#funnynotfunny

Mr. Allen, White County High School

Grief is a funny thing. Not funny ha-ha or funny "that is so interesting," but funny "what the..."

My default for handling things that are generally unpleasant, sad, upsetting, or otherwise is not to handle them. I use what I call the Interpreter Protocol - I close the door on whatever it is, build a wall to keep it out and try not to bother it again. And before any of you point it out, I know that isn't healthy or at all recommended.

I've been saying to anyone that asks me how I'm doing since losing my dad that "I'm okay" and "really, I've had the last few years to deal with it" and "He hasn't known me since about 2014 anyway" as though any or all of those phrases are the gospel truth. In fact, however, those phrases have been my protection - my wall that keeps my emotions safe from interaction with the pain and the guilt and all of those side effects that come with losing a parent.

The other day I posted a picture that I saw while at the farmer's market that I thought he would have found terribly funny. I can still hear his laugh and see him wiping away tears that always came with something tremendously funny. At the moment, when I posted it, I was not sad. I was not grieving. I was happy that I could see something and have a pleasant memory of my father that made me and Simon laugh to share. But that laughter - that humor - that's just another brick in my homemade wall.

Today I've had moments of profound sadness and I dealt with them the only way I know how - I ran. I pulled out a manuscript to work on, I cleaned out the makeshift food pantry in my desk because my summer hols from work are coming on, I did anything I could to stop thinking about whatever it was that set me off earlier. It worked - I cannot remember for the life of me what the trigger was this time.

But the sadness remains. I still miss him, even though it is not as visceral a feeling as the loss my mother and my sister are feeling. I miss him in the way that I missed both my parents during my first summer working at Camp Glisson, the first night of staff training week when all the fun and noise and laughter faded into the silent realization that I was alone in a new place with strangers. I miss him in the way you suddenly realize that something is gone as you pull away from university after graduation. This new reality is not that different from the one I was in a month ago, or a year ago, or even three years ago - and yet it is completely different and funny - and not funny, all at the same time.

The sign in question is the one on the right. Their tagline, "All Natural. No Doo-doo.
No kidding," would have made Daddy laugh until he cried, I am fairly certain.

Real Life Sheldon Cooper...Or Lucy without Ethel

It was nowhere near this cordial.

So, it's Winter Break from Clemson (Christmas, Hannukah, Eid, Kwanza, etc. etc.) and I have literally not left the house since Monday, Christmas Day, when we went to Atlanta. This is a good thing, as I spend a great deal of my time Not Home and Commuting and At Clemson, so in a way, this has been a welcome break. The girls haven't had to stay crated as much and I've gotten some long overdue cleaning done (more on Beetle later).

Yesterday Hubs came home early from work because he had pulled a pretty significant muscle in his back. He did what everyone on earth save me does in that situation - ibuprofen, hot shower, bed in that order. I was out here in the den with the girls (who had just come in from the yard, leaving the basement door open) when I heard him say (not shout) with absolutely no alarm in his voice whatsoever:

"Nancy, there's a bird in the house."

No alarm at all. I thought he was kidding.

"What?" By this point, I paused the episode of The Flash (I'm binge-watching in between housework, hence the HAVE NOT LEFT THE HOUSE IN FOUR DAYS I mentioned earlier) and he said it again, in the same calm tone like he was telling me we might have spag-bol for our tea tonight.

"There's a bird in the house."

Okay, y'all, I love animals. All of them. I do not love all of them being in my house. I also do not love birds in the same I NEED TO SNUGGLE YOU LIKE YESTERDAY way that I love my dogs or cats or cute little critters of many different species. I have a healthy respect for birds that borders on abject fear. Okay, let's be honest, it is fear. The time my ex-husband took my hand while I wasn't looking and led a cockatiel onto my arm I nearly wet my pants in public. I thought I was brave at a pet store in Keighley when I held an owl, but I really wasn't. If you know me well and you have seen the photo of me and that owl, you can see that I was unable, in that moment, to move any part of my body except my eyes.

Also, if you are my friend Anne, aka Lucy to my Ethel or Ethel to my Lucy, you are probably already remembering the time that we tried to get a bird out of the rafters of the garage of your house when I lived with you after moving back from the UK. Why we decided to help a bird out of a garage THAT HAD NO DOOR with only a ladder, a broom, and a beach towel I'm not sure, but the results were pretty much the same as they were yesterday (only without any of those implements).

I came down the hall and asked where the bird was, to find Hubs still comfortably in bed (although sitting up at this point). "Out there," he says, as though he is telling me where Beetle's charging station is or which way to go to find the dog room. I looked into the dog room and there it was, a little bird of the chickadee/wren/finch body type and size, and it was sitting on the top of Willow's crate. So I did what any normal person would in my case.

"What should I do about it?"

After a few wisecracks about not leaving it in the house, Hubs and I decided that I needed to catch it and put it outside. And when I said we decided that I mean he did and I continued to try to avoid screaming.

Did I mention that the girls were in the house at the time? No? Well...I managed to take the baby gate that keeps them out of the dog room and the one that keeps them out of our bedroom and put them at the other end of the hall to keep the dogs in the kitchen...because both of them were now staring down the hall at me. I think the hungry looks in their eyes were all in my imagination, but I certainly did NOT want to get in between them and a nervous bird.

The bird hopped and flew about in mad fashion and, as you (and certainly Anne) can imagine, I did NOT catch it in the t-shirt that I was waving around like an insane matador. Finally the bird had had enough of my shenanigans and flew into the bedroom. By this point, Hubs was out of bed and trying to help - he planned to catch it with his bare hands! It flew under our bed, which is unfortunate for the bird because I can't tell you the last time I cleaned under there, so I pushed on the mattress. Another normal conversation ensued:

Hubs - "What are you doing?"
Me- "Trying to make mattress noises so that it will come back out."
Hubs - "Mattress noises?"

I was about to explain that when you so much as LOOK at our mattress, the entire cheap bedframe (seriously, do NOT buy any furniture from Rooms To Go, it's all cheap) squeaks, but I didn't get a chance to do that because THE BIRD FLEW OUT ON MY SIDE OF THE BED. I hit the deck, Sheldon Cooper Style, and nearly shouted "Bird in the apartment! Bird in the apartment!"

I was not helping at all, and the poor thing went back under the bed for a moment. We had decided that we had to shoo it out an open door rather than catch it, and you should remember that by we I still mean Hubs. In a moment of sheer brilliance, I remembered that we had opened the windows in the bedroom the last time our AC went out and that one of them didn't have a screen.

It was not the one I opened. Of course it wasn't. However, I was able to get the screen pushed out just a bit and left an opening that was just exactly bird-sized but didn't knock the screen out and crashing two stories down to the work site that is Hubs's planned firepit and seating area. Back to shooing. The bird flew back out, I hit the deck again, and Hubs shooed it to the window where it escaped.

As soon as the girls came back in from the yard this morning I shut that basement door. I also locked it, though I know that birds can't generally operate doorknobs. Better safe than sorry.

Isn't this just the way sometimes?

Sunday Funny

Now, normally I don't care for "pet speak." I see it all over my greyhound message boards, from people trying to imitate how their dogs (and cats) would type if they could. Grammatical errors abound, spelling is horrible...and often you have to attempt to read the "message" out loud in order to get a clue as to the meaning (sometimes even THAT doesn't work). To me, it's degrading to our animals that I believe to be very intelligent. If they could speak English I don't think it would look like that. It annoys me to the point that I don't read posts at all from the people that "speak" that way for their dogs...too much work.

However...this is just plain funny, considering that I just watched the interview in question (well, a part of it anyway) this week. Seriously...you can't make this stuff up.For more animals with English issues (but sound political statements nonetheless), click on the link in this post's title or on YES WE CAN HAS in my blog roll. Funny, funny stuff.

Proof.

...that if you say one word too many times it becomes really funny, or maybe just that I need more sleep? Thanks to Dooce for this one:

Anger...Chicken Style

I love Savage Chickens. So many times it is dead on describing what's going on in my life...like today's cartoon...and how it applies to me at work...



Please click on the link in the title or on the Savage Chickens link in my blogroll. You won't be sorry.

Red Stockings and Scripture Readings

Here's my holiday advice, free of charge. If you buy a smashing new jumper (the American meaning, a short dress...not the English meaning/a sweater) that's all pretty and Christmasy plaid and looks outstanding with your new favorite red Old Navy turtleneck, and you're slated to read a lesson during the "Lessons and Carols" Christmas Eve service at your Dad's church, don't wear red tights. Seriously. I caught sight of myself in the window at the chinese restaurant where we ate after church (the only place in town open) and let's just say Santa's Elves have got NOTHING on me.

Further, should you try on said jumper and think "Oh, it's a bit tight here and there but that will just hold all of me in nicely and the plaid will hide my Michelin Man physique..." You are wrong, my friend, wrong wrong wrong.

Imagine my joy when, in my short plaid too tight jumper and BLINDING red turtleneck and tights (just say a small prayer of thanks that I took off the red shoes in favor of black ones, since the red shoes have a tendency to slip off at the wrong moment...oh, and they're RED), the decision was made that those doing readings would sit in the choir loft...facing the congregation.

Well. At least I didn't mispronounce anything in my reading and didn't fall off the stage or onto the poor, now blinded people I was sitting next to on the pew. Happy Christmas, y'all. I think I need another cuppa tea.

Because it wasn't creepy enough the first time...

They've brought it back...

Here's a really big surprise...NOT

As taken from the inbox of my email just this morning...

This Message was undeliverable due to the following reason:

Each of the following recipients was rejected by a remote mail server.
The reasons given by the server are included to help you determine why
each recipient was rejected.

Recipient: serawlaew@gatewayto.com
Reason: 5.3.0 serawlaew@gatewayto.com... 550


Please reply to Postmaster@charter.net if you feel this message to be in error.


--- Forwarded Message ---
---- Cora wrote:
> Do not ignorbeb me please,
> I found your email somewhere and now deacided to write you.
> I am coming to yoaur place in few weeks andb thought we
> can meet each other. Leat me know if you do not mind.
> I am a nice pretty girl. Don'at reply to this email.
> Emabil me direclty at qqcei@SpringMailSite.info

Date: [Thu, 17 May 2007 10:31:16 -0500]
From: Nancy A. Lassiter
To: Cora , qqcei@SpringMailSite.info

Subject: Re: Would like to chat with. you

Hi there, Cora!

Unfortunately I can't meet you until you learn how to spell, work on your
grammar, and stop emailing people that you don't know just to earn some money
off someone or try to plant a virus in someone else's computer.

Have a nice day.
--
Nancy A. Lassiter, BA, CI/CT
Montgomery, Alabama
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Forecast for tomorrow; a few sprinkles of genius with a chance of doom!"
-S. Griffin

Yeah, I know, I probably just opened my self up to a flood of either abuse or virus laden email. Thank God for my sardonic wit and Norton Anti-Virus.

Something Rarely Overheard on the Deaf Unit

"Sssshhhh."

I may have to go out and investigate that one...

Be Sweet?

At a McDonald's somewhere in the upstate, as I pulled up to the window to pay for my breakfast...

Kid Running the Drive Thru Window: Ya got anything for me? (cue huge grin that would blind you if the sun hit his teeth JUST right)

Me: (hands him the money in stunned silence)

Kid Running the Drive Thru Window: Yep, that'll work! (cue grin number two)

Girl that was the Voice that took my order: Here you go. (hands me the bag of food and my soda)

Kid Running the Drive Thru Window: (leans out with my change and receipt) Be sweet. (said in his best "I'm 18 but I'm sultry" voice as he BRUSHES my fingers intentionally with his)

Me: (drive away laughing my fool head off)

Profile Seinfeld (or how to win a talent show)

So we're at Sandy Paws, right? I mention to my FTH buddies that I'm thinking of entering Profile in the talent contest because he knows his obedience commands in ASL. They all go with me and thanks to one of them knowing the MC we get entered, allbeit late.

Our turn comes and I'm breaking bits of lamb lung into teeny pieces as we walk out center stage. "Profile knows his commands in American Sign Language," I say proudly. I then notice that he's got THAT LOOK in his eye.

Those of you that know him know what look I'm talking about. It generally preceeds something getting peed on or a mad dash about the den like it's the race track at Lowe's Motor Speedway.

"Sit" I sign to him. He backs up and scans the audience to make sure he's being watched. "Sit" I tell him again and he goes into a down. "That's not a sit," I say, reaching down for a better grip on his leash. At that moment he decided to do the trick he taught himself, so he stands up on his hind legs and snatches the treat from my fingers, grinning like a fool.

The audience roars with laughter.

He did manage to "leave it" (with me signing it I might add) when I put the lamb lung on the ground in front of him (after I finally got the ham to down!) and I swear he waited until I looked up to smile at the audience in relief before pouncing on it. "I'm done," I announce, giving a tug on his leash.

He sat.

So next comes the voting for winner. "And tied for first is WomanWhoWentBeforeUs with her dog DoesAllTricksPerfectly and Nan with Profile for their COMEDY ROUTINE."

We had to do something else for the tie breaker so I picked something I know he loves to do when people will clap for him. He grinned like a fool, and we came away with first place.

Comedy Routine. Miss Jane would be so proud...

Out with the Old, In with the NEW...sorta

This weekend I will be bidding a fond farewell to some furniture that has served me well over the past eleven years. Wow, eleven years, that's really an incredible lifespan for a couch and loveseat!

I got the loveseat first when I moved to West Virginia. (My apartment was too small for the couch.) I sat on that loveseat, ate dinner on that loveseat, raised two precocious kittens on that loveseat...I even camped out on it, surrounded securely by a ring of Raid sprayed onto the carpet, when those little bundles of fluffy joy expelled their fleas into my apartment...

I then moved to Athens. The couch was reunited with the loveseat and the three of us lived, loved, slept, and ate together for three years in my wonderful little townhome on the East side. I miss that apartment, truth be told. My cats were bigger and less prone to scaling the ends of the furniture like tiny mountain climbers.

When I got married and moved to South Carolina, I parted ways with the sofa and loveseat. They were cleaned well and went to live with my sister in her new apartment. She kept them and used them and slept on them and all as I moved from my house in Spartanburg to an apartment in Anderson to a house in Anderson. She then married Dave and no longer needed the sofa and loveseat so they again came to live with me.

When we separated and I moved out last November, the sofa and loveseat came with me. Alas, they are but mere shells of their former selves, having had six years worth of greyhound toes digging into their cushions and now eleven years of heineys sitting on them. I was forced to buy slip covers for them just so they didn't look so ragged and inviting to even more digging from the hounds.

I fear I have kept them alive past their prime, and all I am doing now is prolonging their suffering. However, Amy and Charles have come to the rescue. They got new furniture with their tax refund and are giving me their sofa, loveseat, and matching chair! No more slip covers. Just happy, clean sofas.

Now I just need to do something with my old friends. Leaving them out on the curb doesn't seem right, and putting them on the front porch would make me look even more white trashy than I already do. Maybe Goodwill has a nuclear powered furniture-cleaner-upper somewhere back in their store...

Shaking the Sand from our Paws and Unpacking our Adjectives

There will be a pictoral post later. I can't get to photobucket or flickr from here at work...not that I'm doing anything but working...I swear...

"When you come home from a trip...remember this little tip..." -"Unpack Your Adjectives," Schoolhouse Rock

Thursday, 2 March 2006

I got up late as usual and made a mad dash to pack the car, clean myself up, shove the dogs in on top of the suitcases and hit the road. Luckily Kim and Leah got stuck in traffic around Charlotte so I wasn't that late meeting them. We got the Carolina Convoy in line at a rest stop on I-26 and headed south.

We arrived at the resort in the early afternoon and headed to our respective rooms. Leah called to see if we wanted to head to JAX with her to see the schooling races and then go to the kennel...well DUH, Daisy's there, hello? Fed my pups, left them passed out on the beds and headed for JAX, an hour's drive from Jekyll.

Now y'all, I am not good in person with people I don't know. While I kinda feel like I know the folks from Follow that Hound they are still people who only know me via the internet and I'm really NOT as charming, silly, witty, and intelligent as I appear online. Heck I'd be sunk here on the blog without spellcheck... Anyway, those two ladies charmed the pants off me during the ride down...by the time we got there I had barely any makeup left from the crying fits brought on by too much laughter. There was the infamous incident where Leah almost ran a red light and I bounced off the back of her headrest, the woman in the drive thru at the McDonalds that sounded like a teacher from Charlie Brown, and the joke we saw walking down a side street in JAX: a nun and a prostitute. I'm surprised that the kennel security let us in when Mama Caffie got there, we'd been guffawing in the parking lot for an hour prior.

Then all time and space stopped and I laid eyes on my girly for the first time. She looks like she was cut from marble, her muscles and bones and face and all are just so perfect. Her ears perked up and I thought I would die...but that was just seeing her in the turn out pen. Seeing her in her crate, getting to touch her head and kiss her soft fur...I'm getting teary now just thinking about it.

We met Trish and Chris as well as Mama Caffie, Daddy Bill, and Anne while we were there Thursday night and Kim got a surprise visit from Dodger, her pre-adopted pup! She thought he was at the farm but he'd been moved to the kennel...and I think dogs in 16 states paused and tried to bury their heads to block out the squeal she let out when Mama Caffie said, "See that brindle there? That's Dodger..."

Friday, 3 March 2006

Day one at Sandy Paws. We registered and then we shopped and shopped. Pictures will be forthcoming tonight of all the loot my puppers collected...mostly collars. They haven't had a chance to have lots of pretty collars until now so I might have gone a tad overboard...just a tad.

Kim and Leah went to St. Mary's with Ann to get their tattoos about lunchtime. I was supposed to go as well but I wimped out. There's always next year I suppose... I shopped some more, and then just hung out with my puppers. I am so very proud of them, they behaved better than a lot of the other hounds I saw there...yanking things off tables, running around snapping at other hounds that got too close, etc. It has taken six years and a lot of work but I feel that I can pretty much take my three anywhere and not have to worry too much.

Friday night was the Roo-Au but we decided to eat dinner in the lobby. One of the highlights was when Trish and Anne sent me to the bar to order them some "Girl Drinks." I just told that to the bartender who looked at me like I was nuts. I explained that I thought they probably had liquor in them and maybe an umbrella? She thought for a moment then started mixing things up.

Saturday, 4 March 2006

Day 2 at Sandy Paws. The reiki seminar was cancelled, much to my dismay, so I was forced to do more shopping. There was a plan to go to a local restaurant for lunch, but that turned into hot dogs and chili at the villa with the JAX crowd. Ace, a race dog that was visiting Sandy Paws and a possible pre-adopter was fascinated with the hot dogs and the kitchen...he even tried to stuff himself into the refrigerator.

Saturday afternoon was the talent show. I got there late, of course, and wouldn't have gotten in if Mama Caffie hadn't spoken to the guy in charge. Profile wouldn't do any of his commands other than SIT in ASL, but we somehow ended up tied for first place for our "comedy routine." Maybe we should take it on the road? He grinned on command in the run off and we won! Bless his little pointed head...

Saturday night was rough. There was a memorial service for all the dogs that had left us since last year's event, and I went with Liz's tags in my hand. People got up and talked about their pets that had died and I was really okay until Diane of Burpdog Biscuit fame talked about missing the white face in her pack. Lizzard looked like Minnie Mouse with her white face and dark brindle ears...and I bawled as quietly as I could, sitting on the astroturf floor and hugging the stuffing out of my three. Hunky and I went to the beach after that and wrote Lizzard's name in the sand. I stuck the glow-stick they'd provided in the dot over the I in her name, and then Hunky walked right through her name...scattering it to the four winds. I think it was symbolic though...it's time for me to put aside the loss of her physical presence and concentrate on the aspect of her that will always be with those of us that loved her.

After that I was up till 3am with Trish and Anne talking smack...well, holy smack to be technical. The dogs came away with collars from Sandy Paws...I came away with new friends.

Sunday, 5 March 2006

My roommate Kim got up early Sunday and left to head home, leaving me to pack for my Jacksonville adventure. We loaded up the car again and headed out to see puppies, racers, and most importantly, my Daisy girl's first official schooling race. To be continued...

The Other Side of Gattitown

The link above is to Amy's recount of the Gattitown excursion this past Saturday. She left out that Kalyne and I went with them and were witness to Drew's white-knuckling of the pole on his carousel horse as well as the moment when he learned how to swipe the Gattitown cards that are used to ride the various attractions and play games. Good on ya, Nephew...now go for the one with the numbers in Mommy's wallet...

Kalyne and I rode the bumper cars first, which for me was more a "spinning uncontrollably in circles in the corner" than a ride. You can't go backward or forward, really, as the controllers move you either to the left or the right. I did learn that if you slam both of them forward at the same time you will hurtle yourself in somewhat of a forward position and if you do the same thing only backward you're asking for a concussion.

Side note to my dear friend Kris: Yes, I remember what a concussion really is, and believe me, I could have given myself one on several attempts to move backward in that bumper car had my head not already been thrown to one side or another by someone else plowing into me. It truly is a wonder that I have a driver's license.

Next came a round of Air Hockey. I play this at the hospital sometimes with the patients. Easy enough, I thought.

Square off with Kalyne "I am going to make you bleed even though this isn't a real ice rink and the puck is only an inch thick" Lynch across an Air Hockey table and see if you don't come away visibly shaken and crying for your mommy! She beat me, obviously, and even overcame the two shots I made where the puck came off the table. Seems I haven't gotten over the problem that started in my college billiards class where the ball became airborne a few times. Luckily that mom grabbed her kid out of the way before the puck became one with her noggin, but I digress...

After that we headed for Skee Ball, otherwise known as The Only Thing In An Arcade That Nan Can Do Well. I managed to beat "mah Thug" with a score of 28,000, and I choose not to notice that at the start of the round that produced that score the machine started me with 2,000 points. Technicality, I say. Not worth more than a cursory mention.

When we had fended off the sad looking little boy standing behind us that wanted our skee ball machine for as long as we could, we took in a few rounds of hoops. I have never liked that game for several reasons: 1. I normally can't get the ball through the hoop if I'm standing above it and place it there. 2. I'm really afraid of games that might injure my hands, and a plethora of basketballs hurtling toward my fingers just doesn't seem that safe. 3. Charles used to want me to play that with him and he always beat me into a pulp due to his freakish talent with a basketball. I swear I used to think the machine saw him coming and would just give up on the spot.

We played the basketball one till it broke, literally...either that or time truly can stand still because there were seven seconds left on the clock for about fifteen minutes. Once I pried Kalyne off the basketballs I hopped onto a video game that simulates skateboarding. Did you know that when you hit something on one of those games, there is an announcer that goes "Aw Man..." so loud I bet my mother heard it in Cleveland, Georgia? Nothing got by that announcer, and by the time I got to the bottom of the "run" on my head, my toon got up and put her face in her hands.

Last was another round of Air Hockey, and this time Kalyne took pity on me I think. My puck only came off the table once during that round but she still beat me. For all her work and effort, she came away with a green, fully posable alien, a lovely Chinese fan, and a teeny purple see through ninja...whom I quickly defeated when I hit the gas and he fell off my dashboard. Haha, secret ninja power is no match for the might of the HONDA!

Maybe I did hit my head too hard on those bumper cars after all...

Checking in with Tater, Part 2

You know it's not gonna be a good day, Tater...when you wonder what's taking the coffee pot so long and wander into the kitchen to find that you've put a filter in (check), put coffee in said filter (check), put water in the carafe (check), and turned on the pot.

Missing step? POUR THE WATER INTO THE COFFEE POT. A full carafe of water sitting in the pot does no good, it seems...

You know you're exhausted when...Part Two

Let me quickly say first that I have a wonderful boss. He is a very intelligent man, quick-witted, dry sense of humor, and an all around good guy. I am quite lucky to work for someone who trusts my work enough to let me do my job without hovering about...rare in a state job. So no worries about getting Dooce'd over this posting.

One thing my boss is NOT is observant. I once cut about 10 inches off my hair and it took him several months to ask me what looked different about me. It requires a radical change in one's appearance to get his attention and even more so to make him comment...such as if I stopped wearing suits to interpret in probate court and suddenly showed up in a halter top and flip flops. Well, actually, that would probably involve the authorites, an indecent exposure charge and some sort of endangerment to minors, but I digress...

My boss looked at me today and said, "Are you all right? You look sort of..." (pause as he, God bless him, searches for a non-offensive way to say I look like the underside of a mudflap in a blizzard)

"I look sort of what?"

"Well, sort of...grrrrrr."

"Grrr?"

"Yeah, you know, grrr. Tense."

I reminded him what day it was, and said that I was tired, and I handed him my leave slip from being out sick yesterday. God bless him again, he didn't ask any more questions.

And here I thought that I looked rather "weeeee hooooo" with a touch of "oh mah gaaahd how granola!" today, as I skipped the makeup (to avoid raccoon-ism should I think of Bo and cry) and have my rats nest of curly tresses pulled up in a ponytail. I wonder if it's my shoulders that are saying "grrrr" or perhaps my giant forehead...it does tend to snarl a bit when I pull back the hair that it normally hides behind.

Thank goodness it's only 2 weeks until I leave to go to Sandy Paws and Jacksonville for five days...we wouldn't want my "grrrr" to turn into a "rawr" or a "grrooowwwwl" because that's when people get hurt. It's only funny until someone's attitude puts out an eye, after all.

Ah, the Triumphant Return of the Tired

I discovered something yesterday. I'm old. I am an old woman. I'm a cranky, set in her ways, can't stay up late without serious repercussions to her mental health Old Woman.

Yesterday I went to visit my sister and her husband. I was supposed to be taking a friend of ours with me to visit, but he never responded to me about when/where to meet. A week, I'm telling you, is too long to go without so much as a short "I'm busy" message when you are planning a trip. The icing on that cake was checking the messages I'd sent (via message board we both belong to because he NEVER checks his email) yesterday before leaving to find all of them still sitting comfortably in my outbox. Yeesh.

So, the puppers and I struck out alone yesterday to go see Dave and Susan. Dave had surgery on his shoulder on Tuesday, and can't move it for...2 weeks I think. He's in a sling, and had a nerve block until about 5am yesterday morning. I just can't even imagine...the worst thing that has ever been done to me at the hands of a doctor would be the staph infection I had on my leg in conjunction with a spider bite...had to be "removed" which is doctor-speak for "dug out." Who knew they made post-holers that small, or that my mother could turn that many shades of nauseous green? Anyway...

So we went, and had a good time hanging out with Dave and Susan. Dave is in remarkable spirits considering the pain he is obviously in most of the time. He does get cranky, and I think that's a "man-trying-to-deal-with-pain" issue. But we chatted and got my sister set up with an EQ character of her very own to play (yes, I am spreading the addiction...fear me!)...and then turned on the Grammy awards to watch.

Now I knew I was old before this, but I think last night was just the clarifying moment that drove the point home. Susan went to Dave's church to cover a Bible study for him (though the heathen in me must admit that having someone lead a Bible study under the influence of "Elvis Presley's White M&Ms" would have been amusing...)and Dave and I were left to watch the Grammys.

Me: "Yikes on the dress choice, girly looks like she's pregnant!"

Dave: "She is pregnant."

Me: "Oh...well, her hair kinda looks like someone pulled it too tight."

Dave: Grunting noise that almost sounded like a snore, but he had just passed M&M refill time...

Me: "Now there were only two people in that entire category that I even recognized, Missy Elliot and Eminem. What does that say about me?"

Dave: "I really like Kayne West, his song..." and that's when I stopped recognizing anything he said...and then it hit me...

Me: "Kayne West, is he the one with the thing and Mike Myers and stopping the tape?"

Dave (miraculously understanding my moment of near speaking in tongues): "Yes, Nancy, the one that made the provocative comments during the Hurricane Katrina benefit."

Me: "What is with those gloves? It's not cold in there. And the sunglasses, do you really think he can see the audience with those on?"

Dave: "Man, you ARE old."

I'd like pause here to point out that Dave is only NINE MONTHS younger than I am.

Susan's Bible study coverage lead to her visiting parishioners that were in the hospital due to a car accident and then heading back home around 10pm. At 10:15pm I was standing behind her showing her how to play EQ, wide awake. At 10:30 I was in the car, sending Dave a BB message to remind him Drawn Together was on Comedy Central in case he was still wound up in the glamour and glitz and bad hairstyles and grubby jeans extravaganza known as the Grammy Awards. At 11pm I was cruising through Gwinnett County, finishing my bottle of water and thinking that I was worried about leaving late for nothing, I'd done this plenty of times in my YOUNG life, I could make it home, no sweat.

11:45pm: Stop at the JeVerson exit (that was for my Mom) and get gas at the QT, lament the emptiness of the water bottle that had kept me awake so far.
12:15am: Pass the Lavonia exit and lament lack of cash and current determination not to stop at a McDonald's in the middle of the night.
12:16am: Notice that I've just referred to the time as the middle of the night and think again how OLD I am.
12:30am: Stop at the Clemson exit and grab a chicken sandwich, fries and a soda at a Wendy's. Tell myself that Wendy's doesn't count as fast food because it's healthier than McDonald's.
1am Turn off the highway onto Pleasantburg Drive to head home.
1:15am Pull into the driveway.
2am Actually get in the bed and stare at the ceiling, two greyhounds vying for the 2 inches of space left that they and the three cats and I are not occupying.

And this morning? I officially feel like the underside of a mudflap. But I had a great time yesterday, despite the revelation that I am old...