Winner, Winner, Chicken Dinner

Two years ago for Christmas, Madre got me this awesome t-shirt.

Don't listen to my sister - I am the favorite.

Don’t listen to my sister – I am the favorite.

I opened it and as soon as I saw it, I held it up and crowed, “Told you I was the favorite!” 

But to my chagrin, Martie had also opened a gift from Madre which was also an awesome t-shirt.  She, too, was holding hers up crowing, “Told you she liked me best!”

Mom likes me best

Mom likes me best

Well played, Madre.  Well played.

Last weekend Madre and I walked/jogged another 5K together.  This one was the Jingle Bell Run and I’m sure it benefitted some charity or other but Madre and I got jingle bells to tie onto our shoes and so I lost all memory of anything other than my tinkling pretty feet.   Once again, Madre and her legs for days won the race for her age division.  I’m not even going to be surprised anymore.  It has become our status quo.  I, of course, did not place at all.

Congrats!

Congrats!

I did get something pretty cool, though.  I forgot my t-shirt to wear to this race (see post from yesterday) and so had to borrow one from Martie.  This is the one I snatched.

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Since I have both shirts in my possession now, I’m pretty sure I WIN! Heh. 

Lynnette? I Might Be Mad At You.

Yesterday morning I went to the gym.  That is a statement in and of itself as I haven’t been what you call regular with those gym visits lately.  But I got a gander of myself in one of the those dressing rooms where you can see the front of yourself and also the back of yourself and let me tell you, that right there will motivate you to get up off your pancake butt and go to the gym.  You’d think it would motivate you to lay off the chocolate also but it seems I need something far more drastic than a back and front mirror.    

Anyway, yesterday morning I went to the gym.  I did a leg workout.  It was a good idea overall, but when I got to the locker room to start my after workout ablutions, I realized I left my makeup bag in the car.  I’ve been doing that a lot lately, forgetting the small things.  It’s what happens when your life gets super busy.  Just last week I forgot my shoes.  I was leaving for work and grabbed my overnight clothes bag as I was spending the night with Martie, my purse, my lunch bag, my computer bag and my computer which for some reason was not in the bag.  I ran out to the car and slung all my stuff in it, not wanting to be late for work. I flung myself into the driver’s seat, backed out of the driveway and drove nearly all the way out of my neighborhood before I realized I was not wearing any shoes.  Nor did I pack any in my overnight bag.  So that was a good morning. 

Anyway, I left my makeup bag in the car.  I walked through the gym, a flat surface, and out the side door to the parking lot where I had to step down off the curb, a tiny lip of concrete, and there I nearly fell down.  That’s how weak my knees were after my hard core workout.  (I can call it hard core because none of you were there to dispute it.)  I got my makeup and then realized that I was going to have to walk through the front entrance of the gym to get back to the locker room.  The entrance is all stairs, first up and then down.  STAIRS!  Y’all, I could have cried. 

I did it.  It wasn’t without danger.  That staircase was fraught with peril.  My legs at best were shaky.  At five steps in they were jelly.  At the top of the staircase, my knees said no more and then I had to clutch the rail all the way on the downside of the staircase like a little old lady so as not to collapse in a heap at the bottom of the stairs and embarrass myself in front of the one hot guy at the gym. 

I’m fine now, thanks for asking.  But seriously, whose idea was it for me to do a leg workout every week?  Lynnette?  I might be mad at you.  I’ll let you know tomorrow when I assess my level of pain. 

Guest Post: Prom Date Will

So I’m Prom Date Will. Not really, since that name would be moronic even by modern celebrity baby names standards. Since I’ve noticed folks maintain code names in this small corner of the internet, I thought I’d maintain the status quo (on a side note, who do you suppose that “Madre” person is? The mystery!) I’ve known the regularly scheduled author of this blog since elementary school. Back then we both had different last names since our moms changed them after remarrying because that’s what moms did back before anyone really kept records. I remember this blog’s owner back before she had the faint blue dot on her cheek. 

(Editor’s Note:  Remember the story?  A girl named Beth jammed a pencil in my cheek when I was in the 7th grade?  And that pencil left a blue mark underneath my skin so I have a permanent tattoo memory of my 7th grade year? Remember that?)

A quick funny story about that blue dot: A few years back, I was being taken out to lunch by my coworkers for my birthday at my favorite burrito place. After not seeing her for about a decade or so, I thought I saw her in my favorite burrito place but wasn’t completely sure. Since tattooed guys my size make ladies nervous when running excitedly toward them, I wanted to be 100% positive I had the right girl. So I did what guys do – stare. She was visibly uncomfortable from the staring, and didn’t want to make eye contact. In hindsight, this probably didn’t help her be less nervous. Anyway, when I saw the faint blue dot, I finally came over and said hi just as she was reaching in her purse for pepper spray or a machete or a 38 special. Thankfully she recognized me after a bit of looking. We exchanged info and a hug and I managed to not get shot while getting a burrito for my birthday all thanks to that blue dot. 

(Editor’s Note:  To be fair, Prom Date Will had morphed from a gangly, skinny, lanky hottie boy into a tall, muscle-y, manly hottie man in the years between our reconnection.   I’m totally used to weirdos and men with Napoleon complexes approaching me, not normal men who have all their teeth.  It was a bit of a shock.)

So why am I guest posting while she is doing her Mojo Jojo challenge? Good question. I haven’t really written much since college and high school English. I did take things seriously in the middle of the last decade, though. I blogged professionally as a side gig for a couple months, which went fairly well. I had my own personal blog for a few years that’s been dormant (and is now not functioning) for years now. I had a couple posts go viral (including the one where I busted a Court TV marketing campaign as referenced here http://www.museumofhoaxes.com/hoax/weblog/comments/4261/), which was pretty sweet.  Before that, I actually had a couple articles published nationally in a trade magazine. That’s the most impressive way I can think of to say that I guest wrote a couple articles in an insurance magazine for a guy at work. I think I have all three copies that were ever printed of that magazine. One of them donated a page so I could get it framed, and the other two are in a folder somewhere that my wife keeps trying to throw away. Where was I going with this? I hate those ‘meta’ movies about making movies. On to some actual content!

I’m a regular guy. Kind of nerdy. I write software for a living. (Editor’s Note:  I fell asleep in that last sentence.)   I like beer, football, basketball, and 30 year old trucks. I’ve been married for a couple decades now. My wife has a couple sisters both with whom she’s really close, and now I have a couple daughters. Here’s where this gets relevant – most of the people in my family on a daily basis are women. Girls. Ladies. Penis-less folks. This gives me a lot of insight to women that I didn’t have before.

First thing I noticed is that women are mean to each other, dude. I mean like, really mean. Whoever wrote that bit about women being the fairer sex didn’t spend much time around girls when there are no guys around.  Here are a few of the things I’d like to say to all the ladies if I may:

  • That neurotic feeling that you never look or feel as good as you’re supposed to? You’re doing that to yourselves! If I could wish anything upon the women of the world, it would be to have a positive self-image. Believe me, guys want you to feel good about yourselves. You know how they say the sexiest thing on a guy is confidence? That works both ways.  (Editor’s Note:  Huh.)
  • If you have a multi-page checklist of things you gotta have in a significant other, chances are you’re going to have that checklist and no significant other for a long time. Wanting a guy that’s taller than you with decent oral hygiene is one thing. Wanting a guy who’s at least six but no more than nine inches taller than you who also has movie star looks, never been married, an environmentally conscious but still semi-rugged car, a job in senior management, and does marine biology on the side yet lives in Arizona is gonna be a bit tough to find. (Editor’s Note:  As long as his name isn’t LeRoy, I’m good.  Mostly.)
  • Here in the American South, the phrase “bless your heart” might as well mean “Go to hell”. Substitute the latter for the former next time, and you’ll most likely come closer to the actual intent of what someone is saying to you.  (Editor’s Note:  So when snooty snothole at the gym the other day said “bless your heart” she didn’t mean bless my heart?)
  • Lastly, if you don’t like the way your life is, it’s up to you to change it.  (Editor’s Note:  Wise words.  I dig it.)

You guys can see why I wanted a post from Prom Date Will, right?  When he sent it, he wrote:  it isn’t great but at least it’s late.  Whatever, man.  I think it’s great. 

 

Observation

A word of advice from Jimmie:

If you want to look like a badass with a tatted up neck, rock star jeans, a wallet with a chain and a leather bracelet studded with silver spikes, perhaps you should not visit the grocery store with gauze wrapped all around your neck after getting tattoo work done and wince around the aisles like a whipped puppy dog, clutching your throat every time you move or speak. Doing this will instantly negate all your badassyness and instead make everyone (Jimmie) think you look like a wimp and a moron. 

The end.

Whew, I’m Tired.

I’m back! Hi! Did you miss me?

So, I am an official NaNoWriMo participant. Sadly, I am not a NaNoWriMo winner. I wrote 48,285 words in the last month. I just counted them up. I needed to write 50,000 in order to get the NaNo bragging rights, but I’m pretty happy with what I did. I wrote until nearly the last minute, a final desperate gasp on my Friday lunch break, but then I was done. Besides, Pooh and Tigger and I had to make gingerbread houses last night. That’s important enough for me to not finish 2000 measly words. They would have been crap anyway, just me throwing down sentences which I would have trashed today when I reread them.

To distract you from my lack of 2000 words, I have attached pictures of our gingerbread houses. Didn’t we do well?

IMG_2156

IMG_2150

IMG_2152

In a NaNoWriMo wrap up, I’d like to share some valuable things I learned during this experience:

1. I have 38 containers of spices in my cabinet, three of which are ground mustard. To my knowledge I have never used ground mustard in any recipe so why I need three tins of it is beyond me.

2. My shoe racks are not large enough to fit all my shoes. I spent an afternoon cleaning them out and gave eight pair away.

3. Old toothbrushes make great grout scrubbers.

4. Murphy does not like it when you tape the bottoms of his feet.

5. I don’t like Nicholas Sparks’s books. Barf.

6. I had a bag of parsley in the fridge that did not fare well and THAT was what my fridge smell bad.

Procrastination at its finest. That’s what true writing is, people.

Seriously, I got a lot of work done on one book. It needs A LOT of work to get it into shape but my basic story is down and my themes are evident. I’m leaving it alone for a while to do other projects this month but in January I will revisit it. Here’s hoping I don’t cry when I reread it – it can’t be that bad, right?

Moving onwards now . . . . Don’t forget that I will be posting something here every day in December. I received two guest posts that I simply ran out of time to post. (I was typing like mad, y’all.) I will use those in December – thank you Freddie and Prom Date Will. Boss promised another – let’s see if he is a man of his word.

Thank you to everyone else who wrote for me last month. I luffed it. I luff you for doing that.

So, I have a lot to tell you in the next 30 days. You guys missed a lot. Good thing I have a mind like a steel trap and forget nothing.

Happy December! Talk at you tomorrow.

Love,

Jimmie

Guest Post: Jonquil. Oh Y’all, This One Has Pictures.

Jimmie and I met in college, and we shared a pretty unusual work-study job.  We were managers for the men’s basketball team.  (Editor’s Note: BEST. JOB. EVER.)  You know how Jimmie was all clueless about football, picking teams with cute players as criteria?  Well, we knew every cute basketball player in our division, his stats, and how he treated his manager.   (Editor’s Note:  Rawr!)  And we loved our boys, even crushing on a few here and there.   We attended practices (swept the floor), shared pre-game meals (spaghetti and green beans), traveled with the team (curfews and hotel rooms make for funny stories), maintained the bench (we can make a mean water bottle), and helped keep things organized (Coach always needed help with his keys).   

Remember how I told you I have no rear end? This here is proof. Ridiculous. Jimmie in mustard (what was I thinking?) and Jonquil in blue.

There were four of us girls—Jimmie, the Bookkeeper, the Stat, and me.  Only recently did I remember a nickname Jimmie and Bookkeeper called me:  MIT.  It stood for Mom-In-Training.  Apparently, I may have gone a little overboard in my managing.  (Editor’s Note:  A little?  Nosiree.  She LIVED for it.)  Now that I’m a mom of two, I think they were onto something.

Then:  I would find inspiring quotes to hang up at practice and make posters and signs for our team, especially for big games.  Jimmie even got me to go in the DEKE house to decorate a door once.  (Editor’s Note:  The DEKE house was G-R-O-S-S.  Gross.  The level of Jonquil’s dedication knew no bounds.) 

Now:  I am definitely a cheerleader for my family.  I will stuff notes in their backpacks, write notes on bananas in their lunches, and cheer them on in all their endeavors.

Then:  I would practically pack every guy’s bag, including being prepared for anything with the two team bags. Then I had to comb the locker room one last time to make sure nothing was left behind.  (Editor’s Note:  It wasn’t unheard of for Jonquil to help the guys with their laundry.  No way no how was I up for that.) 

Now:  I have to practically pack Esteban, Cookie and Essie (Jonquil’s adorable children), including all the other stuff we’ll need for a trip; and, I definitely make a final sweep of the house or hotel room before leaving.

Then:  I would nag people to remember this or that.  (Editor’s Note:  Oh, yes she did.)

Now:  Oh, yeah, I nag.

Then:  I would set my alarm early and I would cheerfully make sure everyone else was awake, especially on the road. (Editor’s Note:  This “cheerfully making sure everyone was awake” business included a before dawn telephone call in which Jonquil would trill merrily into the phone “Gooooood morning, have a happy!”  No.)

Now:  My good morning humor did not survive pregnancy.  I hit snooze as many times as possible and don’t want to muster more than a grunt as a morning greeting.

Then:  l learned things I never thought I’d need to know.  For instance, jock strap size is based on waist size, people. (Editor’s Note: Boys, get over yourselves.)

Now:  If Essie tells you she doesn’t want anything else to eat, the extra food you made her finish will come back to haunt you in a stomach flu nightmare.

Then and now:  Jimmie was a hoot!  (Editor’s Note:  <preen>)

When I graduated, Jimmie gave me a scrapbook of my senior year, and a basketball signed by all our boys.  I can look at that ball and recall all the highs and lows of each season, and the enormous amount of fun we had.  MIT was not such a bad nickname after all, and I am grateful for the extra training I received as a mom. 

(Editor’s Note:  She was and still is fantastic at all of that.  Centre College Men’s Basketball will never be the same.  Her family can attest to that.) 

Jonquil and Jimmie, age 12. So, so young.

Guest Post: Esteban. Books And Bars.

I know the words in the title don’t seem to go together, but they do for me as I am both a Librarian and a bartender. My name is Esteban, and I know Jimmie through my wife who is called Jonquil on this blog. (Editor’s Note:  This was Esteban.)  I know Jimmie certainly likes books, but she has less of an appreciation of alcoholic beverages, although I do recall seeing a bottle of wine in her fridge when we visited last. (Editor’s Note: He recalls seeing it because I made him open it so that I could cook something with it.  Oh, that cork was a bear.  But he got it open and I used precisely one quarter cup of it and then it sat in my fridge until it went bad.  Rowdy is what I am.)

In an effort to give this blog some class, I was ordered volunteered to try to help Jimmie with her need for guest bloggers. Hopefully, it will be entertaining enough to be selected by the lady with the big, sexy hair. (Editor’s Note:  Congratulations, Esteban!  You made the cut.)

Working in a large, public library in an urban area, I have seen the rise of people like Jimmie who enjoy reading their books on their various electronic devices. It’s not the death-knell for libraries as some thought it would be, since libraries are the best places to get your free, downloadable books. My library is alive and well and helping more and more people, especially during the last few years with the recession and people turning to the library for free entertainment and job searching information.

I’ve often thought Jimmie would be a perfect library employee – so outgoing and helpful. I know what you’re thinking: How can somebody so loud and with such big, sexy hair work in a library? Don’t believe the stereotype of librarians as being old ladies with their gray hair in a bun shushing everybody. My library is fairly loud and full of young people working there, some with a fair amount of tattoos. Jimmie’s personality would fit right in. She would have to deal with the large number of mentally-unstable people that come through the doors. (Editor’s Note:  Was this a compliment?  I’m not sure it was a compliment.)  There are many homeless and other disadvantaged people who seek shelter in the library. Some people I’ve dealt with over the years are the woman who always checked out books on alien abductions who claimed she was frequently abducted herself; a man who complained about somebody continuing to “zap” his chair; and my wife’s favorite is the guy who rubbed the magazine all over his body because he enjoyed the cologne insert that was in the magazine.  (Editor’s Note:  Men, do not do this.  It’s weird.)

I could also picture Jimmie working as a bartender where her “assets” would be very helpful. (Editor’s Note:  He means my hair.  Doesn’t he?)  While I work at a private club now, I have worked other places where the regulars were colorful characters. Again, Jimmie would fit right in. Her knowledge of wine might have to improve if she wants to work in a finer establishment, though.  (Editor’s Note:  What?  I could totally work in a finer establishment.) 

You know, more people are learning to appreciate wine, and it is losing its once-snobby reputation. However, the people who write descriptions of wine apparently have not gotten the memo. Here’s an excerpt of one description I read recently: “demure aromas of black fruits with a note of cigar box and tarry oak.” A note of cigar box? Do I want to drink that? Here’s another excerpt: “enticing scents of dark Queen Anne cherries, sawdust and sandalwood” which is apparently “a delight to drink.” Maybe it’s for shop class.  (Editor’s Note:  Pft.  I can do better than that!  “This wine, it tastes like barf.  You don’t want that.  And this one?  It tastes vaguely of how cat urine smells.  It ought to go great with your sushi and side of onions.” Finer establishment, here I come!) I don’t know that much about wine, but the wine writers must be drinking quite a lot of what they’re reviewing. 

Raise your glasses to Jimmie! Best of luck to you in your literary efforts!

Guest Post: Madre. Shopping, “Jimmie-isms” And Things I Have Learned From My Daughter

Let me begin by saying that I am the lucky Mom…..Jimmie has been an absolute delight since the day she was born and she is also one of my very best friends.  As such, I have plenty of stories about her.

As friends will do, we love to go SHOPPING.  I call Jimmie my “personal shopper.”  When she is with me she will grab a shirt out of someone’s hands if she thinks it is just right for me.  I was witness to this in TJ Maxx one day; thankfully the shirt she grabbed was in the hands of a sales clerk and not another shopper that we had to bloody well beat unconscious to have it for our own.  We can spend hours in dressing rooms trying on things we will never buy, but have fun looking at ourselves in the mirrors and deciding how many pounds to lose before something would be totally flattering.  She has taught me to be a patient shopper and to ALWAYS take time to try something on before just thinking it will be a perfect fit and look like something out of a fashion magazine.

As Mother and Daughter we are very much alike, including height (almost) and size so we often end up with matching items because it looked soooo good on one of us.  I take full credit for Jimmie’s love of shopping.  It all started when she was five years old.  I had picked up Jimmie and her sister from daycare on my way home from work and we decided to have sandwiches for supper.  This required a stop at the local Thrifty Bread Store close to our apartment.  We had been there several times so I knew Jimmie knew her way around. I sent her in by her little, young, five year old self to get a loaf of bread.  I gave her a dollar and asked her to get a loaf like we always purchased and take it to the clerk and give her the dollar, but be sure to wait for the change.  Jimmie proudly came back to the car with bread and change and a confident sense of accomplishment.  I beamed with pride!!  The following day as we were on our way home Jimmie asked:  “Do we need to stop by the Used Bread Store again?”  She was ready for more independent shopping!!

The Used Bread Store brings me to “Jimmie-isms.”  As a child (and sometimes rolling into adulthood) Jimmie has tagged some unusual “isms” in which she makes up a new phrase or word to describe something: 

A Pair of Clothes – Why not?  It’s a top and a bottom like shorts and t-shirt, like a pair of socks or a pair of shoes…stuff that comes in twos.

A Tree of Grapes – Don’t pull the grapes off the stem for her. Break off a branch and let her do the work.

Makercial – The interruption of a television program that tries to sell you something.  But also, the perfect time to run to the fridge for ice cream before the program comes back on.

Navy Green – Best I can figure is this a dark green color, perhaps something like navy blue.

There are more, but I leave them to your imagination and continue with things I have learned from Jimmie.  I’ll tell you next about WALKING.  After Jimmie moved to Nashville, I joined her one weekend for a walk on The Greenway (the whole 6 miles).  I consider myself an active and reasonably athletic person.  I live on a farm, work daily with horses, put up hay, etc.  But…she walked my legs off.  I decided then and there to map out some mileage on our rural country roads and do some dedicated walking.  My goal is 15 miles a week and I usually meet that goal and sometimes go over. 

Next, Jimmie introduced me to organized 5Ks.  I’ve always been a competitive person (horse shows, racing SCCA, target shooting, hunting, both fox {Tally Ho} and big game), so 5Ks fit right in. I’m proud to say at the age of 69, I was the fastest in the 60+ age group in my second ever competition.  Recently this required another shopping trip with Jimmie for new shoes; I’d worn the tread off my first pair.

Along with exercise, Jimmie has encouraged DIET.  After years of feeding a family of six through childhood and teenage years (ever wonder how many times a teenager can open and close a refrigerator door in one day?), it was a challenge to prepare meals for just two.  It was also a challenge not to eat all the leftovers (oh, those extra pounds) as I was cleaning up after a meal.  Just a spoonful here and a little bit there, not enough to save and too good to throw away.  After all, I was raised by parents who grew up in Depression years….waste not, want not….clean your plate, etc.  Jimmie is very conscientious about diet and food preparation, and again I love to grocery shop with her.  She has not only given me great recipes, she somehow let me know that it was okay to throw away the “extras.”  I’m not really wasting anything if it can be fed to the dog, cat or chickens and we do have a rural garbage pick-up once a week.  Thanks to my wonderful daughter I’m 37 pounds lighter and can’t wait for the next 5K.

In closing this guest post I’ll add a few things that make me proud to say I am Jimmie’s Madre.  She has so much compassion, a tender heart and the desire to keep those around her happy.  Her intelligence and work ethics are amazing and she will face the most difficult tasks with a sense of humor.  (I’d love to know her “come-back” when Boss called her a Low Functioning Retard — I think they had a great time working together).  And lastly, have you ever met anyone else who really loved the research and creating of Term Papers while in college?

GOD bless you, Jimmie.

(Editor’s Note:  I did not pay Madre a dime to say those nice things about me.  Also, my only comeback for Boss was “I hate your guts” and “I know I’m your favorite”.  I could possibly use some suggestions.  Anyone got any?) 

(Another Editor’s Note:  I’ve written over 10,000 words so far.  Y’all, this is work.)

 

Guest Post: Boss

Hello folks, its Boss. I have known and worked with Jimmie for a long time and she has graciously offered to let me expound a few thoughts. (Editor’s Note:  Oh, goodie!)

As you may or may not know, I have made a career out of being a handyman. Not the kind that Jimmie constantly needs to fix the niggling stuff around her house. No, my job is to basically fly around the country (sometimes the world) and fix things. Sometimes it is a project, sometimes it is a client relationship, sometimes it is an employee and sometimes it is the whole company culture (particularly when run by a CEO with no experience, no maturity, no eggs, and, inexplicably, an ego the size of Tennessee). (Editor’s Note:  Perhaps Boss is talking about the last company we worked for, the one that let me go.  Or, perhaps not.)  The fixes vary from item to item, and it is my job to figure out a fix that is most advantageous to all parties. It’s a job that requires a lot of independence, a lot of flexibility and a little luck (or as Jimmie would have you believe, a charmed life).

All of those things are threaded together with literally millions of frequent flier miles and hours of time spent on airplanes and in airports.  One thing that I have noticed is that the vast majority of the American travelling public is completely ignorant of the basics of air travel. As a PSA, I would like to take a little time to offer some helpful tips that, when used, will make the flying experience better for all of us.

1.  Thanks to the advent of terrorism, you will be going through a metal detector prior to boarding your plane.  The metal detector’s sole purpose is to make a loud annoying noise when a metallic object is passed through it. When this happens, the line comes to a screeching halt, the security agent (typically taking a semester off from Harvard rocket scientist school to recharge) asks you to devoid yourself of metal, then pass through again.  This is repeated until no metal is detected.  Knowing this should help you when you get dressed in the morning.  Believe it or not, it is not necessary to travel with metal snuff can lids, belt buckles the size of dinner plates, pocket knives, railroad spikes or other miscellaneous metals.  Yes, your cell phone will set off the alarm; put it on the belt prior to walking through the device.  No, your newspaper, book, and money that folds will not set it off; walk on through confidently.  No, once you get to your destination, you will not be driving your car; therefore there is no reason to carry a wad of keys bigger than a Toyota.  Hey, here’s an idea, put them in your briefcase.  Yes, if you are wearing as much jewelry as Mr. T, the alarm will go off. No, you don’t need to stop immediately on the other side of the detector if it doesn’t go off. Keep moving and get the hell out of the way. Yes, I realize that there is a chance a loaded pallet will fall out of the overhead bin and onto your foot, but the odds are low, so you probably won’t need those steel toed boots. Speaking of shoes, you will have to take them off so don’t come to the airport wearing elaborately buttoned boots that take 45 minutes to take off. And guess what – if you go outside the secure area, you have to go through the process all over again.

2.  If you have a boarding pass, you don’t have to check in at the gate.  Get out of line, sit down and shut up.  Yes there is a size limitation on what you can carry on, so no you can’t carry on that body bag.  Yes, your purse counts as one of your two allowable carry-ons.  Now, believe it or not, it does you no good to huddle up at the front of the hold room as you are waiting to board.  All you are doing is clogging up the entry and forcing a physical confrontation with the people who board before you.  (Editor’s Note:  Boss only wants a physical confrontation with you if you are a hottie female. All others, move out of the way.)  Yes, they are going to board by zone and, if you ask nicely, some friendly person can likely read your zone to you from your boarding pass so you can figure out what zone you are in.  Wait for that zone to be called.  Don’t get up until then.

3.  Look at your seat number prior to getting on the aircraft.  If your seat is in row 34, don’t stop three steps into the aircraft and start squinting at the row numbers.  Move quickly to your seat, sit down and shut up.  Hey, if your damn carry-on is too heavy for you to lift it into the overhead bin by yourself, check it.  (Editor’s Note:  I once heard Boss say this to a lady on a plane.  He wasn’t kidding.)  And guess what – if you board the plane 30 seconds prior to the door closing looking like the Beverly Hillbillies moving west, don’t get pissy when you can’t find overhead bin space.  Give your bags to the flight attendant so they can be checked, then (yes, you guessed it) sit down, and shut up. When you get to your row, don’t park your big butt in the aisle and spend a half hour rummaging through your luggage looking for books, games, cough drops, money, a clue, or any other nonsense.  Stow your carry ons and sit down.

4.  Believe it or not, I am not interested in your life story.  (Editor’s Note:  He really isn’t.)  I really don’t care that the last time you flew the airplane had two sets of wings and the highlight of the trip was “buzzing sheep”.  Nor do I care that you are on the way to visit Aunt Millie, a woman who would make Lil Abner look like Charles Boyer.  The airplane gets plenty of lift from the airflow over the wings and doesn’t need the help of all your hot air.  Let’s take the chance and see if it will fly without your constant inane droning.  When I pull out my laptop, that is your clue that I have better things to do.  Shut up and go to sleep. 

With these few simple concepts in mind, all of our flying experiences can be so much more enjoyable.   You will be able to fly with the confidence that you know what you are doing, and I will get to my meeting without working up a sweat caused by my clubbing you like a baby seal.

(Editor’s Note:  See why it made me sad to leave him?  I got all that, every day.)

 
 

Adios, Amoebas! (Or, Tying Up Loose Ends Before I Leave For A Month)

Well, guys, this will be my final post before leaving for a month.  I’m going to miss you.  I wonder how many times I’ll want to make fun of myself over the next 30 days when I won’t be able to share here.  I’ll try to save them up for my 30 days of blogging in December.

I will check in periodically to post my guest slots and to give you updates on my word count.  50,000 is the goal.  To know me is to know my love of words so you know I can reach the count.  Let’s just hope they make sense.  You know, I signed up for NaNoWriMo two years ago.  I wrote 250 words on November 1, 2010 and then got a phone call from a friend.  We started talking about boys and that was all she wrote, literally.  NaNoWriMo was dead to me.   

Oh, I chose a football team!  I know you’ve all been waiting to hear that.  It took me a while. I had lots of input from you and most especially from Coach, who taught me how to look at stats and how to look up helmets and logos.  What really helped me, though, was Martie.  She said, “You can’t be a fair weather fan.  You pick a team and you support them through the good and the bad.  No waffling and changing to the team that plays better.”  And then Coach chimed in with the same advice.  He’s a long time Alabama fan and a longtime Cowboys fan, rabid even through the lean years.  So, okay.  I have no choice but to be a Titans fan.  Nashville is mine.  The Titans are mine.  They play like doody most of the time, and even though the lean years will last for ages, I will support them.  I was never more proud in all my life than when they beat the Lions and then the Steelers (!).  I realized I really want them to do well.  So call me a Titan. The end.

Except it isn’t.  I also have a secondary team.  I just can’t seem to get over the Ram’s horns.  Seriously.  Those helmets with the horns just slay me, and so those of you who lecture me about perpetuating the stereotype, get over it.  I picked a team because of a helmet that turns me on.  At least I didn’t pick a team because of a hot guy.  For the record, I also read the team’s history and would like to share with you that they were the first  NFL team to add a logo to their helmet (swoon) and also the first NFL team to add black teammates after the WWII era.  Suck on that, haters! (And also, while I’m being Fickle Fanny over here, I really want to see the Texans win the Super Bowl.  The longhorns!  Those uniforms!  It’s Texas, y’all.  I am moved.) (And yes, I realize that the Texans were not even on my nominated list but I hadn’t seen the logo yet.  I had no idea . . .)

And just because I can, because you expect it, and because this is me we are talking about:  

Hottie Titan

Hottie Ram

Hottie Texan

I haven’t talked about my dinners with my seniors in a while either.  I had dinner with them last week and as per usual, had a blast.  I love those people so much.  I want to tell you about a couple more of them.  JoAnne, who has only been two or three times, just embarrasses me to death every time she attends.  She’s adorable. She wears a fall (a chunk of hair you attach to your head to make you look like you have more hair) or a funky hat every time and so you look at her and think, “Well, isn’t she cute. Full of spunk, that one.”  And then she opens her mouth and proves it and you could just slam your forehead into the butter dish, you are so horrified. 

“NO! I don’t want a SALAD!  I have GALL BLADDER issues!  Take it AWAY!“

“This is the WORST coffee I have ever tasted!  I can make better at home! BRING ME more sugar!”

“Those CHILDREN need to be SPANKED!  My meal is RUINED!”

I can honestly say that I agree with her in nearly every instance but I prefer to keep my opinions if not to myself, at least confined to the guests at my table.  Not JoAnne.  Everyone knows where she stands.

The other person I want to tell you about is Bob.  Bob has only missed maybe one or two dinners the whole time I’ve been doing this.  He’s in his 60s, I guess.  He’s never been married.  He purchased his house in one lump sum, no payments, ever.  He’s terrified of being late and being left behind.  He ends every sentence with an “uh?” 

“Hey, Jimmie-uh?  Do I have enough-uh money-uh for dessert? Uh?”  He brings $28 to every dinner and we figure out what he can have for that price and still leave a fair tip.  He’s the gentlest soul and I love him.  He was the first of the group to realize that I knew how to work a standard cell phone and so asked me to program some numbers in for him.  Now we all spend the first ten minutes of every dinner shuffling phones back and forth to me so that I can clear out voice mails and add contacts.  Once a month everyone gets squared away.

I probably have so many other things to share but I’m out of space and time.  A whole month.  What will you do without me?

For those of you who are helping me this month, THANK YOU!  Boss, Prom Date Will, Jonquil, Esteban, Woney, and Studio Bukowski – thank you!  Boss and Esteban have already sent goodies over and I just hee hawed.  I cannot wait to read and post your stuff.  Anyone else in?  I still have a full grown cat up for grabs. 

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