Monthly Archives: January 2011
This was not going to be my subject today, but it’s my blog, and I will do what is necessary to scare attract my readers.
As I sat at work today, reading “Is it Just me or Is everyone a Little Nuts!” (Great book, made me laugh today when I really needed it.) I got a text message from my 21 year old step son;
“im gonna whoop andy.”
(Notice the spelling – took practice to get it just right.) With many thoughts going through my head there was only so much I could actually say to this. With as much time as he spends behind a computer screen I wasn’t sure if ‘andy’ was real or a net friend, so I said the 5th thing that came into my head,
“Who is that and why?”
He replied back, “the ginger”
For a whole 15 seconds I’m trying my best to understand this statement, wondering just what a “ginger” is, and wondering why he wanted to take out his aggressions on a bottle of spice. Understand, I am 53, I am proud that I have lived this long and am still going strong, and I have also experienced two different sets of the “Teens” but I was still a little lost.
Okay, very lost. Among our house hold are 5 hounds, three whippets and two Italian greyhounds. One of the IG’s does have a ginger color, sort of and his name is very close to “andy” (Ator) so I was a little concerned but I didn’t wish to bother his mom at work.
I replied, “Are you talking about one of the dogs”
I went through the next two hours waiting for a response. I never did receive one.
When I arrived home his car was gone so I assumed he went to handle his problem, but his sister, 19 years old and very knowledgeable at Teenspeak, was home.
“Where’s Jake?” I asked, pulling her attention away from the video game she was immersed in,
“I don’t know.”
“Does he have a friend named ‘Andy’ and why would he want to whoop him?’
“I don’t know.”
She was a big help. I then read off the text message that he sent me, following with the question, “What is a ginger?”
She laughed and then explained it to me. A ‘ginger’ is a kid with red head, real pale complexion blue eyes and freckles.
Then to my surprise Jake comes bouncing in the door, I asked, “Have fun?”
“Yeap!” he answers as he bounces up the steps – I won’t see him till dinner time.
But my mind is still reeling, why ginger for a skinny red haired pale kid with freckles. Then it hit me, Gilligan’s Island, Ginger from Gilligan’s Island. I grew up on that show – can’t seem to watch it now but every episode has been run into the ground by every channel including the TV channel. Now I had it. Who says you can’t learn anything from watching TV.
UPDATE: He actually was not going to ‘whoop’ any one, he went to ‘scoop’ him. Scoop = Pick up.
You are never too old to learn!
When my good friend L.M Stull placed a writing prompt last night, The Wedding I thought it would be great fun. The tag is, “write a wedding story, BUT write it from the point of view of the wedding bouquet.” It didn’t take long for my sick mind to come up with something. So here it is, The Weeding, err, Wedding.
Okay, I admit, was a little stuck on today’s entry, so I goggled blog prompts and found this, Imagination Prompt Generator It asks questions to get your juices flowing, I think I went through 10 before I came upon “What have you done before that you will never do again?” This caught my unwavering attention for two reasons, 1) A woman and I were discussing this topic just the other day, and 2) If I have an excuse to make myself look silly, I’m going to take it dammit.
Please enter my time machine.
Ten years ago, I found myself single and looking for love in all the wrong places, or at least the wrong web sites. Also included in my search for the perfect mate I tried to get back into shape. Driving on the road for nine years, stopping at all the fast food places I could (they should be called FAT food) and being married with kids for 22 years had a measurable effect on my waist line.
During my search, I began talking to a woman that had rollerblades and actually used them, three times a week. A light went off in my head and I immediately wanted to try this.
Part of our gym class when I was in high school was roller skating and the only difference was the position of the wheels.
The next day, I stopped at a used sport store and bought a pair of inline skates, the salesman was kind enough to throw in a helmet, elbow and knee pads. He wanted to sell me a DVD on how to rollerblade, I declined because I watched this stuff when they had it on TV years ago.
That weekend, I contacted my newest conquest friend and asked them if they wished to meet me this Saturday down at a little cement trail the city had built just for this type of insanity.
She laughed, I went by myself.
Once parked in a nice safe spot, I changed into my inline skates; knee pads, elbow pads and the helmet that made me look like one of the aliens from that Sigourney Weaver movie.
I started out a little shaky, trying to keep my balance as I circled my car, using it for support. After I got the balance thing all good I started pushing away from the truck and eventually made it to the three foot wide cement path. The ground was nice and even, no cracks, just a smooth blacktop trial heading off into the distance. I began at a safe speed and eventually worked up to an almost faster speed when I realized that the people ahead of me were dropping off the edge of the world.
“Darn, a hill!” I think I used another word there. Once I reached the top of the hill my momentum carried me over the top and straight down. At this point in my life I really didn’t want to watch it all over again so I turned into the grass and discovered how to stop safely. (The ground was very soft there.)
Once back on my feet I continued, by now I was soaking wet from sweating like a pig being led to slaughter. As I gained on a couple ahead of me, they were walking; I breathlessly asked them how long this track was.
“Six miles,” he said, “you’re about half way through it.”
I think the shocked expression on my face scared them because they began to run, real fast. Just about then, I wished for a lasso.
I plowed on, my legs and back wondering if they lost communication with my brain because they were screaming in agony. I didn’t even bother looking at my watch, but after what seemed like hours of torture, (imagine watching Jerseylicious) I saw the area where I parked my truck.
If my legs didn’t feel so numb I would have started dancing.
As I began the last 100 yards of the journey an older woman, maybe in her late 50’s slowed down and asked if I was okay. I told her I wasn’t sure because every part of my body was numb.
She told me to keep moving but start to slow down. I figured I wasn’t in hurry so why not.
Taking almost baby steps, I continued. Five minutes later a black SUV pulled up beside me, I thought for sure it was the government coming to arrest me for impersonating a physically fit inline skater. It was the woman that passed me a few minutes ago and she told me to get in.
My mom always told me not to get into a car with strangers, but my mom wasn’t here. I opened the door and hopped, err crawled inside, directing her to where my car was parked.
I thanked her as I fell out of her car, asking for her phone number on the way out. I was surprised I got it, but she told me to call her when I got the chance.
At least there was one positive note about my experience, and it wasn’t over yet. After I got home and staggered up the steps to my apartment, I collapsed on the bed. It was only 11am.
I woke the next morning, my body trying to remember how to walk. Muscles I didn’t even know I had screamed out in unison that I really shouldn’t move as I crawled into the bath tub to soak in a hot pool of water.
Two days later, most of the pain was gone and I decided to give it another try. But this time I played it a little smarter; I went to a local a park that had a one and a half mile trail. Once suited up, I pushed off and sailed down the first hill. As I rounded the top – I lost control (If I ever really had any at all) and ran right into the grass, tumbling about 20 feet.
I laid there for a second, testing my body to see if I broke anything, then looked around – good – no one saw me. I continued on the rest of the trail as my knee began bothering, but I assumed it was only old age. I did have one problem when I went down a very steep hill and saw a crowd of people standing at the bottom. I just yelled, “Move out of the way, I don’t know how to stop!” That emptied the trail very quickly.
When I managed to get back to my truck I sat on the tail gate and removed the skates and then the knee pads. That was when the pain hit me, like a ten pound sledge hammer hitting my knee over and over. I managed to hobble to the driver’s seat and thanked God that I didn’t have a manual transmission. The pain was in the right knee so I very carefully drove with my left foot. This took a little getting used to.
The next day, I wasn’t any better – it had swelled up three times its normal size so I had a friend take me to the doctors. It turned out I tore my meniscus in my knee. That required surgery and two weeks of recuperation.
I threw away the roller blades. I’m not touching those again, I wasn’t born with wheels on the soles of my feet, so I would I need to add them.
That’s mine, so tell me, what have you done before that you will never do again? (Don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul.)
Born November 17th, 1998. Died January 8th, 2011. He was only 12 years old, but lived a long life to the old age of 84. Known to the family under many names, Bully, The Ancient One, Speed Bumb, Butt Chips and the favorite, Black Balls, he lived a long easy fairly simple life, walking the yard, eating, drinking, and barking at ghostly sounds echoing throughout the house, like the door bell ringing on the TV. In his early years Bully traveled the country showing off his perfect coat and walk, becoming a Champion in the show ring. For the past 9 years he has guarded vigorously the inhabitants of his house hold, usually from the top of the steps where he made sure no one went any further, and if they attempted to he would lick them lovingly in the face.
Authors note: I wrote this last week for the Mention Monday, but it got lost because of
a case of stupidity a computer error. I am glad I found it. If you ever wondered “What are they really thinking?” read on!
The Ancient One awakens, first startled by the sound of foot prints sinking into the surrounding carpet. ‘Is it time? he wonders as the creature that woke him up releases the bouncing little young ones. They drive him nuts and he knows they are bothering him on purpose. No matter how much he tries to grab them to settle down, they just move too fast for him. ‘I am so happy there are only two of those,’ he thinks. As he tries to lift his weight off the floor the door closes so he lies back down.
It seems like an eternity to him, he is thirsty, hungry and he wants to play in the ‘outside’ as his pack leaders call it. He doesn’t have to wait long, the Master that left returns carrying the two little ones that hop. He calls them trouble1 and trouble2. Trouble2 smells of pee.
The Troubles are returned to their cage and the leader walks out – leaving the door open! This is his chance, the ancient one thinks, as he uses all of his strength to raise his old body. He stumbles along, walking up and down the hallway in search of an open bowl to drink from. It figures that this Master has closed them all. ‘He does that every morning because the smaller younger Masters never listen as well as I do.’ Giving up his search, he realizes that he too must go ‘outside’ because it is time. The ancient one continues his journey through the dark house until his ears pick up the click clack of someone tapping in one of the rooms. He enters the room, waiting for his old eyes to adjust. Now he sees him, the glow of two dimmly lit monitors and the well used keyboard highlighting his face.
He smiles, as best he can, and wags his thick 13 inch tail, banging it on the wall. The Leader raises his head, the dark brown eyes looking over the black framed glasses, and the Master lets out a long sigh. He rises from his workspace, the body cracking in joints he didn’t remember having and the ancient one is happy, once again.
His tall lean body seems to bend like a snake as he turns around and heads back into the hallway. At the top of the steps leading down into the dark depths of the house he pauses, glancing at the Master with the never ending frown on his face. He looks down the treacherous steps, he has taken the easy way before, and it was quicker that one time he did a belly slide. He’s had a little more trouble getting up recently and he didn’t want to chance it again. He waits, looking up and then down the steps, waiting for the stupid human to get the message. It doesn’t take as long as it usually does. The light comes on as he grumbles.
With carefully measured steps, one at a time, he makes it down the stairs, almost losing his footing when he touches the floor as each leg tries to go in a different direction. He catches himself quickly and lumbers on; the Master is in front of him as it should be. He has to take each step carefully because the soft things covering the floor, rugs, he thinks they are called, have been disappearing. No one hears him when he tells them he really has to go to the outside, and if he is old, well he cannot do anything about that. Sometimes he can’t hold it.
Finally he feels the cold wind on his face; the ‘outside’ is getting closer. It is a little slippery out on the white stuff, but it tastes good and is almost as good as water. The coldness numbs his tongue so his noise is low and hushed. He walks around the guard points, making sure all is as it was yesterday and no intruders have entered the area. Once he feels all is safe, it is time to return.
But he is lost, turned around and disoriented, his brain can’t remember directions anymore and sometimes he can’t even see. He remembered the time he ran into Master and fell down. Noise and smiles came from the Masters, young and old. He felt embarrassed, but couldn’t figure out why!
Finally, he spots the light that leads to the inside and soon stands in front of the door. He can’t see anyone moving around so he tries to tell them he is done and wants to come inside where it is warm. As his noise becomes more urgent the Master finally opens the door.
Safely inside, he shakes any of the cold white stuff off that he can, almost falling on his chest again. The Master disappears after the entrance is closed so the old one follows. Soon he comes to more steps – these are going up – that’s where his Master went. One sniff of the ground and he smells the fresh scent lingering over the older ones. His mind is slow, but he recognizes all, the Troubles’, the medium ones that look like the Troubles, there are three of them, one female, he likes the female best but they won’t let him do what he is supposed to do when it is her time. The Masters keep saying ‘No Komopitts!’ He calls them the Chasers
He focuses his mind; he needs to get upstairs and soon stands above the slanted drop off. That was a little tiring so he decides to patrol, making sure all the Masters are home safe and sound. One is missing. He walks to the room she is usually in, sniffs the Master at the desk, the garbage can, the Master makes a horrible sound and he backs away. More pacing until he feels the urge and once again stares at the Master, one soft throat clearing cough gets his Master’s attention and he is also glared at for his efforts.
The Master smashes his hands to the desk and stands up. Once again – he takes the treacherous steps to the solid level where he is let out again. After remembering why he returned to the cold outside he heads to his favorite spot and marks it as his own. This time it takes a while longer for the Master to come when he calls. ‘Master is not happy, maybe he is doing something.’
After another slow climb, he makes it to the top of the stairs again and decides that this will make a great place to watch over things. His eyes close only for a few moments…
…they open again as the Troubles and the Chasers (called that because they chase after everything – and he hates them because he can’t) are suddenly jumping over him and running down the dangerous steps, “be careful!” he calls to them but they don’t listen. Now both the Masters are up and tell him to move down the treacherous incline again. Not very eagerly he does what they say and is forced, (this time against his will!) back to the Outside. It is colder now; more snow to eat, more walking the designated path checking the line – no breaches again.
It seems like forever since he was forced out here, but he wants to be with his Masters, especially the one that feeds him – but that one is missing today. Suddenly; he hears his Masters footfalls by the door. It is time! But wait… he isn’t letting him inside to enjoy the warmth, just the Chasers and the Troubles! “Don’t forget me! I want to come too! I’m still out here!” he protests in vain.
Finally, they let him back in. No further than where the food is created. He lies on the floor, closes his eyes and sleeps again; waiting till the next time one of the Masters comes back. He knows they are gone, he can’t smell them, but he can smell one and the noisy ones. He sighs, ‘it feels like I did this yesterday…’