I hurried to my car and yanked the door open, the top corner of which soundly smacked me on the head just forward of my left temple. It smarted like you wouldn't believe.
So I was hurrying and owchie!ing and then thought of Natasha Richardson and I thought Crap! What if I die and no one knows I stupidly killed myself with my own car door? Then I realized if I did die of stupidity, maybe it was best if I just let folks wonder.
Well, so far, it didn't kill me, and here I am: removing all doubt.
Wednesday I was motoring up the highway and noticed that for about a mile ahead and at least as far behind me and on both sides of the highway there was not a single other car in sight from the last hill to the next. Here's to a staggering lack of traffic jams.
The pups have been blissed-out playing with the children of our hosts. I think they're going to miss the excitement and energy of the kids once we are ensconced in our own place, but hopefully the big yard will be a consolation of sorts. Hopefully Mr. & Mrs. Tolewyn will let me babysit in attempt to repay their kindness, and the pups can enjoy visits from the kids.
There are moments when it is impossible to deny the intelligence of Praline. Wednesday night, the two-year-old was having quite a grand time chasing Praline around a large recliner, and every time she got very far ahead of the child, she would stop and wait for him to round the corner to continue the game. She wanted to keep him interested, to keep the chase spooling out. She's so fleet she could handily have run circles around him, yet she found more delight in the game and tempered her pace accordingly. I laughed and laughed to see her patience, as that is not a trait I tend to associate with her. Likewise, she seems to understand he's a little one, and unlike when she wants to have a struggle with adults for the ball so they can throw it and she can fetch it, she will walk up to the small child and deposit the ball at his feet. She's one intense little hairball, but her brain is working in ways which surprise me. What a dear girl.
Things look good and later today I have a follow up interview for the job I mentioned yesterday. The other job starts Monday, but it's a temporary job on a very strict probationary term, and the orientation has made me suspect the job will be rigid in ways which make me restless. We shall see. I am grateful for the opportunity, but I'm yearning for a job which will afford more permanence from the gitgo. Things have been odd and a little up-in-the-air, but in the main things have been really good and I'm very happy. I'm looking forward to feeling more settled and to be living in my new place, but the important thing is that I made it here.
Ya know in Planet of the Apes when Taylor and the other astronauts arrive at the edge of Monkey Mondo and you see the stretched hides of (?) chimps or orangutans(can't remember which) -- were those meant to be scarecrows, or were they the hides of dead outlaws or what? I never really got the purpose of that. Perhaps it would have been more clear if there'd been a sign that read "hitchikers may be escaped convicts."
Will try to post more later today.
I just keep wondering when the MSM will finally wake up and smell the reek of cheapness? It stinks on ice.
...you know, if Bush had been in the White House when this happened, I think the MSM would be all lathered up speculating that El Prez had taken AF1 for a joy-ride. I'll bet that's what happened here. Has anyone thought of pimping a 747 ride, yet? Does anyone know the POTUS' whereabouts at the time of the *aherm* photo opportunity?
Saturday I was stressed-out, in a way, but something in me just felt everything would work out alright. Mr. & Mrs. Tolewyn took me in, and I feel so much better, and their kindness and hospitality only served to reinforce my feeling that things were going to work out incredibly well.
I can't talk longer tonight- I'm SO sleepy. Extended family of friends have come up with brilliant solutions to my problem. My first night here (Saturday night) was exhausting and that night I slept 6 hours. That extra 3 hours made all the difference. Here's to waking up to yet another brand new day on Monday.
I'm wiped out. I don't know exactly how all this is going to pan out, but I'm so happy to be here, and I know it will all be okay. :) The complexion of this situation is tempered entirely by the fact that some incredibly nice people are so generous and kind. :)
Life is sweet. Just a little unpredictable.
a new phlegmmy girl!
On the road first thing today and then home at last. WOOHOO!
h/t to Blowfuzzy von Saucy
Thursday afternoon was stressful. I was tied up with worky headaches on property and I came back to the office to wrap up, and found the following message in my email:
I heard that tomorrow is your last day with us at Phlegm Gardens*. I have known you for very little time but I know you have put in some time at the property. As a short time resident I want you to know that you are so great and we are losing a great manager. I am so sad that you are going but know that the future is a bright happy place with you and your new road! Take care and please be safe on your drive to your new home!!!!
Thank you again for all your help!!
What's that in my eyes? Why is my nose tingling?
omg. Typing this Thursday afternoon. One of my residents just came in to wish me well and thank me for everything. There go the waterworks.
*not really the name of the place. Ahem.
I made a phenomenal amount of progress packing on Wednesday night. Almost finished, in fact. I should handily complete the chore Thursday night, save the bare essentials I'll need for Friday. Thursday night I'll load a lot of the crystal and things I want to handle gingerly into my SUV so they don't get smushed by the truck loaders.
Friday afternoon I pick up my big UHaul truck-- I'm just that strong-- and immediately after work, I've secured a crew to load it for me. I'll lock it up for the night and get to the UHaul place at 9 Saturday morning to have my SUV loaded onto a trailer attached to the truck, and then I'm on the road. I expect to arrive at my new place about 12:30 or 1:00.
I'll be relieved when it's all done with. Miles to go before I sleep...
I think more bricklayers should be singing, and more singers should be bricklayers.
But that's just me.
A week from today I'm moving. YAYS!
Any the hoo, shortly after his call, two men in suits got out of a big sedan and strode into my office. One was about 6’4”, handsome 50-something, bespoke black pinstripe suit with red silk lining in the jacket, very expensive tie, pinkie rings. The shorter man, also in a suit, looked like a bit of a tough guy.
Tall Man walked up to my desk, his eyes locked on mine. He then said in a raspy voice, Chicago-ish accent “I’m Guido, this is Bruno, we need to have a little talk with you.”
Assuming these men had come to meet company owner, I decided to have a little fun. I turned one corner of my mouth up into a little smirk and said “you’re not here to break my kneecaps, are ya?” and gales of laughter erupted from Tall Man.
When he recovered his air, he said “oh, you’re good. You’re good!”
I said “take the cannoli.”
Counting Friday, 6 more days
I'm so glad they won't need to call and ask me how to do things after I'm gone, because it's all so obvious and any moron could do my job, right?
I know I shouldn't care, but I don't want residents to suffer needlessly just because someone didn't take time to prepare for my departure.
What can you do?
Counting today, 8 more days of this job, and then I'm moving home. I am counting the minutes, matter of fact.
Saturday I found a house and rented it in my new town, Elsewhere. This is several hours away from Dallas, so it's a comfortable distance and yet comfortably close if I simply must have a retail fix. Two weeks from now, I'll be in my new place and preparing to start a new job. The house doesn't look grand or remarkable on the outside, and in truth it's a little on the old and hinkie side, but it suits me. It's got a corrugated metal roof and I no longer have to lament leaving behind the corrugated roof on my Dallas loft.
I suppose no one likes wondering where they'll be living in one or two or three weeks, but it seems to me that in the rental industry, I see an awful lot of folks who leave choosing a new place until the very last minute. There must something liberating about that or so many people wouldn't do it. I'm not wired that way - I need things settled so I can get my feathers all smoothed out. I hate having my feathers ruffled. I spend a lot of money on pomades and nice-smelling things to keep them smooth, and it hadn't oughta happen that they get mussed.
This is going to be an adventure. It seems I spent much of my early adult life believing I'd be moving off to some exotic [to me] locale somewhere else on the planet, and then proceeded to live the years since then orbiting around Dallas. Now I'm moving to a small town where the folks are actually neighborly. Yes, I'm sure they'll also have the hangups and quirks one expects in a small place with busybodies and the usual sewing circles, but I think I'll do just fine there.
Vowing to wrap tumbleweeds in fairy lights for my Christmas yard art, I was speculating that I'd be the town weirdo. Then again, I've seen a couple of those already, and I think the price tag on my shoe collection alone would garner me a firm place in the "eccentric" rather than "weirdo" camp.
Ah well, it's good to have goals.
I can't wait to plant some flowers there. I know just how it's going to look. It'll be fabulous.
Watch this space.
La! La! La! La! La!
I keed! I keed!
No, really. Really.
Labels: kitten rage
Suicide Victim Jumps, Lands on NYC Shopper
Victim? Why not Suicide Perpetrator?
I mean, it's not like the jumper was just some random wrong place/wrong time garden-variety victim. She sort of, uh, made it happen.
I remember seeing an article on a local newscast where a guy had been apprehended by police in the midst of beating the crap out of someone. A few sentences later the newsreader referred to the brute as a "gentleman."
Uh, excuse me? It's not a gentleman until proven guilty. Also, caught in the act is pretty unambiguous, imho.
Why are so-called professionals so clunky with the language? This ain't rocket surgery.
One major bone of contention in local politics and city planning is that between the high levees of the current Trinity riverbed, local officials have been trying to do billion$ in development of parks and recreation/entertainment areas. We've voted, people have argued, and it's looked to me like the city government is going full-tilt-boogie with it all whether we like it or not. Add to that the fact that they are trying to build a taxpayer-funded billion $$$ hotel attached to our convention center and without us having the ability to vote yea or nay and a lot of folks in Dallas are seeing red.
Now our local gubmint is barreling ahead with plans for this Trinity river development and feigning ignorance of reports from the Army Corps of Engineers. Here's an article on the looming disaster from the free local weekly Dallas Observer.
I suppose if the federal government makes a habit of throwing money down holes, why should it surprise that the locals do so as well? On the other hand, it's fun to imagine that at least on a local level, there would be some accountability brought to bear.
Sometimes, less is more. How about for once we stop spending when a project looks like a disaster-in-the-making? I suppose that would make too much sense, though, wouldn't it?
...and lest you mistakenly think I'm not the biggest dork you've ever heard of...
I always wanted to be a singer. In my heart of hearts, I've always known I was meant to wail it out and do a lot of very fancy yelling, bending the entire universe to my sublime will. There've been a couple hiccups along the way, though.
Grandpa would play guitar and insist I sing Skip to My Lou and I wanted-- really and truly wanted-- to sing, but I felt shy and embarrassed. I know: go figure.
In fifth grade, my best friend was a girl named Karen.
Karen had nary a shy bone in her body. She was super cool. Her face was dusted with freckles, her dark hair falling in lank strands to her shoulders, and I was transfixed on that broken front tooth which I thought made her look really special. Gosh, I wished I could have a broken front tooth.
[Uh, hello! Warped. You already knew this.]
Anyhoo, my quest for world domination seemed finally to be taking off when Karen (not me!) had the brilliant ideer we should sing a duet in the school talent show.
Jimmy Sides played his guitar and sang "Operator." He was so cool, and, y'know: mature. All the other fifth grade boys were so dorky. In retrospect, I'm sure Jimmy would have preferred to play something by KISS. I like to imagine the Jim Croce number is a secret shame he carries to this day, much like the song I'm about telling you here, and that his parents prolly made him sing that song.
Karen was adamant we should sing in the talent show. I had a better voice, better style and sense of nuance, etc., but all that didn't matter a whit. Karen had in spades a trait I utterly lacked: sheer and abiding gall. I wanted to sing something pretty I'd heard on Lawrence Welk. Karen had the brilliant idea to sing the horrid song featured below. Honestly, I can't bring myself to write the very name of this wretched song. Horrors. Horrors!
So, anyhoo, we *cocked brow* decided we'd sing (sans yodeling) this rather than the Lawrence Welk 'stravaganza. Mom thought this song was just adorable. *cringe* The audition was fine-- we had to sing for a gaggle of teachers. It's easy as can be to sing in front of people you don't respect. *yawn* Bastiges. However, come the day of the talent show, the whole of the rest of the 5th grade through 12th grade, parents, faculty et al? Guar-damn-teed constipation cure. Srsly.
I rather fancy Karen had to drag me out onto the stage. Once at its center I stood there mute and dying inside as Karen sang her little fifth grade balls off. I swear I was crying, but I don't know. I heard the blood rushing through my own veins, my breathing enormous and labored. The gym beyond the proscenium telescoped out, accordion-like till all the universe was that room awash in faces and eyes and bad 1970s fashions. The accompanying music clattered on gaily, so cheerfully that it fairly begged for a bloody nose.
I think I didn't utter a single peep the entire song.
Surreal torturefest ended, we turned toward the wing and I stumbled zombie-like as I looked over at Karen, who was smiling out at the audience as she marched resolutely offstage. I remember seeing the kind, pitying eyes of Miss Fogelman as she ushered us through the huge, heavy velvet curtains. Thank goodness that is over!
It's amazing how silly moments will stay with you, isn't it? No, I'm not embarrassed now. Singing in front of people doesn't bother me at all these days. However, if I had to sing this song in front of anyone, even my puppehs, it'd probably kill me!
don't tweedle-dee-dee me.
Chiweenies are such cute dogs. Ya gotta love such a happy and sweet critter.
Happy Tuesday, people!
Labels: I'm moving.
Once a little over 20 years ago I went to Arkansas with Dad to visit my grandparents. I popped a Stray Cats cd [er, it was an album ;)] into the tape deck and we rolled on down the line. Dad liked it. I thought that was so cool that he could enjoy music I loved. Road trips with Dad have always been the best even when I was a little kid. I can drive around for days on vacations, just looking at things, and there's something stirring and satisfying about hitting the road just to see what's out there. I'm glad my family never flew anywhere when I was a kid. When I finally started flying for vacations on trips to Europe in my 20s, I always felt like flying was cheating all the sights and landscapes I was flying over.
Here's to taking time to stop and smell the roadside attractions.
See? Easy peasey!
Drool Mode: Full-on Slobber
Today I read that Barney Frank thinks folks like himself should have the ability to set wages of employees in private companies in the USA. Hmph. Funny how there's no mention of salary caps for film stars or athletes, or politicians, for that matter.
Anyhoo, before Barney Frank is given the keys to regulating yours or my incomes, I think we need to revisit what a brilliant job he did manning the helm of the capsizing Fannie and Freddie programs. I went back to this video I posted here, and it turned out it had been banned by Time Warner on YouTube. It all stinks on ice.
I think the other version included c-span clips of Barney Frank and others protesting the implication there needed to be investigation into Freddie Mac and Fannie Mae, saying there was no problem with these loan guarantors. If Barney Frank was supposed to be minding the store on the mortgage industry and failed so miserably, how can anyone think he's capable or worthy of riding herd on private industry?
April fools, indeed.
A Keyboard and a .45
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I Aim To Misbehave
If the Creek Don't Rise
In Jennifer's Head
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Lawyer With A Gun
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Something to Say
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Sunday, Puppy Sunday: my little prince
My little murder machine
Sunday, Puppy Sunday: she's at it again
Sunday, Puppy Monday:
Sunday, Puppy Sunday: snooze fest
Happiness is a raft of new (old) hankies
TheCornered Cat * A MUST read
Gallery of the Absurd - wickedly delicious
Independent Woman - Elbow
Robin Guthrie: Weblog
Arkansas Travel Site