Saturday, July 31, 2010

Wild Blue Yonder

The airfest is in town and this year--for the very first time--we are going. This may not seem like a very exciting thing to report (or, perhaps to many of you, a very exciting thing to attend), but as someone who grew up in the landing pattern of O'Hare, whose father worked at O'Hare, whose parents lived in the flight pattern of the Goodyear Blimp (seriously!) and who has enjoyed air travel more than a time or two (well, besides that horrific flight to Tampa--did NOT enjoy that), this is indeed an exciting adventure.

Three Hawk and Argo Warrior Princess inquired if we would like to go to the airfest. Argo knows of my love of planes because we sat directly under the planes as they landed at O'Hare while in attendance at the Xena Convention. That's a true friend--someone who is willing to eat her sub sandwich while planes are only a few hundred feet over head, rattling ear drums and sputtering airplane soot on our heads. Anyways, they thought I might enjoy attending the show; I agreed that I would indeed like to check out the birds and so we have big plans today.

The Addiverse's location is not exactly teeming with airplanes. Oh sure, there is a big enough airport (who found it necessary to put the word "Chicago" in its title, even though we don't live in Chicago, are not exactly near Chicago and have nothing to do with Chicago), but the majority of planes that go in and out of there are "Big Brown" planes that fly in the middle of the night or unidentified armed forces planes with practicing pilots making giant circles. There are a few other planes (which stop me in my tracks when they fly over--that's how weird it is to see planes in the area), such as a daily 737 ish commercial flight going to Vegas or Florida, but that's about it for the big boys. We have the run of the mill private planes zipping around but they are more like mosquitoes instead of real planes. (I always say, "be careful for what you ask" when people in town lament that there is not enough air traffic in town....those people obviously didn't live anywhere near a runway in their lives. Those who have--including the people who live by the runway in the Addiverse-understand why I say this. A busy airport comes with a price.)

Yesterday, while driving & eating some form of grease product from Taco Hell (no offense to Taco Juan), I heard the rumble. (No, not my belly from the food.) Most people wouldn't have thought twice about it, but it wasn't lost on me. It was the sound of a jet taking off. Not a commercial jet--an armed forces, serious business jet. Note that I was nowhere near the airport. It's just that the plane is that loud and that I am that attuned to hearing planes. I watched the sky (while eating and drinking, which should be illegal as it is more distracting than texting & driving in my world) and sure enough, there it was. ZOOOOOM! Overhead it went. I practically dropped my entire chalupa into my lap it was so exciting. It was some form of military jet. (I apologize to those who serve in the armed forces for not knowing what branch of the military. I'll get back to you on that after I attend the airfest and learn more.)

While seated at my desk yesterday, I heard many a plane practicing for today's event. I couldn't exactly run outside every time I heard one, so I was left to imagine what was flying overhead. I missed the entrance of the blimp to our community, but one of our friends dog did not miss it--I guess the Snoopy blimp scared the piddle right out of him. (If you haven't ever heard a blimp fly overhead, I suggest you try and do that some day. It has it's own very specific sound. I could hear it coming when visiting my parents in California. Hard to describe, but very distinct.)

This morning, it is raining....but I am confident the weather will clear up before it's time for the planes to take to the sky. The good thing is that there are plenty of planes and exhibits on the ground to enjoy while the skies remain cloudy, lots of grease-soaked food to eat (I imagine a funnel cake is in my future, most likely fried in some non-vegetarian beef fat) and the blimp will most assuredly be parked on the ground (close up viewing!). We can talk about air flight horror stories (only if Cool Mama and Lady Di were there to join in the discussion about the Tampa flight), air flight cool stories (flying on a 747 is cool), can't-believe-I-flew-on-it stories (did I really get in that four seater plane and fly to Vieques with Dos Marias...with a pilot who looked like he was 12 years old and was wearing a shirt that wasn't buttoned?), lost luggage stories, favorite airplane movies. (Airplane? Airport? Airport 77? Top Gun? Con Air? Flight Plan?). I'll try to take lots of photos (don't you just love the age of the digital camera--take a billion photos, keep three or four of them), try to stand in some form of jet wash, try not to get a strained neck from looking up--in other words, it will be an awesome time. I'll reminisce while standing in the landing pattern and I will admit never wanting to parachute while stunt people throw themselves out of planes. Most importantly, I'll be with my nerdy peeps who love airplanes. Off we go--kinda sorta--into the wild blue yonder....

Monday, July 26, 2010

One and Twenty

Happy Birthday, Lucy! My how time flies--our little ball of fur is already EIGHT years old. Seems it was just yesterday we were bringing her home and freaking out because she would scream whenever we'd try to put a leash on her.... For her birthday, I am giving her a gift that is priceless and that will truly be appreciated by the Bark of Poteidaia--a "Bitty Bichon Free Day." I will ensure Lucy does not even have a Bitty Bichon sighting on her day of whelping. That is by far the best present I could ever give her.

Way back when I was in girl scouts, we used to sing a song called "One and Twenty." I doubt anyone besides my sister (who has an amazing ability to recall songs from our childhood) remembers the song. I think we sang it when people went to hide--like when you are counting during hide and seek--I don't know why else we would have been singing the song--my sister is free to step in and refresh my memory at any time--but, we sang it and it was very catchy. "One and twenty, two and twenty, three and four and five and six and twenty, twenty seven, twenty eight, twenty nine.......thirty!" Ad naseum.

So, today when I was out walking, I was thinking about one and twenty....because I was thinking about twenty years ago. As I'm wobbling down the street (chugging? plodding?), I'm thinking about how twenty years ago I'd go out for an hour run and be disappointed if I didn't run 8 minute miles. Today--I walk-jog two miles and pray for 15 minute miles. I started thinking how much twenty years really does make a difference. Ten years--kinda, sorta. Twenty years--woof.

The photos of Lucy have nothing to do with what I am writing except that it's her birthday and she deserves to have her photos on the Internet.

Twenty years ago when I was a runner (not a walker or jogger--a runner), I did indeed weigh more than I do now....but, I was almost twice as fast and my thighs didn't rub together back then. This afternoon, I'm walking and sweating and puffing and I'm thinking about how much it sucks to have your thighs rub together when walking. This rather pisses me off and thus turned in to kind of a good thing because it made me walk a little faster. Note to self: buy Vaseline next time at store to slap on thighs before next walk.

One of my goals is to complete a marathon before or while I am fifty years old. That sounded like a grand plan when I ordered my license plates (yes, the number one reason my plates "say" what they do is to inspire me to complete a 26.2 marathon in 2012, provided the world does not end in 2012). While I have two years to train, I'm thinking this would have been way easier twenty years ago when my thighs didn't rub and my knees were still on good terms with me. When I begin to doubt that I can reach this goal, I remind myself that Oprah finished a marathon when she was 50....so, why can't I? I've done a half marathon...what could another half be? I didn't say I want to run it--I just want to finish it. Oprah, Oprah, Oprah. I can do it! As long as I get a vat of Vaseline, I can do it....

Twenty years ago, I did indeed run a half marathon. Of course, back then, running 13.1 miles was much easier than it would be today....I was running nine or ten miles a day twenty years ago; in fact, I'd run an hour a day for five days in a row and be no worse for the wear. Today, I can walk/jog for 30 minutes every other day--if I try and do more, my knee starts swearing and the ball of my foot starts pounding (a new development in the Addiverse--who knows why that nonsense started). This makes training for a 26 mile course a bit more complicated--there is only so fast I can build my distance or speed. July has been about re-building a two mile walking base. August will be the three mile base plus a bit more speed. September will be about the five mile weekend walk.......

Or, so I say from the couch.

There are some positive changes that come with my twenty years. Safety first--I now walk wearing a little wristband with all my emergency information on it and I carry a cell phone; twenty years ago, my mode of protection was not brushing my teeth before running (hoping to scare off any would-be rapists with my foul morning breath)......

.....Twenty years ago, I didn't have the best or most expensive running shoes--I bought whatever was sale or what looked good. These days, I wear the best shoes my money can buy, because my body parts demand the best support they can have. I look good and feel good.....

.....Twenty years ago, I literally ran into a parked car (ah, the euphoria of running for an hour--must have been on a runner's high when I ran smack-dab into that parked car); today, I don't walk into anything--I give wide berth to most objects and always respect the distortion from my trifocals.....

.....Twenty years ago, I purposefully and proudly wore those hideous running shorts; today, I wear whatever will cover the majority of my cheesy wiblets--trust me, this is a very good thing. Those shorts didn't (and still don't) look good on anyone. I think my shorts scared away would-be rapists, not my bad breath.....

....Twenty years, I didn't have two dogs. Heck, I didn't even have one dog. See? One and twenty....it's all good. Now, to find something that will keep my thighs from talking to each other....

Friday, July 23, 2010

Lost and Found

It has paid off handsomely to be a bitch, which is a good and bad thing.
The top brass at work brought me lunch earlier in the week, literally bringing my favorite meal to my desk. How awesome is that? They transferred the best manager to my department to help me. They haven't re-thought my insubordinate behavior. I'm still embarrassed by my behavior, but heck--seems to have worked out just fine. Talk about rewarding bad behavior....

Yesterday, fate must have intervened with an incident right outside my office window (the one I crawled through last year, I might add). As I was pulling into the parking lot, I noticed someone had parked right in the the four way street in front of the building. My first thought was, "what moron would park there?" but, I quickly replaced that thought with, "man, it would suck to have your car die right there." I then noticed a very elderly man standing in the rain. He was well dressed and unfamiliar, so I knew he wasn't one of the homeless, mentally ill or prostitutes from the area. Thankfully, he didn't look like one of my clients, as it would really suck if one of them "escaped." Great Grandpa looked very, very, very confused. As dementia and confused older adults are now my specialty, I quickly surmised that this guy didn't have a clue to even come out of the rain and that he didn't know where he was--he obviously had a bad thing going on in the dementia department. I went over to him and got him to come stand under the overhang, all the time trying to figure out who he was. He was soaked to the bone, glasses now steaming up. I finally got out of him that he was looking for his barber....um, hated to tell him--no barbers around us....but, I didn't tell him that, as I didn't want him to get back into his car, which I had now learned was the one parked in the street. He most certainly thought he had legally parked. I found out Lost Leroy was 97 years old. Ninety seven! LL couldn't answer many of my questions. It was heart-breaking....

.....but how awesome is it that fate brought him to our building, to our program, where our specialty is people with dementia? He couldn't have accidentally ended up anywhere better. Fate served him well, as I almost never am in my car at that time of day and only because I was in my car did I see him. That my bus drivers just happened to be standing there at that time of day was even more miraculous. Fate is a very good thing in ol' Leroy's case.

Suffice it to say, my bus drivers and I were able to get him not to go back to his car (that was quite the feat), got the keys from him (which was a bigger feat) and kept him occupied until the police came (the biggest feat of all). He never got to the barber, but instead got a ride to the hospital. Lost Leroy was then found, as my staff figured out where he lived (a retirement community). He was most definitely not supposed to be driving; no one was quite sure how he had gotten the car. (I never figured out whose car it even was.) LLeroy's days are most limited in the retirement home--I hear the nursing home calling.

By the way, he did indeed look as if he needed a hair cut.

And so, dear blog readers, I am happy to report that I am still employed and LLeroy has been found. ...can't argue with that kind of day......

Saturday, July 17, 2010

One bite at a time

Ah yes, it is actually after 11 PM and I am still wide awake, which in this case is a good thing because I never got around to writing a blog this week, so why not write it while I'm still upright? I've been way overwhelmed these days, too distracted to stay on blogging task. I don't know why I am awake, but I am, so no sense arguing.

Before I get around to any more nighttime rambling, I'd like to give a big shout out of get well soon wishes to Bitty Bichon, who had the distinct pleasure of being as they say "fixed" last week. I never understood that term--it's not like she was broken or anything. Those staples are making everyone's life a bit more complicated at the gaybors' house and so I give a shout out to Cheeseball Neighbor, too--you're a saint.

Ah, the elephant. It's been a crazy, crazy week in the Addiverse, so crazed that at one point I just froze. There was too much to do, too many things to think about, too many things going wrong, too many stressors making my "what you think is what you get" mentality frazzled beyond compare. While I stood there frozen, I tried to tell myself, "I can do this," but I most certainly did not think that I could. All the positive self talk fell on deaf ears. That's when the elephant came to mind.

It has been asked, "how do you eat an elephant?" And, the answer is, "One bite at a time." With this little diddy, I was able to unfreeze and move slowly toward addressing everything in my way. I went on line, found the picture of the elephant, printed it out and posted it on my monitor, on my desk, on my date book. I then assured myself I could indeed eat this elephant one bite at a time.

It worked swimmingly and I begin plugging along, tackling little problems first, moving my way up to the bigger things on the "oh-my-god-how-am-I-gonna-do-this? list."

Then, something went terribly wrong. That elephant went screaming down the street and I was left to my own devices. Every coping skill I have ever learned--or taught--went flying out the window, never to be seen again.

It might have been the stress. It might have been hormones gone awry. It might have been some form of mental illness surfacing. It might have been trying on those dress pants for a presentation and they wouldn't even go on all the way, let alone button. Whatever IT was, it was not a pretty site and I snapped.

Unfortunately, my snapping came at a VERY inopportune time. The "F" bomb, followed the word "you" and a very specific person's name, along with a shaking finger pointing, tears flying and my very own spittle spitting, came soaring, screaming out....at the place of which I do not speak, at a person who would be in charge of me if I did indeed speak of such a place.

Oh dear.

Like the BP oil well spewing oil into the Gulf, I was belching up hate and I couldn't plug the leak. There was no capping this explosion. I was on a roll.

I have no idea how I wasn't canned on the spot but I remain an employed person in the working world, so I guess I will be one grateful psychotic bitch.

I am not one iota proud to admit to such inappropriate, outrageous behavior; but, I always own up to my failings and this is one of them. For the Christians in the room at the time I was "spewing oil," (you didn't think I'd waste my time acting like this one on one, did you?), I admit that I was not Christ-like in any capacity and for this I atone.

So much for that one bite at a time thing.

I find myself wondering if I need hormones, anti-depressants, a slap to the head, shock therapy, an exorcism, a new job or a diet. (Damn, I need those pants to fit!) Whatever it is I need, I suggest to myself I find it rather soon. I do not anticipate I will ever have another opportunity to act in such a manner and continue to find bi-weekly monetary gain in my bank account. I will literally trying to eat elephant ears if that happens.

Right now, I am choking down a HUGE piece of humble pie and enjoying a serving of regret. It doesn't taste very good, I might add and does tend to swim around in my head when trying to fall asleep.

In an effort to get back on my "law of attraction" road to success, I am listing all the things I want (and thus have) in my life.

Eating elephant is not on the list.

Now that I have confessed all this, I am rather tired and I do think I will be able to fall asleep. I thank you for allowing me to admit my faults and for providing me the vehicle to make public amends to those I most certainly owe apology. Purging the soul in a blog format is one way to work a program, I suppose. It won't make my pants fit but it might help me remember to keep the cap on my oil well.

I end with the modified Serenity Prayer, of which you have probably seen before:
"God, Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
the courage to change the things I cannot accept,
and the wisdom to hide the bodies of those people I had to kill today because they pissed me off.

Help me to be careful of the toes I step on today,
because they may be connected to the ass I have to kiss tomorrow.

Help me to remember when I am having a REALLY bad day, and it seems that people are trying to piss me off, that it takes 42 muscles to frown and only 4 to extend my middle finger and tell them to bite me.
Amen"

Monday, July 12, 2010

Bling bling--Take off the Class Ring!

As always, life goes uber-fast. The 30th reunion has come and gone, a blur of fun and fever. Seems like it was just yesterday that I was putting the class ring on in order to generate interest in joining the class reunion antics. On the other hand, it seems like I'd been on the planning committee for about seven billion years. No matter--the reunion has come and gone...and, boy was fun had by all.

Before I departed to join the crusty ol' alumni in the burbs of Chicago, I received an email from Spotted Owl....of which I must share snippets, as it literally made me snort out loud. Spotted owl made suggestions including but not limited to:
"1. No matter how tempting it is, stay off the disco ball."
"2. Doing your bust a hip dance move from the past may just bust a hip this time.....this also goes for shoving yourself in a locker."
"3. You must pick a date to officially retire your class ring...."
"4. Remember that your friends that you would likely call for bail money will probably have already hit the hay for the night, so plan accordingly."
"5. Even if someone double-dog-dares you, do not, and I repeat, do NOT cross the toe fault line when you bowl. They put some major funky was on those lanes and you will end up doing a move that you had no idea you could do. But, wait--that might also require a trip to the chiropractor."

I can assure Spotted Owl that I did indeed stay off the disco ball (which was hard because the DJ was spinning some great music) but I cannot say I stayed off the bar (I was only on their during "Vogue." You can't Vogue without hopping onto the bar, can you?). I don't think I pulled any muscles but I really did have a fever, so that probably kept me from doing stupid-injury-producing dance moves. I took my class ring off late Sunday after the festivities. I did not need bail and I did not cross the foul line.

For those of you who were worried, fear not: I maintained my vegetarian status despite visiting the world's best hot dog joint. Take a gander at the photo collage above to see said hot dog/french fry combo. Now, THAT'S a hot dog. Mustard and french fries. NO KETCHUP. They don't even have ketchup in the place. Throw some salt on those fries and get over it. Skip trying to keep the fries and hot dog separate--it's a package deal--just eat the thing with the fries on it. At the risk the owners will sue me for zillions of dollars (this blog IS international, I am sure), I am posting a photo of me holding a bag of grease--er, I mean their fries--while standing in the inner sanctum (which you can see consists of a counter that is older than me and that hasn't been cleaned since I was five years old). Yes, a bag of fries, grease oozing out the brown paper bag. I figure they were semi-vegetarian....probably fried in giant vats of animal fat, reused and reused since the opening of the place. Okay, so maybe I am no longer a vegetarian. Hard to say.

You haven't lived until you've eaten a rubber dog. Trust me. How can you not love a hot dog that crunches?

Yeah....I think I'll remain a vegetarian and leave the rubber dogs to the wife.

The reunion weekend included many events: a bowling bash (hence, the cosmic bowl look of a peer), a tour of the high school (which was very interesting and quite warm-fuzzy-ing), an actual reunion and a brunch (of which I missed because I was still recovering from the stupid fever thing I had going on). I'm not sure how the hell I am supposed to capture all that in one measly blog entry; heck, I can't even come close to doing it justice. I'd post a bunch of pictures (a picture is worth a thousand words, right?), but it'd take me forever to block out all those faces. Besides, you would miss half the fun of seeing the bubbly look on everyone's faces. (Be my friend on Book de la Face if you really need to see a photo journal of the antics.) The bowling bash was made all the more special because my parents, sister and niece were part of the fun (they are alumni--well, not the niece but who's paying attention to that detail?). The tour was super special because I got to leave my purse behind in the band room (which still had that awful band room stench it had 30 years ago). And, the reunion....

....well, the reunion was off-the-chart fun. Unfortunately, I look rather vampire white in the photos, as I really was sick. I had the chills and a fever and an ear ache and.....I didn't have time for that nonsense. I sucked it up, took a boatload of Tylenol, and forged forward. I didn't wear that class ring for months on end for nothing. I didn't harass people daily via my status updates in an effort to generate interest. I didn't shave my legs and pluck my chin hair for nothing. The excitement knocked that fever right out of the park and I was able to dance on the bar--er, I mean catch up with old friends--at a blistering, fever-free pace. (To anyone who is now sick due to my presence at the reunion: I humbly apologize. I am a selfish pig that gladly shared her germs for her own selfish gain. Send me your Tylenol bill and take comfort in the fact that it only lasts about 48 hours.)

There is something about seeing the "mean girls" from high school....who probably really aren't mean any more but just seeing them scares a little squirt of poop out of you. Well, the mean girls walked in--together, of course--and they still had had a smidgen of bullying power over me. How crazy is that? Mean girls that I haven't seen in 30 years still freaking me out! I got over it quickly....and, it turns out two of them came up to me (individually) and thanked me for organizing the event. I was speechless. Another even sent me a book de la face thank you message. Speechless squared.

Sorry to say--One of the pack was still a bitch. Can't win 'em all.

Thirty years later and I still enjoyed being around the people that made my high school days special. In many cases, the only thing that changed is that people were standing in the doorway because of a hot flash instead of teenage angst hormonal outbursts.

Well, and that we are fatter and grey-er.

And so, the class ring has been removed and safely tucked away....for another ten years. Or, should we make it five? Bling, bling.....I already miss my class ring.......






Thursday, July 08, 2010

Lumber Limbo

The class reunion weekend is FINALLY here. I've been talking about it for months, wearing my class ring in its honor. I've got my reunion t-shirt, I've got my book de la Face reunion status update posts, I've got the tiara shined and polished. I've been studying my yearbooks. I only have a few moments to blog, as I have to pack some delicious outfits for the events...it's hard work being the most under-dressed at every event and on every occasion. The planning of the wardrobe has become a bit more complicated than usual because.....

What IS this photo, you ask? Why, that is our shower and a toilet. Doesn't your shower have sleeping bags and shoes in it? Don't you pee around your clothes hamper? Don't you keep bookshelves in your bathroom?

Alas, the wood floor installation has resumed, so everything had to be moved out of two bedrooms. There are only so many places you can hide things, so we had to resort to shower utilization. It's not like we shower in there or anything. (Yes, we do shower--just not in this particular show.) The dis-assembled bed is now in the living room, the bedroom furniture surrounds the other bedroom furniture, my clothes are in various locations of the abode. This photo illustrated how the furniture surrounds the furniture. I like the way my shoes are perched on top of the dresser. I may have to continue this method, as it's really easy to see what shoes to wear when they are in full display.

If you look closely, you can see my reunion t-shirt in the lower-ish right hand corner of the photo--maroon and white. Woo woo!

I like the way the wife has protected everything by covering things with towels. Safety first!

We are definitely living in limbo. Lumber limbo, that is.

It's really weird that I post photos of our house in limbo, don't you think?

The lumber is very beautiful-- there is nothing like a wood floor-- and I'm glad it's getting installed, but there is just something about being all discombobulated that makes life seem a little more stressful. I haven't found my jewelry box yet....gotta do that before we do the reunion scene--I gotta have my sparkly earrings to match my class ring bling. Ah well, as long as I can find clean undies and keep ahold of my yearbook, I'll be good to go.

It's nice to be such a simple grrrrrl.

Here's what the bedroom looks like right now: a bunch of tools and a bare floor. It kind of freaks me out to see what is "under" all that carpeting or flooring--like, barely anything is under there. (Houses freak me out. I'm not sure how they remain standing. They are really just a bunch of well placed lumber products and some cement. I digress.) I have been told that the entire floor project will be done by the time the reunion weekend is over. I am a wee bit skeptical but this is no time to be putting out negative thoughts; hence, I look forward to posting photos of the finished floor on Monday night.

Don't you just love the color of this bedroom? I do! I would paint every room in the house this color, but that'd be kinda weird. Guess I'll stick with one room being this awesome blue.

Even the dogs are in lumber limbo. They do not know what to think about all this. All they know is (a) they can't go upstairs; (b) we are sleeping on the couches; and, (c) some guy keeps coming in the house and making all sorts of ridiculous noise. Freckles hates change. She looks crabby. I know people say dogs don't have emotions but I believe otherwise--I think Freckles is pissed off that we have upset her little world and she can't find her dog bed. She's wondering why we are making her life more complicated and miserable--everything is slippery and hard and different for her. If she could give "the finger," I know she would shoot us the biggest bird on the planet.

Freckles, you'll have to get over it, as the wife has spent a lot of time and money on this project.

We all better get some little protective slippers for our feet so we don't scratch anything when walking on the new wood floors.....

Soon I will have to wear bubble wrap whenever in the house. There are just too many things I can touch/mark/scratch/dent/ruin.

I'd love to blog more but there are earrings to be found and wardrobes to be planned. Besides, there is only so long I can stay in limbo before I have to get out for a dot....I'm going to the store to buy some bubble wrap and tiara polish. That and some acne cream. Seems I've sprouted some delicious acne for the reunion.

It will be just like high school: zits and hormones. Is this gonna be a great weekend or what?!!

Saturday, July 03, 2010

End of Suffering, Soon to end...via gift Donuts. What else?

Here is a photo of my dog-sitting prowess.
I am mighty impressed with myself that I was able to get all four dogs lined up like that. I wish you were looking at their faces instead of their butts, but it was hard enough getting them lined up and focused on their own bowl of food, let alone turn them around for a candid cell phone shot. For those of you wondering who is whom, that's Brown Dog, Freckles, Lucy and Bitty Bichon (who is definitely much less bitty every day).

Today, in true holiday fashion, I was outside painting the garage entrance door (what the hell do you call that door? It's not the big over head one; it's the regular sized door you go in and out of when not opening the big door). Due to the proximity of the door and the angle at which I was painting, I was unable to see around the corner of the house toward the driveway. Imagine my surprise when two men came around the corner and almost walked right into me. In true surprised fashion, I yelled out,

"JESUS!"

...I clutched my chest and fell backwards away from them.

They scared me and I definitely scared them. They couldn't see me, either and had no idea I was standing there. Despite my surprise, it only took a milli-second to recognize who these well dressed (over-dressed for the weather) middle-aged men were....the Jehovah Witness van had pulled into town.

The fact that I yelled "Jesus!" when they scared me made it all the more rich. I mean, what could be better than yelling, "Jesus!" when the Jehovah witness van pulls up to your house?

The Jehovah peeps have come to our house many a-time before. In the past, I would have (a) snarled at them and told them to hit the road; (b) told them I was a pagan-witch-lesbian-abortion-performing-hedonist; (c) toyed with them and THEN told them I was a pagan-witch-lesbian-abortion-performing-hedonist; or, (d) run quickly away from the door and hid in the lower level. But, today was a whole different day. Today, I was well armed with all my newly-gleaned Bible information (thank you, "working-hard-to-save me work people!").

These two guys didn't know who they were recruiting, that's for sure.

I am all about freebies--I need bingo prizes for work. So, when I saw they had a free Bible book to hand out, I was all about it. First, they gave me the "All suffering soon to end" pamphlet, which I readily took. I was still eyeing the free book but knew I'd have to "earn" it. I knew there was nothing they could say or do that I hadn't heard a bazillion times before at work, so I really didn't care about their recruiting at all. I focused on the free book. Then, they opened their Bibles to point out a scripture from Isaiah...and, incredibly enough, I had just read that passage yesterday (yes, I am serious--I get a nice little diddy every day via email from "The Daily Word," which is a delightful way to start the day) and so I was even more armed with Biblical facts and knowledge than they could have ever anticipated. When I was actually able to quote the scripture, they were very impressed.

Ca-ching! Free Bible Book!

The more-official looking one proclaimed I did indeed look to be someone who was very familiar with "the good book" and thus there didn't seem much more to say. Of course, I wasn't done--I thought they might have more freebies--so, I asked what church they were from. How mean was that? Like I didn't know! They got all proud and puffed up and exclaimed they were Jehovah Witnesses.

Damn, not another freebie to be had. Well, besides how happy they were by the end of all this. I guess they figured their work was done and thus they were on their way in no time....

.....on their way to the Gaybor's house!

Cheeseball neighbor never misses a beat. She waved them off (thankfully, she didn't run them over as she pulled out of the driveway) and zipped off to her unknown-to-me destination. She, too surprised me....just a few minutes later, she pulled up and handed me the "All suffering, Soon to end" pamphlet...and a bag of donuts from DD. "All suffering soon to end, thanks to donuts!" she said.

Amen to that!