Dating 101

December 12, 2008

First wanted to say that I have been gone for a bit and kind of like the new WordPress layout. I hope they have not changed too much.

Single and Dating…

Not me…  I am attached to the love of my life and whether he knows it or not, I am his life-long appendage.

My best girl buddy Kelley is single and she loves to share her dating adventures with me.  Kelley is a beautiful, independent young woman. She has no trouble getting dates. Her problem is being asked out on a second date.

Actually, it is not much of a problem to her as she has not been very impressed with the first dates lately. (I think she is content with being single and only goes on dates for entertainment at her date’s expense.)

Last night Kelley was on a big girl – play dress up – classy restaurant type date.  Her date was waiting at the restaurant when she arrived. He graciously pulled out her chair and made sweet attempts to make her feel special.

Kelley threw out some witty conversation starters (that is what she called them, but I am a bit skeptical because she loves to throw out gems that leave a person wondering WTH?)

Kelly said her date began to squirm in his chair so she took off her metaphoric boxing gloves and asked him straight out, “Why are you so nervous? Just be yourself. Most people try too hard and at the end of the night are left standing there with their dick in their hand, so-to-speak.”

She said the guy turned beet red and asked her to please refrain from being so crass.

And Kelley, being Kelley said… “Sure, but if you want this date to progress in a more positive manner you might want to pull the stick out of your ass.”

Of course I had to ask her how her date responded to that gem…

Kelly said that she was actually surprised when he got up and left the restaurant. She thought this one might actually have a bit of spunk.

She asked me, “Do you think he is going to call me back for a second date?”

I am a bad Parent

December 3, 2008

… Or so I have been told. And this time it was not by one of my sons, which is kind of nice.

My ever so gorgeous, wonderful, caring, hardworking (holding down two jobs), college enrolled son called and informed me that his girlfriend of 4 plus years is pregnant. This would be son number two, who is 20… Son number one, has informed me that now that son number two has spawned, he is free of all responsibility of providing me with a grandchild.

Back to son number two who I will refer to as JD… JD and Melissa have been an item since forever it seems. No one was surprised when they moved in together two years ago. And many, myself included, knew it would only be a matter of time before they got married and started a family. They have both discussed and want children.

When I got the call yesterday I screamed out in delight. Now of course it would be easier on them if they were finished with college… And it might have been more appropriate had they actually said their vows BEFORE producing. But, he is his momma’s child and therefore is bound to do things backwards from time to time.

That being said, he is a good kid. Having worked at Safeway for a number of years, he has worked his way up the ladder and will be interviewing for a Manager position next week. He also puts in a number of hours working at a machine shop along with his classroom schedule at ASU. He works hard, sets goals, and strives to better himself. (yeah, I brag a lot)

… I think I did all right in the parenting department, or at least I thought so until a coworker berated me.

It seems I should have chewed his butt. Let him know that I was not happy. Maybe thrown in an explicative or two about his trampy girlfriend to punctuate my point.

But, that would all be lies. I am not mad and his girlfriend is FANTASTIC! I cannot wait for the arrival of the little bundle of joy.

The Jury is still out…

December 1, 2008

Deliberations will continue as there is still a certain amount of doubt derived from his claims of innocence.

Let me take you back to the scene of the crime…

Yesterday I made a valiant attempt to clean the mounds of leaves from my flower beds. The daunting task was made more miserable by the cold swirling winds which redistributed the leaves nearly as fast I piled them. Not to be defeated, I learned to rake and speed-scoop in a fairly effective manner.  

Feeling slightly guilty for watching football while I toiled in the wintry storm, Mr. J would occasionally come out and offer advice. (not help… just creative words of wisdom) Such as; “You should hold the bag so that it fills with wind as you are dumping the leaves in.”

Alas, the cold got the better of me (it must have dropped close to 60 degrees) and I went in for hot cocoa.

It was about this time that the Chargers BF’d another game and the slew of potty-mouth verbage could be heard throughout the house. I decided that now would be a good time to start dinner.

Alas, I looked at my kitchen floor and being that I am easily distracted decided to sweep my floor before cooking. I had left my dustpan outside and needed to retrieve first… Once I was outside, I decided to put the last pile of leaves in he bag…

About halfway thru my scooping I heard the back door open and thought the fabulous Mr. J had come out to give me a hand. No such luck – I once again heard the backdoor close and knew he had gone back inside. No problem, I should only be another 5 minutes and I would be inside as well.

WELLLLLLLL…. That is how it should have ended. As it turned out, I reached the back door and tried to open it. It was locked!

I did the logical thing; I knocked and I knocked and I knocked. I then proceeded to knock on all the windows downstairs, peeking into the windows that had the blinds cracked. Nadda…. Being that I was still very logical in my thinking; I grabbed the net for the pool as it has a 10 foot pole on it and I began tapping on all the upstairs windows.

All my efforts were in vain. I did not even see a curtain move inside. So, I moved on to plan “B” I began hollering at various windows. The only response I received were curious looks from the elderly couple across the street. (Damn, I was hoping to refrain from becoming the circus attraction in our new neighborhood.)

I had now been outside for close to 30 minutes. Because I had not intended on making it an outside adventure, I was no longer wearing my shoes and the cold was making me a tad bit irritable. I eyed Mr. J’s truck in the driveway and contemplated breaking out a window so that I could have a semi-warm place to sit during my banishment.

Ah-ha! I was in luck (well if you discount the fact that I was locked out without my shoes and Mr. J appeared oblivious) his truck was unlocked. I honked the horn a couple times, thinking that might draw his attention to my perilous circumstances. Nadda, nadda, nadda. Only more stares from my neighbors.

Well Hell… Feeling more than a tad bit unloved and forgotten, I decided that I might as well finish cleaning out the remaining flower beds. Sooner or later Mr. J would get hungry and come look for me. Or if he ordered a pizza I could slip in with the delivery.

About halfway through the last flowerbed, Mr J came out and asked if I minded taking a break to cook some dinner. (you do not want to know the ugly words that crept into my brain at that moment)

Mr J claims that he thought I was upstairs taking a nap when he locked the door. It was only after he got hungry and went upstairs to check on me that he noticed I was not in the house.

I am not buying his story… I think he was sneaking from room to room watching me knocking and yelling for help, all the while laughing his ass off. I think it was only his stomach begging to be fed that had him coming to my aide.

The best part… (depending on how you look at it) was the questions he asked me: “Why didn’t you have your keys with you.”

Why would I take my keys with me when I go to the back yard for a dustpan?  

“Why didn’t you have you cell phone with you? You could have called me.”

Uh yeah, I often go to the backyard and call you on my cell phone. It makes a lot more sense than coming inside and talking to you in person.

I was only going out for the fricken dustpan….. Grrrrrr….

In case you wondered, I used extreme restraint and I stopped myself from dropping his chicken on the floor a couple times before dinner.

The Police Report

November 22, 2008

First let me clarify… I am in no way involved in the report.

We were at a bar-b-que enjoying the fine Texas atmosphere of cold beer, half drunk women draped across boisterous manly men, who raved about their heroes on the football field. Ya know, Basic Texas stuff.

We were joined by a couple of Houston’s finest, Boys in Blue. (the Law)

It wasn’t long before they too had cups of …ummm… soda (yeah I am sure they wouldn’t be drinking on the job)

One of the officers began telling of a report that he had to file some time back. It was a terrible accident scene. The rider of the motorcycle had been thrown off his bike and an arm severed.

The officer said, “I found his arm laying in the esplanade, but I didn’t know how to spell esplanade, so I picked the arm up and tossed it in the ditch.”

I almost did an un-lady-like thing and spit my drink all over the place. It was so funny hearing him explain. (not funny that some poor soul was had his arm severed and was killed.) But funny that the officer was so…

I don’t even know how to describe him… It sounded like a screwball twisted line from Scary Movie.

The funny part was knowing it was a real event. Life is funnier than any writer could ever imagine in a script. (well, it is for me in my Twilight Zone existence)


November 21, 2008

So, I am sitting at a red light this morning when I glance over to the truck on my left. The driver gives me the “look.”

You know the look of which I speak; the look that says, “Let me take you for a ride.”  The look that undresses you and makes you feel slightly vulnerable.

Well thanks to extremely long red light, time seemed to freeze. Then his rear-view mirror caught my attention. Draped across the mirror were several (I would guess 50 or so) strands of Mardi Gras beads.

Which left me wondering….

a.) Do those beads belong to this guy’s wife/girlfriend? If so, why is he making lewd gestures in my direction? My mind never shuts off and is often flying on various tangents… Now I want to know what his home life is like:

  • Is he getting any at home?
  • Is he one of those fools who creeps even though his wife is wonderful?
  • Is his wife living on life support and unable to … ?

b.) Does this dude flash his boobies to collect the beads?

c.) Does this dude carry strands of beads in case some woman decides to flash her boobies for him?

or more than likely…

d.) The dude was just making weird faces because he had eaten something bad and also had something in his eye… He probably didn’t even notice I was looking at him.

… and then the light turned green and I was off chasing another tangent….

Straight from the Heart

November 17, 2008

The other night we were laying in bed just enjoying each others company. I was resting my head on Mr. J’s shoulder and running my hand across his chest. My finger tips lingered on his scar and I slowly traced it from one end to the other.

I could feel J tensing … and I said, “I love your scar.”

The hesitation was in his voice when he asked what I was talking about… Was I joking? Why would anyone love something so ugly?

“Aw baby. It is not ugly at all. Every time I run my fingers down your scar, I am reminded of how lucky I am that you are alive and in my life.”

For thirty-eight years J has tried to hide his scar, too embarrassed to take his shirt off around others. Years of hearing the laughter and ridicule.

But, I can only smile when I trace my fingers across it… Because he is ALIVE!

Slowly, I traced my fingers up to his face, across his lips, and to his cheek. I felt the tears that silently moistened his eyes…

My heart ached… so many years of pain welled up inside that beating heart… covered by a scar, a scar that should be his badge of honor… A scar that shouts to the World, “This wonderful man is Alive.”  

J took my fingers and kissed them.

I love this man and his many scars, for they make him complete.

Fourth & Fourth meme

November 14, 2008

I have not been as active as I would like to be on the Internet because the boss thinks I should work while I am at the office… And my hubby thinks I should snuggle when I am at home.

But I could never turn down a tag from the fabulous Trisha Her post always touch a soft spot in my heart (yes, I have a soft spot in there somewhere)   Her writing can make me feel all warm and fuzzy or like lighting a fire under someones azz all in the same breath. (what can I say, she has mad skills)

OKey Dokey here are the rules:

1. Go to your pictures file.
2. Go to the 4th file.
3. Go to the 4th picture.
4. Post it and tell the story.
5. Tag 4 more people.


I took this picture on a cross country drive from North West Wyoming to South East Texas. (1500 miles… You really have to love each other to ride in a car together for 1500 miles)

Mr. J and I were torn between hauling butt back home on the interstate, making good time… Or cruising the back country. When we got to Colorado I got a wild idea (what are the chances?) We should hop off the interstate and take US 50 across the state. Just a suggestion to other brave souls out there who might seek adventure: IF YOU CHOSE THIS ROAD (and I recommend it highly) DO NOT TRY IT IN THE WINTER!

We went up and down and around some of the steepest most beautiful mountains I have ever seen.  In this picture, we were crossing over the Continental Divide.

I stepped out onto the ledge and took several pictures. Mr. J kept begging me to come back off the ledge or he was going to leave me. Ha! I had the keys and there was no way he was coming out to get them.

I truly love my home. BUT, if I could afford to live anywhere in the world, this would be one of my top choices. (at least for the summer months)

Now for my tags:

The wonderful



Taoist Biker

Purple Colored Glasses

This goes in the Nuh-uh file

November 12, 2008

I would not be surprised if you do not believe me, because I would not believe me if I had not witnessed this with my own eyes:

Last night Mr. J and I had a meeting downtown. It was on a street which we were not familiar so we decided to scope out the area early, find the building, grab a bite to eat, and then head back in time for the meeting.

We found the building about an hour before our meeting so we decided to stop in at Popeye’s for some yummy fried chicken and red beans & rice. Lucky us, Popeyes has a special on Tuesdays and you can get 9 pieces of dark meat for 4.99. This was wonderful as we both love legs and thighs. (although I doubt we could eat 9 pieces, we were up for the challenge)

The drive thru line was long and we had plenty of time to spare so we went inside. Whew, only three people in line ahead of us!

Then, my mouth dropped open… The lady in the front of the line ordered two 9 piece orders and an additional EIGHTY pieces of chicken. We stayed just long enough to make sure we had heard her correctly, yep, a total of 98 pieces. Holy crap-o-la! Even if they had enough chicken to cover her order and enough to fill the two other orders ahead of us, it would take FOREVER to for our measly nine pieces to be cooked.

We darted across the street and had tacos… But I had a good laugh when Mr. J said, “That woman had no business ordering 98 pieces of chicken, knowing full well she could not eat more than 50… 60 max.”

Yes, we are just awful.

Sensitivity Training

November 10, 2008

Alrighty, I admit it. I need it… Or something to help me learn to be more tolerant, more patient, less apt to call a putz a putz.

I came to this brilliant realization the other day when a coworker peeked his head in my office and said he needed to go home because he was not feeling well. I was a breath away form asking, “What’s the matter, your pussy hurting you again?”

Not all my fault. You see I have been hanging out with the guys and they say that every time one of them complains about an ache or a pain. It is their way of calling the other guy soft for whining.

Still, I have absolutely no business using such delightful terms of endearment with my coworkers.

I decided I needed a refresher course and church would be a good place for me. So, I slipped on a dress and headed out the door. Just five minutes into my 20 minute drive I almost turned my car around and came home. Five minutes… and I was cursing like a sailor at the inatentive drivers who had taken over every lane of the road.  

I was sure that the Pastor would be able to feel the evil cloud that was permeating from my soul.

I slipped into an empty pew, hoping to remain invisible and unapproachable. Why do fellow church goers feel the need to reach out and try to make you feel welcome? I did not really want to be noticed. I simply wanted to hear the message and slip back out…

(note to self: come in during the opening hymn and slip out during the closing prayer)

OK, it was not that bad… and the message was very moving, he talked about the commitments we must make as couples to stay together in these trying times. I really think Mr. J needed to be there as well cuz the guy was telling the husbands to compliment their wives on the little things, like dinner. (and Mr J needs a refresher course on that one)

In fact he needs a course on eating whatever I cook and telling me it is delightful. (waiting until I turn my head and then spitting the crap into a napkin or a house plant.)  I will see if the Pastor will bring it up again next week and take Mr. J with me.

All-in-all it was good for me.

I didn’t curse at one person on the drive home!

Customer Service…

November 5, 2008

Last night I got a call from the Houston Chronicle, the local newspaper. Before I go into the phone call I will take you back to the 14th of October:

Oct 14: I go on-line and subscribe to the Chronicle paying in advance for 20 weeks of delivery.

Oct 15: I receive email confirmation of my order.

Oct 16: I wait anxiously for my first paper to be delivered… drats, well maybe it will start tomorrow.

Oct 17: Again, nothing in my driveway, so I venture out to see if the paper might be in the bushes or on the roof… Nadda.

Oct 18: I sit patiently and wait for the paper guy to drive down my street hoping to catch him when he delivers my neighbor’s paper. He drives by too quickly … drats.

Oct 19: still no paper, but I receive a lovely letter from the Chronicle thanking me for my order and confirming that my delivery was to begin on the 16th. I call the number listed in the letter and explain that I have not received the paper yet. They are very sweet and assure me that I will receive a paper in the morning.

Oct 20-30: A bad rendition of Ground Hogs Day… No paper, I call them, they promise it will start the next day, the next day comes and goes without a paper.

From time to time when I called them I would ask flippant questions such as, “Is my carrier afraid to deliver to my house because I have a tree?”


“Will my carrier deliver if I sit outside and offer him breakfast?”


“Does the carrier accept bribes?”


“My carrier does realize that he is blowing his Christmas tip doesn’t he?”

 It did not matter how many times I called, I NEVER received one copy of the paper. I know that they still print the news on paper cuz a co-worker brings one in to work in the mornings.

Well, I gave up. I called and asked them to cancel my subscription and refund my money. That was on the 31st. Which brings me to last night’s call:

The caller wanted to know why I was dissatisfied with the Chronicle and IF I would consider a couple weeks free delivery to once again become a customer.

I calmly explained that a year’s worth of free papers would do me no good because I would NEVER receive them. Oh heck, make it two years worth of free papers that I never receive.

She said I sounded irrational and that she was merely trying to remedy my problem. She then went on to ask me a series of questions: (my answers in bold)

On a scale of one to five, five being the highest, how do you rate the service of your carrier?

“Um, you have got to be flipping kidding me, RIGHT? You do know I did not receive any papers, right?”

She continued: Did your paper arrive in a timely fashion?

“I am going to say no, unless by timely fashion you consider three weeks and still waiting to be acceptable?”

She paused and asked, “Three weeks of what?”

Good Grief, she is going to make me curse aloud. “Three weeks of never receiving the paper. Do you see a pattern with my answers?”

She responds with this gem: Perhaps you would be more content to only receive the paper on Sundays as many customers state that they do not have the time to read the paper daily.

I know by this time that my teeth are clenched because my jaw is beginning to ache… and I fight back the urge to slip into a Chris Tucker role and say, “Do you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth?” I gave up…

From that point on the remainder of the conversation was blah, blah, blah, something, something-else.

I was almost afraid that I would wake up this morning and actually find a newspaper in my driveway. Not to worry, my carrier did not let me down.