Some of his coworkers at Itchetucknee (spell?) had contacted many of the people that he had worked with over the years (at the other state parks that he had worked at), and almost all of them showed up for the party. Needless to say, my dad was pleasantly surprised. He was totally the masculine form of the ‘belle of the ball.’ As he sat talking with all of his good friends, I could tell that he was truly happy.
After dinner, they started a very nice presentation, and gave gifts. All of the gifts were so thoughtful and sweet…dad even got choked up at one point. I honestly believe that he didn’t think that that many people cared. They gave him two beautiful plaques (one that has pictures of 3 of the main parks that he worked at…it’s beautiful), a gold watch, a bunch of Skoal (go figure…hahah) and several other things. After opening the gifts, Mrs. Patty asked people to stand up and say some things about him. I will try to write some of the comments that people said. One man said “He was one of the hardest workers that I ever had the privilege of working with.” Another lady said “It didn’t matter if you were having the worst day, a few minutes of talking with Jackie and your day would turn around. He always kept us in stitches.” Another said “He really taught the inmates how to work. But he found ways of making them work (like having competitions between themselves) without yelling at them. He worked with them, he didn’t just stand back and let them do all of the work. He worked right beside them. And he always made them feel like human beings…not prisoners. By the time they left his crew, they knew how to work and support themselves.” And the one that stood out to me was “He was a very hard worker. If we had more people in America that had his work ethic, we wouldn’t be in the predicament that we’re in now.” My dad is a very hard worker. He has always been that way…in whatever he was doing.
Well after the presentation, people began sharing stories. This went on for an hour and a half. Everyone was laughing and having a good time. Almost everyone in the room had a story to tell about dad. It was such a good fellowship time. There were a lot of memories shared, and once again my dad was SO happy.
As the party was coming to a close, I had many people come up and speak to my mom, Rheba and me. Everyone kept saying “You don’t know how lucky you are to have a dad like him.” “This man has touched my life.” “Take care of Jackie in his retirement, he is very near and dear to my heart.” My heart was filled with pride for him. He has meant so much to so many people and I don’t think that he will ever realize how much. But hopefully he got a glimpse of a small portion of it tonight.
While dad was driving home tonight he said, “You know, I didn’t take on the inmates because I wanted an ego trip or anything. It was still really hard work. I took them on because I knew that if I did, I would always have weekends off. I just wanted to be able to spend time with you girls. I wanted to be able to spend time with my family…that’s why I did it.” Well, I’m not one for emotion, but I have to say that I got a little teary-eyed. See, a lot of people like to crack jokes about the way my dad dresses, or snub him because they think that they’re above him. But let me tell you something, those that snub him are just missing out on knowing a great person. He will never dress fancy. He will never be a millionaire…but my dad is DEFINITELY worth knowing. And my dad is as hard-working as they come. He has been a wonderful father to me and my sister, and been a great role model for so many people. He means more to us than he will ever know. I now think back on the times that I’ve taken him for granted, not really seeing him for what he is…and I hate that.
So…to sum this all up, tonight was a good night. No better than that, it was a GREAT night. Dad really got to see how much he meant to a lot of people. So, I am very happy…and blessed because of it.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Squirrels throwing rocks, the Cooter Cab, and the turkey on a leash
I have a way of having bizarre things happen around me. I am not complaining, though, it gives me plenty of stories to tell.
Tonight, I will begin with the squirrels that threw rocks. As a prelude to this story, I will start by saying that every Saturday between Thanksgiving and Christmas, my mom and I shop. We have been doing it since my Grandma Betty (my mom’s mom) died. It’s just our thing. We will plan anything for any other Saturday throughout the year, but during that time, we try not to make any plans. It’s a great bonding time. Anyways, so one Saturday, we had been shopping all morning, and we decided to grab some lunch. We just wanted to grab something and go, so we stopped at Checkers. Frankly, if you ever get that opportunity, pass it up. I used to love their fries, but they tasted horrible and were soaked in grease. Yuck. Well, as we were in the drive-thru line, I began to hear this really hard thumping on the top of my car. Then, I heard a loud crack from my windshield. I (once again with the potty mouth) yelled “What the HELL was that?” Mom said that it was just squirrels dropping acorns. Ok, y’all, I am still not convinced of this. With the loud cracking noise, I was convinced that my windshield was cracked. I have determined that all of those movies that have animals plotting amongst themselves were correct. Those d*** squirrels had seen two chunky monkeys in line to get fast food, and they decided to throw rocks at our car to try to steer us clear of those calories.
Crystal River is such a nice town to shop in. You can even get front-row parking the day after Thanksgiving. It’s wonderful. Absolutely one of my favorite places to shop. One night my friend Sam and I took our friend Jared down there to have dinner and see a movie. Sam and I both are not too keen on driving in Gainesville…and we hated always making Jared drive. So, off we went to Crystal River. We had dinner at Fat Boys BBQ (Classy…let me tell you), and during the time we were eating dinner, we must have seen 5 guys bearing the mullet hairdo. At the end of our meal, Jared told (and shocked, I might add) Sam and I with his thought that Crystal River was the “Armpit of America.” I was appalled that he would say such a thing about one of our favorite places to go. I didn’t believe him until recently. As mom and I were driving through C.R. one day, I noticed a funny looking car behind us. I told mom to slow up so that they could pass us. As the car went around us, I rolled with laughter. The vinyl on the windshield of the car said “Cooter Cab.” Then, the side of the car said “If you need a cab, call the Cooter.” I can’t tell y’all how many things were wrong with this. But it left me thinking that Jared was right. Crystal River is a “special” place.
Another one of my favorite places in the world to go is Carrabelle. It’s very much like Cedar Key (but smells a little nicer, and I know less people there…which can be a good thing). Carrabelle is very good place to go and relax. I try to go visit there as frequently as time and money will allow. On my latest visit, I saw a very interesting spectacle. Carrabelle was having a Christmas light/boat parade that weekend, and had many booths set up on Marine Street. I think that I mentioned this on one of my first blogs-- While we were walking down the street, we heard screams coming from people sitting at a booth. It took us a sec to realize what was going on. A woman had driven by in a golf cart, and gotten something stuck in her tires. That something was a turkey. That turkey got wrapped around the tire. At first, I thought it was a wild turkey that had ran out of the wooded area behind the booth. Nope. When they unwrapped the turkey from the golf cart tire, we realized that the turkey was wearing a leash. It was the people at the booth’s pet turkey. The sad thing was the fact that the lady on the golf cart drove off as soon as they unwound the traumatized turkey. She wasn’t hanging around to see if it was ok. BTW, the turkey was ok. We went by later, and it was still sprawled out on the sidewalk…but later on that night it was up and moving around. Poor fellow. He lived to become Christmas dinner…or so it was told.
Yep, crazy things are happening everywhere. Praise God I’m a nut magnet, and get to see a lot of them. I love it. With this kind of crap happening around me, I will have stories for years.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Give me liberty, or give me Prozac
I know he ain’t fit’na be beepin’ at me. (Use that phrase if you ever get honked at...straight from my friend Megan's mouth.) To my mom’s dismay, I have been using my traffic finger quite a lot these days. For instance, if someone cuts us off while mom’s driving in Gainesville I always offer to give them the finger. It’s just the right thing to do :) I just honestly don’t know where these people took driving lessons. They drive like a bunch of maniacs. They obviously didn’t learn the safe driving techniques like I did from my cousin Jarrod (Did I mention that they know him well in driving school?) Anyways, while Christmas shopping late one afternoon in Gainesville, we got honked at. Well, I turned around and looked at the honker. He made some finger motion. I was shocked. I couldn’t believe the man had just flicked us off. I couldn’t let him get away with it, so I gave him the finger right back. Then, he honked again. Unbelievable, I thought. Well…come to find out, this guy wasn’t giving me the finger, he was trying to get us to turn on our lights. Oops. But anyways, all these idiots on the road just really irritate me these days.
Now, onto the toilet paper wars. Has anyone ever noticed how completely helpless men can be sometimes. For goodness sakes. Maybe it’s just me, but I get so tired of having to change the toilet paper roll, every time. Like,…they can go into a bathroom, finish, and leave one square of t.p. hanging on the roll, and not think once about replacing it (I’ve often wondered why they leave that one piece. As I’m writing this, mom gave me the answer. She says it’s because they don’t want to use the gluey piece). Somehow, it is my turn to change it, EVERY TIME! Geez. That’s just a guy for you, though. I declare.
I have also decided that if I were to ever have kids—right now, that’s not looking too promising. I’m not good with pain. Well, that and the fact that I’m going to wind up with ugly, bad kids, b/c God has a sense of humor…and I’ve talked bad about everyone else’s kids :) (Disclaimer. I have never talked negatively about Allie, Gus, Belle, Cooper, Waylon, Wyatt, or Mazie)—Anyways, I am SO sending my hypothetical kids to Grandma Cindi just as soon as they turn 13. Lord, I can’t stand the whole teenage, holier-than-thou, know so much crap. And I swear, if I hear “whatever” one more time from a teenager, I’m going to scream! What’s really bad is that I know that I was like that, too. I’m not special…I behaved just like a teenager when I was that age. However, I am ill-equipped to deal with it on a daily basis myself. If I were to listen to my idol Madea, I would take her advice of “You just gotta have patience with these chill-rens, you just got have patience with ‘em.” But I ain’t got the patience, and I don’t intend on askin’ the good Lord for it either.
Oh, another random thing that’s been annoying me lately. Have you ever known someone that uses the same phrases in every conversation that they have. Now, mind you, I know several phrases that I say repeatedly. Such as, I say “Goodness” a lot. I especially use it when I’m talking to customers, and not really listening. But day in and day out, some people use the same phrases over and over and over. This ain’t Good Times, and not everything is “Dyno-mite!” Find some new phrases or I will have to resort to finding a rusty plastic knife to slit my wrists.
Oh. My. Gosh. I almost forgot. I am SO incredibly sick of people asking me about my pedigree. I am related to the Sheffields (obviously…Cedar Key), the Watsons (Levy and Gilchrist),and the Arringtons (Levy and Gilchrist). If you don’t know anyone with that last name, I’m sorry then. You must be living under a freakin’ rock. I seem to be related to everyone in the Tri-County area in some way or another. But, considering that I work in Trenton, but was raised mainly in Chiefland, people still look at me as that “poor white trash.” I, literally, have people that come into the Journal and will wave me away with their hands b/c I am not up to their status. They refuse to have me help them, b/c they don’t know me. And along those lines…I have a really hard time being nice to people who throw out their names like it’s candy in a parade. I had someone call me at work last week trying to get a last minute obit in. I was willing to take it…but they didn’t want to send it in until well after we would’ve had the paper made up. When I said that wouldn’t work, they asked me if I knew who their mama was. WTH? That’s not going to help you a bit, honey. So sorry. Arghhh…
Finally, (there are dozens of other things that bother me…but I better shut up at some point) I HATE when my phone starts screwing up. Tonight, I have had umpteen million text messages. None of which I can respond to easily. I’m walking around with a freakin’ dinosaur of a phone…after the unfortunate incident that my last phone had (it involved tiny pockets in my jeans and a toilet—my phone got swimming lessons). And now, every time I go to text someone, my phone dies. And I have to restart it, and it dies again. Stupid piece of junk. I’m thinking of getting a Moto-Q. Unfortunately, I’ll have to pay out of pocket…and it’s like $450. Bleh.
Lord knows, if my phone keeps actin’ up, people keep using the same phrase, teenagers keep saying “whatever,” people keep askin’ for my pedigree, guys keep leaving me the gluey piece of t.p., and people keep drivin’ like a bunch of ninnys, the doctor’s going to have to up my meds. I’m tellin’ y’all, I’ve had it. “Give me liberty, or give me Prozac!”
Now, onto the toilet paper wars. Has anyone ever noticed how completely helpless men can be sometimes. For goodness sakes. Maybe it’s just me, but I get so tired of having to change the toilet paper roll, every time. Like,…they can go into a bathroom, finish, and leave one square of t.p. hanging on the roll, and not think once about replacing it (I’ve often wondered why they leave that one piece. As I’m writing this, mom gave me the answer. She says it’s because they don’t want to use the gluey piece). Somehow, it is my turn to change it, EVERY TIME! Geez. That’s just a guy for you, though. I declare.
I have also decided that if I were to ever have kids—right now, that’s not looking too promising. I’m not good with pain. Well, that and the fact that I’m going to wind up with ugly, bad kids, b/c God has a sense of humor…and I’ve talked bad about everyone else’s kids :) (Disclaimer. I have never talked negatively about Allie, Gus, Belle, Cooper, Waylon, Wyatt, or Mazie)—Anyways, I am SO sending my hypothetical kids to Grandma Cindi just as soon as they turn 13. Lord, I can’t stand the whole teenage, holier-than-thou, know so much crap. And I swear, if I hear “whatever” one more time from a teenager, I’m going to scream! What’s really bad is that I know that I was like that, too. I’m not special…I behaved just like a teenager when I was that age. However, I am ill-equipped to deal with it on a daily basis myself. If I were to listen to my idol Madea, I would take her advice of “You just gotta have patience with these chill-rens, you just got have patience with ‘em.” But I ain’t got the patience, and I don’t intend on askin’ the good Lord for it either.
Oh, another random thing that’s been annoying me lately. Have you ever known someone that uses the same phrases in every conversation that they have. Now, mind you, I know several phrases that I say repeatedly. Such as, I say “Goodness” a lot. I especially use it when I’m talking to customers, and not really listening. But day in and day out, some people use the same phrases over and over and over. This ain’t Good Times, and not everything is “Dyno-mite!” Find some new phrases or I will have to resort to finding a rusty plastic knife to slit my wrists.
Oh. My. Gosh. I almost forgot. I am SO incredibly sick of people asking me about my pedigree. I am related to the Sheffields (obviously…Cedar Key), the Watsons (Levy and Gilchrist),and the Arringtons (Levy and Gilchrist). If you don’t know anyone with that last name, I’m sorry then. You must be living under a freakin’ rock. I seem to be related to everyone in the Tri-County area in some way or another. But, considering that I work in Trenton, but was raised mainly in Chiefland, people still look at me as that “poor white trash.” I, literally, have people that come into the Journal and will wave me away with their hands b/c I am not up to their status. They refuse to have me help them, b/c they don’t know me. And along those lines…I have a really hard time being nice to people who throw out their names like it’s candy in a parade. I had someone call me at work last week trying to get a last minute obit in. I was willing to take it…but they didn’t want to send it in until well after we would’ve had the paper made up. When I said that wouldn’t work, they asked me if I knew who their mama was. WTH? That’s not going to help you a bit, honey. So sorry. Arghhh…
Finally, (there are dozens of other things that bother me…but I better shut up at some point) I HATE when my phone starts screwing up. Tonight, I have had umpteen million text messages. None of which I can respond to easily. I’m walking around with a freakin’ dinosaur of a phone…after the unfortunate incident that my last phone had (it involved tiny pockets in my jeans and a toilet—my phone got swimming lessons). And now, every time I go to text someone, my phone dies. And I have to restart it, and it dies again. Stupid piece of junk. I’m thinking of getting a Moto-Q. Unfortunately, I’ll have to pay out of pocket…and it’s like $450. Bleh.
Lord knows, if my phone keeps actin’ up, people keep using the same phrase, teenagers keep saying “whatever,” people keep askin’ for my pedigree, guys keep leaving me the gluey piece of t.p., and people keep drivin’ like a bunch of ninnys, the doctor’s going to have to up my meds. I’m tellin’ y’all, I’ve had it. “Give me liberty, or give me Prozac!”
Monday, January 26, 2009
Un-lady-like Behavior
As I wrote in my blog (“A Far Cry…”) the other night, I have never professed to be the ideal “lady.” Although I do make strides to better my behavior, I am often brought back to reality and shown how un-lady-like I can act at times. Now, I do feel a teensy bit bad about spouting off on the “princess” issue….b/c I, myself, am prone to throw a tantrum or two...as most of you know. (But then again…this is WAY different, b/c I don’t get jealous of a four-month old :)…that’s just sick). I was thinking, tonight, about some of my behavior in the past, and I just got tickled. Have y’all ever looked back on some of the stuff that you did, and thought “Good Lord, how on earth do people put up with me on a daily basis?” So now I’m sitting here in my three-leaf clover pajamas, trying to determine if I should let y’all in on a few of my more recent outbursts. I might just embarrass myself…………………Oh, what the heck. I laugh at other people enough…I might as well have a few laughs at myself. Here are a few.
Aleta’s Unlady-like behavior….(installment 1)
1. Recently trying to get someone to run my fourth-grade teacher over in our church parking lot. –As a side note, she told my mom that I needed to see a psychologist…so I was going to show her :)…(btw, I majored in psychology myself…so there, witch!)
2. Giving the preacher’s son the bird…in church…during a prayer. (This, in my defense, was a few years ago.) So how trashy is this? Maybe not the best time to do it…but in my defense, he SO deserved it. Can I get an Amen from anyone that knows him?? Haha :)
3. Chasing chickens around the yard with a spatula. –I hate a chicken. I love to eat them, but while they are alive, I hate them. So, imagine my reaction when my dad decides to get some. I am convinced that they sense this hatred that I have, and they try to drive me insane. I’m not kidding, they follow me (from the outside, of course) around the house. If I am sleeping, they are under my bedroom window. If I am watching tv in the living room, they are outside that window. It’s very frustrating. Well, one afternoon, I was trying to watch “The Notebook”…one of my all-time favorite movies. Those stupid chickens were on our front porch just a cackling. I dealt with it for about 45 minutes…then, I had reached my breaking point. As I went to walk outside, I found the closest thing to a weapon I could find…it happened to be a spatula. I chased those chickens around the yard with a spatula for about 5 minutes…Once again, thank goodness we don’t have close neighbors…they’d have thrown me in the looney bin for sure!
4. Throwing my shoe at someone to win an argument. So….maybe this is a bit “Springer”…but I can say that I did win the argument. Well, until that person threw my shoe into the pool.—That person was none other than Rheba.
5. Hitting my old boss really, really hard (on the arm…but still). Then, calling him a wuss. He deserved it. That is all I will say.
6. Attending a wedding of an old crush, and laughing and trying to stifle my snorting so hard during the vows that I started to cry. The people behind gave me and Sam tissues b/c they thought we were “having an emotional moment.” I was just laughing b/c the preacher messed up their names, and then the groom (the old crush) messed up the vows. I think that we embarrassed Jared with our behavior. Still the groom shouldn’t have invited us. What a D.A.
7. As a silent protest…changing my nametag from the grocery store to say “Aleta the homewrecking hussie. If your man is not at home with you, he’s with me.” There are some really mean old biddies in Trenton that like to start stuff. It’s just one of those things where you have to laugh at them, because it is completely ridiculous.
8. One of my new “besties” Amy,(don’t y’all just hate the new lingo? Like…I want to kill the person who invented the word “preggers.” Anyways…) , gave me another unlady-like thing to do via email tonight. Hocking your gum out of the truck window. Now, that’s classy :) Love ya girl!
9. Alright, this is my all-time favorite un-lady-like moment, and I can’t even claim it. A friend (who shall remain nameless…due to the fact that she could get into a little trouble) got so very mad at a guy in her life one day, that she took a shovel and hit the side of his truck (and gave it a little ding, I might add). I can’t even tell you how impressed I was with this. It cracked me up, but you would have to know her to fully appreciate it. Crazy as “H,” but we all love her.
Well, once again, I’ll probably be able to add to this list considerably by the end of the week. It’s never ending. I think that we all try our darndest but sometimes, we can’t be lady-like all the time. What can I say…I’m just not debutante material.
Friday, January 23, 2009
The List of “Things that you will only do once…”
To give a little bit of an intro into this blog, I will start by saying that there are things in life that you will only do once. Whether it be because it got you into a lot of trouble, or because it embarrassed you terribly, you will only do some things once over your lifespan. I have been trying to come up with a list for about a week now. So…here is a couple (Now, mind you…there will probably be like a gazillion installments to this…so be prepared to see more down the road):
1. Never wear panties that are too big to a funeral. –In 2007, around the time that my Aunt was dying, my uncle kept trying to get me to meet a boy from his church. For 2 weeks, I fought it…saying stuff like “Oh, I only want a sugardaddy” because who wants to be set up by their uncle? But at the night of my aunt’s visitation, I finally caved, and agreed to meet this guy. Luckily for me, he was coming to the funeral the next day. So, I primped and tried to look my best the morning of the funeral. As I walked up the hill to the graveyard, I began to realize that I was having an undergarment malfunction. My panties were just a little big, and as I was going uphill, they….well…weren’t. So as we stood for the graveside service (which took FOREVER) I kept trying to discreetly pull them back up. It seemed each time I moved, they went farther south. So, after the excruciatingly long service, we still had to greet people. It seemed that I got myself into a little sashay. Walk. Shake hands. Smile. Shimmy them up. Walk. Shake hands. Smile. Shimmy them up. And so on and so-forth. Well, y’all, come to find out the “guy” had been right behind me during the funeral. I had heard snickering behind me, and to this day, I think that he saw my little pick-the-panties-up dance.
2. Never…and I mean NEVER have “unmentionables” sent via UPS to your house if you have neighbors. Now, before y’all go thinking I ordered something off of X-mart.com or something, let me tell you…it was undergarments for a wedding I was in. Actually, it was “my gear” as a friend lovingly refers to it. All I will say is…it makes my jell-o butt look a little more J.Lo. And my gut a little less noticeable. ANYWAYS, I ordered it on-line, thinking nothing of it. Well, imagine my shock, when I find the package torn up sitting on my doorstep (it really looked like Fido had gotten a-hold of it). Still, I just thought that something must have happened prior to delivery. That is…until I found the note. The dumb UPS man had dropped it off at my neighbor’s house. His wife had left a note, explaining about the mix up, and saying that her husband had opened it thinking it was for his shop. At the end she simply said “Sorry.” I knew what she meant with that small word…Poor Mr. W.A. had gotten a shock when he mistakenly opened my girdle thinking it was for his meat shop.
3. It is NOT ok to say “I’m doing fine now that I’m on drugs” to people you barely know. In all fairness, while I was on vacation (visiting the uncle I mentioned in #1) in November 2007, I had a little panic attack/allergic reaction that put me in the E.R. one night. The doctor had given me Xanax to calm my nerves. So when the guy’s mom (yep…the guy from the funeral) asked me how I was doing. I said “Oh, I’m doing great now that I’m on drugs.” I swear, it sounded ok in my head. Judging by the look she gave me, she was less than impressed.
4. Speaking of that E.R. NEVER go to an E.R. where they don’t even use an intercom system. That night, I walked in there, having trouble breathing, and I wanted to be seen ASAP. Well, I walked up to the receptionist, who was talking on the phone and twirling her hair. After a few gasps for air…and practically clutching my throat, she says to the person on the line “Hey, I’d better go…we have a patient. Yeah, we actually have a patient.” (This should have been a sign of things to come). Then, after filling out some paperwork (still gasping), she walks out of her box, down the hall and just yells “Hey y’all we have a patient!” Well, the male nurse comes to escort me to a room. He has those gauged earrings in his ear and looks a bit on the feminine side…yet he has a manly Southern accent. WTH? He then gives me an IV.---Have I mentioned that I’m not good with needles---As he jabs me, I make the mistake of looking down. Blood is gushing down my arm…onto my pants and all over the floor and his response is “Oh, so you’re going to bleed anyways…” When I am on the verge of pulling a Cornbread and yelling obscenities at him, the doctor walks in. He is decked out in a Hawaiian shirt and jeans and has blood-shot eyes. I still don’t know how I survived to tell the tale.
Well, I will cut myself off tonight. I just realized how long this was getting. I’m sure I’ll have more shortly.
1. Never wear panties that are too big to a funeral. –In 2007, around the time that my Aunt was dying, my uncle kept trying to get me to meet a boy from his church. For 2 weeks, I fought it…saying stuff like “Oh, I only want a sugardaddy” because who wants to be set up by their uncle? But at the night of my aunt’s visitation, I finally caved, and agreed to meet this guy. Luckily for me, he was coming to the funeral the next day. So, I primped and tried to look my best the morning of the funeral. As I walked up the hill to the graveyard, I began to realize that I was having an undergarment malfunction. My panties were just a little big, and as I was going uphill, they….well…weren’t. So as we stood for the graveside service (which took FOREVER) I kept trying to discreetly pull them back up. It seemed each time I moved, they went farther south. So, after the excruciatingly long service, we still had to greet people. It seemed that I got myself into a little sashay. Walk. Shake hands. Smile. Shimmy them up. Walk. Shake hands. Smile. Shimmy them up. And so on and so-forth. Well, y’all, come to find out the “guy” had been right behind me during the funeral. I had heard snickering behind me, and to this day, I think that he saw my little pick-the-panties-up dance.
2. Never…and I mean NEVER have “unmentionables” sent via UPS to your house if you have neighbors. Now, before y’all go thinking I ordered something off of X-mart.com or something, let me tell you…it was undergarments for a wedding I was in. Actually, it was “my gear” as a friend lovingly refers to it. All I will say is…it makes my jell-o butt look a little more J.Lo. And my gut a little less noticeable. ANYWAYS, I ordered it on-line, thinking nothing of it. Well, imagine my shock, when I find the package torn up sitting on my doorstep (it really looked like Fido had gotten a-hold of it). Still, I just thought that something must have happened prior to delivery. That is…until I found the note. The dumb UPS man had dropped it off at my neighbor’s house. His wife had left a note, explaining about the mix up, and saying that her husband had opened it thinking it was for his shop. At the end she simply said “Sorry.” I knew what she meant with that small word…Poor Mr. W.A. had gotten a shock when he mistakenly opened my girdle thinking it was for his meat shop.
3. It is NOT ok to say “I’m doing fine now that I’m on drugs” to people you barely know. In all fairness, while I was on vacation (visiting the uncle I mentioned in #1) in November 2007, I had a little panic attack/allergic reaction that put me in the E.R. one night. The doctor had given me Xanax to calm my nerves. So when the guy’s mom (yep…the guy from the funeral) asked me how I was doing. I said “Oh, I’m doing great now that I’m on drugs.” I swear, it sounded ok in my head. Judging by the look she gave me, she was less than impressed.
4. Speaking of that E.R. NEVER go to an E.R. where they don’t even use an intercom system. That night, I walked in there, having trouble breathing, and I wanted to be seen ASAP. Well, I walked up to the receptionist, who was talking on the phone and twirling her hair. After a few gasps for air…and practically clutching my throat, she says to the person on the line “Hey, I’d better go…we have a patient. Yeah, we actually have a patient.” (This should have been a sign of things to come). Then, after filling out some paperwork (still gasping), she walks out of her box, down the hall and just yells “Hey y’all we have a patient!” Well, the male nurse comes to escort me to a room. He has those gauged earrings in his ear and looks a bit on the feminine side…yet he has a manly Southern accent. WTH? He then gives me an IV.---Have I mentioned that I’m not good with needles---As he jabs me, I make the mistake of looking down. Blood is gushing down my arm…onto my pants and all over the floor and his response is “Oh, so you’re going to bleed anyways…” When I am on the verge of pulling a Cornbread and yelling obscenities at him, the doctor walks in. He is decked out in a Hawaiian shirt and jeans and has blood-shot eyes. I still don’t know how I survived to tell the tale.
Well, I will cut myself off tonight. I just realized how long this was getting. I’m sure I’ll have more shortly.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Scum, Bums, Foreigners, and Gay men
Alright, Alright. I typically am not willing to admit defeat until the bitter end. However, I am waving my white flag in the losing battle of trying to find my prince. Frankly, I think that my Knight-in-shining-armor and his beautiful horse were taken out by a Mack Truck on his way to find me. Whatever the excuse may be, I’m giving up the search. If God sees fit, one day, the right guy for me will somehow come into my life…if not, I may die an ornery, mean-spirited, Old Spinster. I’ll give you a visual aide here….I will so be Weezer (spell?) off of Steal Magnolias. That’s all I have to say…
Ok, so I am not exactly the average 22 year-old. I haven’t really dated around that much. (At my own defense…I will say that it’s Chiefland and Trenton that we’re talking about here…and I do have some standards…like having teeth is a must). I have “talked” to guys in the past…but, whatever…THOSE were promising, let me tell you…hahaha :)
Unfortunately, though, I only can find scum, bums, foreigners and gay men. On this note, let me say that if there is a real butthole somewhere within a 30 mile radius, I will find him, and fall for him. That’s just the luck I seem to have. I generally fall for the guys that are so full of themselves that they just can’t seem to get over it. Along with this, I have fallen for a gay guy before (before I realized he was gay…he was pretty manly, I promise…somewhere along the lines I missed the writing on the wall, though).
Let me tell y’all something. There are some guys that want a girl just so the girl can support them. I’m like wth? I’m all about it being a partnership and all…but I am SO not about to work my fanny off just so you can sit on the couch all day eating cheetos. When I worked at the store, I had this type come in and try to talk real sweet to me.
And the foreigners…I hate to sound prejudice, b/c I’m not. But how can I say this?? If you can’t speak fluent English, why would you want my phone number? I swear y’all, when I worked at Hitchcocks, and it came time to pick melons, I got a boat load of offers. Thinking back on it…maybe it was b/c I was chubby and looked available or maybe it was b/c they needed a greencard? Either way, if I can’t understand what a person is saying while they are right in front of me…why in the heck would I want to have a phone conversation with them? Another story—I still, to this day, have a foreign stalker named Juan. Juan is a short 45 year-old man with a son older than my little sister, yet he still likes to talk to me (and he remembers me by name…after 4 years) everytime he sees me. He came in one of the last days that I worked at the store and, once again, asked me for my number. (At that point, I wasn’t as mean as I am now) I didn’t know what to say…so I just kept saying “I can’t give that out while I’m at work”…hoping he would move along. Then, he offered me a job. I still don’t know what that job was, or if I would even want to know what that job entailed. All that man did every day was drive around in a creepy, green, child-molester-looking van. Can we say yuck?
Yes, these are the men that I get. Sad, but true. This is why I’m giving up the ghost. I’m just hoping that maybe all of these experiences are just showing that God has a sense of humor. Maybe one day He’ll send him my way. As of right now, I’m not holding my breath. Maybe I’m just thinking of God like Santa Claus or something…but I haven’t exactly been Mother Teresa lately…I just don’t know that I’m on his “nice” list right now. So…we’ll see. It is dern sure hard to give up this battle with all the love songs coming on the radio. Stupid Valentine’s Day. Bleh! :)
Ok, so I am not exactly the average 22 year-old. I haven’t really dated around that much. (At my own defense…I will say that it’s Chiefland and Trenton that we’re talking about here…and I do have some standards…like having teeth is a must). I have “talked” to guys in the past…but, whatever…THOSE were promising, let me tell you…hahaha :)
Unfortunately, though, I only can find scum, bums, foreigners and gay men. On this note, let me say that if there is a real butthole somewhere within a 30 mile radius, I will find him, and fall for him. That’s just the luck I seem to have. I generally fall for the guys that are so full of themselves that they just can’t seem to get over it. Along with this, I have fallen for a gay guy before (before I realized he was gay…he was pretty manly, I promise…somewhere along the lines I missed the writing on the wall, though).
Let me tell y’all something. There are some guys that want a girl just so the girl can support them. I’m like wth? I’m all about it being a partnership and all…but I am SO not about to work my fanny off just so you can sit on the couch all day eating cheetos. When I worked at the store, I had this type come in and try to talk real sweet to me.
And the foreigners…I hate to sound prejudice, b/c I’m not. But how can I say this?? If you can’t speak fluent English, why would you want my phone number? I swear y’all, when I worked at Hitchcocks, and it came time to pick melons, I got a boat load of offers. Thinking back on it…maybe it was b/c I was chubby and looked available or maybe it was b/c they needed a greencard? Either way, if I can’t understand what a person is saying while they are right in front of me…why in the heck would I want to have a phone conversation with them? Another story—I still, to this day, have a foreign stalker named Juan. Juan is a short 45 year-old man with a son older than my little sister, yet he still likes to talk to me (and he remembers me by name…after 4 years) everytime he sees me. He came in one of the last days that I worked at the store and, once again, asked me for my number. (At that point, I wasn’t as mean as I am now) I didn’t know what to say…so I just kept saying “I can’t give that out while I’m at work”…hoping he would move along. Then, he offered me a job. I still don’t know what that job was, or if I would even want to know what that job entailed. All that man did every day was drive around in a creepy, green, child-molester-looking van. Can we say yuck?
Yes, these are the men that I get. Sad, but true. This is why I’m giving up the ghost. I’m just hoping that maybe all of these experiences are just showing that God has a sense of humor. Maybe one day He’ll send him my way. As of right now, I’m not holding my breath. Maybe I’m just thinking of God like Santa Claus or something…but I haven’t exactly been Mother Teresa lately…I just don’t know that I’m on his “nice” list right now. So…we’ll see. It is dern sure hard to give up this battle with all the love songs coming on the radio. Stupid Valentine’s Day. Bleh! :)
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Pink boas and glitter
This is the first installment to “Aleta’s Guide to being a Biddy.” I’ll call it…. “Shoving Cinderella down a flight of stairs.”
A “princess,” by my definition, is a spoiled brat that strives for attention in any possible way, and fails to realize that the world doesn’t revolve around her. A friend was telling me this week that she has been blessed with “a princess” in her life. I take great pity on my friend because I know how very bothersome they can be. Unfortunately, one of my guy friends always seemed to wind up dating princesses. Every time he did, we would have to put up with her until he got smart and would realize that she “wasn’t right for him.”—As a side note, it really is for the best that he would realize this. Once I swore to one of our mutual friends that if I had to put up with his “princess” one more time, I would take a bat to her new car. Moody? Irritable? Border-line crazy? …maybe ;-) But not surprising, really. -- Frankly, I’ve never been great with slapping a fake smile on my face. Generally, I’m pretty transparent. If I don’t like you, you’ll know it.
In dealing with a princess, the only remedies for your sanity that I’ve been able to come up with are: sarcasm, honesty, and the Aleta death glare. Using sarcasm to point out either their flaws or their idiotic strives for attention might just hurt their feelings…but then again, maybe they’ll see what a big baby they are really being (or maybe the people that are under her spell will see it). There really is a point in time where you just can’t sugarcoat things anymore. This is when honesty comes into play. The next time that you are having a big event, and she is crying over a hangnail, I would just tell her to “suck it up and be a woman. Life isn’t always pink boas and glitter, Sweetie, sometimes we just have to deal.” I would just stop being nice to her. And finally, if your princess hasn’t gotten the subtle hints, give the Aleta death glare a try. Really, it’s no different than any other death glare…you just squint your eyes and crease your forehead. Then you give them a look that says…(in a creepy Russian voice)… “I am mentally setting you ablaze. Moo-hah-ha-ha” Haha. :) Hopefully, this gives y’all some ideas.
BTW, as a warning…don’t give too many people the Aleta death glare. Choose wisely. I’ve apparently given it to WAY too many people. I’m getting a vertical wrinkle in between my brows. Well, that and I’m going to have arthritis in my traffic finger…but I digress… ;-)
A “princess,” by my definition, is a spoiled brat that strives for attention in any possible way, and fails to realize that the world doesn’t revolve around her. A friend was telling me this week that she has been blessed with “a princess” in her life. I take great pity on my friend because I know how very bothersome they can be. Unfortunately, one of my guy friends always seemed to wind up dating princesses. Every time he did, we would have to put up with her until he got smart and would realize that she “wasn’t right for him.”—As a side note, it really is for the best that he would realize this. Once I swore to one of our mutual friends that if I had to put up with his “princess” one more time, I would take a bat to her new car. Moody? Irritable? Border-line crazy? …maybe ;-) But not surprising, really. -- Frankly, I’ve never been great with slapping a fake smile on my face. Generally, I’m pretty transparent. If I don’t like you, you’ll know it.
In dealing with a princess, the only remedies for your sanity that I’ve been able to come up with are: sarcasm, honesty, and the Aleta death glare. Using sarcasm to point out either their flaws or their idiotic strives for attention might just hurt their feelings…but then again, maybe they’ll see what a big baby they are really being (or maybe the people that are under her spell will see it). There really is a point in time where you just can’t sugarcoat things anymore. This is when honesty comes into play. The next time that you are having a big event, and she is crying over a hangnail, I would just tell her to “suck it up and be a woman. Life isn’t always pink boas and glitter, Sweetie, sometimes we just have to deal.” I would just stop being nice to her. And finally, if your princess hasn’t gotten the subtle hints, give the Aleta death glare a try. Really, it’s no different than any other death glare…you just squint your eyes and crease your forehead. Then you give them a look that says…(in a creepy Russian voice)… “I am mentally setting you ablaze. Moo-hah-ha-ha” Haha. :) Hopefully, this gives y’all some ideas.
BTW, as a warning…don’t give too many people the Aleta death glare. Choose wisely. I’ve apparently given it to WAY too many people. I’m getting a vertical wrinkle in between my brows. Well, that and I’m going to have arthritis in my traffic finger…but I digress… ;-)
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Cornbread's Shenanigans
If I ever write a book or my memoirs, I will have a full chapter solely about my dad. It will be entitled “Cornbread’s Shenanigans.” He keeps me laughing. He is one of the biggest hicks that you will ever have the pleasure of meeting. To give you some visual aide…he is the man that will bust up in church on Easter Sunday in a pair of worn out overalls. Why, you ask? Because Easter is the Sunday when everyone dresses fancy, and he doesn’t feel that you have to be super dressed up to go to church…no matter what the occasion. After years of arguing with him about this issue, I’ve finally given up the ghost, and just accepted it. Now that I am out of the “my parents embarrass me” teenage stage, I have to say that I kind of agree with him. He is the kind of guy that will tell you exactly what he thinks, and will let you know exactly where he stands on issues. While I find these good qualities, I have to say…some of the crap that he says will just utterly astound you.
Let me tell y’all a few tales.
One of dad’s most memorable sayings was the day that I got my first flat tire. (As a side note, I was 16 and utterly stupid when it came to the maintenance of my car. When I finally did realize what was happening, I thought that someone had slashed my tire because it was all cut up and smoking. Apparently I had driven on the flat quite a ways…oops) After my uncle finally came and fixed my tire, and I went home…dad sat me down and gave me a lecture. He said, “Aleta, if you didn’t have that d*** radio up so loud, maybe you wouldn’t have gotten that flat tire.” To this day, my sister and I are still trying to connect the two. Apparently the higher the radio goes, the less air you will have in your tires. So take heed to this. Or maybe this just makes sense to my dad.
Something also that I might mention about my dad is the fact that he doesn’t get in a hurry while driving. It doesn’t matter if he’s got to be there at a certain time, he will still drive 25 mph…everywhere. I’ve heard tales from kids (that go to our church) about their parents cussing my dad b/c they got behind him on the way to church :) Well, this past year when the gas prices rose to an all-time high, dad was convinced that he knew the solution to the gas crisis. His idea was that if they lowered the speed limits, the gas prices would fall. Once again, we had to raise our eyebrows.
Around Labor Day, the Hancheys asked my family to come over and have dinner with them before Brett left for training. We were eating dinner, talking amongst ourselves, when my dad bursts out “Yep, I think they need to just legalize marijuana. It’s not like I do it or anything, but were losing this ‘war on drugs.’ All we’re doing is losing money.” Thinking back on it, again, I still have no idea what brought this up. But after he said this…he went off on a tangent on how Willie Nelson would make a great President.
Last year, dad contracted Lyme’s Disease…well, depending if you asked one of the few doctors that saw him. One night, we had to call the ambulance b/c he was shaking with chills really bad. The stupid (Newbie) Ambulance girls showed up to find my dad in his purple sweat pants sitting on our front porch. After doing an EKG, and fighting over who got to shave a smiley face on his chest hair, they got him inside the ambulance where they were going to take blood samples and go on their way. I had to go inside the house for something, (BTW, we had other family members in our yard by that point…they had seen the ambulance lights and had gotten curious) as I stepped back into the yard I hear my dad screaming a long list of obscenities at the EMS girls from inside the ambulance. My uncle is laughing in the yard. And then I hear my dad say “Do you even know what you’re doing?” Apparently, they had missed the vein in trying to get blood. While you may be thinking my dad to be a bit of a wimp…I’ll tell you, he’s given over 12 gallons of blood in his life and not had many problems with this. Needless to say though, from dad’s account, they didn’t drive over 45 mph the entire way to Gainesville and they didn’t even turn on the lights. I think they might have been mad. (My aunts that were in Cedar Key beat the Ambulance to the hospital).
Something that my dad recently said that had us all laughing was the night that he told my mom “Cindi, I need you to pick me up some earplugs at the Walmart. You know, the kind that go in your ears.”
My dad has a great love for the RFDTV, much to my dismay. I deem it the “Aleta-is-going-to-find-a-rusty-butterknife-and-slit-her-wrists-channel.” I have come to the conclusion that he watches it sometimes to just drive me nuts. For instance, the many times that we’ve had to watch Big Joe’s Polka Show b/c there is nothing good on (btw, those old people can move). Speaking of that…he watches a very select group of shows. These consist of: Andy Griffith, Sanford & Son, Animal Planet, and RFD TV. We literally watch Andy Griffith EVERY night. We have seen every episode that has ever been made. And yet, every night, dad says “There is just nothing on this tv. We pay way too much for all of these channels that we don’t even watch. All we ever see is re-runs.” Other night, after I had had my fill of listening to his grumbles, I finally spouted off, “Dad, we only ever see re-runs b/c you refuse to watch anything else. We’ve seen every Andy Griffith Show ever made. The reason they’re always re-runs is because they stopped filming the show 30 years ago!!!!”
Whew! I love the man, but I have to say that sometimes he makes a person want to drive to the nearest ABC Liquor Store (and Fine Wine) and get something a little stronger than a sweet tea. :) Joking. But he does make me laugh. –More stories on my crazy family later on. They give me a lot to write about.
Let me tell y’all a few tales.
One of dad’s most memorable sayings was the day that I got my first flat tire. (As a side note, I was 16 and utterly stupid when it came to the maintenance of my car. When I finally did realize what was happening, I thought that someone had slashed my tire because it was all cut up and smoking. Apparently I had driven on the flat quite a ways…oops) After my uncle finally came and fixed my tire, and I went home…dad sat me down and gave me a lecture. He said, “Aleta, if you didn’t have that d*** radio up so loud, maybe you wouldn’t have gotten that flat tire.” To this day, my sister and I are still trying to connect the two. Apparently the higher the radio goes, the less air you will have in your tires. So take heed to this. Or maybe this just makes sense to my dad.
Something also that I might mention about my dad is the fact that he doesn’t get in a hurry while driving. It doesn’t matter if he’s got to be there at a certain time, he will still drive 25 mph…everywhere. I’ve heard tales from kids (that go to our church) about their parents cussing my dad b/c they got behind him on the way to church :) Well, this past year when the gas prices rose to an all-time high, dad was convinced that he knew the solution to the gas crisis. His idea was that if they lowered the speed limits, the gas prices would fall. Once again, we had to raise our eyebrows.
Around Labor Day, the Hancheys asked my family to come over and have dinner with them before Brett left for training. We were eating dinner, talking amongst ourselves, when my dad bursts out “Yep, I think they need to just legalize marijuana. It’s not like I do it or anything, but were losing this ‘war on drugs.’ All we’re doing is losing money.” Thinking back on it, again, I still have no idea what brought this up. But after he said this…he went off on a tangent on how Willie Nelson would make a great President.
Last year, dad contracted Lyme’s Disease…well, depending if you asked one of the few doctors that saw him. One night, we had to call the ambulance b/c he was shaking with chills really bad. The stupid (Newbie) Ambulance girls showed up to find my dad in his purple sweat pants sitting on our front porch. After doing an EKG, and fighting over who got to shave a smiley face on his chest hair, they got him inside the ambulance where they were going to take blood samples and go on their way. I had to go inside the house for something, (BTW, we had other family members in our yard by that point…they had seen the ambulance lights and had gotten curious) as I stepped back into the yard I hear my dad screaming a long list of obscenities at the EMS girls from inside the ambulance. My uncle is laughing in the yard. And then I hear my dad say “Do you even know what you’re doing?” Apparently, they had missed the vein in trying to get blood. While you may be thinking my dad to be a bit of a wimp…I’ll tell you, he’s given over 12 gallons of blood in his life and not had many problems with this. Needless to say though, from dad’s account, they didn’t drive over 45 mph the entire way to Gainesville and they didn’t even turn on the lights. I think they might have been mad. (My aunts that were in Cedar Key beat the Ambulance to the hospital).
Something that my dad recently said that had us all laughing was the night that he told my mom “Cindi, I need you to pick me up some earplugs at the Walmart. You know, the kind that go in your ears.”
My dad has a great love for the RFDTV, much to my dismay. I deem it the “Aleta-is-going-to-find-a-rusty-butterknife-and-slit-her-wrists-channel.” I have come to the conclusion that he watches it sometimes to just drive me nuts. For instance, the many times that we’ve had to watch Big Joe’s Polka Show b/c there is nothing good on (btw, those old people can move). Speaking of that…he watches a very select group of shows. These consist of: Andy Griffith, Sanford & Son, Animal Planet, and RFD TV. We literally watch Andy Griffith EVERY night. We have seen every episode that has ever been made. And yet, every night, dad says “There is just nothing on this tv. We pay way too much for all of these channels that we don’t even watch. All we ever see is re-runs.” Other night, after I had had my fill of listening to his grumbles, I finally spouted off, “Dad, we only ever see re-runs b/c you refuse to watch anything else. We’ve seen every Andy Griffith Show ever made. The reason they’re always re-runs is because they stopped filming the show 30 years ago!!!!”
Whew! I love the man, but I have to say that sometimes he makes a person want to drive to the nearest ABC Liquor Store (and Fine Wine) and get something a little stronger than a sweet tea. :) Joking. But he does make me laugh. –More stories on my crazy family later on. They give me a lot to write about.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Randomness and Rosie
I read somewhere once a quote that went something like this: (not word for word I’m sure…I’ve never been able to find it again) “If you would have been born at a different time or a different place, God would have still given you the same people in your life.” I absolutely love this thought. I think that people are put into our lives for a reason. Along those lines, I am very blessed that God “peopled” my life with the friends and family that He did.
I went to lunch today (at the wonderful, marvelous Ivy House) with one of my very best friends, Krystle. We have been partners-in-crime since about Kindergarten. It’s one of the things you have to be thankful for with small towns. Her mom and my mom were friends in high school, and then we were able to grow up together here in Chiefland as well. Whether it be making a new club (for an elect few) in Mrs. Beasley’s third grade class, singing Reba McIntyre songs because we knew one day we were going to be stars, smashing cans on our heads to prove we were strong (and winding up in the nurse’s station because we were stupid), driving Punky’s Putt-Putt down the road and getting it stuck numerous times, gossiping on how B.B.’s butt looked in his new Wranglers in McKinstry’s class, or vacationing together, it is always an adventure. Throughout the span of our friendship we have had many bumps along the way, but when I thank God for all of the blessings in my life, KW is always on the list. Sadly, even though KW and I have been friends for roughly 18 years, and been around my dad a blue-million times, my dad still can’t get her name right. It’s either Kimberly Wimberly or Rosie (we’ve never been sure why Rosie…?).
On nights like tonight, when I am feeling a little down, I have to look at all of the great things in my life and try to remember the things that make me laugh. Thinking about KW and me over the years always brings a smile to my face. Another great thing that I learned today was that my friend Steph was back in town. I am so excited to be able to spend time with her again. Even though I saw her on New Year’s Day, I still feel like we have tons of catching up to do…she had moved away for a year and a half. So I am excited. Plus, I spent a lovely afternoon with my mom and Rheba (which is always entertaining). Yes, I will focus on the positive.
If you will, say a little prayer for me. Lately, I keep feeling a little down b/c I feel like I should be somewhere else right now. I have a hard time realizing that I can’t fix everything myself. I want to be somewhere else, trying to help someone. The situation is out of my control, and I don’t know what I could do, but still I want to be there.
I went to lunch today (at the wonderful, marvelous Ivy House) with one of my very best friends, Krystle. We have been partners-in-crime since about Kindergarten. It’s one of the things you have to be thankful for with small towns. Her mom and my mom were friends in high school, and then we were able to grow up together here in Chiefland as well. Whether it be making a new club (for an elect few) in Mrs. Beasley’s third grade class, singing Reba McIntyre songs because we knew one day we were going to be stars, smashing cans on our heads to prove we were strong (and winding up in the nurse’s station because we were stupid), driving Punky’s Putt-Putt down the road and getting it stuck numerous times, gossiping on how B.B.’s butt looked in his new Wranglers in McKinstry’s class, or vacationing together, it is always an adventure. Throughout the span of our friendship we have had many bumps along the way, but when I thank God for all of the blessings in my life, KW is always on the list. Sadly, even though KW and I have been friends for roughly 18 years, and been around my dad a blue-million times, my dad still can’t get her name right. It’s either Kimberly Wimberly or Rosie (we’ve never been sure why Rosie…?).
On nights like tonight, when I am feeling a little down, I have to look at all of the great things in my life and try to remember the things that make me laugh. Thinking about KW and me over the years always brings a smile to my face. Another great thing that I learned today was that my friend Steph was back in town. I am so excited to be able to spend time with her again. Even though I saw her on New Year’s Day, I still feel like we have tons of catching up to do…she had moved away for a year and a half. So I am excited. Plus, I spent a lovely afternoon with my mom and Rheba (which is always entertaining). Yes, I will focus on the positive.
If you will, say a little prayer for me. Lately, I keep feeling a little down b/c I feel like I should be somewhere else right now. I have a hard time realizing that I can’t fix everything myself. I want to be somewhere else, trying to help someone. The situation is out of my control, and I don’t know what I could do, but still I want to be there.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
A far cry from Southern White Trash and a shoutin’ distance from Southern Belle
It has come to my attention recently, that I am not a part of the White Trash America or the distinguished group of Southern Belles. I seem to fall somewhere in-between. Throughout high school, I had often thought of myself as being the sweet Southern belle-type. Considering my mom’s side of the family, the Watson’s, had been a well-established family in Levy County for generations. This was before cold, hard reality set-in. See, no matter how hard I try, I never can quite meet the mark of the “belle status.” Unfortunately, at a friend’s baby shower, this rang even more true. My mom and I showed up in our denim capris and flip-flops because it was only a “drop-in” and we would only be there for a few minutes. What we walked into was a room of well-dressed, tea-sippin’, lah-di-dah Southern ladies. The hostess was lovely, the shower was wonderful, but I have never felt so out of place in my life. Needless to say, I couldn’t have gotten out of there quick enough.
That being said, I am also not part of the day-after-Thanksgiving, tazered-at-Wal-mart crowd. I also can’t think of three people in my family that are currently on probation which is the ultimate standard. I, myself, have never been arrested, worn leopard spandex, or slept with my neighbor-in-the-trailer-park’s live-in boyfriend. But I’ve come close a time or two. I’ll let you guess which one. All I will say is my fat behind doesn’t need spandex stretched over it, I’m not a fan of STD’s, but my uncle IS the sheriff.
I do have relatives that fit in both categories. Some fit the Southern Belle mold so well that you could imagine them at Tara flirtin’ with Rhett. Yet, some very easily fall into the White Trash America, would fight on the Jerry Springer Show over determining who the baby-daddy be, category. My bunch goes from Ivory complexions to big ugly tattoo’s done with Indian ink. The spectrum is very broad ‘round these parts. Luckily, I fall somewhere in the middle. Maybe, just maybe, that grants me a little normalcy in life.
That being said, I am also not part of the day-after-Thanksgiving, tazered-at-Wal-mart crowd. I also can’t think of three people in my family that are currently on probation which is the ultimate standard. I, myself, have never been arrested, worn leopard spandex, or slept with my neighbor-in-the-trailer-park’s live-in boyfriend. But I’ve come close a time or two. I’ll let you guess which one. All I will say is my fat behind doesn’t need spandex stretched over it, I’m not a fan of STD’s, but my uncle IS the sheriff.
I do have relatives that fit in both categories. Some fit the Southern Belle mold so well that you could imagine them at Tara flirtin’ with Rhett. Yet, some very easily fall into the White Trash America, would fight on the Jerry Springer Show over determining who the baby-daddy be, category. My bunch goes from Ivory complexions to big ugly tattoo’s done with Indian ink. The spectrum is very broad ‘round these parts. Luckily, I fall somewhere in the middle. Maybe, just maybe, that grants me a little normalcy in life.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
A serious case of C.A. and too old to get good lovin'
Alright, I just about had a psychotic break today. Now, in leading up to the craziest part of the day, I will say that I haven’t slept in my room for a solid week and half, now. I just haven’t been sleeping that great, so I've been sleeping in the recliner (also not a great choice). So today, with all the rain, I made the mistake of resting my head on my hand…and yeah, I fell asleep. And I was taking a nice little cat nap right up until the phone started ringing. This started my annoyance today. But the point in which I found myself to have a serious case of C.A. (For those of you who don’t know my aunt’s lingo, this means I had a serious case of Crazy A$$), was when I started screaming at a woman on the phone. I swear y’all, if you call a person to ask them a question, stop talking long enough to listen to the answer that they are trying to give you. This way the person doesn’t have to repeat the answer over and over and OVER again! I can’t tell you how many times I had to repeat myself on the phone (and yell) to get a word in edgewise. Although, I was the one with the answer, she didn’t seem so concerned about listening to it. Whew! …but I’m over it (haha). However, I had to leave the office shortly after this little incident before I really turned bat sh** crazy. Lord knows, these people are just tryin’ my patience.
Meanwhile, onto other things. I decided today, in between the cat nap and psychotic episode, that there is a point in time when you just need to stop shackin’ up. Have y’all looked around lately? There are a bunch of 65+ year-olds that are shackin’ up. And it’s not like these couples have been together forever and just have not gotten married. They got together after either the divorce from or death of their spouse. I mean, I don’t think that the trailers are still rockin’ as much (well, Lord, I’d hope not…lest they break a hip),…maybe they’re just lonely…but still. I mean, just do the decent thing and go to the church and get married (or even the courthouse). It’s just a little strange when their generation is doing that. They were raised in the more decent era, whereas we were the more corrupt generation. It’s just surprising.
Well, that is all of the randomness I have tonight….TTYL
Meanwhile, onto other things. I decided today, in between the cat nap and psychotic episode, that there is a point in time when you just need to stop shackin’ up. Have y’all looked around lately? There are a bunch of 65+ year-olds that are shackin’ up. And it’s not like these couples have been together forever and just have not gotten married. They got together after either the divorce from or death of their spouse. I mean, I don’t think that the trailers are still rockin’ as much (well, Lord, I’d hope not…lest they break a hip),…maybe they’re just lonely…but still. I mean, just do the decent thing and go to the church and get married (or even the courthouse). It’s just a little strange when their generation is doing that. They were raised in the more decent era, whereas we were the more corrupt generation. It’s just surprising.
Well, that is all of the randomness I have tonight….TTYL
Monday, January 12, 2009
My first job
In trying to cheer myself up over these last few days, I’ve been racking my brain on funny things to write. There are a few things that I’ve come up with, but tonight, I’m going to write about my first job. I will have been working at the Journal for 3 years, tomorrow actually, and it has been a blast. I’ve had some of the craziest people in there, but nothing will ever compare to my stories of working at the grocery store. For a long time after I went to work at the Journal, I toyed with the idea of leaving and going back to the grocery store…just because of the people there and the stories of what happens behind closed doors. Although, for those of you that know him…please, PLEASE never tell Ryan that b/c he has a big enough head. Plus, I flicked him off today :-) Truthfully, although the pay stunk, and you had to deal with the loonies, it was a lot of fun. You never knew what you were going to come to work to. It will be these stories that I will one day put in a book. (I can’t write my book just yet…I’m still waiting for some people to die so I don’t get sued :-) So, I have racked my brain, and thought of a few funny stories to tell y’all.
Many people believe that being a cashier in a grocery store is the equivalent to flipping burgers, it just isn’t a job that requires much intelligence. While I feel that myself and many of the friends that I made there were rather intelligent, there were some working there that sometimes made you wonder. Once (Lord, I pray this girl never reads this) I was bagging groceries for a girl when she asks me in the most honest, not-kidding voice: “Aleta, we sell Lion meat?” I said “What are you talking about? We don’t sell Lion meat.” I picked up the package…and I swear, y’all, it was pork loin. I just about peed all over myself trying to keep from rolling on the floor laughing. Boy, was she embarrassed. That’s just one of those moments where you have to shake your head in shame.
(This also has to do with that same girl…Bless ‘er heart) We were bored one night, so the manager that was on duty found one of those sex offender lists that come through the mail and has pictures and information about the ones in your area. Well, he thought he’d be funny, so he very precisely cut a picture out of Ryan and stuck it on one of profiles. Then, he proceeded to thumbtack it to the wall in the office. It was meant to be a joke for Ryan…but this girl happened to run across it when she was on break, in the office, with Ryan. She says to him “Ryan, the picture looks like you. Are you a child molester?” Needless to say, she didn’t fully grasp that it was a joke, and got out of the office rather quickly.
Even though I don’t exactly have the highest respect for the skater kids in our area, considering their deviant behavior… but the old skater kid crew was very creative. I was stocking shelves one Saturday, when the cashier that was working came in laughing (mind you, it was like 7 in the morning). I asked her what was up, and she said to go check out the sign out front. While it was supposed to say “Asst. Whole Fryers,” the skater kids had gotten creative, and had changed it to say “Ass Hole Tryers.” The manager wasn’t happy, but everyone else thought it was funny. Only perverted 12 year-old boys would think up something like that.
These are the only stories that I can think of tonight…but be prepared to hear more. Sometimes they come like some kind of recovered memory. I am however, starting a list. And if y’all want to add to this …just add a comment. Here it is…
Things that you don’t do in a check-out line at the grocery store
1. Play with your crusty nipple ring (so gross!)
2. Ask the cashier what kind of condom she finds most pleasurable—I swear, I wanted to gag. (Y’all pardon me for this, I feel it’s a bit risqué but it did happen while I was working one day)
3. Get food stamp money off of your card to pay your church tithes. –Does anyone find this odd besides me?
4. Tear your purse apart before dropping everything to go digging in your bra to find money.
5. Or, along those same lines, pull your ringing phone out of your bra while trying to pay for your groceries.
If y’all have anything more to add…just comment. It’s still a work in progress.
Many people believe that being a cashier in a grocery store is the equivalent to flipping burgers, it just isn’t a job that requires much intelligence. While I feel that myself and many of the friends that I made there were rather intelligent, there were some working there that sometimes made you wonder. Once (Lord, I pray this girl never reads this) I was bagging groceries for a girl when she asks me in the most honest, not-kidding voice: “Aleta, we sell Lion meat?” I said “What are you talking about? We don’t sell Lion meat.” I picked up the package…and I swear, y’all, it was pork loin. I just about peed all over myself trying to keep from rolling on the floor laughing. Boy, was she embarrassed. That’s just one of those moments where you have to shake your head in shame.
(This also has to do with that same girl…Bless ‘er heart) We were bored one night, so the manager that was on duty found one of those sex offender lists that come through the mail and has pictures and information about the ones in your area. Well, he thought he’d be funny, so he very precisely cut a picture out of Ryan and stuck it on one of profiles. Then, he proceeded to thumbtack it to the wall in the office. It was meant to be a joke for Ryan…but this girl happened to run across it when she was on break, in the office, with Ryan. She says to him “Ryan, the picture looks like you. Are you a child molester?” Needless to say, she didn’t fully grasp that it was a joke, and got out of the office rather quickly.
Even though I don’t exactly have the highest respect for the skater kids in our area, considering their deviant behavior… but the old skater kid crew was very creative. I was stocking shelves one Saturday, when the cashier that was working came in laughing (mind you, it was like 7 in the morning). I asked her what was up, and she said to go check out the sign out front. While it was supposed to say “Asst. Whole Fryers,” the skater kids had gotten creative, and had changed it to say “Ass Hole Tryers.” The manager wasn’t happy, but everyone else thought it was funny. Only perverted 12 year-old boys would think up something like that.
These are the only stories that I can think of tonight…but be prepared to hear more. Sometimes they come like some kind of recovered memory. I am however, starting a list. And if y’all want to add to this …just add a comment. Here it is…
Things that you don’t do in a check-out line at the grocery store
1. Play with your crusty nipple ring (so gross!)
2. Ask the cashier what kind of condom she finds most pleasurable—I swear, I wanted to gag. (Y’all pardon me for this, I feel it’s a bit risqué but it did happen while I was working one day)
3. Get food stamp money off of your card to pay your church tithes. –Does anyone find this odd besides me?
4. Tear your purse apart before dropping everything to go digging in your bra to find money.
5. Or, along those same lines, pull your ringing phone out of your bra while trying to pay for your groceries.
If y’all have anything more to add…just comment. It’s still a work in progress.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Aleta's Boot Camp: Stickin' it to the men!
I had promised myself that I wouldn’t rant really bad on my blog…but I’m going to make an exception for this. I am really considering starting a boot camp for men that don’t have a clue how to treat a woman.
I SO wouldn’t describe myself as a full-blown, bra-burning feminist by any means, but let me tell y’all, I’ve had it with the whole caveman-sort of thinking. It’s ridiculous. Frankly, I am also sick of the dispute on “Wives, submit to your own husbands.” Many people stop reading there…but, as it says a few verses down (Ephesians 5:25), “Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ has loved the church and gave Himself for her…” THEREFORE, husbands shouldn’t beat their wives, discourage their wives, call her names, or just plain talk to their wives like they are the scum of the earth. When they do that, the woman get this distorted image of herself and believes that she isn’t worth anything. There is nothing sadder than a woman who has low self-esteem. I pity these women. Most of all, I loathe the men that do that to them. What gives them the right to treat anyone like that? There are plenty of macho men out there that treat their wives and girlfriends like they love and care about them. You don’t have to treat a girl like dirt to be considered a “man.” All I can say is…”Oh, what I could do with a shovel…”
For an update on me…my anxiety attacks have come back again. I feel like it goes away for a while, and decides to come and raise its ugly head. It’s very frustrating b/c you never know when it’ll show up again.
I SO wouldn’t describe myself as a full-blown, bra-burning feminist by any means, but let me tell y’all, I’ve had it with the whole caveman-sort of thinking. It’s ridiculous. Frankly, I am also sick of the dispute on “Wives, submit to your own husbands.” Many people stop reading there…but, as it says a few verses down (Ephesians 5:25), “Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ has loved the church and gave Himself for her…” THEREFORE, husbands shouldn’t beat their wives, discourage their wives, call her names, or just plain talk to their wives like they are the scum of the earth. When they do that, the woman get this distorted image of herself and believes that she isn’t worth anything. There is nothing sadder than a woman who has low self-esteem. I pity these women. Most of all, I loathe the men that do that to them. What gives them the right to treat anyone like that? There are plenty of macho men out there that treat their wives and girlfriends like they love and care about them. You don’t have to treat a girl like dirt to be considered a “man.” All I can say is…”Oh, what I could do with a shovel…”
For an update on me…my anxiety attacks have come back again. I feel like it goes away for a while, and decides to come and raise its ugly head. It’s very frustrating b/c you never know when it’ll show up again.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
How I really feel about John Q. Public
Well, as all of you know, I work at the newspaper. I have determined though, that I would help their business tremendously if I just worked from home. See having me work with the public is the equivalent to making a nun work in a porn shop. The two just don’t mesh well. It is so strange, I used to be a people person (when I worked at the grocery store). Apparently the anti-social bug has bit me somewhere along the way, and I’m just not that friendly toward the general public anymore. I swear, even when I answer the phone now I roll my eyes and cop a ‘tude. I absolutely love the people that I work with, it’s just that there are lunatics everywhere now-a-days, and they just seem drawn to me. Let me give ya’ll a few examples…
One day, I answered the phone only to find an irate south-Floridian on the other end. He wasn’t mad at us, necessarily, just the fact that although he had lived here for 20 years, people still said to him “Well, you ain’t from around here, are you?” He asked me how my boss felt about that, and I said “Oh, we treat everyone equal here at the paper.” (My first thought wouldn’t have been taken so well, or been the least bit P.C.) He went on, and on, and on, to tell me of how hard he had had it here and that people were mean to him…yada yada yada for TWENTY minutes. Then, he tells me that he is going to go on some talk-radio show and tell the people of South Florida how mean we are (Frankly, I can’t poo-poo on that idea, seeing as how I believe we should shut the gates to our area anyhow.). As he’s getting off the phone, he says that he’s sure that he will have a cross burning in his yard the day after he does the show. WTH?
Another time, I had this crazy man call me up and tell me that he is coming in to drop his parent’s obituary off. When he came into the office, he tells me that he’s sorry that his lazy a** sister hasn’t brought them in. Then he goes into how lazy she is, and how she stole his parent’s money, and how she got everything in the will (along with her two hellion children). And those two hellion children of hers had replaced the paintballs in their paintball guns with marbles and shot their neighbors (at this point, I was about to pee all over myself trying to hold in the laughter). Then he went into how he was an “F***ing CNA …an F***ing CNA, and he had moved to this town in order to help them.” He said “I could help lift them, you know…I mean, I could lift you, but I would be hurting for three days.” Yes, he said that. I didn’t even get mad, I was still trying not to laugh about his nieces and nephews. In the end, he FINALLY gave me the obits, and then proceeded to tell me how to get to his father’s grave in Arlington. Apparently you have your butt facing JFK and walk forward and to the left. WTH?
The last story that I will bore y’all with is the Blonde Indian’s obit for her son. No joke, this very odd little old lady brought in her son’s obit, along with his resume. I’m not sure why we needed his resume but…apparently we needed it. His obit was also weird. He died while recovering from another accident. But then the obit said that he “liked to dance at the local pubs…but he only did it until 10 p.m., because he had to get home early so that he could help his friend build his house before it got too hot.” Once again, WTH?
So I have had the revelation that I would be a much better asset to my boss if I worked from home (possibly in my pajamas).
One day, I answered the phone only to find an irate south-Floridian on the other end. He wasn’t mad at us, necessarily, just the fact that although he had lived here for 20 years, people still said to him “Well, you ain’t from around here, are you?” He asked me how my boss felt about that, and I said “Oh, we treat everyone equal here at the paper.” (My first thought wouldn’t have been taken so well, or been the least bit P.C.) He went on, and on, and on, to tell me of how hard he had had it here and that people were mean to him…yada yada yada for TWENTY minutes. Then, he tells me that he is going to go on some talk-radio show and tell the people of South Florida how mean we are (Frankly, I can’t poo-poo on that idea, seeing as how I believe we should shut the gates to our area anyhow.). As he’s getting off the phone, he says that he’s sure that he will have a cross burning in his yard the day after he does the show. WTH?
Another time, I had this crazy man call me up and tell me that he is coming in to drop his parent’s obituary off. When he came into the office, he tells me that he’s sorry that his lazy a** sister hasn’t brought them in. Then he goes into how lazy she is, and how she stole his parent’s money, and how she got everything in the will (along with her two hellion children). And those two hellion children of hers had replaced the paintballs in their paintball guns with marbles and shot their neighbors (at this point, I was about to pee all over myself trying to hold in the laughter). Then he went into how he was an “F***ing CNA …an F***ing CNA, and he had moved to this town in order to help them.” He said “I could help lift them, you know…I mean, I could lift you, but I would be hurting for three days.” Yes, he said that. I didn’t even get mad, I was still trying not to laugh about his nieces and nephews. In the end, he FINALLY gave me the obits, and then proceeded to tell me how to get to his father’s grave in Arlington. Apparently you have your butt facing JFK and walk forward and to the left. WTH?
The last story that I will bore y’all with is the Blonde Indian’s obit for her son. No joke, this very odd little old lady brought in her son’s obit, along with his resume. I’m not sure why we needed his resume but…apparently we needed it. His obit was also weird. He died while recovering from another accident. But then the obit said that he “liked to dance at the local pubs…but he only did it until 10 p.m., because he had to get home early so that he could help his friend build his house before it got too hot.” Once again, WTH?
So I have had the revelation that I would be a much better asset to my boss if I worked from home (possibly in my pajamas).
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Hats On!
The YaYa HatI sit here writing in my favorite outfit ever. I’m wearing my pajamas, my boot slippers and my YaYa hat. Over the weekend, I had to locate a cute little book (Sissy LeBlanc’s Southern Girl’s Guide to Life…if you don’t have a copy, get one) in the hopes that it would cheer a good friend of mine up. In searching (if you could see my room, you’d understand why it was such a search), I wound up finding it in my YaYa hatbox. So, I’ve decided to tell y’all about my obsession. I have this hat that I have grown SUPER fond of. I call it my YaYa hat. It got the name “YaYa” from the movie Divine Secrets of the YaYa Sisterhood. We did a variation from what they did, but the idea was the same. I started this sort-of tradition after my friends and I graduated. My friend Sam and I worked on these hats for weeks before our last big shin-dig before we all started college. The hats are full of tags of inside jokes, mementos, etc. Typically, Sam and I discuss and work on the hats the most. We were still working on them 6-months ago. It is so much fun to look back on the past jokes, and put more tags with the new stuff. Officially the YaYa hat-wearers are: Jess, Megan, Steph, Sam, Krystle, and me. I have been friends with these girls for a very long time, and I hope that we all remain friends throughout the years.
Currently, there are about 200 tags now on my hat…so I may have to look into getting and starting another one. But this one will always be special to me.
Monday, January 5, 2009
For the love of chest hair
A few weeks ago, I found myself absolutely drooling when looking at one gorgeous man with his shirt half-unbuttoned. The sight of his chest (along with the rest of him) had me desperately searching for an ice-cold glass of sweet tea and a fan. My goodness. There are good-looking men everywhere…but there is a difference. See, he looked….well,… manly. This was when I realized how rare it is to find a chest hair bearin’, manly-handed, gun-totin’, non-manicured, non-pedicured man. It is this rare species that I, myself, am tryin’ to track down currently. These women that want to “feminize” men have lost their d*** minds. While I understand that sensitivity can be an endearing trait, I must say that I don’t want a girlie man that cries all the time and wants to discuss his “feelings.”
All I can say is…thank goodness on the day that I was at wits end trying not to drool and stutter, I had someone there to keep me in check. What can I say? I do LOVE a manly man. ;-)
All I can say is…thank goodness on the day that I was at wits end trying not to drool and stutter, I had someone there to keep me in check. What can I say? I do LOVE a manly man. ;-)
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Good Family Gatherings...
Dale and Margaret
I have always known that my mom, dad, and sister were the crème de la crème. But as I was sitting listening to all the conversations going on amongst mom, dad, Rheba, Aunt Angie, Gary, Jarrod, Dale and Teresa, I got to thinking about how truly blessed I am.
Over the past two weeks, we have had 3 or 4 family get-togethers. With the holidays, and with Jarrod’s visit, we’ve all been trying to spend some quality time together. I have truly enjoyed this time together. It’s not often that we are able to have as much time with Jarrod. He lives in San Diego now, and only gets to visit a few times a year (if that). But his lengthy visit WAS the very best Christmas gift that I could’ve gotten. He is very near and dear to my heart. When we were growing up, we were inseparable. Whether it be just going to the grocery store with mom or Aunt Angie, talking during nap time at daycare, or riding in Punky’s Putt-Putt, we were always together. And boy, did we know how to stir up some trouble. We were constantly either being threatened by Granny Betty and her peach switch or in time-out at daycare (although…usually Jarrod could lie his way out of trouble…and leave me, and sometimes Dale, to deal with the consequences). And I cannot say how many times Dale, Jarrod, and I heard the dreaded “If ya’ll don’t stop, I’m gonna pull this car over.” Yes, my childhood memories are very sweet to think back on, and in many ways it’s due to Jarrod and his brother Dale. Another person that I could not imagine my life without is their mom, my Hannie (Aunt Angie, for all of those who don’t know that nickname). There are not enough words to describe how much she means to me. I am very thankful that my mom chose her to watch me while I was a baby. She filled my life with so much love, happiness, and laughter. She, too, was a great asset to my raising. As I have gotten older, she has grown from being my Aunt and second mom, to also a dear friend. I am thankful for that. Aunt Angie's mom, Margaret, has also been like a grandma to me. I have now lost my grandma and my great-grandma on the Watson side, so I am happy to have her. She has always been there for me while I was growing up, and I appreciate her very much. As our family extended several years ago, adding Gary and Teresa, it only got richer. Gary is such a good person, and not only has he been an excellent step-dad to Dale and Jarrod, but he has also been a good uncle to Rheba and me and a good friend to my parents. When looking into our family, it’s hard for me to think that Teresa is married-in. There’s just never been a time when I haven’t considered her part of the family. She has definitely been an asset to our family.
Yes, when I thank God for all of the blessings in my life, I always mention my family. We can be crazy at times, but with our uniqueness, there is a lot of love here. I am proud to be a part of that.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Thoughts and Gold Bond Medicated Powder
Well, it’s been one day and I already have a change of plans. As I sit here writing, smelling of Gold Bond medicated powder, I am thinking back on the new year’s resolutions that I have already broken. I cussed today, when I got razor burn from my (bleepity, bleepity) dull (bleepity) razor—hence, the Gold Bond powder. I had dinner with my friend Steph, and broke my diet by eating French fries and having 3 (count them…T.H.R.E.E.) sweet teas. By the way, this is SO not a good idea when you have on jeans that are already too-tight. I wound up driving home with my pants unbuttoned and unzipped. Shameful, I know. Thank God, I didn’t get stopped by a cop. –I’m going to have to slap some Lycra on these hips just to fit my growing fanny into my pants tomorrow-- And finally, I broke the “try to be nicer” resolution, when I realized how lame it really was. Meanness is just part of what makes me…well, me. I also realized that having a bit of witchy-ness makes things SO much more interesting than being nice all the time (Plus, have you ever tried being sugary sweet for a whole day? It will wear a person slap out). All that can come out of smiling all the time is a headache. No, thanks. My friend Steph helped me come to this conclusion. She tells it like it is, and always has, and that’s one of the things that I love about her. Maybe I can blame a little bit of my behavior on her….hahaha.
Now I have a new resolution. It is simply to start spicing my life up a bit. Although I am quite content with my life (job, friends, etc.), I feel like I’ve gotten into a bit of a monotonous rut. There is not much that I hate more than a rut. I feel that I do the same things every day. I’m a creature of habit, I guess. So, Lord help the public. I’m going to spice things up. Maybe a new “JAKS” prank will be just the ticket to start this up. Let’s just hope that the ol’ sheriff has forgotten the lecture he gave me…and the promise that he would put me in jail for a night if I ever pulled another stunt. Hmmm…we’ll see.
Now I have a new resolution. It is simply to start spicing my life up a bit. Although I am quite content with my life (job, friends, etc.), I feel like I’ve gotten into a bit of a monotonous rut. There is not much that I hate more than a rut. I feel that I do the same things every day. I’m a creature of habit, I guess. So, Lord help the public. I’m going to spice things up. Maybe a new “JAKS” prank will be just the ticket to start this up. Let’s just hope that the ol’ sheriff has forgotten the lecture he gave me…and the promise that he would put me in jail for a night if I ever pulled another stunt. Hmmm…we’ll see.
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