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 |  My Blog....Pearls of wisdom and/or foolish mutterings.....You be the judge.... |
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A little of this, a dash of that......epic mood swings.......A LOT of foolish mutterings and occasionally a few words of wisdom. It's a crapshoot. You never know what you'll find in here... |
| Hubby and I will be jetting off to Amsterdam tomorrow for a week-long stay. He is going to attend a petroleum engineers conference and I am tagging along to... what else? Shop, go to museums, shop, go to Delft, shop, hang out in my hotel room and write in the peace and absolute quiet with no chance of being interrupted, shop, and then shop more. I don't know what I will do the second day. This will be my third trip to merry olde Amsterdam. Since I've only been on WDC a smidge over a year, most of you probably have not heard my rantings about the last time I was there, two years ago. If I had been writing then (which I wasn't - because I was basically insane, courtesy of the probate of my dad's estate) and if I had been a member of WDC, you would have read my tale of woe about what a wretched time I had in Amsterdam. The weather was horrible - not cold like it is supposed to be, so I packed all wrong, which made me very bitchy the whole time. Some idiot (and I'm not naming names, but it wasn't me) made our reservations at the completely wrong hotel and I was not happy about that, so I was a bitch about that the whole time - a very passive, aggressive bitch, mind you. I had a bad hair week, so I was really bitchy about that and I was fat(ter) then, so you know how bitchy that can make you, especially when you are trapped in a country of svelte, healthy people who either walk or bike every-damn-where so that there is not an ounce of fat on their bodies. And then there was the anti-American sentiment. It was horrible. I've never felt so hated in my entire life. Of course, the bulk of the anti-American sentiment came from my own husband. I was the Ugly American to my hubby and he was indeed very anti-American. In retrospect, I would have to say that I probably deserved it, but if any of you ever tell him I said that, I will call you a damn liar. As I said, I was insane at the time - thank you very much Andrews, Texas and my deceased dad's blood-sucking wife and her blood-sucking sons (oh! did I say that out loud?) I'm much better now. I've been to therapy. I am medicated. And I am older and wiser. Plus, I have lost a few pounds, have a good haircut and found my sense of humor once more. This time, I'm packing for any kind of weather the Weather-Gods of Amsterdam may choose to fling at me. Oh, and we are staying at the right hotel this time - thank God! It's an American-style hotel, as opposed to the typical European-style hotel. I've discovered that we Americans like to spread out. We want ROOM, dammit, and lots of it. We do not want to have to edge around the bed to squeeze past the dresser into the bathroom. While we're in the bathroom taking a shower, we want a FULL shower door, or at the very least a shower curtain. And God forbid that the closet door is open when you want to come out of the bathroom, because if it is, you might as well just take a seat in there. But, we're not staying at that hotel, so all is well. As for the anti-American sentiment, I have found a solution to that as well. It's a miracle, I tell you. I have been trying a new tack (yes, that is how you spell it according to Webster's Dictionary - tack: (intransitive verb) to modify one's policy or attitude abruptly) with my own personal American. I decided that I would not get mad at him and act pissy over every little thing he did or said and that I would throw the passive-aggressive thing out the window; in short, that I would actually try being nice to him. You know, it's amazing how well he has responded to that. Who knew? I think I may be on to something here. So, for any of you who ever heard me swear on everything holy that I would never travel with my hubby again and that I damn sure wouldn't be going to Amsterdam with him when the next conference came up, well, just forget I said that. I wasn't myself. Now I am. Myself, that is. Kinder, gentler Myself. Happy, happy, joy, joy! |
| I've figured it out. The way I've been feeling for the last few days was apparently anticipatory depression. Take a look at the email message I received this morning: The Court advised our office that it would require a hearing on the approval of your Final Account. Ordinarily, accountings are approved without any kind of a hearing, and neither Don or I have ever had to attend a hearing to approve a Final Account. They simply aren't required. Apparently, this Court sets everything for a hearing, regardless of whether or not the Probate Code requires it. Obviously, we will set a hearing on the pleading as soon as possible should one, in fact, be needed. However, since you and Don would both need to attend the hearing, I think it makes some sense to see if the Judge would consider the Final Account without a hearing, given the cost and time involved in everyone traveling to Court for a very brief hearing. Today, our Judge is out of the office. However, his administrator is well aware of our interest in having the Account approved without a hearing, and she has offered to have the Judge call Don and discuss it. I expect to have a more substantial update within the next day or so. In the meantime, thanks for your patience. I tell you, the fun just never stops with this $#@%&* probate. If there is any justice left in our world, a burning comet will fall out of the sky and land right on top of the courthouse in that God-forsaken town. I don't even care, at this point, what the damn judge wants to do with the pittance of money that is left in the estate. He could set the damn stuff on fire for all I care. I just want to be done with anything and everything having to do with that devil-town and all the evil people in it. I want to forget that I ever knew the name of that town or that my dad ever lived there and especially that he married a Black Widow who set her sights on him when he moved his business there. I want to be done with this whole nightmare. Where is a freakin' flaming comet when you need one, anyway? |
| For whatever reason, I have been extremely sensitive lately. I’m not sure why – maybe it’s just another ugly tentacle of that monster menopause. Whatever the cause, it’s not fun being me right now. I’m hoping this won’t last long – whatever this is. I’ve tried to stay upbeat, concentrate on the positive, all the stuff I know to do when a dark cloud descends on me. I even paid a visit to my doctor today to discuss it with him. My ‘fake it till you make it’ approach is wearing rather thin, and I’ve faked it until I’m ready to throw in the towel. Or maybe just take the towel and cry into it. Tears stand poised to gush from my eyes at the slightest provocation. Maybe that’s what I need – just to let the tears flow. Enough with the stiff upper lip, already. For some reason, I find myself looking for a reason to justify the tears; and refusing to let the tears flow unless I have that reason. Seriously, what kind of bullshit is that, anyway? Maybe I’ll just give myself permission to have a good old pity party – just get it all out of my system. I’m sick of pasting this stupid grin on my face when what I’d really like to be doing is huddling in my bed, under the covers, crying for no reason at all. Oh, I’m sure that somewhere deep in my psyche there is a reason, but I’m sick of all this navel-gazing too. Maybe I’ll do something revolutionary and give myself permission to laugh when I want to laugh, cry when I feel like crying and not even think about offering any kind of explanation for either the laughter or the tears. |
| Hmmmmm.... I am a bit puzzled. Where is everybody? Has everyone gone out and found themselves a life or something? I mean, I know it's springtime and all, but this is spooky. For the longest time, it was nearly impossible for me to keep up with reading everyone's blogs and comment in them. I even found a few other good blogs that I just didn't add to my favorites because I didn't see how I could possibly find the time to do justice to reading and commenting in any more blogs. But now, well, I think I may have to go back and see if I can find those blogs I didn't add to my favorites. Blogville feels deserted these days. Thank God David McClain  found his way back, because his blog is one of only a handful of familiar blogs that I have the pleasure of seeing pop up on my favorite's list, along with Scarlett and Winda and occasionally Nada. I miss my friends!  I thought I must be imagining things for a while and that I was perhaps just missing blog postings, but when I checked, they just weren't there. Then, a few days ago, the final blow. I wrote a blog and got exactly zero comments. ARRRGGHHHH!!! Knife in the heart, there must be some mistake, wait let me check my views... and all that stuff. So, why are the streets of Blogville so deserted? Did I miss something big? |
| My buddy partyof5 and I have had a running conversation lately. I've been sending him all the "Texanisms" I can come up with concerning folks of a certain ilk. (Excuse me for a moment while I go off on a tagent... Don't you just love that word ilk? If you've been paying attention - otherwise known as 'hanging on my every word', you'll have noticed that I've become fond of using that word lately. It's a great word. Become friends with it. Buddy up to it. You'll be glad you did. But I digress.) Now back to the subject at hand:"Texanisms" describing folk of a certain ilk. I've sent Party such jewels as:  He's three bricks short of a load. Her bread's not baked in the middle. He's about a half-bubble off plumb.And the one that started it all:  His cheese done slipped off the cracker.You'll surely be happy to know that after extensive research - and when I say "extensive research, I mean I stumbled upon a book called Redneck Words of Wisdom in a gift store in Austin yesterday, for which I paid the paltry sum of $12.95 + tax - I have discovered additional colloquialisms to impart to y'all. Now, I know there may be those of you out there in other Southern states who would like to lay claim to some of these colorful sayings. But, to you I say, NAY. What I am about to relate to you will be known as "Texanisms." Here are my reasons, which I am sure you will find to be of great merit. 1. This is my blog. 2. I bought the book.. 3. Because I said so. Any questions? No? I didn't think so. Let's proceed, shall we? In the "Folks of a Certain Ilk" category:  She's a taco short of a combination plate. He's a few fries short of a Happy Meal. She's a few sandwiches short of a picnic.Now, for my own personal favorites. These are all straight from my grandparents' mouths, so they aren't just Texanisms, they're Panhandle Texanisms! You'd better shut your mouth or I'll slap you into the middle of next week. She'll talk your head off and then holler own the hole. Don't make me whup you like a red-headed stepchild. You lie like a cheap rug. Don't let your alligator mouth get ahead of your hummingbird ass. I guess she told you how the cow ate the cabbage!Well, that was fun. Now, I think I'll make like a baby and head out. |
| I'm in Austin this weekend, visiting my baby boy. I'm sure he wouldn't take kindly to me calling him that, since he's a 6'2" junior in college who's 22 years old. Nevertheless, he still is, and always will be 'my baby.' Here's a picture of my baby and his girlfriend of 3 years, Tiffany. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** As my good friend, David McClain wrote recently, there is a special joy that comes with watching your grown children succeed. He was right about that. I love to come visit Caleb for many reasons; chief among them is simply observing him as he successfully maneuvers through the rigors of college and manages life on his own here in Austin. I'll be the first to admit that I took to heart the fact that Caleb was my baby, my last child, and I hovered over him like a mother hen as long as I possibly could. Just ask any of my other children, they'll gladly serve as a hearty Amen chorus to that statement. But now, when I come to visit Caleb, he takes care of me. He called me the day before I was scheduled to be here. He was at the grocery story and wanted to know if there was anything in particular I wanted him to buy for me for snack foods. How thoughtful is that? You gotta love a kid like that! In all fairness, my other three children do an awesome job of taking care of their mother, too. I'm very blessed in that respect. It's just that here, in Austin, away from the ebb and flow of everyday life back home, there are absolutely no demands on me and I am free to do exactly as I please. It's peaceful here and I have the added bonus of having the company of my youngest child, who is content to sit beside me and do homework while I write, or to run around Austin exploring the sights and shops and whatnot--whatever my heart desires. It's good to be the Queen. |
| ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| Didn't the President just get a new dog? I have a great idea for a new bumper sticker. It could make millions. First, we put a pic of PO (that would be President Obama) alongside his new dog, hereafter known in certain circles (this one) as Toto. The sticker will have the words, We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto. Huh? Huh? What do you think? |
| Is it just me or does anyone else out there get the feeling that our brand-spanking new President is sooooo out of his depth? Every time I see him on the news or in a news clip or picture, he looks just a little more freaked out. Reminds me of the old saying, "Be careful what you wish for." I really do hope he proves me completely wrong over the next four years, but I can't help but think that right about now, President Obama is looking around at this big pile of crap he has jumped into (head-first, even) and saying to himself, What the hell was I thinking? Personally, I think somebody pumped his head full of PollyAnna Pie-in-the-Sky when I'm the President, I'll save the World bullshit and he bought it - hook, line and sinker. And now he's finding out it's not as simple as just being the President and saying this is what I will do. I guess now is when we find out what he's really made of. Yikes. I was discussing this the other day with my son and I wondered out loud, "What happens if we discover that we have a President who is all charisma and no substance?" We may just find out. Yep, that's what I think, no straddling the fence here. I'm too old to straddle the damn fence anyway. |
| Check out my other blog at: http://kayjordansworld.blogspot.com/ for a slideshow of the Houma Mardi Gras Parade.    |
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I'm so far right the Tea Party looks like a bunch of hippies!
