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 |   You never know what you'll find - humor, ramblings, rants, randomness- it's all me! |
This description part is challenging. I never know what I will blog about until I start typing. I do know there will be typos. I don't reread or correct my blog. Otherwise it turns technical instead of my feelings and thoughts. Trust me, on stories and poems I'm a grammaraholic, but this is freedom. Sometimes to keep it from getting too personal, I even turn my head away while I type. Weird, right?. I hope you find this somewhat entertaining, thought-provoking, and humorous.   A little about me. The most important things in my life are family, especially my son, Reese, and my husband, Bruce, my walk with God, and making a positive impact in some way. I am a teacher, currently teaching 6th grade Language Arts. While at times my job can be trying, overall, it is one of the most rewarding passions in my life.   This is my wonderful son, Reese. He is now 20 and and a junior at Oklahoma State University. I may be partial, but he is an exceptional kid with the best heart I've ever known. He makes me laugh, think, and want to be a better person. We are both huge Oklahoma State Cowboy fans - Gooooooo Pokes!  This is Reese's dog, Betty. She shares a name with my mother. Reese named her that because she was beautiful and kind just like his Nanny (my mom). I'm not sure my mom is quite convinced it is a compliment though. Betty is a huge part of our family. She even had her own blog for awhile. Poke around at your leisure and shake your head at some of things that go through mine. I always return reviews/comments, though admittedly, sometimes it does take me awhile depending on what life is serving me at that point. Keeping the faith, Audra  |
| I know . . . .I was shocked too. How could I just now be discoering a new pet peeve when I've been exdposed to this world for 42 years . . . and yet, yesterday it happened. No, I'm not just gonna tell you. You must suffer through the whole story. My primary physician tells me she wants me to see a dermatologist about a mole I have. Personally, I think she's a hypocondriac. She should see someone about that. This mole isn't new, it's been there for years. I mean I wouldn't mind getting rid of it; it's not like I'm "attached" (lol) to it, but do I really want to go see another doctor? No. So my doctor treats me like a child. "Well, you can just cut it off yourself and see what happens." Smirk. Smirk. She's crazy. Clipping a hang nail is about the extent of my self-mutilation. I know you are thinking I just don't have to go. I'm an adult. Well, apparently my doctor (who I do really like, usually) is something of a control freak. Until I go, she won't sign off on my physical. I"m beginning to think she is in cahoots with this dermatologist and some major kick backs are taking place. But under great protest. . . . I go. You need to understand two vital points before I go on. 1. I know we all pretty much think we have high pain tolerence, but I'm pretty sure of the fact I do. See, I'm a freak, a clutz - everything weird happens to me; I've come to take it with a grain of salt. Birth wasn't bad; having both my knees replaced at the same time wasn't really even that bad, biting clear through my tongue was gross, but it wasn't like I was screaming for morphine. 2. Oops, I forgot #2. Give me a second. Oh yeah! This mole is on my upper (very Upper), inner (very inner) thigh. If you are catching my drift. This will be a 'drop the drawers' appointment. After filling out 5 pages of paperwork, half of which all asked the same questions, I went to wait at the receptionist desk to turn my homework in. I kept thinking this is a mole, not a heart transplant. Is it really necessary to know I had my tonsils out 6 years ago. While I'm still waiting, the nurse comes to the door and calls my name. I'm a little perplexed because I still have all my medical history, consent forms, and God knows what else (I'm glad He does, because I sure didn't read them.) But being the good patient, I take my nurse who is holding a folder with my name on it and give her my paperwork. She's now confused, "You filled it out twice?" Me: "Yes, it was so entertaining the first time." She misses the sarcasm. "Oh my gosh, we put the wrong paper work in your file." This is funny to her, less reassuring to me. Eventually, I get called back with my file and my paperwork. A different nurse comes in and asks me all the same questions i just filled out. I"m polite, even though part of me wants to give different answers to see if anyone will notice. Enter Dr. Andes (name changed in case I ever want to use her again). She asks me again, these same questions. I smile and say, "I have a mole." She seems excited by this. (Wow, I have got to start appreciating my job more.) "How about you drop those drawers, and we'll take a look." Me: "Okey, dokey. Once you drop those blinds so people can't see in." Dr.: We're around the back of the building, no one ever comes by there. And i'm pretty sure it's a one way window." Me: I know we've just met, so you can't possibly know this, unles of course it's in a chart that nobody reads, but I am the most unlucky person in the world. So the moment I depants myself, I'm quite sure a landscaping crew will be touring the back of the building." She closes the blinds. She reenters with yet another nurse. This one looks maybe old enough to babysit my newphews. Dr.: Ahhhh, I see it. Do you wanna just go ahead and remove it today? I'm thinking I must not know the meaning of the word "consultation". Me: Do you want to? Dr.: I don't see why not. A numbing shot, and snip we're done. This doesn't seem like the way things usually go wiht me, but obviously I have issues with saying no to doctors. Dr.: Okay, this shot will feel a little like a bee sting. It's just to numb the area. I brace myself. Pfffft that was nothing. That was the nicest bee I've ever met. Give me 3 of those suckers. And then my ass comes flying off the table. Me: What the hell is that 12 rapid hornets hungry for a mole? Dr.: Oh, do you feel that? Me: Well, yeah! You just now took the numbing needle out. Give the bee a little time to work. Dr.: Sorry about that. But do you know what? She doesn't stop. She keeps cutting. And tugging. And cutting. Dr.: Wow, this goes deeper than I initially thought. Me.: Hey, so, I don't have to pay for the numbing shot, right? She laughs. Her teenage nurse laughs. Great, I'm a comedian with my legs open gripping a table that is too small for my butt in hopes that my mole of years will finally surrender. (Dang, I should have named him or her) Dr.: Ahhh, there we go. We'll need a small bandaid for the area, Bambi. (the nurse, of course) Now moles are disgusting enough looking when they are on you, but when they are in a little jar removed from you, they are vile. I'm thinking the jar should go somewhere other than beside my small table. Bambi: Oh, I thought you meant a little bandaid - this is a bleeder. It must be more vascular than it looked. Now, I know in my heart I'm pretty sure Iknow what vascular means, but I try to convince myself that it is a good thing. After all, it kinda rhymes with muscular. What it means in this case is i'm gushing blood that they are having trouble stopping. Dr.: We may have to cauterize it a bit. I'm wondering what thismeans exactly when a machine is rolled in that looks like Freud might have used it to measure the effects on mental patients. Great, I'm in my own horror movie; well technically I guess it could be horror/porn since my unclothed legs are spread and the ever-so-thick sheet fell off me about the time the hornets were feasting on my flesh. The heat the metal tip of this monster up. I"m praying little bee has finally numbed me. And the Dr. lets Bambi have a try at it. Bambi: Do you take aspirin? Me: No thank you, but I could use a couple of shots of tequila right now. She laughs. Of course. Well, why wouldn't she? We both know she's not old enough to serve alcoholic beverages. But thank you, World. She is old enough to burn me. Bambi: I just asked because sometimes aspirin causes bleeding. Me: Yeah, cutting a mole out does to. I look over at the small table by my side. My mole is being kept company by several blood-filled gauze friends. Bambi: You don't look so good. Are you okay? Is seeing the blood making you feel faint? Are you going to be sick? It was uncanny how she could know this. Unless of course, she actually heard the gagging sounds emitting from my throat. Me: Surprisingly, no. However, the smell of my own burning flesh is about to make me vomit in my mole jar. That won't effect it when they test it, will it? Bambi: You have the best sense of humor. I'm sorry, I'm just having a little trouble getting it all to stop. I don't want you bleeding on your pants. Dr.: Lay her back, let me give it a try. More burning flesh. Mine. . . This went on for, well, a while. I swear I could taste the metal in my mouth. I know that sounds crazy. In fact, I can taste it even now as I think about it. Ughhhh. Dr.: Whew, finally got it stopped. I guess we should have had you come back in for that. Leaving is a blur. But for the record. I did still get blood on my pants. I didn't care though. As I pulled out of the parking lot, I waved at the landcaping crew feeling as if I had at least avoided one awkward moment in my life. So my pet peeve? The smell of my own burning flesh. That, and chomping ice. ** Image ID #1529452 Unavailable ** |
| I don't know how many of you read my writing, or even blog for that matter. But if you do, you might realize with my stories there is usually some truth in it mixed in with some fiction. It's not so much to make it more interesting (well, sometimes it is - depending on the story), but truth be told, it's to keep it from being "too real" for me. It's like even if one thing is changed, I don't have to deal with it on any dee3per level, or show myself completely to anyone else. I suppose it's a silly way of keeping an invisible wall up. This won't be the case with this blog. In fact, what happened this morning deserves to be its own essay or story, but I know I won't have the stregnth to reread it, much less proofread and edit it. Eight days ago, my dog, Bella, died very unexpectedly. Now, I know not everyone is animal people, and to be fair, I've had quite a few pets I didn't care for. Come to think of it, in my 42 years on this earth I can only remember one other pet that I felt this type of connection with. Even if you don't enjoy animals, please read on because you may learn to appreciate people. When Bella passed, I didn't cry, I sobbed. I didn't feel like I could ever quit. But looking at the helplessness on my 14 year old son's face, reminded me I could not do this to him. It's just been Reese and I since he was 6. He's very protective of me. Something I sometimes worry is too much for a kid. Most of the time I"m strong, not just because I have to be, but because I feel I should be. Usually (okay, almost always), I'm fine being a single parent. But I admit I resented being alone at this time. I don't know who I resented, but it pissed me off to have to deal with the decisions while I was in such pain. That I was the only one who could come to my rescue. And then I was pissed for feeling that way. As strange as that sounds I'm sure many of you understand. Well, this moring I was walking in my neighborhood. Perhaps it was because I was alone with my thoughts or it was all the neighborhood dogs barking as I passed, but the tears began sliding down my cheeks. For the first time I didn't hurriedly wipe them away. As I turned a corner, I saw a familiar face heading my way. I don't know this man, but I see him all the time, and we share the customary neighbor wave. He's a large man confined to a wheel chair. I don't know if he's confined because he's large, or he's large because he's confined. It doesn't matter. But I always see him in his wheelchair taking his dog for a walk. It doesn't matter if it's 100 degrees or 4 degrees. (Oklahoma varies in temperature quite a bit.) As he passed me smiling, his dog came to sniff my feet. I bent to pet it, and the tears rolled faster. I don't know for sure if I was thinking of Bella, or I was mourning how this man would ever feel if he lost his dog. The man looked at me. "What's a matter, Hon." Normally, I would have said I was fine, or my allergies were killing me, you know how high the pollen count is. But for some reason I didn't. I said, "I recently lost my dog." I didn't apologize for crying. Again, a new thing for me. Heck, I apologize for crying even when no one else is around to see it. He didn't tell me he was sorry. Instead, he asked if I'd like to share a cup of tea. Normally, I can make up about 25 nonexistent excuses to keep me out of a potentially uncomfortable situation. But to my surprise, I told him I'd like that. We didn't say anything as we walked the half a block to his house, and up the wheelchair ramp that led to the door. I'm sure some of you are thinking, this wasn't a safe thing to do. Maybe you're right. It didn't enter my thoughts. Sure, in retrospect, I suppose he could be a serial killer who fakes needing a wheelchair, but he'd been doing a good job because I've seen him in it the whole 3 years I've lived in the neighborhood. And Oklahoma may have plenty of tornadoes, but not so many mass murderers. I sat at his kitchen table petting his dog that sat at my feet. The man heated the tea and set the cup in front of me. You might think the silence was awkard; I know in different circumstances I would have. But in this little kitchen I seemed to find some peace. He didn't ask me how Bella had died. Instead, he said, "Would you like to tell me about Bella?" I smiled as my lip quivered, and even more tears cascaded down my face. "We got her from the pound eight months ago." He didn't respond, "Well, since it's only been a few months, it will be easier to get over." Others had said this. In fact, he didn't respond at all, just waited for me to continue. "She slept with me every night, curled under the blanket by my knees." I waited for 'Now you'll sleep better, studies show you get better sleep without pets in bed with you'. He simply handed me a tissue. "When we got her, for some reason she liked to sit on my neck while I was at the computer. She wanted to be with me all the time." He didn't say unfortunately death is a cycle of life. Well-meaning words with empty meaning when you are mourning. He poured me more tea. I told him how the condolence card and bill from the vet had arrived the same day. He didn't brush it away, claiming coincidence; or say that it was callous. Nodding his head, he reached for my hand. I was concious of the wet tissue in it, but knew he didn't mind. I told him how I had to be strong, because I didn't want my son to hurt. He didn't say, "It's just a dog, not a human." I explained that I was scared to hurt ths much. He didn't say, "Just get up and get on with life." I told him of the guilt I had over spending money we didn't have to spend on an animal. How I knew I didn't have any other choice, but at the same time, my family has to be taken care of too. He fed his dog a biscuit. My heart melted. This man understood. A couple of days after Bella's death, I had been at a close relatives house who treats and loves their dog better than any human. They kept their dog outside the whole time I was there, and never spoke of Bella. At first I found it odd, but then I realized they couldn't face the potential pain that they may at some point have to experience. And seeing mine was even too much. This neighbor I had never said more than 'hello' to, listened to me talk, sob, snot, and sit in silence. He didn't say, "At least you know you gave her a great life." Whether he knew those words would be empty to me, sometimes too casually said, or because he knew I felt guilt over not being able to save Bella and feeling like I hadn't give her a full life; I don't know. As I was finishing what had to be my third cup of tea, his wife came in from the back yard. Strangely, she didn't seem shocked to see an unfamiliar person sitting at the table with her husband. "Did you at least offer her some cookies with her tea, Dear?" She kiddingly scolded him. We laughed; I assured her the tea was more than enough. As I begin to push the chair away, the man kindly grasped both my hands. "May I just say one thing?" I figured it would be, "I'm sorry for your loss." Words I'd heard and never quite felt. I nodded. "Sometimes it is more difficult to be weak than strong, Dear. And sometimes that is what our heart needs." I didn't respond. I didn't know how to. I stood and knelt to him and hugged him, thanking him and saying my goodbyes. As I walked down the ramp, I realized I didn't even know his name. For some reason, I needed to. Walking by his mailbox, I glanced at the side. My heart swelled when I read: Daryll and Bella "Smith". ** Image ID #1529452 Unavailable ** |
| Talk about life coming full circle - or at least a semi-circle. I don't blog often; i want to but I guess I'm lazy or sometimes my thoughts don't even interest me, so why put them down? But for some reason today, I started going through my blogs and now I get it! The reason we blog - or at least - I SHOULD blog, is because the memory that I thought was impeccable is obviously deteriorating. I read a blog from 7/29/09 -- that's about 2 years ago? I should remember this. Here's the thing, I didn't until I read it. Even better? It's about a trip to Jose's tire center. Here's the kicker - I need a drum roll. Jose and I are now dating. Exclusively I think . . I don't know that's another blog. But of the times we've gone out and talked recently, this past occurence never once tickled my brain. I actually love it. I get to reexperience an interaction that kinda has to do with someone that I think is pretty great - (well, today anyway). Who knows Imight read this blog 2 years from now and be shocked that I didn't realize he was the Mexican Mafia or be happily still dating him. Blogs - they are memory triggers. By the way, my main reason for writing this blog right now is procrastination. I really don't want to clean the house. I'm pretty sure in two years that will still be the case. I know some people write blogs to share philosophical ideas, tear at heart strings, etc. I think I blog so that some of these useless thoughts can get out of my head, so perhaps I'll have an intelligent one. Here's the thing with me and this blog. Usually (okay always) when i read or write - i am obsessive about grammar, spelling, style, punctuation. But not the blog - it's like the devil side of my writing. It says, "Don't reread it - They'll get the point, Woman." And I grin and say, "Amen, Buddy." Why is the devil on my shoulder a male? The angels a girl. But quite honestly, I think most females are meaner than men so it should be switched. But hey I canot go around reinventing my conscience. I wonder if Jose's random thoughts are in Spanish or English? I really have the need to know this. Would it offend him if i asked? I'm going to have to. I'm obsessing over it now. He's a good guy - he'll jsut laugh. Or dump me. Either way . . . I hope he tells me. Well, I've tortured the internet enough with my weirdness for today. And I believe the femle angel is whispering that I'll feel "productive" if I clean the kitchen. Geez, I wish she'd take a vacation. Peace and a little Love, Audra ** Image ID #1529452 Unavailable ** |
| Okay, first off to the one or two of you that read my blog, I apologize for missing yesterday. My internet was out because of wonderful Oklahoma flooding. But, I'm baaaaaaackkk. About this treadmill dilemna, let's get right to it. We all know someone has put an NS curse on me to actually enjoy walking now. Yes, I'm still stunned by it too. Well, as I'm walking around the neighborhood today, it occurs to me that i'm not normal. Okay, okay - i did realize that like forever ago but I hadn't realized I was that abnormal walking until today. First off, I can't just jam to my mp3 player and get lost in the beauty of nature. I'm not really an outdoorsy girl in the first place, but the problem really comes because my brain neeeeevvverrr stops. The first thought that I even realized was odd was my fascination with people's lawns. I think it tells you a lot about who may live in those houses. Some people have more furniture and decorations on their lawns they i do in my entire house. Admittedly, I am not Martha Stewart (thank God, I don't think prison and I would do well together - I like my privacy), but some of these lawns are insane. I'm not talking about the extra couch on the porch where Ma and Pa fiddle at night. Come on you guys, I live in Oklahoma not Little House on the Prairie. This is nice table sets in the yard and well things I don't even know the name of. Oh my gosh, and the lawn "figures". At the beginning it humored me. But because my mind goes strange places - I had a little "Chucky" moment, (or Toy Story) and I imagined these things coming to life at night, maybe battling, maybe overthrowing the neighborhood! Go ahead send me a psychiatrist's name, I won't take offense - - but I could just call my sis she has plenty on speed dial. Back to the dueling living lawn decorations - of course there are gnomes, but there was a bear, angels (good guys, duh), and yes pink flamingos (how orginal), fish, frogs, pistol pete (OSU"s mascot - gooooo pokes) and then some I've forgotten by now. What if they are there to protect the houses? and I have none!!!!! It gets worse . . . my brain that is. I suddenly have an urge to open the mailboxes. I wouldn't take anything out, I know that's wrong. . . For some reason, it just comes to me. I think it's because I was such a goody goody growing up. Don't worry I fought the urge. Reason 3 (that's what we are on, right) - Well, it is Oklahoma - we have this thing called Wind -- you know sweeping down the plains and all that. It's dang strong sometimes. When I turn and walk on the north road its so hard it makes even a fat girl like me stagger. So I'm sure those neighbors think I'm walking off a drunken binge. Oh yeah, reading the mailboxes (that I DID NOT open) I discover that there is an Ethridge on a nearby street. That's my maiden name (yet more info for you to stalk me with). He/She has no protective lawn ornament but there are about 25 flags -- yep patriotic - definitely related. On Crest drive, I swear they must have a neighborhood "mow the lawn" day, because all there grass is the same heighth. I should be impressed, but all i could think was "Geez, get a life" and "i'm so glad I don't live on this street, they would hate me more than my current neighbors do". In this friendly state, we say hi and wave to people we don't know. However, I learned sarcasm doesn't always go over well. There was a man painting the trim on his house. As I waved I (jokingly) said, "you missed a stop." Well, he must have thought I sounded a lot like is wife, because he shot me the bird! (protect me lawn ornaments, pleaseee). I didn't get mad, I just went over apologized and gave him my unopened water bottle and asked if he wanted any help. I think I scared him. So, what do you think? Treadmill or keep risking the neighborhood? I'm perplexed. Bye friends - enjoy your sanity! |
| Just kidding, I love him more than life itself. But at one point this morning I couldn't decide whether to tackle him or cuddle up and laugh with him. I asked him to put some songs on my mp3 player for me to use while I'm walking. I thought some good, high beat songs might help me enjoy it more. Well, here's what I got as I started my journey: 1. Just Walk Away (Puddle of Mudd) - I think it's actually called "Said", but it says Just Walk Away a lot - I was happy with this choice. I know I'm too old to love Puddle of Mudd, but I do and I thought it was "clever". 2. I Will Survive (Gloria Gaynor) - hmmmmm, appropriate I guess since the beginning of my walk is the hardest for me 3. Baby Got Back --- Okay, so maybe this is true but it deserves at least one good evil eyes stare. 4. Let's Get Physical (Olivia Newton John) - Really, Son? How do you know these songs? ahhhhh yes, I am your mother. 5. I am Woman Hear me Roar (Anne Murray) - Okay this one is even before my time. 6. Stayin' Alive (Bee Gees) - was he talking about me or him? 7. Barely Breathing (Dunkan Shiek - i think) - - ha ha ha -- Maybe if I had some breath at this point I would be laughing. 8. Shake your Booty (KC and the Sunshine Band) - Thanks, son. I had forgotten the movement of my buttocks in front of the entire neighborhood. and finally . . . . 9. I Honestly Love You - Olivia Newton John - He's not a dumb boy, he knows how to pull at my heartstrings. As I open the door to the house, I can hear his laughter. I wonder, "Has he been laughing the entire time I've been gone?" Between, gasps of hysterical, deep chuckling I hear him pant out. "I love you, Mom. How was your walk?" Decision made - I tackle him and cuddle up laughing with him. Where in the world does he get his sense of humor???????? It's a mystery. |
| It seems I always have a confessions. So here goes - I had a blonde moment today, well actually several moments, and you know I really don't like to call them blonde moments because some day I might dye my hair red and I'm pretty sure they are still going to happen to me. Let's call them "cartoon moments", shall we? Because my life is one big comic strip. Well, I went out walking today. First off, I got through half a song and my mp3 player's battery runs out. (Yes, I"m not cool enough for a grown up ipod). Anyway that sucks right? You have on headphones and have no tunes to do a walk you haven't learned to love yet. To continue on . . . I decided to change up my walking pattern. Ok, you caught me. Honestly, I haven't been doing this long enough to have a "pattern", but here's the deal. Whoever said Oklahoma was flat has never been in my neighborhood. We have more hills than my butt has cellulite. Anyway, I was trying to avoid the hills, well because they hurt and i had my fit flops on (great shoes, by the way - - LOVE THEM! a must have). Therefore, whenever I saw a semi-flat road I took it. You are probably seeing where I'm going with this. I'm about halfway through my walk and I have to pee. I realize I should head home, because I don't know people well enough in my neighborhood to ask to use their potty. As I look around, it occurs to me that I don't know where the hell I am. I begin walking looking for familarities. Well, the only thing my neighborhood has more of then hills is identical trees. I walk and walk and walk. By this point I'm quite sure I'm going to die by bladder explosion. Finally, I see an elderly gentleman outside measuring something. My first thought instead of "Hallejah!" was "what the heck do people measure outside?" I tell you i'm very random and obviously not a gardener. This is basically the conversation: Me: Sir, could you tell me how to get to Plumb Dr.? Man: Oh, are you looking for someone? Me: Hmmmmm.... well, I'm looking for Plumb Dr.. Man: I'm sorry I don't know the names of the streets, but I do know quite a few of the people. Maybe if you tell me the last name. Awkward pause . . . Me: Actually, it's my house. I've just been walking and forgot to pull my head out of my butt. Man (stunned silence that i just said that followed by forced chuckle): Are you sure it's Plumb Dr. All the streets in this neighborhood are named after men. Twilight zone music. Me: I'm pretty sure I still remember my address. Am I in Willow Wind edition? Man: Ahhhh, no. This is Nantucket. No wonder I haven't met you. I like to get to know my neighbors. Me: Well, thank you anyway. (I'm doing the pee pee dance by this point) Man: Wait, I have a gps I could drive you home. Very long pause, not because I'm scared to get in the car with this man. I"m pretty sure I could take him down if i needed to. but I'm supposed to do 5 more minutes of walking. My bladder wins the debate though. Me: That would be wonderful, if it's not too much trouble. So we get in his care, AFTER he explains to his wife that I don't know where my own house is. I think him kindly as I'm praying I don't pee in his car. Man: What a beautiful lawn you have! I can't help it I laugh - I know nothing about lawns, flowers, trees, etc. And then I run in to relieve my crying bladder. As I pass the mirror I realize I've had my headphones on this whole journey with no music playing from them. I absolutely rock! |
| Okay, so this is kinda a vent, not really a pick-me-up. More of an "are you kidding me, you haven't learned that life lesson yet?" Look, I put my foot in my mouth allllll the time. Well, not literally, I"m too fat for that, but I think you know what I mean. But the thing is, I usually feel at least a little bad about it when I do it. And I've realized I've done it. How do some people reach the age of what is loosely considered "adulthood" and have no clue when they've stuck their foot or must time feet in their mouths? How do they not realize the effect their words are having - say a quick, "Gosh, I'm sorry" and shut the hell up? But, they don't or either they just don't care. They keep going on and on, never shutting up, never pausing so that someone can even sneak a word in to warn others to run. I'm not saying I'm never rude, but the thing is when I am I usually have meant to be. Those aren't the moments I'm talking about. For example, it's the moments when you say how much someone gets on your nerves only to find out that the person you are talking to gave birth to that person. Those moments . . . you know them . . . the room gets quiet, the air thick, breathing seems a chore. So, back to my original question. How can someone not read these moments? And retreat? So my life lesson is gauge people's reactions, don't think you are always right, take a moment to inhale, and once in a while just shut up! Sorry, that just really needed to come out. And believe it or not I am having a great day! |
| First of all, to those of you who read these, please understand I have an off-beat sense of humor. My rants are more sarcasm rather than bitter. I'm not a bitter person, in fact, I can't stand bitter people. That being said . . . . Morbidly Obese: Are you kidding me? I'm not denying the fact; I'm opposing the term. Let's face it, we live in a world of "political correct"-ness, and that's the best you can come up with? I'm a teacher and I've seen the terms for our "challenged" students change yearly to sound more "positive" and hey I'm all for it if it makes someone feel good, but no one changes Morbidly Obese. Ethnicities change constantly on what is correct. And, honestly, I'm of the belief we are all people so why do we need a title. But yet, I try to be socially conscious. And yet, I'm MORBIDLY obese. Come on, we can do better than that. I mean a car wreck is morbid. I cannalbalistic serial killer is morbid. I know my rolls can be offensive, but do they really fall into that category. I mean my gosh, I swear I've never even been tempted to eat a human kidney. Well, or any kidney for that matter. I'd rather you just call me fat, white, and lazy - than MORBID. It sounds like i'm the type of person that laughs evilly while blowing up frogs in my microwave. I don't really have an alternative to Morbidly Obese, I'm just opposed to the term. Wait . . . Here's an idea: Instead of you calling me Morbidly Obese, why not just call me . . . Audra |
| GRrrrrrrrrr - i have just spent half my day watching two movies and neither one had an ending - well actually they had the same ending - "a sunset" wow original there. End your f-ing stories people. I don't want to decide what happens. I'm sory that's your job. Who produces such crap -- i mean seriously - have you ever sat through a movie or read a book and said, "wow, boy i'm glad that didn't tell me how that ended up." You don't have to give me a happy ending but i DEMAND an ending. it's like doing all of algebra problem and then just writing x = ?. They're going to count that wrong. Now i'm forced to go organize closets because i refuse to be fooled again today, and i'm snowed in. So for those of you who think you are being witty and not giving us a real ending -- quit being CHEATERS, and grow a pair and give us an ending so we can decide whether we like it or not. wheeeeewwww relief |
| I awoke this morning with the best intentions -- I figured as soon as reese woke up I'd take him out for breakfast, take him to Gamestop to trade in some games for one he's been wanting, and then hit wal-mart (why i thought this would be good is beyond me - - Have i forgotten i hate wal-mart?} So we go to Denny's (his favorite, not mine) - we talked and laughed about senseless things and suddenly as i take my last sip of coffee i realize i'm not feeling too well - I excuse myself - okay not so much excused myself as pushed away from the table with a mad dash to the bathroom. I enter the handicap stall , not because i'm handicapped but figuring i might be blowing chow and that rail to hold on to seemed like a genius idea. Well, I was right - omelette and hashbrowns made a reappearance - now if that isn't bad enough as i was shoving my face into a public toilet a little girl crawled under the stall and sat staring at me. As i heave i'm thinking, where is your mother and God please let this be over. Eventually, both she and I leave the bathroom and she scampers to her table telling the entire restaurant what she has witnessed. As i'm paying the bill, I can't help but thinking that somehow there should be a law that if the food is in your stomach less than 10 minutes you should receive a discount. I didn't dare ask though. Gamestop - nothing exciting happened. Thank God. Now, why i thought i could still do Wal-mart is beyond me. Honestly, part of me figured no more could come out of me. I won't ruin your evening telling you about the 2 trips i took to the bathroom there - but let me tell you - you realize the lack of cleanliness of bathrooms when you praying for death and thinking this may be where they find your lifeless body -- but . . . I got beyond that - what bothered me about wal-mart was the carts!! Now, i know i have a tendency to exagerrate but hear me now and believe me - we changed shopping carts FOUR times before i found one that did not feel like satan had control of it. Granted I might have been weak from the bathroom visits but this was insane. At one point the only way i could avoid running into the shelf was to pick the cart completely up. WAL-MART spend some of my money on greasing the shopping cart wheels! |
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