Keep Your Mind On Business, Not Bunnies

My running team ran a hill workout last night as we usually do on Thursday evenings. I am starting to get used to those or maybe I should say that I am able to continue to mostly stand afterwards. I even manage to keep breathing. Which is good for, well, living. And, is not the point of my post. The point of this post is that usually after our Thursday night hill workouts, the team heads to a food establishment. The place we end up typically is "Fuzzy's Taco's." Many consider the place a legend in their own time. I tend to agree.

And I think the food tends to agree with me. Even if it does totally annihilate my calories burned on those damn hills. The place is fun, hip and placed smack-dab on the very outskirts of a college campus. Thus, there tends to be many a post-adolescent teen placed throughout this yummy eatery. Give them a few margarita's or check in after bar time and the place can get hopping. . . . which, again, is not my point other than to say, the tables have glass counter tops. This means it's easy to slip a personal note, photo or card, etc. underneath the glass. One can find some wild pictures there. Or find out that a certain someone has a small penis, phone number included. Men, be careful what woman you spurn. . . . Hell hath no fury. I'm just advisin'.

Anyhow, my teammates and I sit down. My coach brings me my lite-cerveza - calories burned, even more put back - while having his own seat. He looks at the photo's on the table around him and wondered out loud, "how is it that you got that picture?" That picture was of a woman who was out in public completely nude except for the body paint and the very teeny-tiny insignificant tha-dahnk-ka-dahnk. So, me, being the one who cannot not look at the train wreck or even leave the crime scene as well as being ever so accommodating, moved the tortilla chips basket and pointed at the picture lying directly in front of him. . . .

There, under the glass counter top, sits a photo of the blondie-nonbombshell in all her barely covered gi-normous double-puppy glory love. I am not mean nor am I jealous (if I was 13-flat-chested-years-old, you could maybe say that about me, but these days in my old fogienesses I can and do appreciate another beautiful woman), she really was not cute as she had the face of Magda in "Something About Mary," but she had bewbies. And big one's at that.

In response to my assistance with his viewing pleasure, my generous & very quite-natured running coach said, "she's definitely not a runner."

Long Time Coming & Then Some

Princess of the Universe probably gave up on me on long, long, long time ago.  I can't blame her, I mean, I asked for it and then there it sat.  For almost a couple months.  Actually, I have until February 19th and that would officially make it two months, but that is neither here nor there.  Either way, there it sat in my in-box marked as "unread" so I would not forget.  Hmmm. . . Yeah, that tactic worked.

I'm blaming Blogger.  For some reason, I can no longer "copy, cut and paste".  Add that to the fact that I'm lazy, well, you don't get the post I've been meaning to write for over a month now.  However, I have another fellow blogger that I heart and covet!  In fact, I believe she's a little known secret, but will be busting big some day.  Which is besides my point and I'm hoping she'll forgive me for stealing her idea by gushing loads about her funny.  So, I'm copying her and will be answering my interview questions one by one by one by one by one.  If you're lucky, I'm in a good mood and not lazy, I may even answer two questions at once.  Huzzah.

So, you owe this post to Verbal Diarrhoea. . . .  

I give you, my seven readers, Princess Interviews a Texaconsin Diva.

Numero Uno: How long did it take you to write your Christmas letter?  Cause I couldn't even imagine trying to condense a year into one really interesting page. 

I plead the fifth.  

Moving on . . . 

I keed - I keed, Princess!  See?  I'm funny too.   Maybe not Steve Carell, but hey beggars cannot be choosers. 

To get to your question, it takes more time than I like or seem to even have.  For those of you who didn't get a letter, you may be in the dark here.  I'll try to explain.  Once the husband and I got hitched by the good ole ball and chain, I thought it would be fantastic to start a yearly Christmas letter and send it world-wide to all our friends.  Big mistake.  I am now tied to doing it year after year.  If I don't, I have people call me out in front of many others on them either A) falling off my yearly letter list or B) I didn't do one.  That was a good time.  I enjoy being called out in front of groups of people in the middle of restaurants.  

Anyhow, the first letter I did was a "Top 10" list as to why it was a good thing the husband and I got married and attached a cute little wedding photo to the front.  That wasn't bad.  Pretty painless, but then the second letter, I decided to get really creative and did a letter to what it was like to be married in accordance with the "Wedding Vows".  You know the "till death do us part," "to have and to hold," and "in sickness and in health," (according to the husband I am never sick and never about to die.  I'd like to disagree here.  There are plenty of times I am dying.) etc., etc. . .  I'd have to say that took many hours of writing and re-writes as well as editing to make it fit on my itty-bitty card.  That one also had a cute little picture of us on it.  I think that was my favorite letter to date - maybe I'll post it here someday.  Maybe not.

The third year was mundane stuff of us making a move to our Longhorn city.  Blah, blah, blah.  Not my best.  

The fourth year, I skipped it.  See above when getting called out at a family birthday party in the middle of a restaurant.  Fun times (yes, I'm reiterating.  To this day I'm damaged by that).

This year, I spent a few weeks trying to come up with a subject.  I wrote and deleted.  Wrote and deleted.  Wrote and deleted.  Wrote and deleted.  I finally came up with . . . the husband.   Duh.  Had I just done that subject in the beginning the letter would have flown from brain to keyboard to print.  As always, he's my perfect subject.  

So, while I'd like to say it doesn't take nuttin' to write my yearly Christmas letter and be included in the cool kids crowd, I would be lying.  It takes a lot of time and even more thought.  More than I have of either that time of year.  Sometimes I wish I hadn't even begun and low expectations would sit in place.  Though, I would be lying there too.  I enjoy my Christmas letter even if it does stress me out year after year.  

The end.

More interview questions to follow.  Thanks Sid of Verbal Diarrhoea for giving me the idea to post each question separately.  May you not get any additional readers so I can keep you as mine.  All mine.  

The Report of My Death Was NOT An Exaggeration

Something happened the other night at 4:03 AM. Something I never, ever, ever thought would happen. Something I definitely did not want to ever, ever, ever happen. Something I hope that will not ever, ever, ever occur again.

And I'm still supremely debilitated over it. Really. I am.

I was lying asleep completely dead to the world in my complete zombie mode. I faintly felt something run across my head. I heard a small thud as that something hit my pillow. I sat up in bed trying to realize if this was something dreamed, imagined or if a killer spider was on the loose. If any of you realize my terror of all things eight legged, then you comprehend that my heart was beating away at 250 beats per minute. This was not good. Trying unproductively to shake the sleep mode from my brain, I began tuning in my bat-ears, pleading to the gods that be to please make this a horrible nightmare; please don't make this be real. Please,please,please,please. . . .

That's when I heard it. A faint flutter. . . .

I screamed and hit the husband who happened to be lying right by me in his own coma induced sleep. I continued my delicate screaming, "OFALLTHINGSTHATAREHOLYTURNONTHELIGHT! TURNONTHELIGHT! TURNONTHELIGHT!" And, calmly without one iota of a question, the husband turned on the light. . . .

There, making freeway-like time towards the husbands head, on my pillow was a 2-inch long cockroach.

Yes. A $&%@'ing cockroach.

So, I did what any sane and very normal human being would do, I screamed bloody frackin' murder and forcefully threw my entire body off the end of our bed. Hitting the floor with a nice little thud. The husband whom had flown off the side of our bed, stood there, looking down at me and ever so serenely instructed me to extricate myself from my own entangled death trap on our floor to go get the toilet paper. I think I was back before he finished his request with the biggest wad of TP you could find this side of the Mason-Dixon Line at 4:04 AM.

Talk about traumatized. I mean, I'll just let all y'all guess as to how well I've been sleeping since then.

Wall-E's roach companion, Hal from Pixar Films. He is not my friend either. Death to all cockroaches. I mean, the thing has been hand squished and flushed down the toilet, but he's probably still alive. These things do pre-date dinosaurs by 70-million years and can live without its head for a MONTH. It's not natural.

Intermission

At the Top of Oratorie St. Joseph
Originally uploaded by jlu007

Hi ya'll. You might have noticed, I'm taking a wee bit of a hiatus. I hope to be back sooner rather than later or not at all. Nothing is wrong. I've just got a "meh" momentary lapse of blogging. That is all. 

Did you know that the Collins English Dictionary will now be adding "meh" to its elaborate beautifully detailed explanations?   Pay homage to The Simpsons for that one.  

I miss you. I hope you are all well & happy.  

You Are Only Given a Little Great Spark of Madness

So, I was on my way to the doc's office today when I fell behind a vehicle with this bumper sticker:

I LOVE MY WIFE

As opposed to what . . . . .

Then I looked over to my left where I see a lady riding on the back of a motorcycle. She wore a sweatshirt, mind you it was on backwards. I suppose this is not very odd in and of itself, I mean, obviously she was chilly. However, she put the hood up over her face as they drove off for the highway . . . . .

At the doctors office I received paperwork as one normally does. I sat down in a very empty chair with a very empty chair next to me. I, obviously, was in what used to be one very empty chair and I placed my book, "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo" and my purse on what used to be the other very empty chair next to mine. Promptly, as if on cue, the lady with the AARP card who had been arguing with the receptionist about her AARP card, tuned and snapped at me, "CAN I HAVE MY CHAIR BACK!" With no intonation of a question at all. I think I turned 50 shades of red and mumbled an immediate apology along with feigning ignorance about not knowing she was sitting there while I tried to gather up my things before her bottom hit. To which she replied, "well, no. You wouldn't know I was sitting there, because I wasn't sitting there" . . . . .




Is it Freaky Friday? The day has only just begun . . . . .

Quietly & Safely Insane Every Night of My Life

I had a dream the other night.


My four-legged non-opposable thumbed dog, Chobie, was climbing a tree in our backyard. I have not a clue as to why my deliciously adorable Keeshond decided to climb a tree? He just did. Unbelievably, he was really very good at climbing a tree until he got about 4-feet off the ground where he slipped and fell. Chobie hit the mother earth with a "thump". He wasn't hurt, just a little stunned. While the dog remained lying on his side in the grass the husband turned to face me and in his matter of fact manner said, "well . . . that serves him right for climbing a tree."


And, that was that.