I’ll readily admit that I’m not entirely immune to the insanity.  I talk to the driver of the car in front of me when he or she irritates me, which is far easier to do when I’m behind the wheel than at any other time.  I might say something like, “Perhaps if you got off the phone you might have seen me and avoided nearly swerving into my lane,” or offering up an annoyed, “It’s the pedal on the right,” to someone who, for whatever reason, just can’t seem to get going.  I’m not above looking at another driver as I pass into a turning lane to see whether he  looks as constipated as I feel sure he must be.

These are relatively innocuous goings on in a typical outing but there have been a few incidents over the years that have left indelible images in my mind.  I remember once, at a stop light, I glanced out of my passenger side window at the man in the truck next to me and found myself doing a double take.  He was in a white delivery truck of some sort, one of those where the window is extended lower than in other vehicles (possibly so we ladies can observe and admire just how hairy a man’s legs can be when they have shorts on).  I actually failed to notice his legs at all, not because I’m as unobservant as can be – I am – but because his entire upper body was pressed against the window and he was looking at me and licking the glass.

Mind you, I was stuck there until the light turned green and I don’t know if he possibly had some affliction, some rare form of tourettes I’d never seen, or if he was one of those poor, sad individuals that find the bravado they never should in their car to “approach” a woman they find attractive.  What did I do?  Why, fall back on my standard defense mechanism, of course.  I got the giggles.

If you know me at all, you know what this entails.  Some of you don’t, so I will expound:  When I get the dreaded giggles, nothing can make me stop until the giggles have run their proper course.  Because of my power of imagination, whatever I have seen that has stricken me so, replays itself over and over in my head and each time is funnier than the last.  Tears will begin rolling down my cheeks and if there is anyone near me, the giggles go viral because whatever the nature of my laugh is, it seems to inspire the same in anyone in my presence at this time.  This refuels the giggles.  Some of my family members have learned to recognize it when it happens and one of them will invariably say, “This is gonna take a while”, as they grin and settle in to enjoy my helplessness.

So, whatever his reaction to my fits of helpless laughter were, I never saw because when the light turned green I raced away.  I hope he was trying to be funny, I really do, because if not, he may be scarred for life.  Though in hindsight, that might not be a bad thing.  No one else will have to endure his version of a compliment for a very long time.

Another time, I saw a man in a very nice car, wearing an expensive looking business suit, with his left index finger jammed so far up his nose I had to assume he thought he could actually, physically access his frontal lobe.  He glanced over, noticed that I had noticed and probably due to the shocked look on my face, turned a sinister shade of red and continued to dig.  I didn’t blame him.  I mean, after all, he was on a mission.  His private moment shouldn’t have been interrupted, intentional or no and he was rebelling with all his executive might.

I’m sure anyone reading this has had at least one of their own memorable yet silent exchange with another driver.  I, being the curious kitty that I am, would very much enjoy any you, dear reader, might have to share.  Don’t be shy!  I love a good laugh.  I might even get the giggles!

Well.   The latest news in the world of the parent of the half boxer, half shepherd puppy named Diesel is this:  He was brought to me late last night because my husband didn’t want to listen to him crying in his crate.  So Diesel spent the night with me, which made us both happy since for the last few nights I had been getting up in the middle of the night and surreptitiously (or so I thought) getting him out of his “room” anyway.  Why, you might ask?  Well,  because I didn’t have the heart not to when I knew perfectly well he could see me on my way to and from the facilities and I have trouble walking away from a crying baby – even one with four legs.  Lest we forget, ladies and gentlemen, Mama is a sap.  Also, I was very proud of him because I only had to get up to take him out once and that was at 6:30 this morning, which I didn’t mind because for once, I wasn’t cold standing outside in my pj’s.

Spring may have technically sprung but here in our little corner of the world that is the northern panhandle of West Virginia, we are only just beginning to experience seeing a little green.  Leaves are budding in a hurry, eager to stretch new fingers to bask in the warming sun and I am eager to spend my first day “playing in the dirt” – a phrase I use to describe gardening – one of my very favorite things to do.

Speaking of things to do, now that it’s finally, really spring, there is a list about a mile long of spring cleaning, washing, yard work, repair work (both outside and inside) and that’s before I get to the “fun” work – things I actually want to do.  Things like turning an old closet into a built-in bookshelf, repainting the living room, replacing an old and squeaky ceiling fan with something new…stuff like that.

But I’m not complaining.  Better late than never.  My forsythia is in bloom and the lilacs are budding and for the first time in years, a few of my daffodils survived the nibbling bunnies.  At one time, I did have a beautiful row of deep red tulips there as well.  But those spring beauties are a thing of the past thanks to the marauding deer who have in previous years been cheeky enough to sidle right up alongside the front of my house to snatch every last one of them.  I’m still seething over that.  I used to see Bambi in every deer that was hunted down as a kid.  Now I want venison every time I picture them saying, “Thanks for the salad, lady!”

What just happened?!

Where was I…  Ah, yes, not complaining.  Anyway…  I can hear frogs in the pond at night as well as crickets, two of my favorite sounds, and the bulbs I planted last year are coming up.  I even saw a bud on one already.  Hooray for SPRING!!!

Well, that’s it for now.  I’m going outside.

…Rotten deer…

This is all in one day.

He doesn’t have a lot of accidents, but when he does, they ironically take place in the bathroom – guess he figures if we “go” in there, he should be allowed to as well.  I have this absurd urge to try and teach him to use the actual toilet but we’ll squelch that ambition for now.

I thought he was a sleepy guy – lazy.  Not so.  He was not feeling well.  Now…he bounces when he moves in such a way that his full name has become:  Diesel Egon (of “Ghost Busters” fame) “Tigger” Dogg (the first).  That’s our boy.  That way, I get to say “Diesel Dogg”!   I know.  I can ‘t help it.

We formally adopted him Thursday, so that’s that.  He’s stuck with us or the other way around if you will.

The second day, I decided to go check out the fun and almost as soon as I came in, this little brown puppy was thrust into my arms.  We immediately fell in love.  I tried to take him out for a walk but when we got outside, he just sat down and looked up at me.  So, I sat down too and he climbed into my lap and fell asleep there, occasionally waking to gaze at my face with doe brown eyes.  Apparently there was good-natured ribbing going on inside as everyone had seen what was unfolding out in the parking lot and Joe was informed that they knew when a puppy was going home with someone and this was one of those times.

I didn’t really even have to argue.  I found this to be an amazing phenomenon until I later learned that Joe fell in love with him the previous day and he was just waiting to see what my reaction was before he decided we should foster him.  So our family has grown yet again and today, we introduce the world to:

Diesel

     I’ve been taking a phlebotomy course.  Time to get back into the work force now that the kids are back in school and have gotten old enough for me to think about it at least.  Oh, and I was informed by my bestest that not everyone and their cousin has had as much contact with doctors and hospitals as I have and the word “phlebotomist” might raise a few eyebrows.  I’d be the person in the hospital who draws your blood.  Yep, that’s right – I’m going to be a professional vampire.  Muahahaha-*cough*  Sorry – hairball. 

…I’m not so good at being evil, am I…

     So anyway, here’s the thing.  I’m finished with the class.  But I still have clinicals to do.  That won’t happen until a little past the middle of the month.  This gives me time to think back on the people with whom I took this class, the people whose blood I drew and who, in turn, stuck needles into my skin. 

That’s right, folks.  Here comes the rant:

     Most of my classmates were people I could deal with – people who seemed at least to have a head on their shoulders and feet on the ground.  I even made a few friends.  But there’s at least one in every class and since I am so blessed, in my class, there were two.

     The first was easy to spot.  She came in late on the first day of class as she did every day thereafter.  She was sloppy but I chalked that up to a hard day and perhaps a bit of bad luck.  Her hair was dark brown on the bottom, but the front of her hair was a swath of bleachy blond that when pulled back as it most often was, it resembed one of three things – an airport runway, a reverse mohawk or something that can only be described as a skunk job.  I tried not to judge.  Everyone has different tastes…to each her own.

     …And then she opened her mouth.  The first thing she said in her (lets be generous and call her five minute speech an) introduction led me to believe that she may in fact be the most presumptuous person I’d ever met.  She said – among several other things that no one needed to know about her personal life -that she had been earning, if I remember correctly, a 3.7 GPA in college before she “had to drop out because I found out Iwas pregnant, so if anyone needs any help, I’d be happy to tutor you if you want to call me.”

No.  I’m not kidding.

     She then went on to add that she thought it would be nice if we all included our ages in our own introductions, as though we were all in an internet dating chatroom.  It didn’t help that her voice was that of a heavily sedated Fran Drescher.  Much like putting your ear to a shell to hear the echo of the ocean, if you imagine this droning on long enough, you can almost hear the sound of my teeth grinding.

     Later, I met Number Two.  She began by sidling up to me and saying, “Ay…ay,” (and pointing in my face), ”you look just like Victoria.  You know, the evil vampire in “Twilight”.”

Joy.

     I managed to get through the conversation and remain friendly but I have to say, yes.  I look like the actress who played Victoria in the sparkly vampire film…in that we are both pale and have red, curly hair.  There, the similarities stop.  During the break, I had to deal with a few more nerve janglingly bad vampire references and jokes, among which she filtered, “…no, but for real, you’re pretty hot.”  I thanked her and managed somehow to hold my tongue.

     All in all, the whole experience was a good one and I made some friends and we all had a lot of fun and laughed while still managing to learn a great deal in a little time.  This won’t be an easy job.  People will dread coming to see me.  But the funny thing that I’ve learned on this course is that it really doesn’t cause much pain at all if you do it right.  If the blood is drawn from the antecubital (yes, there’s actually a name for the inner part of your elbow), there isn’t much pain at all.  So I hope to make it as easy as possible for anyone having their blood drawn.

Love, your friendly neighborhood vampire.

Me at my most vampiric...Victoria, nothin'.

The acting wasn’t stellar but the story was good and I found myself sinking into the storyline despite the shallow, trite, teenaged bullshit I expected throughout.

I think my main complaint was that all this warring and fighting going on is over this moody, broody, plain jane of a girl who never looks anyone in the eye and doesn’t communicate well.  Everyone sets aside their differences and works out an alliance, all in the name of protecting “Bella”.  In the words of the great Bill Cosby, “Riiiiiiight”.  No personality equals no way.

See, I’m a long time vampire fan and this offends so much of what I stand for that while I must see it on general principal (it IS a vampire movie afterall), it hurts to do so and further, the highschool/junior high mentality makes me want to kill something in a graphic manor.

I was also at a loss as far as some of the choices for casting went.  One of the strongest female characters as a vampire couldn’t have been more than about 13 and didn’t have the carriage to come across as the aristocrat she was playing.  Her diction was immature at best and she’s supposed to be hundreds of years old?  I didn’t believe it for a minute.  I blame my mother for teaching me how to act.  I grew up in the theater and I swear, if I’d put forth the performance either of these young ladies displayed on the silver screen, I’d have been skinned alive.  Literally.  This is deplorable.

/End rant

     Let me explain. 

     So I’m on my way to dance class one fine Friday evening.  The car reaches downdown Pittsburgh where I first notice a lovely young African American lady at a bus stop, wearing a nondescript brown, large-billed ball cap atop her head, cocked sideways and at an angle.  The hat wasn’t exactly being worn so much as perched on the very top of her head, yet cocked just so and I thought to myself, “hmm…I guess that’s the latest thing these days…”  I can’t say I agree with it – I personally think the only hat that looks good at a jaunty angle (and mind you this is actually worn and not perched on top of my head like something on a shelf) is a fedora – I have two of them…but that’s my opinion and nothing more.

     I continue merrily along my way.  The next image I am confronted with is a very thin white boy with his ballcap sideways, making him look rather more like he belonged in the “special class” than the puckish, gangstery tough I felt sure he was trying to accomplish.  I shook my head and smiled my amusement but thought no more on the matter.

     That is until my next confrontation with the jaunty hat committee.  Here was a young man on a ten-speed bicycle, his black riding helmet askew on his head as though he’d been in an accident and maybe he had, I couldn’t say for sure but now I was astounded because I’d never seen a helmet at a jaunty angle before.  I actually laughed out loud at that.  But there was more to follow!  Once we hit the Jewish section of town, we encountered a young man in a yamaka…PERCHED AT A JAUNTY ANGLE!!!!! 

     I’m sorry – truly sorry if I sound as though I am on the soap box but folks, that does not look cool!  It just looks like you need hat wearing lessons!!!

     This woman could not have cared less if she were serving Kevin Spacey.  She wore too much gold jewelry, some of which actually had what looked to be her name on it (lest she forget?), she had a dark tan (…it’s February and we live in West Virginia – it’s a rude and startling sight early in the morning to look at another human being and think “sharpei”)

and she had the vacuous, glassy stare of long-time insomniacs and crack addicts everywhere when she asked us in an exhaled sigh of despair, “‘Kay, you guys had the coffee and the bagel thing with the thing, right?”  That’s verbatim, folks. 

     I found myself  torn between hysterical laughter and tears, mainly because this was truly a sad sight and part of me felt for this stranger but it was simultaneously the most stereotypical, ridiculous thing I’ve seen in a long time.  I admit it, to save myself the agony of empathy, I laughed.  I don’t look at it as cruelty so much as an act of self-preservation.  I was safely tucked away in the passenger’s seat and therefore, barely visible and I daresay that even if she did manage to hear my quiet chuckle, the cause would have gone sailing over her visor-bedecked and bleached head.

     This is every mother’s nightmare right here.  Please, kids, stay in school and understand the importance of it.  Please let me never have to hear you utter the phrase, “you want fries with that?” past the age of 19 or so because this was a sad and very frightening reminder of what small town jobs await the uneducated in this day and age.

     The storm of 2010 hit us hard.  The kids have been off for an entire week of school, every single thing I had scheduled in the last week has been cancelled right down to the Artemis Mourat workshop I had been waiting to go to – in short…RAWR!!!  Cabin Fever has set in, I want out of this house, I want to DO something!!!   …And the worst part is the weather reports are calling for yet more snow.  Well, that’s it!  I call shenanigans on this weather!  I need to keep my schedule busy so I don’t have time for the winter blahs and here I sit with nothing to do. 

Blah.

     Why didn’t I learn to knit or sew or something…  I’ve read all my books already.  I’ve seen all my movies.  I’ve played mahjong until I was blue in the face.  All my friends either live too far away or are snowed in and I even missed my acupuncture appointment with Dr. Donald “The Man” Yoon – that’s my nickname for him since he’s the one whose actually helping me after three years of constant agony.  If he’s stupid-rich, he’s earned it, ladies and gentlemen.   Look him up and tell him I sent you.

Part II

     Yesterday (or as my daughter used to say as a toddler, “Lasterday” – I think that should be a real word), the roads were clear enough for me to have my class – cheer!  My son Seth had his cub scout pinewood derby race and won his first race.  He even “has the ribbon to prove it”, so he told me on the phone.  I wish I could have been there but luckily, his dad got to see it and I did request  pictures, so we shall see.  While we awaited further news, my daughter and I watched “Up”, which is a really sweet and funny movie suitable for the whole family.

     It’s Valentine’s Day today and I believe I have put off the grocery shopping as long as is humanly possible, so I’ll be headed over to do that and pick up a few little valentine’s treats for my two little valentines.  Olivia was feeling left out because everyone in every commercial (damn them all) was getting something special for the day and she really wants to be included and appreciated.  So I am thinking something along the lines of Valentine’s Day cupcakes or maybe one of those little boxes of candy hearts with words on them for each of them - remember those?  I used to save those with my favorite sayings for last.  The last one I ever got simply said “Stay”.  I kept it until it crumbled.

     I hope everyone has a wonderful Valentine’s Day.  I know it’s commercialized and it’s become the same marketing monster most other holidays are these days, but it doesn’t have to cost a penny to tell someone you think they are special or to go out of your way to do something nice for them.  Think about it.