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Letters to Nowhere

Monday, February 27, 2006

30.. No big deal

James and I
Originally uploaded by red clover.
It's the new 20 right?

I'll be 30 tomorrow. However, yesterday I went out to dinner with my mother. It went well.

We ordered a Pina Colada to split. I (insert big cheesy grin) got carded. I actually replied with "Oh I love you so much!" with a hearty laugh.

2 days away from 30, but I still got it!

Thursday, February 23, 2006

Vodka, carrots, rocks and brooms

After my hectic day at work I really think I could make a fortune with a vending machine for office buildings. The only two products it would stock would be prozac and shots of vodka.

We recently got one of those handheld 20Q(uestions) games. Very very cool. And hey! on clearance, only five bucks.

It's very good at guessing your "thing". My son, 9 years old, tried "carrot" One of the 20 questions was "Does it bring joy to the people?". He wasn't sure and so asked me.

I mumbled to myself: Well, I'm sure to a small group of freaks it does.

He of the bat-like hearing said: Pardon me, I didn't hear you?

To which I replied, overly loud: NO, no it doesn't. Just hit the NO button.

(whew.. close call)

While talking to my beau about the Olympic games recently I was telling him of some news piece I'd read about one of the Curling (Unoffical moto: Because it's so damn cold none of our lakes are unfrozen to skip the stones on.)teams. Only problem, I couldn't think of the word "Curling". So.. I said, You know.. That rock and broom sport!

Rock and broom! Rock and broom! he cried, you're making one of our countries sports sound like a mockery.

One quick wikipedia check later and I'd confirmed the words Rock and Broom were used. Only they don't use real brooms anymore. They use a swiffer-kinda-looking thing.

I made a crack about them having to "squeegie" the ice. He wasn't amused.

*mental note: When I move up to Canada make sure I talk to the locals about my fascination with "that rock and broom sport" and "hockey-ball" aka how-not-to-make-friends-and-influence-people*

I wanna see if I'll get deported ;)

Sunday, February 19, 2006

Fork you

While putting up the dishes it occurred to me that the Olympics are not the only event to happen every 4 years, at least not in my house.

I am now down to just two forks. Why? How? It's a phenomenon I call The Great Fork Migration. Back when my son was younger the Great Spoon Migration happened pretty frequently. I'd go out into the yard, look into the sandbox and find half a dozen spoons, beaten, battered, almost unrecognizable.

Now it's the forks. I know exactly what will happen if I go out and buy replacement forks. About 4 nano-seconds after I unpack the new forks I'll start to find the old. It's an indepth mindgame my flatware plays with me; I'm sure of it. I'll start to see a fork poking out from under the sofa, I'll find 3 in the butter knife compartment. They will be laying there smugly. Almost as if they are saying.. ha ha.. we were laying on our sides, Fooled ya!

The two forks I have now are not even a matched set. They are clearly the retard forks, the ones that couldn't find a good hiding place. Or maybe they're the lazy ones. I don't know. All I know is that my flatware doesn't wear out. It just.. goes away.

One day in the coming months, I'll be putting away dishes and find that I own, roughly, eleventy hundred forks. They'll have all come out of hiding a migrated back into the sink during the night.. or maybe it's some form of reproduction. Maybe there is a fork orgy going on right now under my sofa, or behind the crockpot. I can almost imagine them there, a big wad of forks all the tines intertwined, looking like a bizarre man made octopus.

My house is one of many mysteries. Some I've solved, some I haven't. The forks are having their day.

Thursday, February 16, 2006

Signs you're too bored

You know you aren't having a great, exciting day at work when you start looking forward to your gynecologist appointment. Several of my co-workers were looking at me enviously as I got up to leave early today.

"Where are you going?" They asked.

The Gyno. I replied.

"Oh.. Well, does he warm the duck bill thingie?"

Yeah he does, I answered.

"Then it would be worth leaving for, today at least", was the consensus.

I all but neener-neener'd as I walked out.

While there Dr. Slappey (yes that's his real name) asked when the last time we'd done a Chlamydia culture. I told him it'd been a few years. I, as a matter of course, am routinely screened for STDs. I think it's always a better idea to know.. than to wonder.

He recommended we do another one. Georgia, it seems, is 3rd in the nation for Chlamydia infections in adults. Oh goody! He joked that Georgia never comes in the top five for anything good. We finally break the top five and aren't even good enough for Chlamydia to make number one!

I love my gyno. He's got a great sense of humor, won't blow smoke up your ass (aka no candy coating), and actually takes the time to answer any questions, and try to help with any problems you may have.

If you're in the Macon Georgia area and need a gynecologist I highly recommend Dr. Slappey in the Coliseum Physician Center. I'm going to regret leaving him behind when I move to the great white north. Hell, I'll miss him more than some of my family.

Ok ladies... Q&A time.

Am I the only one that immediately prior to my gyno appointment goes into the bathroom and does the quick PTA* bath? Of course it helps that the bathroom there is a single occupancy. So I can stand at the sink and swab everything down without drawing too many stares.

*PTA - pits, tits, and ass

Monday, February 13, 2006

Sink water.

My cat is a psychopath. This should only surprise, maybe, 3 people in the world. A. It's MY cat, and B. It's a cat.

After coming home from work today I put fresh food and water down, as usual. The cat wandered over looked at both and glanced up at me as if to say "what else do you have?"

I headed for the bathroom, my cat following at max psycho speed. She likes to be in the bathroom when I use it. This is, as near as I can tell, because I'm a captive audience to her pet-me-pet-me-pet-ME-PET-ME!! demands. This time she didn't want me to pet her. She wanted to drink water from the faucet (or tap for the canucks). I turned the faucet on to wash my hands and she fell on the water as if she'd not had any for days.

Keep in mind, that in the kitchen there is a fresh bowl of cool, clear water. I even went back to the kitchen to check she hadn't knocked it over. Nope, there it sat, with a ghostly look of puzzlement, and mild hurt on it's surface.. oh wait.. that was MY reflection.. I was thinking about my bank account.. but I digress.

All this time my cat is racing back and forth thru the house, all but walking on the ceiling in her 15 min psycho-fest. Then as suddenly as it began, she walked calmly to me, crawled in my lap, and went to sleep.

Friken psycho cat!

Saturday, February 11, 2006

Tid Bits

Arm chair quaterbacking horror movie style.

My son, now 9, has developed a liking for "horror" movies. So, earlier today we settled back and watched The Fog. Since it was PG-13 I figured we'd be pretty safe, no nudity, no really bad language, not much gore or grossness.

The movie wasn't that good from my viewpoint, but my son was on the edge of his seat from time to time. More often than not offering advice to the people. "Girl, don't go out there!" "Go back, Go back!" "Don't just stand there! Run!"


It sounded better in my head:

I like a little flakey(ness in my friends' personalities) it adds depth.


Learn from my mistakes:

Don't eat shredded wheat for breakfast AND lunch if you're running low on toilet paper.

Misheard lyric of the day (from my son)

There's a song that says "Gone like a soldier from the civil war, bang, bang"
My son sings "Gone like a sliver in the silverware drawer, man, man"

It's so cute...

Thursday, February 09, 2006

Southern Valentine

I was driving home from work yesterday and heard a commercial for "Howard's Gun and Pawn" on the radio. I wasn't paying too much attention, it was just background noise. Something, however, snagged my attention in time to hear

"Men don't forget Valentines is coming. We have gold and diamond jewelry. We have shotguns, nothing beats the perfect hunt'en rifle, or a handgun to express your love."

Oh boy, oh goody.. You know you live in the south when a commercial uses "handgun" and "express your love" in the same sentence.

Sadly, this morning I about this which happened in town last night. Long story short, an estranged husband had a fight in a Walmart parking lot and shot his wife and then himself.

I wonder if they will pull that commercial from the radio now?

Sunday, February 05, 2006


I spoke with my son's principal about the humiliating day he had at school. The principal hemmed and hawed. "It's not our intention or policy for these things to happen", "I'll make sure it won't happen again", "I'm sure she (the teacher) didn't realize it was an emergency" etc. He finally got around to "Let me take this moment to apologize to you". I pointed out that I was not the one that needed apologizing too.

He started to say that he'd make sure my son's teacher took him in the hall to apologize to him. I stopped him half way through and told him that wasn't going to cut it. I expected her to make the apology in the same place she embarrassed my son, In Front Of The Class. You see, the kids all DO know why my son left early. And so far anyway they haven't been picking on him much. However, if she's going to try to make amends I don't want it to be some pansy, out of the way, no witnesses, hushed up kinda apology.

I want the class to know she shouldn't have done what she did. That she isn't supposed to do that. That she can't do it to them either.

While talking to my beau he commented that a "public" apology may cause her to lose face, respect, authority .. whatever you want to call it.. in the kid's eyes. My simple reply? That's not my problem. A little public humility never killed anyway. I'm sure it'll be a lot less stressful for her to say "I'm sorry, I should have let you go to the restroom" than it is/will be for my son to deal with the teasing from the other kids.

Wednesday, February 01, 2006


My son and I have been sick with a nasty stomach bug for the last few days. Yesterday we both were feeling pretty good, so I informed the kid it was back to work and school for us today.

He was fine last night and doing well this morning. At 1 this afternoon he left a brief message on my cell, "Mom, I'm at home. I got sick."

I, hastily it seems, jumped to the conclusion he'd decided to milk the illness for one more day. I called the sitter when I was on my break. She told me they'd picked him up from school this morning. When I asked where he was she said "outside playing". This did not exactly suggest a life threatening relapse to me, as I'm sure you can imagine.

When I got home this evening I asked James about his day. He said, Well you know sometimes your poop is like water? I told him yes, I knew that feeling, but that alone was not reason enough to come home sick. I told him he'd have to just ask permission to use the restroom at school.

Then the story unfolds a tad. He asked the teacher to use the restroom, and she told him he couldn't go "during math". He told her it was an emergency, and she told him to hold it.

Long story short, my son went to the nurse in dirty pants to call someone to come get him. There will be a call to the school tomorrow. I'll be calm, I'll not even curse.. But I can guarantee that the next time "It's an emergency" leaves my son's mouth that he will be allowed to go to the restroom.

I can still remember with almost superhuman clarity the most embarrassing and shameful moment of my young life. I was 10. I was feeling really pretty that day. I had a red dress with a large full skirt on. I sat in the front row of the class. When I sat down after lunch my skirt caught on the back of the chair and I didn't know it. It was only after the snickers had traveled the whole room that one of the boys delighted in telling me that my underwear had a hole in them. It took me a second to figure out how he knew that. To this day, 20 years later, I'm squirming inside at the feelings of shame and humiliation I writhed in for the rest of that day at school.

Whoever said torture isn't the american way clearly didn't go to public schools.

I only hope my son's class doesn't know why he had to leave today.