That's what happened to some poor folks on a flight from Peru to the United States. Kinda reminds me of this guy:
12.27.2007
One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue ... what in the world IS that thing?
If you're like me on long flights, you doze in and out of sleep capturing a glimpse here and there of all that's going on in the cabin around you. Now, imagine opening your eyes during one of your more lucid moments to find this hanging off the passenger's ponytail in front of you:
That's what happened to some poor folks on a flight from Peru to the United States. Kinda reminds me of this guy:
That's what happened to some poor folks on a flight from Peru to the United States. Kinda reminds me of this guy:
Welcome to the country!
Amanda and I closed on our new home today. I'm not sure when I'll move in, but Amanda and Braden for sure will not move in until after the wedding.
So for now, I can say that I have a city home and a house in the country. I like saying that.
After we closed, we drove by the house and around the neighborhood. We spotted a woman walking her dog -- and a bird. That's right. She was walking a bird. She carried a perch of some kind in her gloved hand, and had a bird (on a chain) sitting on the perch.
And people tell me inner-loopers are weird.
So for now, I can say that I have a city home and a house in the country. I like saying that.
After we closed, we drove by the house and around the neighborhood. We spotted a woman walking her dog -- and a bird. That's right. She was walking a bird. She carried a perch of some kind in her gloved hand, and had a bird (on a chain) sitting on the perch.
And people tell me inner-loopers are weird.
Now THAT is bootylicious!
On our way to Amanda's parents' house the other night, a car entered the freeway just before I did. But in this case, to use the term "car" is like using the term "house" to describe Versailles or the Biltmore Estate.
No, my friends. This was no mere car. This was a Rolls Royce Phantom.
Sure, this wasn't the first Rolls Royce I had ever come across. Living in Houston, it isn't all that unusual -- especially when the local Rolls Royce dealership is just a few miles from my home and conveniently located on my route to Amanda's house. Every time I drive by, my heart goes out to those poor little cars desparate to find a home. Some people get misty-eyed at animal shelters. I tear up driving by the Rolls dealership.
So there we were ... just a few feet behind this beautiful specimen on the open freeway. I did my best to keep up with it -- partially so I could behold its beauty, and partially so I could see who was driving it. (Just who do they think they are? And would they be my friend?)
We managed to stay on its tail from US-59 and Kirby to somewhere near UH on I-45. Once or twice, we even came alongside the creature and were able to stare into its eyes. And by that, I mean we stared into its windows to see who was at the wheel.
Amanda and I are 99.9% sure that it was Beyonce's parents. Just the day before, I saw a special on TV about Beyonce so I had a fresh visual in my mind about what they looked like. That evening, some googling confirmed our assumptions.
Gee whiz, Beyonce. Thanks for showing us up! Among the things my parents got for Christmas this year were some Starbucks coffee, a shirt or two, a flower pot from the Mad Potter (with Braden's thumbprints as the flowers), and a "Hillary" nutcracker courtesy of my brother and sister-in-law.
It may not be as classy as a Rolls, but at least nobody is going to chase them down to get a good look.
No, my friends. This was no mere car. This was a Rolls Royce Phantom.
Sure, this wasn't the first Rolls Royce I had ever come across. Living in Houston, it isn't all that unusual -- especially when the local Rolls Royce dealership is just a few miles from my home and conveniently located on my route to Amanda's house. Every time I drive by, my heart goes out to those poor little cars desparate to find a home. Some people get misty-eyed at animal shelters. I tear up driving by the Rolls dealership.So there we were ... just a few feet behind this beautiful specimen on the open freeway. I did my best to keep up with it -- partially so I could behold its beauty, and partially so I could see who was driving it. (Just who do they think they are? And would they be my friend?)
We managed to stay on its tail from US-59 and Kirby to somewhere near UH on I-45. Once or twice, we even came alongside the creature and were able to stare into its eyes. And by that, I mean we stared into its windows to see who was at the wheel.
Amanda and I are 99.9% sure that it was Beyonce's parents. Just the day before, I saw a special on TV about Beyonce so I had a fresh visual in my mind about what they looked like. That evening, some googling confirmed our assumptions.Gee whiz, Beyonce. Thanks for showing us up! Among the things my parents got for Christmas this year were some Starbucks coffee, a shirt or two, a flower pot from the Mad Potter (with Braden's thumbprints as the flowers), and a "Hillary" nutcracker courtesy of my brother and sister-in-law.
It may not be as classy as a Rolls, but at least nobody is going to chase them down to get a good look. 12.19.2007
An unpleasant diversion
On Monday, I began to feel a sharp pain in my lower abdomen. I chalked it up to possibly pulling something while packing and moving heavy boxes into my PODS unit on Sunday. But on Monday evening when I went to bed, I could not get warm -- tossing and turning with the chills. Now, I've had about as many pulled muscles in my life as I've had athletic accomplishments, but I'm pretty sure that pulled muscles don't result in a fever.
On Tuesday, the pain was sharp and somewhat debilitating, making it difficult to stand up and even to walk. I tried to get in to my doctor, but he wasn't available until Wednesday morning. So, I decided to suck it up and ride out the pain until then.
Amanda, however, had other plans. On Tuesday night, she convinced me that I needed to go to the ER. She consulted with her father (a veterinarian) about my symptoms and he, too, recommended the same action plan. The likely diagnosis? Appendicitis.
So, around 7:30 pm, Amanda picked me up and off we went to Memorial Hermann Northwest on the north 610 Loop.
The only other time I had been to an ER was in October 1989 after I fell asleep at the wheel on I-45 north of Huntsville and rolled over. I was a little out of it, to say the least, so I do not have many memories of it -- other than the Codeine-enhanced ride home to Baytown with Mom and Dad. (Yummy!)
While Amanda ooh-ed and aah-ed over the sick babies, I did my best to sit still and not be mistaken for one. I'll confess right up front that I am a baby when I'm sick. A big ol' baby who just wants to curl up under the covers and call it a day. Granted, that's not a good look on a man -- especially when that man still felt a sense of responsibility to protect his woman from the ne'er-do-wells in the ER. It wasn't time for me to let my guard down ... yet.
The good folks in the ER checked me in, drew my blood, and took a ... um ... sample in a cup. Fortunately, the sample cup came with written instructions. Detailed instructions. VERY detailed instructions -- with diagrams, too. That there are people in this world who need step-by-step help in order to pee in a cup troubles me greatly.
Around 9:00 pm, the real waiting began. During our temporary residence in the holding area, I stayed warm under a sheet provided by a nurse and Amanda resolved to pay more attention to the 2008 presidential election. She was convinced that she was witnessing first-hand all that is wrong with the American healthcare system. Finally, at 11:45 pm, my name was called.
I'll spare you the long story, but after two vanilla-flavored barium drinks, a CT scan, and IVs with pain killers and antibiotics, I dodged a bullet. The doctor was able to rule out appendicitis -- a potential outcome that would have required me to check-in to the hospital and possibly have surgery within a few hours. (When he said surgery was a possibility, I asked if he could do a little liposuction while he was down there.) Instead, he determined that I had acute diverticulitis.
To be honest with you, I think Amanda and I were both a little disappointed at the diagnosis.
For me, I knew that having surgery for appendicitis would have made for a better blog entry. Diverticulitis may be a little too personal, and certainly not a pleasant topic of conversation. For her, she missed out on getting a kiss -- something she promised (threatened?) to give me before they took me into the operating room if it came to that. "Just in case I never see you again!" Thanks for the encouragement, sweetheart! =)
My next reaction? Praise the Lord it's nothing more serious! A prescription for some antibiotics and pain killers was all I took home with me that night -- no scars or bandages. The only thing I left at the hospital that night was a little bit of my pride. In addition to the medications, the doctor told me to use Metamucil every day -- from now on.
The trauma of being prescribed Metamucil was compounded by the fact that when I received the orders, I was wearing my hospital gown with my black dress socks. Not only was I facing an "old man's" medical condition and being told to add an "old man's" supplement to my diet, but I was dressed like an "old man," too.
The good news? Amanda witnessed it all and she still wants to marry me.
EXTRA BONUS STORY!
For those of you who have read this entire post, here's an added bonus. The ER nurse shared a story with us about a relative of hers who has to have a colonoscopy every year. The relative also has a neighbor with a yapping, barking, high-energy little dog who often gets into their backyard.
One year, while this relative was preparing for the procedure the next day by drinking "Go Lightly" (a "bowel prep liquid") to clear out his system, he decided that he had had enough. So, the next morning, he soaked a biscuit in the remaining few sips of the "Go Lightly" liquid and placed it by the hole where the annoying dog entered their yard.
When he came home from work that afternoon, he looked over the fence to see the results of his scheme. I won't go into details here like the nurse did with us, but rest assured that that dog never came through that hole in their fence again. It learned its lesson!
On Tuesday, the pain was sharp and somewhat debilitating, making it difficult to stand up and even to walk. I tried to get in to my doctor, but he wasn't available until Wednesday morning. So, I decided to suck it up and ride out the pain until then.
Amanda, however, had other plans. On Tuesday night, she convinced me that I needed to go to the ER. She consulted with her father (a veterinarian) about my symptoms and he, too, recommended the same action plan. The likely diagnosis? Appendicitis.
So, around 7:30 pm, Amanda picked me up and off we went to Memorial Hermann Northwest on the north 610 Loop.
The only other time I had been to an ER was in October 1989 after I fell asleep at the wheel on I-45 north of Huntsville and rolled over. I was a little out of it, to say the least, so I do not have many memories of it -- other than the Codeine-enhanced ride home to Baytown with Mom and Dad. (Yummy!)
While Amanda ooh-ed and aah-ed over the sick babies, I did my best to sit still and not be mistaken for one. I'll confess right up front that I am a baby when I'm sick. A big ol' baby who just wants to curl up under the covers and call it a day. Granted, that's not a good look on a man -- especially when that man still felt a sense of responsibility to protect his woman from the ne'er-do-wells in the ER. It wasn't time for me to let my guard down ... yet.
The good folks in the ER checked me in, drew my blood, and took a ... um ... sample in a cup. Fortunately, the sample cup came with written instructions. Detailed instructions. VERY detailed instructions -- with diagrams, too. That there are people in this world who need step-by-step help in order to pee in a cup troubles me greatly.
Around 9:00 pm, the real waiting began. During our temporary residence in the holding area, I stayed warm under a sheet provided by a nurse and Amanda resolved to pay more attention to the 2008 presidential election. She was convinced that she was witnessing first-hand all that is wrong with the American healthcare system. Finally, at 11:45 pm, my name was called.
I'll spare you the long story, but after two vanilla-flavored barium drinks, a CT scan, and IVs with pain killers and antibiotics, I dodged a bullet. The doctor was able to rule out appendicitis -- a potential outcome that would have required me to check-in to the hospital and possibly have surgery within a few hours. (When he said surgery was a possibility, I asked if he could do a little liposuction while he was down there.) Instead, he determined that I had acute diverticulitis.
To be honest with you, I think Amanda and I were both a little disappointed at the diagnosis.
For me, I knew that having surgery for appendicitis would have made for a better blog entry. Diverticulitis may be a little too personal, and certainly not a pleasant topic of conversation. For her, she missed out on getting a kiss -- something she promised (threatened?) to give me before they took me into the operating room if it came to that. "Just in case I never see you again!" Thanks for the encouragement, sweetheart! =)
My next reaction? Praise the Lord it's nothing more serious! A prescription for some antibiotics and pain killers was all I took home with me that night -- no scars or bandages. The only thing I left at the hospital that night was a little bit of my pride. In addition to the medications, the doctor told me to use Metamucil every day -- from now on.
The trauma of being prescribed Metamucil was compounded by the fact that when I received the orders, I was wearing my hospital gown with my black dress socks. Not only was I facing an "old man's" medical condition and being told to add an "old man's" supplement to my diet, but I was dressed like an "old man," too.
The good news? Amanda witnessed it all and she still wants to marry me.
EXTRA BONUS STORY!
For those of you who have read this entire post, here's an added bonus. The ER nurse shared a story with us about a relative of hers who has to have a colonoscopy every year. The relative also has a neighbor with a yapping, barking, high-energy little dog who often gets into their backyard.
One year, while this relative was preparing for the procedure the next day by drinking "Go Lightly" (a "bowel prep liquid") to clear out his system, he decided that he had had enough. So, the next morning, he soaked a biscuit in the remaining few sips of the "Go Lightly" liquid and placed it by the hole where the annoying dog entered their yard.
When he came home from work that afternoon, he looked over the fence to see the results of his scheme. I won't go into details here like the nurse did with us, but rest assured that that dog never came through that hole in their fence again. It learned its lesson!
12.17.2007
Adventures with Coffee
A couple of stories from our attempt to find coffee on Friday night ...
Adventure #1
Amanda and I went to the POPS concert at Jones Hall with my family on Friday night. Afterwards, she and I decided to go somewhere for some coffee since it wasn't very late and since Braden with with her parents that evening. A perfect setting for a spontaneous "date" with each other.
Since Daily Grind now closes at some ridiculously early hour, I decided to try a place I had seen further down on Washington Avenue closer to downtown. It was a bit of a risk since I had never been before, but what the heck -- let's give it a try.
As we drove past it, we slowed down to look inside. The lights were on and there were at least 10-12 people sitting around at tables. Good sign.
So, we parked in the back parking lot and entered through the back door. That entrance opened into a small hallway where the restrooms were located. Amanda stopped by the ladies' room and I proceeded to go through the next door into the main room.
Since the counter was on my left, my attention immediately turned to the large menu board. The clerk politely informed me that they would be closing in about 20 minutes, but I continued to look over the available drinks.
However, I was greatly disturbed and uneasy. I knew that there were several people in the room, but it was practically dead silent. Since my back was to the tables as I looked over the menu, I really couldn't assess what was going on.
Was my fly open?
Had I crashed a private party?
Had they mistaken me for Matthew McConaughy?
So, I casually put my hands in my pockets, looked down at my feet, and tried to act all "breezy" as I waited for Amanda to come out. Then, as effortlessly as possible, I looked up to face the silent crowd, not knowing what I would discover.
As it turns out, the coffee shop that night was filled with 10-12 deaf people -- all of whom were actively engaged in lively discussions with one another over lattes and mochas. The silence had nothing to do about me at all. I went back into the hallway where the restrooms were located and waited for Amanda. I explained that the shop was closing in 20 minutes, and suggested we try to find another place. Then I told her what had transpired.
Bless my heart.
Adventure #2
In search of coffee, we drove by the obligatory Cafe Brasil (one of my least favorite places) and quickly crossed it off the list. There was a band playing -- one of the reasons I don't care for the place. Too small and too loud. Empire Cafe looked promising, but they, too, were closing in about 10 minutes. (Since when is 11:00 pm the standard closing time?)
Not wanting to hang out at a Starbucks, I asked Amanda if Mama's Cafe were OK with her. (I do love me some of their cinnamon coffee!) She said that it was, but admitted that since she only likes fancy-schmancy coffee drinks, there really isn't much there for her. So, we drove through Starbucks to get her a Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha.
As we walked up to Mama's, Amanda asked if I were sure that she could bring the Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha in with her. "No problem," I assured her. "This place is very casual -- they won't mind."
Not two seconds later, we enter the front door and see a sign that says "No outside beverages" posted right inside. It was on 8.5 x 11 paper and taped to the door. Clearly, this was a new policy courtesy of the Mama's Cafe management.
Amanda was reluctant to break the rules, but in a momentary lapse of leadership, I encouraged her to hide the Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha and bring it in. So as not to look too suspicious as we debated the risks inside the vestibule with the host looking at us through the glass doors, I quickly opened the door and asked for a booth for two.
Amanda slyly walked with her Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha down by her side. I was reminded of a Seinfeld episode in that moment -- the one where Raquel Welch plays herself and is criticized for not swinging her arms when she walks.
We get to our booth and Amanda quickly places her contraband Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha in the corner, blocked from view by her purse and jacket.
Thanks to a slow waitress, we had time to plan our strategy for how Amanda will be able to drink her Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha. We would BOTH order coffee, and I would drink hers first -- very quickly. Then, she would poor her Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha into her cup. Genius! Right?
Well, we didn't plan out all of the details. I ordered my cinnamon coffee, and then Amanda ordered plain coffee. ("Oh no," I thought, "I'll have to drink plain unflavored coffee!") When the coffee came, I did my best to drink her cup -- but it was REALLY hot and REALLY dark.
Amanda suggested that we pour the coffee into her water glass. I suggested that I poor it into one of the potted plants nearby. We opted for the water glass option -- creating what looked like a cup of iced tea. If the waitress were paying any attention at all, she may wonder where that glass of tea had come from.
Our solution? Put it on the floor and out of site. We did not account for how to explain the missing water glass if the waitress were to come and refill. Fortunately, the waitress did not seem to be playing with a full deck that night and never said a word.
But we couldn't make the transfer just yet. The waitress had not brought us any creamer, so for Amanda to suddenly have an obviously creamed cup of coffee may look suspicious. Even though the waitress was somewhat spaced out and unlikely to notice, we asked for creamers.
Now, with an empty coffee cup ready to receive her mocha and creamers on the table, Amanda proceeded to make the transfer from the Starbucks cup to the Mama's mug. She did so off to the side against the wall below the table top where nobody could see.
And then she shrieked!
The lid popped off her Starbucks cup, spilling half of her Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha onto her jacket and the floor below. The other half made it into the Mama's mug. We scrambled for napkins to absorb the flood, soaking up what was on the floor and on Amanda's seat.
I was reminded of another Seinfeld episode -- the one when Kramer smuggles a latte into the movie theater inside his pants.
The Starbucks cup held the used napkins, and we even managed to poor the "iced tea" into it as well. By the time the waitress returned, all she saw was two cups of coffee (one with creamer) and two empty water glasses (both with a little ice since we dumped some of mine into Amanda's). The waitress was none the wiser.
OK, sure, it's not like we really got away with anything spectacular -- bit the antics of it all were fun. And since we may have caused our waitress some grief after we left due to the hidden mess we had made, we gave her a nice big "Merry Christmas!" tip. You may call it a "guilt tip" but it's still money in her hands this time of year.
Adventure #1
Amanda and I went to the POPS concert at Jones Hall with my family on Friday night. Afterwards, she and I decided to go somewhere for some coffee since it wasn't very late and since Braden with with her parents that evening. A perfect setting for a spontaneous "date" with each other.
Since Daily Grind now closes at some ridiculously early hour, I decided to try a place I had seen further down on Washington Avenue closer to downtown. It was a bit of a risk since I had never been before, but what the heck -- let's give it a try.
As we drove past it, we slowed down to look inside. The lights were on and there were at least 10-12 people sitting around at tables. Good sign.
So, we parked in the back parking lot and entered through the back door. That entrance opened into a small hallway where the restrooms were located. Amanda stopped by the ladies' room and I proceeded to go through the next door into the main room.
Since the counter was on my left, my attention immediately turned to the large menu board. The clerk politely informed me that they would be closing in about 20 minutes, but I continued to look over the available drinks.
However, I was greatly disturbed and uneasy. I knew that there were several people in the room, but it was practically dead silent. Since my back was to the tables as I looked over the menu, I really couldn't assess what was going on.
Was my fly open?
Had I crashed a private party?
Had they mistaken me for Matthew McConaughy?
So, I casually put my hands in my pockets, looked down at my feet, and tried to act all "breezy" as I waited for Amanda to come out. Then, as effortlessly as possible, I looked up to face the silent crowd, not knowing what I would discover.
As it turns out, the coffee shop that night was filled with 10-12 deaf people -- all of whom were actively engaged in lively discussions with one another over lattes and mochas. The silence had nothing to do about me at all. I went back into the hallway where the restrooms were located and waited for Amanda. I explained that the shop was closing in 20 minutes, and suggested we try to find another place. Then I told her what had transpired.
Bless my heart.
Adventure #2
In search of coffee, we drove by the obligatory Cafe Brasil (one of my least favorite places) and quickly crossed it off the list. There was a band playing -- one of the reasons I don't care for the place. Too small and too loud. Empire Cafe looked promising, but they, too, were closing in about 10 minutes. (Since when is 11:00 pm the standard closing time?)
Not wanting to hang out at a Starbucks, I asked Amanda if Mama's Cafe were OK with her. (I do love me some of their cinnamon coffee!) She said that it was, but admitted that since she only likes fancy-schmancy coffee drinks, there really isn't much there for her. So, we drove through Starbucks to get her a Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha.
As we walked up to Mama's, Amanda asked if I were sure that she could bring the Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha in with her. "No problem," I assured her. "This place is very casual -- they won't mind."
Not two seconds later, we enter the front door and see a sign that says "No outside beverages" posted right inside. It was on 8.5 x 11 paper and taped to the door. Clearly, this was a new policy courtesy of the Mama's Cafe management.
Amanda was reluctant to break the rules, but in a momentary lapse of leadership, I encouraged her to hide the Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha and bring it in. So as not to look too suspicious as we debated the risks inside the vestibule with the host looking at us through the glass doors, I quickly opened the door and asked for a booth for two.
Amanda slyly walked with her Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha down by her side. I was reminded of a Seinfeld episode in that moment -- the one where Raquel Welch plays herself and is criticized for not swinging her arms when she walks.
We get to our booth and Amanda quickly places her contraband Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha in the corner, blocked from view by her purse and jacket.
Thanks to a slow waitress, we had time to plan our strategy for how Amanda will be able to drink her Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha. We would BOTH order coffee, and I would drink hers first -- very quickly. Then, she would poor her Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha into her cup. Genius! Right?
Well, we didn't plan out all of the details. I ordered my cinnamon coffee, and then Amanda ordered plain coffee. ("Oh no," I thought, "I'll have to drink plain unflavored coffee!") When the coffee came, I did my best to drink her cup -- but it was REALLY hot and REALLY dark.
Amanda suggested that we pour the coffee into her water glass. I suggested that I poor it into one of the potted plants nearby. We opted for the water glass option -- creating what looked like a cup of iced tea. If the waitress were paying any attention at all, she may wonder where that glass of tea had come from.
Our solution? Put it on the floor and out of site. We did not account for how to explain the missing water glass if the waitress were to come and refill. Fortunately, the waitress did not seem to be playing with a full deck that night and never said a word.
But we couldn't make the transfer just yet. The waitress had not brought us any creamer, so for Amanda to suddenly have an obviously creamed cup of coffee may look suspicious. Even though the waitress was somewhat spaced out and unlikely to notice, we asked for creamers.
Now, with an empty coffee cup ready to receive her mocha and creamers on the table, Amanda proceeded to make the transfer from the Starbucks cup to the Mama's mug. She did so off to the side against the wall below the table top where nobody could see.
And then she shrieked!
The lid popped off her Starbucks cup, spilling half of her Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha onto her jacket and the floor below. The other half made it into the Mama's mug. We scrambled for napkins to absorb the flood, soaking up what was on the floor and on Amanda's seat.
I was reminded of another Seinfeld episode -- the one when Kramer smuggles a latte into the movie theater inside his pants.
The Starbucks cup held the used napkins, and we even managed to poor the "iced tea" into it as well. By the time the waitress returned, all she saw was two cups of coffee (one with creamer) and two empty water glasses (both with a little ice since we dumped some of mine into Amanda's). The waitress was none the wiser.
OK, sure, it's not like we really got away with anything spectacular -- bit the antics of it all were fun. And since we may have caused our waitress some grief after we left due to the hidden mess we had made, we gave her a nice big "Merry Christmas!" tip. You may call it a "guilt tip" but it's still money in her hands this time of year.
12.14.2007
Permanent "Man Card" status?
Forgot to tell you ...
Last Monday, I took Braden to buy a few Christmas presents. As we were about to leave, I heard two of the staff members shrieking in the back by the service exit door. My initial thought: Somebody is trying to break in or attack one of the workers, taking advantage of the dark alley behind the building!
I looked around the corner and saw that the back door was open. One of the young ladies was looking outside and asking if the other were OK. My next thought: There was only a mild degree of panic, so there must not be an intruder. The other employee must be hurt and needs help!
As I approached the door, I saw that the presumed-injured employee was standing outside the door, apparently in perfect health. My CSI skills detected that they were both looking in the same direction toward a spot on the ground about six feet from the door. My next thought: These silly little girls saw a harmless mouse and are overreacting a bit, if you ask me.
I could not see anything in the dark shadows. Since I had approached the scene and was standing right next to them (with Braden in tow), I felt obliged to ask if everything were OK. My next thought: When they tell me they saw a mouse, Lord, please give me the strength not to laugh.
"It's a snake!" one of them shrieked. Sure enough, that nearly indistinguishable dark mass there in the shadows was a coiled up snake. While we could have left well enough alone, an inner urge inside of me swelled up and the need -- yes, the need -- to neutralize the threat took over. My next thought: Must ... kill ... snake!
The serpent was about 18 inches long, although it will grow to about five feet in a few years when I retell this story every time I go in to Mad Potter. One of the employees handed me a sponge mop handle at first, but that really only served to annoy the demon. It started coming back toward the doorway as if it were taunting me. I traded in the sponge mop handle for a heavy metal display fixture of some kind. With my new weapon in hand, I set about to crush the serpent. It took a few blows to finish the job since it kept trying to slither away ... but it was not match for me, I tell you what. My next thought: I am a hero!
The employees thanked me for saving their lives. As we came back into the store, none of the other customers seemed to have a clue about what had transpired -- about how I had rescued them from living out a scene from Anaconda or any snake-based SciFi Channel movie-of-the-week. My next thought: Those SciFi Channel movies sure are lame, aren't they?
My second-to-last thought of the evening was, "Well, this should really earn me a life-time 'Man Card' -- I can't wait to tell Hilburn!" My final thought, though, was, "I wonder if the fact that all of this went down at The Mad Potter will negate my heroism and my permanent 'Man Card' eligibility?"
You decide.
Last Monday, I took Braden to buy a few Christmas presents. As we were about to leave, I heard two of the staff members shrieking in the back by the service exit door. My initial thought: Somebody is trying to break in or attack one of the workers, taking advantage of the dark alley behind the building!
I looked around the corner and saw that the back door was open. One of the young ladies was looking outside and asking if the other were OK. My next thought: There was only a mild degree of panic, so there must not be an intruder. The other employee must be hurt and needs help!
As I approached the door, I saw that the presumed-injured employee was standing outside the door, apparently in perfect health. My CSI skills detected that they were both looking in the same direction toward a spot on the ground about six feet from the door. My next thought: These silly little girls saw a harmless mouse and are overreacting a bit, if you ask me.
I could not see anything in the dark shadows. Since I had approached the scene and was standing right next to them (with Braden in tow), I felt obliged to ask if everything were OK. My next thought: When they tell me they saw a mouse, Lord, please give me the strength not to laugh.
"It's a snake!" one of them shrieked. Sure enough, that nearly indistinguishable dark mass there in the shadows was a coiled up snake. While we could have left well enough alone, an inner urge inside of me swelled up and the need -- yes, the need -- to neutralize the threat took over. My next thought: Must ... kill ... snake!
The serpent was about 18 inches long, although it will grow to about five feet in a few years when I retell this story every time I go in to Mad Potter. One of the employees handed me a sponge mop handle at first, but that really only served to annoy the demon. It started coming back toward the doorway as if it were taunting me. I traded in the sponge mop handle for a heavy metal display fixture of some kind. With my new weapon in hand, I set about to crush the serpent. It took a few blows to finish the job since it kept trying to slither away ... but it was not match for me, I tell you what. My next thought: I am a hero!
The employees thanked me for saving their lives. As we came back into the store, none of the other customers seemed to have a clue about what had transpired -- about how I had rescued them from living out a scene from Anaconda or any snake-based SciFi Channel movie-of-the-week. My next thought: Those SciFi Channel movies sure are lame, aren't they?
My second-to-last thought of the evening was, "Well, this should really earn me a life-time 'Man Card' -- I can't wait to tell Hilburn!" My final thought, though, was, "I wonder if the fact that all of this went down at The Mad Potter will negate my heroism and my permanent 'Man Card' eligibility?"
You decide.
12.13.2007
Violet Beauregarde: Smuggler?
I called the wrecker service in Falfurrias. (There's a phrase I've never said before.) The kind receptionist confirmed that the Explorer was, indeed, used to smuggle illegal aliens. Nice.And even though I explained that I am no longer the owner, she said that -- by law -- she has to mail me a second notice "41 days" from the date it was impounded. However, she says that I do not have to take any action at all. I'm not totally at ease with that, so I may try to track down a more reassuring resolution.
On top of that, I just received the vehicle registration renewal notice for the now-impounded Explorer. The kind lady at Paul Bettencourt's office said that I could disregard the notice, but that I should fill out and mail in form VTR 346 to notify the state that I no longer own this car. Ah ... government!
It's a sad end for this faithful 1995 Explorer.
It was my brother's car until he handed it down to me a few years ago. Those of you who ever saw it know that Jeff had an affinity for the color blue: blue paint, blue seats, blue dashboard, blue radio. I often felt like I was Violet Beauregarde in the Chocolate Factory.
Big and blue. Very, very blue.
12.12.2007
I am NOT a smuggler!
I received a certified letter in the mail the other day. Actually, I received the postcard that says they tried to deliver a certified letter and that I would have to go to the post office to pick it up. Ugh.
In the midst of buying a house, I figured it may have something to do with the loan approval or one of the many other steps involved in the process. So, I added "Stop by the Post Office" to my list of errands to run on Friday as I dealt with house-related tasks and prepared for Murray Christmas that night.
The letter was from a wrecker service in Falfurrias, Texas. Clearly, not a part of the loan process.
Apparently, the paperwork for the car I sold to CarMax over 6 months ago was never fully processed. In the eyes of the State of Texas, that car still belongs to me. And from their point of view, I left it abandoned on the side of a highway in the Valley. I'm sure they've come to all sorts of great conclusions as to what I may have been doing with an SUV just a few miles from the border -- and why I would have left it on the side of the road. Nice.
When I called CarMax to ask why this would have happened, the woman who answered was completely non-chalant about the situation -- as if it happens all the time. No sound of shock in her voice, no indication that she was surprised this could have happened -- and certainly nothing even close to an apology on behalf of the company.
Apparently, it's up to me to prove to the good folks in Falfurrias that I do not own the car anymore. She said I would need to provide the wrecker service with proof of sale. Little does she know that I am not one for the record-keeping and that as soon as I cashed the check from CarMax, that car was out of my life for good. Who needs a paper trail? If I can't find the receipt, I have to "physically come down to CarMax" (her words) and get a copy. Nevermind fax machines or PDF files.
So, add this to the list of my All-Time Greatest Hassles that I have to resolve.
In the midst of buying a house, I figured it may have something to do with the loan approval or one of the many other steps involved in the process. So, I added "Stop by the Post Office" to my list of errands to run on Friday as I dealt with house-related tasks and prepared for Murray Christmas that night.
The letter was from a wrecker service in Falfurrias, Texas. Clearly, not a part of the loan process.
Apparently, the paperwork for the car I sold to CarMax over 6 months ago was never fully processed. In the eyes of the State of Texas, that car still belongs to me. And from their point of view, I left it abandoned on the side of a highway in the Valley. I'm sure they've come to all sorts of great conclusions as to what I may have been doing with an SUV just a few miles from the border -- and why I would have left it on the side of the road. Nice.
When I called CarMax to ask why this would have happened, the woman who answered was completely non-chalant about the situation -- as if it happens all the time. No sound of shock in her voice, no indication that she was surprised this could have happened -- and certainly nothing even close to an apology on behalf of the company.
Apparently, it's up to me to prove to the good folks in Falfurrias that I do not own the car anymore. She said I would need to provide the wrecker service with proof of sale. Little does she know that I am not one for the record-keeping and that as soon as I cashed the check from CarMax, that car was out of my life for good. Who needs a paper trail? If I can't find the receipt, I have to "physically come down to CarMax" (her words) and get a copy. Nevermind fax machines or PDF files.
So, add this to the list of my All-Time Greatest Hassles that I have to resolve.
12.03.2007
Stakes In The Ground
For those of you who have ever put a stake in the ground to boldly proclaim your position on something, let my story serve as a cautionary tale of what may very well happen to you:
Old Me: Living outside the Loop is ... well, I don't know what it is, but it's NOT really "living."
New Me: I already have plans for where I'll hang Christmas lights next year on our new house outside Beltway 8. We found a place in Ashford Village (west of Kirkwood, south of Briar Forest, north of Westheimer, east of Dairy Ashford). We close in late December and we'll move in after the wedding. I can already taste the farm fresh eggs and produce out in the country!
Old Me: Amanda will never get to see my master bedroom -- and especially not the closet. It's too messy and embarrassing to share with anybody.
New Me: Amanda was the best helpmate I could have ever had! In a few hours, we had cleaned out the closet and most of the room.
Old Me: "Happy Birthday, Jesus" is the most annoying Christmas song ever recorded. Ever.
New Me: I turn up the radio louder when the song is on so Braden can sing along to his favorite Christmas song. Makes me smile every time. (For the record, I am still holding on to my stake in the ground about the "Christmas Shoes" song.)
New Me: I turn up the radio louder when the song is on so Braden can sing along to his favorite Christmas song. Makes me smile every time. (For the record, I am still holding on to my stake in the ground about the "Christmas Shoes" song.)
So ... what are your stakes in the ground? Better make sure they're in there nice and tight -- or be prepared for some big (and great) changes!
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