More Shepoopie

So, I haven'ts been around for a wee bit. This is well known and not what I'm going to delve into. I'm still around. Still kicking the pig. . . .

I will say this, "stoopid people scare me."

*********************************************

To explain, because I know ya'll. If I leave it at that, you will want to know. So, to save computer trees and in a Texaconsin Diva nutshell, as nutshell as I can get, this is how it goes:

Driving home from my internship today I encountered my first road rage. I mean, I've run into others, but this is the first one where I was actually scared. For me. Really, really scared.

I had some young girl, whom apparently, I cut off (inadvertently). So bad was her anger, she chased me on the freeway. She was less than 2-feet from Coco's bumper widely displaying her two middle fingers at me to tell me how much I am number one in her world. At the same time that she's driving with her two eloquently extended middle fingers, she is screaming red-faced "F*CK YOU!" Over and over and over and over and over again. I got the message.

But I'm confused.

What has happened here? How had I wronged this girl?

I put up with her gesticulations and her madman screaming for a wee bit (read 7 minutes). Then I tapped my brakes - not enough to stop me or slow me down; but enough to make her want to get off my arse. Off my arse she did go, but instead of leaving me, she ended up driving next to me. I, once again, ignored her until I noticed her Honda Civic pulling over into my lane. Time and time again. She got so close I had to change lanes. I looked over at her and she's yelling, "pull over bitch! I'm going to kick your ass! PULL OVER BITCH!" I laughed and said, "You want me to pull over?" She was nice enough to display her two middle fingers again while shouting "YES, PULL OVER BITCH!" This was absolutely fantastic.

Notsomuch.

Her attempts to force me off the road only made me decide that I'd had enough and kicked Coco into 120-miles and hour in about 3-seconds.

I thought I'd lost her.

How wrong I was. Five minutes since I left her in the dust, she's on my arse again. Honking and screaming as well as running her two fingers at me. I made a decision and pulled off the nearest exit ramp praying she wasn't going to follow. How wrong I was. She never got more than 2-feet off my bumper. Honking widely. Gesturing fabulously. Completely classy.

I'm trying to call the husband to see what I should do. Should I call the police? Should I keep driving to nowhere? I couldn't get the husband on the phone. What do I do? I was, by this time, frightened. I don't scare easy. I'd half made up my mind to call 9-1-1. . . . .

I didn't have to call the po-po as she did that for me. I was pulled over as soon as I had exited the freeway. She pulled behind the police. I was visibly shaking at this time. He talked to her first & then walked over to me. She said I had almost run her over, but I mentioned that she never was in front of me, so that wasn't very likely. Then, I regaled the tale of her trying to drive me off the road. . . .and all that had really happened (I know there is her story, there's my story and the truth lies somewhere in between - say what you will, I'm too tired to fight).

He went back to her and had what I am assuming is a nice bit of a conversation; she pulled away with a nice little good-bye gesture to me. He let me go too, but not without telling me he told her that she needed to find a way to control her road rage. That she needs to be more careful of who she chases down in her car, because you never know who is behind the other wheel. And, what would have happened had she side-swiped me and her car flipped over or lost control? I told the officer of the law that I'm almost 40-years-old, I have no need to fight someone on the side of the road. He replied, "if it's any consolation, you would've taken her no problem." With that, he gave me a smile and a laugh and told me how to find my way back home.




Oh. Right. I almost forgot.

She also had a wee little child in the backseat of her Honda as Mr. Patrolman related this to me when he asked her how she would have felt had she actually hit the side of my car and flipped her vehicle with her child in the backseat?

Some parents should really obtain a license to have a child.

Pandemonium In The Court

If you know absolutely diddly-squat nothing of what you are quibbling about, my advice to you then is, shut the hell up.

You just sound stoopid or brain damaged.







I'm just sayin'.

If You Can Hear Me, I Believe

I am not supine anymore and I also can move more than 50-feet away from the porcelain goddess. I also should not wear 5" stilettos to massage therapy school anymore, especially when playing Frogger across 6 lanes of road at 7:45 AM.

I'm just sayin'.

Waking Up Is Hard To Do

Can someone tell me why, an admittedly abhorrent, disagreeable, frightful, ghastly, hideous, lousy and do not forget obnoxious dancer, I. . . errr . . . . I mean, they would purchase "Dance Dance Revolution Universe 2" to play on their husbands XBox 360? And then wonder in complete and utter astonishment as to why they are failing miserably on the beginner workout level? Really. This needs an explanation.

Llamalicious. You'll Laugh. You'll Cry. You'll Hurl.

Buenos dias! Or depending on where you are in this blogosphere of ours, buenas tardes or buenas noches!

I have, yet again, been given another awesome award! This time by Simply Curious Girl. If you haven't checked out her site, please do. She's frank. She's honest. She speaks from her heart with a touch of insanity, wittiness and deliciousness. She says the things most of us won't.

I am not quite sure I'm worthy of such an honor, but I lurves it! And, it's very cute in da face. . . . So, it is with great humbleness I accept this award on behalf of all seven of my readers of whom made this possible. Without you all, I wouldn't be where I am today. "I am Ripper... Tearer... Slasher... Gouger. I am the Teeth in the Darkness, the talons in the night. Mine is Strength... and Lust... and Power! I AM BEOWULF!"

Oh wait. Sorry. Wrong acceptance speech . . . .

I do appreciate that people groove on my leetol teeny blog here in this cyber-space of ours. I'm glad that I can provide a bit of entertainment now and again. So, thank you Simply Curious Nina, your kindness has not gone unnoticed.

Only one request was made of receiving this award. It must be given. So, it is with great pleasure I pass this on to those I haven't in the past:

Ian & Nikki
Iain & Vikki
Cynical Bastard
Mindy Does Minneapolis

You're a couple of my daily stalkerella diva haunts and the reason of many a laugh! Enjoy your new shiny llama award.

Thank You America, and Goodnight

I'd like to thank my parents for always being there supporting me. While I made my future from the day I was a wee small bit. They were always proud of me. It didn't matter if I was making my bed, making dinner, making a soccer tackle or making a mess - they never hesitated to share their pride in me. They taught me to floss, wear sunscreen, don't worry, be nice, make friends, sing if even badly, hold hands, understand, don't judge, live, try, accept differences and dance the tango. It still means the world to me. I love you Mom & Dad, this is for you!



According to Princess, I get to pass on the award. I need to do it now before I forget. This is my first try at something like this and I hope I've done Princess proud. Here goes:

• For Alli, because she has always cared that she's doing the right thing for everyone including herself [and animals] through being caring, sincere and graceful.
  
• For Emmeline, because, like me, she is a mid-westerner, has a kind heart and will stick up for herself all while telling a great story you're sure to remember.
• For Tink of Pickled Beef, because she's funny, b-e-a-you-tiful, intelligent and has a love of sporks like no other.

Though, everyone's a winner in my book. Just because you aren't listed here, doesn't make you a poser. I had to stop somewhere & wait for future love. I heart you all! Time for the nominee's to pass on their love. . . .

Do You Like to Do It Yourself

Apparently, I have a habit that drives the husband batty. It’s something that I have not noticed. Ever. It doesn’t matter if it’s a $20 or $200 bottle of wine, beer, milk, water, tequila, coffee or tea. It's non discriminating, really. Consumable liquids in general are the culprits. Of which I drink a lot of all day long. As well as at each meal.

As I was sitting at a stop light this morning, I took a massive gulp of my recently refilled bottle of Aquafina. And I did it. A secret silent big “ahhhhhh” escaped my lips. I froze. I slipped into a bewildered and discomforted thought, “I DO do it!” And, “it’s unstoppable.”

It’s a good thing he loves me more than my quirkiness’.

Get That Fruity Pebble on the Phone

Hmmm. I have been tagged by Alli (yes, she's running and hiding from me at this very moment, but I will find her. Rest assured). Though, not to shirk my duties as a dutiful blogger - here are the 7 things one may not know about me:

1. I am a major history buff. I am especially enamoured by the Medieval era (AKA: Western Civilization). I am not a lover, as is well known, of the Military Channel that the husband insists (to my great aches & pains) on watching (uh. bor-ring), but every so often there's a good bit of yesteryear . . . *shhhhh. don't tell him*
   
2. I am infatuated with zombies, aliens and ghosts. They may or may not exist, but they make for damn good movies or TV! Have I mentioned, "Sean of the Dead" recently? Right. It's a fantastic movie! Also, I secretly watch "The Ghost Whisperer" and "Most Haunted" every Friday night. If I have to go out during those times I am covertly depressed. Yes, I have TIVO - it doesn't matter, I'm still mournful.
   
3. Scuba diving in the ocean is one of my favorite things. If I could live underwater I would not think twice. And if any of you know what it is like to breath while being 60 to 80-feet underwater watching whole other eco-worlds of fishes, turtles, shrimps, sharks, eels, lobsters, squids and/or corals, you know what I mean. That is my pursuit of happiness.
   
4. I went sky-diving once. I wasn't frightened . . . . . . . . . until I hit the ground and realized what I had just done. My dad didn't talk to me for 3-days afterwards. I will never do that again. It was a one time deal.
   
5. I make friends easier with men. They are much more approachable, non-judgemental, easy going and not as snarky as the ladies. I do believe that men and women can be friends - you have to have the same goals in the relationship to have it work though. I also think this is why I highly value the little group of girlfriends I have. They are important to me because I have so few.
   
6. Since I was 4-years-old, I've wanted to be a veterinarian. I regret that I never tried.
   
7. I know most of the lines to "The 40-Year-Old-Virgin". I first saw that with my parents. When it was over, I looked at my little sister as well as her husband and asked, "did I just see porn with my parents?!"
   

There's more, but you will have to wait until I've been tagged once more.

Because I'm Old[er]

Sunday was the 7th-Anniversary-of-My-29th-Birthday. My friend, Susan, came up for the weekend, which was definitely awesome. This is her:

If you are wondering why Susan looks like the Patio Rules sign, it's because she does.

The husband took us out to Gloria's, an awesome El Salvadoran/Tex Mex restaurant here in this longhorn city of ours this past Friday night. Massive food intake, including Margarita's and Mojito's ensued! Two shared desserts later we wound up at The Covey sharing a bottle of White Star Moet Champagne. In the word's of Borat, "Vary Niiice!"

Bringing my readers to Saturday, the husband took us out for dinner and a band at Central Market for "Burger's and Bach". CM grills burgers, sandwiches and tuna (the tuna was fantastic!) made to order or you can buy any of their drinks, salads or food from their store while hanging around listening to bands play the night away. A group of friends of ours met us out there as well. We stayed laughing, chatting, drinking and eating until the band packed it up. Then, once the 3 of us got home, Susan and I watched, "The Holiday," which is an excellent movie. I highly recommend it!

It's my birthday!
Turtle Cheesecake. . . . mmmmm. . . .

The husband, stealing CM's utensils in massive quantities.
(que "Mission Impossible" theme song)
Yep. The CM Chef caught him.
No jail time ensued. This was good.

The husband was very good to me this year. Too good . . . one of my favorite and most treasured gifts was the Corinthian Bells that I've been wanting for years. They look and sound amazing:

So faith, hope and love abide, these three,
but the greatest of these is love. (1 Corinthians 13)

Finally, we sold Eleanor-the-First, yesterday, on my birthday. This little exchange of supply and demand inhibited us from going to Medieval Times. While you might call me a dork, it is where I wanted to go eat on my birthday. It's supposed to be a really fun time (so I've heard - I can't say, because I've never been). Besides, it was my birthday and I can do what I wanted (even if it makes me a doofus). So there.

Except. . . I didn't. Which is okay too. We hit one of our favorite and cute little bistro's instead. Furthermore, consuming ice cream birthday cake from Marble Slab. Yum! We also settled in for some Zombie killing on the XBox 360. Sleep came pretty quickly. All in all a pretty darn good weekend, if I do say so myself.

Bye bye Eleanor.

One down, one to go

P.S. Happy birthday to my big brother too. He was born on the very same day only a year ahead of me. Hey. . . Age before beauty. . . !

My Husband,The Foreigner

On Saturday night, we were out to dinner with all of the husbands family to celebrate his Grandmother's 84 birthday. Yes, yes, Grandmother is wise beyond her years and a whole lotta fun too! We are already planning for her 85th!

But my point is, that we are talkers - all of us. Imagine, me, the Queen-Bee-of-the-Talkers with a whole family of talkers. And, even if we are all talking at once, we still know what everyone else has just said. It's remarkable! It also results in never a dull moment. . .

kat: . . . babies have the capacity to learn any language in the world that first year of their life! It's amazing! But the window closes after a year and it's not as easy for them to then learn a different language, even though they are still a sponge. *holding her/our newest family member 2-month old, Mallory*
me: I didn't know that! That's cool! *complete astonishment*
the husband: really? That is cool!
me: I wish I was bi-lingual. . . . *wishing*
the husband: oh, we're gonna be!
me: yep. We've been talking about taking another language together . . .
the husband: not French. . .
me: something more-like, Spanish! *finishing his sentence*
the husband: yeah! I'm going to be bi-lingual in, like, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Australian!

Excellent! Buy Me a Monkey

A friend, a few years back, affectionately nicknamed me, Amazonian Princess. This did not offend me, because 1) a friend named me and 2) it's appropriate. I am Amazonian. I am not a princess or any sort of the monarch royalty by birth, but I can act like one of the best of 'em - just ask the husband. He'll tell you, but he is my husband and he can say these things without the threat of death by sporking lying over his cute little face. And most times, the husband will say I'm justified. So there.

At least I know it and freely admit it.

However, there are times that I do not know what to do with it, especially when it comes from someone I barely, if even, know . . . .

tri-man-athl: you must've been a swimmer previously . . . or . . . you must lift weights, because you have back muscles just like a man. . .
me: uh. No. I never swam, but - uh - I do lift weights at least twice a week. *could the earth immediately please split open and swallow me whole*
tri-man-athl: really. You have huge back muscles! *astonishment*
me: you really know what to say to a woman to make her feel just like a woman, huh. *kill me now. just kill me*

Really. Is that a compliment? Is that just plain scary? Or is that just a scary statement about me? Should I be scared? Should I have sporked his face off? I feel as if I'm in a bit of a conundrum here.

You see, deep down I want to be pretty. I want to be smart. I want to be a lady. I want to be able get off the Titanic first. I want taxi's to stop for me. I like being assessed by my shoes. I like being a slave to fashion. Finally, I like my girlie parts of me. What I do not want is to have a. well. muscled. man's. back.

Do you think chocolate will solve this problem?

Being a woman is a terribly difficult task, since it consists principally in dealing with men.
~Joseph Conrad~

$25.00, A Piece of Pizza and Some Dignity

me: ow! *finally finding the husband at the computer looking up bike racing information*
the husband: what's wrong, baby?
me: ow! *pointing to my thighs*
the husband: *laughter*
me: seriously. The hills and I have an understanding. . . . . . . we hate each other. I tried to tell you. And, just to reiterate, ow!
the husband: are you going to be okay? *baby voice followed by more laughter*
me: no. *I am a baby*
the husband: it's good for you. . . . . What would you like me to do? *laughing and laughing and laughing*
me: you did this on purpose *almost, but not quite crying*
the husband: welcome to my world! *then with a ninja stealth-like maneuver deliberately taps my iliotibial band*
me: aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! *explodes through roof of house*
me: that's not funny! *musn't cry. mustn't cry. I'm not a baby. I'm not a baby.*
the husband: *laughing uncontrollably*
me: you'll pay for your sins. . . . . . . you'll pay. *limping off to a corner to lick my wounds*

Perfect For the Everyday Super Hero

The husband may just be right. I may have no shame, but these people have less than I:

Best of Craig's List

Are There Any Hobbits Still Left in America

Do you ever have one of those days where nothing you can say or do seems to be right?

Welcome to my day.

Appeasing the "Explanation Request Gods" Addendum:

I am not in the habit of either of these two individuals, but one day, in a galaxy far far away, I was flipping through the TV channels only to find Oprah talking with Miss Janet Jackson sans wardrobe malfunction. Apparently, at this time, Janet had recently turned the big 4-0. Insofar as much as I can remember, here's what Oprah had to say: "what's it been like for you to turn forty? I ask this because, I have found that when I had turned forty, I stopped caring about what other people thought of me. For example, am I good enough, am I happy enough, was or wasn't I offensive, does someone like me or not, etc., etc., etc.? It just wasn't in me to care much about what others thought of me. It was very freeing to have that thought . . . ."

Essentially, if I got this one right, Oprah was saying: I am what I am. Either you like me for that or you don't. To the same degree, it no longer bothers me.

I want to be forty.

Maybe You Should Try Prozac (Part II)

Pre-duathlon conversation (in fact, 2-days prior):

the husband: honey, you are going to ride the Ride for Heroes this Saturday, right?
me: um. I don't know. . . I'm not sure I'm . . . .
the husband: good! 'Cos I signed you up to do the 35-mile ride!
me: sigh.
the husband: what's that for? It'll be fun! And there's hamburgers at the end! *skipping ever-so-lightly away before un-planted flowers could hit him in the head*
me: *detonating* could someone please explain to me as to exactly why I married you?

Maybe You Should Try Prozac

the husband: Okay! We're both signed up! *big, big smile*
me: for what?
the husband: for Sunday!
me: what's Sunday?
the husband: the duathlon! *skips away*
me: okay. . . huh? What? Wait! Get. Back. Here. . . .

Am I the Only One Who's Scared Up In Here

For those of you who feel slightly hornswaggled by my last posting. I must apologize as well as cleverly come up with another subject for your reading pleasure. . .

I have been contemplating lately that it's been a long time since I've been put together and appropriate in my appearance. I live in workout clothes and ponytails every day. This has made me realize that my level of acceptable appearance in public has diminished greatly over time, especially since I no longer work professionally. In an office. In the public. My acceptable level of appropriateness is so minuscule to me that I now do what I never said I'd do even if I got hitched, which is go out in public sans makeup or not even brushing the hair. That's what ponytails and hats are for anyway. Why bother? This; however, is not a pretty sight to see or, to quote the 40-Year-Old Virgin, "this is not a good look for me!" It's a wonder people don't run from me as if I've just sporked my own eye out and left it there to hang in all its glory.

Furthermore, most of you know of one of my afflictions called, you-will-be-carded-until-the-day-you-die. (I know! I know! Most of you are shouting, "Oh. Just SHUT UP about this already!") But you see, it's not flattering to me. It never has been. Sure, it would seem to be a fabulous affliction, but I can assure you it is not. I constantly get carded if I try to purchase the fire water, enter a pub or do anything that has any remote possibility of running into alcohol. Always. It's not complimentary, mainly because people are just rude about it. Rudeness does not make one feel young and oh-so-pretty, witty and ni-iiiiiiiice. And then, they. Don't. Believe. Me. Short of me giving them my first unborn, of which I don't even have yet, as evidence to point out the contrary that they are wrong I cannot get them to believe me. I do have proof that I am over the age of 21. *** I carry my Texas appointed drivers license with my official and bona fide birth date listed. I wouldn't even know where to get a fake ID these days. I graduated college almost 13 years ago and I also don't hold/have any questionable friends these days that could help me out with these types of things.

My point is, is that I went to the grocery store last night to pick up a few items for dinner. You know, green beans, milk, cottage cheese, potato rolls and a pack of Shiner Light. I headed to the express check out. There in the 15 Items or Less aisle, was a girl of about 18-years of age checking out groceries. She was amicable enough until she got to my pack of beer. I should mention here, that I had just gotten done with a 75-minute workout at the gym. I was sans makeup, in my sweaty workout duds, most likely did not smell like the delicate flower I usually am and had a visor on my head with a ponytail. I did not look well and I didn't really care. I wanted my items and I wanted to go home, shower and make the husband and I dinner. Instead, she looked at me. I looked at her. This conversation then ensued:

18-year-old grocery gal: You're not 21 are you? (Skeptical and disbelieving look followed)
me: yeah, I am actually 35.
18-year-old grocery gal in complete and utter shocking disgust: No. You're. Not.
me: Yes, I am. Do you want to see my ID?
18-year-old grocery gal viewing my ID and then glancing at me with a look that felt as if I'd purposely turned something off inside me that caused my brain to slowly leak out my left ear. This look made me nervous and completely uncomfortable. It showed as I anxiously laughed and put away my Texas ID.
me: I'll be 36 at the end of April.
18-year-old grocery gal non-believing: Yeah. Right.

___________________________________________________________________

*** Even when I am with the husband, I still get carded - he does not and he is FIVE YEARS YOUNGER THAN ME. Do you know how frustrating that is?

Bou-Yah

The husband warms up with sponsors Pearl Izumi of Fort Worth, Cliff Bars/Shots and Colonel's Bicycles of Fort Worth

The husband is in his team jersey (yellow with blue/black sleeves on the far right)

The pace line. The husband is last in this line. . . .

but first to cross the finish!

I am insanely happy for him! He finished first overall in his category this Sunday morning - even with daylight savings in working order. It was the husbands first win since deciding he would recreationally race on two-wheels. Maybe he is not so crazy after all.

Give that man a yellow jersey!