56 Years ago today my parents were married. Back then, it was an all day affair; they got married just after lunch, then they had a short reception, then they broke to move to a ball room where they had a dinner, and then finally the dance and party. My sister came 17 months later and then, on my parent's 3rd anniversary, my brother Pat was born.
That day has garnered many stories from my parents. November 12 was a Wednesday. Mom woke up knowing that this was the day, and told Dad they needed to get Mary to Grandma's house and get to the hospital. My Dad, remembering how it went when Mary was born, decided he had plenty of time to take a shower and get some breakfast. Finally Mom had enough and told Dad they had to go NOW. They took Mary to Grandma, dropped her off and ran. By the time they got to the hospital, Mom was panting and trying to keep herself in control. Dad ran her into the lobby where he found a nurse and a wheelchair. He told them that he was going to go and park the car and would be right back. This was all of 35 minutes after Mom told Dad to get his butt in the car.
Dad ran out, parked the car, and ran back. He stepped off the elevator in time for a nurse to greet him and say, "congratulations, Mr. Higgins. You have a son". Dad walked into the Labor room in time to see the doctor cleaning himself off - almost as soon as he hit the cold air, Pat peed right on the doctor! Unlike today, when a mother goes through labor and delivery in one nice room with whatever family or friends she chooses to invite, when Pat was born the mother went first to the Labor room and then, when it was time, she was moved to the Delivery room. In my mom's case, Pat was born in the Labor room, and before Mom even had a chance to get fully prepped. Dad always liked to say how he called the hospital billing department and chewed them out for charging him for the Delivery room when my Mom never even saw the inside of it!
Now remember, I said that this was Mom and Dad's anniversary. Well, they sure weren't going to go out for dinner and dancing! Dad spent much of the day with Mom and then that evening he went out and got jeeeest a tad tipsy. Enough that he was crying in his beer and calling out "Bobbi, I love you!" Mom likes to tell that part of the story; I never heard that part from my Dad!
53 years later, my Dad has passed on and my Mom, while she misses my Dad, doesn't pay as close attention to dates as she used to. I'm glad I have the stories, though, to pass on here and to my daughter.
Happy birthday, Pat.
Showing posts with label Light stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Light stories. Show all posts
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Slug Bug Blue
When I was a child - three, maybe 4 years old - my mother drove a baby blue Volkswagen Beetle. A blue bug. I have vague memories of riding around in the back seat of the bug, strapped into a blue vinyl and steel bar car seat that had as much chance of ripping the skin off the back of my thighs as it did of saving my life in the event of an accident.
My clearer memories of the bug - when I was, oh about 12 years old - are of pieces of the car scattered in various corners of our garage. Apparently the motor needed to be fixed. My father owned a gas station and was a mechanic, but like the proverbial shoeless children of the cobbler, our car was neglected in favor of more important things. Finally my dad pulled out the pieces and sold them off just to erase that project from his to-do list.
My mom is in town, and we've introduced her to the family obsession with playing "Slug Bug". One day on the road we saw a baby blue bug, which brought up our ill-fated beetle. And Mom told us a story.
When I was a baby, my mom had two Great Danes, a brother and a sister named Hercules and Sari. My mother's cousin, G Elaine, was a foster mother to 4 children with Down Syndrome. For some reason, these large dogs always charmed and calmed the kids when they were having a bad day. On such a day, G Elaine called my mom and asked her to bring the dogs over to help with the kids. Mom agreed, and not having the family sedan at her disposal, took me and the dogs in the bug.
After a successful day with the kids, we headed home - 25 miles away by freeway in rush hour traffic. When Mom was almost home, she saw lights in the rear view mirror; a cop was pulling her over! She checked her speed, her lane - anything she could think of, but everything was normal. When she got pulled over, she asked the officer what was the matter.
"Oh, nothing", replied the officer. "But when I saw this tiny car with these two big dog heads sticking out of the sun roof, I just had to see it for myself!" Slug Bug blue, indeed!
My clearer memories of the bug - when I was, oh about 12 years old - are of pieces of the car scattered in various corners of our garage. Apparently the motor needed to be fixed. My father owned a gas station and was a mechanic, but like the proverbial shoeless children of the cobbler, our car was neglected in favor of more important things. Finally my dad pulled out the pieces and sold them off just to erase that project from his to-do list.
My mom is in town, and we've introduced her to the family obsession with playing "Slug Bug". One day on the road we saw a baby blue bug, which brought up our ill-fated beetle. And Mom told us a story.
When I was a baby, my mom had two Great Danes, a brother and a sister named Hercules and Sari. My mother's cousin, G Elaine, was a foster mother to 4 children with Down Syndrome. For some reason, these large dogs always charmed and calmed the kids when they were having a bad day. On such a day, G Elaine called my mom and asked her to bring the dogs over to help with the kids. Mom agreed, and not having the family sedan at her disposal, took me and the dogs in the bug.
After a successful day with the kids, we headed home - 25 miles away by freeway in rush hour traffic. When Mom was almost home, she saw lights in the rear view mirror; a cop was pulling her over! She checked her speed, her lane - anything she could think of, but everything was normal. When she got pulled over, she asked the officer what was the matter.
"Oh, nothing", replied the officer. "But when I saw this tiny car with these two big dog heads sticking out of the sun roof, I just had to see it for myself!" Slug Bug blue, indeed!
Sunday, August 23, 2009
USA IPO creates opportunity - and interest - in the trading sector
Our company has a feature in a weekly newsletter called "The Leek". It is a takeoff on The Onion. Working with equities gives me a bit of a different view of our world. With that world view in mind, I wrote a satirical piece on the government and the stock market for The Leek and submitted it. We'll see if it runs there. But this is my page and my writing, so I will run it here. This is fictional satire! Remember that: FICTIONAL :-)
Enjoy.
USA IPO creates opportunity - and interest - in the trading sector
In an unprecedented move to capitalize on raising economic optimism, increase investor confidence, and end the recession, the US Government announced on Tuesday that it is going public. Stock, that is, trading under the ticker USA. With an initial public offering of 500 million shares expected to be priced in the range of $22.00 - $23.00 per share, the government hopes to raise enough cash to continue funding economic stimulus packages while reducing the national debt. The bill was presented to the house and senate on Monday morning, discussed at noon, and voted into law shortly after 3:00 p.m. Majority Leader Larry Read (D-NV) was quoted as saying, "The bill passed soundly. Then we went to lunch."
While investors are looking forward to the offering, a Gallop Poll completed today indicates there is some concern among citizens wondering if the IPO will be in the best interest of the government. "Yes, this is a bold plan, but we expect it to be highly successful", stated White House Press Secretary Robert Dibs, "the plan here is to price USA in such a way that the average citizen can purchase their own piece of the government. This will allow us to use the money from the people, for the people. It's all very constitional-ish".
The IPO, which is expected to take place next Wednesday, has already garnered excitement in trading circles. Ameriprise Financial, Merrill Lynch and TD Ameritrade have all reported taking hundreds of questions and advanced orders for the stock.. Ameriprise, at least, has stood by it's business practice of non participation in IPOs. "However, as soon as USA is trading on the NASDAQ and third markets, we will be accepting orders", Ameriprise stated in a press release. Interest in the IPO is not limited to American investors. China's Prime Minister When Tiabao has already stated that he plans on buying "at least 20,000 shares of USA", indicating willingness on China's part to help relieve some of the foreign gross national debt currently facing the government.
Questions still remain about the IPO, particularly the formation of a board of directors, the possibility of a hostile takeover by an investor with a greater than 51% ownership, if OFAC-listed nationals will be allowed to purchase shares of USA, as well as concerns for stockholder meeting locations. Without providing particulars, Dibs pointed out that all these questions will be answered prior to the IPO next week, stating, "We're moving fast, but we're moving confidently."
Here's the comments from this post:
AussiePomm (Bernie) said...
Interesting read... I might invest it it!!! lol lol lol
Netchick sent me over to see the proposal you put up!
Star said...
That could run in the Onion !
Emme Rogers said...
Too funny! I especially love how you needed to emphasize that it was Fictional. I write a fictional blog about me (whose also fictional) and people are forever thinking all those things are happening to my writer (the poor girl, I'm constantly getting her into trouble).
By the way, also love all the crazy names you have for people. Glad I wandered over here from NetChick.
Have a great Sunday!
Emme
Paul Nichols said...
Hey there! Great to see you again! Thank you for stopping by my joint. I didn't see your post until a short while ago.
And this was a great write. I can't really see much difference between what you just wrote and the spin the "doctors" put on everything. Are you sure it isn't fiction? Nevertheless, it's good.
Sad about Diesel. Sorry. Have you had any new opportunities? Have you ever thought about adopting a greyhound? What great dogs! They love kids.
MissMeliss said...
Hah! Fabulous. And so good to hear from you again.
Enjoy.
USA IPO creates opportunity - and interest - in the trading sector
In an unprecedented move to capitalize on raising economic optimism, increase investor confidence, and end the recession, the US Government announced on Tuesday that it is going public. Stock, that is, trading under the ticker USA. With an initial public offering of 500 million shares expected to be priced in the range of $22.00 - $23.00 per share, the government hopes to raise enough cash to continue funding economic stimulus packages while reducing the national debt. The bill was presented to the house and senate on Monday morning, discussed at noon, and voted into law shortly after 3:00 p.m. Majority Leader Larry Read (D-NV) was quoted as saying, "The bill passed soundly. Then we went to lunch."
While investors are looking forward to the offering, a Gallop Poll completed today indicates there is some concern among citizens wondering if the IPO will be in the best interest of the government. "Yes, this is a bold plan, but we expect it to be highly successful", stated White House Press Secretary Robert Dibs, "the plan here is to price USA in such a way that the average citizen can purchase their own piece of the government. This will allow us to use the money from the people, for the people. It's all very constitional-ish".
The IPO, which is expected to take place next Wednesday, has already garnered excitement in trading circles. Ameriprise Financial, Merrill Lynch and TD Ameritrade have all reported taking hundreds of questions and advanced orders for the stock.. Ameriprise, at least, has stood by it's business practice of non participation in IPOs. "However, as soon as USA is trading on the NASDAQ and third markets, we will be accepting orders", Ameriprise stated in a press release. Interest in the IPO is not limited to American investors. China's Prime Minister When Tiabao has already stated that he plans on buying "at least 20,000 shares of USA", indicating willingness on China's part to help relieve some of the foreign gross national debt currently facing the government.
Questions still remain about the IPO, particularly the formation of a board of directors, the possibility of a hostile takeover by an investor with a greater than 51% ownership, if OFAC-listed nationals will be allowed to purchase shares of USA, as well as concerns for stockholder meeting locations. Without providing particulars, Dibs pointed out that all these questions will be answered prior to the IPO next week, stating, "We're moving fast, but we're moving confidently."
Here's the comments from this post:
AussiePomm (Bernie) said...
Interesting read... I might invest it it!!! lol lol lol
Netchick sent me over to see the proposal you put up!
Star said...
That could run in the Onion !
Emme Rogers said...
Too funny! I especially love how you needed to emphasize that it was Fictional. I write a fictional blog about me (whose also fictional) and people are forever thinking all those things are happening to my writer (the poor girl, I'm constantly getting her into trouble).
By the way, also love all the crazy names you have for people. Glad I wandered over here from NetChick.
Have a great Sunday!
Emme
Paul Nichols said...
Hey there! Great to see you again! Thank you for stopping by my joint. I didn't see your post until a short while ago.
And this was a great write. I can't really see much difference between what you just wrote and the spin the "doctors" put on everything. Are you sure it isn't fiction? Nevertheless, it's good.
Sad about Diesel. Sorry. Have you had any new opportunities? Have you ever thought about adopting a greyhound? What great dogs! They love kids.
MissMeliss said...
Hah! Fabulous. And so good to hear from you again.
Sunday, December 2, 2007
Dream Hero
The other morning, I had a dream. Now, I almost never remember my dreams and if I do remember them, it is because I have them just before I wake up. The other morning, I woke up with a rare dream clearly focused in my memory.
For anyone who hasn't read my blog in awhile, it is important to know this: I am currently in Minneapolis for work training to be a brokerage customer service representative. I've been here 5 months and I've seen my husband, Champs, only twice since I left. Soon I will be going home to work virtual for The Big Company. I can't wait to go home.
This was my dream: I was walking in the park I used to play in as a little girl. I was headed toward a clear glass room with a phone in it. I had to go to the room in order to meet up with Champs. I wasn't going to call him on the phone; he was going to be there.
As I walked closer to the room, I noticed tiny little green grasshoppers. I continued to walk and they got thicker and thicker. As I walked toward them, they would fly away in a wave like a glittering curtain. The thousands of insects moved as one, much the same way a flock of birds rise from a tree in flight and swoop off, all in the same direction. Surprisingly, even though I detest insects and I didn't like them flying near me, I was calm and continued to walk toward the glass room in the middle of the park.
As I got closer to the room, the grasshoppers stopped flying away. They weren't green... they turned to red-brown and they were dead. There was a layer 6 or 7 inches deep of the dead bugs. As I walked, my heels came out of my shoes and the dead bugs stuck to me. I couldn't reach the room - the bugs got deeper and harder to walk through. I was beginning to panic and I was near tears.
Just then, Champs strode up behind me, picked me up and said, "kinda gross, huh? Well, I'm here" and then walked me out of the dead grasshoppers, past the flying ones and out of the park. I felt calm and safe again. Just then, my alarm clock went off.
I spent the day wondering what it meant... I know it confirmed that I feel safe with my husband. But he came to me - I didn't go to him, as will happen in real life when I return home. And I never reached the phone. Did it represent my job? Champs took it that it is his job to keep me safe and help me feel safe in situations where I feel trapped. I guess now you know why I call him Champs. He had the nickname before I met him, earned in soccer, but it means so much more than sports to me.
Verrryyy interesting. I must say, though, that I hope I never, ever encounter grasshoppers like that!
Here are some comments from this post:
Jean-Luc Picard said...
I know what you mean; my dreams tend to vanish after a minute.
Michele sent me here.
Sara said...
Thanks for visiting my blog...and I enjoyed this post about your dream...I agree with Champs...I think that is what it means.
Me - I can't ever remember my dreams - but, I do know if they are good ones or nightmares!!!
2:20 PM
Blogger utenzi said...
Michele sent me over to see you, BG. I read your update post below. There's been quite a lot going on in your life since I last visited.
I love finance and had no idea it took so long to train for the brokerage rep position. You have to be quite confident and brave to hold down a position like that at home, without the normal support situation of being in a cubicle farm. I'm impressed with your ambition. I hope you're able to return to home and family very soon!
THE BLUEST BUTTERFLY said...
Michele sent me. I like your blog....unique. I don't usually remember my dreams. The dreams that are premonitions freak me out...even if they are good. My dreams are usually extremely good or extremely bad.
kenju said...
You ought to think about this one often, BG, so you can puzzle it out. What do grasshoppers mean to you?
For anyone who hasn't read my blog in awhile, it is important to know this: I am currently in Minneapolis for work training to be a brokerage customer service representative. I've been here 5 months and I've seen my husband, Champs, only twice since I left. Soon I will be going home to work virtual for The Big Company. I can't wait to go home.
This was my dream: I was walking in the park I used to play in as a little girl. I was headed toward a clear glass room with a phone in it. I had to go to the room in order to meet up with Champs. I wasn't going to call him on the phone; he was going to be there.
As I walked closer to the room, I noticed tiny little green grasshoppers. I continued to walk and they got thicker and thicker. As I walked toward them, they would fly away in a wave like a glittering curtain. The thousands of insects moved as one, much the same way a flock of birds rise from a tree in flight and swoop off, all in the same direction. Surprisingly, even though I detest insects and I didn't like them flying near me, I was calm and continued to walk toward the glass room in the middle of the park.
As I got closer to the room, the grasshoppers stopped flying away. They weren't green... they turned to red-brown and they were dead. There was a layer 6 or 7 inches deep of the dead bugs. As I walked, my heels came out of my shoes and the dead bugs stuck to me. I couldn't reach the room - the bugs got deeper and harder to walk through. I was beginning to panic and I was near tears.
Just then, Champs strode up behind me, picked me up and said, "kinda gross, huh? Well, I'm here" and then walked me out of the dead grasshoppers, past the flying ones and out of the park. I felt calm and safe again. Just then, my alarm clock went off.
I spent the day wondering what it meant... I know it confirmed that I feel safe with my husband. But he came to me - I didn't go to him, as will happen in real life when I return home. And I never reached the phone. Did it represent my job? Champs took it that it is his job to keep me safe and help me feel safe in situations where I feel trapped. I guess now you know why I call him Champs. He had the nickname before I met him, earned in soccer, but it means so much more than sports to me.
Verrryyy interesting. I must say, though, that I hope I never, ever encounter grasshoppers like that!
Here are some comments from this post:
Jean-Luc Picard said...
I know what you mean; my dreams tend to vanish after a minute.
Michele sent me here.
Sara said...
Thanks for visiting my blog...and I enjoyed this post about your dream...I agree with Champs...I think that is what it means.
Me - I can't ever remember my dreams - but, I do know if they are good ones or nightmares!!!
2:20 PM
Blogger utenzi said...
Michele sent me over to see you, BG. I read your update post below. There's been quite a lot going on in your life since I last visited.
I love finance and had no idea it took so long to train for the brokerage rep position. You have to be quite confident and brave to hold down a position like that at home, without the normal support situation of being in a cubicle farm. I'm impressed with your ambition. I hope you're able to return to home and family very soon!
THE BLUEST BUTTERFLY said...
Michele sent me. I like your blog....unique. I don't usually remember my dreams. The dreams that are premonitions freak me out...even if they are good. My dreams are usually extremely good or extremely bad.
kenju said...
You ought to think about this one often, BG, so you can puzzle it out. What do grasshoppers mean to you?
Monday, November 19, 2007
Gems from Minnesota's Past
I've been reading a book called "Bring Warm Clothes: Letters and Photos from Minnesota's Past". It's a collection of letters, newspaper articles and more. I've been finding the glimpse into our past both enlightening and humorous.
Here are just two gems:
Sometime in 2002, Jesse Ventura managed to offend any number of Irish people and St. Paul residents by appearing on Letterman and declaring that the haphazard streets of t. Paul are impossible to navigate because it was originally laid out by drunken Irishmen.
Apparently, this is not a new complaint. On September 30, 1851 (114 years before the day I was born) it was printed in The Minnesota Democrat Weekly, "Never was a city laid out so badly as St. Paul. The plat of the town with its numerous additions looks as if some accident had knocked all the streets into pi. Measures should be taken immediately to straighten and reform them as far as practicable, before it is too late."
And if you've driven in St. Paul at all lately, then you can see 156 years later, the esteemed observer's warning went unheeded.
Another interesting editorial was written in the Minneapolis Chronicle on January 27, 1867. I can only assume in reading it that the author of this piece was not overly impressed by some certain young lady (or ladies) recently arrived in the newly formed state: "In a new country like Minnesota, there is no use for idle, frivolous, lazy dandies, or dressy, fancy ladies, who think it is a disgrace to wash dishes, make their beds, do chamber work or knead bread. People come to a new country to better their condition. They leave all superfluities at home. They do not want drones. They fail to appreciate ladies who think more of senseless fashions than in assisting to lay up a few dimes to purchase frocks for the babies. Drawling words, affectation, fondness of dress, living beyond their means, won't do here. The country is too new."
Now, Champs likes to say that he never found the right gal in Illinois to marry; he didn't find the right gal until he went out-state. Perhaps this writer's assertion explains why he found such a wonderful wife in Minnesota. I am certainly not a "fancy lady" and do not find myself opposed to "assisting to lay up a few dimes to purchase frocks for the baby". Indeed, I would say that I have put more than a few dimes to some very cute frocks indeed!
I'm going to wrap this up for now, but I may yet find some more jewels from Minnesota's past to entertain you....
And a comment from this post:
kenju said...
Thanks for the visit, BG; I would be honored to have some of your recipes.
That article sounds like fun to read. Nothing can make us laugh like stuff from the past that sounds so serious!
Here are just two gems:
Sometime in 2002, Jesse Ventura managed to offend any number of Irish people and St. Paul residents by appearing on Letterman and declaring that the haphazard streets of t. Paul are impossible to navigate because it was originally laid out by drunken Irishmen.
Apparently, this is not a new complaint. On September 30, 1851 (114 years before the day I was born) it was printed in The Minnesota Democrat Weekly, "Never was a city laid out so badly as St. Paul. The plat of the town with its numerous additions looks as if some accident had knocked all the streets into pi. Measures should be taken immediately to straighten and reform them as far as practicable, before it is too late."
And if you've driven in St. Paul at all lately, then you can see 156 years later, the esteemed observer's warning went unheeded.
Another interesting editorial was written in the Minneapolis Chronicle on January 27, 1867. I can only assume in reading it that the author of this piece was not overly impressed by some certain young lady (or ladies) recently arrived in the newly formed state: "In a new country like Minnesota, there is no use for idle, frivolous, lazy dandies, or dressy, fancy ladies, who think it is a disgrace to wash dishes, make their beds, do chamber work or knead bread. People come to a new country to better their condition. They leave all superfluities at home. They do not want drones. They fail to appreciate ladies who think more of senseless fashions than in assisting to lay up a few dimes to purchase frocks for the babies. Drawling words, affectation, fondness of dress, living beyond their means, won't do here. The country is too new."
Now, Champs likes to say that he never found the right gal in Illinois to marry; he didn't find the right gal until he went out-state. Perhaps this writer's assertion explains why he found such a wonderful wife in Minnesota. I am certainly not a "fancy lady" and do not find myself opposed to "assisting to lay up a few dimes to purchase frocks for the baby". Indeed, I would say that I have put more than a few dimes to some very cute frocks indeed!
I'm going to wrap this up for now, but I may yet find some more jewels from Minnesota's past to entertain you....
And a comment from this post:
kenju said...
Thanks for the visit, BG; I would be honored to have some of your recipes.
That article sounds like fun to read. Nothing can make us laugh like stuff from the past that sounds so serious!
Sunday, September 3, 2006
Appearances can be deceiving
You've heard the cliches before; "look before you leap", "don't judge a book by it's cover" and the ever popular "things aren't always what they seem". As I have always maintained, cliches are coined for a reason - generally because they are TRUE.
I have had the truth of these sage words driven home to me a number of times since we moved. Well, three times, to be exact. I think you will enjoy these little vignettes (from Dictionary.com, " A short, usually descriptive literary sketch") of my education.
1. April Freshness Can be Overrated.
At the beginning of all the unpacking, I opened a box of bottled items, stashing everything away in their appropriate spots. One of those items was a bottle of liquid acetaminophen for adults. It is called Apap Elixer and is essentially a stronger version of kid's Tylenol. It is actually cheaper than Tylenol, works faster and is better for a gastric bypass patient such as myself. I've been taking it for so long now that I no longer bother to measure. I know that two swigs is exactly the amount I need for relief of whatever.
A couple of days into settling, I stepped off our front deck and onto a large, sharp wood shard . I lightly twisted my ankle and hurt my heel where I landed on the wood. My ankle was soon better, but the pain in my heel intensified. Finally, I decided that I needed some Apap. I went to the bathroom and knocked back a quick swig. Right away, I knew something was wrong. With my mouth full, I looked down into the bottle. Instead of cherry elixir, I saw milky green liquid. And then I remembered: When I was packing my cleaning supplies, I was down to only about two cups of Downy softener, Mountain Spring scent. I didn't want to pack the large jug or throw away the Downy, so I had poured it into an empty Apap Elixir bottle.
I spit out the Downy and spent the next 15 minutes brushing my teeth, rinsing out my mouth with Diet Coke and drinking anything to take the flavor away. Downy may smell wonderful on my clothes, but let me tell you that it tasted horrible in my mouth! April Fresh, my hiney!
Later, I found a new bottle of Apap that I had packed with the other bathroom supplies. I opened it and checked it carefully before putting it in the bathroom medicine cabinet. And that's when I realized that I should have found it odd that, in a box full of laundry and cleaning supplies, I found one random bottle of medicine. Too bad it didn't occur to me when I first unpacked it....
2. The Upside Down Cicada.
According to the internet, there are something like 17 varieties of cicadas. One is a brown variety that is loud and harmless - but huge. Another is a black and white variety - also loud, harmless and huge. According to my research, these are not locusts. The 17-year cicada is actually set to emerge next summer, so while we've had a few "early ones", next June should be very loud.
One morning last week, Champs and I were taking Sweet Girl to school when I saw a black and white cicada upside down in a lawn; like it was standing on its head. I assumed it was stuck and showed it to Champs so he could rescue it (sorry, I don't touch bugs). As he nudged it out of the lawn, it gave a loud raspy buzz and then fell back, dead. Sweet Girl felt sorry for the "upside-down cicada" (I had to explain to her that "upside-down" was a position, not a bug species).
The next day, as we walked Sweet Girl to school, we again saw a bug; this time it was a classic brown cicada laying on the sidewalk on it's back. We passed it by and took the girl to school. On the way home, I stopped to nudge it. Based on its position and our experience with the previous bug, I was sure this one was dead. It was huge and interesting, though, so I thought to turn it over and investigate it. I stooped low over the big winged thing and nudged it over with my toe. As it rolled over and its wings were freed and its legs hit the pavement, it let out a huge rasping buzz and took to the sky, flying up to a tree. I let out the most blood curdling scream and danced in place, crying out "Oooo, that one was ALIVE!". Champs, in direct contridiction to his marital vow to protect me, stood laughing until tears ran down his cheeks as I danced and shook on the sidewalk. From now on, I will not nudge upside down bugs, regardless of how dead they may appear to be!
3. Sweet Girl's Bad Dream.
One day last week as Sweet Girl was getting ready for school, I was brushing her hair and she gazed up at me in the bathroom mirror. "Mom", she said gravely, "I had a bad dream last night." I crooned sympathetically and asked her what she had dreamt about.
"Well", said she very seriously, "there was this monster crap and it was scaring everyone. Everyone was screaming to get away." I held my breath for a moment to suppress my giggles and then said, "well, yes, honey, I am sure that was very scary. However, you know we don't say that word. You should say a monster poop".
Sweet Girl wrinkled up her nose, turned to look right up at me and said, "no, Mom... A monster CRAB."
"Oh, well", I weakly replied. "Yes, I can see how that would have been much scarier".
Yes, my friends, things are not always as they seem... so keep your eyes and ears open, your shoes on and your medicine cabinet properly stocked.
This is one of my favorite posts and generated a LOT of comments:
Prego said...
Reminds me of when my sister (true story) mistook Krazy Glue for her eye drops. Haw. Haw.
Later. I have to go take a monster crap. Oh.. excuse me. monster poop.
here via michele today. nice to see you again.
jsdaughter said...
I'm laughing so hard I'm having a hard time typing this comment! Thanks for sharing. I too am in Illini Heaven.. Small world :) Here via Michele..
Azgreeneyes said...
I'm sitting here lmao! Thanks for the late night grins! Here via Michele's...
Carmi said...
You are a wise Mom indeed. That's sage advice...I'll never look at the Downy in the same way again.
Thanks for popping by my blog. I'l so glad you're settling in and things are going well.
Geekwif said...
Yes, you are indeed the master. I bow....
#1 - Eeewwww!
#2 - Eeeeeeewwwwwwwwww!!!!!
#3 - HA! There's a big monster poo chasing me! I've had some scary dreams in my life, but that's...well...that's just...well...I don't know what it is, but it made me laugh pretty darn hard!
Thumper said...
Oh man, my tummy was already a touch off before I read this...now, with the smell of Downy still in the air from my son's doing of his laundry, I'm really queasy... :)
kenju said...
I sure hope you had no long lasting effects from the Downy. I once read that you should NEVER pour anything that isn't edible in to a bottle that holds something edible. Good case in point!
Thanks for the visit, BG, it's been a long time.
vanx said...
Check, check, and double check.~,:^)
C said...
Monster poop would be much scarier.
MissMeliss said...
Don't feel bad about swigging Downey....I once accidentally brushed my teeth with Ben Gay.
Tracie said...
I will never look at Downy the same way again! I bet that really was gross.
Watch out-those "upside down" bugs are really dangerous.
Monster poop! Too funny!
Tia said...
Hi BG, and thanks for stopping by my blog with "name advice" earlier! This post was hilarious!!! I can't decide if drinking Downy or being chased by monster poop would be the worst?.....
HolyMama! said...
this was a delightful post, although swigging downy sounds so bad. so bad i almost felt guilty at giggling over it - almost. :D
Suzy said...
Thanks for the Downy warning. I tend to do things like what you did...lol. And then end up swallowing before I'm even aware that I did it. THATS the scary part. Oh, and monster CRAB....too cute!
Hope all is going well with the move!
Trish said...
This was hysterical!! wow girl do you have storiesto tell. You should seriously think of becoming a writer! way tooo funny!
I have had the truth of these sage words driven home to me a number of times since we moved. Well, three times, to be exact. I think you will enjoy these little vignettes (from Dictionary.com, " A short, usually descriptive literary sketch") of my education.
1. April Freshness Can be Overrated.
At the beginning of all the unpacking, I opened a box of bottled items, stashing everything away in their appropriate spots. One of those items was a bottle of liquid acetaminophen for adults. It is called Apap Elixer and is essentially a stronger version of kid's Tylenol. It is actually cheaper than Tylenol, works faster and is better for a gastric bypass patient such as myself. I've been taking it for so long now that I no longer bother to measure. I know that two swigs is exactly the amount I need for relief of whatever.
A couple of days into settling, I stepped off our front deck and onto a large, sharp wood shard . I lightly twisted my ankle and hurt my heel where I landed on the wood. My ankle was soon better, but the pain in my heel intensified. Finally, I decided that I needed some Apap. I went to the bathroom and knocked back a quick swig. Right away, I knew something was wrong. With my mouth full, I looked down into the bottle. Instead of cherry elixir, I saw milky green liquid. And then I remembered: When I was packing my cleaning supplies, I was down to only about two cups of Downy softener, Mountain Spring scent. I didn't want to pack the large jug or throw away the Downy, so I had poured it into an empty Apap Elixir bottle.
I spit out the Downy and spent the next 15 minutes brushing my teeth, rinsing out my mouth with Diet Coke and drinking anything to take the flavor away. Downy may smell wonderful on my clothes, but let me tell you that it tasted horrible in my mouth! April Fresh, my hiney!
Later, I found a new bottle of Apap that I had packed with the other bathroom supplies. I opened it and checked it carefully before putting it in the bathroom medicine cabinet. And that's when I realized that I should have found it odd that, in a box full of laundry and cleaning supplies, I found one random bottle of medicine. Too bad it didn't occur to me when I first unpacked it....
2. The Upside Down Cicada.
According to the internet, there are something like 17 varieties of cicadas. One is a brown variety that is loud and harmless - but huge. Another is a black and white variety - also loud, harmless and huge. According to my research, these are not locusts. The 17-year cicada is actually set to emerge next summer, so while we've had a few "early ones", next June should be very loud.
One morning last week, Champs and I were taking Sweet Girl to school when I saw a black and white cicada upside down in a lawn; like it was standing on its head. I assumed it was stuck and showed it to Champs so he could rescue it (sorry, I don't touch bugs). As he nudged it out of the lawn, it gave a loud raspy buzz and then fell back, dead. Sweet Girl felt sorry for the "upside-down cicada" (I had to explain to her that "upside-down" was a position, not a bug species).
The next day, as we walked Sweet Girl to school, we again saw a bug; this time it was a classic brown cicada laying on the sidewalk on it's back. We passed it by and took the girl to school. On the way home, I stopped to nudge it. Based on its position and our experience with the previous bug, I was sure this one was dead. It was huge and interesting, though, so I thought to turn it over and investigate it. I stooped low over the big winged thing and nudged it over with my toe. As it rolled over and its wings were freed and its legs hit the pavement, it let out a huge rasping buzz and took to the sky, flying up to a tree. I let out the most blood curdling scream and danced in place, crying out "Oooo, that one was ALIVE!". Champs, in direct contridiction to his marital vow to protect me, stood laughing until tears ran down his cheeks as I danced and shook on the sidewalk. From now on, I will not nudge upside down bugs, regardless of how dead they may appear to be!
3. Sweet Girl's Bad Dream.
One day last week as Sweet Girl was getting ready for school, I was brushing her hair and she gazed up at me in the bathroom mirror. "Mom", she said gravely, "I had a bad dream last night." I crooned sympathetically and asked her what she had dreamt about.
"Well", said she very seriously, "there was this monster crap and it was scaring everyone. Everyone was screaming to get away." I held my breath for a moment to suppress my giggles and then said, "well, yes, honey, I am sure that was very scary. However, you know we don't say that word. You should say a monster poop".
Sweet Girl wrinkled up her nose, turned to look right up at me and said, "no, Mom... A monster CRAB."
"Oh, well", I weakly replied. "Yes, I can see how that would have been much scarier".
Yes, my friends, things are not always as they seem... so keep your eyes and ears open, your shoes on and your medicine cabinet properly stocked.
This is one of my favorite posts and generated a LOT of comments:
Prego said...
Reminds me of when my sister (true story) mistook Krazy Glue for her eye drops. Haw. Haw.
Later. I have to go take a monster crap. Oh.. excuse me. monster poop.
here via michele today. nice to see you again.
jsdaughter said...
I'm laughing so hard I'm having a hard time typing this comment! Thanks for sharing. I too am in Illini Heaven.. Small world :) Here via Michele..
Azgreeneyes said...
I'm sitting here lmao! Thanks for the late night grins! Here via Michele's...
Carmi said...
You are a wise Mom indeed. That's sage advice...I'll never look at the Downy in the same way again.
Thanks for popping by my blog. I'l so glad you're settling in and things are going well.
Geekwif said...
Yes, you are indeed the master. I bow....
#1 - Eeewwww!
#2 - Eeeeeeewwwwwwwwww!!!!!
#3 - HA! There's a big monster poo chasing me! I've had some scary dreams in my life, but that's...well...that's just...well...I don't know what it is, but it made me laugh pretty darn hard!
Thumper said...
Oh man, my tummy was already a touch off before I read this...now, with the smell of Downy still in the air from my son's doing of his laundry, I'm really queasy... :)
kenju said...
I sure hope you had no long lasting effects from the Downy. I once read that you should NEVER pour anything that isn't edible in to a bottle that holds something edible. Good case in point!
Thanks for the visit, BG, it's been a long time.
vanx said...
Check, check, and double check.~,:^)
C said...
Monster poop would be much scarier.
MissMeliss said...
Don't feel bad about swigging Downey....I once accidentally brushed my teeth with Ben Gay.
Tracie said...
I will never look at Downy the same way again! I bet that really was gross.
Watch out-those "upside down" bugs are really dangerous.
Monster poop! Too funny!
Tia said...
Hi BG, and thanks for stopping by my blog with "name advice" earlier! This post was hilarious!!! I can't decide if drinking Downy or being chased by monster poop would be the worst?.....
HolyMama! said...
this was a delightful post, although swigging downy sounds so bad. so bad i almost felt guilty at giggling over it - almost. :D
Suzy said...
Thanks for the Downy warning. I tend to do things like what you did...lol. And then end up swallowing before I'm even aware that I did it. THATS the scary part. Oh, and monster CRAB....too cute!
Hope all is going well with the move!
Trish said...
This was hysterical!! wow girl do you have storiesto tell. You should seriously think of becoming a writer! way tooo funny!
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
The Frito Kid
I'm in a story mood tonight. I'm not sure why, but lucky you; you get to hear another story from my youth. When I am done, I have to go work on my obesity sensitivity deck. For now though, I bring you the story of The Frito Kid.
When I was in 9th grade, I was a pretty miserable kid. I was overweight, out of fashion, too articulate for my classmates tastes and very shy. The shyness was not in my nature; it was defense against all the people who teased me and made my life hell. My friends knew me as a vivacious, original thinker but to everyone else, I was a mouse; a fly on the wall. Only in class did my communicator nature come out and give me away; my need to answer the teacher's questions and excel in class further ostracized me as "a brain" - but one with no personality.
With this gregarious nature hidden away inside of a self-imposed shell of protection, I became an avid people watcher. I would imagine myself in many conversations with them; being a part of the fun instead of watching, all the while hidden behind a book.
One day on the bus going home, I was doing my normal quiet observation of the other kids while I pretended to read my book. There was another kid on the bus who I was watching, amazed at him. He was at least 85 pounds heavier than I was and was sitting across from me eating Fritos. Because I was sensitive to anyone teasing me about my weight, I couldn't imagine eating fattening foods in front of anyone; to do so would give them ammunition against me. Yet here was Warren, eating a big bag of Fritos in full sight of everyone. I made my first mistake; I forgot to conceal myself behind my book.
He caught me looking at him and my face must have conveyed my thoughts, because he snarled, "what are you looking at, BG?" Then I made my second mistake. I said, "I'm not looking at anything at all, Warren". He HATED to be called Warren. He was in the midst of a name change to Jay, but having gone to school together since elementary, Warren was the first name to come to mind. I didn't mean any malice by my response; perhaps I just wanted to convey my amusement at his bravado, eating Fritos out there on the killing fields.
I made my third misktake; I resumed reading my book, ignoring him. Next thing I knew, I felt my face being pelted with warm, wet flecks. I looked up just in time to be splattered with a second mouthful of chewed up Fritos. Warren had spit them all over me. I was in shock. Before I could help it, the tears began to quietly seep out, but I refused to show any reaction other than what I couldn't control. I simply sat back, brushed my face off and ignored him the rest of the ride home (Oh, and those who really know me already know how royally pissed off I was at this point; I only get deadly silent when I am deadly angry).
When I stepped off the bus, I lost my composure. By the time I walked in the door, I was openly sobbing and near vomiting. My mom and brothers (they would have been about 22 and 23 at the time) were in the kitchen and immediately demanded to know what was wrong. It took me a few minutes to get the story out. The whole time my brothers just sat listening. When I was done, they asked only one question: Where does he live? I told them, they said, "let's go" and walked out. I went to take a shower and wash the entire experience off of me.
It wasn't until after dinner that I heard the rest of the story. Paddy and Guitar Man walked over to Warren's house and knocked on the door. They saw a curtain flutter but no one answered. They pounded again and waited. Finally, a man opened the door and asked what they wanted. Guitar Man did all the talking and Paddy just stood next to him looking very mad and very mean (he's good at that). "Yeah", he said, "We want to talk to the Frito Kid". His dad asked what this was about and after they told my story, he called Warren out. Again they related the events of the bus ride and Warren said, "I didn't do nuthin." My brother asked, "then why is my sister covered in Fritos and crying?"
Warren's father demanded the truth and Warren mumbled, "I didn't mean anything by it." At about that point, Warren's dad apologized to my brothers and told them to tell me that I would never be bothered by him again. The door shut and the shouting began. My brothers walked away.
I don't know what happened to Warren. I understand abusive families, so I can imagine. I hope it wasn't too bad. I hope it was only yelling. All I know is, I never saw Warren eating Fritos again and he never so much as said another word to me.
Though to my family he is and will ever be... The Frito Kid.
Here are a few comments from this post:
Suzy said...
Oh BG, my heart broke as I read your story. I'm the eldest of three, and would have done exactly as your brothers did. I took on any and all the over stepped their boundaries with my sister and brother...many, many times. Ughh...that is so like me with my family and friends, and sometimes to my detriment.(sp?)
Was it Oprah that I heard say something about how we all have 5 or 10 life defining moments that we will never forget? I wonder if that was one of yours?
Geekwif said...
I think I remember you telling this story before, but the only part I really remembered was your brothers talking to the kids dad. Kind of makes me wish I'd had a sibling or two to take care of the bullies in my life. Oh well. It seems that I survived anyway. I'm glad they were there to stand up for you.
When I was in 9th grade, I was a pretty miserable kid. I was overweight, out of fashion, too articulate for my classmates tastes and very shy. The shyness was not in my nature; it was defense against all the people who teased me and made my life hell. My friends knew me as a vivacious, original thinker but to everyone else, I was a mouse; a fly on the wall. Only in class did my communicator nature come out and give me away; my need to answer the teacher's questions and excel in class further ostracized me as "a brain" - but one with no personality.
With this gregarious nature hidden away inside of a self-imposed shell of protection, I became an avid people watcher. I would imagine myself in many conversations with them; being a part of the fun instead of watching, all the while hidden behind a book.
One day on the bus going home, I was doing my normal quiet observation of the other kids while I pretended to read my book. There was another kid on the bus who I was watching, amazed at him. He was at least 85 pounds heavier than I was and was sitting across from me eating Fritos. Because I was sensitive to anyone teasing me about my weight, I couldn't imagine eating fattening foods in front of anyone; to do so would give them ammunition against me. Yet here was Warren, eating a big bag of Fritos in full sight of everyone. I made my first mistake; I forgot to conceal myself behind my book.
He caught me looking at him and my face must have conveyed my thoughts, because he snarled, "what are you looking at, BG?" Then I made my second mistake. I said, "I'm not looking at anything at all, Warren". He HATED to be called Warren. He was in the midst of a name change to Jay, but having gone to school together since elementary, Warren was the first name to come to mind. I didn't mean any malice by my response; perhaps I just wanted to convey my amusement at his bravado, eating Fritos out there on the killing fields.
I made my third misktake; I resumed reading my book, ignoring him. Next thing I knew, I felt my face being pelted with warm, wet flecks. I looked up just in time to be splattered with a second mouthful of chewed up Fritos. Warren had spit them all over me. I was in shock. Before I could help it, the tears began to quietly seep out, but I refused to show any reaction other than what I couldn't control. I simply sat back, brushed my face off and ignored him the rest of the ride home (Oh, and those who really know me already know how royally pissed off I was at this point; I only get deadly silent when I am deadly angry).
When I stepped off the bus, I lost my composure. By the time I walked in the door, I was openly sobbing and near vomiting. My mom and brothers (they would have been about 22 and 23 at the time) were in the kitchen and immediately demanded to know what was wrong. It took me a few minutes to get the story out. The whole time my brothers just sat listening. When I was done, they asked only one question: Where does he live? I told them, they said, "let's go" and walked out. I went to take a shower and wash the entire experience off of me.
It wasn't until after dinner that I heard the rest of the story. Paddy and Guitar Man walked over to Warren's house and knocked on the door. They saw a curtain flutter but no one answered. They pounded again and waited. Finally, a man opened the door and asked what they wanted. Guitar Man did all the talking and Paddy just stood next to him looking very mad and very mean (he's good at that). "Yeah", he said, "We want to talk to the Frito Kid". His dad asked what this was about and after they told my story, he called Warren out. Again they related the events of the bus ride and Warren said, "I didn't do nuthin." My brother asked, "then why is my sister covered in Fritos and crying?"
Warren's father demanded the truth and Warren mumbled, "I didn't mean anything by it." At about that point, Warren's dad apologized to my brothers and told them to tell me that I would never be bothered by him again. The door shut and the shouting began. My brothers walked away.
I don't know what happened to Warren. I understand abusive families, so I can imagine. I hope it wasn't too bad. I hope it was only yelling. All I know is, I never saw Warren eating Fritos again and he never so much as said another word to me.
Though to my family he is and will ever be... The Frito Kid.
Here are a few comments from this post:
Suzy said...
Oh BG, my heart broke as I read your story. I'm the eldest of three, and would have done exactly as your brothers did. I took on any and all the over stepped their boundaries with my sister and brother...many, many times. Ughh...that is so like me with my family and friends, and sometimes to my detriment.(sp?)
Was it Oprah that I heard say something about how we all have 5 or 10 life defining moments that we will never forget? I wonder if that was one of yours?
Geekwif said...
I think I remember you telling this story before, but the only part I really remembered was your brothers talking to the kids dad. Kind of makes me wish I'd had a sibling or two to take care of the bullies in my life. Oh well. It seems that I survived anyway. I'm glad they were there to stand up for you.
A paintbrush full of orange
I thought I would tell you a quick story, since I enjoy the trips down memory lane and you all seem to enjoy them as much as I do.
This one is one of mine.
Sweet Girl, as you know, is in kindergarten. She just got her school pictures back the other day and they are so cute! I was amazed, however, at how mature she looks! Her picture looks like I did in my second grade picture. In my kindergarten picture, I look so much younger than she does in hers (which is amazing since, comparatively, I was 6 months older than she was at that time). The wide-eyed wonder with which I am looking out at the world got me to thinking about what I remembered from kindergarten.
Although I have many memories (the day I vomited on my teacher's shoes is a highlight), perhaps the one that holds the most significance is the day I created ORANGE. It was painting time. I was standing before the easel and I had painted a tall building. A building on fire. I needed just the right color for the flames shooting out of the windows. After a certain amount of consideration, I mixed up just the right shade of orange for the flames and swept them in with broad, sweeping strokes of my brush.
Now, you may not realize this, but up until the day I got the brilliant idea to combine red and yellow, orange existed only in natural forms (such as oranges, leaves and monarch butterflies). No other human before me had ever created orange, so I knew right then and there that I was, in fact, an artistic genius.
Now, I don't know why I was painting a burning highrise; I wasn't a violent or scarred child. I probably saw something on TV the day before. Too, I have since figured out that, while I am very creative, I am no artistic genius (for that, you will need to visit Sharon). What makes this memory significant to me is what I learned about myself that day and which I have retained some 35 years later. I am a solution maker. I look at the problem objectively ("hmmm... How do I make this building look like it is on fire?") and find a solution ("I know! Orange will make it look right") and apply it with broad, sweeping strokes. This personality trait of mine often gets me in trouble when people say (with that wrinkled-nose mewl of distaste) "she has such a strong personality". But it also gets me ahead when they call me in and say "I've got a problem. Can you help me?"
And I grab my paintbrush, load it up with orange and start painting.
You know the funniest thing about all this? Visually, I hate orange. It's only in my emotional memory that the color appeals to me.
And here are some comments from this post:
princssis said...
You better get to love orange - remember, we bleed orange here in Another State!
As for kindergarten, you already know I don't remember school until the fourth grade. I so wish sometimes I had those memories, but then I believe there is a reason for that part of my life to be blocked out. It was an extremely stressful time as my parents divorced. It funny, though, cuz I remember home stuff and going to and from school during that time period, but I don't remember school or my teachers and classmates. ????????????
Geekwif said...
I never thought I would see a post of yours with the word "orange" in the title, unless it was "Death to Orange" or something like that. You have yourself pegged. You are definitely a problem solver.
Russ said...
Blond AND strong personality?? Thank God in heaven that there are some of you left. You have two of my top ten most requested female traits.
Lucky girl...
Oh yeah, lucky husband!
This one is one of mine.
Sweet Girl, as you know, is in kindergarten. She just got her school pictures back the other day and they are so cute! I was amazed, however, at how mature she looks! Her picture looks like I did in my second grade picture. In my kindergarten picture, I look so much younger than she does in hers (which is amazing since, comparatively, I was 6 months older than she was at that time). The wide-eyed wonder with which I am looking out at the world got me to thinking about what I remembered from kindergarten.
Although I have many memories (the day I vomited on my teacher's shoes is a highlight), perhaps the one that holds the most significance is the day I created ORANGE. It was painting time. I was standing before the easel and I had painted a tall building. A building on fire. I needed just the right color for the flames shooting out of the windows. After a certain amount of consideration, I mixed up just the right shade of orange for the flames and swept them in with broad, sweeping strokes of my brush.
Now, you may not realize this, but up until the day I got the brilliant idea to combine red and yellow, orange existed only in natural forms (such as oranges, leaves and monarch butterflies). No other human before me had ever created orange, so I knew right then and there that I was, in fact, an artistic genius.
Now, I don't know why I was painting a burning highrise; I wasn't a violent or scarred child. I probably saw something on TV the day before. Too, I have since figured out that, while I am very creative, I am no artistic genius (for that, you will need to visit Sharon). What makes this memory significant to me is what I learned about myself that day and which I have retained some 35 years later. I am a solution maker. I look at the problem objectively ("hmmm... How do I make this building look like it is on fire?") and find a solution ("I know! Orange will make it look right") and apply it with broad, sweeping strokes. This personality trait of mine often gets me in trouble when people say (with that wrinkled-nose mewl of distaste) "she has such a strong personality". But it also gets me ahead when they call me in and say "I've got a problem. Can you help me?"
And I grab my paintbrush, load it up with orange and start painting.
You know the funniest thing about all this? Visually, I hate orange. It's only in my emotional memory that the color appeals to me.
And here are some comments from this post:
princssis said...
You better get to love orange - remember, we bleed orange here in Another State!
As for kindergarten, you already know I don't remember school until the fourth grade. I so wish sometimes I had those memories, but then I believe there is a reason for that part of my life to be blocked out. It was an extremely stressful time as my parents divorced. It funny, though, cuz I remember home stuff and going to and from school during that time period, but I don't remember school or my teachers and classmates. ????????????
Geekwif said...
I never thought I would see a post of yours with the word "orange" in the title, unless it was "Death to Orange" or something like that. You have yourself pegged. You are definitely a problem solver.
Russ said...
Blond AND strong personality?? Thank God in heaven that there are some of you left. You have two of my top ten most requested female traits.
Lucky girl...
Oh yeah, lucky husband!
Thursday, September 22, 2005
Uncle Jim Takes a Walk
It's been awhile, so I figured it was time to tell another story from my family history. This one took place about 50 years ago and features my Uncle Jim and Aunt Irene. Believe me, this same story wouldn't play out the same these days.
One day my cousin Penny was outside playing in the park across the street. She was about 7 years old and back then it was generally safe enough to let your kids go down the street to play, even in the city. Now we don't even let Sweet Girl play in the backyard unsupervised. Anyway, Aunt Irene was in the kitchen getting dinner ready to put on the table and Uncle Jim, a barber, had just returned from work when Penny ran into the kitchen, crying.
"A man showed me his pee-pee and asked me to play", she said, trembling. Her shocked parents asked her what happened next. Penny said, "I ran away!" Uncle Jim took her in his arms and calmed her down, then asked Penny to take them to the park and point out the man she had seen. The three of them went off and walked about 3 blocks before Penny finally pointed out a man. "That's him, Daddy!", she said. Uncle Jim knelt down and hugged her, telling her she was a good girl. Then he told Irene to take Penny home and call the police. "Tell them to come to this street. Tell them someone was hurt." Then he walked off alone.
When the police arrived, they found Uncle Jim standing over a very bloody and beat up pervert. Uncle Jim greeted them and explained that this man had exposed himself to his 7-year old daughter, so he followed him until they could get there. They thanked him for apprehending the culprit and, noting his cuts and bruises asked what had happened.
Uncle Jim replied, "I dunno. I think he tripped. 4 times." The police thanked him and took the man away.
Now that wouldn't happen today, but there isn't a father in the world who wouldn't play it out exactly the same if it was his little girl having her innocence shattered at the local park. Having said that, I pity the fool who ever tries something like that with Sweet Girl! I also pity me, because I'll have to do the single parent thing while Champs cools his heels in jail. Because if someone hurt Sweet Girl (or me for that matter), I know Champs wouldn't stop until there was just an oily spot on the ground! I hope the cops would understand when they asked "what happened?" and Champs replied, "he fell. 39 times."
Here's some comments from this post:
Heather said...
Brad wouldn't have to hurt anyone. I would kill them and hide the body all by myself. Don't mess with my babies!
kenju said...
I would do the same thing your uncle did - if I had the strength. I was a victim of exposure 3 times in my life, and it is very scary, when you don't know how far the pervert will go.
MissMeliss said...
I'm here from Michele's tonight. Great story!
I've had a man expose himself to me, but I was 21 and in an edgy period, so I just told him I wasn't interested in little boys.
One day my cousin Penny was outside playing in the park across the street. She was about 7 years old and back then it was generally safe enough to let your kids go down the street to play, even in the city. Now we don't even let Sweet Girl play in the backyard unsupervised. Anyway, Aunt Irene was in the kitchen getting dinner ready to put on the table and Uncle Jim, a barber, had just returned from work when Penny ran into the kitchen, crying.
"A man showed me his pee-pee and asked me to play", she said, trembling. Her shocked parents asked her what happened next. Penny said, "I ran away!" Uncle Jim took her in his arms and calmed her down, then asked Penny to take them to the park and point out the man she had seen. The three of them went off and walked about 3 blocks before Penny finally pointed out a man. "That's him, Daddy!", she said. Uncle Jim knelt down and hugged her, telling her she was a good girl. Then he told Irene to take Penny home and call the police. "Tell them to come to this street. Tell them someone was hurt." Then he walked off alone.
When the police arrived, they found Uncle Jim standing over a very bloody and beat up pervert. Uncle Jim greeted them and explained that this man had exposed himself to his 7-year old daughter, so he followed him until they could get there. They thanked him for apprehending the culprit and, noting his cuts and bruises asked what had happened.
Uncle Jim replied, "I dunno. I think he tripped. 4 times." The police thanked him and took the man away.
Now that wouldn't happen today, but there isn't a father in the world who wouldn't play it out exactly the same if it was his little girl having her innocence shattered at the local park. Having said that, I pity the fool who ever tries something like that with Sweet Girl! I also pity me, because I'll have to do the single parent thing while Champs cools his heels in jail. Because if someone hurt Sweet Girl (or me for that matter), I know Champs wouldn't stop until there was just an oily spot on the ground! I hope the cops would understand when they asked "what happened?" and Champs replied, "he fell. 39 times."
Here's some comments from this post:
Heather said...
Brad wouldn't have to hurt anyone. I would kill them and hide the body all by myself. Don't mess with my babies!
kenju said...
I would do the same thing your uncle did - if I had the strength. I was a victim of exposure 3 times in my life, and it is very scary, when you don't know how far the pervert will go.
MissMeliss said...
I'm here from Michele's tonight. Great story!
I've had a man expose himself to me, but I was 21 and in an edgy period, so I just told him I wasn't interested in little boys.
Saturday, August 27, 2005
Operation Urispaz
When Sweet Girl was born, I was in labor for 18 1/2 hours, then I pushed for 4 1/2 hours and finally, I had an emergency C-section (it's a long story and I'm not going there now). The doctors at our hospital run a 24 hour shift, and Sweet Girl was the last of 14 babies that my doctor delivered in that day - and 4 of them were C-sections. I'm sure you can imagine that the doctor was getting pretty tired.
She must have been. When she visited me in recovery before going home, she explained that she had "nicked" my bladder while opening up my uterus and that I had a 1-inch cut to heal. She further explained that I would have to have a catheter in place for the next 10 days while my bladder healed. I heard this, but I was still stuck on "nick". 'Scuz me?!?! One inch does not equal a "nick"! That is a SLICE!
Well, Sweet Girl was in intensive care for 8 days and I roomed in at the hospital, carrying my catheter around with me. During that time, my bladder started to really hurt and get infected, so they put me on antibiotics and an anti-spasm medication. It was called (yes, this really was the name) "Urispaz". Champs and I got the biggest kick out of that. "You're a spaz!" "No, Urispaz!". "No, Uri... " You get my point. We were real mature back then!
In any case, the medication worked and they let me take the catheter out at 7 days instead of 10. I know you're saying, " you took it out?!?" Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I did. I was discharged at 5 days and the last 3 days I was a "guest" of the hospital, but I didn't get any food or nursing care. Basically, I was invisible to all but the NICU staff. That was OK since I spent most of my time in the NICU with Sweet Girl anyway. Well, on day 7, exactly 1 week and 5 minutes after Sweet Girl was born, I took out that catheter.
I'm sure you can imagine that I NEVER wanted to go through that again! When I saw my OB/GYN for my 6-week checkup, she explained that in 9 years of surgery, I was the first patient she had ever cut and she apologized profusely. She went on to explain that, due to the circumstances of Sweet Girl's birth, I could readily schedule my next C-section and avoid all the labor issues. I accepted her apology and said "now, you understand, this gives me complete and total teasing rights with you for the rest of the time you're my doctor, don't you?" She sighed and accepted that I certainly had earned that right.
Once I told Champs that I now had teasing rights, he went right to work on the plan with a mischievous glint in his eyes. What would we do? How to best capitalize on my experience? When a slow grin spread across his face, I knew he had hatched the master plan to make sure I didn't suffer further organ abuse and to fully exercise my painfully won right to tease mercilessly.
The next time I got pregnant, I would schedule my C-section, bright and early at the beginning of her 24 hour shift. We would come in with a wrapped "birthday gift" for the doctor. When she opened it, there would be a brand new "Operation" game, complete with batteries. He considered asking her to play the game right then, but we figured that probably wouldn't happen. In any case, that would be just the opening gambit; the real joke would come when we got into the operating room.
See, after I showered that morning, Champs planned to take a washable marker and draw a big uterus on my tummy with a baby holding a sign that says "cut here". Then, off to the side, down low, he would draw a bladder. The bladder would have a sign that said "No knicking, no slicing; no problem".
As it turns out, we never did have that second baby and now we won't. One reason I regret this is because now we will never have the chance to perform Operation Urispaz!
She must have been. When she visited me in recovery before going home, she explained that she had "nicked" my bladder while opening up my uterus and that I had a 1-inch cut to heal. She further explained that I would have to have a catheter in place for the next 10 days while my bladder healed. I heard this, but I was still stuck on "nick". 'Scuz me?!?! One inch does not equal a "nick"! That is a SLICE!
Well, Sweet Girl was in intensive care for 8 days and I roomed in at the hospital, carrying my catheter around with me. During that time, my bladder started to really hurt and get infected, so they put me on antibiotics and an anti-spasm medication. It was called (yes, this really was the name) "Urispaz". Champs and I got the biggest kick out of that. "You're a spaz!" "No, Urispaz!". "No, Uri... " You get my point. We were real mature back then!
In any case, the medication worked and they let me take the catheter out at 7 days instead of 10. I know you're saying, " you took it out?!?" Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I did. I was discharged at 5 days and the last 3 days I was a "guest" of the hospital, but I didn't get any food or nursing care. Basically, I was invisible to all but the NICU staff. That was OK since I spent most of my time in the NICU with Sweet Girl anyway. Well, on day 7, exactly 1 week and 5 minutes after Sweet Girl was born, I took out that catheter.
I'm sure you can imagine that I NEVER wanted to go through that again! When I saw my OB/GYN for my 6-week checkup, she explained that in 9 years of surgery, I was the first patient she had ever cut and she apologized profusely. She went on to explain that, due to the circumstances of Sweet Girl's birth, I could readily schedule my next C-section and avoid all the labor issues. I accepted her apology and said "now, you understand, this gives me complete and total teasing rights with you for the rest of the time you're my doctor, don't you?" She sighed and accepted that I certainly had earned that right.
Once I told Champs that I now had teasing rights, he went right to work on the plan with a mischievous glint in his eyes. What would we do? How to best capitalize on my experience? When a slow grin spread across his face, I knew he had hatched the master plan to make sure I didn't suffer further organ abuse and to fully exercise my painfully won right to tease mercilessly.
The next time I got pregnant, I would schedule my C-section, bright and early at the beginning of her 24 hour shift. We would come in with a wrapped "birthday gift" for the doctor. When she opened it, there would be a brand new "Operation" game, complete with batteries. He considered asking her to play the game right then, but we figured that probably wouldn't happen. In any case, that would be just the opening gambit; the real joke would come when we got into the operating room.
See, after I showered that morning, Champs planned to take a washable marker and draw a big uterus on my tummy with a baby holding a sign that says "cut here". Then, off to the side, down low, he would draw a bladder. The bladder would have a sign that said "No knicking, no slicing; no problem".
As it turns out, we never did have that second baby and now we won't. One reason I regret this is because now we will never have the chance to perform Operation Urispaz!
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
The Bully and the Locker
Time for another story - this time one of mine. I guess I thought of it since school is starting soon. This happened to me in eighth grade. Funny thing is, I never even told the story to my family until I was about 26 years old. I can still remember my dad's smile as I told them what I'm about to tell you. He was proud of me for standing up for myself. I still have some mixed emotions about it myself. I guess I'll let you decide if I handled it OK.
My friends know that I am primarily a verbal person; I don't tend to be physical or violent. When I was in junior high, I was extremely miserable. I was fat, unpopular, shy (with everyone but my friends) and we didn't have the money for the "right" clothes. This left me pretty much ripe for the teasing and I endured a ton of it. I really don't think about junior high much because those three years were just that miserable.
There were three boys who made it their mission to say the most cruel, hurtful things they could think of every day after third period. They stood by their lockers and waited for me to pass by and made pig noises, rude sounds, swear words - whatever they could think of - as I passed by. I never acknowledged them. One time I walked past and I couldn't keep myself from letting a tear fall, and they saw it. This only caused them to crow at their success and redouble their efforts.
Of the three, there was a ring leader. To this day I can't remember their names or faces; only that they were boys and they were there. The ring leader said the most while the two others played along. Finally one day, I had enough.
As I walked by, they began their usual litany. Something inside me snapped. I don't know why this day was the breaking point or why I chose to do what I did. The boys were in the middle of the hall about three feet from the locker bank lining the wall. Out of the blue, I grabbed the ring leader by the collar with my right hand and I swung him around with every ounce of strength I had. As he hit the locker, I pushed him up and there he was, slammed against the locker on his tip-toes, with my fist in his adam's apple.
At first, his friends started hooting, but I snapped a look at them and they shut up. I turned to the ring leader and I said, very calmly, "I've had enough of you. Don't you ever, ever talk to me or say anything to me again. Do. You. Understand?"
Somehow, he did. He nodded. I pushed harder against his neck, then dropped him and walked away. The amazing thing is, he and his friends actually listened to me. They never talked to me again. I would see them in the hall and they would look away.
I've never understood the mind of a bully, so I really don't know why this worked. On one hand, I'm proud of standing up for myself, but I wish I could have handled it without stooping to their level.
All I know is, I still remember every moment of that confrontation, and I still remember that my dad, who rarely showed approval, was really proud of me when he heard the story.
Go figure.
Here are some comments from this story:
E said...
This is like a scene right out of a movie and I love it! I always cheer for the underdog in scenes like that and I would've been in that hallway rooting you on! I hope that those boys learned a lesson from that and didn't treat anyone that way after their run in with you. You *should* be proud of yourself!
BTW...ditto back atcha about your comment on my site. I get the feeling we could be good friends and do some serious commiserating in real life!
Heather said...
You didn't sink to their level. It takes no courage to taunt a poor girl who is already feeling different. It took courage for you to confront them, though. I didn't get teased much in school but I often stood up to those who teased the underdogs. I am just built that way.
The only girl I ever teased was killed in a car accident our senior year. Even though she and I had long since become friends, I will always regret that I was ever cruel to her.
buffi said...
You are SO my hero!!
Geekwif said...
I never had the guts to stand up to the bullies in school. Good for you BG.
yellojkt said...
We teach our kids to not resort to violence, but bullies only respond to strength. I was bullied in 8th grade by the kids on the bus and even beat up once.
I finally picked the weakest kid of the gang and took him on one-on-one one day. His friends just watched him get beat up until he bit me. My mom took me to the emergency room for tetanus shots. None of the parents of the kids in the gang would believe their "baby" could do such a thing.
The whole gang steered clear of me after that. I don't know if that would work in today's zero-tolerance atmosphere.
princssis said...
Way to go, BG! I agree with Heather in that you did not stoop to their level. It's amazing how bullies can dish it out but can't take it! From what I understand, they have to make others feel bad in order to compensate for the poor self esteem they have.
I'm glad for you things worked out the way they did. I also agree with yellojkt that this probably would not fly in today's schools (unfortunately).
CoachHardin said...
As a teacher, I see that happening at times, and you can see where it comes from when the parents are the exact same way. I was also a bullied person growing up and can relate, but never retaliated. That just wasn't my style. Instead, I hung back and waited until college to start over in a new place. However, I'm a big advocate of the underdog all the time. I'm one trying to keep bullying from happening again. ;)
My friends know that I am primarily a verbal person; I don't tend to be physical or violent. When I was in junior high, I was extremely miserable. I was fat, unpopular, shy (with everyone but my friends) and we didn't have the money for the "right" clothes. This left me pretty much ripe for the teasing and I endured a ton of it. I really don't think about junior high much because those three years were just that miserable.
There were three boys who made it their mission to say the most cruel, hurtful things they could think of every day after third period. They stood by their lockers and waited for me to pass by and made pig noises, rude sounds, swear words - whatever they could think of - as I passed by. I never acknowledged them. One time I walked past and I couldn't keep myself from letting a tear fall, and they saw it. This only caused them to crow at their success and redouble their efforts.
Of the three, there was a ring leader. To this day I can't remember their names or faces; only that they were boys and they were there. The ring leader said the most while the two others played along. Finally one day, I had enough.
As I walked by, they began their usual litany. Something inside me snapped. I don't know why this day was the breaking point or why I chose to do what I did. The boys were in the middle of the hall about three feet from the locker bank lining the wall. Out of the blue, I grabbed the ring leader by the collar with my right hand and I swung him around with every ounce of strength I had. As he hit the locker, I pushed him up and there he was, slammed against the locker on his tip-toes, with my fist in his adam's apple.
At first, his friends started hooting, but I snapped a look at them and they shut up. I turned to the ring leader and I said, very calmly, "I've had enough of you. Don't you ever, ever talk to me or say anything to me again. Do. You. Understand?"
Somehow, he did. He nodded. I pushed harder against his neck, then dropped him and walked away. The amazing thing is, he and his friends actually listened to me. They never talked to me again. I would see them in the hall and they would look away.
I've never understood the mind of a bully, so I really don't know why this worked. On one hand, I'm proud of standing up for myself, but I wish I could have handled it without stooping to their level.
All I know is, I still remember every moment of that confrontation, and I still remember that my dad, who rarely showed approval, was really proud of me when he heard the story.
Go figure.
Here are some comments from this story:
E said...
This is like a scene right out of a movie and I love it! I always cheer for the underdog in scenes like that and I would've been in that hallway rooting you on! I hope that those boys learned a lesson from that and didn't treat anyone that way after their run in with you. You *should* be proud of yourself!
BTW...ditto back atcha about your comment on my site. I get the feeling we could be good friends and do some serious commiserating in real life!
Heather said...
You didn't sink to their level. It takes no courage to taunt a poor girl who is already feeling different. It took courage for you to confront them, though. I didn't get teased much in school but I often stood up to those who teased the underdogs. I am just built that way.
The only girl I ever teased was killed in a car accident our senior year. Even though she and I had long since become friends, I will always regret that I was ever cruel to her.
buffi said...
You are SO my hero!!
Geekwif said...
I never had the guts to stand up to the bullies in school. Good for you BG.
yellojkt said...
We teach our kids to not resort to violence, but bullies only respond to strength. I was bullied in 8th grade by the kids on the bus and even beat up once.
I finally picked the weakest kid of the gang and took him on one-on-one one day. His friends just watched him get beat up until he bit me. My mom took me to the emergency room for tetanus shots. None of the parents of the kids in the gang would believe their "baby" could do such a thing.
The whole gang steered clear of me after that. I don't know if that would work in today's zero-tolerance atmosphere.
princssis said...
Way to go, BG! I agree with Heather in that you did not stoop to their level. It's amazing how bullies can dish it out but can't take it! From what I understand, they have to make others feel bad in order to compensate for the poor self esteem they have.
I'm glad for you things worked out the way they did. I also agree with yellojkt that this probably would not fly in today's schools (unfortunately).
CoachHardin said...
As a teacher, I see that happening at times, and you can see where it comes from when the parents are the exact same way. I was also a bullied person growing up and can relate, but never retaliated. That just wasn't my style. Instead, I hung back and waited until college to start over in a new place. However, I'm a big advocate of the underdog all the time. I'm one trying to keep bullying from happening again. ;)
Saturday, August 20, 2005
I Saw an Old Man Today
I saw an old man today. He had white hair. I honestly don't remember if he was on TV or at the park where we took Sweet Girl today. I can't say where I saw him. What I remember was the emotion he evoked.
Out of nowhere, I missed my father. Terribly. Horribly. And all consumingly.
Dad died on September 27 in 2003. It's been nearly two years and yet I remember it like yesterday. Sweet Girl mentions nearly daily that her Grandpa is in Heaven and I agree with her. My mom moved in with us when he died since she couldn't afford to keep her home. So, it's not like I haven't come to terms with his death or that I am "pretending" he's not gone.
In some ways (and I might seem like a traitor for saying this), it is easier with him gone. He was a mean man to most people, especially my mother. He didn't have an easy life and he didn't make life easy on those who loved him. However, he mellowed in his last month of life. He died of lung cancer and was in a Catholic hospice for the last month of his life. I think being surrounded by people who loved God and were committed to giving him the most respectful death they could as a gift to him was what did the mellowing. Maybe it was spending so much time with Sweet Girl, who was a 3 year-old at the time and who would crawl into bed with him and snuggle while they watched TV. Maybe it was his realization that he was going to die and needed to make peace with his creator. Whatever it was, that last month was a gift. He was lucid right up to 2 days before his death and I enjoyed who he was more that month than many of the years prior to that.
Seeing the old man with white hair today brought back that Dad, the mellow Dad, and I missed him with a fierce intensity. Life being what it is, Sweet Girl soon needed me and Champs had a question and the emotions I were feeling were pushed to the back for later. But I haven't forgotten.
I miss you, Daddy.
Out of nowhere, I missed my father. Terribly. Horribly. And all consumingly.
Dad died on September 27 in 2003. It's been nearly two years and yet I remember it like yesterday. Sweet Girl mentions nearly daily that her Grandpa is in Heaven and I agree with her. My mom moved in with us when he died since she couldn't afford to keep her home. So, it's not like I haven't come to terms with his death or that I am "pretending" he's not gone.
In some ways (and I might seem like a traitor for saying this), it is easier with him gone. He was a mean man to most people, especially my mother. He didn't have an easy life and he didn't make life easy on those who loved him. However, he mellowed in his last month of life. He died of lung cancer and was in a Catholic hospice for the last month of his life. I think being surrounded by people who loved God and were committed to giving him the most respectful death they could as a gift to him was what did the mellowing. Maybe it was spending so much time with Sweet Girl, who was a 3 year-old at the time and who would crawl into bed with him and snuggle while they watched TV. Maybe it was his realization that he was going to die and needed to make peace with his creator. Whatever it was, that last month was a gift. He was lucid right up to 2 days before his death and I enjoyed who he was more that month than many of the years prior to that.
Seeing the old man with white hair today brought back that Dad, the mellow Dad, and I missed him with a fierce intensity. Life being what it is, Sweet Girl soon needed me and Champs had a question and the emotions I were feeling were pushed to the back for later. But I haven't forgotten.
I miss you, Daddy.
Friday, July 1, 2005
We Should Have Just Gone Home
Murphy is not well liked in our house.
His law is liked even less.
After work (where, by the way, I didn't get a darn thing done) Champs and Sweet Girl picked me up. I asked Champs what he wanted for dinner and he replied that he wasn't really hungry yet. Knowing that we didn't have much food in the house, I asked him if he wanted to go grocery shopping ("not much in the house" means we have lots of various ingredients but fall short in the complete meals category). He said "sure", so away we went.
Murphy decided to see how much fun he could have with us in the store. We got there and sat outside in the car for a few minutes making our shopping list. Before we went in, I grabbed my cell phone, made sure Champs had his wallet and locked my purse in the trunk. We are planning a birthday party for Sweet Girl (as well as Champs & Bina) for July 9th. Knowing we won't have too much in the way of "disposable cash" by then (mortgage time, you know), I decided we should get as much of the supplies and food we needed for the party as possible. It didn't take long for our cart to take on a life of it's own, and I knew this was gonna be expensive! Fast forward to the end of the trip. When I went to pay for all the groceries we picked out, I scanned Champ's check card through the reader and it came up "transaction blocked". I tried again and still "transaction blocked". I heard Murphy snicker.
I certainly couldn't understand why his card wasn't working, but in order to use mine or pay by check, I needed my purse, which was locked in the car trunk. I explained this to Champs. "Well, go get it", he said "I'm bagging groceries." I told him I needed the keys to which he replied "I don't have the keys. You do. You drove." I know I had a look of pure horror cross my face. Champs said, "You didn't!" and I, through my hand which I had slapped over my mouth, replied "Oh god, I DID!". I heard Murphy snort.
Hoping I might have left a door open so I could unlatch the trunk, I ran out to the car. The doors were locked, alright, but my keys were not in the trunk in my purse (as Champs and I had surmised), they were swinging merrily from the ignition. I had forgotten to take them out after we made our shopping list! I heard Murphy giggle.
I went back into the store, where Champs had the bright idea that I should use the ATM card and take money out. This was a great idea, so I went to the machine. New problem. See, about a month or so ago, my check card got lost so both of us got new cards. The old cards had a $500.00 per day withdrawal limit. I found out the hard way today that they didn't raise the limit on the new card; it was down to a $200.00 per day withdrawal limit... and we had $277.00 worth of groceries. I heard Murphy chuckle.
At this point, I knew we needed uniformed assistance, so I went to the service desk attendent, who called the community service cops to come out and unluck my car. It took a good 15 minutes for him to show up. The whole time, I was worrying about the ice cream melting. I know I heard Murphy laughing by now.
After the cop came (who, I might add, Sweet Girl hugged 3 times. That girl has no shame), I went back in and wrote a check for our groceries and we were finally able to leave. As we drove away, I could hear Murphy hooting....
I'm gonna find Murphy one of these days and I AM going to hurt him.
His law is liked even less.
After work (where, by the way, I didn't get a darn thing done) Champs and Sweet Girl picked me up. I asked Champs what he wanted for dinner and he replied that he wasn't really hungry yet. Knowing that we didn't have much food in the house, I asked him if he wanted to go grocery shopping ("not much in the house" means we have lots of various ingredients but fall short in the complete meals category). He said "sure", so away we went.
Murphy decided to see how much fun he could have with us in the store. We got there and sat outside in the car for a few minutes making our shopping list. Before we went in, I grabbed my cell phone, made sure Champs had his wallet and locked my purse in the trunk. We are planning a birthday party for Sweet Girl (as well as Champs & Bina) for July 9th. Knowing we won't have too much in the way of "disposable cash" by then (mortgage time, you know), I decided we should get as much of the supplies and food we needed for the party as possible. It didn't take long for our cart to take on a life of it's own, and I knew this was gonna be expensive! Fast forward to the end of the trip. When I went to pay for all the groceries we picked out, I scanned Champ's check card through the reader and it came up "transaction blocked". I tried again and still "transaction blocked". I heard Murphy snicker.
I certainly couldn't understand why his card wasn't working, but in order to use mine or pay by check, I needed my purse, which was locked in the car trunk. I explained this to Champs. "Well, go get it", he said "I'm bagging groceries." I told him I needed the keys to which he replied "I don't have the keys. You do. You drove." I know I had a look of pure horror cross my face. Champs said, "You didn't!" and I, through my hand which I had slapped over my mouth, replied "Oh god, I DID!". I heard Murphy snort.
Hoping I might have left a door open so I could unlatch the trunk, I ran out to the car. The doors were locked, alright, but my keys were not in the trunk in my purse (as Champs and I had surmised), they were swinging merrily from the ignition. I had forgotten to take them out after we made our shopping list! I heard Murphy giggle.
I went back into the store, where Champs had the bright idea that I should use the ATM card and take money out. This was a great idea, so I went to the machine. New problem. See, about a month or so ago, my check card got lost so both of us got new cards. The old cards had a $500.00 per day withdrawal limit. I found out the hard way today that they didn't raise the limit on the new card; it was down to a $200.00 per day withdrawal limit... and we had $277.00 worth of groceries. I heard Murphy chuckle.
At this point, I knew we needed uniformed assistance, so I went to the service desk attendent, who called the community service cops to come out and unluck my car. It took a good 15 minutes for him to show up. The whole time, I was worrying about the ice cream melting. I know I heard Murphy laughing by now.
After the cop came (who, I might add, Sweet Girl hugged 3 times. That girl has no shame), I went back in and wrote a check for our groceries and we were finally able to leave. As we drove away, I could hear Murphy hooting....
I'm gonna find Murphy one of these days and I AM going to hurt him.
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