More than half-crazy

I didn't think it possible to love this little girl any more than I already did from afar...but I was wrong. Visit her blog or click on my flickr album linked on this page for more pics of my gorgeous girl and my trip to Sandy Paws.

With wind in my hair and sand in their paws...

The pups and I are taking off on our first real vacation together tomorrow morning. We're going to Sandy Paws, a greyhound gathering on Jekyll Island off the coast of Georgia. While technically my first "single" vacation was Mountain Hounds last summer, that was a hard trip for me because it was the weekend Liz died. So this one, with all THREE of my puppers, is going to count as the first.

The link in the title is to Daisy's blog. I'll be meeting my beautiful baby girl on Monday, and I can hardly wait!! I'm thinking that I'm going to give her a very special present while I'm there, from me and my Lizzard...if I don't change my mind. I have a collar ordered and paid for that is coming with the vendor to SP, so I'll get to give her that as well. Be sure to check out Daisy's blog for pictures of our first meeting, as well as my flickr album of her pictures.

Rest, relaxation, shopping, doggies, and the beach...plus meeting Daisy and getting to go to the track Monday night. What could be better??

How Not to Use an Interpreter, by G.W. Bush

Yeah, I'm not his biggest fan, to say the least. But man...something I heard this morning on NPR out of Dubya's own mouth pushed a button that I am not afraid to admit I have. The following is a quote from the site linked in the title above, and it's what I heard Dubya say (to his Italian interpreter) this morning on NPR:

And two, what kind of signal does it send throughout the world if it's okay for a British company to manage the ports, but not a company that has been secure -- been cleared for security purposes from the Arab world? So I look forward to a good, consistent review. You don't need to interpret. That's a U.S. question.

Now then, kids, why do we need an interpreter? Because two people trying to communicate don't speak the same language. How often do I, as an interpreter hear that very same thing, "Don't interpret that" or "You don't have to interpret that?" Too often. What's wrong with that? It's arrogant, that's what. You are seen as taking advantage of the fact that the other person doesn't speak your language and using that fact to convey something you don't want them to know. You're telling the person that you don't value them enough to make sure they can understand what you're saying. In a press conference setting it isn't seen as much as a personal affront as it might have been had he said it during a normal conversation with Mr. Berlusconi, but it just proves to me that Mr. Bush doesn't really care as much about his fellow man as he says he does, something I kinda already knew.

For Dubya to tell the interpreter she didn't need to interpret and then continue to talk...well, as I've said before, I don't have to say anything to make our dear American President look bad...he does it so well on his own that he doesn't need my help.

Take this as a teachable moment, all of you who might use an interpreter in the future. Never ever ever utter those words to any interpreter worth their moral weight, and if you don't want the other person to know what you're saying either shut the (bleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep) up or leave the room. Simple as that.

Famous Lettuce?

Those with more widely read blogs probably wouldn't blink an eye at this, but lookee what I found on the internet today...



I don't know much about the site so I don't know if it's good or not that it's there, but it's me...touted somewhere besides here at Brave Lettuce. As mah Thug would say, Word.

Thought but not Said

1. You don't have the right nor the authority to tell me where I can or can't go, what I can or can't afford, or anything else of the sort anymore.

2. If we were good at communication, we would not be where we are now. This morning should not have been a surprise to either of us.

3. Thank you for the reminder of why I am where I am now, lest I forget and become weak in a moment of loneliness.

4. If I have to take peanut butter, bread, and bottled water to eat while I'm on my vacation this weekend, so be it because it is important to my mental health (and the safety of all those around me) that I go.

Thank goodness for my family, both family of origin and those that are family to me now, or I sometimes think I might just run away and never come back. Today I had planned to talk about milestones...setting up my own bank account...finding a place to live that's only mine...managing being a single dog/cat parent and working and keeping up with responsibilities...getting the dishes and the clothes washed, for heaven's sake. But all my milestones faded in the face of one phone conversation this morning, and two hours later I'm still on the verge of angry tears. Nothing a little fast food can't make better, however...and it is lunchtime after all.

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...

A Quote from a Favorite Author of Mine

“Don't be dismayed at goodbyes, a farewell is necessary before you can meet again and meeting again, after moments or lifetimes, is certain for those who are friends.” ~ Richard Bach

Thump, Thump, Thump...

From the South Carolina Bar Association's website...

Mental cruelty and incompatibility are not grounds for divorce in South Carolina.

Before a divorce can be granted, the Court must determine that efforts at getting the husband and wife back together have failed or that attempts at reconciliation would not be practical. Corroboration or verifying testimony about the grounds is necessary before the Court will grant a divorce.

Can I just move back home to Georgia really quick?

From Divorce Interactive (bold type is mine):

Georgia divorce laws have maintained for 13 grounds required for divorce. Among these grounds are adultery and cruel treatment. However, most divorces in Georgia are granted on the no-fault ground that the marriage is irretrievably broken and without fault or wrongdoing. Additionally, one of the spouses must have resided in Georgia for at least 6 months prior to filing for a decree of divorce in Georgia.

Don't misunderstand, I'm not implying any kind of treatment of that sort toward me by Scott. I'm saying that it is incredibly sad to the point of pitiful that a spouse can mentally abuse his/her spouse and the state of South Carolina finds nothing wrong with that...at least not wrong enough that a divorce from the perpetrator will be granted.

I'm back to the place, I think, where I just want to wake up tomorrow morning and be free and clear to move on with my life. I should have been born in a sit-com. However, since I was born in the real world and chose to move to South Carolina after getting married, I have to wait until November of this year to be free. Happy Birthday to me, I suppose.

To My Hounds

BoBo - I miss how I'd hear your tags jingling when I put my key in the lock at the end of the day because you were the only one responsible enough to be allowed free reign of the house. The day you died was the last day I used the front door to come into the old house in Anderson.

Lizzard - I haven't known when it's 4:30pm since the day I left for Mountain Hounds because my Lizzard-Alarm is gone. Ask the others, they'll tell you. I miss your big blind eyes staring at me till your nose figures out who I am and nips me on the nose like the disobediant pup I always am.

Profile - I love how you've managed to make a race track out of the 3 foot by 3 foot space in the guest room that has carpet, and how your eyes look when you lay your ears back and staaaaaaaaaaaaaaaare at me.

Jeany - I love how you chatter your teefers like there's an earthquake going on in your mouth and how when you perk your ears up your eyebrows follow suit.

Hunky - I love how after almost six years of being my protector, my lovey boy, my best friend and the other half of my brain...after six years, every time I lean down to hug you, you still stick your nose up into my hair right next to my neck, take a deep breath like you're memorizing me, and sigh.

Quote of the Day...err Night...err...whatever

My friend K describing a plot by the Bard...

"...and then he goes all Hanky-Panky on the Queen..."

Did I mention the triumphant return of the TIRED? Off to bed...

Near Crisis and Homicide Averted

My regular readers know that the painting of the outside of my house has been an ongoing struggle/occurance since I signed the lease back in November. The experience has taught me to have a backbone, to not be afraid to shut the door in someone's face while he/she is talking, and to never take anything for granted, like a closed gate.

I would like to direct your attention to the archives where it is recorded that Profile ran away from my house one morning because my gate had been left open. I didn't leave the gate open, mind you...the person painting my house did. I knew I should have gone ahead and gotten that padlock, I just knew it, but I didn't.

Today when I got home from work, the person had returned and was set up on my front porch, painting the front door. I came in, locked the door, and went to let the dogs out. Thankfully I thought to myself, "Self, you know that even though you've told him over and over to shut the gate he never does, so you'd better check it."

The gate was standing open.

It took all my resolve just to walk over and shut the gate and not run around to the front of the house and...well, do something very ugly and probably illegal in several states to him with the paintbrush in his hand. Instead, I shut and latched the gate and let the dogs out as usual. When the "painter" (I use quotes because I'm about 150% sure he isn't a professional) let me know he was leaving, I told him to make sure he shut the gate. He had the nerve to say he had, but apparently I have inherited the superpower my mother used to have that would render you incapable of lying when she looked at you just the right way. He admitted to having "maybe" left it open "one time" and shuffled off my porch as I slammed the door.

Crisis=dog getting out...that would have lead to a homicide on the front porch.

Just the railing and the floor of the porch to go and the nightmare will be over...

Quote of the Morning

"Working with a baby had it's problems...but then I tried directing chickens."

-Jim Hensen, Inside the Labyrinth

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...

Another BlogThing Quiz and a Bit of Nostalgia

Arty Kid

Whether you were a drama freak or an emo poet, you definitely were expressive and unique. You're probably a little less weird these days - but even more talented!

Who Were You In High School?

This quiz struck me because last week I got a phone call from one of my dearest friends from high school, Sean...fellow Artsy Freaky Kid.

Remember Pretty in Pink? Sean was Duckie to my Andie. In fact, I still call him Duckie. He is probably one of the most sentimental men I know, and he remembers EVERY minute of high school like he had some kind of betamax recorder running in his head from 1984-1989. The reason he called, though, was to see if I remembered something from the years right after high school and I am mortified to admit that when he asked me, I couldn't remember.

My freshman year of college Sean joined the Air Force. Shortly thereafter he was sent to the Gulf as part of Desert Shield. I still remember my mother calling me at Camp Glisson where I was working to tell me that Sean had been sent overseas. Suddenly everything was too real and too bright and we were adults and high school was over. Everything was not going to go back to being okay at the end of the half hour like it did on TV. My Duckie was on the other side of the world, and there might be people shooting at him.

One night, in the middle of the night, my phone rang in my dorm room at Young Harris. It was Sean, calling me from the Persian Gulf somewhere! Bless his heart, he had to listen to me cry for the first few minutes, I was so happy to hear from him. We decided that at night, even though we were so far apart, that we would look up at the moon and look for the closest star that we saw and that would be our star. That way it wouldn't seem so far away. Bless his heart, he was trying, I think, to calm down his hysterical friend who was not dealing with his deployment with any kind of grace or sanity...

And THAT is what he asked if I remembered last week when he called. And I didn't. And I am mortified and embarrassed that something that wonderful had slipped my mind. I am so proud of Sean now...he is still in the Air Force, thank GOODNESS he's still at home and not deployed again. He has a wonderful wife that he worships and two beautiful children.

So to my Artsy Fartsy Friend Duckie...thanks for reminding me...I'll be looking for that star and remembering that I'm not alone...and that somewhere out there, you've got a chicken salad lid ready to put in a prop box, a Levi's 501 commercial to sing in four part harmony, and a little yellow pickup truck just waiting to give me a ride around to the front of the school. See? I do remember some things...

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.