I know you're sick of hearing this - don't even read it

Hardly a day goes by that I don't have to type about someone who has just had bypass surgery. I think it's a crying shame that my job forces me to relive the death of my father over and over and over again. Some of these patients seem to be doing well, and others, not so much.

Tonight, once again, I find myself back in the hospital, sitting in fear and watching the nurse come into the waiting area, shaking her head, telling us she doesn't think he's going to make it. I'm watching my mother get on her knees in front of the chair she's sitting in and begin to pray even more earnestly, as if that was even possible. I'm exchanging a glance with Carol Baby, my mouth wide open, shocked and wondering how this could be happening and she mouthing words silently and privately to me that I will never forget as long as I live. I'm walking back to where he is laying and I'm standing and watching the nurse sew up his chest as I stand there in disbelief, looking back and forth at my sisters, willing it to be some horrible nightmare that I will wake up from. I'm standing there looking at my Mom who asks us to leave her alone with him and I'm stalking out of there so numb and angry and wondering why in the world they let us back there before they were done sewing him up. I'm sitting at the table with my family when mama asks us, "what do we do now?" and I have no idea what to answer. And although I honestly do feel better about the whole situation, my job really and truly sucks.

Fool me once...shame on me...

I don't like cantaloupe. I just don't. I like the color and the smell and I like how it looks on a plate straight from the cold fridge, but when I put it in my mouth I am surprised each and every time that I just do NOT like it. I think I probably should. Oh! And what about the dessert bar at a Chinese restaurant? It all looks pretty nice, but seriously...none of that stuff is worth putting in your mouth.

And then there's mustard potato salad. I assume that I don't like it, but when Dirty Larry buys it and then offers me a bite, I decide that I do like it after all. I would NEVER buy mustard potato salad on purpose. My brain immediately tells me no. But like I said, my tongue inevitably decides yes.



Here's the part that I just don't get. Why do I have to go through that process of convincing myself EVERY STINKIN' TIME it happens? It's like a brand new thing I've never experienced, even though I've experienced it numerous times in the past. It's a new, brilliant revelation each and every time. You know, it's kind of like childbirth. If a woman who gives birth is willing to go through that process YET again, it's more than likely because she's totally forgotten what happened the first time around.

I think since this is MY blog and I get to make up the rules here, I'm okay with comparing childbirth to the taste of a stale fortune cookie. And yes, I do eat those things even though the majority of the population apparently does not. You know why? Because EVERY TIME I get one, I think...it's a cookie! I'm bound to like it.

Ooow...my noggin!

My boy, Keifer Sutherland, who is on probation, (probably for killing somebody), has now gone off and head-butted a guy and he's gonna be in big trouble. Now, my question is...why, why, why in the world would a person make Jack Bauer mad enough to cause him to want to head-butt them? Does this person never watch television? I KNOW for sure why he's such a bitter, frightening man. His parents named him Kiefer William Frederick Dempsey George Rufus Sutherland. That's plenty enough to make you want to murder people.

The saddest part is that this unfortunate head-butting event happened so close to Jack Bauer appreciation day which falls on May 9th. Please my friends, let's think about our amazing friend, Jack, together, one last time before they cart him off to jail.

You know it really doesn't matter. He'll escape.

Wanted...Dead or Alive

What a smashing weekend my blog friends. My high school buddy and I made a trip to New Orleans to attend the fabulous Jazz Fest and see my old flame Jon Bon Jovi. I thought I'd go over some of the highlights for you. The big let down for the weekend was that my back stage passes did NOT make it through the mail in time and I was subjected to the crowds like everyone else. Jon was singing to me, but I just couldn't get close enough to the stage to talk to him and he was pretty much brokenhearted.

Anyway, we arrived Saturday morning and joy of joys they let us in the hotel BEFORE 12:00 when the check in time wasn't until 3:00. It was the first weekend miracle and was on the list of weekend miracles at #3. We immediately set out for the french quarter to find food. After a bit of walking, we ended up at the Palace Cafe, where you have 7 waiters that all love you very much and only have your happiness in mind. Then we tried to determine how to get to Jazz Fest without getting lost or breaking the bank. We ended up on a bus and paid the nice driver $1.25 for the lift. When the bus stopped, we actually had no idea where we were but we acted very cool and just followed the crowd. That many people couldn't all be wrong at the same time. Sure enough, after a few blocks of walking, they led us to the fairgrounds where we began our next adventure, which was trying to figure out where a person might find the Gospel Tent (Aaron Neville) or the Lagniappe Stage (Bobby Lounge). We walked and we walked and we walked some more. Luckily, it wasn't terribly hot and I'm in smashing shape (shut up). The music was great, the company was pleasant and the people watching opportunities were amazing. Who knew there were so many people who thought those long spaghetti strap dresses looked good enough on them to wear out in public! After we had our fill of music, we found ourselves back on a bus, listening to the interesting conversations around us, ready to begin our search for dinner. We found ourselves back in the quarter and visited the Gumbo Shop, where we sat under the stars while we ate okra gumbo and red beans and rice, and rested our tired feet.

The next morning, we planned to meet our old pal Gnutcase at Cafe Du Monde for the obligatory french donut and got the bright idea to catch a street car to our destination. I hopped on one and my friend was right behind me. Sadly the mean driver person told her she couldn't have her coffee, so she hopped back off to discard her cup. In the meantime, mean driver lady tried to shut the danged door on me. It was unnecessary to say the least. The picture you see here is the picture I took while we were still both pretty happy about our TROLLEY ride. I'm calling it that because we were specifically told NOT to call it a trolley, but I'm a little disgruntled, so....anyway, we finally were both seated and on our way, when suddenly out of the blue, the street car (trolley) turned a corner and started going in a direction that we did NOT want to go. Now we hated the mean driver person even more. Eventually we did disembark, but it was WAY FAR AWAY from where we needed to be, so we walked and walked and walked some more. Miracle #2 is that I didn't maim/dismember that mean driver person. We did finally find Gnut and eat our beignet and we sat and watched the river for a bit and once again rested our sad, tired feet. Gnut was kind enough to drive us back to the jeep for our departure out of the city. I do want it said that my Tom Tom tried to take us everywhere BUT Interstate 10 on the way home. I have no idea why, but we were smart enough to ignore that British accented voice and got the heck out of Dodge without her help at all.

That leads us to miracle #1, which is that I STILL woke up this morning and ran two miles on aching legs. You are proud. Don't pretend not to be.

You guys come next time...was fun!

*pats herself on the back*

Today, I am proud of me. In fact, I've been proud of me for quite a while now, but today, especially, I'm impressed with myself. Let's go back over the years of this blog and try to remember that I am mostly known as a sedentary soul. My job offers me no prospects for moving around. I sit at this computer all day and type away with no office mates or lunch buddies. I just sit. But, back in September, I joined that gym, remember? That moment has changed my way of thinking about some things. Not only have I dropped some weight, and changed my eating habits a little, I have now convinced myself that I can run. Well....I can run on the treadmill at least, but I promise you I'm thinking further into the future and it really does involve being outside. So what is my grand accomplishment? I ran 2.25 miles today without stopping. It took me 30 minutes at a very steady and obviously slow pace, but I did it. And, on top of that, I feel confident that I can do it tomorrow and the next day and again and again. So I will. And maybe, just maybe, one day I'll go faster or farther, but for today....just look at what I did!

Bling Bling

It is official. I have taken the silver toe ring from the jewelry box and placed it on the second toe of my left foot where it will reside for the next 5 months**. It's a sign of spring. It's a sign of new beginnings, flip flops and pedicures. It's the same toe ring that I saw on the foot of my sister, CB, many years ago and coveted. I did not steal it. Just sayin'.

**appromixation

These are a few of my buggiest things...

1. It bugs me that this guy I know just spelled the word 'coming' with two m's, like 'comming'. I just think since he's 42, he's had plenty of time to see that word spelled correctly by now and should realize his incredible wrongness. I wouldn't mind so much if it were a typo, but I know in my heart of hearts that it just wasn't. And along that same line of thinking, there is somebody that I will not name here that uses the word centurion in place of the word centenarian. I wouldn't care so much, but this person is completely brilliant and again, should just know better.


2. It bugs me that my hair is falling out at such an alarming rate that I will more than likely be completely bald by the time I get in to see the doctor in May for my scheduled appointment. I went to a funeral yesterday and the lady sitting in front of me had SO VERY LITTLE hair that I could see straight through to her scalp and I just could NOT concentrate on anything else for thinking about my own danged head.


3. When I buy a fresh pineapple and spend all that time sticking myself and generally being uncomfortable while preparing it to be eaten, and then ask my kids to take the top out to the yard and plant it, it bugs me that they inevitably pick the absolute worst place in the yard to put it. It's usually somewhere NEAR a flower bed, but actually in the grass in the yard. I spent a little time walking around digging them up the other day and replanting them in a bed where they have a better chance of surviving a lawn mower incident. I still can't believe those things continue to live and grow. It's actually very cool and not as buggy as I originally thought, now that I've typed it all out.


4. The Terminex man really bugs me. No pun intended. (Well OBVIOUSLY it was intended). Anyway, for starters, he is a creepy little guy. When he came a month ago for the annual termite thingy, he admitted to standing outside my bedroom door in the hallway listening as I typed dictation. I'm sorry, but that's just creepy. Then Thursday, when he was here spraying for bugs, he saw a snake in the backyard. He came to the door and said in a very quiet voice so the children wouldn't hear, "I don't want to alarm you or anything, but I saw a snake in your backyard". When I asked him if he got it, he said "no" and when I asked him what kind it was he said "I don't know", to which I responded, "Oh come on! Aren't you supposed to know that kind of thing?" He said it was "blackish and about 3 feet long". I could tell he wanted me to get all upset but I just couldn't give him the satisfaction. Yeah, he pretty much bugs me a LOT more than that pineapple thing.


5. It bugs me that I would rather do ANYTHING than work today, including typing up a ridiculous blog post about absolutely nothing. I should really get back to it now, even though my heart is just...not...in...it.

It would be like picking a fight with a porcupine...

...people would watch, but you'd end up looking and feeling like a pincushion.

There are moments in this life when a person might accomplish something that they can feel extremely prideful about; something that is worth boasting about. I think I spend a lot of time on the brilliant blog and facebook bragging about myself and trying to make myself look a little more awesome than I probably am. I do tend to ask people to drink my Kool-Aid and become a Beejite like all the cool kids. I sort of crave the scraps of attention that putting myself on display seems to bring. But this woman rubbing 24 chilies in her eyes is just dumb. The Beej will never even be tempted in the least to bring attention to herself in such a manner. Why would a person do such an insane thing? All I can come up with is that she, as a matter of fact, is actually insane. If it looks like an insane person, acts like an insane person, walks like an insane person and talks like an insane person, it probably IS an insane person. Somebody get that lady some water...and a psychotherapist.

A new era!

I vividly remember the day that my children were first able to get into the car by themselves, sit down, close the doors and buckle themselves in without my help. It was a landmark day that freed me like nothing else had ever done...before now.

I can count on one hand the number of times my children had a babysitter and as very small people, I didn't much let them out of my sight, even to stay with their grandparents. I felt the burden of motherhood to the point that I didn't want to interfere with other people's lives in order for me to have a moment without them. I felt like they were mine to look after and mine to discipline and mine to generally annoy. I have been very blessed and I'm so thankful that I was able to quit teaching and stay home with Pateriko until his sister was born, and then when I did have to go back to work, I was able to do so at home. I do NOT love my job, but I do love the perks of being at home.

Monday night, Dirty Larry and I attended a concert, sans kids and stayed out until the VERY LATE hour of 11:15 PM. It was pretty much a first for us because the kids were home ALONE. They ate, watched a movie and went to bed on time. I only got one text from Pateriko and it said that they were going to sleep. I admit that the den looked a little, um... "well used" when we got home, but it was another landmark day for me. I felt free to have fun without those pesky brats precious babies tagging along. Then again on Saturday night, I got the urge to go run and Dirty Larry said he would go with me to the gym. I hesitated for a moment and then remembered that my kids were way old enough to stay alone for 30 minutes, even at night. It made me smile. There are so many reasons that I hate to see them grow up, and then there are those things that make me know that it's just time for that and I'm so proud of what they are becoming. I admit that most of the time the thought of them getting older and leaving and having lives of their own saddens me to the point of tears, but then there are days like today when I'm just thankful for a few moments of peace and the assurance that we've done a good job with them. They are really GOOD kids. Pretty soon, it's going to be out of our hands for good. I just hope they're prepared.

And then...

It was Saturday morning.

• Dirty Larry woke up and walked to the window to look outside, and then...
• He said, "HEY...this carpet is wet!", and then...
• I woke up with a very bad feeling, and then...
• He went to check the back door and discovered that water had come under the door during the night and flooded the laundry room, and about 2 feet from the wall in all the rooms along the back of the house, and then...
• He got a shower and left for work, and then...
• (No seriously...he left me) And then...
• (Do you get that I was alone now?) And then...
• I cried a bunch and had a mini nervous breakdown, and then...
• I worked on cleaning up the laundry room and accidentally messed up the vent hose in the back of the dryer, and then...
• I dried some stuff in the messed up dryer because I didn't know I had messed it up. When I discovered the mistake I'd make, the whole laundry room was sweating, and it was freakin' hot in there (like a sauna), and then...
• I was trying to fix it and the phone rang. It was Coco. I think she wanted to tell me some bad stuff about her life, but I told her I didn't want to hear it right then but I still loved her, and then...
• I moved furniture and ripped up carpet and carpet padding, and then...
• I cut the wet pad out and wrung it out with my hands and threw it all in the dryer, and then...
• I worried about how dumb that might possibly be, and then...
• LUCKILY, it worked, and then...
• My mama came over and I can't even SAY some of the stuff I'd like to say right here, and then...
• I made myself a sandwich and she ate it, and then...
• I made another one and Dirty Larry came home for lunch and ate it, and then...
• I was ok because I made a third sandwich and got to eat that one, PLUS, Dirty Larry brought home an industrial type carpet dryer which helped, and then...
• I put the padding puzzle back together and taped it all in place, and then...
• I let the fans and the carpet dryers do their thing, and then...
• We all just listened to fans for the rest of the night and some of the next day.

I think everything is okay now. We'll know in a few days I guess since the AIR CONDITIONER IS BROKEN and if mold and mildew is gonna happen, it shouldn't take long to start smelling under these conditions.

What can I say? When it rains, it pours (right underneath your back door, wetting your Raggedy Ann doll you made in the 6th grade).