Coffee, Shoes, and Ramblings

Who hurts at both ends today:

Pictures:

The before picture of where we had the wedding reception:

The Crazy three-legged dog:

Before wedding pictures:

My sisters: One tiny one with the mother of the bride and one who along with me got shanghaied into finishing cakes and such.

I gave birth to that:

The room after (grooms corner):

Sweet party favors (and they served little bottles of milk with the grooms cake):

Another cool part of the wedding? Dancing of course and cheesecake. how can it get any better. Just when I had enough mushy mushy and “They are writing songs of love but not for me” the DJ started playing “Call me Cleopatra” and “I got a new Girlfriend” and “We got a bucket of Corona” and other stuff like that so cleaning up after the wedding was a regular dance/sing fest instead of a wine fest.

My mother’s day present (the furniture, not the car) Just what I wanted:

And last but not least: Grooms Cake

Dear Friends:

I love you, some of you more than others its true, but love you all the same. I love my crazy hobby and all the smart, funny, talented, athletic, amazing people its brought into my life. However, if the Oil Companies have their way, I may be forced to sideline my hobby and make friends with the people within walking distance of my home. I drive a VW bug and it should not take $40 to fill it up. That’s wrong.

On the upside of this, some people I already know and love already live within walking distance of me, (OS, Hanna) but some of you that are farther away will just be my e-mail buddies and I’ll never see. However, should you want to move closer, I would gladly rent you a room or find you a nice place near me.

Damn you oil companies, how much is enough for you? Do you really have to show a gazillion dollar profit every year? How about just breaking even, and having a slogan, about how the little guy is barely making it, why should it be better for me?

I guess you could call this my first love.

 ”Tell us a first story, first love, first job, first day at school, any first story that was meaningful to them.” I tag Finna and Robbin 

 My First:

When I was in Kindergarten (I was four and we lived in California, where four-year-olds went to Kindergarten) We had the coolest house, we had a chain link fence that was on a corner lot so you could see people walking by, we had cactus that you could fall in if you weren’t careful and the spikes would stick in your legs and have to come out with tweezers. We had a yard full of sand and could build tunnels for our matchbox cars. We spent hours building tunnels with bridges and filling the holes with water so we could drive the cars over the bridges. I went to kindergarten and spent hours learning how to tie my shoes, probably one of the hardest things I ever learned how to do, I just couldn’t “get it”.

A boy named Bryan went to my same kindergarten, he had black hair and that’s really all I remember about him, except he was cute and he made my heart go pitty pat because he loved me and called me his little lamby and followed us home from school (we walked) hollering “lamby lamby” One day he came up to the fence and stuck his face up by it hollering “lamby lamby” so I socked him.

I sing in the church chior, so don’t faint and fall over, there is a lot of us and I’m sure I get drounded out.

Well after my big whine fest yesterday, OS came over and listened to me whine about not having any goals. She assured me that just living a simple life is a goal in and of its self. and I don’t have to want to be Diane Sawyer or president of a company.  Today A and I had lunch and she told me that just because J moved his stuff out doesn’t mean he doesn’t need me anymore and the fact that he missed his flight this morning just proves that. Between the two of them I know I’m not ready to push myself off on an iceberg somewhere yet.

I’ve always had goals, finish collage, finish grad school, have kids finish high school and college, raise decent human beings that contribute to society, see the Grand Canyon, go on a cruise, get published. I’ve done all the things on my list and I’m kind of at loose ends. Nothing really sounds appealing. Well today, in my job interview, she asked what my goals were for the next 1-5 years. And OS just came out of my mouth. “I want to run a marathon,” I said. “No, wait I was meaning 5K I thought.” But that’s not what I said and taking it back was not an option. OS assures me she never said she wanted to run a marathon, but she must have cause I know I never did. But its out there now, on paper in black and white. Oh, and I also want to go to Europe and finish my back deck. (and maybe a nice all over tan?)

See. I’m kind of lame. But she probably wouldn’t have appreciated me saying my goals were to potty train my dogs and achieve world peace. Actually the Iron Man triathlon does sound fun, run, swim and ride, bikes, In Hawaii. The fact that I can’t run a whole mile at at time and I hate things jiggling when I run, well thats something I’ll have to deal with.

Well the reason it takes a village to raise me? I can’t remember everything so I store bits of information in people or rely on people to help me with things. Such as when I needed a memory chip for my camera I asked A to pick me one out. She did all-right, it holds 1900 pictures. What? would you need with that many pics? Well maybe I’ll want to photograph my death when I’m running the marathon and pass out. I did tell OS the other day when I was running that if I die, she has to go to my house and clean out the drawers that will horrify my kin.(well its not really a drawer but whatever)

The other day I needed to find a store that used to be at McCain Mall, I called OS and sure enough she knew exactly where it was. I’d be lost with out her. I was shopping for my mom (reason 56 I’m adding personal shopper to my resume) and only had a limited amount of time. Ever notice if you are home during the day people think you have oodles of free time to run their errands? And me in the grocery store? I’m calling A and asking her “Is the cheese with the head on it the good kind or the gross kind?” (its the good kind) and I’ve called them and other people asking them to google directions for me because like a git I went off and left the directions at home.

Also have to call and comparison shop cause personal shopper me is party shopping for the graduate.

If you haven’t got the lovely selection for the GAMBLE book club yet, send me your mailing address and I’ll mail it to you. (providing you are not in China or someplace else where postage is a zillion yen)

There’s a couple of reasons for the lack of really personal stuff on here lately. One is that a certain person has taken it upon themselves to go over my blog with a fine tooth comb and not only that, save every e-mail I ever sent them and make comments to me at inappropriate times. Or use the information to try to pick fights with me about something I said four years ago. They think they know me based on the superficial details I put on this blog. Or by a handful of e-mails spanning-What? 10 years? Crazy? I think so. There are 24 hours in a day. I’m usually awake for 16-18 of them and a lot of stuff happens, a lot of things get thought and I only blog about a tiny bit of that and filter that as well. I haven’t figured out what to do about this. I’d like to block the IP address, but don’t know how.

I’ve spent the morning helping my son clean out his room and I’m sad. And you know what else I’m sad about? I don’t have anyone to talk to about the way that makes me feel. The point is I will get over it. I have before and I will again. Just right now, grant me the right to feel my feelings.

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;

A time to weep…

And yes a time to get over it. Just grant me the right to get over it at my own pace.

UPDATE- if you go here by May 21, you can register online to be matched. They will mail you the swab kit. You will just do the swabs and mail the kit back.

It takes about 30 minutes to fill out the form (can’t imagine why it would take that long unless you type slow) Its free until May 21, the cost for testing is being paid for  by grants.

Earlier post: There is a little boy who needs a bone marrow transplant. He’s five months old and has leukemia and they can’t find a match for him. Tomorrow is a drive in Arkansas, others like Shreveport and Memphis and other places in the next few days.

All it takes to be tested is to watch a video, fill out paperwork and get a mouth swab. Donating is a little more invaisve, but heros don’t mind that. This isn’t a crazy e-mail forward. Its a baby who needs help. Your bone marrow may do it.

I don’t have a cape, but I do have tights. I am able to stop cars with the fierceness of my voice and revive small dogs once thought beyond hope. It all happened like this:

Yesterday I was on Cantrell and I see two tiny hairy dogs one black and one white headed straight out into traffic running for all they are worth. I “know” one is going to get hit so I watch in my rearview mirror and sure enough, one gets hit. I find a side street do a u-turn and go back to the little dogs. I’m thinking that by the time I get there they will be ok and someone will have picked them up.

But, not only did the )(*& who hit the dog not stop, several other cars are just flying by. (let me say, they couldn’t have helped hitting the dog,  their crime was that they didn’t stop, they are awful.) The little black dog is lying there looking dead and the white dog is running around like its on speed. As I’m stopping my car (in traffic, jerks) and putting on my hazard lights I see one car run over the dog, not hitting it just over the top of it. The little dog is stunned and terrified, laying there with its eyes open looking dead. Cars just keep flying by it and over it.  I am so mad at the traffic that I run out into the road screaming, “For the love of God Stop!” the sound of my voice at decibel levels that shatter glass. (if you’ve heard me mad you know that it’s the pitch that hurts your ears)

The sound of my screaming causes the little dog to jump up, like someone who has been hit but still trying to get up, he falls over and then gets up again and hobbles to the side of the road where a man with very nice shoes picks him up. (pointy toed brocade, I’m not making this up its on Cantrell in the Heights) I sweet talk the other little dog to come to me, and after some more running around he does. So he is holding the hurt doggy and I’m holding the other one.

I called 9-1-1 and they said they would send animal control, but the man, who lives in the neighborhood, said he thinks he may know who the dogs belong to. He said he hadn’t lived there in a while as his house is being renovated. We knock on a few doors and he decides he will take the hurt doggy to a vet and I will wait for the animal control. He calls his office to say he will be late and as he is talking to his receptionist, he thinks he remembers who the dogs belong to, a women one street over. So we drive over there and she isn’t home.

By this time the hurt doggy is perking up and I’m covered in long white dog hairs. Really sweet doggies by the way. The lady isn’t home and so he says he will take both dogs to the vet and I say I’ll leave a note telling her what happened and where the dogs are.

So I get a call about an hour later from the dog owner saying the dogs are ok, the meter reader didn’t fasten the gate  and that the her info was embroidered on their collars. (they didn’t have tags). They were so hairy we couldn’t see anything on the collars.

So that is how that I became a hero in a little dogs eyes.

So I get home this afternoon, the dogs are all sitting at the back door looking at me, all wet cute and smelly. Even baby dog didn’t have the sense to go to the dry place.