Wreck of the Day

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JzigDWOweVw

Mine is a wreck, indeed.  For some reason, though, I'm not bothered by it.  Very few things I do are life or death.  Some of The D's stuff is, and I've learned to priortize.

I had a call today.  From some of my DeSoto county relatives.  They need my help.  It's a good thing I'm a forgiving sort.  This is the aunt who said she'd rip me to shreds when she saw me.   I don't hold grudges.  Here's one of my favorite quotes:

  One of the keys to happiness is a bad memory.
  - Rita Mae Brown

I decided I'd try to help.  Only because I like idea of getting affirmation.  And helping.  And racking up points against EV.  Does that sound calculating?  It is.

And I have some spare time.  Since the cast-off computer at my pain-in-the-ass client is so messed up, I can't finish year-end stuff.  Which is ok by me.  I have to concentrate on renting a couple 'o houses.  Soon.

Gonna go.  Chicken & dumplings need to be divvied up and frozen.  I'm a regular Julia Stewart.  Martha Child?  Betty Bisquick is more apt.  Don't knock Bisquick though.  That's the best way to make pineapple upside down cake.  Hmmm.  I think I have the ingredients for that.  The Daddler will be so happy. 

Over and out...

Fun With Friends

I had the best time with my friends, K & H, last night.  We have this little tradition of Friday night happy hour, followed by dinner.  Usually, I pick up a pound or two of ground beef from the Folk's Folly butcher shop and K grills them to perfection (charcoal, not gas.)  We do extra so we have leftovers - Kiddo used to love it when I brought one home for him.  We did something different last night, though.

I begrudgingly parted with generously contributed four of my Legal Seafoods' crabcakes in my freezer's stash. OMG, there's nothing better on earth. H made remoulade sauce from scratch.  Yum. 

Actually, I should back up.  K & H have the best weekend rituals.  Friday night is bourbon and popcorn.  I think they do martinis on Saturday and wine on Sunday.  K is a bourbon connoisseur. H is a Maker's Mark girl, and I drink my watery beer.  Can't do the hard stuff.  K plays deejay on their sound system.  Last night we picked The Stones.  I love random questions, so I asked them to choose their favorite songs.  H said Beast of Burden.  I think K liked Honkey Tonk Woman best.  And I picked You Can't Always Get What You Want.  But then I've been in a philosophical mood lately.  Otherwise, Start Me Up probably would've been my choice.

They started talking about In A Gadda Da Vida by Iron Butterfly.  I didn't recognize the name, but when we played it on YouTube, I recognized it instantly.  That's one of those songs my older sister blasted over and over.  Like Whole Lotta Love.  And like that one, I totally misinterpreted the lyrics.  I thought it was something like, "And I got it Anita, da, da..."  Not sure what I thought he got or how Anita fit into things.  But then, I thought the singer was falling down a well in Whole Lotta Love.

K & H prepared the meal while I perched on a stool at their breakfast bar and looked up random things on K's new Xoom.  I usually try to help, but since I'd offered the sacrificial crab cakes, I didn't feel bad about being waited on.  They're such gracious hosts.

Charlie, though, is another matter.  Their Weimeraner.  He is always so excited to see me.  He gets all up in my bidness.  He even knocked me down once.  I need a dog.  Beulah, the Bulimic Cat, doesn't give a damn about me.  That reminds me.  She hasn't thrown up in weeks.  Wonder what's up with that?

After dinner, Charlie reminded me of my recent blog quote by his namesake, Charlie Brown.  "In the book of life, the answers aren't in the back."  I shared this wisdom and then conducted another poll.  Which Peanuts character are you most like?

H said she was Sally, but I thought she had a good bit of Lucy.  She's very confident.  But she's also cute and tiny and blond.  And sweet.

K said Charlie.  I told him he had lots of Schroeder, too.  Who happens to be Lucy's love interest.  We all agreed that Charlie is Snoopy.  As for me, it varies.  Usually, though, I'm a Linus/Lucy combo.  They're both Van Pelts.  So maybe I'm the middle child.  That's perfect, because Lucy is the classic oldest child and Linus is definitely the baby.  And we all know about the messed-up middle child.

Trivia ensued.  K remembered the name of Linus' teacher.  He had a major crush on her.  Linus, not K.  The teacher, Miss Othmar, married and became Mrs. Hagemeyer.  Linus had a hard time with that.

Hey, I just had a great idea!  Howzabout a Peanuts' reunion?  All grown-up.  Lucy would be a Meg Whitman type.  Linus would be in and out of rehab, with several restraining orders for stalking Sally.  Charlie would be an actuary.  Schroeder would turn out to be a very talented cross between Josh Groban, Elton John and Andrea Bocelli.  Only more gay and less blind.  Why else wouldn't he have succumbed to Lucy's charms?  Peppermint Patty would be a high school P.E. teacher.  In a long-term relationship with Marcie.  The little red-haired girl would be on Housewives of Some Random City - replete with surgical and chemical enhancements.  But still beautiful.  In a Barbie Doll kinda way.   Snoopy, of course, would be dead.  Those damn dog years.

Well, I could go on and on.  But it's a beautiful day and the leaves are calling me like a Greek Chorus. 

Over and out...

I'm So Emo...

Poor Daddler.  I don't know what got into me, but I made a huge effort with his din-din tonight, complete with Nanner Puddin', three cherries on top, and multi-colored sprinkles.  Shrimp cocktail and seafood salad on a bed of lettuce.  I needed to nurture.  I was feelin' the love.

Because I don't say it.  And I've been thinking that as messed up as my childhood was, it was pretty peachy in the whole scheme of things.  I knew that I was loved.  Unconditionally.  How many people in this world have that?

So I muted The D's tv, told him I wanted to say some things and that he didn't have to respond.  I told him that as hard as it's been for both of us, I take great comfort in having him with me.  That I know it must be hard for him to depend on me so much, but I hope he knows that I depend on him, too.  That I'm happy he made the move with me, and that he's found a church home so close by.  That I'd be terribly lonely without him.  Right when I was getting verklempt, the phone rang.  The elusive rental agent.  The D looked relieved when I excused myself to take the call.

It's been a strange, but monumental day.  I was seeking clarity, when out of the blue, I heard from two people who complicated my life immensely.  I thought I was over them.  Done.  But it turns out I'm not.  I acted prudently, though.  Thought rationally.  Thought about Mr. Man.  Considered the fact that he's a long shot, but truth be told, these two are longer shots.  And they both pose major hurdles.  Ones that I don't have the strength to attempt.  And with him, I have unfettered fun.  Have I mentioned that he makes me laugh so hard I poot?  He does.  And I do.  But that's the only time.  Ever.  It's all his fault...

So for now, I'll do my best to content myself with the two, imperfect men in my life.  Kiddo and The Daddler.  They both make me crazy, but they make me happy, too.  Just knowing we're in it for the long haul is everything.

No Guarantees

In the book of life, the answers aren't in the back.  -Charlie Brown

I know two families who have had terrible, tragic losses over the past two weeks.  They were very different circumstances, but both involved a son.  My heart aches for them.

One of the boys grew up with Kiddo.  They were in school together all through kindergarten and elementary school.  I called Kiddo to tell him the awful news.  We had a sweet talk.  Well, I did the talking, but he listened.  I just needed to tell him how much I love him and that no matter how fractious our relationship is these days, my love for him remains constant.

I try to talk to him about the really important stuff from time to time.  Usually, these talks are triggered by some sort of event involving a boy or young man.  I remember when the Duke Lacrosse debacle happened.  The lesson I wanted Kiddo to learn was that even though those college boys were ultimately exonerated, and they did nothing illegal, they were guilty of placing themselves in a dangerous situation, and worse than that, of sexually exploiting women.  They lost a year of their lives in the maelstrom of publicity surrounding the case.

I pontificated excessively about how men who consider strippers integral to a great party cannot possibly have a healthy respect for women.  And that most strippers are also prostitutes and drug addicts and abused women.  So even though, on the surface, they are adults with the ability to make their own choices, it seems terribly wrong to me to perpetuate their misery.  And in their desperation, it's not surprising that they would make false allegations about rape in situations in which they could benefit financially.  In this case it was false, but I'm sure there are many more times when it's true.  I'd guess we don't hear about those as often, because they probably get settled outside the court system.

The thing that saddened me about the Duke Lacrosse team was that I never heard anyone involved say that they had, indeed, made a mistake by placing themselves in such a precarious situation.  I wish someone had taken the opportunity to tell other young athletes that it's not cool to hire strippers or prostitutes.  Because no matter how much I preached this, it couldn't possibly have had the impact it would have had if those handsome, talented (albeit, misogynistic) young men had owned up to the immorality of their actions and taken the opportunity to help other boys learn from their mistakes.

Believe me, I'm not judging them.  I'm sure their lawyers would have shit a brick if they'd taken any ownership of the situation.  After they were pronounced innocent (of rape, anyway) though, it seems like that would've been a good opportunity to share some wisdom.  If I had been one of the parents, you could be damn sure that Kiddo would have had a prepared statement to convey all this.

I make mistakes all the time.  I get lots of practice apologizing.  Especially to Kiddo.  I think that's important.  Parents are imperfect people, too.

Well, I've gone on and on with this.  I need to get on with my day.  Hopefully, I'll have some funny things to share in my next post.  For now, though, I'm finding it very hard to laugh.  My heart is still breaking for the two lost boys who are much closer to home.

Un-Freakin'-Believable

You have GOT to see this:

Mo' Money Taxes

Be sure to watch the whole video - it'll pop up automatically.  Seriously, you won't believe it.  Be sure to stay tuned until you see the shot of the Bootylicious girl leaning provocatively on the hood of a car.  The redneck Boss-Hogg types are pretty funny, too.  I won't get started on reverse discrimination and political correctness, except to say that this is beyond the pale.  But then, IDGAF. 

I think, in addition to getting your taxes done in 30 seconds, you can buy a car with your refund.  When I clicked on Other Services (I shudder to think) and Locations, they went nowhere.  I suppose the website is still under development.  I was curious as to whether this is a Memphis-based business.  It must be.  Where else?  I remember doing a double-take the first time I saw one of their storefront signs.  Wow.

You just have to laugh.  Out loud.  Rolling on the Floor.  What's that acronym?  ROFLMAO?  Maybe SMHWMMHO would be more like it.  Shaking My Head With My Mouth Hanging Open...

Learning New Things

Darnit, if all that Law & Order Middle-of-the-Night-Marathon watching didn't help me understand some basic things for yesterday jury stint.  The judge made a point of telling us that these sorts of shows are not real.  They're just drama.  As if...

At some point, I realized that I didn't know the difference in a crime, a misdemeanor and a felony.  I remembered the name of a Woody Allen film called Crimes and Misdemeanors.  But I don't think that would be a good source of legal knowledge.  Besides, it varies from state to state, and I have a feeling Woody didn't film that in Tennessee.  And besides, I never watched it.

So, after a little Googling, I figured out that the two main categories are felonies and misdemeanors.  It has to do with the severity of the offense.  I'm not sure who makes that decision - the prosecutors, I suppose.  They key, though, is that a felony is punishable by a sentence of a least one year, and a misdemeanor, not more than 11 months and 29 days.  Now I know.  I think crime is a general term that encompasses both.

That's neither here nor there, though.  I've been trying to figure out which side rejected me.  I have a feeling it was the defense, given The D's career in law enforcement.  One of my dream jobs is to be a jury consultant.  If I had been consulted about this defendant, I would have told him not to wear a black shirt with a white satin tie.  It shouted "Mobster."  But I don't think we have those in Memphis.  Pimp, maybe?  Oh, well.  I figure it must've had to do with domestic violence since they asked lots of questions about that.  If I'd been the lady whose daughter had roughed up her BF and then married him, I'd have asked to speak the the judge privately, too.

At first, when judge asked if us if we, or any of our immediate families, had ever been involved in any way in a crime no hands were raised.  He seemed surprised.  He must've doubted that was true.  I think we were just all shy.  Sooo, when he asked again, it was one big confession.  People were telling about their parents' houses being burgled back in the 70's.  They would stammer and try to estimate how many years.  I wanted to shout, "Just hurry up and pick a decade!"  Or the fact that my wallet was stolen out of my hotel room back before identity theft was cool.  But each little anecdote triggered more.  Finally, we finished, which is when I approached the bench about EV and one other little matter.

Oh, on the subject of Too Much Information.  One of the questions was whether we, or our family members, had ever worked in law enforcement.  I wasn't sure being in Military Police in the Air Force counted, but the judge said it did and asked some probing Daddler questions.  I have to admit, I was proud of The D at that moment.  That triggered a spate of stories about sons and nephews and second cousins once removed who were serving in the military.  I know they were proud, too.  Finally, the judge explained that he didn't care about military service unless it had been as MP.  

Oh, I forgot to tell about the lady who had two sons who'd gotten in trouble for something at some point long, long ago.  When asked when that happened, she said she was 56 and her son was 34 now, so it must've been...ummm...  Finally, the judge did the math.  Like he did when I didn't know how many years ago I'd gotten my CPA license, but I knew the year.  He did the math.  25 years, he said.  I said, "Gee, thanks."  I used a slightly sarcastic tone, because that made me sound kinda old, and I had not volunteered my age.  I also explained that I couldn't do math.  That was the only laugh of the day.  But people were desperate for a little levity. 

And actually, even though I was disappointed that I didn't get chosen, I was relieved to finally be able to go to the ladies' room.  I wish I'd thought to ask about a bathroom break during my little sidebar.  I'm sure I wasn't the only one squirming in my seat.

Well, I think I've exhausted this subject.  I'd be doing laundry and dishes and assorted other chores, but they involve the sewer drain, so that's a good excuse.  Hopefully, Public Works will get here before the housekeeper comes tomorrow.

Over and out...

Civic Duty, Part II

The Jury Coordinators showed us a film.  About how important we were.  When I went to get coffee, I realized that the people in the back couldn't hear a thing over the buzz of the ice machine.  I wasn't sure why there was an ice machine since there weren't any cokes or fruit or pate or smoked salmon.  Not even cream cheese or mayo.  But I'm not complainin'.

They had little packets of chicken broth and hot chocolate.  Swiss Miss, mind you.  Not some generic crap.  Don't you hate how they try to make the generic stuff sound like the real deal?  Like, instead of Swiss Miss, they call it Bliss Kiss Chocolate Flavored Liquid Beverage Substitute.  And they make the packaging eerily similar to S.M.

It's actually very clever.  Take a trip to your local Sav-A-Little and see what I mean.  I've learned to be less of a brand snob, but when it comes to salsa and cola, I refuse to compromise.  Off-brand salsa tastes like ketchup with tabasco and anything other than Coca-Cola tastes like crap.  Give me club soda with Vivarin and I'm better off.

I should go.  I'm still contemplating why I was rejected.  Was it because The D was in Military Police in the Air Force for 20 years?  Or because I emulated Angie Dickenson in Police Woman with his 38?  Or because I'd been a victim of domestic violence when my Emotional Vampire former sister choked me.  The judge (in our little sidebar with the three, very serious prosecutors and the cool looking, swoopie-haired-wet-behind-the-ears public defender, plus the court reporters) rephrased my diagnosis of psycho as "having issues."  I said, "To put it mildly.  She has Narcissistic Personality Disorder." At which point, I think they decided I was a loose cannon.  And I'm sure cannons are as bad or worse than a semi-automatic, which the defendent was alledged to have possessed. 

I only brought up the domestic violence thing because he asked that question pointedly.  And I did NOT want to be held in contempt.    I was discreet and asked to speak in private.  Because I didn't want to air my dirty laundry, on the microphone, in front of the whole courtroom.  Besides, I was feeling insecure after walking around with my zipper undone.

There's so much more to tell.  I'll just say this.  I only made it two-thirds way through my brand new Oprah magazine before the judge gave me the boot.  I didn't even get lunch.  I'm done for at least ten years.

I'm going to set my email on auto-reply to say I'm in Federal Jury Duty.  Head to the Coast.  Oh, just remembered my friend L is going to Mexico this week.  Ixnay on that idea.  Maybe my vacant rental house.  Where I can take a hot bath without sewage backing up into my yard.  Order Chinese.  Ask a neighbor to give me the password to their wireless router so I can play Words With Friends.

It would be easier, though, to stick a chicken pot pie in the microwave for The D, run a hot bath without letting it drain, and hope to god the Public Works Department smiles on me.  Or think of the sewage backing up into my yard as organic fertilizer.  God knows I could use some good grass.

Let's be clear though.  I mean grass in my yard.  As in Bermuda or Zoysia.  Because it's still a mudpit.  That little comment was a nod to a friend who thought the catnip my mother found in a kitchen drawer (I wrote about it in one of my first blog posts) was something other than catnip.  I have my vices, but that's not one of them.  And that's all I'll say.