I have 8 weeks until my pageant, Beauties of America, in Myrtle Beach and I am as white as a piece of paper.
Oh, I'd intended to be tan by now, but with Darling Hubby's car breaking down and the gas prices and all the other day to day, money-sucking crap that goes along with being a parent and a spouse, there was just no extra funds to obtain a tanning package or the time in which to use it.
So here I am, looking as Irish as ever.
I did get a wicked little sunburn on my appearance at the Miracle League party when I agreed to be the dunkee in the Dunk a Buddy booth. I had prepared (so I thought) by slathering spf45 all over myself when I got out of the shower that morning. It took quite some time to correct last year's nasty little sunburn before competition and I was not going through that again. I took extra care to get my shoulders, ears and my entire neck. What I did NOT get was a sliver of skin between my neck and the collar of my t-shirt...how that happened is a mystery. Sufice it to say, I now have a crescent shaped patch, about the size of a slice of cantelope, peeling off my neck!
I used to have a fair bit of success with self tanners when they first came out. Coppertone made a great one. Unfortunately, as with many things, when you find something you like, that works well, they decide to "improve" it, thus changing it so that it never works for you again. I mean, helloooo...if it ain't broke, don't fix it! But manufacturers never quite see it that way and feel they can be more "marketable" by making "improvements." Good idea in theory, but usually lacks something in the execution. (I always refer to the "new Coke/Classic Coke" debacle in the late '80's as an example of this phenomenon)
One of the "improvements" was adding a fragrance. Those of you who know me well know that I can't do fragrance. Someone in my offices uses that ghastly "Sweet Pea" lotion by Bath & Body works. They don't use it often, but enough. The fragrance is so powerful, it shuts down my sinuses from several cubes away. Then I am sick for the rest of the week. Now one would think that a tanning product would have that pleasant tanning-product-cocoa-butter-and-pina-colada-going-to-the-beach smell. We all know that smell really well. (Admit it...you just got a whiff while I was talking about it!) Imagine my shock and horror when I picked up the "new and improved" version of my favorite self-tanner and read "NEW PLEASANT FLORAL SCENT!"
I was never able to use it again.
Other self-tanners have bee disapointing in other ways.
Orange, streaky, hard to apply, hard to remove, or I would get hooked on one just in time for them to be taken off the market because the company went out of business. I did really like one that Toni Fake-Ponytail was hawking on HSN. It was brown, so you could see where it was going (and what you'd missed!) and the resulting mild golden brown color did not scream "fake tan" on my pale Irish skin. Best of all, there was ZERO fragrance! It was $19.95 for a 3 ounce bottle. Kinda pricey compared to the 10 ounce bottle of the "new and improved" brand I'd been using. But I deemed the expense worth the money and bought several bottles.
No one told me the crap had a shelf life, so imagine my surprise when 6 months down the road all the elements seperated and turned a lovely Kermit-the-Frog green!
So here I am...pastey and white...contemplating my options.
8 weeks is not enough time to get any sort of tan from the tanning bed. Heck, by 8 weeks I've just worked up to where I can lay in it the full 20 minutes!
I could do the whole airbrush tan thing, but no one around here does it anymore. I could buy the canned version they sell at Sally's but neither my husband nor my best girl pal Cyndi are willing to help me with it (primarily because they are both tan and don't understand my persepective).
So I headed off to my one of favorite places on the planet...my neighborhood Walmart.
Our Walmart has it's tanning products displayed on an island shelving unit. For those of you who are unfamiliar with store fixture terms, (thanks to 7 years of grocery & drug store experience I can share) an island shelving unit is a section of shelving designed to be used freestanding and can be moved around the store. They are typically set up in high traffic areas of a store for seasonal or sale merchandise. As with all retail shelving, they are 4 feet wide and typically range in height from 3 to 5 shelves, netting from 12 to 20 feet of merchandising space. Some are sectional and can be linked together to increase merchadising space. The island in question is 12 foot wide with 2 sides: one for actual tanning and/or tanning prevention and one for self-tanners and an assortment of the green & blue gooey stuff to use when all the others have failed. At an impressive 6 shelves high, that makes 144 feet of tanning goods. An island indeed.
So I stood in front of the 8 feet of self-tanning products. I knew to rule out my beloved Coppertone but the dizzing aray of benefits and tones and application processes made it hard to choose. I tried to think of things others had told me about various products. There was something good about them all. I knew I needed "medium" because I would look foolish with "dark" so that ruled out another section. I knew I didn't want lotion and spray wasn't looking great either, so I settled on the towel variety.
I purchased my box and headed home.
Lucky for me, I still had the rubber gloves that came with my expensive tanner. I read the instructions carefully. I showered, exfoliating like mad. I dried completely. As instructed by another of my pigment-challenged friends, a pro at self tanning now, I slathered Vaseline on my elbows, knees, ankles, feet and the scar on my leg so as not to attract too much tanner. I donned my gloves and opened the package.
A tanning towel is like a big wet wipe. The instruction say to start wiping the folded towel across the areas of your body that you want tanned, unfolding as needed. Let dry completely and the tan would develop within the hour.
I thought I'd done pretty good for my first attempt. I'd gotten my legs completely, but had a big, swirling white spot on my left arm where I'd swiped but missed on 2 passes.
I made my second attempt a week later. We were going to attend a picnic and fireworks show at D/H's cousin's church. I had planned to wear shorts, so it was a must. I began the ritual all over again. I made extra care to get all of my arms, my neck & chest, but when I got down to my legs, there as a knock at the bathroom door. "30 minutes" my hubby informed me. Knowing I had to dry completely or risk ruining both my clothes and my tan, I started wiping in high gear.
It felt like I hit everything. It wasn't until I went to the ladies room at the church, a good 2 or 3 hours later, when I saw my first mistake. A wide, white patch down the inside of my calve. Okay, it's on the inside, I'm good I thought to myself. The ladies room was far too crowded for any real inspection, so I finished up and went outside to find a seat for the fireworks show.
"Hey, you missed a spot on the back of your leg" my husband informed me.
"Yeah, I saw it"
"I don't see how, it's the back of your thigh. You'd be sitting on it"
Holy crap...I dashed for the ladies room. Sure enough, I missed a patch down the back of my thigh and to make matters worse, I could see that now my feet had tanned too. The swipe at my feet highlighted only the bones, each with a nice white stripe in between!
I was turning into a zebra, right in front of everyone's eyes! There is no telling what these people thought. Bet I made it on to the prayer list for having some horrible skin disease.
When we got back, I began googling ways to get self tanner off. Surprisingly, there aren't that many that don't involve some sort of torturous scrubbing. Perhaps someone needs to invent a self tanner remover.
I will try to correct my self tan today. Can't get any worse, right?
And if it does, well I still have 8 weeks, right?
Gotta love pageant prep...
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Sunday, June 29, 2008
All moved!
Whew! It took a bit of doing, but I am finally "all moved in" to this blogspot!
In case you were wondering why all these "old" posts popped up here above the new ones, I have decided to delete the "It's Good to Be Queen" blog. I had created it before finding out that the fabulous Darlene Deeben, Mrs Galaxy 2007, had a website by almost the very same name.
I will use this blogspot for my rantings and personal observations and tidbits of family life.
My pageant appearances will be reported on my new blog Just Joy: Royal Appearances.
Thanks for reading
EnJOY
In case you were wondering why all these "old" posts popped up here above the new ones, I have decided to delete the "It's Good to Be Queen" blog. I had created it before finding out that the fabulous Darlene Deeben, Mrs Galaxy 2007, had a website by almost the very same name.
I will use this blogspot for my rantings and personal observations and tidbits of family life.
My pageant appearances will be reported on my new blog Just Joy: Royal Appearances.
Thanks for reading
EnJOY
Have You Forgotten?
(Repost: Originally posted September 11, 2007)
It's September 11th. Patriot Day.
I'm wearing my yellow ribbon and my American Flag pin. I haven't really seen anyone else commemorating the day.
I wonder if everyone's else has forgotten.
I know I won't. Every year the emotion is nearly as fresh and raw as it was watching the non-stop news footage.
And every year, I think of 5 cases of coffee.
I cry when I tell it because the emotions bubble back up, so you are at an advantage reading it, though I am about to cry just typing it.
Krispy Kreme was once a customer of my company and every now and again the buyer would request a few cases of coffee be sent directly to a store.
On September 10, 2001 they requested that I send five cases of coffee to the Krispy Kreme store on the basement level of WTC. I am told this is where the food court was. They had requested Next Day Air, Early A.M. delivery, which is to be delivered by 8:00 a.m.
It stood out to me because the address was simply :
Krispy Kreme
Basement
WTC, NY and the zip code.
I thought "Well how cool is that?"
The next morning, as news began to spread of the attack, I immediately thought of those five boxes of coffee and the unsuspecting UPS driver I'd sent to his death.
I prayed for a lot of people that day, but I prayed especially for him.
Over the next several days, I began to think about him quite a bit. Was he married, did he have children, what kind of person would he have been....? Because I would never really know his fate, it started to be too much for me. Every time I saw footage of the dust & debris, I imagined a UPS truck buried beneath it. Though it may sound strange, I felt really guilty, like somehow I was responsible. I cried uncontrollably, nearly daily, over this person I'd never met.
Two weeks went by. My best friend told me that I was going to give it to God and let it go. So I finally prayed that God would give me some peace over it and release me from this guilt I was feeling. I prayed once more for him and his family and "laid it down."
The very next day, our local UPS driver returned the five boxes of Krispy Kreme coffee stamped "UNDELIVERABLE." They looked as good as the day I sent them out and I took their pristine condition as my sign from God that the driver I prayed so diligently over, was okay too.
I know, when I tell this story to my grandchildren some day, I will fight back a tear even then.
I know that, as a nation, to some extent, we should "move on." But I was raised that the first part of getting where you are going, is knowing where you've been.
Never Forget
(dedicated to those who unsuspectingly gave their lives Sept 11, 2001, the people who knew & loved them, and all our military hereos keeping us safe ever since.)
It's September 11th. Patriot Day.
I'm wearing my yellow ribbon and my American Flag pin. I haven't really seen anyone else commemorating the day.
I wonder if everyone's else has forgotten.
I know I won't. Every year the emotion is nearly as fresh and raw as it was watching the non-stop news footage.
And every year, I think of 5 cases of coffee.
I cry when I tell it because the emotions bubble back up, so you are at an advantage reading it, though I am about to cry just typing it.
Krispy Kreme was once a customer of my company and every now and again the buyer would request a few cases of coffee be sent directly to a store.
On September 10, 2001 they requested that I send five cases of coffee to the Krispy Kreme store on the basement level of WTC. I am told this is where the food court was. They had requested Next Day Air, Early A.M. delivery, which is to be delivered by 8:00 a.m.
It stood out to me because the address was simply :
Krispy Kreme
Basement
WTC, NY and the zip code.
I thought "Well how cool is that?"
The next morning, as news began to spread of the attack, I immediately thought of those five boxes of coffee and the unsuspecting UPS driver I'd sent to his death.
I prayed for a lot of people that day, but I prayed especially for him.
Over the next several days, I began to think about him quite a bit. Was he married, did he have children, what kind of person would he have been....? Because I would never really know his fate, it started to be too much for me. Every time I saw footage of the dust & debris, I imagined a UPS truck buried beneath it. Though it may sound strange, I felt really guilty, like somehow I was responsible. I cried uncontrollably, nearly daily, over this person I'd never met.
Two weeks went by. My best friend told me that I was going to give it to God and let it go. So I finally prayed that God would give me some peace over it and release me from this guilt I was feeling. I prayed once more for him and his family and "laid it down."
The very next day, our local UPS driver returned the five boxes of Krispy Kreme coffee stamped "UNDELIVERABLE." They looked as good as the day I sent them out and I took their pristine condition as my sign from God that the driver I prayed so diligently over, was okay too.
I know, when I tell this story to my grandchildren some day, I will fight back a tear even then.
I know that, as a nation, to some extent, we should "move on." But I was raised that the first part of getting where you are going, is knowing where you've been.
Never Forget
(dedicated to those who unsuspectingly gave their lives Sept 11, 2001, the people who knew & loved them, and all our military hereos keeping us safe ever since.)
Christmas Light Intervention
(Repost...originally written & posted on Myspace on date listed below)
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Christmas Light Intervention
Today is Thursday, January 11th. Let me make myself very clear on that....TODAY is Thursday JANUARY 11TH. It is January 11th and my best friend's neighbors still have their Christmas lights on. Nearly three full weeks since Christmas and they still have their Christmas lights on. Not just up, mind you, but ON.
Every Tuesday is "Chick-Flick" night with my girls, Cyndi & Brandy. We meet at Cyndi's ( because she has the most kids and it's just easier for her than loading up all the kids and the baby toys and what have you) drink coffee (or have the occasional glass of wine or two) and watch a chick-flick. We put the older children in charge of the younger ones and (attempt to) enjoy a relaxing evening and just decompress. We share our troubles and a pot of coffee or two, planning each others lives, all the while some sappy-sweet romantic comedy provides background noise. I look forward to Tuesdays all week long.
I was in particularly good mood this past Tuesday, because the evening was to be the beginning to a much needed vacation. I sang along with the radio as I made my way to Cyndi's, but as I approached her neighborhood, something caught my eye. It was bright and colorful. The closer I got, the more of it there seemed to be. I could not believe my eyes....Christmas Lights! Blazing into the night sky, two full weeks AFTER Christmas! I mean I understand not finding the time yet to take them down, but having them ON is another story entirely.
What kind of people are still BURNING their Christmas lights this long after Christmas? Do they know we are nearly two weeks into January?!
Do they want to be the source of conversation around the neighborhood? "Well you know those Joneses, still burning their Christmas lights..."Yes, I know there's that whole St. Lucia and Twelveth Night celebrations, but this is Alabama...Buckle of the Bible Belt, Protestant capital of the South.
Some of you may think, "Okay, so what's the big deal?" As a Christian, I understand the concept of holding Christmas in my heart all year long, but I don't have to wrap it in multi-colored twinkle lights! The big deal is, this is not the neighborhood Mexican restaurant, which I believe, is the only place it's legal to display & operate Christmas lights outside the month of December. Come on people, rural Alabama has enough stereotypical crap to overcome, let's not perpetuate it!
When Alabama is depicted in a film or t.v. show, you never see the tony areas like Mountain Brook or Vestavia or Hoover. Oh, MTV did come film the Hoover Bucs for the wildly popular "Two A Days" but did they ever once go to the Galleria or the Summit? I think they showed WalMart once and they guys going fishing, but never showed the multimillion dollar shopping complex just up the road from the school. You always see some ramshackle house with a malfunctioning major appliance on the porch and Christmas lights strung all about.
It's bad enough we are currently having to live down the "Bama Kissing Bandit," a one Collette Connell, who loudly praised Jesus for Alabama's new coach, Nick Saban, and then reached out and planted a big wet one on him, in plain view of all national sports media. The photo made the front page of sports sections across the nation, accompanied by her mugshot from the subsequent DUI arrest soon after.
I call it the classic "trailer park tradgedy" media spin. A tornado wipes out hundreds of homes, who does the media seek out? The most articulate or the most dentally-challenged? The person who lost at $300,000 home or the person who lost a $3,000 single wide? This is the person CNN chooses to represent us to the rest of the nation. Everytime.
At this time, let me take a moment to restate for the record, I am an Auburn fan. And now I'm even more glad that I am. But I digress.
Where was I??
Oh, yeah, Christmas lights...
The neighborhood Cyndi lives in has several champion light displays. The two most impressive are the house in the woods and Mr & Mrs Notary Public.
The house in the woods is just that...a house far enough off the road, enveloped in a pine thicket , that it is completely invisible. Invisible that is, until the weekend after Thanksgiving and the entire month of December. During this time, it looks like an extension of the Birmingham International Airport. This home owner pulls out all the stops, covering every inch of the house, windows,eaves, and all, completely outlining the house in lights. The lights spill over into every adjacent bush and tree for a 50 foot radius. I will never forget that first Christmas that we went to Cyndi's new house and my daughter said, "I've lived in this town my whole life and I never knew there was a house back there!"
Mr & Mrs Notary Public (so named for the large "Notary Public" sign hanging above their mailbox) have the most impressive collection of lawn ornamentation year round. I am quite sure they own one of every type of concrete staturary possible. Then, at Christmas time, they throw lights all over them. You can see the house from space. I'm not sure it's possible, but each year it seems they add more and more lights!
But I will give both of these families credit: they know when it's time to take the lights down.
I was raised believing that it was bad luck to have Christmas decorations up on New Year's Day. I think that perhaps that was really my mother's way of making us help her take them down the weekend before we went back to school. But because I've heard this all my life, I've never questioned or disputed it. I am also a little afraid to tempt fate and leave my Christmas decorations up, just like I am afraid not to eat the traditional blackeyed peas and turnip greens with ham.
I was also taught it is bad luck to do laundry on New Year's Day, but that one seems perfectly logical, so I will not debate it. I've never been told what may actually happen, but it must be truly awful for my mother to remind me of it every year. I have caught myself, on more than one New Year's Eve, franically washing clothes prior to leaving for some event, for fear I would either be naked or face some horrid fate for washing clothes on New Year's Day. Were my brother and I the only people on the planet to be taught this lore? Apparenlty so, if there are people who are still displaying their Christmas lights three weeks after Christmas.
I told Cyndi and Brandy that there needed to be a Christmas light intervention.We should knock on the door, present this individual with a current calendar, pointing out that Christmas has past some time ago and offer to help take the lights down.
"Well you go right to it Sunshine," Cyndi chirped "but watch out for the couch and the washing machine on the porch. And if you hear banjo music..run."
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Christmas Light Intervention
Today is Thursday, January 11th. Let me make myself very clear on that....TODAY is Thursday JANUARY 11TH. It is January 11th and my best friend's neighbors still have their Christmas lights on. Nearly three full weeks since Christmas and they still have their Christmas lights on. Not just up, mind you, but ON.
Every Tuesday is "Chick-Flick" night with my girls, Cyndi & Brandy. We meet at Cyndi's ( because she has the most kids and it's just easier for her than loading up all the kids and the baby toys and what have you) drink coffee (or have the occasional glass of wine or two) and watch a chick-flick. We put the older children in charge of the younger ones and (attempt to) enjoy a relaxing evening and just decompress. We share our troubles and a pot of coffee or two, planning each others lives, all the while some sappy-sweet romantic comedy provides background noise. I look forward to Tuesdays all week long.
I was in particularly good mood this past Tuesday, because the evening was to be the beginning to a much needed vacation. I sang along with the radio as I made my way to Cyndi's, but as I approached her neighborhood, something caught my eye. It was bright and colorful. The closer I got, the more of it there seemed to be. I could not believe my eyes....Christmas Lights! Blazing into the night sky, two full weeks AFTER Christmas! I mean I understand not finding the time yet to take them down, but having them ON is another story entirely.
What kind of people are still BURNING their Christmas lights this long after Christmas? Do they know we are nearly two weeks into January?!
Do they want to be the source of conversation around the neighborhood? "Well you know those Joneses, still burning their Christmas lights..."Yes, I know there's that whole St. Lucia and Twelveth Night celebrations, but this is Alabama...Buckle of the Bible Belt, Protestant capital of the South.
Some of you may think, "Okay, so what's the big deal?" As a Christian, I understand the concept of holding Christmas in my heart all year long, but I don't have to wrap it in multi-colored twinkle lights! The big deal is, this is not the neighborhood Mexican restaurant, which I believe, is the only place it's legal to display & operate Christmas lights outside the month of December. Come on people, rural Alabama has enough stereotypical crap to overcome, let's not perpetuate it!
When Alabama is depicted in a film or t.v. show, you never see the tony areas like Mountain Brook or Vestavia or Hoover. Oh, MTV did come film the Hoover Bucs for the wildly popular "Two A Days" but did they ever once go to the Galleria or the Summit? I think they showed WalMart once and they guys going fishing, but never showed the multimillion dollar shopping complex just up the road from the school. You always see some ramshackle house with a malfunctioning major appliance on the porch and Christmas lights strung all about.
It's bad enough we are currently having to live down the "Bama Kissing Bandit," a one Collette Connell, who loudly praised Jesus for Alabama's new coach, Nick Saban, and then reached out and planted a big wet one on him, in plain view of all national sports media. The photo made the front page of sports sections across the nation, accompanied by her mugshot from the subsequent DUI arrest soon after.
I call it the classic "trailer park tradgedy" media spin. A tornado wipes out hundreds of homes, who does the media seek out? The most articulate or the most dentally-challenged? The person who lost at $300,000 home or the person who lost a $3,000 single wide? This is the person CNN chooses to represent us to the rest of the nation. Everytime.
At this time, let me take a moment to restate for the record, I am an Auburn fan. And now I'm even more glad that I am. But I digress.
Where was I??
Oh, yeah, Christmas lights...
The neighborhood Cyndi lives in has several champion light displays. The two most impressive are the house in the woods and Mr & Mrs Notary Public.
The house in the woods is just that...a house far enough off the road, enveloped in a pine thicket , that it is completely invisible. Invisible that is, until the weekend after Thanksgiving and the entire month of December. During this time, it looks like an extension of the Birmingham International Airport. This home owner pulls out all the stops, covering every inch of the house, windows,eaves, and all, completely outlining the house in lights. The lights spill over into every adjacent bush and tree for a 50 foot radius. I will never forget that first Christmas that we went to Cyndi's new house and my daughter said, "I've lived in this town my whole life and I never knew there was a house back there!"
Mr & Mrs Notary Public (so named for the large "Notary Public" sign hanging above their mailbox) have the most impressive collection of lawn ornamentation year round. I am quite sure they own one of every type of concrete staturary possible. Then, at Christmas time, they throw lights all over them. You can see the house from space. I'm not sure it's possible, but each year it seems they add more and more lights!
But I will give both of these families credit: they know when it's time to take the lights down.
I was raised believing that it was bad luck to have Christmas decorations up on New Year's Day. I think that perhaps that was really my mother's way of making us help her take them down the weekend before we went back to school. But because I've heard this all my life, I've never questioned or disputed it. I am also a little afraid to tempt fate and leave my Christmas decorations up, just like I am afraid not to eat the traditional blackeyed peas and turnip greens with ham.
I was also taught it is bad luck to do laundry on New Year's Day, but that one seems perfectly logical, so I will not debate it. I've never been told what may actually happen, but it must be truly awful for my mother to remind me of it every year. I have caught myself, on more than one New Year's Eve, franically washing clothes prior to leaving for some event, for fear I would either be naked or face some horrid fate for washing clothes on New Year's Day. Were my brother and I the only people on the planet to be taught this lore? Apparenlty so, if there are people who are still displaying their Christmas lights three weeks after Christmas.
I told Cyndi and Brandy that there needed to be a Christmas light intervention.We should knock on the door, present this individual with a current calendar, pointing out that Christmas has past some time ago and offer to help take the lights down.
"Well you go right to it Sunshine," Cyndi chirped "but watch out for the couch and the washing machine on the porch. And if you hear banjo music..run."
Driver's Ed Should Be Required!
(Repost...originally written & posted on Myspace on date listed below)
Saturday, January 06, 2007
Driver's Ed should be required!
Current mood: annoyed
Two people have died on the interstate this week. I heard about them on the news. There was a time, when you could look up at the Vulcan statue, standing guard over Birmingham (while simultaneously mooning Homewood) atop Red Mountain, and know someone had lost their life. ( http://www.vulcanpark.org/history.html ) . If someone had died in a traffic accident, Vulcan's light was red, and green when all was clear. I remember looking for that all my life and feeling sad when the light was red. When they restored Vulcan in 1999, they replaced the torch with a spear, which I'm told is what he was originally intended to hold. Now you have to read about traffic fatalities in the news again.
But Vulcan history is not my intended topic. People who make stupid driving mistakes is.
Those of you who know me, know what a careful driver I am. You also know that stupid drivers are in my top ten, biggest, all time pet peeves. It's pretty high on the list, like number 2 or 3. It runs a pretty close race with my number 1, people who don't wash their hands in the bathroom. The thought that there are people out there that think that's okay nearly gives me hives, but that is a story for another day.
Even in my wild teenage years, safe driving was paramount. Over the years I have seen friends and family needlessly injured and even lost a few, some very dear to me, to the perils of motor vehicle operations. In every situation, regardless of who was at fault, it all boils down to someone being stupid & careless.
I now drive, twice a day, along a stretch of Interstate 20, known here in Alabama as "Death Valley." Those unfamiliar with I-20, it runs west to east across Alabama from Mississippi to Georgia. "Death Valley" starts at Leeds exit 144 and runs to somewhere around the Talledega Motor Speedway exit at Lincoln. It is called this because, reportedly, there have been more fatalities here than any other area of interstate in the state, including I-65 that runs from Tennessee all the way to the Gulf Coast. It is also here that I encounter the majority of the state's stupid drivers. I often wonder if I was one of the only people to actually take Driver's Education, (as mandated by my parents and their insurance company) because most of the stupidity I see was covered in the very first week!
When I was a Sophomore at dear old LHS, I was given the "option" to take driver's ed. My parents were insistent, as neither of them had quite the patience to let me get above 10 miles an hour or out of our neighborhood. Although I had inherited my grandmother's 1972 school-bus-yellow Vega at 12, and sat longingly behind the wheel for close to three years, I had little actual driving experience. There were the occasional attempts by my high-school boyfriend to teach me to drive his car, but despite his patient nature, I made him nervous as well. So my driving instruction was left to the expert educators, one of which was my next door neighbor, our football coach Coach Joe Campbell (Lord, rest his soul).
It was pretty much a "pass or fail" course and pretty much everyone who attended passed. I only knew of one person who actually failed, but that is what wrecking the driver's ed car will do for you.
I remember very little about the actual class, other than the car had a brake on the passenger side (Cool! would like that now sometimes when I have to ride with Heath or Julia!) and we watched the mandatory scratchy, reel-to-reel version of "Blood on the Highway", circa 1960-something.
When it came to the actual driving, we were split into groups of four that would take turns driving around Leeds. My group included my friends Eve and Melissa and a young lady whose name escapes me. I do remember that she had very long hair, wore dresses all the time and was very quiet. I also remember that she was a Senior and was in our class, two years after it was first offered to her as an elective, because she had finally, successfully convinced her parents that she needed to know how to drive.
Melissa and Eve were experienced drivers, turning 16 in the middle of that school year. They, like me, were in the class because of the insurance discount and it gave them something to do for an hour out of the school day. I felt pretty safe riding along when they drove. Our Senior, however, was quite a different story. Because of her parents reluctance to allow her to drive, she had even less outside driving training than I did and often would wear on Coach's patience. I remember once, narrowly missing another car, she threw her hands over her face, leaving Coach to grab the wheel and stand on the passenger brake. I don't know what happened to her after she graduated, but I will say, I hope she is not driving!
Some stupid mistakes that really get on my nerves are:
Not using turn indicators...at all....ever. A driver about to execute any type of turn or lane change is to indicate it by engaging their turn signal. For those of you offenders, that is the little lever sticking out of the side of the steering wheel. It is not for hanging up your sunglasses.
Not checking the "blind spot." This is the area on the sides of your vehicle NOT VISIBLE IN YOUR MIRRORS. I am constantly amazed at the people who, not only do not indicate that they are changing lanes, but also do not bother to see if anyone is already driving in that lane! These are the people who nearly sideswipe you, then have the audacity to cuss at you and flip you the finger for their stupidity. How dare you already be driving in that lane!
Related: Not turning around to back up. You know, throw your arm over the seat and turn around. First rule of driving, look in the direction you are going. Most of the time I am a pedestrian when I run into these yahoos. However, every now and again, when I am trying to back out at the Walmart, I see them coming. Usually because I am watching them start toward me as I am backing out. You have to honk at these people or they plow right into you. The trucks at my company have those beeping back-up signals.
I wish all cars had them. Maybe then some of these people would turn around and look.
Failing to properly yeild to the right of way. If you are currently driving in a lane, be it on a city street or the interstate, it is "your" lane. Anyone wishing to merge into that lane must yeild to YOUR right of way. They are to signal their intent (the aforementioned lever on the steering column), then wait for YOUR response. You may choose to let them in front of you or you may not. It is up to YOU. You can be nice and pull over or slow down to let them into your lane, but you don't have to.
You are in "possesion" of that lane.
This includes traffic merging onto the interstate. Just because their turn indicator is engaged does not give them the right of way either. Merging drivers need your permission or wait for another opening.
Notable exception: Pedestrians and all emergency vehicles have the right of way. Emergency vehicles take precident and are to be granted right of way as soon as safely possible.
People who do not grant emergency vehicles right of way. Have you ever been the victim of an emergency situation, waiting for the blasted ambulance or fire truck to come and it feels like forever for it to get there? That is because there are selfish, stupid, dense, uneducated people in their way. My brother drove an ambulance before he became a police officer. My best friend was an EMT and volunteer fire fighter. Both have related horror stories of people who refused to let them pass, or equally as bad, did not know what to do and stop dead in the middle of the road. The preferred method, if they are behind you is to pull to the right and let them pass on your left. If they are approaching you, also pull to the right. This makes an opening that the vehicle can safely pass between the opposing lanes of traffic.
Lights and sirens mean someone's life is in danger. Move as quickly as safely possible. Remember this one thought: One day, it could be you or a loved one waiting for that vehicle.
Not driving the posted speed limit. If you need to get there faster, leave earlier. People who speed make me mad, people who drive too slow make me mad. People who speed up and slow down so you can't pass them make me furious. I stopped carrying my gun in the car for this very reason.
Passing in the marked "no passing" zone. These people not only endanger themselves, their stupidity endagers others as well. These zones are marked this way for very good reasons, whether you see their value or not. I'm sorry that I am driving the posted speed limit and you think you need to get around me. You should have left earlier.
Failing to obey traffic signs and signals. These are not there for decoration. They are for information. If you are unfamiliar with the meanings of different traffic signs and signals, how the hell did you pass your driver's test?! This reminds me of the very elderly lady, who nearly ran me down in the Walmart parking lot last September as I crossed in the very wide, very obvious pedestrian crosswalk.(Remember aforementioned Pedestrian Right of Way exception) This old bag then had the audacity to cuss at me and call me stupid. I was really missing that gun about then, but I politely aquainted her with the pedestrian crosswalk sign that was apparently invented long after she first obtained her driver's license 100 years ago.
I could go on and on, but I don't think dear old Tom intended for me to use all of Myspace-dom to vent on every stupid driver I've ever encountered in the 23 years I've been driving.
I will say this. I wish the powers-that-be would recognize the importance of driver's ed for all licensed drivers. It should be required, in some form, prior to being able to obtain a driver's license. I insisted that Julia take it when it was offered as an elective and in two years, Tyler will be taking it and Kaitlyn the year after that or they can forget me taking them for that license!
If Vulcan still had his torch, he'd be telling you right now.."Keep it green"
Saturday, January 06, 2007
Driver's Ed should be required!
Current mood: annoyed
Two people have died on the interstate this week. I heard about them on the news. There was a time, when you could look up at the Vulcan statue, standing guard over Birmingham (while simultaneously mooning Homewood) atop Red Mountain, and know someone had lost their life. ( http://www.vulcanpark.org/history.html ) . If someone had died in a traffic accident, Vulcan's light was red, and green when all was clear. I remember looking for that all my life and feeling sad when the light was red. When they restored Vulcan in 1999, they replaced the torch with a spear, which I'm told is what he was originally intended to hold. Now you have to read about traffic fatalities in the news again.
But Vulcan history is not my intended topic. People who make stupid driving mistakes is.
Those of you who know me, know what a careful driver I am. You also know that stupid drivers are in my top ten, biggest, all time pet peeves. It's pretty high on the list, like number 2 or 3. It runs a pretty close race with my number 1, people who don't wash their hands in the bathroom. The thought that there are people out there that think that's okay nearly gives me hives, but that is a story for another day.
Even in my wild teenage years, safe driving was paramount. Over the years I have seen friends and family needlessly injured and even lost a few, some very dear to me, to the perils of motor vehicle operations. In every situation, regardless of who was at fault, it all boils down to someone being stupid & careless.
I now drive, twice a day, along a stretch of Interstate 20, known here in Alabama as "Death Valley." Those unfamiliar with I-20, it runs west to east across Alabama from Mississippi to Georgia. "Death Valley" starts at Leeds exit 144 and runs to somewhere around the Talledega Motor Speedway exit at Lincoln. It is called this because, reportedly, there have been more fatalities here than any other area of interstate in the state, including I-65 that runs from Tennessee all the way to the Gulf Coast. It is also here that I encounter the majority of the state's stupid drivers. I often wonder if I was one of the only people to actually take Driver's Education, (as mandated by my parents and their insurance company) because most of the stupidity I see was covered in the very first week!
When I was a Sophomore at dear old LHS, I was given the "option" to take driver's ed. My parents were insistent, as neither of them had quite the patience to let me get above 10 miles an hour or out of our neighborhood. Although I had inherited my grandmother's 1972 school-bus-yellow Vega at 12, and sat longingly behind the wheel for close to three years, I had little actual driving experience. There were the occasional attempts by my high-school boyfriend to teach me to drive his car, but despite his patient nature, I made him nervous as well. So my driving instruction was left to the expert educators, one of which was my next door neighbor, our football coach Coach Joe Campbell (Lord, rest his soul).
It was pretty much a "pass or fail" course and pretty much everyone who attended passed. I only knew of one person who actually failed, but that is what wrecking the driver's ed car will do for you.
I remember very little about the actual class, other than the car had a brake on the passenger side (Cool! would like that now sometimes when I have to ride with Heath or Julia!) and we watched the mandatory scratchy, reel-to-reel version of "Blood on the Highway", circa 1960-something.
When it came to the actual driving, we were split into groups of four that would take turns driving around Leeds. My group included my friends Eve and Melissa and a young lady whose name escapes me. I do remember that she had very long hair, wore dresses all the time and was very quiet. I also remember that she was a Senior and was in our class, two years after it was first offered to her as an elective, because she had finally, successfully convinced her parents that she needed to know how to drive.
Melissa and Eve were experienced drivers, turning 16 in the middle of that school year. They, like me, were in the class because of the insurance discount and it gave them something to do for an hour out of the school day. I felt pretty safe riding along when they drove. Our Senior, however, was quite a different story. Because of her parents reluctance to allow her to drive, she had even less outside driving training than I did and often would wear on Coach's patience. I remember once, narrowly missing another car, she threw her hands over her face, leaving Coach to grab the wheel and stand on the passenger brake. I don't know what happened to her after she graduated, but I will say, I hope she is not driving!
Some stupid mistakes that really get on my nerves are:
Not using turn indicators...at all....ever. A driver about to execute any type of turn or lane change is to indicate it by engaging their turn signal. For those of you offenders, that is the little lever sticking out of the side of the steering wheel. It is not for hanging up your sunglasses.
Not checking the "blind spot." This is the area on the sides of your vehicle NOT VISIBLE IN YOUR MIRRORS. I am constantly amazed at the people who, not only do not indicate that they are changing lanes, but also do not bother to see if anyone is already driving in that lane! These are the people who nearly sideswipe you, then have the audacity to cuss at you and flip you the finger for their stupidity. How dare you already be driving in that lane!
Related: Not turning around to back up. You know, throw your arm over the seat and turn around. First rule of driving, look in the direction you are going. Most of the time I am a pedestrian when I run into these yahoos. However, every now and again, when I am trying to back out at the Walmart, I see them coming. Usually because I am watching them start toward me as I am backing out. You have to honk at these people or they plow right into you. The trucks at my company have those beeping back-up signals.
I wish all cars had them. Maybe then some of these people would turn around and look.
Failing to properly yeild to the right of way. If you are currently driving in a lane, be it on a city street or the interstate, it is "your" lane. Anyone wishing to merge into that lane must yeild to YOUR right of way. They are to signal their intent (the aforementioned lever on the steering column), then wait for YOUR response. You may choose to let them in front of you or you may not. It is up to YOU. You can be nice and pull over or slow down to let them into your lane, but you don't have to.
You are in "possesion" of that lane.
This includes traffic merging onto the interstate. Just because their turn indicator is engaged does not give them the right of way either. Merging drivers need your permission or wait for another opening.
Notable exception: Pedestrians and all emergency vehicles have the right of way. Emergency vehicles take precident and are to be granted right of way as soon as safely possible.
People who do not grant emergency vehicles right of way. Have you ever been the victim of an emergency situation, waiting for the blasted ambulance or fire truck to come and it feels like forever for it to get there? That is because there are selfish, stupid, dense, uneducated people in their way. My brother drove an ambulance before he became a police officer. My best friend was an EMT and volunteer fire fighter. Both have related horror stories of people who refused to let them pass, or equally as bad, did not know what to do and stop dead in the middle of the road. The preferred method, if they are behind you is to pull to the right and let them pass on your left. If they are approaching you, also pull to the right. This makes an opening that the vehicle can safely pass between the opposing lanes of traffic.
Lights and sirens mean someone's life is in danger. Move as quickly as safely possible. Remember this one thought: One day, it could be you or a loved one waiting for that vehicle.
Not driving the posted speed limit. If you need to get there faster, leave earlier. People who speed make me mad, people who drive too slow make me mad. People who speed up and slow down so you can't pass them make me furious. I stopped carrying my gun in the car for this very reason.
Passing in the marked "no passing" zone. These people not only endanger themselves, their stupidity endagers others as well. These zones are marked this way for very good reasons, whether you see their value or not. I'm sorry that I am driving the posted speed limit and you think you need to get around me. You should have left earlier.
Failing to obey traffic signs and signals. These are not there for decoration. They are for information. If you are unfamiliar with the meanings of different traffic signs and signals, how the hell did you pass your driver's test?! This reminds me of the very elderly lady, who nearly ran me down in the Walmart parking lot last September as I crossed in the very wide, very obvious pedestrian crosswalk.(Remember aforementioned Pedestrian Right of Way exception) This old bag then had the audacity to cuss at me and call me stupid. I was really missing that gun about then, but I politely aquainted her with the pedestrian crosswalk sign that was apparently invented long after she first obtained her driver's license 100 years ago.
I could go on and on, but I don't think dear old Tom intended for me to use all of Myspace-dom to vent on every stupid driver I've ever encountered in the 23 years I've been driving.
I will say this. I wish the powers-that-be would recognize the importance of driver's ed for all licensed drivers. It should be required, in some form, prior to being able to obtain a driver's license. I insisted that Julia take it when it was offered as an elective and in two years, Tyler will be taking it and Kaitlyn the year after that or they can forget me taking them for that license!
If Vulcan still had his torch, he'd be telling you right now.."Keep it green"
You Always Hurt the One You Love
(Repost...orginally written & posted on Myspace on or about January 5, 2007)
You always hurt the one you love...
Current mood: confused
My husband, is NOT a morning person. I learned this pretty early on in our marriage. However, he was not always the person I find myself waking up with lately. During the time that we were dating, I will say, he had me fooled.He would call me each morning, bright and early, to make sure I was up, getting ready for work, tell me good morning and that he loved me. His voice was sweet and tender and he always knew just what to say. Usually his was the first voice I heard in the morning, even before my own. Being a single mom at the time, sometimes Julz would beat him to it, but not often. This practice started pretty early on in our relationship, stemming from our late night talks and early work shifts. I soon began to do in kind and at times we would race each other to see who could be the first to make the call. Sometimes one would pick up the phone to dial, only to find the other had called and the phone hadn't even had time to ring. We'd laugh and then neither would want to be the first to hang up. The romance of it all was enough to put my diabetes into high gear.
Well, as you would expect, once the shine had worn off our wedding rings, we went back to being normal, sane, selfish, grouchy morning people.
A typical work-day morning at our house, now starts with everyone hitting "snooze" and trying to catch those few last precious Z's before being forced to head out to work or school. The annoying buzzing all over the house begins about 5:40a.m. That gives each snoozer about two more "snoozes." However, if we are not on our feet at 6:00 a.m. sharp, we are officially LATE.
I don't know how it started, but somehow, everyone's inability to rise in a timely manner has come to be my personal responsibility. (Keep in mind, I am dealing with a grown adult male, an 18 year old with her own job, a 13 year old son and an 11 year old who wants to be 18.) Each time someone in our household is late, it is deemed my fault, regardless of the actual circumstances.
Case in point, not long ago, I was home on a much deserved vacation day, only to be blamed for everyone else oversleeping. Because I did not have to go to work, I did not feel the need to get up at 5:45a.m. that particular morning. Everyone knew that I was off prior to going to bed, but still expected me to bang on their door and make sure they were up and moving. Imagine that.
This being said, I have made it my personal mission to ensure that if anyone is going to be late or otherwise inconvenienced in any way in the morning, it will be me. Hey, what can I say, every other mom in America is doing the same thing. What we do for love.
While Tigger and Kit-Kat can shower the night before and rise fresh each morning, Darling Hubby, Julz, and I must have that morning shower to help us wake up, before we have access to caffeine. Trying to get three adults showered in the space of an hour is quite a challenge. Since he has to be at work at 7:00am, D/H, of course, gets to go first. His typical shower lasts about 25 minutes, of which the first 15 minutes are just standing, and a fart or two.
I usually use this time to make sure the kids are moving then I lay back down and try to catch a few Z's of my own. I then have to wait at least 10 minutes for the hot water to build back up, with Julia hot on my heels soon after. From time to time, I actually get up with the alarm clock and get to enjoy a hot, leisurely shower prior to 5:30, but somehow, that always seem to inconvenience the others, so it is rare that I try it.
There are no precedents in my house either. One morning D/H may be up and in the bathroom by 5:45, sometimes at 5:59, but he is ALWAYS in the shower at 6:00 or he is LATE. As was the case just yesterday, but a nasty traffic snarl on I-20 helped with his excuse. The kids are still out on holiday break, so not having them underfoot has helped as well.
So on this morning, when my husband, whom I love, was still snoozing a few minutes after 6:00, needless to say, it sent a panic through me. I jumped up and asked "Are you going to work today?" This was met with the usual, grunt I have come to know as his morning voice, and he started moving toward the bathroom.
This Christmas, at a family gift-swap, we recieved an I-Sing shower radio with digital clock. D/H put it in our shower sometime last week. If anyone else has one of these, I hope yours is better than ours, as the sound quality in our four-by-four fiberglass shower stall leaves much to be desired. From the bedroom it sounds as if someone is bathing one of the cats.
I have endured this noise during my snooze time for the past week and this morning, when the door opened prior to the mirror-wiping and hair-drying, I chose to address it. Big Mistake. My darling husband promptly slammed the door and finished his morning grooming ritual in the sauna-like environment he'd just created.
When he emerged a short time later, and headed for the kitchen, I followed him."What is the matter?" I asked,. "Why do you always start in the morning?" he shot back, "you're always criticizing!" "What did I do?!" I asked again, somewhat befuddled. "You're pissing me off, that's what," throwing up his hands, " and if you keep on, it's going to wake the kids."When I pressed for more details of my heinous actions, he cut me off mid-sentence. Knowing the limit before the "yell-o-meter" goes off, I retreated to the bedroom, on the verge of tears. He was gone before I got out of the shower.
I've mulled it over all day. Like the little things that we do for each other that we take for granted. For example: he always makes sure my cell phone is charged; I buy him Dt. Mountain Dews and stash them so the kids don't find them. I am really thankful for those little things, but I don't think I've told him lately. I don't think he realized that I wasn't trying to be difficult this morning. I was just trying to take care of him, and make some conversation.
Whoever said "you always hurt the ones you love" was right.
Maybe tomorrow I will wake him with "I love you" like the old days instead..
You always hurt the one you love...
Current mood: confused
My husband, is NOT a morning person. I learned this pretty early on in our marriage. However, he was not always the person I find myself waking up with lately. During the time that we were dating, I will say, he had me fooled.He would call me each morning, bright and early, to make sure I was up, getting ready for work, tell me good morning and that he loved me. His voice was sweet and tender and he always knew just what to say. Usually his was the first voice I heard in the morning, even before my own. Being a single mom at the time, sometimes Julz would beat him to it, but not often. This practice started pretty early on in our relationship, stemming from our late night talks and early work shifts. I soon began to do in kind and at times we would race each other to see who could be the first to make the call. Sometimes one would pick up the phone to dial, only to find the other had called and the phone hadn't even had time to ring. We'd laugh and then neither would want to be the first to hang up. The romance of it all was enough to put my diabetes into high gear.
Well, as you would expect, once the shine had worn off our wedding rings, we went back to being normal, sane, selfish, grouchy morning people.
A typical work-day morning at our house, now starts with everyone hitting "snooze" and trying to catch those few last precious Z's before being forced to head out to work or school. The annoying buzzing all over the house begins about 5:40a.m. That gives each snoozer about two more "snoozes." However, if we are not on our feet at 6:00 a.m. sharp, we are officially LATE.
I don't know how it started, but somehow, everyone's inability to rise in a timely manner has come to be my personal responsibility. (Keep in mind, I am dealing with a grown adult male, an 18 year old with her own job, a 13 year old son and an 11 year old who wants to be 18.) Each time someone in our household is late, it is deemed my fault, regardless of the actual circumstances.
Case in point, not long ago, I was home on a much deserved vacation day, only to be blamed for everyone else oversleeping. Because I did not have to go to work, I did not feel the need to get up at 5:45a.m. that particular morning. Everyone knew that I was off prior to going to bed, but still expected me to bang on their door and make sure they were up and moving. Imagine that.
This being said, I have made it my personal mission to ensure that if anyone is going to be late or otherwise inconvenienced in any way in the morning, it will be me. Hey, what can I say, every other mom in America is doing the same thing. What we do for love.
While Tigger and Kit-Kat can shower the night before and rise fresh each morning, Darling Hubby, Julz, and I must have that morning shower to help us wake up, before we have access to caffeine. Trying to get three adults showered in the space of an hour is quite a challenge. Since he has to be at work at 7:00am, D/H, of course, gets to go first. His typical shower lasts about 25 minutes, of which the first 15 minutes are just standing, and a fart or two.
I usually use this time to make sure the kids are moving then I lay back down and try to catch a few Z's of my own. I then have to wait at least 10 minutes for the hot water to build back up, with Julia hot on my heels soon after. From time to time, I actually get up with the alarm clock and get to enjoy a hot, leisurely shower prior to 5:30, but somehow, that always seem to inconvenience the others, so it is rare that I try it.
There are no precedents in my house either. One morning D/H may be up and in the bathroom by 5:45, sometimes at 5:59, but he is ALWAYS in the shower at 6:00 or he is LATE. As was the case just yesterday, but a nasty traffic snarl on I-20 helped with his excuse. The kids are still out on holiday break, so not having them underfoot has helped as well.
So on this morning, when my husband, whom I love, was still snoozing a few minutes after 6:00, needless to say, it sent a panic through me. I jumped up and asked "Are you going to work today?" This was met with the usual, grunt I have come to know as his morning voice, and he started moving toward the bathroom.
This Christmas, at a family gift-swap, we recieved an I-Sing shower radio with digital clock. D/H put it in our shower sometime last week. If anyone else has one of these, I hope yours is better than ours, as the sound quality in our four-by-four fiberglass shower stall leaves much to be desired. From the bedroom it sounds as if someone is bathing one of the cats.
I have endured this noise during my snooze time for the past week and this morning, when the door opened prior to the mirror-wiping and hair-drying, I chose to address it. Big Mistake. My darling husband promptly slammed the door and finished his morning grooming ritual in the sauna-like environment he'd just created.
When he emerged a short time later, and headed for the kitchen, I followed him."What is the matter?" I asked,. "Why do you always start in the morning?" he shot back, "you're always criticizing!" "What did I do?!" I asked again, somewhat befuddled. "You're pissing me off, that's what," throwing up his hands, " and if you keep on, it's going to wake the kids."When I pressed for more details of my heinous actions, he cut me off mid-sentence. Knowing the limit before the "yell-o-meter" goes off, I retreated to the bedroom, on the verge of tears. He was gone before I got out of the shower.
I've mulled it over all day. Like the little things that we do for each other that we take for granted. For example: he always makes sure my cell phone is charged; I buy him Dt. Mountain Dews and stash them so the kids don't find them. I am really thankful for those little things, but I don't think I've told him lately. I don't think he realized that I wasn't trying to be difficult this morning. I was just trying to take care of him, and make some conversation.
Whoever said "you always hurt the ones you love" was right.
Maybe tomorrow I will wake him with "I love you" like the old days instead..
I am okay, but the SNAKE was not as lucky
(Repost...originally written & posted to Myspace on date listed below)
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
I am okay, but the SNAKE was not as lucky
Okay, I promised that when the swelling in my hand went down, I would tell everyone what happened. It has taken nearly a week for the swelling in my left ring finger to go down enough to stand to type more than a few sentences at a time. Before anyone gets all upset and worried, no, I did not suffer a snake bite, but I was injured nonetheless.
Tuesdays, as you know, are Chick-Flick nights at Cyndi's. Last Tuesday, was a particularly warm, sunny day and when I arrived, Cyndi was seated in the "green room", a section of her front porch enclosed in lattice, that is soon to be a screen porch. It contains a white wicker set with green cushions and green indoor/outdoor carpeting. I took my place on the wicker love seat and we chatted about how nice it was outside and various things that had gone on during the day. She had cut back some of the shrubs, so we had a better view of the neighborhood.
About fifteen minutes into my visit, Maddie, the 6 year old, came out , wearing just a t-shirt and her panties, to ask her mother some innocuous question. I commented on her choice of attire and how young ladies should think about such things before traipsing out onto the porch in full view of the neighborhood. She just stood there, starring out into space. I thought she was ignoring me, like sometimes she likes to do and Cyndi said "Did you hear what we are saying?" Her gaze was fixed on the wall between Cyndi and me. "Yeah, but…" her little voice trailed off. Cyndi and I followed her gaze and much to our surprise, hanging from the brick wall, was a large, brown and yellow snake!
His head had been less than a foot from my own, his body following the mortar line along the wall and up the corner. He was muddy brown with alternating yellow stripes. The middle of his body was perched atop a group of bamboo tiki torches leaned against the wall and his tail seemed melt into the corner just a few inches from the eave. He was about four feet long , about as thick as a silver dollar, with the exception of the section atop the tiki torches, a lump the size of a fist, evidence of his last meal. He did not blend into the red and black brick at all, so I do not see how we missed him!
Contrary to my own belief, I did not have a heart attack on the spot, but it's a thousand wonders we did not kill each other trying to escape the green room. We stood in the alcove by the front door, with our hands over our hearts and tried to collect ourselves. Maddie summoned the other children, who had to come see the yet-to-be-identified snake. Mac, the oldest child and resident animal enthusiast, excitedly took pictures of our unwelcome visitor with Meryn peering from behind her, squealing. Matt-Matt, the baby, was all underfoot, unsure as to what exactly was happening, but happy to be in the fray.
It was soon established that Cyndi owned no gardening tools. We discussed several, less than savory methods of dispatching the reptile and the consequences and clean up methods of each. We decided to summon Russell, the neighbor, not because he was male, but because he was surely better equipped (and most certainly owned a weapon of some description) to handle the situation.
I was left to "watch the snake," who seemed somewhat oblivious to the pandemonium raging just a few feet from him, while Cyndi walked across to Russell's. As she walked across his yard, it dawned on me that perhaps the neighbor boy up the street who cuts the grass may have some sort of garden implements we could use when it happened. Never taking my eye off the snake, I stepped to my left to lean out of the alcove and share my epiphany. I lost my footing and fell off the porch onto the scalloped concrete edging that separated the flower bed from the walkway. My full weight came down on my left hand, gripping my cell phone like a vice and my left elbow and hip came down on the edger like a sack of potatoes. But I never dropped my cell nor did I take my eyes off the snake.
Throbbing and bleeding, I scrambled to my feet. I hurt everywhere at once and jumping up too quickly made me feel faint. I couldn't gather enough breath to yell at Cyndi, who was returning, alone, from Russell's. All I could do was repeat " I fell, I fell," over and over. While she called her boyfriend (who was out on a call and no where near close enough to rescue us), I went in to wash my hands and survey the damage. The heel of my left hand was scrapped and bloody, as was my left wrist down to my elbow and two fingers. The nail of my left ring finger was so scratched up, all the nail polish was gone. This finger was also rapidly swelling and turning a lovely eggplant color. The whole left leg of my pants was muddy, but thankfully, and surprisingly not torn, despite the fact the skin underneath was cut up and bleeding from my hip to my knee. I changed into a pair of Cyndi's lounging pants and went back onto the porch.
David had suggested we call the city, to see what type of animal control they may have. The dispatcher promised that someone would be out right away and soon we were joined by two of Moody's finest boys in blue. Apparently the fire department felt the police were better equipped to handle this, given they had guns.
The banter between us and the nervous officers would fill this blog alone, so I will just paraphrase for the sake of time and space. The first officer informed us he would be unable to shoot the snake because of its position on the brick wall (Well Duh!) . He attempted to pick the snake up with his extendable baton, something the snake wanted no part of. The second officer, who kept reminding us that he was not sure his salary covered this type of public service, used the tiki torch and together they attempted to move the increasingly agitated snake.
Mr NoShoulders let go of his hold on the wall and dropped to the floor between the love seat and the chair, attempting to hide under the table in between. The first officer tried to loop the snake around the baton, while the second held the cup-end of the tiki torch down over its head, all the while leaning over an assortment of furniture in the corner of the green room. "Oh if I only had a machete' this would be over real quick" the first officer lamented. Cyndi & I exchanged our "Oh, I could have had a V8" look and she excused herself to go back in the house.
I know that I have mentioned before that my best friend is a black belt. At this time, may I add, she is well versed in several types of martial arts weaponry and actually owns those in which she is proficient.
She returned a few moments later. "Will this do?" she asked grinning, stealthily unsheathing her 36 inch Samurai sword from its scabbard. The officers looked at her, then at each other and agreed in unison that the sword would more than do the trick.
Officer One made quick work of the snake and soon removed its writhing, headless body from the green room. Officer Two was enthralled, asking Cyndi about the disciplines she'd studied and the other types of weaponry she could use. She was showing him a short sword kata when the third police car pulled up.
"Oh great, " I said to Cyndi, "What on earth are your neighbors gonna think? You're in the front yard with a Samurai sword, I'm bleeding all over the place and there are three police cars in your drive way.
"Oh well, they already think we're a "special couple" anyway.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
I am okay, but the SNAKE was not as lucky
Okay, I promised that when the swelling in my hand went down, I would tell everyone what happened. It has taken nearly a week for the swelling in my left ring finger to go down enough to stand to type more than a few sentences at a time. Before anyone gets all upset and worried, no, I did not suffer a snake bite, but I was injured nonetheless.
Tuesdays, as you know, are Chick-Flick nights at Cyndi's. Last Tuesday, was a particularly warm, sunny day and when I arrived, Cyndi was seated in the "green room", a section of her front porch enclosed in lattice, that is soon to be a screen porch. It contains a white wicker set with green cushions and green indoor/outdoor carpeting. I took my place on the wicker love seat and we chatted about how nice it was outside and various things that had gone on during the day. She had cut back some of the shrubs, so we had a better view of the neighborhood.
About fifteen minutes into my visit, Maddie, the 6 year old, came out , wearing just a t-shirt and her panties, to ask her mother some innocuous question. I commented on her choice of attire and how young ladies should think about such things before traipsing out onto the porch in full view of the neighborhood. She just stood there, starring out into space. I thought she was ignoring me, like sometimes she likes to do and Cyndi said "Did you hear what we are saying?" Her gaze was fixed on the wall between Cyndi and me. "Yeah, but…" her little voice trailed off. Cyndi and I followed her gaze and much to our surprise, hanging from the brick wall, was a large, brown and yellow snake!
His head had been less than a foot from my own, his body following the mortar line along the wall and up the corner. He was muddy brown with alternating yellow stripes. The middle of his body was perched atop a group of bamboo tiki torches leaned against the wall and his tail seemed melt into the corner just a few inches from the eave. He was about four feet long , about as thick as a silver dollar, with the exception of the section atop the tiki torches, a lump the size of a fist, evidence of his last meal. He did not blend into the red and black brick at all, so I do not see how we missed him!
Contrary to my own belief, I did not have a heart attack on the spot, but it's a thousand wonders we did not kill each other trying to escape the green room. We stood in the alcove by the front door, with our hands over our hearts and tried to collect ourselves. Maddie summoned the other children, who had to come see the yet-to-be-identified snake. Mac, the oldest child and resident animal enthusiast, excitedly took pictures of our unwelcome visitor with Meryn peering from behind her, squealing. Matt-Matt, the baby, was all underfoot, unsure as to what exactly was happening, but happy to be in the fray.
It was soon established that Cyndi owned no gardening tools. We discussed several, less than savory methods of dispatching the reptile and the consequences and clean up methods of each. We decided to summon Russell, the neighbor, not because he was male, but because he was surely better equipped (and most certainly owned a weapon of some description) to handle the situation.
I was left to "watch the snake," who seemed somewhat oblivious to the pandemonium raging just a few feet from him, while Cyndi walked across to Russell's. As she walked across his yard, it dawned on me that perhaps the neighbor boy up the street who cuts the grass may have some sort of garden implements we could use when it happened. Never taking my eye off the snake, I stepped to my left to lean out of the alcove and share my epiphany. I lost my footing and fell off the porch onto the scalloped concrete edging that separated the flower bed from the walkway. My full weight came down on my left hand, gripping my cell phone like a vice and my left elbow and hip came down on the edger like a sack of potatoes. But I never dropped my cell nor did I take my eyes off the snake.
Throbbing and bleeding, I scrambled to my feet. I hurt everywhere at once and jumping up too quickly made me feel faint. I couldn't gather enough breath to yell at Cyndi, who was returning, alone, from Russell's. All I could do was repeat " I fell, I fell," over and over. While she called her boyfriend (who was out on a call and no where near close enough to rescue us), I went in to wash my hands and survey the damage. The heel of my left hand was scrapped and bloody, as was my left wrist down to my elbow and two fingers. The nail of my left ring finger was so scratched up, all the nail polish was gone. This finger was also rapidly swelling and turning a lovely eggplant color. The whole left leg of my pants was muddy, but thankfully, and surprisingly not torn, despite the fact the skin underneath was cut up and bleeding from my hip to my knee. I changed into a pair of Cyndi's lounging pants and went back onto the porch.
David had suggested we call the city, to see what type of animal control they may have. The dispatcher promised that someone would be out right away and soon we were joined by two of Moody's finest boys in blue. Apparently the fire department felt the police were better equipped to handle this, given they had guns.
The banter between us and the nervous officers would fill this blog alone, so I will just paraphrase for the sake of time and space. The first officer informed us he would be unable to shoot the snake because of its position on the brick wall (Well Duh!) . He attempted to pick the snake up with his extendable baton, something the snake wanted no part of. The second officer, who kept reminding us that he was not sure his salary covered this type of public service, used the tiki torch and together they attempted to move the increasingly agitated snake.
Mr NoShoulders let go of his hold on the wall and dropped to the floor between the love seat and the chair, attempting to hide under the table in between. The first officer tried to loop the snake around the baton, while the second held the cup-end of the tiki torch down over its head, all the while leaning over an assortment of furniture in the corner of the green room. "Oh if I only had a machete' this would be over real quick" the first officer lamented. Cyndi & I exchanged our "Oh, I could have had a V8" look and she excused herself to go back in the house.
I know that I have mentioned before that my best friend is a black belt. At this time, may I add, she is well versed in several types of martial arts weaponry and actually owns those in which she is proficient.
She returned a few moments later. "Will this do?" she asked grinning, stealthily unsheathing her 36 inch Samurai sword from its scabbard. The officers looked at her, then at each other and agreed in unison that the sword would more than do the trick.
Officer One made quick work of the snake and soon removed its writhing, headless body from the green room. Officer Two was enthralled, asking Cyndi about the disciplines she'd studied and the other types of weaponry she could use. She was showing him a short sword kata when the third police car pulled up.
"Oh great, " I said to Cyndi, "What on earth are your neighbors gonna think? You're in the front yard with a Samurai sword, I'm bleeding all over the place and there are three police cars in your drive way.
"Oh well, they already think we're a "special couple" anyway.
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