Figure skating, it's not for everyone!

Growing up in "small town" west Texas has it's charms like no other.  Unfortunately, it also causes some "only years of therapy can help" scarring.  This is one of those types of episodes...
As a child in a small town, you only see big city type entertainment on one of the 3, make sure the rabbit ears antena and tin foil are pointing just right, TV channels.  Even if we could have afforded cable, there was no way it would actually reach to our little rural town.
So, imagine the anticipation and excitement felt by all the children when it was announced the "Daughters of the Republic of Texas presents Fancy Figure Skating Tour" was coming to our little west Texas town!  Everyone was in line to buy tickets, gazing at the posters displaying shiny costumes on beautiful people, ON ICE! No one seemed to question where this actual ice rink was going to be located or how it was going to be installed. We were going to see some big city type entertainment!
So on the night of the performance, the whole town turns out to behold this majestic display in complete awe.  Somehow this travelling band of ice gypsies had transformed our 4H ag barn/sherriff's posse rodeo arena into a mystical winter wonderland.  Although, it still smelled of dust and horse poop, none of us kids seem to notice, we were enthralled!  We had spent weeks talking about this night and how we wanted to be just like the beautiful people on the poster, dancing and spinning ourselves silly, on roller skates. I can't say I knew what ice skates actually looked like.
The arena lights dim and the music starts, and with the audible collective gasp of the audience, the show began.  Three figures emerged onto the ice, somewhat in sync, but more so, not.  No mind, the flashing lights were catching the sequins and jewels of the costumes and spraying sparkles throughout the arena, like sunbursts flying out of diamonds.  I was on the edge of my front row seat, almost jumping out of my skin, I was so excited I was forgetting to breath!
The lights instantly flood the arena, however, this time the audible collective gasp of the audience is one of pure shock!  The 3 figures on the ice were not what they appeared to be....yes, they had on sparkly, shiny costumes, but in the full light, it was painfully obvious 2 of them might have been the actual, original Daughters of the Republic of Texas and might have even started this little show at the Battle of San Jacinto!  To say they were old was an understatement, they were ELDERLY..
The 3rd lady appeared to have eaten her way to this performance.  I didn't know there was that much sequins and spandex-like material in all the world, much less in such a God awful day-glo orange color!!  What's worse, it wasn't covering what it should have been covering.  Impressionable young children should not see that much skin on such a large person!  Come to think of it, NO ONE should!
My excitement was quickly fading to pure uncertainty.  What was I witnessing?  And did the 2nd lady just pull a flask out of her left skate and take a swig?  No wonder they were a little out of sync, geriatric figure skater #2 was three sheets to the wind and lady #3 had just caught sight of the cotton candy vendor and was about to come barreling through the crowd to make his acquaintance. I didn't know if I should feel sorry for the vendor or for the ice skates this woman was wearing...I don't think the strongest, galvanized steel in the world could hold up under that kind of pressure. 
After what seemed like years of bearing painful witness to that performance, it ended with ladies #1 and #3 scooping up sloshed lady #2, who had since polished off left skate flask and was now working on right skate flask, while somehow combining a crawl and a butt-scoot timed perfectly to the music. 
The lights go dim again, surely the second act is going to be better....
When the lights come on, there is a lone man standing center ice.  This man is pencil thin, you could almost see through him, he's so skinny.  Lady #3 from the previous act is probably starving this poor fellow out of his food.  Speaking of "large Marge"...here she comes, skating out towards him...what factory in the world has the capacity to produce so MUCH hideously colored spandex and how the holy hell could they afford to do so??  This was a color of green that reminded me of a mix between pine trees and baby food smashed peas, if that's possible! 
Marge is now bent slightly, positioning herself like a bull about to charge the bull fighter, aimed right at ghost-thin man.  If ever there was a time for a child to have her eyes covered to avoid seeing this monstrosity, this was it!  But I couldn't turn away and no one was attempting to cover my eyes. Everyone in the audience was hypnotized by what was about to happen and we all knew it was NOT going to fair well.
"Swwwooosshhh" somehow Marge managed to launch herself with such velocity she actually left the ice and was airborne!  Ghost-thin man braced himself as best as his 67lb body could...Mother of GOD, he actually caught her!  The hush of the crowd was so silent, you could actually hear his arms, spine and legs snap, crackle and pop! What's more, the fellow didn't crumble under Marge!  Instead, he took hold and began to spin.  As demented as it sounds, he did so with such grace and poise, it was astounding!  You would have thought he had the strength of Hercules!  That is, until his skate caught something on the ice and got hung up. Man oh man, what followed was talked about for DAYS in our little town!  
In the span of about .045ths of a second, Ghost-thin man disappeared completely under the pine tree, baby food pea colored mass of toppling sequins and spandex, which sent shock waves rippling over the ice when it finally came crashing down.  Yet, somehow he survived and wiggled his way out from under Marge, sprang up, threw his hands up in a finale type pose, took a bow to one side of the area, spun on his broken skate and did the same for the other side.  Then hobbled off the ice, to what I assume would be years of physical therapy and a borderline addiction to pain pills, poor guy!
Marge was shaking off the daze when she finally realized what happened.  Evidently, she had put so much thrust in her airborne launch, it caused a few buttons and sequins to burst from the seams of her costume.  Unfortunately, Ghost-thin man's skate caught one of the buttons, causing the entire episode.  Marge attempted a graceful bow-out as Ghost-thin man had, but she was too busy gathering up pieces of her costume for it to be sincere.
Needless to say, the rest of the performance was somewhat uneventful after the first two acts.  But I will forever have that memory burned in my brain, therefore, never allowing my children to ever set foot in a figure skating performance, ever!  From then on, any time someone mentioned a "travelling performance", our entire town would politely say "no thank you" and lock all doors and windows.  We didn't need that big city entertainment, we were just fine with our 3 channels on the TV, thank you very much.

Dear Suzanne, a letter to you.

Ethel,
Girl, you sure have been on my mind a lot the past couple of days.  Maybe because I'm missing you and your amazing laugh.  I'm missing my best friend pretty bad, truth be told.  I miss you all the time but with the past few weeks of non stop chaotic activity, also known as my life, I haven't had the chance to sit down and really ponder. You know I love Marcus with all my heart and soul...but there are just some things a girl needs to dump on her best girlfriend and you always had the very best box of tissue at the ready for when I cried!  I need about 436 boxes tonight, so here goes.
I'm really trying to stay positive and strong and not dwell on the challenges and day to day shit life throws at me...where do I start?
Well, first, Miss E turns 21 in a couple of days, so I'm feeling damn old.  M & I spent the day with her yesterday and had such a blast!  We got to see her cute little house and take her to lunch and bowling.  It was a great day!  While seeing her in her "element" being off at college and living on her own and all, I can't help but cry with pride at the amazing woman she has become.  There is so much I want to tell her, talk with her about, I didn't want to leave her yesterday.
I know if this were one of our many email chains, you would tell me I should be proud of her...she's a great woman.  You would follow that up with "It's ok to be proud of yourself too, you raised her right."  You would also tell me "it's ok to cut the apron strings, but not the heart strings.  You see she's doing great - let the woman live her life and quit dwelling on you being 'old', you're just a baby yourself."  And you then you would so candidly remind me that you graduated high school the month before I was born...then to distract me from my pity-party, you would probably send me about a bajillion pictures of a red leather chair you are considering buying for your living room.  (I still have the emails with the pics of that chair, btw!)
Suz, I know you are up there just dancing your happy dance, hopefully to the music my Daddy is DJ'ing for all of Heaven to hear.  I know you two are as thick as thieves, up there, watching over me.  Dec. 11th will be the 4th anniversary of his passing and I miss him so much.  I know neither one of you want me to be sad, and I want so bad not to be, but it's sooo freakin' hard!  There's so much I want to tell my Dad and talk with him about.  I just want ONE MORE DAY with him, one where he's not in pain or suffering and we could just TALK (if you were here, you would be ripping the Kleenex out of the box at 957 mph, you'd hand me some and take some for yourself because we'd both be bawling.)  I wish you were here so you could tell me it's ok to miss him.  You would also tell me to get my ass in gear about this whole "writing" thing I'm trying my hand at.  Writing was his passion and the best way to honor him and make him proud would be to develop and focus on the writing skills and talent he passed on to me.  Then to throw in a little "comic relief," you would mention that your knee still hurts from that time you rolled down the driveway right out in to the street and were almost hit by that car, when we went to check your mail at 3:30 in the morning  and that you still can't walk down that hill, EVER, and have to drive to the mailbox if you want your mail. Good Times, Ethel, we sure had some good times, didn't we?
And speaking of cars, I know how you LOVED the Mini Cooper, but, after a 4 day road trip with M & Lola, we decided it was just too small for us.  However, you would love the brand new SUV we bought!  And, yes ma'am, of course I made sure it was good on the environment and it gets great gas millage.  It's really awesome, actually,  It has all the bells & whistles and is way more fitting for me & Marcus & Lola.
Thanksgiving is this week and what prompted this letter is to let you know, even though I'm missing you, I'm so thankful you were in my life.  You are the most kind hearted, sincere, loving, accepting and golden soul hippie chick I've ever had the honor of knowing.  You were taken away WAY too soon to my liking, but my life is so much better for having had you in it.  You were a ray of sunshine in some dark days and you taught me how to be a better friend, for that I am thankful!  You had the loudest, greatest laugh within a 4 mile radius.  And with our wild antics, you were the Ethel to my Lucy, for that I am eternally thankful!  I love your guts and miss you like crazy.  Throw me a penny every now & then to say "HI".  And please overlook the grammatical errors, that's what editors are for ;-)
 ~Love, Love,
Lucy

Journal of a road trip: Day 2

Day 2: Target is evil
After fighting my husband for a square foot of space on a double size bed for half the night, I finally got smart and moved over to the second bed.  I must say I slept pretty good, considering I wasn't being woken up every hour from being crowded and almost pushed off the side of the bed.  I should be used to this because it is a nightly occurrence even in our king size bed at home. However, since the hotel room is the type with the door on the outside, I woke up around 5:30am and couldn't go back to sleep.  Not to worry, I had to get ready to attend the bridesmaid's luncheon for my cousin.  Then I still had to find a Target to get the wedding gift and get back to the room to get Marcus & me ready for the wedding and reception this evening.  I let Marcus sleep while I started the coffee and perused around on Facebook and news websites and figured I might as well start the day.
Way, way back in my younger, less savory days, there was one particular morning I woke up feeling far from alive and reached for the closest beverage and took a giant gulp...not knowing until it was too late that I grabbed a 1/2 full beer bottle, which had also been used as an ashtray, the night before.  That was probably the single most disgusting thing I have ever tasted...UNTIL I took the first sip of the coffee I just made today..OMG..ewewewew!!!  This was NOT coffee - this was brown putrid liquid.  I'm certainly not a coffee snob and do not "only" drink the Sumatra, triple dark roasted, hand ground gourmet coffee by any means - but again, this was not coffee.  Wait a minute, didn't the lady at the front desk mention a Corner Bakery right by the hotel?  I immediately Google the Tyler location to see what time they open, 6am.  Ok, it's 5:45, I'll go ahead and walk over there and stalk the door until they open.  I may not need the gourmet stuff, but I need coffee!!  I decide I better get a lot because I'm not touching that crap in the hotel again.  Turns out the largest "to go" coffee is a gallon.  Ok, Marcus will drink some and we can warm it up as needed.  We can probably even make it last two days. I pay for my gallon of coffee, slip my credit card and receipt in my back pocket, grab the coffee and condiments and head back to the room with a sense of accomplishment and pride like no other.  I guess my mom taught me good travel techniques!  Plus, after doing the calculations, $18 for a gallon of good coffee actually works out to be cheaper than three trips to Starbucks.  And being such the wonderful wife I am, Marcus doesn't have to subject himself to that heinous hotel coffee.  Good Job, Lara!
Now back to the room and get ready for the luncheon.  I'm all dressed and ready and the guy at Corner bakery told me the luncheon was being held right next to the hotel, within walking distance for sure!  I set out in my pretty new sweater, sleek black skirt and heels to "walk" to this luncheon.  Wait, which way did he say to go?  Fret not, Lara, call your mother for directions.  Which she so patiently tries to give, except being that neither one of us are from Tyler nor do we actually know how to describe buildings or landmarks, causes me to parade around this hotel parking lot.  I can only imagine what I look like, dressed to the nines, arms flailing while having a very animated phone conversation.  I see my sister drive by so I wave her down.  As she pulls  in to the hotel parking lot, my cousin pulls in behind her.  My cousin has so graciously offered to come find me and take me to the luncheon.  What a sweet woman!  I get in and start to talk to her, only to realize we are literally 100 yards from the front of the restaurant and are pulling in to a parking space.  Yep, it was within walking distance and I feel like a complete idiot....but that doesn't deter me one bit when hitching a ride back that same 100 yards to our room with my aunt after the luncheon, which was amazing, btw...
Now it's time to get over to Target to buy the gift.  Marcus is ready to go and we set out on our mission, for the second time, both promising not to fight!  We get to Target, print out the list again.  DAMN IT - someone else has beaten me to the Pyrex!  Ok, ok, I'll get several of the other kitchenware items and a Pyrex pie dish as a substitute.  DAMN IT!  We have a little time to kill and need some things ourselves so we shop for a bit.  We get up to the register to pay and we are asking the clerk if the restaurant next door is good for lunch, which she replies "I think it's quite good, actually."
I get my wallet out of my purse, "Marcus, do you have the credit card?"
"No, why would I have it??"  He's become tired of shopping again and is showing the signs of wanting out of the store.  But we promised not to argue!
"It must be back at the hotel.  I probably set it down on the dresser with the room key and didn't grab it. Would you mind holding our bags for us, so we don't have to shop for everything again?" I ask the clerk.  She tells us she will put our things at the service desk and when we come back we can pay there.
We rush back to the hotel, only having to slam on the brakes once, which of course included Marcus rapidly patting my stomach to "protect" me.  Marcus runs in while I wait in the car...then I start to think "I bet I left the card at the restaurant last night," we were so tired after all.  I run up to the room and tell Marcus and we hop in the car and head over to the restaurant.  I walk in and tell the hostess I think I left my card last night so she goes to get the manager.  Well, the manager comes back to inform me that no credit card has been turned in.  Marcus hears this and I swear I see smoke shoot out of his ears, like on the old cartoons.  He turns on his heel and marches out to the car just as I see the waiter who waited on us last night.  "Excuse me, do you remember me?  We came in just before you closed last night and I asked you to tell the cooks not to spit in our food because we were making them stay late?  You were our waiter, right?"  To which the waiter giggles, "Yes I remember you and I'm sorry but you didn't leave your card here."
Oh this is not good!  How am I going to get the wedding gift now, I say to Marcus as I walk up to him.  I might mention here that he is practically disassembling the Mini Cooper, piece by piece, looking to see if the card might have fallen down between the seats.  "FORGET THE GIFT LARA!!  How are we going to GET HOME???  We have no cash and now we have to cancel the credit card!"  If he could have spit nails, he would have done it right then.  "THINK LARA! When was the last time you used the card?"  he asks.
"The last time was here, at this restaurant, we had already checked in the hotel, so I had already given it to them." I reply.
"Well, it's NOT in the restaurant and it's CLEARLY NOT in the car." he says as he motions to the entire contents of the car now splayed out all over the parking lot.  "How did you pay for the tanker truck load of coffee this morning?"
"OH HOLY HELL!!  The card is in the back pocket of my jeans, back IN THE HOTEL ROOM!" I tell him as we both start gathering our belongings to put back in the car.  Thankfully it's a Mini, so it doesn't take long.  We speed back to the hotel, I run in and grab the card, located right where I said it was.  We both chuckle, thankful that we can now get home without having to borrow from anyone, not to mention continue on with the weekend.
We get to Target, print out yet another copy of the registry, because God forbid, someone buy the items we've selected, causing us to shop all over again...which I assure you, would NOT have been pretty!  All is safe and we pay for our items and sigh with relief.
Remembering the clerk saying the restaurant next door was good, we decided to try it for a late lunch.  We had just spent the past two hours shopping then crusading for the lost credit card, we were hungry!  We are impressed with the cleanliness and quickness with which the we are served.  The menu is lengthy and enticing.  I choose the albacore tuna salad, which claims "chunk, white albacore tuna over a bed of fresh spring greens with cilantro, pico de gallo, fresh sliced avacado and jalapeno and a garlic, jalapeno dressing." oh man, my mouth is watering...this salad sounds DE-LISH!!
"It's going to take a bit for your food, the manager had to reboot the computer system so I have to wait for it to come back up to enter your order." the waiter informs us....and we wait!!
Finally our food comes out!  I'm wishing I had ordered the quesadillas, when I see Marcus' plate.  Man, oh man, this salad is going to rock!!
"WHAT THE F*#% is this???" I practically scream at Marcus...my salad looks like a tuna puked on some coarsely chopped iceberg..there is no cilantro, no other mouthwatering enticements...this seriously looks heinous!
"Babe, I don't think they had to 'reboot' the computer, I think they were stalling while they ran over to Target to buy a can of cat food tuna to throw on some lettuce to pass off as a salad....this is inedible!!" I try to tell Marcus as he is devouring his cheesy goodness in quesadilla form...
"I wouldn't feed that to our cats...that just looks gross.." says my loving husband, between bites.
Ok, I'm not liking this, at all.....I complain to the manager, thankfully after our food was delivered - they didn't have a chance to spit in it!  What pissed me off most of all, the manager didn't blink an eye, he knew what I was complaining about....I will still swear to this day, they were stalling and instead of asking me to make another selection from the menu, they tried to pass off cat food as albacore...with my fine negotiation tactics, my lunch was free....
I watch Marcus finish his late lunch and think "Ok, all we have to do is go back to the room, iron his shirt, get ready and go to the wedding & reception...I got this.."  Day two of our trip and we are still alive and married....but we won't be shopping at Target again anytime soon.  Tomorrow we are planning on shopping at "First Monday" in Canton... (to be continued...)

Journal of a road trip: Day 1

Day 1: Preparing to depart

Yes, there's a lot of preparation involved in leaving the ole' home sweet home for four days. Even though there is some high school sporting event going on in Tyler that has sold out all hotels, my amazingly resourceful husband was able to find a pet friendly hotel at a fairly reasonable price! Good job, honey, item one can be scratched off the list.

Of course there're some errands that need to be taken care of before we hit the road.  Second item on my list: a mani/pedi...so I decide to try out this new place that has a grand opening "deluxe mani/pedi" special.  It's fantastic! I get a paraffin wax treatment that is amazing on my feet.  And after a deluxe manicure, the sweet lady gives me a neck massage while my nails are drying.  I like this new place.  I will become a regular customer.  If they will let me that is, because just as the sweet lady hands me the bill, I realize I have left my wallet at home.  Ok, not to worry. I call home and Marcus reads me the credit card number over the phone. Thankfully, they were ok with this and after a tiny delay with a mix up on the number due to a slight language barrier, the charge went through. "Yes, see you two weeks Mrs. Hattenbach" (she pronounced it "Hat-back") I'm thinking to myself, "yes, such wonderful service and very polite with the card issue, I'll be back" as I get in the car, only to realize I left my brand new travel coffee mug on the counter...jeeze, Lara, get it together.  As I walk in to retrieve yet another forgotten item, I'm sure the sweet lady was now certain I'm a ding-bat..."Ding-bat, Hat-back" is probably my moniker with this salon!

List numbers 3 & 4: a wedding gift for my cousin and new shoes and jeans for Marcus.  We head over to Target for a couple of things.  This starts out innocently enough. We print out the gift registry and head over to housewares.  I'm gonna get them the set of Pyrex on their list!!  For those of you who've read my "drive by shooting" post will certainly see the humor in this particular gift selection, at least I do!

However, we get to the check out line and I'm informed I've picked the wrong set.  The one I picked up was not on the registry.  "That was the only one on the shelf." I tell the check-out lady that I'll just have to go to another Target to get the gift.  I'm sure there's one between Georgetown and Tyler.  During this time, Marcus is slowly growing tired of shopping and is ready to get on the road.  Let me explain here: when he took the wrong set of Pyrex in the cart, I thought he was going to put it back on the shelf and meet me at the front door.  He had been telling me he was ready to "get out of this store" for the last 5 minutes.  Well I wait...and wait....and wait...at the front of the store.  Oh boy, I'm starting to simmer with anger...Did he get lost in electronics?  Where IS HE?  What I didn't know was that he was also waiting for me, back in housewares, to pick out the correct gift.  Well, this little break down in communication causes one MASSIVE blow up between us.  I'll spare the details, but by the time we got home, I packed my stuff in about two minutes and huffed and puffed and declared Lola and I were just fine going by ourselves.  I had remembered to pack her new clothes too, thank you very much.  After some giggling at me storming through the house, my husband was able to calm me down.  We apologized and agreed we were both eager to get this trip underway and probably a little hungry too, since it was now lunch time.  All we had left to do in Georgetown was pick up his pants he had taken up (my sewing skills are about as refined as my cleaning skills.) After a quick trip through Wendy's drive-thru for some much needed french fries, we are northbound on 35 and it's only a couple of hours later than I had planned.  Besides, it's only a 3.5-4 hour drive (depending on who's driving, of course) smooth sailin', right?  Wrong, we get just north of Temple when the car in front of us slams on their brakes. I was driving, so my immediate reaction is to throw my right arm out, almost "clothes lining" my husband right in the throat.  Clearly, all of the strength in my right arm could keep him from flying through the windshield, no problem. After we were out of immediate danger of rear-ending the car in front of us, in turn causing the car behind us to squish the mini-cooper, like a tin can, accordion style, my arm was still outstretched, but instead of protecting Marcus, I'm actually rapidly slapping his stomach in a nervous reaction.  "You can stop slapping my stomach now..." he says as I glance over at him.  However the look on his face is saying "this lady is the looniest toon in the bin!"
"I'm sorry, maybe that was just my coping mechanism during that very traumatic 'almost accident'" I tried to say.  Although, I'm sure he couldn't hear me over his laughter.  I'll point out here that since this "almost accident" every time we've come up to a stop light and he's driving, he now reaches over to rapidly pat my stomach, saying "I'm protecting YOU!"
Unfortunately, there was a very bad accident that closed northbound 35 for several hours.  So, instead of arriving at the hotel around 6 or 7 as planned, and several wrong turns and a couple of shouting matches later, we finally found the hotel and checked in, at 9:30pm.
EGADS...the doors are on the outside!!  "Don't say a word!  This was the VERY LAST room in this town that would allow the dog!  You're just gonna have to deal with it." Marcus says as he opens the room door and immediately goes to check for signs of bed bugs.  This would be the only reason we would forgo the room and sleep in the car all 3 nights.
Alright...I suck it up, help him unload the car and get the dog settled. "Let's just go get something for dinner and get back so we can sleep."  Tomorrow will be a better day............Right?? (To be continued.)

The soundtrack of my life...

A while back, a friend of mine posted on FB something that really got my mind to churnin'.  I don't remember the exact scenario, but it was something to the effect of my friend having a difficult phone conversation, when her daughter came in the room. Her daughter needed the room because she had a few songs on the Wii that she was going to dance to.  When the daughter saw my friend was distressed she said to her "come on Mom, let's dance it out!"  
When I read the post, my brain immediately began singing "Some days you gotta dance" by the Dixie Chicks, some of the lyrics: "When the world is feelin' just a little too tense, loosen up those reins and dance..." I sang this (unfortunately for my colleagues at work) out loud and to myself for the rest of the day.  Then I started thinking about how I have a myriad of songs I sing at various times or incidents.  Come on, I grew up in the 70's & 80's, my remaining, functioning brain cells are 98% song lyrics.  Seriously, if 1/8th of my brain cells were actually used for educational memory banks, I would probably be a nuclear physicist, or at least a forensics pathologist, by now.  Nevertheless, it seems as though I have a "theme song" for pretty much every episode, event, highlight, lowlight I experience.  
Maybe my dad instilled a strong love of music in me, he was radio DJ after all.  I'll never forget hearing "Funky Town" by L.I.P.P.S. Inc for the first time when he bought the record.  I still sing "Gotta make a move to a town that's right for me. Town to keep me movin' keep me groovin' with some energy. Won't you take me to Funky town" like I did when I was 8 years old, singing and dancing with my daddy in the living room.  At that time, my dad had just moved to Austin to be closer to my sister & me.  I'll never forget and will always treasure that time with him.  Also during that time, when my daddy would put us to bed, as he was leaving the bedroom, he would get to the light switch, turn back and look at us and sing "Turn out the lights, the party's over..." by Willie Nelson as he said goodnight and turned out the light. I still sing this to myself on occasion when I'm turning out the lights.  I was with my dad when he passed away and I sang it to myself, over & over as I was sitting with him. Maybe it was my coping mechanism. It was my turn to sing it to him.  I miss you Daddy!
Of course, there were the "Duran Duran" years of Jr. High, as my aunt will attest to.  Thanks Michelle, for taking me to the very best concert I've ever been to. Yes, even after all these years and many hundreds of concerts later, that one is still my all time favorite.  A couple of years ago I had the good fortune to take my youngest daughter to the concert of her very favorite band.  Hopefully she will carry that memory with her always because, now every time I hear "Jasey Ray" or "Poppin' Champagne" or "Remembering Sunday" I sing out loud because of sharing that special time with my daughter!
Speaking of my kids, both of my girls names came from music.  When Eden was born, the one song that "sang volumes" to me was "Garden of Eden" by Guns & Roses: lyrics: "This fire is burin' and it's outta control.  It's not a problem.  You can stop and rock & roll."  This was and still is comforting to me because it  reassures me that, no matter what's going on or happening in life, it's ok to stop and listen to the music. Then there's my sweet blond one, Sierra Rey.  She was almost named Stevie Rey in honor of my all time favorite female singer, Stevie Nicks and her dad's favorite, Stevie Ray Vaughn.  She was born two days before the anniversary of Mr. Vaughn's death (God rest his soul) so we thought it best not to name her completely after him and changed it up a little.
Even during a dark time in my life (also known as divorce) there was Hank Williams, Jr. and me singing "Whiskey bent and Hell Bound"...Let's just say I'm glad I lived through that period.  Pat Green's "In the middle of the night" helps verbalize it with lyrics: "And I could fly away from feelin' All this pain that still ain't gone Oh but flying's kind of risky When your wings are made of whiskey And I know that I'll come crashing down Just after the dawn" And crash I did.  But, again, I lived through it and am now able to have healthy, strong relationships with those I love.
One of these days I will share my all time favorite love story ever, that of Marcus & me and how we eventually came to be married.  Until then, I'll tell about when we were 15 years old, cruising around west Texas in his brown '78 Z28, blasting Led Zepplin on his 8-track player.  "Stairway to Heaven" still brings a tear to my eye every time I hear it.  I remember parked in the Burger King parking lot, under a giant tree, counting out "Burger King bucks" (this was YEARS before gift cards were invented) that he'd gotten as a Christmas gift on his paper route, to pay for our food.  He can even tell you the family that gave him the gift and exactly where they lived, just a couple of houses down from my grandmother.  It was at that exact moment I realized Marcus was going to be a significant part of my life.  And yes, Marcus still likes to scare the bejeezus out of me with his crazy driving, just as he did on those back country roads of west Texas, taking curves at 80 mph...drives me crazy is what it does!
Now, of course my soundtrack must include...Jack Ingram, duh!!  "Keep on, Keepin' on" is my ultimate theme song, lyrics: 


Sometimes you get beat up good
Drive yourself crazy being misunderstood
Sometimes you want to throw the towel in
But you come swinging like you just might win


Keep on, keep on keepin' on
Push it on down the line
Keep on, keep on keepin' on
Keep from gettin' further behind

Music is in my soul and blood.  Y'all better be glad I can't read music or sing a tune...I'd be just dangerous enough to take over the world if I could! 
There's no way my soundtrack is complete.  I still have to take that road trip to Memphis, to check out some authentic blues clubs and great BBQ, Suzanne and I always talked about taking.  That trip will certainly be in loving memory of her, and I will fulfill my promise to her to sing "Walking in Memphis" on Beale street. 
There's so many other milestones I am eagerly anticipating tagging songs to - like the girls graduating and getting married and having babies of their own (many, many, many years from now, please ladies!)  Marcus & I have travel plans for anniversaries that will of course add to our "greatest hits" collection.  
And in order to continuously develop my wonderful compilations, no matter what life throws at me, I'm just gonna "Keep on, Keepin' ON"!!!

Unwanted house guests....at 2am!

There are advantages to living in the country.  It's very quiet and peaceful.  We can sit outside at night and see a sky full of stars.  We can play music really loud and watch movies in surround sound so loud it rivals most THX movie theaters.  We don't worry about intruders, of the human kind anyway.  Which brings me to one disadvantage of living in the country.

We have two cats, both of whom enjoy "catting around" at night. There's Sadie, (whom I have called "Satan" since the first day we adopted her.)  She's a beautiful cat, all white with a calico tail.  This cat lives to torment me and she is quite possibly Satan in feline form.  On more than one occasion she has perfectly timed a dart in front of me as I'm walking, causing me to trip over my own feet to keep from punting her across the room.  Once, she did this and caused me to slip and blow out one of my favorite flip-flops (yes, I saw this as the perfect opportunity to sing Jimmy Buffet out loud "blew out my flip-flop, stepped on a pop-top but my poor heel had to cruise on back home, but soon it will render, there's booze in the blender, of that frozen concoction that helps me hang on...Wasted away again in Margaritaville...)

Then there is Zoey.  Marcus brought her with him when he moved in and she has become a part of our family.  And I smile to myself at how irritated Marcus gets when she chooses to sit or lay down with me instead of him.  She’s a gorgeous grey tortoise shell calico and definitely has a mind of her own.  When she wants to go outside she lets us know by climbing on tables, cabinets, counters and just starts knocking stuff off.  She knocks off books, keys, papers... this is her way of saying "let me outside or I'm going to destroy this house." Now, this is the complete opposite of Sadie, who has her unique way of letting us know when she wants back in the house.  She does this by launching and attaching herself to the screen of the window on my side of the bed (I'm telling you, this cat has a vendetta for me.) When she's latched on to the screen she starts to heave herself back & forth, knocking on the glass while occasionally screeching her claws. Which, when I'm dead asleep, not only sounds like a herd of elephants trying to get through the window but also like a screaming, dying whale at full volume.

Because the weather is getting nice and because we don't want to be up every hour of the night letting one cat out and one cat in, we keep a window open just enough for them to traipse in and out at their leisure. I'll admit it, I laughed out loud when Sadie tried to jump in the window, but the window was closed.  I figure I can since she probably laughs at me every time she trips me.  And yes, they have brought in the prize catch, like a lizard or small snake, from time to time.  They do this even when we let them in the normal way, through the back door.  I’m used to this.  I know it comes with having cats.

What I am NOT used to, however, is when the cats bring home a MOUNTAIN LION!  Two o’clock this morning and I wake up to what I swear is ROOOAARRRINGG coming from the living room, hissing that sounds like spit and fur are flying at tornado level speeds.  There’s also some banging and knocking that sounds like a construction zone, tearing down the wall.  Add to this my sweet, perfect Chihuahua, Lola, barking full force.  “Just what in the sam hell is going on?” I think to myself as I reluctantly leave the warm bed to investigate.

Here’s the scene I walk up on:  Lola is barking so hard she’s scooting herself across the wood floor.  Both of our cats are Halloween’ed up, every strand of fur standing on end, hissing and growling and roaring.  And then there’s Marcus…broom in hand, alternating between waving it high above his head, missing the ceiling fan by mere centimeters, to down on the ground, poking and sweeping the broom handle under the couch & love seat.

“What are you doing??” I ask, probably not nearly as frantic as I should be.  I can’t imagine this being a normal scene in anybody else’s house, but for some reason, I’m not in panic mode…just yet. 

To which Marcus replies “Either get in here and help or get out of the way!”  To illustrate just how unfazed I am, I stroll over to the couch and sit down at the laptop…because, apparently, I see this as the perfect time to check my email and Facebook.

“YOU ARE NOT HELPING AND YOU ARE IN THE WAY!!” Marcus hisses as he attempts to move the couch I’m currently sitting on. Then I hear it again, the mountain lion-esque roar, coming from the corner where the couch and love seat intersect.  “WHAT was that?” finally, my panic emotion has shown up to this party.  I’m pretty sure I flew the distance from where I was sitting to bedroom door, turning around just in time to see a flash of grey dart from the corner and sail towards the front of the house, in the opposite direction of the open window.  I’m certain now my panic is running full throttle because I could have sworn the animal that has invaded our house is a cross between a wooly mammoth and saber tooth tiger.  I’m sure I saw fangs 4 inches long.  Marcus, with our gang of ferocious felines and hopping/scooting/barking dog, bringing up the rear because she can't quite get traction on the hard wood floor, all take off in that direction.  The only thing I can imagine is all of them coming back, bruised, scraped, bleeding, tattered and torn. 

However, Marcus returns, holding close a small, scared out of his mind, grey tabby kitten.  “Awwww….is he ok?”  Just as I ask this, our animals round the corner, hissing and growling and barking, scaring the poor kitty so bad, he leaps from Marcus’ grasp, scratching his chest, almost drawing blood and dives right out the open window.  Both of our cats immediately dart through the window after the poor kitty, while Marcus and Lola go barreling out the back door – the cats are growling, the dog is barking and Marcus, standing in his boxers, is saying “get ‘em Lola, sic him!”  I don’t think that cat will ever, ever venture into our backyard again.  Poor guy, he was kinda cute and I’m sure, if our animals had been a tad more hospitable to our guest, we might have considered letting him become a member of the family.

After all the excitement has died down, the cats both on the back porch, standing guard and Lola snuggly back under the bed covers, shimmying into her spot between our knees, Marcus says “you’re going to blog about this, aren’t you?”

“You bet your sweet ass I am…I can’t make this stuff up!! You might want to put some peroxide on those cat scratches.”

I want candy....

I do believe I have had my first "old lady" experience since entering my 40s...uuggghhh.  I guess it's time for me to face the facts - I'm not a kid anymore.  This is especially difficult for me considering I've never wanted to grow up, not really.  Now, I wouldn't say I'm immature (although I can think of one or two ex's who might argue that - but that's why they are ex's - they are just stupid boys and have cooties...) I just don't think I'm ready for the changes that are taking place, like the grey hairs, the wrinkles, the achy joints, the memory loss...
I'm already as blind as a bat and I'm not looking forward to that getting worse...I alternate between contacts and glasses, depending on how I'm feeling.  Saturday morning, it was raining and my eyes were itching, so I opted for the glasses and took out my contacts.  I have one game on my phone that's easier to see without my glasses, so I had removed them to play this game.  Well, it comes time to start getting ready and I can't find my glasses...DAMN IT...I can't see a thing!  Everything around me is one giant blur.  I'm tearing up the couch cushions, feeling around the coffee and end table, knocking stuff to the floor.  I'm sure I looked completely ridiculous, but I was handicapped, paralyzed, HELPLESS because I couldn't see.  
"Marcus...I've lost my EYESSSS.....whatever happens, please promise me you'll move on with your life if I don't make it...find happiness with someone who has the gift of sight!" I was very desperate at this point.
"That's a little extreme and dramatic, don't you think??"  Asked my husband, from somewhere in the living room and I'm not quite sure where because I couldn't see him.  He may have been just to my right, at least that's where it sounded like his snickering was coming from.  So when he said this I snapped up from the depths of the couch and spoke in that general direction: "I'm glad you find this funny...I'll never be able to see the beauty of a rose, a baby's smile and you find this funny!"  As I said this, I lifted my arm to sweep the hair away that had fallen in my face during the exhaustive search..."SON OF A BITCH!!"  My glasses were, yes I'm serious....ON MY HEAD.  I've just had my first old lady experience, *sigh*.  So I suck it up and put my glasses on, only to see my husband had actually been to the left of me and was now doubled over with laughter.  I didn't want to know if it was because of me shouting at an empty space instead of in his direction or because of the location of my glasses.  Either way, I had once again given him a good laugh.  
Later that day, we met up with my mom, sister and my amazingly adorable nieces.  I was retelling my glasses story so my mom and sister could maybe feel sorry for me just a tiny bit.  No such luck.  They laughed.  Fine, I'm glad I could share and make them laugh.  Anyway, I have the cutest, smartest, precious nieces!  Laney is very girly-girl and dainty.  Riley is a definite "tom-boy" in the making.  Wonderful girls!  Riley is going to be the one my sister & brother in law really have to watch and prepare for.  For example, she is 3 years old and has still has some trouble saying certain words, "wes" means "yes," "wook-it" is "look-it" and there's a couple of others.  One thing about this kid, she's as sharp as a tack and knows way more of what's going on for a 3 year old than we give her credit for! My sister said that one time she asked Riley what she wanted for her snack for their movie night...Riley's reply, clear as a bell, no doubt what was said, she might as well be a phonetics instructor: "I want candy, m*&her f#@*er"....That's right!  According to "A Christmas Story" movie, she said the mother of all words. She said the "MF" word.  The kid is slick and she knows it.  She had obviously put effort in practicing this pronunciation and now carried out her mission with gleaming satisfaction...How do I know this?  Why do I think the kid knew exactly what she was saying?  Here's why: The day after I told my lost eyesight story to my mom, sister & the girls, we were at dinner with them (my mom was watching the girls because my sister was out of town on business...)  We were getting ready to leave the restaurant and Riley looks across the table at me and slighty tilts her head to the side, cracks a devilishly crooked smile, cocks one eyebrow up and says to me (again, clear as a bell...) "Lara, do you know where your glasses are???"  Then throws her head back in what I swear was maniacal laughter.  What the hell??  What did she just say to me??  The 3 YEAR OLD was mocking me!!! She completely understood everything I had said the day before about my glasses episode...why was she choosing this moment to torment me?  Was it because I scolded her for taking a bite out of a chip and tried to put it back in the basket?  Was it because I made her go to bed at 9pm those nights I babysat for them?  Why, Riley, WHY??? I slowly reached up to the top of my head....yes, there sat my sunglasses.  She was toying with me now....well played, Riley...well played.

Intelligent words escape me when I need to say them the most!

I do not consider myself a socially awkward person.  I don’t think I have a problem talking to people.  I sometimes talk to strangers while standing in line at the grocery store (no, I’m not THAT crazy old lady who turns to the customer behind her, smiles just a little too crazily and says something like “there’s a great sale on fancy feast cat food today. I’m gonna buy 3 cases. The neighborhood stray cats are going to be happy today.”)  If a stranger makes small talk at the table next to us at a restaurant, I’ll politely converse with them.  I’ve also been known to initiate small talk by saying how adorable their children are or to ask what they ordered because it looks delicious.  Hell, I talk to all levels of professionals, from admins to presidents of large companies, for a living, all day every day.  I can talk to people fairly intelligently and easily.  EXCEPT at a funeral.  For some reason at a funeral there is a switch in my brain that shuts off.  The one that sends the signal to my mouth saying “this is an appropriate comment of condolence and comfort you say in this situation” before I speak.  For some reason at a funeral I turn into a bumbling, mumbling idiot!  It’s a wonder I can even form a complete sentence, however it’s probably a sentence I should NOT say, like “there’s a great sale on fancy feast cat food at HEB today.”  Even before the funeral, I start getting very nervous and my hands get clammy and my stomach starts to turn in on itself…general anxiety at the thought of having to address the family members of the departed.  Fortunately, I have not had to attend very many funerals in my adult life. 

A few days ago, my mother tells me Jack passed away.  Jack and his wife, Martha, were the first people my mother, sister & I met when we moved to Austin some 35 years ago.  They lived across the street from us and quickly became a permanent fixture, as close to family as possible if you will, in our lives.  So, when my mom was telling me, I immediately braced myself for what I knew was coming next, the dreaded “His funeral is Saturday, I’d very much like it if you went with me.  It would mean a lot to Martha and to me.”  I’m relieved this conversation between my mother & me was taking place over instant messenger so she couldn’t see the immediate distortion of anxiety and despair on my face.  I told her I would have to think about it and get back to her.

Some of the first thoughts I had were of excuses of why I couldn’t go.  “oh, I wish I could but I’m going to be cleaning my oven.” Or “I wish I could, but I’m going to be studying up on my quantum physics.”  Please know these excuses were not to be rude or insincere at all.  I was truly saddened by Jack’s passing and I wanted to pay my respects.  But in a way that wouldn’t cause me to convulse in a full on panic attack at the thought of talking to Martha and their family.  Then I started to think about my Dad’s funeral and how people spoke to me.  Unfortunately, because it was MY Daddy in that coffin and I was an emotional basket case and deeply devastated and numb and mildly sedated, I couldn’t really remember actual words spoken to me.  NO, I wasn’t blitzed at his funeral!  I just had to take the edge off because I tend to cry at pretty much anything…I’m a crier…and I didn’t want to full on bawl during the service.

For as long as I can remember, Jack & Martha have been a significant part of our lives.  When we lived across the street from them, they were pretty much surrogate parents to me & my sister.  I know they are the primary reason my mother made it those first couple of years as a single parent of two small girls in a new, big city without one single trip to the mental hospital.  I know they were her strength and support when she needed it most.  Even after we moved from that house and throughout the years, Jack & Martha were always the first to arrive for Christmas Eve dinner, graduation parties, weddings & receptions, baby showers, birthday parties, they were always there!  I also remember Jack as always smiling and happy and fun to talk to and just nice to be around.

“Ok, Lara, time to suck it up, put aside your fears and do this to show sympathy for Martha and support your mother.” I finally decided.  I knew it was going to be tough but I was determined because Jack & Martha have done so much for us.  I had to mentally prepare myself for several days but I went.  I told myself I was NOT going to cry!!  Yes, I was very sad and I know it’s ok to cry at funerals.  However, I also know once my waterworks start, there is no stopping the oncoming flood of tears and I’ll wind up crying over the craziest things for the rest of the day.  I made it about ¾ of the way through, holding fast to my resolve not to cry.  Then someone got up and read letters written by Jack’s granddaughters, saying goodbye to him.  Cue the full on bawling from Lara!  When I cry, my nose sees this as a signal to flow full throttle.  Thank goodness we chose a pew that had a box of Kleenex on it, almost as if it were a sign from above, because I couldn’t get them out fast enough.  My sniffling can be heard for blocks and sometimes a pig like snort escapes.  I needed to stifle this with the Kleenex before the church was completely quiet for the final prayer.

The service ends and we are directed to the front of the church, where the family is waiting to accept our condolences and sympathy.  Nope, I can’t do it.  I can’t go through this receiving line and talk to the family looking like a puffy eyed Rudolph the red-nosed rain deer.  Besides, I wouldn’t be able to shake their hands or hug them, considering I’m now carting about four thousand cried on and wadded up tissues, with NO trash can between me & them.  There was no way I was going to open my mouth!  I probably would have told them I prefer liquid laundry detergent over powder because the powder tends to clump and not fully disperse unless you dissolve it some of the water before you put the clothes in the washing machine.

Marcus and I said goodbye to my mother & sister on the walk over from the church to the reception hall, where they were hosting a reception for the family, and left before I could say anything completely stupid to anyone.

Maybe Martha will read this one day, maybe not.  But if she does, I want her to know my heart grieves for her and with her.  Jack was a wonderful man and I’m deeply sorry for her and her family’s loss.  I just don’t know how to verbalize it, but I can convey my deepest sympathy here, by writing it.

I don’t know if I will ever be completely rid of my “funeral anxiety” and I really hope I don’t have to make any more attempts at it again anytime soon.  But for now, I’m off to HEB to get cat food and laundry detergent because they are both on sale!!

It's a Drive-by Shooting! We're being shot at!!

Marcus was about 48 seconds from blowing a fuse because there was, as he so dramatically put it, “NOT a single clean dish in the house!!”  To which my response was “False!! The dog’s water bowl is very clean and that’s a DISH that happens to be in this HOUSE…” I don’t know if something in my husband snapped at that moment or if he was truly rendered speechless by my ever so keen observation, because all he did was tilt his head slightly and started washing the dishes.  This is usually how the dishes get done in our house.  It starts with some exaggerated proclamation of no more “clean” dishes, followed by my clever retort to negate his observation.  My favorite is “False!  There is a clean punch bowl above the refrigerator!  It is perfectly acceptable to eat ramen noodles out of a punch bowl!  Emily Post never said otherwise!”

I do not like doing dishes, well, truth be told, I don’t like cleaning, anything, ever.  I don’t know why.  I don’t think I have some obscure psychosis or dyslexic type of germaphobia or “non-clean freak” disorder.  I just don’t like cleaning.  Don’t get me wrong, I like having clean clothes, a clean house, I just don’t like to do all the work.  Every once in a while, like after staying at a clean hotel, I do have a sudden urge to go home and make my home just as clean (well, all hotels we stay in are clean.  We don’t ever stay in the bedbug infested, dirt ring in the tub, type hotels.  As a matter of fact, I do have an odd phobia when it comes to hotels, I can ONLY stay in the ones that have the doors to the rooms on the inside, where you have to go in the hotel, walk down a hallway to get to your room type places.  I can’t stay in the type of hotels where you park your car about 14 inches from the door to the room.  No, no “doors on the outside” hotels for me.)  But, when I get home and see how much it would take to get it “doors inside, nice hotel” type of clean, the motivation and desire fade away…but back to the drive by shooting, and I promise this is all true and seriously happened!

Marcus was taught to do dishes old school style, and by this, I mean he fills up one side of the sink with soapy water, places everything in the water, hand washes them and THEN puts them in the dishwasher, except the pots & pans…(IF, on the off chance I’m compelled to clean the kitchen – it’s “everybody in the pool after a slight rinsing off” which means I rinse everything and PILE everything in the dishwasher…) With the pots & pans, he places them on the stove burners and turns on the burners for just a few minutes, to heat dry the pots & pans before putting them away.

Marcus’ phone rings and it’s a friend of ours from high school, who I think was congratulating us on getting married or something like that.  Marcus hadn’t talked to him in a while, so they start catching up on what the other has been doing and life and just the typical guy talk.  I think the whole conversation lasted maybe 7 minutes.  Marcus hangs up the phone and comes in to the living room to tell me how our friend was doing and how he heard this and this about so & so, and can you believe what’s-her-name is actually dating this yahoo…just the normal, small town gossip making its way to us.

“KAAAHHHH-----BBBLLLLOOOOOMMMM!!!!!”  Something just exploded in our house!  I looked at my husband with sheer panic, “WHAT. THE. ACTUAL. FUCK. WAS. THAT???” Was all I could say…as we both walk in the kitchen to investigate the explosion.  There is shattered glass EVERYWHERE!!  “MARCUS!!  Are we being shot at???”

“KAAAHHHH-----BBBLLLLOOOOOMMMM!!!!!”  The 2nd Pyrex baking dish exploded off the stove burner and sprayed more glass everywhere.  At least that’s what I saw on my way down to the ground, taking the immediate “lay as flat on the floor as humanly possible” plan of action to avoid taking a bullet to the knee or boob or throat.  “Marcus, what the hell is going on??? WHY WOULD ANYONE DO A DRIVE-BY on US?????”  Let me explain here, in this moment of terror I was experiencing, what I saw was a Pyrex dish not just cracked and broken, but the dish exploded, THE DISH EXPLODED, THE. DISH. EXPLODED!!!! like a pyro-techno, wired for special effects in a blockbuster, Bruce Willis movie, explosion!!  Now, knowing my frame of mind, you must surely understand why I am splayed out on the dining room floor, trying to become one with the wood floor boards. 

After the last of the shattered glass had landed all over the kitchen and dining room and I’m sure my hair was covered with shattered shards that would certainly scalp me every time I washed my hair for a week.  Picture a nuclear fall-out depiction in a post-apocalyptic movie, with the dust and ashes blanketing everything in the area…That’s what I’m expecting to open my eyes to…

Nope, I look up to see my darling husband, the love of my life, my soul mate, bent over at the waist, laughing so hard there are tears streaming down his face.  He’s laughing so hard, no sound is coming out of him and he’s slapping his leg like some sort of retarded seal (thanks Pinterest for this line…I just had to use it here because that’s exactly how he looked..)

“ARE YOU HIT???  ARE YOU IN SHOCK SO YOU ARE LAUGHING BECAUSE YOU’VE BEEN HIT??”  We are completely enthralled with Sons of Anarchy, so I had to use the bad ass, devil may care, lingo I’ve picked up from that show.  I mean, hello! We're being shot at for God's sake!  "Marcus, look at me, where are you hit??  Do I need to get a belt to be used as a tourniquet?”  I’m slowly pulling myself up, dusting the fall-out off my shirt and shorts (It wasn’t really “fall-out dust” it was just regular dust, since I hadn’t swept or mopped the floor in a spell….) I’m extremely cautious, whoever has a “hit out on us” might try again…so I go to look out the window, which for some reason is completely intact..hmmm…”that’s odd – I don’t see any bullet holes...Honey, where are the bul……WHAT is so damn funny??  This is NOT a known drive-by neighborhood.”  That’s when I realized, the window I just looked out to check for the “perp” was the window to our back yard…unless a road had miraculously appeared in our back yard, this was not a drive-by shooting.  This was my husband’s way of drying off two Pyrex pans, by placing them on the lit burners, to dry off all the water.  Unfortunately for the Pyrex and my blood pressure and heart rate, my husband “forgot” the burners were on when he was on the phone…All he could say was “I don’t think you would move that fast, even for free Wendy’s fries or Reese’s peanut butter cups…”  Who knew Pyrex EXPLODES when heated to about 2067 degrees…..That little incident happened about 6-8 months ago and every now and then, I still find shards of Pyrex in the strangest damn places, like on the mantle above the fireplace…seriously!  Who knew Pyrex explodes??  Not me, I just cook with Pyrex, I certainly don’t clean then heat dry it on the burners..thankfully, neither does Marcus anymore.  Although I think he secretly wants to.

I am "FR-CHU-N8"!!!!

Today marks the 11th anniversary of a very horrendous, horrific event in America's history.  Of course I think about all the tragedy, all the lives lost because of this evil event, orchestrated by evil madmen.  As a nation, we mourn and we rebuild.  We don't just "move on", we "grow strong" and we will never, ever, ever forget.  
As the years pass, I'm starting to see a change in myself when thinking of this anniversary.  I am gradually becoming less sad and less angry and less mad.  I am becoming more grateful, more blessed, more aware of the good around me!!
On my way into work this morning, I had to stop rapid-firing black jelly beans through the sunroof at the idiot tailgating me to figure out a personalized license plate on the truck in the lane over from me.  I absolutely love these types of word puzzles and I was determined to figure this one out.  I was probably yelling my guesses, I was getting so excited!  Kinda like when I play "SongPop"...I get so excited and nervous at knowing the song, I just start clicking, rapid fire...and never really accomplish anything and wind up losing.
Back to the license plate:  This is what I saw: "FR-CHU-N8"  Here's some examples of my guesses: "fir choon nat," "french-ate," "for chew & ate." Then it hit me: "FORTUNATE."  I became very eerily quiet.  "Fortunate."  On this day of somber memorials, HOLY SHIT, I am FORTUNATE!!!
I'm fortunate I live in a country where I can drive to a job I love and not some slave labor sweat shop.
I'm fortunate I have an amazing and wonderful, loving family I can call to talk to or drive to see any time I want.
I'm fortunate I have, not only the power, but also the ability to make choices.  I'm fortunate I have the right to deal with the consequences of my choices, good or bad, however I choose (with the exception of speeding tickets...I found I do have to pay those eventually...)
I'm fortunate to have a loving husband, who adores me as much, if not more, than I adore him.  Who gives a rat's ass if he puts holes in the walls to create a media center for us!!  We like movies & music and we like hearing them in surround sound.
I'm fortunate to have amazing children who have far surpassed any grand plans or ideas I ever could have dreamed for them.  They are becoming such fantastic adults, I have to pinch myself then ask what could I have ever done to deserve such wonderful children (sorry Mom, the "curse" of "I hope your kids treat you the way you treated me" didn't make it to my kids AND I am sorry for the way I treated you when I was growing up - but I'm FORTUNATE to have such a wonderful mother!!!)
I'm fortunate to have friends who care and who are kind and who tolerate my "ramblings with words" on this blog and FB posts.  
I'm fortunate in that I get to eat dinner tonight and I get to choose what I get to eat for dinner. 
I'm fortunate in that I can eat that dinner on the couch, watching the Astros...(shut it Marcus, they are in the process of re-building a stellar team.  They don't suck and they won't be the "Lastros" for long!!)
I'm FORTUNATE, plain & simple.  I have so much to be thankful for and grateful for that I'm blessed with, and I choose to spend this day rejoicing!  I don't want to be sad today!!  I'm so freakin' fortunate that I can make that choice - sad or happy!  Is it a sad day, very much so.  Happy that it's taught me so much, you bet your sweet pa-tooty I am!  FR-CHU-N8!!!!

All the Oreo cookies in the world can't heal hurt feelings!

I am an emotional person.  I'll be the first to admit it.  I cry at pretty much anything.  A sappy commercial, a touching greeting card, a loving photograph - hand me the Kleenex, please....a sad movie, you might as well buy me a Kleenex factory...I cry.  I still grab two new boxes when I watch "The Notebook" and I know there's not enough Kleenex in the world for me to ever watch "My Girl" ever again.  It's how I show emotion, even when I laugh too hard, I wind up crying.  
But there are times, thank goodness not many, when I cry because I am upset.  There are times when I am sad and crying helps deal with the sadness.  Usually when this occurs, I turn to comfort in food (again, I'm glad it doesn't happen often.)  And not the good stuff like fruit or vegetables....nope, I go straight for the stuff that should be illegal.  When Suzanne died and I was leaving her house after cleaning it out, the first place I stopped was KFC for one of their "let's see how many grams of fat, cholesterol and type 2 diabetes we can cram in one sandwich" concoctions.  This isn't really a sandwich, per se, as it is about 4lbs of bacon, blanketed in what I presume is cheese, then smothered in some sort of cheese sauce, all of which is sandwiched between two deep-fried chicken breasts.  There is not one spec of bread so I don't know how they can, in good conscience, call it a sandwich...but they do.  I ordered it because I was sad and food like that tends to comfort me, if just for a few fleeting moments.  I would never order that artery clogging mess in normal day to day activity!!
I cry & eat junk when I'm stressed or worried about something.  When I was contemplating changing jobs, again, for the 2nd time in 3 months, I cried because I was worried about money and bills and simply surviving.  During this time, I was bee-lining straight to the potato chips...cheddar & sour cream ruffles, Doritos, chili-cheese Fritos, to name a few.  I think there were even a couple of bags of pork rinds thrown in for good measure.
Let me pause here to say I have been blessed with a kind, loving heart & soul.  I love being nice to people and I love being kind to people.  I go out of my way to please people when needed.  I go out of my way to help people when needed.  It's acts of kindness like this that make me happy. It has taken me a long time and many heartbreaking experiences to learn it's ok to be nice, even when someone else isn't.  It's what makes me feel good inside that matters. However, just because I'm kind does not give anyone the right to be mean to me.  Just because I'm giving doesn't give anyone the right to take and take and take without giving in return.  
When my feelings get hurt, it makes me cry and it makes me high-tail it straight to the ice-cream and cookie isle in the store.  When my feelings get hurt, I'm sorry but Blue-Bell just don't put enough Oreo cookies in their cookies & cream.  Oh no, I have to make Cookies & cream ice cream sandwiches with double stuff Oreo cookies and I have to cry big fat tears until I feel better.  Thankfully this only takes about two or three "sandwiches" until my emotions start to feel better, however, my stomach starts to take over and is threatening to revolt and expel all contents.  
As time goes by and I get a little older, I find I'm not buying double stuff Oreo cookies nearly as often.  I do still like the occasional bite or two of the actual ice cream, but I'm finding I don't need the whole sandwich thing as much.  I think a lot of this has to do with me not letting other people's negativity and meanness effect me as I used to.  If someone feels the need to be rude and hurtful, it's a reflection of their own inner turmoil and struggle with kindness.  It's not me.  I know I'm not the cause of their pain so why should I continue to let them be the cause of mine (or my stomach's)?  I will still cry at sappy commercials and touching greeting cards but I'll be damned if I'm gonna let someone else push me to cookies & cream, Oreo cookies ice cream sandwiches anymore...I know my stomach and thighs will thank me.  Life is too short to buy that crap (literally and figuratively...)

A paperclip, the back of an earring and a little soldering!

I have learned, if there is any activity coming from my husband's office, it's in both of our best interest if I just stay away.  Some men have a garage, some men have a workshop.  My husband has his "office".  Yes, there is computer equipment, a couple of desktops, a server of sorts, and the last time I was in there, I counted 4 monitors.  But this is so much more than a typical office...I think this fact really resonated with me when I watched him, clad in his Dickies cover-alls, baseball cap slightly askew and safety glasses firmly in place, walk through the living room, with handsaw and shop vac in tow, headed with a mission to the office.  Quite certainly this piqued my interest...what in the sam hell could he possibly be doing now??  
His "desk" is actually an old dining room table, and a good sized one, but you wouldn't know this because there's not one single bare spot on the "desk"...it's completely covered with paper, wires, cables, tools, a wide variety of nuts, bolts, all types of items in various stages of assembly or disrepair...I dare not think of cleaning or straightening up the desk "I know exactly where everything is like this" is his reply when I even mention it.  "I might need that 'specto-graph-topographlic-meter' when I'm fixin' something" is his reasoning for keeping things the way they are.  And believe me, when he's looking for something around the house, I say a quiet, pleading prayer that he doesn't ask me to go look for it in the office...I'm seriously afraid that if I go in the office, I might not find my way back out.  I think the wall calendar is still on February....
One thing you must know about my Marcus is his unwavering determination...when he is on a mission, come hell or high water, he's going to complete it.  This can be both a blessing and a curse.  Case in point, the time he had the entire door of my car completely apart and splayed out on the driveway, in exact placement so it resembled the schematics of the manual, piece by piece, all to replace the door handle.  Yes, I have a new door handle and the "left-over" parts were immediately placed on the desk...for when he might need them to fix something else.
Yesterday, I was truly impressed with his "southern ingenuity" and sheer determination. When his iPhone met its demise Sunday, my husband immediately went on "defcon level 1 office mission" to get a working phone. I'm not exactly sure what he did, like I said, I tend to steer clear of that side of the house when he is in "fix-it" mode.  But I do know, after finding an old Razor phone, some finagling with a paperclip, asking me for an earring back (the small, circular, rubbery kind) and his soldering iron, he now has a working phone.  MacGyver would be jealous!!!  The look on my husband's face was amazing!  He was so proud of his handiwork. Smile beaming from ear to ear, "I'll be damned, I fixed the phone!"
Looking at my husband at that moment made me realize how proud I am of HIM!  If anything around the house breaks, he finds a way to fix it.  I love the way he finds a way to figure out what is wrong, how it works and what it takes to fix it.  He truly enjoys figuring out electrical things like a puzzle then putting his knowledge to use and  repairing them.  And I enjoy watching him accomplish his missions with such pride and joy.  When he goes in that office, I know he's doing something he enjoys and is helpful around the house. I wouldn't change a thing about his office...except maybe the calendar.

This here's gonna be a rant for sure...

Please, someone, tell me when it became ok to not have simple manners?  Here are some examples of very small instances where I think people should have common courtesy...and Emily Post would most definitely agree with me, if not smack someone for committing any one of these offenses:

1.  It's common courtesy to wait for all passengers to exit an elevator before stepping in...when you come barging in before everyone's had a chance to get out, you are one giant road block.  You've already waited a whole 7 seconds for the doors to open, another 5 isn't going to ruin your day.  And if it does, just go the hell home, go back to bed and start over tomorrow...

2.  It should be illegal to prepare or reheat any form of tuna in a community break room, especially at lunch time.  Other people might be trying to eat their less offensive smelling lunch. If you must have a large intake of protein due to exercise or special diet...chicken, pork or even turkey have the exact same amount of protein per serving..common courtesy is an understatement here, even if that smeller below your eyes doesn't work, other peoples' do!

3.  This goes without saying, but talking on your cell phone in a public restroom is not only rude, it's tacky and gross!!  For this one, I have come up with a clever little "intrusion" to these "potty talks"...when I'm the victim of this and I don't care how many stalls separate me & the offender (public bathrooms are large and do echo..) I just start flushing...whether I'm done or not...flush, flush, flush, flush...one right after the other.  It usually only takes about 4 or 5 flushes for the person to get the hint and hang up!

4.  All I'm going to say here: farting in a yoga or pilates class (I swear I apologized immediately and profusely!!)

5.  If you are in an occupation that requires you to communicate or associate with a paying patron or in a government role that requires you deal with HUMAN lifeforms just trying to pay a ticket or some other government taxation....remember just that...we are HUMANS too...if you don't like dealing with people with a somewhat pleasant attitude, I'm sure there are more acceptable jobs for your attitude, like cleaning the bathrooms at Taco Bell...

6.  Finally, if you are in such a hurry that you have to cut across 3 lanes of traffic, to turn left and not wait in the line at the light, like the rest of us, you should have left the house earlier and be prepared for what may happen!!!  This moron lady acted sooooo shocked when she did this to me!  I saw her coming, so I slammed my 4x4 3/4 ton Chevy dually into 3rd gear, floored it and squealed my tires, which "accidentally" caused me to t-bone her stupid little Prius, skidding her about 63 feet down the road...Ok, that didn't really happen, I drive a Mini Cooper at present....but I damn sure thought about it and you bet your sweet ass she deserved both "fingers" I had to show her, plus the colorful names I was calling her!

Whew, I feel better...thanks for letting me vent.  I'll be the first to tell you I am not perfect - but I do have common courtesy toward others and I always try to display as such.  And, while I'm still searching for another pilates class, I make it a point to treat people the way I want to be treated, it's common courtesy!!

Maybe Wendy's and Gain could sponsor me....

Ok, this is probably the best idea I've had in a while...so hear me out!  I am a baseball girl, through & through!  I'm a very loyal Houston Astros fan, despite the fact my husband has put a hex on them this season...something about I don't have to watch every single game, something about they play 160+ games a season and I can miss one or two..blah blah blah... Some may consider watching baseball on TV pointless and boring.  I can see how non-baseball people might feel that way.  The game on TV certainly doesn't have the same "energy buzz" that can actually be felt at a ballpark.  At a ball park, there's a certain camaraderie between strangers, albeit fellow fans, that causes hugs and high-fives for everyone when a Grand Slam is cracked over the back wall. Not to mention, the smell of stale, warm beer, mixed with warmed peanuts and hot dogs.  Or that one obnoxiously annoying fan who spends most of the game trying to get the rest of the crowd of 30,000+ to chant "Let's-Go-As-tros!!" at the top of her lungs.   Ok, I only did that the one time and I'll have you know, by the middle of the 7th inning, I had most of my new fan-friends joined in with me and I'll also have you know I was not "ejected" from that particular game!  I am a baseball girl!  I do love going to the games and have been to see my boys play at Minute Maid park about a bajillion times.  
Now, here's my glorious idea - and I think this will make Wendy's Hamburgers and Gain detergent boat loads of money.  Since they have yet to contact me to pay me for the blatant product placement advertising in my earlier post this should be very appealing to them!  
I want to experience a baseball game in every MLB ballpark in the US.  There's only 30 of them, 29 if you take out Minute Maid park.  Wait, that's the Astros park, so I better go to that one too... Wendy's and Gain can sponsor my little tour of the diamonds...ooohh, ooohh, that's what I'll call it, "Lara's Tour of the Diamonds" by paying for travel and tickets to the game.. I'll even put together a small entourage (my husband and our dog Lola :) who will be our mascot.)  In return for their sponsorship - I will make it a point to wear logo laden clothing while holding up the biggest possible signs, doing what else? Advertising their products!!  I will try my hardest at every game to get the announcers to interview me & Marcus as "fans of the GAIN" "or fans of the fries" (see what I did there ;-) )  Now we couldn't possibly hit up all 30 stadiums in one season, so we'll most likely have to sign a two season contract...one season for Wendy's and one for Gain...I'd bet my fancy luggage it would cost them less than one billboard, in one town for one month.  I mean, how many different people actually read those things anymore?  This is guaranteed exposure to millions!  I'll even come up with a chant or two...and once I convince Marcus to help me chant, I'm sure we'll have at least TWO sections join in by the 6th inning!  Ahhh...baseball, french fries and clean smelling clothes...I can see it now!

Where the hell is my entourage?

The house lights go dark, a hush falls over the comfortably stoned crowd as the remnants of their "left-handed cigarettes" waft up to the rafters....The spot lights dart back and forth across the coliseum..."Ladies and Gentlemen...." and now the crowd lets loose a deafening roar..."please welcome LARA....." OR...."And the Oscar goes to...Lara!!"  wooooooohhhoooooo!!
These were the dreams of my youth.  By God, I was going to be famous, come hell or high water.  When I was about 10, my mother bought me this bamboo style yellow bedroom furniture, complete with a canopy bed, which had tall posts to accommodate the canopy.  How glamorous I felt in that canopy bed!  When I had outgrown the canopy and grown into the delusion of being a rock star or A-list actress, the canopy came down and I somehow rigged a tennis racket tied with a shoe string on one of the posts to serve as my "microphone on a stand."  Lord, the songs I used to belt out on that microphone, "Landslide" (the original one by Fleetwood Mac,) pretty much anything by Pat Benetar and even "Oh Mickey" by Toni Basil...the one that goes "oh Mickey, you're so fine, you're so fine  you blow my mind, HEY Mickey, HEY Mickey."  I'm sorry, but you will probably have that one stuck in your noggin for the next day or two and I gladly accept the curses you will send my way :)
There's no telling how many "acceptance speeches" I proudly proclaimed into that microphone: "First, I owe a world of thanks to my amazing agent, Rick Springfield..." because in those days he had transformed from Dr. Noah Drake on GH into my agent and the actors who played Bo & Hope from Days of our Lives along with Luke & Laura from GH were my best friends.
My point is, I had the moves of a singing sensation and the prolific prose of a great actress, I just knew I was going to rocket to stardom...complete with jet setting trips all over the world, with my entourage dutifully in tow, ready to grant my every whim & wish...like strawberries sliced just perfectly to sink snuggly to the bottom curve of the crystal champagne flute, which is filled with Dom and just a splash of OJ (mostly for color.) Or to tell me how amazing my portrayal of Jayne Mansfield was in my latest Oscar-worthy adaptation...
Fast forward 30 years and here I am...the only thankful acceptance speech I've given lately was to the lady at AutoZone for telling my husband which spark plugs were best for my car.  That whole story will be written about too, I'm sure - so stay tuned for that one!
Here I am, about to transfer money to my daughter to buy a mattress for the new bedroom furniture she bought herself, for the new house she just moved into for her Junior year of college.  Here I am, looking at pictures of my youngest she's just posted to FB, thinking "she's certainly not using the correct SPF level of sunscreen for a lifeguard who is in the sun all day, every day" because she has a rich, golden tan that accentuates her blond hair beautifully...Here I am, pausing my poignant pontificating so I can run to the office to play my husband's turn at Farkle so his brother in Denton doesn't beat him while he finishes up a chore I asked him to do last Tuesday.
And then it hits me: "Where the hell is MY entourage??" This is not what I had planned!!!  This is actually better than what I had planned.  I have the best life I could have ever dreamed!  I love the fact that the only spot lights I need are the ones we have to bust out to go find Lola when she escapes to terrorize the kids down the road.  Not to mention that my actual singing talent is best left to when I'm in the car, alone....with NO ONE around to hear me.  I'd bet my fancy luggage that if you ever heard me sing, you would agree, without a moment's hesitation.
I don't have an entourage.  I have a FAMILY!!!  One that makes me so proud I can barely breath.  One kid smart & responsible enough to be at A&M, one smart & responsible enough to be trusted with people's lives and a husband who actually helps out around the house.  Entourage, smontourage...I love my family and I love my simple, Houdini chihuahua chasing life.  Who cares that the mimosa is in a mason jar and that I forgot to get strawberries at the grocery store :)