Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Terry Franz has been known as the Car Santa for more than a decade. Twelve years ago, he gave away six cars to people in need. This year, with the help of donations from local businesses, Franz has given away more than 300 cars in Kansas and Missouri. KMBC's Jana Corrie talked with one of the recipients, Connie Hanson, who said the car will change her life. "I don't have to walk to work in the snow anymore. It was getting really cold there for a while," Hanson said. Hanson has been living at Hope House, which is a shelter for abused women. She said the money she was saving for a car can now go to getting a place of her own. "It's one more step past the cycle, past the abuse. He can't take this from me," Hanson said. Corrie reported that the families who get a car also receive gas cards, car maintenance for a year and car seats for children. "I'm excited, just really excited," recipient Natasha Berned said. Berned said she now has a way to take her sick daughter to the doctor. "It's a miracle, it just couldn't have been better timing," Berned said. Franz said he feels good knowing that he gets to change the lives of hundreds of people every year. "I get the greatest job in the world," Franz said.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Monday, December 17, 2007
Your Score: Anne Elliot
64% romance, 52% sauciness, 51% etiquette, 60% intelligence
You're sensible and pragmatic, but also deeply romantic. You've got people-smarts and book smarts, and a fierce inner strength: behind that pleasant facade is a backbone of steel. That's why the Jane Austen heroine you most resemble is Anne Elliot, Austen's most well-rounded and mature heroine. You know your own mind, listen to the deepest yearnings of your heart, and know how to soothe others' ruffled feathers. You keep everything on budget and make sure no one feels left out. You see through the little flaws and foibles of those around you, knowing your friends and family sometimes better than they know themselves. And your wide range of interests---literature, music, travel---makes you an enchanting conversationalist. Luckily for your beau, once you give your heart, it's given forever. May he endeavor to deserve you. Ideal matches: Captain Wentworth, Mr. Darcy, Colonel Brandon, Mr. Bingley Guaranteed heartbreak: Edmund Bertram, John Thorpe, Mr. Collins Not worthy of your affections: Frank Churchill, Henry Tilney, George Wickham
|Link: The Jane Austen heroine Test written by SarahKath on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test|
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Monday, December 03, 2007
Saturday, December 01, 2007
- I showed him where I wanted the ladder for the ceremonial Hanging Of The First Section Of Christmas Lights.
- He glanced at it and told me it wouldn't work, because in case I hadn't noticed, there's a HUGE rose bush in the way.
- I pouted and said "But that's where I want to start!"
- He got the rose clippers and started hacking on my rose bush.
- I got a perverse satisfaction every time my roses stabbed him with their lethal thorns.
- He positioned the ladder.
- I climbed up and attempted to hang the ceremonial First Section Of Christmas Lights.
- I decided I didn't feel like hanging Christmas lights on the house this year.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Thursday, November 29, 2007
- “Wiki” does NOT AND HAS NOT EVER equaled “Wikipedia.” Yes, Wikipedia is ONE EXAMPLE of a wiki. The two terms are not interchangeable. Anyone who spends so much of their lives online while claiming to be a tech-guru (as certain people who shall remain unmentioned) should know this. Because when you say “oh, we have a wiki” and I get excited about it, and then you show me an entry on Wikipedia and I discover that you’re a raving idiot…then I will start calling all of our computers Dells, even though the majority of them are HPs. I know that’ll drive you crazy.
- @ = AT. This is why it is called the “AT SIGN”. Look it up. On Wikipedia, if you must. Here, I'll do the librarian part and link you. CLICK HERE. But do NOT tell me – repeatedly – that I need to stop “using it incorrectly” because you’re reading it like it means something else (about? Approximately? How in the world did you make that jump?). I’m using it correctly. You’re reading it incorrectly. And these are my notes. Take your own next time. And how do you read email addresses, anyway? IdiotAPPROXIMATELY Gmail DOT Com?
- Those signs on the front of the printers that say you need to go to the reference desk and get a card to print something? Totally not fake. You have to A) Go to the reference desk and B) get a card. And the lovely person there will even help you. Wandering around the halls – that you passed not only the reference desk but also the circulation desk and at least 3 employees to get to – and poking your head in various doors (some of which aren’t even library offices – hence the reason they say AU TV on them) asking where the printer cards are makes you look like…well, like you’re an idiot. And judging from the rank insignia on your uniform, you should be able to figure this out by now.
- The fact that the staff association (which I am blessedly NOT in charge of any more) has changed the “Christmas Party” to the “Holiday Party” is not a cause for a major breakdown. It's almost not even worthy of a conversation. No one is trying to tell you that you can’t love the baby Jesus or hang up your holly. There's a really simple explanation: One of the staff officers isn’t Christian. She’s Hindu. And although you might have six heart attacks at the thought of working with a non-Christian, you’re going to have to get over that. And I am now mad at myself that I didn’t think of this last year when I was in charge of this ordeal, because we have a couple more non-Christians on staff, and I never stopped to consider that they don’t celebrate Christmas either, but they sure come to the parties and participate and help out. So now I’m going to go rant at myself for a while.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Sunday, November 18, 2007
- Only one of us got vomitously sick from the weekend's indulgences. I'm happy to report that it wasn't me;
- Several people in the county - who thankfully don't know my name - think that I run around with a pack of alcoholics;
- I have a huge chunk of ice cream cake in my freezer that reminds me every time I look that The Best Friend does care about my birthday wishes, even if it took her a decade to fulfill the ONE REQUEST I've ever made of her;
- The realization that because I have friends like these and a husband willing to put up with an entire weekend of female craziness...I'm a very lucky woman.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
So the big 3-0 is getting closer, day by day. And let me tell you, if I could turn 30 every year, I totally would. I’m getting awesome presents from The Professor.
I got to go see Phantom with my mom and my sister.
This Friday three girls that I met – get ready girls – almost 17 years ago!!! are coming in town for the weekend. We have matured. Slightly. And yesterday, The Best Friend totally spoiled me rotten with a whole day just for the two of us. She took me shopping, and I am now the proud owner of the sexiest black shirt I have ever owned. That might not mean much to you, but let me tell you something…that’s pretty freaking sexy.
Also, I have a new skirt! And a new shirt that manages to display the fact that I have both boobs and a waist, instead of very large borders that go all the way down my body in a non-curvy way.
We spent some therapeutic time in Victoria's Secret, which ended with two absolutely necessary items of clothing. God bless that credit card. And VS free gifts.
I got to go to lunch and have Adult Beverages at NOON! And then, things got really wild. She took me to get my hair done. And I promptly had about 2 inches cut off and got it layered and…holy cow, you’d think I was the first person in the history of the human race to get their hair cut I was so excited.
Then somehow, ten minutes later, I was sitting in a chair in a different salon (all the way across the street from the first) and .. oh the horror… There was a woman spreading hot wax on my face. Which she quickly attached a cotton strip to and then RIPPED OFF OF MY HEAD. Apparently, women do this to parts of their body all the time. Some of those parts make me cringe in fear. I’m stopping with my eyebrows.
To get over the wax experience (The BF will be gloating forever that I admitted it actually didn’t hurt that much), we went back to her place and split a bottle of Pinot. I may have come home to a missing husband and a smelly litter box…but sometimes, that’s just the price you have to pay for looking good
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Saturday, November 03, 2007
Friday, November 02, 2007
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Friday, October 26, 2007
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Monday, October 22, 2007
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Saturday, October 06, 2007
When the Moon is in the Seventh House and the wind blows East by slightly Northeast, miracles happen
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
knowing as you pull out of your driveway that even though rush hour is an hour away, so is your place of employment, and you are on a collision course;
the sound that your thermos makes as you drink the last of your FULL POT of coffee a mere hour and a half after getting to work;
Knowing that you won't get any more caffeine til you get home;
Realizing that you won't be home for another TEN hours;
Listening to your boss pour more of HIS coffee into HIS coffee cup because this morning HE didn't become a caffeine-whore who couldn't get the liquid in her body fast enough;
Realizing that in addition to the fact that you basically just said "whore" to your mother, the pronouns in your last sentence were probably more confusing to every one else in the world than they were to you;
finding out that your StepSon, who was diagnosed with pleurisy four days ago, is right at this moment at the doctor because his temperature spiked up and his symptoms haven't gone away - and then realizing that you will be the very last person to know ANYthing about the situation and you just have to pray that information is sent down the pipeline faster than usual.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Saturday, September 15, 2007
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Note: I lied. There is no ode anywhere in this post. I just like the way the title sounded, and I'm not really a poet. But if you happen to write one, please let me know.
Back in May, I noticed a new structure in the local mud-pit beside my favorite cheap gas station (descriptively named the "Alabama Pit Stop"). The gas station itself is a piece of wonder - it's built from wood that looks like it might have originally been planks of the Mayflower, the owner speaks English in a perfumed haze that drugs you enough to make you think you understand it, and his car is always parked RIGHT IN FRONT of the door, blocking the best spots. But he's got the cheapest gas. And more shiny knick-knacks than you want to look at, except that you can't help it because they're all piled up with the energy pills by the register. And for a while, he had a gambling operation going on inside. He had one of those machines that you drop coins into and hope they land just right on the shelf that goes back and forth so that money will fall off of it. I live in such a hotbed of excitement that I saw lines form for this machine at least twice. And the lines only had about 2 people in them. But still - that's half the population of this side of town. The machine disappeared about 8 months ago, and a new rack of Zippo lighters appeared.
Anyway, back in May, some elderly farmer-type rolled a produce stand into a corner of the parking-lot/mud-slide and opened for business. He had watermelons, tomatoes and apples in May. Which I didn't question, because they tasted awesome - and they were only a 1/2 mile from my house. At the time, the nearest farmer's market was about 40 minutes away. The best friend thought it a little odd, but I assured myself - and her - that he must have a greenhouse somewhere, because now! I had fresh produce on my way home from work! And I started to make plans. Apple pies! Tomato sauce! Watermelon pickles! There was just one problem...
Produce Stand Man was hardly ever open. I get home from work anywhere between 4 and 7 PM, and I only saw him at his stand about once every week. On Saturdays, he was there all day. Well, he was inside the stand. He was usually asleep. The very first time I visited was on a Saturday, around 2 PM. He was asleep. I stood and looked over everything for a minute, but all I really wanted was a basket of tomatoes. I cleared my throat, but the sound of his fan must have covered that. I didn't REALLY want to wake him. He's a farmer, so he must be up before dawn every day, busting his butt to get me the fresh stuff, right? After looking at The Professor waiting in the car a couple of times, I slipped the $2 for the basket of tomatoes underneath his arm so it wouldn't blow away and then hopped back in the car.
I happened to look out of our back window as we started to pull out of the parking lot. When I closed the car door, his internal alarm system must have translated the sound into a get-away car alarm, because he hopped out of the back of his stand, waving his arms around and yelling. And I immediately felt guilty for making this man think he was getting robbed. How do you say "look in the puddle of drool" under your chin before you jump to conclusions" nicely?
I showed him the money, he apologized for thinking a "lovely young thing" like me could be a criminal, and I went on my way. I would go back to visit every couple of weeks. Sometimes he was asleep. Sometimes the entire stand was full of produce with no farmer around to take the money, so I had to decide between not getting any, and trying to find somewhere to put the money for what I had taken without it getting blown across the road. Occasionally, he was actually in the stand AND awake. Sometimes he gave me a free bell pepper, or a couple of free tomatoes, or an apple.
And then all of a sudden, as I was driving home last week, I saw that his ENTIRE produce stand was gone. He took all those lovely vegetables away with him. I felt cheated. I mean, couldn't he at least have put up a "closing soon" sign so that I would now that our time together was almost over? Couldn't he have let me down easy? I'd have appreciated some semblance of an excuse. I bet he found a better mud-pit/parking-lot to deal from, and now he's selling to some other red-head. Typical man to get swayed be every redhead that crosses his path.
Or maybe he decided that being a senile narcoleptic wasn't conducive to making money from a fresh produce stand?
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
2007.08.07 1553 UTC (That's 10:53 here)
Temperature: 93.9 F (We're just gonna go ahead and call this 94, k?)
Dew Point: 73.0 F (well, at least there's something that's not getting higher)
Relative Humidity: 51 % (I'd thank the god of humidity for this low number...but...)
Heat Index: 103.3 F (instead I'm going to thank the god of air conditioners)
Wind: calm (I'm beginning to think that the wind done gone....)
I need a Mint Julip!! Hold everything but the ice.
2007.08.07 1253 UTC (That's 7:53 AM here)
Temperature: 82.9 F (Anything above 75 before 8 AM should be against the laws of nature, and therefore impossible)
Dew Point: 73.0 F (That's not sweat! That's DEW.)
Relative Humidity: 72% (Let's not discuss the fact that by 3 PM, you'll need gills to breather outside)
Wind: calm (Could everyone step outside and blow in the direction of Alabama? Thank you)
Monday, August 06, 2007
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
This Pope is really pissing me off.
Here's the latest of his crazinesses:
Basically, he's edging back towards the old teaching that only Catholics are going to make it to heaven. Did they dig this man out of a hunk of ice frozen from the 3rd century or something?
One of my favorite quotes: "But it is fundamental to any kind of dialogue that the participants are clear about their own identity."
Translation: "Before we talk to you...you...non-Catholics we need to make sure you understand that you are ALL inferior."
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Monday, July 09, 2007
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Monday, June 04, 2007
It's summer! And with that comes the joy of having my stepson. We don't get to spend a whole lot of uninterupted time with him during the school year because even on the weekends, he's busy with lacrosse practice, play practice or just the social life of a teenager. But during the summer, we actually get him for weeks at a time. The down side is that he's 16 and feeding him almost requires someone to get a second job. And...he's got the "unhappy with everything we do" syndrome that infects people of that age group. The up side? The joy that is my stepson. He doesn't find as much joy in this together time as I do, but it allows me a sustained period of time to play "Torture the Teen", one of my favorite games on this earth. According to him, these are the things that I did over the weekend to ensure that he is as miserable as possible. Because I love him that much. Feel free to use these and adapt them to your own home version of "Torture the Teen".
- I made him eat a salad - with something more than lettuce, cheese, croutons and 5 cups of salad dressing. I put carrots and cucumbers on it. I did leave the tomatoes off of his, since I know he can't stand them. But I think the salad situation still goes on the "torture" side of our relationship and not the "love."
- I made him speak to his grandmother on the phone when she called. I would give anything to hear my grandmother's voice again, and he yet he hates to talk to his grandparents. It must have something to do with being 16 and not 29. But these are people that pretty much worship the ground that he, their oldest grandchild, walks on. If you don't want to talk to people who literally think you aren't capable of doing anything wrong....well then, there's not much sense in having the ability to speak.
- I wouldn't let him throw lacrosse balls against the side of the house. I have a crazy love of my windows, and for some reason the thought of him flinging a 4 inch rubber ball at full force against the side of my house makes me nervous. I suggested he bring his lacrosse net over here from his mom's so he would have something to fling the balls into, but of course that was rejected before the sentence was out of my mouth. Reasons for rejecting this perfectly good idea didn't seem necessary to him, so I don't guess I'll ever find out why. It's probably simply the fact that I suggested it, but maybe the possiblity of breaking my windows would make him feel a little better about the fact that I'm ruining his life?
- I didn't buy soda for him (I very rarely have soda in the house anymore), so he only has water, milk, lemonade, tea or sugar-free-kool-aid-substitute to choose from when he's thirsty. I'd even let him have coffee if he wanted it. And we have hot tea. But it will ruin a meal if he doesn't get his carbonation.
- I kept the remote control in my hands or on my lap for 4 entire hours on a Saturday evening. He didn't want to necessarily change the channel. He just wanted to feel in control. But I knew that as soon as a commercial came on, all sense of restraint would vanish and those buttons would start getting pushed. So I was a hard-ass about it.
- I made him go to a family event - a birthday party for two of my nieces/his cousins. I get the fact that he doesn't want to interact with anyone over the age of 18 or under the age of 15 - but that doesn't mean he gets to ignore family. Or miss a chance to fill his stomach for a few hours with food that I didn't have to prepare.
And he's only been here for 48 hours! I have six more days to think of ways to singlehandedly ruin his life for the summer. Why do I have a feeling that the above things will be remembered more than the chicken Parmesan I'm making specially for him (because it's his favorite meal)? Or the fact that I drove 15 miles out of my way to get the kind of lemonade mix that he prefers over the brands they sell at Walmart? Or the clothes he'll get. But that's ok. I'll probably remember the fun I had playing "Torture the Teen" a lot longer than I'll remember making pasta anyway.