The Garage Sale

Nancy and I conceived the plans for our blessed event about three weeks ago. Okay, maybe two weeks ago. Anyhoo, we planned it in plenty of time to place the ad in the newspaper there, the one that requires a two-week notice (that would be the Jefferson County paper, since that's where Nancy lives). So I knew the big day was coming, and each and every night when I went to bed, I told myself that tomorrow I would start getting my garage sale stuff together to take to Nancy's. And every day I avoided doing exactly that...right up until yesterday...the day before the sale...I finally started sorting through the crap and loading up the car. Once it was filled to the brim, I headed to Dandridge to unload and do the set-up. But all we really accomplished was the unloading. The set-up? We could put that off until five minutes before our first customers drive up at 7 a.m. because that's how we roll. Why do now what we could put off doing until later? We were also trying hard to ignore the weather forecast, which called for rain, rain, and more rain.
I drove back home last night after a relaxing (because God knows I need to relax) visit with Nancy and the grandkids (no garage sale bullshit was going to interfere with our fun, no sirree), with plans to load up my car with the remainder of my junk, get a good night's sleep and head back to Dandridge bright and early. But, the closer I got to home, the less I felt like being all physical, so naturally, I just came home and watched t.v., then went to bed. When I woke up this morning to the sound of a downpour, I knew our garage sale was a bust. After all that effort, after all that hard work. Nothing. Actually, there may be pockets of sun here and there today, which could mean a customer or two, but Nancy assured me she could handle that alone and I could just plan on coming up in the morning. After all, it's a two-day event. So I'm left with this whole day to gather more of my junk and get it loaded into the car. But I don't really want to start on that right this minute. I just want to sit here and drink my coffee and read the newspaper. Maybe I'll get to that garage sale stuff later on. Maybe.

A Chip Off The Ol' Block

PhillyTwo is in Vegas this week...well, since last Thursday...visiting Bud, who has been living out there for a few months. Bud fancies himself a pretty good poker player, but on Monday night when he and PhillyTwo played in a poker tournament at Binion's, she left him in the dust. She took first place and he took doodly squat. (That's my girl!) Of course, along with the first place prize money, she got an automatic entry into Binion's Sunday Championship Tournament. And as she has mentioned to me on the phone no less than ten times since her win, she'd really, really like to play in it. As of last night, she was thinking about cancelling her Thursday flight so she could do just that. And I don't blame her. I'd probably do the same thing. And as it turns out, Bud is over Vegas (not as in, the King of Vegas, but as in, the job is not panning out) and is ready to come back to Knoxville. And what better time than the end of the month? (That's a big NO to the August rent payment) And he'd have someone to drive back across the country with...hopefully, the Championship Tournament winner!

Mum's The Word

Ron (after he had taken a few bites of his lunch): Did you think this tasted a little sour?
Me (having already eaten the same thing a little earlier): Nooooooo. Not at all. I thought it was gooood.Mmmmm.

Nevermind that I got up this morning while he was still sleeping and added a little (what's a little?) vinegar to the crock pot where he was doing an overnight slow cook on a roast beef and veggies. I just wanted to see if it would affect the taste. Trust me when I say it was beyond sour. I wasn't about to tell him that I was the one who ruined the hell out of that meal. That'll be our little secret.

One Perfect Summer Night

I was just about thirteen or so,
We had a party on the patio,
Played some records on the stereo,
Bermuda shorts and loafers, we were good to go.

It was great just to be alive
In the summer of '65.

Called all the boys in the neighborhood,
Lured them in with some silly food.
Once they were there, we knew that Percy would
Get them in the proper make-out mood.

That's how it was, we were so alive
In the summer of '65.

A sudden shower couldn't ruin our night,
The basement was the perfect snuggle sight.
And afterwards the girls all spent the night,
We talked and talked until the morning light.

Lord, it was nice to be alive
In the summer of '65.

Facebook Frenzy

I know I laid into Facebook once before, but there's so much going on there, that I have to go back to it. First, let me say that I think Facebook is great. Great in concept, that is. Reconnecting with old friends. Staying in touch with family. Albums of vacation, graduation, party, old school and family pictures to browse through, laugh at, and make fun of. It's all good. But then there's that other stuff. The mafia wars, the pillow fights, the "what's your ghetto nickname?", the "how well do you know Bobby Joe Johnson?" shit that ab-so-lute-ly baffles me. What in the name of status update is going on with all of that? I mean, I like knowing what everybody's doing. I'm nosy like that. And I may even join a group or two. But I'm never going to play a game called Farmville. Not now. Not ever. I'm just not a fan.

She Won't Be Back Anytime Soon

I was glad PhillyTwo was "home alone" Sunday morning, but I'm pretty sure she was sorry she had stopped by the ol' hacienda instead of hightailing it back to her bachelorette pad in the wee hours of the morning. We just happened to be the closest choice, and as it turned out, that was most unlucky for her, but pretty damned lucky for us.
It was probably mid-morning when the incident occurred, so Ron and I were out smacking eggs (golf). Poor little Fred couldn't wake PhillyTwo from her coma when the urge overtook him, so he proceeded to gallop hysterically around the kitchen, allowing a steady stream of brown liquid to spew from his butt. Apparently it was a huge stinky mess, which called for fast action from the unfortunate smeller/discoverer (PhillyTwo) when she finally arose from the dead, probably around noon. Just glad it wasn't me who walked into that sewage plant. She dived in, so to speak, and quickly righted things in our kitchen. We were so grateful that we treated her to a nice dinner out, because, really, what is the going rate for cleaning up buckets of doggie diarrhea?

Let's Be Honest

Al Sharpton speaking directly to Michael Jackson's children at his memorial service:

"Wasn't nothing strange about your daddy. It was strange what your daddy had to deal with."

Oh really?

You don't think it was strange that his skin had changed from black to white?
You don't think it was strange that his nose looked like it was plastic?
You don't think it was strange that he always wore eye make-up and lipstick?
You don't think it was strange that he invited little boys over to his house to spend the night...in his bed?
You don't think it was strange that he dangled his baby off of a balcony?

Why not say, "Your daddy could sing and dance like nobody's business, but other than that, wasn't nothing normal about him." That would have been more accurate, Al. An untimely death doesn't change the facts.

No Reason This Can't Be Fun

We were finished playing tennis Monday night and I was inches from a clean get-away, when I committed the fatal error. What I said was, "Good luck with your son's wedding this week-end." What I should have said was, "see ya next week", because that one passing comment led to an hour-long wedding commentary. The most poignant feeling I detected from the conversation? Dread.
She and her husband are traveling to another city, staying in a luxury hotel, hosting (footing the bill for) a roof-top barbecue (rehearsal dinner) for ninety-five essential people (essential, according to the bride), watching their son join in holy wedlock to a wonderful (I assume) girl, and afterwards, partying like rock stars on the bride's family's tab. What's to dread?
I mean, I get that you're worried that something could go wrong with the one event they've entrusted to you, but it sounds to me like you've covered all your bases. You ordered pork for the masses, vegetarian barbecue for the health-conscious friends and chicken for the Jewish relatives. No one could accuse you of being thoughtless or insensitive. Yes, it could rain, but it probably won't and you have no control there. And as I pointed out, as long as there's alcohol, people will be happy.
And speaking of alcohol.... you're gonna need to start front-loading...now!

Sarah Palin

When I was just a little girl
I asked my mother what will I be?
Will I be pretty? Will I be rich?
Here's what she said to me

Que Sarah, Sarah
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours to see
Que Sarah, Sarah

When I grew up and became Gov
I asked Todd Palin, what lies ahead?
Will I ruin the chance for McCain to be Pres?
Here's what the bastard said

Que Sarah, Sarah
You let the whole country see
What an idiot you could be
Que Sarah, Sarah

Then I decided on my own
Alaska could bite me, I'm moving on
I could be President, I could be Queen
The sky is the limit for me

Que Sarah, Sarah
Apparently you can't see
Your career is now history
Que Sarah, Sarah
What will be, will be.

I'm Almost There

Ron and I finally took the plunge. We traded in our dinosaurs for a new Blackberry (him) and a new Smartphone (me). Being the technologically challenged person that I am, getting up and running on my phone was like scaling the side of a rocky cliff wearing a pencil skirt and stilettos. Ron, on the other hand, just carried his Blackberry to work with him and let a tech-savvy co-worker set it up. It probably took the guy all of eighteen seconds. He would have done it faster, but just for sport, he did it blindfolded, using only the fourth toe of his left foot. I, on the other hand, struggled for hours and Josh, from Verizon tech support, will be spending Christmas with us this year. I still haven't seen the top of the mountain yet, but I have a dream...that one day when I'm in the Cash Cab, and I'm stumped, I can phone a friend. Or...I can cheat, by just Binging the answer with my Smartphone.

Here's To Ya!

OMG! Has it been a whole year since I left the dysmorphic confines of the City County building? Time flies!
So join me in a toast to the CC building and it's wonderful, multi-stalled bathrooms...because, really, who doesn't want to do their business in one of those lovely places? Privacy would have afforded dignity, and dignity was completely against government policy. The only alternative was to hold it 'til you got home and that was just plain unhealthy, and could have resulted in an even greater loss of dignity. Salute!