Monday, June 29, 2009
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Friday, June 26, 2009
Which brings me to my Robert Burns day, filled with a morning's worth of errands: the pharmacy, grocery store, Dollar General, bank, post office, and library. When I returned home around noon, Big Bore said from another room, "Come here," an inquisitive look on his face.
"What's the matter?" I asked, and came closer to him.
"Did you know you have a big rip in your shorts?"
"Oh, crap!!" It suddenly dawned on me that at the end of last summer my butt had busted through the seam of these purple shorts, and I had forgotten to patch them. I'd just washed them, put them back into the dresser, and spaced out the 6-inch long gaping hole. Now, nine months later, I had put them back on and was displaying my gray Haines all over town!
"No one said a word to me," I told BB. "Do you suppose my T-shirt covered the rip?"
"Well, I noticed it from 15 feet away."
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
Ninja wannabes are challenged by four levels of obstacle courses that are ridiculously difficult. There are 100 contestants to start with, mostly Japanese and mostly men, and maybe only six or seven make it past the timed Level One. Everyone else crash lands in a water pit. Perhaps three or four will get past Level Two, and only a few, if any, will survive Level Three. Getting to the final level is rare, and only two competitors in 12 years have actually completed it to become (ooooooh, aaaaaah) Ninja Warrior!!!! A Japanese sportscaster narrates the action, and there are subtitles provided so the American viewer can follow along.
Why Big Bore is nutty for Ninja is beyond me, but my interest in it goes back to my childhood, when I'd create obstacle courses in our yard. The Ninth Street version of Ninja Warriors consisted of two side-by-side courses that began in the front yard and ended close to the alley out back. The obstacles were whatever I could drag out of the garage: lawn chairs, bikes, buckets, wagons, water hose, etc. Two competitors would run simultaneously over their barriers, to the finish--leaping airborn at the sandpile, grabbing the swingset crossbar, and making a pendulum move to the other side. But, watch out for the clothesline!!!
My big bare feet took on every boy in the neighborhood. I didn't always win, but all good sports know that the victory comes from within. And, anyway, a true Ninja Warrior does not whine, cry, or kick sand in the face of her competitor. There will always be another day to put one's skill to the test. See you at the starting line.
Friday, June 19, 2009
My best memories from college, of course, centered around hanging out with friends, going back and forth to our favorite watering holes--The Pizza Palace and The Basement. The Palace was conveniently located across the street from the campus. The pizza was thin--none of this thick and chewy, hand-tossed, stuffed crust business--and the beer was cheap. Most of my time there wasn't spent eating and drinking, however. I could usually be found playing the pinball machines--specifically "Misso"--with my pal Kathy Mac. We'd spend hours perched on bar stools, each of us in charge of a flipper, racking up game after game and chattering away at ol' "Misso" like it possessed some human element, which I'm sure it did.
"Time to hit up The Basement!!" Friends would load up in my '68 VW Beetle and we'd Drag the Gut (Broadway Street) downtown where this bar was located--in a basement! It had two rooms--one with the bar and loads of tables, and the other one with pool tables and overflow seating. Playing cards was my activity of choice at The Basement--spades or pitch--choose your game, grab three other people, and the night was on. One of my cohorts on the college newspaper staff, a frat guy named Crossan, would bring his typewriter to The Basement to write all his assignments while socializing. Getting quotes, albeit alcohol-infused ones, was a cinch.
There were a bunch of other bars in P-Burg that I hopped around to: The Leather Ball (it burned down), Danny's Tavern (my pick for polka dancing), The Alley (shhhh...gay friendly, but don't tell anyone), Sammy's Club (sadly, Saddle-Head Sam died in a car wreck one night after work), Freckles Melody Inn, and The Idle Hour--home of the one-man polka band. The latter joint is still idling away in Frontenac, but The Pizza Palace and The Basement are long gone, replaced by newer, hipper establishments. Their once-jumping buildings are empty now, gathering dust and cobwebs, but my, oh, my, if their walls could talk!
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Monday, June 15, 2009
Those of you who have gardens no doubt know what I mean about such surprises. You can plant and nurture and pffft--nothing happens, and then something else you didn’t plant just appears on its own and thrives. Go figure. Right now we have wayward morning glory, zinnias, and donkey tail coming up where they weren’t intended. And we have two mimosa trees in back that we’ve allowed to stay around for a while.
The birds “planted” some of the seeds Big Bore fed them over the winter, and we now have about 60 sunflowers in various stages of growth. They are a pain to mow around, but we try to keep most of them going. Here are the results of some unplanned plants from our yard.
1. Smaller of two mimosas
2. Morning glory
3. Zinnia under peonies
5. Violet in the grass
Have a merry Monday and may your life be filled with beautiful surprises!
Saturday, June 13, 2009
The first of our pile of sunflowers is blooming!
Critter has been bothered with some sort of urinary tract problem the past month or so. After two vet appointments and $160.00 in tests, special food, and meds, we are happy to report she seems to be improving. Once Dr. Maureen told us a trick to giving meds (blowing in the cat’s face), Critter was a breeze to treat and now she reminds me when to give her the special food in her special area three times a day.
Big Bore got his summer buzz cut yesterday. He has to start working on his redneck look!
Happy weekend to all!!
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Actually, it sort of had an interesting plot and it wasn't as gross as I figured it'd be, until the very end when still pictures were shown of why these four guys at a bachelor party ended up with hangovers in the first place. I didn't fall asleep, so that's the sign of a stellar production!
I have a tradition of taking my nephews, great and otherwise, to movies that their mothers would possibly frown upon. When my neph Brandon was 13 (he's 38 now), I took him to see Zapped!, which I thought would be fairly tame since it starred two TV heart throbs of the 1980s, Scott Baio (Chachi on Happy Days) and Willie Aames (Eight is Enough). Turned out that the zapping was a magical power one of the boys had to pop open girls' blouses and bras. Brandon salivated throughout the show, bug-eyed, while I prepared an apology speech to Big Sis. I was afraid the only thing that was going to be zapped when I got him home was my sorry ass!!
Monday, June 8, 2009
Today, Aunt Nancy's Boot Camp took us to Cross Timbers State Park, formerly Toronto Lake State Park, where Big Bore, Bo, and I helped clear up two of the trails with some of the real workers. Ever since the state closed the Honor Camp there, cheap labor is no longer available, so The Flaming Bore signed us up for a morning of volunteerism. Escapees from the Onery Camp.
Bo was the stud who moved logs, BB cut low tree branches, and I was Gasoline Girl and sweeper. We worked a little over three hours and did a wonderful job, if I do say so myself. When we got home, we did tick check and cleaned up--then Bo went rampant on Facebook and I fell asleep. He's out fishing tonight with a neighbor kid. Another tick exam may be in order.
Tomorrow may be an off day for Boot Camp. Bo's ankles are bruised from his new hiking boots, and I'm starting to feel guilty. Rest and recuperation may be in order. Maybe. Perhaps. We'll see.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
These just aren’t any old run-of-the-mill plastic snakes, though. These are the deluxe “Magic Grow Super Snakes” that have “authentic details,” and grow to over 48 inches when submerged in water over the course of several days. “Just place it in water and watch it grow, grOW, GROW!!” Well, I’ve been watching for 30 minutes, but nothing has happened yet. By morning, I expect to have the Loch Ness Monster in that pink pail.
If these fake reptiles don’t work, I’m waving the white flag and giving up. My patience is SHRINKING, SHRINKing, shrinking.
(P.S. Does anyone know why this picture kept coming up sideways? It's a horizontal shot.)
Monday, June 1, 2009
I never smoked a cigarette until I was in college, and, even then, I was a member of the Bill Clinton “I Did Not Inhale” Club. I mainly sucked on ‘em to look cool while I was working on the school newspaper staff. A whirl of smoke around one’s head was the sign of a smart aleck writer who thought she was being sophisticated. Gasp, choke.
I could just never get the hang of it. Swallow smoke? No way. Heck, I even had to learn how to blow smoke rings from my little sister, who was 12 years old at the time of my instruction. When I finally figured out that there was a health warning on cigarette packs for a very good reason, I decided to save my hard-earned money and try to find some other way to look cool that didn‘t involved possibly clogging my lungs. Like wearing hot pants. Except I didn’t exactly have the body to carry it off, but that didn’t stop me. Mama Bore’s sewing machine went into overdrive making me one-piece jumpsuit hot pants. My favorite outfit was leopard print corduroy. Grrrr.
Now, how in the world could the flighty Flaming Bore start out writing about BB’s cig cessation and somehow end up discussing a pathetic attempt to look sexy 40 years ago, you ask? The answer is simple. He was smokin’ and I was trying to be. Enough said.