So, I got this Microsoft benefit because I was working on a slide show for my brother’s wedding. At a hotel. In Alabama. Cute slides of him as a kid and then cuter slides of his wife as a kid and so on. Had driven close to 350 miles to work that day and was a bit tired. Slap-happy as we would say in Ohio. Or just stupid tired as they call it in Alabama.
Had checked in to a nice hotel for the evening and worked a bit on the slide production. Wanted to make sure it could play on another computer properly and show up in the right format at the wedding without incident so I burned it to my very own DVD. And then the fun began.
Given it was darn near 11 p.m., I was rightfully attired in pajama pants and a Holy Cross T-shirt given to me by my little brother. As I was rightfully and tastefully attired for the hour of the day, I saw no reason to locate and put on my shoes to venture out of the hotel room as that would have required more effort than I could muster or frankly cared to expend.
So, off I went to the business center with a huge Holy Cross emblazoned on my T-shirt and little doggies or cherries or who knows what on my jammies, clutching my DVD. Got into the business center and was greeted by a guy working on a computer. Fortunately, they had another one available right next to this guy who looked like a upstanding business man. I put my DVD in the machine and then went to launch it.
That’s when I was confounded by Vista, Microsoft’s latest and greatest operating system. The one that I don’t use, haven’t used and apparently, couldn’t use although I apparently saw that as no impediment to my actually doing so. I clicked around for the programs and commands I usually see and didn’t quite find what I was looking for. But, I do know how to “search” and search I did. For media files as that is what I had. And found some in media player as they should have been. I launched the files and sat back to enjoy my show. Sat back to just relax next to this unknown, upstanding guy in the business center who, I was sure, would love my slide show as well.
Then, I see a butt. Now, since this was a slide show about my little brother, I wasn’t immediately clued in to the fact that it wasn’t a visual of him. You know how those youngest children can be and it was getting on to midnight. He did like to show his birthmark off when he was younger. Not that I thought I had photos of that, but who knew so I figured that I had just inserted one of those pictures by mistake. After all, the parents had given me a very emphatic and strict prohibition on using any embarrassing photos without being specific. But nope, it wasn’t that as was revealed to me when said butt and other anatomical parts began moving.
Of course, my reaction was as one would expect from someone stupid tired or anyone who is me. I did the obvious which was to just sit there and wonder how the heck this got on my DVD and then about how glad I was that I had tested the DVD before the wedding as the showing of the same would probably get me disowned or without any cake, to say the least. Then, I had to ponder how the heck it got on my computer for me to put on the DVD as I sure as heck hadn’t put it there. So,how did it get there? And, then I had to consider the fact that I had seen the husband checking the so called “soccer news” lately on my computer and that he would be a dead man when I repatriated to Georgia.
Yep, just sat there in my Catholic T-shirt pondering these unanswerable questions for who knows how long. Then, the brain light came on and I realized that I wasn’t, in fact, watching my own DVD and that, perhaps, just perhaps, I should turn it off and close out of that window with all due haste and take my DVD upstairs to my room and check it’s contents so I ejected it and off I went.
So, for the upstanding guy in the room who I never acknowledged or spoke to while removing said DVD from the computer and taking my leave - yes – I know it looked like I go padding around hotels watching porn in my jammies in public places right ext to strangers for kicks and, yes, I know I probably should have made it somewhat obvious that wasn’t the case by saying something like “what the hell, that isn’t my DVD” and then turned it off before pondering the mystery of it all. But, I was tired and that would have required both effort and thought and I was out of both.
I think it was just the idea of how the viewing had to look from the outside that made me chuckle. Lady comes in, puts in porn, watches some, takes out porn, goes upstairs. And, does so in a Catholic t-shirt. Yep, for those who went to Holy Cross, I represented you well.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Monday, June 15, 2009
Best Compliment of the Day
Still haven't gotten any sleep. In fact, it appears that my two children are working in concert to thwart any reasonable attempts to get them to stay in their beds and/or bedrooms when I tell them to go. Having exhausted the usual threats, rewards, and a large supply of duct tape (okay, just wishful thinking on that one, at least so far) I've decided to add the "thin blue line" tommorrow as I've got some blue painter's tape that just needs using up. Should be visible to the both of them and if I tell them it is electrified, that may just work. It's a thought that Mia may be testing this evening if the verbal call outs don't stop soon. Can't lock the door after all - she pulled the damn strike plate off the wall.
But, just got the very best compliment from the son which makes it all worth it, calms the nerves and soothes the soul. He lovingly looked at me, hit me in the head without prior warning and stated "Mom, you have a big, strong head. That's a good thing. See, when I knock on it, (ouch again) it sounds just like a watermelon. A good watermelon. Not a bad one. Not everyone gets a big strong watermelon head. See, isn't this cool? (vigorous knocking).
Yeah, I guess it is.
But, just got the very best compliment from the son which makes it all worth it, calms the nerves and soothes the soul. He lovingly looked at me, hit me in the head without prior warning and stated "Mom, you have a big, strong head. That's a good thing. See, when I knock on it, (ouch again) it sounds just like a watermelon. A good watermelon. Not a bad one. Not everyone gets a big strong watermelon head. See, isn't this cool? (vigorous knocking).
Yeah, I guess it is.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Planet Krypton
I have determined that at least one and probably both of Mia's birth parents were from the planet Krypton. This knowledge is based upon Mia's successful alteration of a door lock by pulling the strike plate out of it's molding just by brute force while she maintained a rebel yell.
More on the new bedtime routine after I get some sleep.
More on the new bedtime routine after I get some sleep.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Little Blue Bunnies
So, I’ve clearly explained to the kids that permanent tattoos of any kind anywhere on their bodies will lead to ruin and until they are ready, willing and able to support themselves in an environment that is accepting of body art, permanent tattoos are off limits.
I’ve also explained that if they choose to go the tattoo route , and they chose to ink on a very visible body part, they will have to work at Starbucks and accordingly will have to live off one free pound of coffee per week and an occasional piece of stale lemon pound cake that the manager will give them after closing as he takes pity on them. Of course, I made it through college on the same diet plan and did quite well, but at present, they haven’t figured out the magical allure of caffeine and sugar. Always make sure my threats are age appropriate as any good parent would do.
Now, the son hates coffee so he has been compliant so far. The daughter, not so much. In fact, she made the unilateral decision to get a sleeve of blue bunnies on her arm with permanent Sharpie ink. And, apparently, the son decided to remain a silent accomplice as he thought the tats would be a good experimental test on how far Mom’s blood pressure could go. He also relished the diversion of attention so he could launch his nefarious plans of staying up a whole hour late and not fully brushing his teeth before bed which he implemented successfully. Fortunately, he lost his first tooth several days later so I could point out to him the clear and obvious connection between not fully brushing one's teeth and them falling out. I did have to pay a little extra tooth fairy penalty for that one and did clarify a little bit later that I meant his permanent teeth, but I just could not initally let the opportunity pass. If life hands me a correlation on a platter, who am I to pass on the chance to use it for my own amusement?
I’ve also explained that if they choose to go the tattoo route , and they chose to ink on a very visible body part, they will have to work at Starbucks and accordingly will have to live off one free pound of coffee per week and an occasional piece of stale lemon pound cake that the manager will give them after closing as he takes pity on them. Of course, I made it through college on the same diet plan and did quite well, but at present, they haven’t figured out the magical allure of caffeine and sugar. Always make sure my threats are age appropriate as any good parent would do.
Now, the son hates coffee so he has been compliant so far. The daughter, not so much. In fact, she made the unilateral decision to get a sleeve of blue bunnies on her arm with permanent Sharpie ink. And, apparently, the son decided to remain a silent accomplice as he thought the tats would be a good experimental test on how far Mom’s blood pressure could go. He also relished the diversion of attention so he could launch his nefarious plans of staying up a whole hour late and not fully brushing his teeth before bed which he implemented successfully. Fortunately, he lost his first tooth several days later so I could point out to him the clear and obvious connection between not fully brushing one's teeth and them falling out. I did have to pay a little extra tooth fairy penalty for that one and did clarify a little bit later that I meant his permanent teeth, but I just could not initally let the opportunity pass. If life hands me a correlation on a platter, who am I to pass on the chance to use it for my own amusement?
So, the evening of the tats, Mia did not appear to be terribly thrilled about her choice after we again explained our position and the fact that we happen to like Starbuckis coffee and will try to mooch 1/2 a pound of it from her a week, leaving her with a 1/2 pound she will need to water down. And, apparently, she hates lemon flavored cake and wasn’t planning on it becoming her diet staple.
Oddly, she has been wearing her long sleeved princess dresses lately.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
The Catholic Small Print at the Bottom....
So, for the benefit of all in the Roman Catholic Church, of which I am a member, I would suggest we add the following small print disclaimer to the bottom of any and all of our publications.
**Just in case anyone is confused, Mel Gibson who is divorcing his wife of 28 years and the mother of his 7-13 children is not one of us. Now, we recognize that he made an unbelievable movie called The Passion of the Christ and for that we absolutely applaud him, know he was given a gift, and would like to claim that part of him but that would be patently dishonest and we just can't go there. We just must give him the recognition he deserves for that. Mel, you did an awesome job.
But, we must still disclaim him. He is not one of us, the standard Roman Catholics. He is something called a Traditionalist which in layman's terms means he has his own church that apparently has some interesting beliefs and still says the mass in Latin. Latin, being a dead language, is generally not used in the Roman Catholic mass any longer as no one, except those who attended the good old fashioned schools that were led by ferocious nuns, understands it and they that did were probably often faking their understanding to avoid getting hit on the head with a stick anyway.
It also appears that Mel's love for Latin has also led him to other dead languages that no one understands as his movie Apocalypto demonstrated to the three people who saw it. Although, one must admit, if the language is dead and no one understands it, movie making gets a heck of a lot easier as you just tell the actors to make sounds up as they go and add your subtitles later when they come to you. Frankly, it is an admirable cost-cutting technique. Since there is no one on planet earth who could state that the dead Maya language is not correct, it is a pretty good plan. It is just really, really bad movies that are the issue.
Yes, we agree that perhaps, and just perhaps, Mel may have a wee bit of a drinking problem that is leading to his love of bar hopping with college age girls and his recent attempt to try to "counsel" Britney Spears alone and in person in some tropical local all of which, along with his performance at his arrest last year when we first had to disclaim him, might make sense when one hits about 12 on the Budweiser rating scale and, thankfully, not many of us can hit that number. And, for those who do not know of the Budweiser rating scale, it is a device that some Irish Catholics of the Roman type invented which is used for scurrilous purposes and neither it's use nor it's rankings are to be discussed or explained further. It is suggested that you contact a college kid for further explanation if necessary.
Now, we have had and of course still have our challenges which we claim and are fixing as fast as we can. And, we do know that Irish Catholic and Irish whiskey often appear in the same sentence and apparently, there is a reason for that. However, given that we didn't make Braveheart and have never seen a pot of money as big as that movie made, no one wants to put our brilliant thoughts of the week in People, Star and the National Enquirer over and over. It is also possible it is due to our thoughts generally being of the "I hope the kids have enough clean socks for school this week and if they don't is it possible that they can turn Thursday's pair inside out for Friday?" variety.
Nope, since we just can't get rise to offering "counseling" to Britney Spears, a disclaimer is still necessary. He isn't one of us but let's all hope he gets some help.
**Just in case anyone is confused, Mel Gibson who is divorcing his wife of 28 years and the mother of his 7-13 children is not one of us. Now, we recognize that he made an unbelievable movie called The Passion of the Christ and for that we absolutely applaud him, know he was given a gift, and would like to claim that part of him but that would be patently dishonest and we just can't go there. We just must give him the recognition he deserves for that. Mel, you did an awesome job.
But, we must still disclaim him. He is not one of us, the standard Roman Catholics. He is something called a Traditionalist which in layman's terms means he has his own church that apparently has some interesting beliefs and still says the mass in Latin. Latin, being a dead language, is generally not used in the Roman Catholic mass any longer as no one, except those who attended the good old fashioned schools that were led by ferocious nuns, understands it and they that did were probably often faking their understanding to avoid getting hit on the head with a stick anyway.
It also appears that Mel's love for Latin has also led him to other dead languages that no one understands as his movie Apocalypto demonstrated to the three people who saw it. Although, one must admit, if the language is dead and no one understands it, movie making gets a heck of a lot easier as you just tell the actors to make sounds up as they go and add your subtitles later when they come to you. Frankly, it is an admirable cost-cutting technique. Since there is no one on planet earth who could state that the dead Maya language is not correct, it is a pretty good plan. It is just really, really bad movies that are the issue.
Yes, we agree that perhaps, and just perhaps, Mel may have a wee bit of a drinking problem that is leading to his love of bar hopping with college age girls and his recent attempt to try to "counsel" Britney Spears alone and in person in some tropical local all of which, along with his performance at his arrest last year when we first had to disclaim him, might make sense when one hits about 12 on the Budweiser rating scale and, thankfully, not many of us can hit that number. And, for those who do not know of the Budweiser rating scale, it is a device that some Irish Catholics of the Roman type invented which is used for scurrilous purposes and neither it's use nor it's rankings are to be discussed or explained further. It is suggested that you contact a college kid for further explanation if necessary.
Now, we have had and of course still have our challenges which we claim and are fixing as fast as we can. And, we do know that Irish Catholic and Irish whiskey often appear in the same sentence and apparently, there is a reason for that. However, given that we didn't make Braveheart and have never seen a pot of money as big as that movie made, no one wants to put our brilliant thoughts of the week in People, Star and the National Enquirer over and over. It is also possible it is due to our thoughts generally being of the "I hope the kids have enough clean socks for school this week and if they don't is it possible that they can turn Thursday's pair inside out for Friday?" variety.
Nope, since we just can't get rise to offering "counseling" to Britney Spears, a disclaimer is still necessary. He isn't one of us but let's all hope he gets some help.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Three of our Four Isn't Bad
So, after months of testing, I have found out that it is not possible for our little group to take a picture with all four of us looking at the camera. My tests have revealed that 95% of the time, two of us will be just grand while the other two are either having a discussion of great importance or have other things to do. And, 4.9% of the time, three of us will be looking at the camera. So, the three of us will have to do. And really, who wants to see anyone other than the kids?
Easter, 2009
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Southern Hospitality
So I'm driving between Montgomery and Mobile and need to stop for gas. As I find out, there aren't a heck of a lot of stops between Montgomery and Mobile for gas, food, or Diet Coke. Given my ability to find a gas station on every corner in Atlanta where I can not only get gas but can also get the oil drum size of my preferred carbonated beverage, I become a bit concerned. But, the professional that I am, I also know I can drive about 60 miles with the little yellow light on before, as life experience as taught me, the little light goes off in conjunction with the rest of the car when I take my keys out of the ignition for a wee bit of an unscheduled hike to the nearest gas station.
Fortunately, I find a town which shall remain nameless least they become overrun with folks moving in due to my positive publicity about their hospitality and service and just in case I need to stop there again. The town appears to have not only one but two gas stations in close proximity to the freeway. I try the first but my gas card doesn't work there. So, I mosey on over to the second. Now, it is a work day and I'm dressed to impress as I'm calling on customers and know that looking capable is part of the game even if one doesn't have a clue what they are doing, again, learned from life experience. In fact, I believe that I invented the phrase, "Wow, great question. No one has ever asked me that before - can I get back to you?"
But, gas pumps are apparently not responsive to the looking capable ploy and, I now know, work a bit of global karma. Now, I do want to make it quite clear that I did apologize profusely last year when I drove away from a gas pump with the poor thing's arm still in my gas tank, causing the arm to sever and drag from my car until I got to the next red light and extracted it. But apparently an apology along with avoiding that gas station like the plague, no matter how I was dressed, just wasn't enough payment to the gas pump gods.
So, I pull up to the second station in this town, and professionally stick my company issued credit card in the pump to do that swipe thing. It goes in but then, oddly, it doesn't come out. I attempt to pull it out again. Nope. I try at least ten more times while I look around to see if there are any cameras. But no yanking on it will do. Just not happening. And, I figure I can't just go get a Big Gulp and leave as both my name and the name of my company are on that card despite the attractiveness of that option.
I go into the gas station and tell the young man working there that I seem to be having a problem with the gas pump. He ambles over to the pump and attempts to extract the card while we discuss him not ever having seen anything like it before and isn't it odd and amazing and so forth. I suggest we locate some pliers and he goes back into the station. Not having any, he calls for assistance.
When the Sheriff pulls up, I figure the card has been reported stolen, the pump is set up to keep it just like an ATM card and I'm cooked, suit or not. I'm appealing to the pump gods at this point but then find out he is just there to respond to the crisis. He ambles over and gives the pump a look. He attempts to extract the card but no luck. All three of us spend some time discussing how we have never seen anything like it, isn't it just the darndest thing, wouldn't have thought you could get your card stuck in a gas pump, sure is amazing and so on. After a bit, he goes to radio someone who can help and I'm left standing there trying to figure out if he has called for backup and I'm cooked for damaging property given that seems to be the crisis of the day in this town which, I am sure, is the safest place to live in the world.
Then, a guy in a pickup arrives. He ambles across the parking lot, wearing cowboy boots, a tool holster and a cap and, least I draw the wrong picture, pants and a shirt. I begin imaging the theme song that is always played in the movies when the cowboy enters the town to shoot the bad guy. I figure he isn't there to shoot the pump as the Sheriff could have already accomplished that which, of course, would have been neat but would have also indebted me to the gas pump gods for life for killing one of their clan. And, that's not to mention the insurance company that would clearly be after me for the cost of one gas station, at minimum. But, the theme song plays in my head anyway as I see him pulling a pair of pliers from the belt as he walks toward us, silhouetted by the sun, like all good heroes must be. He joins us at the pump and gives it a look. Then, he gives me a glance which somehow suggests that perhaps, just maybe, I'm not all that professional looking at the moment and, nope, he hasn't seen anything like it before. He reaches up and heroically pulls the card out of the pump's mouth with his pliers, holsters the tool and then speaks to us for the first time as he hands me my card when he states, "Here you go darlin, those little bumpy numbers are supposed to go on the bottom". He then holsters the pliers and disappears into the sunlight as he walks back to his truck to return to his lunch break. Now, how is that for service?
I can only say that I continue to be deeply humbled by the knowledge of how I personally brought a community together one nice, sunny day as they responded in unison to the crisis in their midst. It was a honor.
Fortunately, I find a town which shall remain nameless least they become overrun with folks moving in due to my positive publicity about their hospitality and service and just in case I need to stop there again. The town appears to have not only one but two gas stations in close proximity to the freeway. I try the first but my gas card doesn't work there. So, I mosey on over to the second. Now, it is a work day and I'm dressed to impress as I'm calling on customers and know that looking capable is part of the game even if one doesn't have a clue what they are doing, again, learned from life experience. In fact, I believe that I invented the phrase, "Wow, great question. No one has ever asked me that before - can I get back to you?"
But, gas pumps are apparently not responsive to the looking capable ploy and, I now know, work a bit of global karma. Now, I do want to make it quite clear that I did apologize profusely last year when I drove away from a gas pump with the poor thing's arm still in my gas tank, causing the arm to sever and drag from my car until I got to the next red light and extracted it. But apparently an apology along with avoiding that gas station like the plague, no matter how I was dressed, just wasn't enough payment to the gas pump gods.
So, I pull up to the second station in this town, and professionally stick my company issued credit card in the pump to do that swipe thing. It goes in but then, oddly, it doesn't come out. I attempt to pull it out again. Nope. I try at least ten more times while I look around to see if there are any cameras. But no yanking on it will do. Just not happening. And, I figure I can't just go get a Big Gulp and leave as both my name and the name of my company are on that card despite the attractiveness of that option.
I go into the gas station and tell the young man working there that I seem to be having a problem with the gas pump. He ambles over to the pump and attempts to extract the card while we discuss him not ever having seen anything like it before and isn't it odd and amazing and so forth. I suggest we locate some pliers and he goes back into the station. Not having any, he calls for assistance.
When the Sheriff pulls up, I figure the card has been reported stolen, the pump is set up to keep it just like an ATM card and I'm cooked, suit or not. I'm appealing to the pump gods at this point but then find out he is just there to respond to the crisis. He ambles over and gives the pump a look. He attempts to extract the card but no luck. All three of us spend some time discussing how we have never seen anything like it, isn't it just the darndest thing, wouldn't have thought you could get your card stuck in a gas pump, sure is amazing and so on. After a bit, he goes to radio someone who can help and I'm left standing there trying to figure out if he has called for backup and I'm cooked for damaging property given that seems to be the crisis of the day in this town which, I am sure, is the safest place to live in the world.
Then, a guy in a pickup arrives. He ambles across the parking lot, wearing cowboy boots, a tool holster and a cap and, least I draw the wrong picture, pants and a shirt. I begin imaging the theme song that is always played in the movies when the cowboy enters the town to shoot the bad guy. I figure he isn't there to shoot the pump as the Sheriff could have already accomplished that which, of course, would have been neat but would have also indebted me to the gas pump gods for life for killing one of their clan. And, that's not to mention the insurance company that would clearly be after me for the cost of one gas station, at minimum. But, the theme song plays in my head anyway as I see him pulling a pair of pliers from the belt as he walks toward us, silhouetted by the sun, like all good heroes must be. He joins us at the pump and gives it a look. Then, he gives me a glance which somehow suggests that perhaps, just maybe, I'm not all that professional looking at the moment and, nope, he hasn't seen anything like it before. He reaches up and heroically pulls the card out of the pump's mouth with his pliers, holsters the tool and then speaks to us for the first time as he hands me my card when he states, "Here you go darlin, those little bumpy numbers are supposed to go on the bottom". He then holsters the pliers and disappears into the sunlight as he walks back to his truck to return to his lunch break. Now, how is that for service?
I can only say that I continue to be deeply humbled by the knowledge of how I personally brought a community together one nice, sunny day as they responded in unison to the crisis in their midst. It was a honor.
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