I just wanted to post a tiny update…nothing major. I just would like to say that this trip up to Carrabelle was the best trip ever. I had a blast. I would love to post in here some of the goings on of the weekend…but I don’t even know where to begin. Fun. Thank you, Amy and Bobby…y’all kept me laughing all weekend. Bobby, I still think you’re a perv…but a funny one, so it’s ok :) Amy, I haven’t laughed that much in a long time. It was great. With the talk of being a baby mama, the interesting conversation with Christopher, and the unfortunate incident of grabbing Merle's butt, how could the trip not have been fun?? Haha.
I also would like to say here, that I had a few people ask me when I was moving up there....ugh....I wish I could. Don't keep tempting me, people.
Originally, I had planned on going this past weekend, then, waiting until the 4th of July weekend…but I just don’t think I can wait that long. (Yes, probably now Amy and Bobby are thinking “Oh hell, her again?!”) So, now I’m starting an “Aleta needs to get back to Carrabelle fund,” if anyone would like to contribute. :)
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
S-T-R-E-S-S
So, I'm going on vacation on Friday. I am super excited. But I still have a ton of things to do. Pack, finish my class work, wash my car, vacuum out my car, paint my toe nails black (yes...I love that look) are just a few of the things I have to get done. But what am I doing? Blogging...haha.
Anyways, tonight i am stressed. Tummy hurting, skin itching, hair pulling stress. Not fun at all. I'm a little torn between having a bleeding heart and wanting to "fix" things, and being mad as hell. Oh, frustration. Why, oh why, does this have to be a topsy turvy world? Why do people have to break our hearts and let us down?
As a side note...the new Rascal Flatts song "Here comes goodbye" makes me cry everytime I hear it...and now it's playing ALL the time. Strangely, it comes on at the most "ironic" moments.
Anyways, tonight i am stressed. Tummy hurting, skin itching, hair pulling stress. Not fun at all. I'm a little torn between having a bleeding heart and wanting to "fix" things, and being mad as hell. Oh, frustration. Why, oh why, does this have to be a topsy turvy world? Why do people have to break our hearts and let us down?
As a side note...the new Rascal Flatts song "Here comes goodbye" makes me cry everytime I hear it...and now it's playing ALL the time. Strangely, it comes on at the most "ironic" moments.
Monday, April 20, 2009
So...what you're really saying is....
I, like every good woman, am a big fan of hearing someone say a line, and reading between the lines. After hearing something on the “Cougar” show, the other night, I began planning for this post. BTW, don’t mock me for actually watching “The Cougar,” it is very much like a train wreck…it’s so bad, you have to keep watching to see the next stupid thing.
One of the young men on this show really cracked me up. Here’s what he said: “I’m currently unemployed…but I would have to describe myself as a ‘life enthusiast.’” Here’s what I interpreted: He is dead broke and he’s living in his mother’s basement.
I absolutely love this one. Apparently some of the elders in our church don’t believe that I can get through school. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard this… “So, Aleta, you still going to school?” This is code for “Aleta, have you flunked out yet?” I have been DYING to answer this in anyway other than yes. I have thought about how I will respond…and here is what I am going to say if someone asks me in the next few weeks: “Nope, I had to drop out when my boyfriend Snake knocked me up.”
Speaking of school…The day that I went to register for my first classes at Saint Leo…I met my advisor. I’ll tell you, we have a much better understanding of each other now than we did after this session. I walked into the office wearing t-shirt, jeans, and flip flops, considering that I was running from classes at LCCC, to the Saint Leo office, then back to work. It was a busy day. I walked in, and the advisor looked me up and down. Then she said “Well, I guess you didn’t know what to wear either.” I’m like “WTH?” I interpreted as “you look like you can’t afford to go here.” Then, as we’re discussing my financial aid (BTW, I had the lottery scholarship, FRAG, and other local scholarships), I called them out on charging us a “maintenance fee” of $100 for EVERY internet class. She then says, “Well, I could tell the moment you walked in that you were frugal.” I interpreted as “You look like you’re poor and cheap.” Nice. Then, to top it all off, she tells me “Well, here at Saint Leo, you can make D’s and pass.” A.k.a. You look like you will flunk out the first semester. I’m glad to say that, after being on the Deans list all the semesters now…She’s seen my capability. Also, my bill has been paid every semester, on time. So…I’ve surprised her.
I had a pile of these in my mind earlier, but as it’s getting later, I can’t for the life of me think of all of them. But if I remember any, I’ll post them tomorrow.
One of the young men on this show really cracked me up. Here’s what he said: “I’m currently unemployed…but I would have to describe myself as a ‘life enthusiast.’” Here’s what I interpreted: He is dead broke and he’s living in his mother’s basement.
I absolutely love this one. Apparently some of the elders in our church don’t believe that I can get through school. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard this… “So, Aleta, you still going to school?” This is code for “Aleta, have you flunked out yet?” I have been DYING to answer this in anyway other than yes. I have thought about how I will respond…and here is what I am going to say if someone asks me in the next few weeks: “Nope, I had to drop out when my boyfriend Snake knocked me up.”
Speaking of school…The day that I went to register for my first classes at Saint Leo…I met my advisor. I’ll tell you, we have a much better understanding of each other now than we did after this session. I walked into the office wearing t-shirt, jeans, and flip flops, considering that I was running from classes at LCCC, to the Saint Leo office, then back to work. It was a busy day. I walked in, and the advisor looked me up and down. Then she said “Well, I guess you didn’t know what to wear either.” I’m like “WTH?” I interpreted as “you look like you can’t afford to go here.” Then, as we’re discussing my financial aid (BTW, I had the lottery scholarship, FRAG, and other local scholarships), I called them out on charging us a “maintenance fee” of $100 for EVERY internet class. She then says, “Well, I could tell the moment you walked in that you were frugal.” I interpreted as “You look like you’re poor and cheap.” Nice. Then, to top it all off, she tells me “Well, here at Saint Leo, you can make D’s and pass.” A.k.a. You look like you will flunk out the first semester. I’m glad to say that, after being on the Deans list all the semesters now…She’s seen my capability. Also, my bill has been paid every semester, on time. So…I’ve surprised her.
I had a pile of these in my mind earlier, but as it’s getting later, I can’t for the life of me think of all of them. But if I remember any, I’ll post them tomorrow.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Sheffield Phone Ettiquette
You know how some families have a funny way of answering the phone…or they have polite phone etiquette. Not in the Sheffield household. Nope, if you call our house, you’ll be lucky if my dad doesn’t pick the phone up and say “What do you want?” No greeting, nothing…just that.
Here are some of my dad’s great greetings…
“Hey, you big dummy…”
“Don’t you ever call my house and wake me up on a Saturday morning again!”
“Hell no, we’re not interested.”
“Are you some kind of telemarketer??... We don’t want any!” (I would just like to add here, that there is NO use in actually asking a telemarketer if they are a telemarketer. Also, do y’all notice that it is odd that “John Smith” sounds like he should have been named “Cho Jung” or “Achmed Abdul?” I’m not being racial by any means, but don’t give me that bit about John Smith…I’m not buying it.)
Last week, (I wrote about the incident in my last blog), my dad talked the Pizza Hut people when they called wondering if the delivery boy had made it to our house. Here is the gist of what we heard on our end.
“Hell no, he hasn’t shown up. I’ve got two p.o.ed girls over here that have been waiting for two and a half hours for their pizza….Yes, they’re hungry… and they are p.o.ed. Thank God, this boy wasn’t driving an ambulance….”
--Side note—we were about to pee all over ourselves listening to him rant. I did feel a little sorry for the Pizza Hut people, though.
Last night, though, was the topper. Dad was “sharing information” on the phone (wonder where I get it from??). This is what we heard…
“No, I’m not gonna talk about her. She’s good people. I wouldn’t do that to her.”
Two minutes later…
“She’s just weird. Just weird. Her brain is fried.”
A minute later…
“Yeah, she is just a burnt-out dope head.”
Nice, dad. Nice.
At the end of making fun of my dad for a bit, I will say that I’m not the best at phone etiquette either. I once answered the phone at the Journal “Gilchrist County School Board, how can I help you?” I still am not sure where I got that one…seeing as how I’ve never worked at the School Board office. Also, two weeks ago, I made one of those “Televoice people” cuss (Can’t actually think of what they’re called…they are operators that call for deaf/mute people that type messages to them).
This doesn’t have anything to do with phone etiquette, but I would like to expose some of the craziness that is my family. My friend Steph was going to go with me to Carrabelle next weekend, but now has found out that she can’t. Considering I booked the room a few weeks ago, and had planned to have two queen beds, I had to call and change the room to one king bed, yesterday. In explaining to my dad about the circumstances…here’s what he said (once again, his logic astounds me).
Dad: “Why are you changing it to one bed?”
Me: “Steph couldn’t come, dad.”
Dad: “Yeah, but you might have someone else that could go…what about that Kimberly girl.” (I swear, Dad never gets KW’s name right).
Me: “Dad, it’s Krystle…not Kimberly, and not Rosie. Krystle…and she just had surgery, so she can’t. And I don’t think that I can find anyone that can go…it’s next weekend.”
Dad: “How much are you paying for the room now? It’s cheaper now that you’re down to one bed right?”
Me: “No, dad. It’s the same price.”
Dad: “Then, why didn’t you just keep the other bed?”
Me: “I don’t need it. It’ll just be me going. Why would I need two beds?”
Dad: “Well, I’d have gotten my money’s worth.”
OMG. This is just about how every conversation goes at my house. Do you see why I’m crazy??
Here are some of my dad’s great greetings…
“Hey, you big dummy…”
“Don’t you ever call my house and wake me up on a Saturday morning again!”
“Hell no, we’re not interested.”
“Are you some kind of telemarketer??... We don’t want any!” (I would just like to add here, that there is NO use in actually asking a telemarketer if they are a telemarketer. Also, do y’all notice that it is odd that “John Smith” sounds like he should have been named “Cho Jung” or “Achmed Abdul?” I’m not being racial by any means, but don’t give me that bit about John Smith…I’m not buying it.)
Last week, (I wrote about the incident in my last blog), my dad talked the Pizza Hut people when they called wondering if the delivery boy had made it to our house. Here is the gist of what we heard on our end.
“Hell no, he hasn’t shown up. I’ve got two p.o.ed girls over here that have been waiting for two and a half hours for their pizza….Yes, they’re hungry… and they are p.o.ed. Thank God, this boy wasn’t driving an ambulance….”
--Side note—we were about to pee all over ourselves listening to him rant. I did feel a little sorry for the Pizza Hut people, though.
Last night, though, was the topper. Dad was “sharing information” on the phone (wonder where I get it from??). This is what we heard…
“No, I’m not gonna talk about her. She’s good people. I wouldn’t do that to her.”
Two minutes later…
“She’s just weird. Just weird. Her brain is fried.”
A minute later…
“Yeah, she is just a burnt-out dope head.”
Nice, dad. Nice.
At the end of making fun of my dad for a bit, I will say that I’m not the best at phone etiquette either. I once answered the phone at the Journal “Gilchrist County School Board, how can I help you?” I still am not sure where I got that one…seeing as how I’ve never worked at the School Board office. Also, two weeks ago, I made one of those “Televoice people” cuss (Can’t actually think of what they’re called…they are operators that call for deaf/mute people that type messages to them).
This doesn’t have anything to do with phone etiquette, but I would like to expose some of the craziness that is my family. My friend Steph was going to go with me to Carrabelle next weekend, but now has found out that she can’t. Considering I booked the room a few weeks ago, and had planned to have two queen beds, I had to call and change the room to one king bed, yesterday. In explaining to my dad about the circumstances…here’s what he said (once again, his logic astounds me).
Dad: “Why are you changing it to one bed?”
Me: “Steph couldn’t come, dad.”
Dad: “Yeah, but you might have someone else that could go…what about that Kimberly girl.” (I swear, Dad never gets KW’s name right).
Me: “Dad, it’s Krystle…not Kimberly, and not Rosie. Krystle…and she just had surgery, so she can’t. And I don’t think that I can find anyone that can go…it’s next weekend.”
Dad: “How much are you paying for the room now? It’s cheaper now that you’re down to one bed right?”
Me: “No, dad. It’s the same price.”
Dad: “Then, why didn’t you just keep the other bed?”
Me: “I don’t need it. It’ll just be me going. Why would I need two beds?”
Dad: “Well, I’d have gotten my money’s worth.”
OMG. This is just about how every conversation goes at my house. Do you see why I’m crazy??
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Last week's reasons why Aleta's going nuts...
Ok, so it’s a bit of a long time coming…but I simply must tell you about some of the craziness that I experienced towards the end of last week.
Experience #1: Drunk Man in the Journal
So, yeah, the river IS rising. But why, oh why, must crazy, drunk, river men come in the Journal? I will have to say that it was entertaining…for a few minutes. Anyways, he came in complaining about his river house, and the possible flooding. (Very slurry, I might add). Then, he starts talking about how he was going to burn it to the ground last week, but now because of the flooding…he couldn’t even do that. (Odd.) He starts in about how he doesn’t have flood insurance blah, blah, blah. Then, somehow God comes into the picture. He starts talking about how he’s torn between God and his wife. I’m still not sure about how the God/his wife thing connected to the river flooding…but apparently it made sense to his not-so-sober self. It provided quite the entertainment to the Journal staff for about 15 minutes.
Experience #2 The Pizza Delivery Boy from Heck
I, because I was working diligently on a paper (**procrastination, cough cough*), decided to lessen my load last Thursday night and just call and order a pizza. Who knew having a pizza delivered could present such a hassle. No joke, I stayed on the phone for 20 minutes as the Pizza Hut people tried to figure why I was considered out-of-range, even though they can deliver into Trenton. Finally, they found out that I had somehow been typed in as a Chiefland address (I live right on the line). Understandable…still it took FOREVER. They were supposed to deliver in about an hour… Yeah, that didn’t happen. Two and a half hours later…I still didn’t have my pizza. I’d love to tell you what was said when Pizza Hut called my house to see if their driver (who had been MIA for an hour or so) had ever made it to my house. Dad answered. Need I say more? I will fill y’all in about what all he said in another blog entitled “Sheffield Phone Etiquette” that I will be posting this week. Needless to say, after our long wait, I still wound up driving to Chiefland to pick up a pizza. So much for the paper.
Experience #3 My run-in with the female-version of Monk
Before I begin, I will say, that never have I ever found the thought of stabbing someone with a letter opener so appealing. (Have I mentioned that I could GREATLY benefit from Anger Management classes?) This mono-tone retired Accountant came in on Friday and truly blessed my heart. I now know why people don’t ask God for patience. Lord knows, the woman was tryin’ my patience.
Onto the story. So this woman came in looking for pen refills. I HATE having to look for these things, because I never can seem to find the right ones. Well, it took her about five minutes to actually hand me the pens that she needed refills for (as I stood with my hand out for five minutes) because she was carrying on a conversation with my boss. Apparently, she can’t multi-task. So, after she finally hands me the blankety-blank pens…she stands about 3” away from me for 30 minutes looking for the dang refills. All the while she is talking to me in the most mono-tone boring freaking voice…all about pen refills!!!! AHHHHH! We find 2 out of 3 (that’s pretty good, right?). Blah, blah, blah…We still have to stand there a few minutes as I DESPERATELY search for that third refill, because she’s not ready to give up and I’m wanting her to get the H out of the Journal. No luck. FINALLY, as I’m ringing her up, she starts trying to re-assemble the pen. It doesn’t go back together. Here is what the next ten minutes sound like…”It just doesn’t seem to want to go back together. Why doesn’t it want to go back together (click click click)? Did you break it? Did you put the right spring back in it? (Click Click Clikc) What’s wrong with it? It just doesn’t want to go back together.” And so-on and so-forth for 10 minutes. All I wanted to say to her was “Give me the damn $1.50.” The freakin’ pen wouldn’t have worked ANYWAYS because it is out of ink! Still, I searched high and low for a spring that could have been switched. We had other customers that sat there smiling sympathetically at me. Chris tried to help her with the pen. Towards the end, I just gave her a blank stare, a yawn, and said “I don’t know, I just don’t know what’s wrong with it. I’m sorry….I just don’t know.” I desperately wanted to give her $3 to buy another pen. Did I mention that these were COMPLIMENTARY pens that she had snagged from other businesses. WTH?????? If you are a retired accountant, couldn’t you afford a $3 pen? Oh.My.Gosh! I wanted to kill her. After she left, we still had customers in the Journal when I belted out “Oh My Gosh! That woman just wasted 40 minutes of my freakin’ life!” Needless to say, I don’t think I’ll be earning employee of the month any time soon.
Well, that was my drama from last week….
Experience #1: Drunk Man in the Journal
So, yeah, the river IS rising. But why, oh why, must crazy, drunk, river men come in the Journal? I will have to say that it was entertaining…for a few minutes. Anyways, he came in complaining about his river house, and the possible flooding. (Very slurry, I might add). Then, he starts talking about how he was going to burn it to the ground last week, but now because of the flooding…he couldn’t even do that. (Odd.) He starts in about how he doesn’t have flood insurance blah, blah, blah. Then, somehow God comes into the picture. He starts talking about how he’s torn between God and his wife. I’m still not sure about how the God/his wife thing connected to the river flooding…but apparently it made sense to his not-so-sober self. It provided quite the entertainment to the Journal staff for about 15 minutes.
Experience #2 The Pizza Delivery Boy from Heck
I, because I was working diligently on a paper (**procrastination, cough cough*), decided to lessen my load last Thursday night and just call and order a pizza. Who knew having a pizza delivered could present such a hassle. No joke, I stayed on the phone for 20 minutes as the Pizza Hut people tried to figure why I was considered out-of-range, even though they can deliver into Trenton. Finally, they found out that I had somehow been typed in as a Chiefland address (I live right on the line). Understandable…still it took FOREVER. They were supposed to deliver in about an hour… Yeah, that didn’t happen. Two and a half hours later…I still didn’t have my pizza. I’d love to tell you what was said when Pizza Hut called my house to see if their driver (who had been MIA for an hour or so) had ever made it to my house. Dad answered. Need I say more? I will fill y’all in about what all he said in another blog entitled “Sheffield Phone Etiquette” that I will be posting this week. Needless to say, after our long wait, I still wound up driving to Chiefland to pick up a pizza. So much for the paper.
Experience #3 My run-in with the female-version of Monk
Before I begin, I will say, that never have I ever found the thought of stabbing someone with a letter opener so appealing. (Have I mentioned that I could GREATLY benefit from Anger Management classes?) This mono-tone retired Accountant came in on Friday and truly blessed my heart. I now know why people don’t ask God for patience. Lord knows, the woman was tryin’ my patience.
Onto the story. So this woman came in looking for pen refills. I HATE having to look for these things, because I never can seem to find the right ones. Well, it took her about five minutes to actually hand me the pens that she needed refills for (as I stood with my hand out for five minutes) because she was carrying on a conversation with my boss. Apparently, she can’t multi-task. So, after she finally hands me the blankety-blank pens…she stands about 3” away from me for 30 minutes looking for the dang refills. All the while she is talking to me in the most mono-tone boring freaking voice…all about pen refills!!!! AHHHHH! We find 2 out of 3 (that’s pretty good, right?). Blah, blah, blah…We still have to stand there a few minutes as I DESPERATELY search for that third refill, because she’s not ready to give up and I’m wanting her to get the H out of the Journal. No luck. FINALLY, as I’m ringing her up, she starts trying to re-assemble the pen. It doesn’t go back together. Here is what the next ten minutes sound like…”It just doesn’t seem to want to go back together. Why doesn’t it want to go back together (click click click)? Did you break it? Did you put the right spring back in it? (Click Click Clikc) What’s wrong with it? It just doesn’t want to go back together.” And so-on and so-forth for 10 minutes. All I wanted to say to her was “Give me the damn $1.50.” The freakin’ pen wouldn’t have worked ANYWAYS because it is out of ink! Still, I searched high and low for a spring that could have been switched. We had other customers that sat there smiling sympathetically at me. Chris tried to help her with the pen. Towards the end, I just gave her a blank stare, a yawn, and said “I don’t know, I just don’t know what’s wrong with it. I’m sorry….I just don’t know.” I desperately wanted to give her $3 to buy another pen. Did I mention that these were COMPLIMENTARY pens that she had snagged from other businesses. WTH?????? If you are a retired accountant, couldn’t you afford a $3 pen? Oh.My.Gosh! I wanted to kill her. After she left, we still had customers in the Journal when I belted out “Oh My Gosh! That woman just wasted 40 minutes of my freakin’ life!” Needless to say, I don’t think I’ll be earning employee of the month any time soon.
Well, that was my drama from last week….
Monday, April 6, 2009
If men are from Mars...then,
Mars is junked the hell up. What is with men wanting to keep everything and anything from the past 50 years?? We near-about had WWIII at my house last night. We were attempting to clean up our outside room. This is funny, because every morning around 7 a.m., dad starts mumbling about how we need to clean our house. Every time we go to clean, however, dad throws a fit about us moving things to where he can’t find it, or getting rid of things that “we need.”
The argument began with me and mom asking my dad to move his toolbox out of the bathroom (we didn’t even mention the dog supplies and pool equipment that was in there). I should probably mention that we haven’t been able to use this bathroom in about a year…because of the junk. Our simple question spun dad off in a tizzy. He started mumbling stuff like “Why does it always have to be MY stuff that’s gotta be moved?” and “Why can’t you move some of YOUR stuff?” and the best one was (however irrational) “Why don’t we just leave the door unlocked? Because if burglars ever came to our house, they would have the tools to break in right there.” I kept my mouth shut…I SO wanted to say “Hell, if they got past our gate, they probably had their OWN dang tools.” Anyways, he never moved it. I had to pick it up myself and move it outside.
He did, however, go out and start looking (and digging) in our “trash pile” to see if we were throwing out anything good. He happened across the pool/lounge chair that my sister had gotten last year. (She had forgotten to take the tag off of it, even though she had used it all last year). This spun him off into the rant about being wasteful, and throwing away stuff that was still new and good. He yelled across at my sister, as she was riding her horse, and asked if it was really broken. She yelled back and said that the last time she used it, she had had to prop the head up with a cement block because it was broken (At this point, I was torn between laughing hysterically and shaking my head in shame…because Lord, we were startin’ to sound like a bunch of poor white trash). Then, after seeing that he was going nowhere with the broken lounge chair argument, he went around picking stuff up out of our yard (towels that had just fallen off the line, rugs that were out there to be beaten, chairs that we take to all Rheba’s horse events) asking if it too needed to be “hauled off to the dump.” I might mention here that I DO believe that I get my flair for drama from the Sheffield’s side. I will say that I was a bit concerned that after I stepped out of the room, that he would toss my computer or cell phone into that trash pile….seeing as how we needed to get rid of some of our stuff, too.
After ignoring his rants for a good solid 30 minutes, he finally huffed off to start mowing. After he had walked out, my mama (I love her) says “You might not get the chance to send him to the home, I might just beat you to it.” In telling this to my friend Sam tonight, she responded by saying that the CNA’s at the nursing home would HAVE to get a raise to deal with ol’ Cornbread.
Yeah, I’m not sure what it is about men being pack rats….but most of the ones that I know are just that. They couldn’t part with anything to save their lives. I just know that in my house, we have to wait until my dad is out of the house before we can start throwing his stuff away. –We just recently got rid of some of his 30”-waist pants…as well as his old biking shorts (rolling my eyes)…and he still about had a fit.
Yep, my bet is that if men are from Mars…Mars is packed with old, ratty t-shirts, “yard work-only tennis shoes,” pants that have been too tight for ages, leisure suits, 8-Track tapes, Jerry Clower and Tammy Wynette Cassettes, viking helmets and high-rise socks.
The argument began with me and mom asking my dad to move his toolbox out of the bathroom (we didn’t even mention the dog supplies and pool equipment that was in there). I should probably mention that we haven’t been able to use this bathroom in about a year…because of the junk. Our simple question spun dad off in a tizzy. He started mumbling stuff like “Why does it always have to be MY stuff that’s gotta be moved?” and “Why can’t you move some of YOUR stuff?” and the best one was (however irrational) “Why don’t we just leave the door unlocked? Because if burglars ever came to our house, they would have the tools to break in right there.” I kept my mouth shut…I SO wanted to say “Hell, if they got past our gate, they probably had their OWN dang tools.” Anyways, he never moved it. I had to pick it up myself and move it outside.
He did, however, go out and start looking (and digging) in our “trash pile” to see if we were throwing out anything good. He happened across the pool/lounge chair that my sister had gotten last year. (She had forgotten to take the tag off of it, even though she had used it all last year). This spun him off into the rant about being wasteful, and throwing away stuff that was still new and good. He yelled across at my sister, as she was riding her horse, and asked if it was really broken. She yelled back and said that the last time she used it, she had had to prop the head up with a cement block because it was broken (At this point, I was torn between laughing hysterically and shaking my head in shame…because Lord, we were startin’ to sound like a bunch of poor white trash). Then, after seeing that he was going nowhere with the broken lounge chair argument, he went around picking stuff up out of our yard (towels that had just fallen off the line, rugs that were out there to be beaten, chairs that we take to all Rheba’s horse events) asking if it too needed to be “hauled off to the dump.” I might mention here that I DO believe that I get my flair for drama from the Sheffield’s side. I will say that I was a bit concerned that after I stepped out of the room, that he would toss my computer or cell phone into that trash pile….seeing as how we needed to get rid of some of our stuff, too.
After ignoring his rants for a good solid 30 minutes, he finally huffed off to start mowing. After he had walked out, my mama (I love her) says “You might not get the chance to send him to the home, I might just beat you to it.” In telling this to my friend Sam tonight, she responded by saying that the CNA’s at the nursing home would HAVE to get a raise to deal with ol’ Cornbread.
Yeah, I’m not sure what it is about men being pack rats….but most of the ones that I know are just that. They couldn’t part with anything to save their lives. I just know that in my house, we have to wait until my dad is out of the house before we can start throwing his stuff away. –We just recently got rid of some of his 30”-waist pants…as well as his old biking shorts (rolling my eyes)…and he still about had a fit.
Yep, my bet is that if men are from Mars…Mars is packed with old, ratty t-shirts, “yard work-only tennis shoes,” pants that have been too tight for ages, leisure suits, 8-Track tapes, Jerry Clower and Tammy Wynette Cassettes, viking helmets and high-rise socks.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Semi-blown up...
Well, I was at it again today. I decided to make a batch of double-fudge fantasy bars for my friend Krystle who had surgery yesterday. (BTW, I hope that the brownies put her on the fast-track to recovery very soon…I’m sending her sunshine-y thoughts as I write this :)). In making these brownies, I first realized that there was a small problem when my blend of egg, oil, and brownie mix wound up looking more clumpy than crumbly…but that didn’t stop me. Then, I mixed the condensed milk in with the white chocolate chips and put them in the microwave. I cooked it for 45 secs…hoping they would melt. Nope. Put them in for 20 more secs. Nope. Then, I remembered that I hadn’t mixed in the vanilla extract. Put the vanilla extract in and stuck it back in the microwave for a few more secs. Yeah,….it blew up in the microwave. Here’s what the microwave looked like. (The circle was where the pot had been)
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Here’s what the brownies looked like finished…
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Another thing that I would like to mention is…Sandra Lee has her own magazine now!!! Sandra Lee (Semi-Homemade) is one of my favorite people on Food Network (Maybe it's because she always takes time for "Cocktail Time,"--and y'all if I'm cooking, I need a drink...I can tell you). As I mentioned previously, I don’t watch a ton of the shows on Food Network, but I do love Sandra Lee, The Neeleys, and Paula (of course, y’all!!! Haha). Anyways, I was looking for a Scrapbooking magazine at Walgreens today…couldn’t find one…but I stumbled across her magazine. It is WONDERFUL!!! It has recipes, home decorating ideas, and great table setting ideas. I particularly loved the decorating ideas. There were so many things that were so simple, I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it. There are so many ideas in there that are cheap and easy to make. So y’all should check it out.
Here’s what the brownies looked like finished…
Another thing that I would like to mention is…Sandra Lee has her own magazine now!!! Sandra Lee (Semi-Homemade) is one of my favorite people on Food Network (Maybe it's because she always takes time for "Cocktail Time,"--and y'all if I'm cooking, I need a drink...I can tell you). As I mentioned previously, I don’t watch a ton of the shows on Food Network, but I do love Sandra Lee, The Neeleys, and Paula (of course, y’all!!! Haha). Anyways, I was looking for a Scrapbooking magazine at Walgreens today…couldn’t find one…but I stumbled across her magazine. It is WONDERFUL!!! It has recipes, home decorating ideas, and great table setting ideas. I particularly loved the decorating ideas. There were so many things that were so simple, I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it. There are so many ideas in there that are cheap and easy to make. So y’all should check it out.
Friday, April 3, 2009
A teenie bit of humor
Alright, alright, enough with all the serious topics. I have a joke for y’all. My friend Sam told it to me yesterday and I about shot salad out my nose laughing at it. I’m the worst relayer of a joke…but I will attempt it.
“During a church service, the preacher asked his church members if anyone would like to stand up and give a praise report. One woman came walking up from the back of the church. She stood up at the microphone and said “I would just like to say that last week, my husband crushed his scrotum. (All the men in the church gasped at the thought of the pain). He was in so much pain, he couldn’t lift anything, he couldn’t hold the kids, and he couldn’t help around the house…But because of God working through the Doctor’s hands, the Doctor was able to fix my Tom’s scrotum. Thank the Lord!” Several amens and praise the Lords rang out from the church members. She stepped down from the podium and walked back to her seat.
Next, a man from the back of the church came up. He stood there and looked out at all the church members and said “Hi, I’m Tom. (Once again, all the men gasp…thinking of the pain). And apparently my wife doesn’t know the difference between the words scrotum and sternum.”
I about rolled. That was the funniest one I had heard in a long time. As I said, I am the worst joke teller…but I hope that y’all enjoyed it.
I’m awful tired tonight….so I will end here. I will write about the fair tomorrow night, hopefully…I’ve got some stories.
“During a church service, the preacher asked his church members if anyone would like to stand up and give a praise report. One woman came walking up from the back of the church. She stood up at the microphone and said “I would just like to say that last week, my husband crushed his scrotum. (All the men in the church gasped at the thought of the pain). He was in so much pain, he couldn’t lift anything, he couldn’t hold the kids, and he couldn’t help around the house…But because of God working through the Doctor’s hands, the Doctor was able to fix my Tom’s scrotum. Thank the Lord!” Several amens and praise the Lords rang out from the church members. She stepped down from the podium and walked back to her seat.
Next, a man from the back of the church came up. He stood there and looked out at all the church members and said “Hi, I’m Tom. (Once again, all the men gasp…thinking of the pain). And apparently my wife doesn’t know the difference between the words scrotum and sternum.”
I about rolled. That was the funniest one I had heard in a long time. As I said, I am the worst joke teller…but I hope that y’all enjoyed it.
I’m awful tired tonight….so I will end here. I will write about the fair tomorrow night, hopefully…I’ve got some stories.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
In a fog...
As much as I would enjoy writing a funny post, tonight, more serious things are weighing on my mind. I will start off by asking the questions: “Can you really give up on someone you care about?” and “Can a person with issues really change?” Today, I’ve been mulling these questions over and over.
As I put in my blog last week, I had a terrible week. It was rough. And while this week is a cake walk in comparison, I still feel like I’m in a fog of contemplation.
I am the world’s worst at walking away. I am also the worst at saying goodbye. So my attempt at this last week was kind of a big deal. To get completely sappy here, I will say that I have been wearing a little gold band on my right hand (no, not the left…) for 2 years now. It had something kind of important engraved in it. I wore it as a constant reminder of someone of my past/present. I took the ring off last week and put it away. I just got fed up. A person can only take so much. It is hard to finally realize that you’ve been fooling yourself into thinking the person would change and “mend their ways.” I mean, how can people just live with mediocre ALL the time? I don’t understand it. I also have difficulty watching someone in a downward spiral grasping at straws, when I KNOW they could be/do so much better. It’s hard to watch.
This brings me to my questions. Can I really and truly give up on someone that I care for? I would love to be able to say that I could…but I can’t. I can’t just walk away from someone that I cared so deeply about. It’s just not in my make-up. Putting space and time in between us may help, but really, they’re still going to be on my mind. A song, a photo, a place can all bring the memories back.
Also, can a person with problems really change? I’m torn between feeling both cynical and naïve with this question. Can an alcoholic stop drinking? Can a drug addict stop using? Can an abuser stop beating someone? On one hand, optimism says that there is hope for everyone and that through Christ all things are possible. However, you look at the statistics and they don’t look so hot. Then, I question how they will be when everyone in the world turns their back to them. If a person feels like they are completely alone, then, won’t they then run to something that is an “immediate fix?” I’m torn between wanting to help and wanting to go running for the hills. I can’t fix everything, and I realize that, but I also don’t think that I could live with myself if anything were to happen. I pray that he will change, and that he will turn into the person that I know he can be….
As I put in my blog last week, I had a terrible week. It was rough. And while this week is a cake walk in comparison, I still feel like I’m in a fog of contemplation.
I am the world’s worst at walking away. I am also the worst at saying goodbye. So my attempt at this last week was kind of a big deal. To get completely sappy here, I will say that I have been wearing a little gold band on my right hand (no, not the left…) for 2 years now. It had something kind of important engraved in it. I wore it as a constant reminder of someone of my past/present. I took the ring off last week and put it away. I just got fed up. A person can only take so much. It is hard to finally realize that you’ve been fooling yourself into thinking the person would change and “mend their ways.” I mean, how can people just live with mediocre ALL the time? I don’t understand it. I also have difficulty watching someone in a downward spiral grasping at straws, when I KNOW they could be/do so much better. It’s hard to watch.
This brings me to my questions. Can I really and truly give up on someone that I care for? I would love to be able to say that I could…but I can’t. I can’t just walk away from someone that I cared so deeply about. It’s just not in my make-up. Putting space and time in between us may help, but really, they’re still going to be on my mind. A song, a photo, a place can all bring the memories back.
Also, can a person with problems really change? I’m torn between feeling both cynical and naïve with this question. Can an alcoholic stop drinking? Can a drug addict stop using? Can an abuser stop beating someone? On one hand, optimism says that there is hope for everyone and that through Christ all things are possible. However, you look at the statistics and they don’t look so hot. Then, I question how they will be when everyone in the world turns their back to them. If a person feels like they are completely alone, then, won’t they then run to something that is an “immediate fix?” I’m torn between wanting to help and wanting to go running for the hills. I can’t fix everything, and I realize that, but I also don’t think that I could live with myself if anything were to happen. I pray that he will change, and that he will turn into the person that I know he can be….
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