Vignettes
I’m taking a sick day from work today, because I knew I would be spending two and a half hours at the dentist (but my ordeal is finally over!) and would probably want to sleep afterward. I’ll be doing that as soon as I finish eating my soft lunch. I feel requisitely guilty about missing work, but Rusty reminded me that I have a ton of sick days, so I shouldn’t feel too bad. And he’s right; I hardly ever use sick days. (When I got the flu in 2006, I was a contractor, so those days off were all unpaid.) Back in 2005 when Ryan was my boss, he forced me to take some days off to use up some sick days.
My dentist has a satellite radio station that plays 70s music. Usually it’s good, with occasional really bad exceptions. The last two times I’ve been there, I’ve heard the Allman Brothers’ “Ramblin’ Man.” Every time it gets to the line, “I was born in the back seat of a Greyhound bus / Rollin’ down Highway 41,” I can’t help but think, “Wow, what a mess that must’ve been.”
If I feel better today after my ibuprofen-induced nap, I might go to Ace Hardware or Lowe’s and get some flowers to put in containers on the deck. So far the begonias out front are doing good. Fortunately for me, the birds seem to like the window basket outside my office window. On Saturday a female house finch was hanging out in the basket, and this morning I spotted a mockingbird pulling out a piece of the fiber of the basket for nesting material.
On the deck, I’ve seen a baby cardinal being fed by its father. And in the big pine tree in the front yard, I’ve seen two baby chickadees, which are even cuter than adult chickadees.
Also, yesterday there was a cat orgy in the back yard. It was two cats having sex and another one watching, so really more like voyeurism. At one point the voyeur cat looked up and, I don’t know if he could see Rusty and I watching from inside the kitchen, but his expression seemed to say, “What are you looking at, sickos?” Then he went back to watching the other cats have sex. Rusty suggested I get my Kodak Zi6 camera and record it. “What an auspicious start to my video making,” I said, as I went to get my camera. But the orgy was over by the time I made it back.
Finally: if you were at Sex 2.0, don’t forget to take the survey! We need your feedback. There are only 18 responses so far but 166 of y’all were there… come on!
God-incidence
Lia commented on my last post and it reminded me of something I meant to include, but forgot.
(This won’t be very well written.)
The day before my dad died, when I was in the airport about to get on a plane to Chicago, my grandmother called and told me my mom was following an ambulance to the VA Hospital, where they were taking my dad because he had taken a turn for the worse. She didn’t come right out and say “come to Augusta,” but she said something like “I think your mother needs you now.” And I felt awful and told her not to guilt me and don’t think I haven’t struggled with this – but I need to go on this trip. And she said, “Even if your daddy is dying?” And I snapped at her again about guilting me. She asked, “Well is there anything you want me to tell your mother?” And I was crying at that point and I said, “I don’t know. Just tell her I love her.” Then I hung up.
At that point I was crying too much to try to hide it, and I didn’t want to make a scene (which I probably already was doing, even though I was trying to hide behind an elevator shaft). It just so happened that there was one of those “interfaith chapels” right near where I was standing – near the escalators coming into Terminal E. So I went in there. Basically it was just a little room with some chairs and a table with a Bible and some other various religious accoutrements. I called Jenny and Rusty to tell them both what was going on, and by that point I was just bawling. I couldn’t stop. A few other people had come into the room and I was embarrassed, so I just stayed facing the wall. They eventually left.
When I was on the phone with Rusty, I felt a hand on my knee. I turned around and there was a woman kneeling on the floor by my chair and she said, “I’m a hospice chaplain. It sounds like you need some help.” I told Rusty I’d call him back and hung up. The hospice chaplain spoke with me for several minutes and I don’t remember all of what she said, but she was very comforting and just wonderful. She said she had just happened to be walking by and heard me crying. After a few minutes she hugged me and said good luck and walked out.
When I told Lia about this when we met for dinner a few months ago, she said, “That’s what we call a God-incidence – instead of a coincidence.”
Definitely appropriate.
Opal ring / family history vignette
Opal ring,
originally uploaded by Amber Rhea.
This weekend when I was in Augusta, my grandmother gave me this ring. It belonged to Helen Woodrow Bones, a.k.a. "Cousin Helen" in my family. She was the personal secretary of Ellen Axson Wilson (Woodrow Wilson’s first wife). After Ellen’s death, Helen continued to live at the White House for some time as a secretary to Woodrow Wilson.
The ring is an opal and two diamonds. Opal is the birthstone of October. Both Helen and I were born in October.
I took this photo with my camera phone this morning; I’ll take a better photo soon.
Read more about the Bones family here. If (when) Rusty and I ever take a trip to Rome, we definitely need to stay at the Bones House Inn!
Blog post cribbed from an IM conversation
I’m not saying where this came from, but I hate headlines like this: “Quick Breakfasts That Kids and Dads Can Prepare.”
Kids, sure. But dads? Come on. Way to infantilize grown men.
It’s so simple! Even dad can do it! Because he’s not much smarter than a trained monkey!
(If I had a screenshot of the headline, it would get the FAIL stamp.)
Monday morning randomness
This is just too bizarre not to share.
This morning on the way to work, I stopped to get gas. So I’m standing there pumping gas, and a Honda Element rolls up, stops, and a guy sticks his head out the window. I’m wondering, “Oh, geez, what stupid sexist thing is he going to yell?” and thinking how apt Jenny’s post was.
But then the guy yells, “Hey! You know what happens if we elect Barack Obama?” I’m so stunned that I can’t resist yelling back, “What?”
“It’s an Obama-nation!” he says triumphantly, and drives off.
I rolled my eyes dramatically but then realized I was wearing sunglasses, and anyway he hadn’t bothered to stick around for my reaction.
But, WTF? I don’t have an Obama sticker on my car. I forgot to wear my “I Love Obama” 10-gallon hat today. So what made this dude stop and yell this joke (I use the word loosely) at me? And who yells jokes out of car windows, anyway? Was he just driving along, and suddenly thought of this great joke that blends timely political commentary with linguistic amusement, and just couldn’t keep it to himself?
What a weird way to start the day.
Vignette
Every time I hear the Kid Rock song “Cowboy,” at the part where he says, “Get thrown in the mix and tossed out of bars,” I think, “No, you mean Waffle Houses.”
What pop culture?
On the way back from our mid-afternoon secret coffee break just now, Rusty and I passed a short guy in sunglasses and a green jacket – also known as Justin Timberlake – outside the Four Seasons Hotel. I saw two women approach him with something they wanted him to sign; “that must be some obscure celebrity,” I thought. Then, “Why is Rusty being so slow?” I turned around and Rusty was taking a cell phone photo. “Who the fuck is that?” I asked, probably too loudly. Rusty didn’t answer, so I asked again, “Who is that?” “It’s Justin Timberlake,” he said, somewhat triumphantly – probably because he recognized someone from pop culture and I didn’t.
Exchange at Chick-Fil-A just now
Me: A medium sweet tea, please.
Cashier: The sweet tea doesn’t taste sweet.
Me: [pause] Sorry?
Cashier: I’m just giving you a heads up. People have been coming back and saying it doesn’t taste sweet.
Me: Well, are you going to make more sweet tea?
Cashier: [shrugs, looks at clock impatiently] It’ll take about five minutes.*
Me: Uhhhh… just… ah, never mind.
* Note: They close at 6pm. Guess he couldn’t be bothered..?
I’ll never get into nude modeling with blog posts like this
I have, on my shoulder, the biggest zit ever. Oops, suplerative alert! Okay, so, maybe not the biggest ever, but it’s pretty goddamn big. Rusty says it’s the biggest he’s seen in a long time; he was so excited when he popped it. (Yes, this is love.) He says he’s fascinated by it.
Almost forgot to mention this
Yesterday morning I saw a crazy lady crossing the street at North Ave. and Boulevard. She was holding a wad of cash, and every few steps she would stop and purposely drop the bills, then hold her head in her hands and shake it, then stoop and pick the bills up one by one, and continue. Thank goodness that was a long red light. She kept it up after she made it to the sidewalk, too.