I'm SO ANNOYED

Yeah. I'm annoyed today. Everything is annoying me. Do you have days like that? Sure you do. A little empathy here. Thanks. And a hug. Thanks. You are such a good friend.

I need a BB gun. Or maybe a shotgun. I need to kill a bird. There is a bird. A bird from hell. Sent straight from hell to drive me crazy. He perches in the tree right outside my window and chirps. Starting at about 4:00 a.m. It sounds like he is standing on my pillow on his little, stick-like yellow legs, leaning forward and shrieking right in my ear. Literally. He sounds that close. I want to KILL him. OK, get a grip. He's a beautiful songbird, flitting through the air with his lovely wings...nope. I still want to kill him. Blow his freakishly loud little head off. I'm not really going to do it. I do love animals. I wouldn't really kill him. Besides, I don't have a gun.

Then, after staggering out of bed incredibly early because of the bird from hell, I get to school and get ready to show a Power Point presentation to the entire school with inspirational messages from the mayor, etc. and realize. I created it on a computer with a newer version of Power Point and the other computer can't open it from the network because it was created with a newer version of Power Point and the entire school will be ready to watch in, like, 10 minutes and I'm running across the hall from one room to the other trying to get the old Power Point to open the new Power Point presentation because it has .wav files and pictures and I can't possibly duplicate it in, like, 8 minutes when the entire school will be watching and then, once I am sweating down the sides of my new summer top, I realize I can save it as a Power Point presentation instead of a Power Point show and the old program will recognize it so I do that and run across the hall and open it and she makes the announcement to watch and I show it. And then I have a stroke. OK. Not really.

And then it's afternoon and I have a fifth grade class that has been playing outside on this warm spring day, running and playing and dodging and jumping and laughing...and sweating. There are many unpleasant odors. Shrimp shells left in a trashcan in the hot sun. Fresh cow manure. Dead fish left by the withdrawing tide. But there is no other smell that will make you literally jerk your head back in reflex to get your nostrils as far as possible from the offending smell. As the smell of 25 hot, sweaty, smelly, stinky fifth graders who come straight to the library from recess.

What a glorious day. What a lovely, wonderful, fabulous day. Why do I say that? After all the annoyances of my day?

Because another teacher just told me the ice machine is fixed. And I can have a cold Diet Pepsi over ice. Over ICE. Life is good. I can handle anything. The bird. The computer program. Stinky kids.

I have ice. And life is good.

This Is War!

There is no problem that cannot be solved by the use of high explosives.

- Bumper Sticker

Apparently, my kitchen appliances have decided to stage a coup. Needless to say, since they have rather limited mobility, this will involve guerrilla warfare rather than an all-out attack on all fronts. I can only assume that, after Tom and I go to bed, they have whispered conferences something like this.

Dishwasher: Pssst. Hey, you guys? Can you believe she didn't load me after dinner. Look at those dishes sitting there. What a complete pig!

Oven: You! What about me? Look at these crumbs. She didn't even wipe me off. Lazy slut. Too busy in there watching tv to take care of us.

Refrigerator: What are you talking about? Have you SEEN the inside of my vegetable bin? Do you KNOW how long it's been since she has cleaned it out? And don't even get me started on the leftovers in here. I think some of them have been in here since the 80's.

Dishwasher: We have to do something. We have to fight back, I tell you! This means war!

Oven: What do you suggest?

Refrigerator: Well, I can clog up the ice maker pretty well. You know how she loves ice.

Dishwasher: Hah! I can beat that. The next time she opens the door, I'll just snap off the catch for the soap dispenser so she can't wash dishes.

Oven: How about if I fix the clock timer so it will only work if she bangs on the side of me? How would that be?

Refrigerator: That sounds great! OK, men. We have only one life to give for Whirlpool....Shhhhh, I think she's up. Here she comes.

What's wrong with this freaking ice maker? And what happened to the clock timer? Sigh. Well, at least I can clean up a little and load the dishwasher before I leave for work. Augh!!!

Fair Game

Someone left a couple of big packages of chips in the teacher's lounge.

Unless you are a teacher, I don't think you can fully appreciate our obsession with food in the lounge. When someone brings food for us...well, can you picture a bunch of hyenas tearing into a zebra? Snarling and snapping, gorging and slavering, slinking back to the cave, tummies tight. Yeah, that's us.

Maybe it's because our stress level is high. Maybe it's because we feel so much pressure to make our students successful. Maybe it's because we work such long hours with few breaks for food or even the bathroom. Or maybe it's because we are just a bunch of hogs.

People bring us food for teacher appreciation week, several groups of teachers often bring snacks, and groups will put leftovers in the lounge when they have an event. So, food in the lounge is considered fair game. We are not sure who left the chips in there. They haven't been opened because we just weren't sure. We discussed it yesterday. But we left them alone for one more day.

We figured 24 hours is the absolute longest length of time food should be left alone in there. After then, it's fair game for the hyenas. We think that's perfectly fair.

Don't you?

Just A Glass of Ice, Please

I really don't think it's too much to ask for. I like ice. Lots of ice. A glass full of ice. Often, when I order iced tea in a restaurant, I will ask for a glass of ice. I like to add it to my iced tea when the ice melts slightly. It's a Southern thing, I think. It has to do with the heat and humidity. We are a people who like lazy summers in a porch swing and a tall glass of fresh lemonade packed with ice.

So it is somewhat disconcerting that I can't get ice lately. I have an ice bucket at school which I normally fill with ice every morning. If I get a hankering (did you forget I was Southern) for some iced water, iced tea or a Diet Pepsi with some ice, there you go. I had all I needed. The other day I went to fill my ice bucket and the cafeteria lady informed me the ice machine was broken. I went back the next morning and she informed me it was still broken. By the third day, I was a desperate woman. I was drinking cold Diet Pepsi straight from the can. From the can, I tell you. Is there anything worse?

Unfortunately, there is. The ice machine won't be fixed by the end of the school year. They may have to buy a new one. I thought that was absolutely the worst news.

Then I got home the other night. The icemaker on our refrigerator is broken. It's not filling with water. Must be some kind of clog or something. Who knows. The refrigerator repairman can't come until Tuesday. A whole weekend without ice. I just had some popcorn and a Diet Pepsi, swigged straight from the can. This is not the life for a Southern woman. Something has to give. We may just have to eat dinner out every night. So I can have some freakin' ice.

Hey...things are looking up.

I Have a Little Problem

Yes. I do.

I have a little addiction problem. What? Drugs, alcohol? Pshaw. You can have those silly little things. Oh, and then perhaps it occurred to you - clothes, shoes, earrings? No, no, no. Although...those might be considered MINOR addictions. But, no. I'm talking about...my beach addiction.

I need it. I must have it regularly. Otherwise I get jittery. Nervous. Unhappy. Moody. When Tom announced that we really shouldn't (in other words, couldn't...and, in all fairness, he is right) take big vacations for the next couple of years until we retire, I felt a little twinge of withdrawal. No beach for a couple of years. But it wasn't until just lately that really became real and I realized...two or three years with no beach. NOOOOOOOO.

So, we had a discussion the other night, out on a terrace at a local seafood restaurant overlooking a lagoon with ducks and geese. It was cool and lovely and we were just enjoying ourselves so much. So, I thought it an opportune time to broach the subject of couldn't we just take a mini, teeny-tiny long weekend vacation to the beach? If I work and slave on EBay and pay for it all by myself. (and do ya have any extra chores, like milking or mucking out the stalls for me, Ma?) And, even though he really thinks we should save our money and even though he really doesn't even LIKE the beach and much prefers cold weather, because he loves me SO MUCH, he agreed.

So, now I begin what I consider ALMOST as much fun as the vacation itself - the planning. And you get to help me! What lucky, lucky Internet readers are you! I think we will stay at an all-inclusive resort somewhere in Mexico. Mainly because we can get there in just a few hours and because we really like all-inclusive resorts. We have stayed at the Moon Palace in Cancun and Liz and I have stayed at the Punta Cana Princess (site of the infamous topless bathing incident) and we just really like the whole idea of paying one price and having your room and all the food and drink you can cram in your mouth for four days.
I'm choosing Mexico over the Dominican Republic, which both have lovely beaches and are within easy travelling distance, because I was a little careless while at the Punta Cana Princess and BRUSHED MY TEETH WITH THE TAP WATER. Luckily, the bacteria didn't really blossom until I got home or we would have had to get a hotel room in Florida on our way home so I could have died peacefully. They provided us with plenty of bottled water, but I forgot one time and paid the price. I just don't like staying somewhere that I will suffer agonizing pain if I forget and brush my teeth with tap water. Just doesn't seem right to punish me like that.

We also really like Vacation Express because we have been very impressed with their service and their professionalism. Liz and I were all alone in a strange country and I liked the way the Vacation Express employees were always accessible to us. So I will probably book with them again for our getaway in October.

So, the planning begins. I have just begun looking at the various locations and resorts but I'm leaning towards Puerto Vallarta. We have been there before, but just for a day on one of our cruises, and it was beautiful. We toured the rain forest and had lunch on a patio overlooking the jungle with monkeys screeching and rainbow parrots flying overhead. So, we would like to do some other things while we are there.

I would love input and suggestions from ya'll. Has anyone else been to Punta Cana? Where did you stay? What did you do? Thanks. I knew I could count on you.

Flatulence Forces Plane to Land

News Story: Tuesday, December 5, 2006 NASHVILLE, Tenn. - It is considered polite to light a match after passing gas. Not while on a plane.
An American Airlines flight was forced to make an emergency landing Monday morning after a passenger lit a match to disguise the scent of flatulence, authorities said.
The Dallas-bound flight was diverted to Nashville after several passengers reported smelling burning sulfur from the matches, said Lynne Lowrance, spokeswoman for the Nashville International Airport Authority. All 99 passengers and five crew members were taken off and screened while the plane was searched and luggage was screened.
The FBI questioned a passenger who admitted she struck the matches in an attempt to conceal a "body odor," Lowrance said. She had an unspecified medical condition, authorities said.
"It's humorous in a way but you feel sorry for the individual, as well," she said. "It's unusual that someone would go to those measures to cover it up." The flight took off again, but the woman was not allowed back on the plane. The woman, who was not identified, was not charged in the incident.

Uh...yeah. I should have lit a match, I guess. I highly recommend the spicy black bean burgers from Morning Star Farms. Also the new Fiber One bars from General Mills. They are both delicious. But what I do NOT recommend is having the burger for lunch, with a Fiber One bar for dessert. Then, getting a little peckish and having another Fiber One bar in the afternoon for a snack. This, apparently, is just a LITTLE too much fiber for one set of intestines to digest without producing some...how can I say this politely...flatulence.

Luckily, it didn't really set in until I arrived at home. Lucky for me, not for Tom. Having to explain the uncontrollable gurgles from my stomach and the other indescribably unpleasant sounds emanating from another area would have been difficult with my kindergarten students.

As we sat viewing television at home and a ridiculous number of trumpets, wheezes, whistles, and blats kept emerging from my area of the family room, Tom turned around and raised an eyebrow. "Do we have some intestinal difficulty this evening?" he inquired.

Uh, YEAH. Yeah, we do.

"Tonight, Thou Shalt Have Cramps!"

The above quote is from Shakespeare, a fellow who was around a little while before I started having menstrual cramps. But not much before.

From the time I got my period, I suffered monthly, agonizing, debilitating cramps. They impacted my social life, my job, any plans I might make, vacations (we had to leave the beach one time when I was in pain); actually, just my entire life. That's all. If I started my period at school, my mother had to come get me. There was no way I could make it through the day. I couldn't even stand up straight.

I will never forget one time when I started in the middle of a class in high school. Being shy and quiet (those of you who know me now, shut UP), there was no way I was going to raise my hand and ask to leave the room. I just sat there in silent agony, screaming in my mind and watching the hand of the clock creep slowly around until it was time for everyone to leave. It was the single most agonizing experience of my life. Including childbirth. Because I had to sit there and act normal while my stomach felt like a rabid gopher was trying to claw his way out. By the time class was over, I had been sitting in such a cramped and contorted position, they had to get the school nurse to help me up. I literally could not stand up.

My mother did her best. She made me hot drinks, gave me aspirin, put on a heating pad. Nothing helped in the slightest. She even took me to the doctor but this was back in the late 60's when most doctors were men and they told me to EXERCISE. Please. Like that would help. I was slim, healthy and athletic. I just needed some pain medication. They didn't do that kind of thing for cramps back then.

It wasn't until I got to college and one of my sorority sisters offered me a pill from her bottle of prescription Equagesic that I experienced any relief. And I can't believe that I can remember the name of that medicine over 30 years later. It was like a miracle drug for me. I immediately got a prescription and years of suffering were over. Then, after having my children, I had no more cramps. One of the many blessings they brought me.

When I think about the days and days and days that were wasted suffering in pain, it infuriates me. I will never forget walking up the aisle as a bridesmaid for my best friend's wedding in excruciating pain. I don't think she ever knew that.

They had flag twirler tryouts at band camp when I was a sophomore in high school. I didn't go to band camp because I had cramps. I couldn't try out, so I wasn't a flag twirler that year when all my friends made it. They stayed friends with me. I made it the next year. But it's more than thirty years later and it still bothers me.

It's more than the memory of the cramps. What really bothers me is the memory of what they stole from me.

"Beautiful, Glorious Earrings"

I am wearing some absolutely darling coral slides this morning. I would take a picture, but I think that might just send Tom over the edge. To take another picture of my foot. They are gathered over my toes in a little knot and have a platform heel. They are darling. Darling, I tell you.

But this post is not about shoes. I've already done that. This is about earrings.

"I want them.
I need them.
I love them.
I say earrings!
Beautiful earrings.
Glorious earrings.
Beautiful, glorious earrings for pierced ears."*

When I laid out my clothes last night - my camel slacks, my new coral and camel sweater (what? I told you I needed more new clothes.) and my darling coral shoes, I was annoyed to discover I had no coral colored earrings.

Now, I realize in a world where drought and hunger are an everyday way of life for some people, except those Angelina seems to be continually adopting, this may seem like a minor annoyance.

Well, OK, it is a minor annoyance.

But this is my blog and I get to write about my minor annoyances.

I have a thing for shoes. We all know this. I admit it. But what is little known is that I also have a thing for earrings. I looooove them. I have tons of them. I have many, many colors. Many. Many. I honestly had to buy a wooden chest to hold my earrings. I'm not talking about some teeny tiny chest that sits on a table top - oh, no, this is an actual, rather large piece of furniture. I have large hoops and small hoops, hoops of every color, dangling ones and ones that perch right on your ear, like a lovely, tropical butterfly. And many colors. Again, in case you didn't grasp it, many. But, apparently, no coral ones. I have some LIGHT coral ones. Almost salmon. But my sweater and shoes are a DARK coral. The LIGHT coral ones were quite simply, unacceptable. Obviously.

Sigh. I had to wear gold hoops. They look nice. They look pretty. But they are not coral. I NEED coral. I think a shopping trip is in order, don't you? I knew you would agree. We are so simpatico.

And I'll tell you something else. If anyone ever comes to my school looking for the person who has matching underwear, darling shoes and earrings which coordinate with her outfits? They will give me some really great prize. The likelihood is slim, I grant you. But I am ready. Just in case.

And then won't you be jealous.


One of my friends just came in and commented on my cute shoes. I puffed up with pride and then she said idly "And your toes! They match perfectly!". Uh, EXCUSE ME. My toes are ORANGE. They coordinate beautifully. But they do not MATCH. They are not CORAL. Of course, I didn't say anything. My mama didn't raise no rude girl.

God. Some people. Can you believe it?


*Quote is from "Earrings", by Judith Viorst

Me:Jane, You:Tarzan

OK, climbing a waterfall is HAAAAARD, ya'll.

Ten years ago when we went on our first cruise...whoa, I just realized when I typed that, that means it was a decade ago. I was in my forties. Man, I am so old.
Anyway.

When I began planning the trip and examining all the choices for shore excursions at the different tropical locales we would be visiting, I noticed there was an option to climb a waterfall in Jamaica. Could anything possibly sound any cooler? I envisioned us holding hands, stepping gently up the broad, flat rocks over the trickling stream to the top of the waterfall where we would sit in a bed of tropical flowers drinking a frozen Margarita and gazing over the azure waters of the coast. Sigh. How romantic. How lovely. How stupid I was.

We took the bus (or motor coach as they call it in the brochures - much classier. Still a bus.) to Dunn's River Falls where we were decanted along with dozens of other tourists with sunburns and cameras slung around their fat, American necks. (We were also sunburned but without the fat necks.) When we walked out on the beach and actually saw the waterfall, my heart almost stopped. This was no small, gently strooooll up through the trickling water, waterfall. This sucker was huge. Man, when they said CLIMB, they meant CLIMB. At this point, of course, we were much too proud to say, shove this and just give me my Margarita now. I'll drink it on the beach and watch these other fools climb that thing. Oh, no. Much too proud.

The guide instructed us on to climb the waterfall. We would all hold hands and snake up the rocks together, holding on and supporting each other. We all had worn sneakers, per instructions. So we began climbing. The first thing I noticed was that the rocks were really slippery. The next thing I noticed was that the water, when you fell on your butt, was extremely cold. Not that I did that. Oh, of course I did.

At one point, I was between Tom and another big, husky guy. Both were holding my hands tightly. That was the most comfortable I felt all day. I was afraid to look down to the beach. If there was a tourist down there, dead and spread-eagled on the beach from the climb, I didn't want to know about it. Blissful ignorance, that's my motto.

We climbed for days. OK, it may not have been that long. And, honestly, most of the climb was not that bad. The view was incredible. Everything was lush and absolutely gorgeous. There were flowers in splendid colors as big as my head. When we got to the top, there was a lovely, green pool that stretched across the top of the waterfall. The tradition, apparently, was to fall backwards in it when you completed the climb. We held hands. We stood on the side. We fell backwards into the cool, refreshing water. We laughed like maniacs. We kissed. We had survived.

I recommend it.

Tom insisted I add an addendum to this blog post which told everyone that I did not actually CLIMB a waterfall at all, but was dragged up by my noble, self-sacrificing husband. Picture me gazing down shame-faced, admitting this. It's so true.

Just Not Quite Right

I looked over my blog posts last night to see which one I wanted to put up today. Shoes, clothes, earrings, trips, stories that make me look good? Stories that make me look bad? But in a way others can share. And maybe have a laugh with me. I hadn't quite decided.

Then kids died at Virginia Tech. Just going about their lives. Planning to grab a burger for lunch. To meet a friend to study later. To call mom when they got back to the dorm and wish her a happy birthday.

And none of my posts seemed quite...right. Quite...respectful.

I think I'll just meditate instead on my family and my friends. How much I love them. How lucky I am to have them. How life can change catastrophically in an instant, from one heartbeat to the next. From one indrawn breath to the next. I'll just take a moment.

How about if we take one together?