Hometown

Mathematical Equations and sex…

05/04/2010

Yesterday I did all the i9 and w2 stuff for the job. My first day will be May 10th — next Monday. It’s mostly orientation and filling out more paperwork, but hey! There will be lunch!

And I think this is when we get issued our ID badges. I hope I don’t lose mine. Hubby has mis-placed his a couple of times and boy did he panic! You have to pay for the replacement, he says. I don’t wanna lose mine just because I don’t wanna look like a doof.

I was gonna buy a couple of the polos yesterday (I already got the 5 pairs of khakis) but the gift shop didn’t open until 10am and my parking validation cut off at 9:30. I’ll check them out another day this week.

~ … ~

C was getting away with everything. C just blamed it on this crazy doll he had and they let it slide.

C was all of seven years old, maybe. I think I was a teenager.

A was constantly annoyed with B for spoiling C. A would nag, argue and protest, but B just seemed to ignore A’s pestering.

A would really go after C while B was away at work or whatever. C would tell B about A’s rants and punishments and B would console C with the fact that B would always come home and things would be okay again.

I just tried to stay out of A and B’s way. While I wasn’t favored by either, I never seemed to be able to please them, and they were leaving me alone for now.

C came home with a note from school. C tried to avoid A discovering the note, but A always went through his backpack to see the day’s work, learn of any homework, and to trash any nonsense C may have collected while away from home (shiny pieces of metal, interesting rocks, odd bolts, etc.).

I don’t know what the note read, but A was livid. She called B at work and demanded that he come home right now because this was a very serious matter. More serious then anything she’d brought up concerning C before. Serious enough to ruin the whole family.

B came home and A hustled him into their bedroom and shut the door. C was in his room, waiting. I went to my room because I could hear everything that went on in A and B‘s room because only an odd door that separated from their room to mine (that had been permanently closed and painted to match the other trim work in my room).

A was certainly on a mission about C with this one. I wondered if the neighbors could hear her raging at B.

What? What did A just say?

Some kind of mathematical equation that had to do with homosexuality? And that C could only know about such equations if C were gay? And C being gay would mean the family would have to leave town? Move somewhere that no one would know us?

WTF?

I listened hard and wrote down the different equations as A was screaming them at B. I folded the list, tucked it into my jeans pocket, and made my way quietly out of the house. I checked on C through his open bedroom window. He seemed to be taking a nap.

Oh, I hoped so. I hoped he couldn’t hear A‘s ranting.

I rode my bike to my teacher”s house. My gay teacher’s house. I wanted to know why my family would have to leave town if C were gay. I didn’t know, until he opened the door to my knocking, that I was crying.

I showed him the equations and he laughed and laughed. Then he brought out a calculator and input the different formulas. And the solution to each would be some kind of cartoon illustrated in X’s and O’s. They were silly little pictures of guys and their penises. That’s it. That’s all they were. Just some little kid’s interest in his own body.

Silly little pictures that were supposed to be funny. Silly little equations about penises that seven year old boys probably would share with each other and then giggle like a bunch of little girls sharing boobie text files:

You know, stuff like this: ( o ) ( o )

I went home to tell C everything was going to be okay. All I’d need to do was convince A that C was just being a regular little kid, but I was too late.

A and B were in C‘s room and A had C‘s stupid little doll and she was using it to hit C on the head and such. I grabbed the doll, a pair of scissors from C‘s crayon box, and began stabbing and shredding at the doll.

And the crazy doll was bleeding!

A totally lost it, C began to cry, and B just stood by.

The blood was spurting from the doll, covering my arms and splashing onto my shirt.

And I just woke up.

~ … ~

Segueway via this picture of Sophie on the mantle — as opposed to Sophie on the routers — which is why they are now guarded with that awful dish shelving.

She missed the warmth and coziness of laying on the routers, but I don’t miss hearing the darling hubby nagging me about how she is gonna over heat and fry the routers with all that coziness. Cheap dish shelving? Problem solved!

A police officer is being buried in town today. I’ve decided not to go downtown to watch the procession drive through Main Street. I didn’t handle Brenda Cowan‘s procession very well in ’04. I take it very hard when people who serve and protect are killed. Including our military. The closer to home the connection is, the more difficult a time I’ll have with the event.

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I started watching at 4pm local timeâ€šÃ„Â¶

05/02/2010

…the NBC coverage of the Derby.

I’d forgotten we no longer lived in a Central Time Zone with Louisville and so watched two and half hours of events and interviews leading up to the two minute race.

The really big topic was the weather. It was raining. In fact it had rained and rained and rained all day. The track was considered "sloppy." And it was. Just one big muddy mess. But there was no discussion of cancelling the race — and only lightning could delay it.

I saw GG almost immediately! They had switched anchors to a weatherman on the track and there was GG walking up from behind! She was wearing a clear rain poncho and it didn’t look like she had her Derby hat on just yet. She was with a couple of other ladies and some men were following behind them, but I never saw any faces, still I thought I spotted J’s form in that bunch.

J’s name and the farm was mentioned over and over throughout the coverage. Devil May Care was the only filly running in the twenty horse spread and there was a lot of interest in that little lady.

I recalled an early conversation I had with GG when I learned her husband was in the horse farm, breeding, and racing business. I wanted to know if she ever rode the horses and she told me no, that the thoroughbred racing horses were too wild for her to ride. (I was naive enough, at the time, to think that it was awfully sad to have horses you wouldn’t ride…)

There were so many good stories about so many horses. The 25 owners of Noble’s Promise was especially interesting.

It was only a half hour to the big race and now hubby has joined me to watch the horses, trainers, owners, and more, walk around the track before taking their places the race. And the sun was shining! It was a ~~Christmas~~ Derby miracle! (Okay, maybe not so much as the announcers were now commenting on how the sun shining on all that mud could become blinding for the horses and their jockeys.)

I could see that many of the ladies on the very sloppy track were wearing rain boots, but it was not so easy to see if the men were. I couldn’t imagine having to walk through all that heavy mud as far as they did without wanting to give in to the increasing weight of my feet, even on such a special day.

The horse were placed into the starting gates, then finally released to run, and the mud began to fly.

Devil May Care seemed to start at near the end of the pack, but it is hard for me to remember where she was because all the horses’ front legs and deep chests were soon covered in mud so evenly they suddenly became a twin, triplet, and on and on, to any mount that would come abreast of another. The mud was splatting onto their chiseled heads and into the faces of the jockeys. I even wondered if any were being temporarily blinded at the worst possible moment of the race.

And then I saw her, Devil May Care, making her way quite quickly to the front. I thought she’s going to place for sure, but then it looked like she may have made her bold move too soon as so many rides began to overtake her.

She didn’t win or place. It was Super Saver and jockey, Calvin Borel. A first for Super Saver and trainer Todd Fletcher (who also trains Devil May Care) and a third Derby win for Borel.

Still I had a good time watching. It really is a whole different experience come Kentucky Derby time when you feel like you have a little personal (even by degree) stake in the race.

I don’t think I’ll ever become a big racing fan, but I will always remember my friend GG and her enthusiasm for the horse and competition.

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There was this lady…

03/01/2010

…at the gym this morning who did her treadmill "2 minute cool down" walking backwards.

Later, when I was doing some strength training, I spotted her at another machine so I just had to ask her what the benefit of walking backwards did for her.

She told me it was good for her lower back. Then she told me I reminded her of her daughter. Then she told about how Jesus will make everything right about this country again. And on and on.

I wasn’t wearing my badge of religious persuasion (hey — I was just going to the gym!) but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. I just did my usual polite nodding of the head without commitment. It is the YMCA after all. I know she meant well, you know.

I don’t usually point out my being jewish unless someone else is being totally rude or has asked me specifically, and she was neither. Just a sweet older lady carrying around a little green New Testament, which I did not even notice until I saw her later on a bike.

Here are some doggie pictures to help you clear your mind:

Mini working deliberately at de-squeaking a rhino:

And Lily, just being her lovely self:

Oh, God, I love my dogs!

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Being the social animal…

02/27/2010

…that I am not, I was pleased to find an facebook message invite from S to meet at the cemetery and let the dogs play. You want me and my dog to come? I’ll so be there!

I only took Lily because Gracie and Mini get cold and want to go home too soon.

S’s Dash, a min pin mix, is quite playful and likes to fetch. Lily is not a fetcher, but she does love to play tug-o-war!

Anyway!

S is here to do a clerk position with a local judge. She and her fiance (another "E") are staying with his parents while they get this year under their belts with local jobs (I think he may be an engineer) but they hope to settle in D.C. someday. And it just so happens that these parents live nearby — we kinda met up through E’s mother.

S had told me that her E was hoping to get a Great Pyrenees someday. It turns out his grandfather had one when E was just a boy and he has happy memories of playing with that Pyr.

And the point is — I may have talked his ear off this afternoon with all kinds of Pyr info.

Lily was her usual shy self and would never get close enough to let S & E pet her. Not even when they tried to tempt her with the cookies I’d brought along. Oh, she’d approach them, but as soon as they would make a move to pet her she’d back off.

I swear, sometimes Lily looks like she is laughing at you for trying to pet her!

Still, I can’t blame anyone for trying:

Who wouldn’t want to get their hands into that gorgeous warm coat!

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This time it was different…

11/06/2009

Earlier this week I’m driving back from a doctor appointment and I’m only like 3 blocks from home when I come upon an accident in the other direction.

A guy is on the ground and another guy is getting out of SUV. I pull into the turn lane and throw on the caution lights.

So the SUV was coming around the corner and he saw this guy crossing the street, but instead of slamming on the brakes he just kept honking at him and then he hit him (That is how the SUV guy told me what happened — can you believe it?)

There was a lady approaching already on her cell with 911 and I’m down with the guy trying to convince him not to get up, but he keeps saying, "I’m straight," while getting up on his knees.

SUV driver is also telling him he needs to stay down until the paramedics get there. When I take the fallen guy’s hand he goes back down. I remind him that he’s just been hit by a car and needs to be checked out — and he didn’t even know he been hit by a car!

Okay. Now. *Sigh*

The guy reeked of alcohol and there was a bag nearby with a couple of cans of beers peeping out (the big tall cans) and another loose can on the road nearby.

And he is back to trying to get up, but still holding my hand. We get him to tell us his name and I just keep talking at him about how he needs to wait, the alcohol could be keeping him from realizing that he’s hurt, but this guy just wanted to get up and go home.

"I’m straight," he insisted. "I’m straight."

The paramedics arrive and they have to help him up because he is not staying down. Still he refused medical attention and just wants to go home.

He’s determined to just go home and I can’t handle the idea of him just walking away and passing out some place else where he wouldn’t be seen so I offer to drive him to wherever he wants to go. He accepts the ride, gathers his beers, and we head over to my car.

The guy groans, so obviously in pain, and I can even see a rip around the knee of his pants and he’s limping. We stop on the traffic island and I again try to convince him to let these paramedics check him out. He finally submits to having his blood pressure checked, but then he signs the refusal of medical care and I witness that signature with mine.

(On a side note the paramedics were using one of those toughbooks — really cool — and I just signed my name on the screen, just as if I were signing a credit/debit card machine. You just gotta love the gadgets of the world we live in!)

So we’re in my car and I’m helping the guy buckle up and he again tells me his name. I tell him mine and we shake, but now there are police at the scene and they are heading our way.

"Oh, no," the guy groans.

"You don’t wanna talk to the police because of the alcohol?"

"No."

"Okay," and I start the car. Too late. An officer is knocking at the passenger window.

"Where’s the fire," seriously, that’s what he asked as the window lowered.

And he makes the guy get out of the car and another officer is at my window wanting to know why we are leaving and do I know this guy.

I tell him I don’t know this guy, but he just wants to go home and I didn’t want him walking after just being hit by a car. The SUV guy and a paramedic back me up, but I still had to explain that I was just on my way home and saw the accident and pulled over. No. I didn’t see the accident happen. I just saw that there was a guy in the street and the SUV guy was getting out of car, and, etc.

"Are you sure you don’t know this guy," the gray eyed officer asked me again.

"I don’t know him. I just live over on (my street) and blah, blah, blah…

"Aren’t you worried he might kill you and take your little Volvo," he asks me now.

It was all I could do to keep from laughing.

"He’s drunk, officer. If he could even manage to try anything I’d just sit on him," I smiled into those gray eyes (yeah, gray eyes — you don’t come across those often, do you?). It was so obvious I was that much bigger than the drunk.

"You really are just being nice," he says and takes a step back like he can’t believe me.

"Yeah. I mean, I live here. I’ve probably seen this guy around" (and I point over to the soup kitchen across the road) "when I’ve been out walking my dog."

"So you know what’s going on — what you’re doing?"

"I just want to get him home safe."

"Okay," he says and we’re allowed to get back in my car. "You be nice to the lady," the officer tells my new drunk friend. "She’s doing you a favor."

"Yes, sir," the guy agrees.

And we’re finally on our way to an apartment complex well over in the middle of UK. My new best friend keeps retelling me his name (like we just met again) all the way over there. It was a long drive even though it was less than two miles away because of the ROAD CONSTRUCTION going on all over downtown Lexington right now — and having to drive through campus during the fun time of classes being changed.

He gets outta my car and crosses the street towards on building of units. He’s not limping so much now, but he’s still very drunk. "I’m straight," he keeps yelling back at me as he makes his way to where he promised me there will be someone to keep watch over him.

He was a very sweet drunk (who did not vomit in my car — my only real worry) but I had to keep reminding him he’d just been hit by a car all the ride with me, too.

I hated just letting him walk away, but sometimes you just do what you can do. I’d done all I could and I was okay with that.

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Sometimes I get so annoyed with …

11/02/2009

… myself.

Late yesterday afternoon Lily and I are on a little walk and I see that the Day of the Dead alters (et al) are already up at the Old Episcopal Burying Ground — and the gates are open — so Lily and I go in to check out all the displays.

Which is when I become so annoyed with myself because I didn’t even have my cell phone to take pictures. Crap. Because some of them had been very well done! Then I discovered that event was this very day instead of tomorrow (Nov 2nd) like I had in my head. I was glad I at least got to see the cemetery even if I didn’t stay for the event.

Lily and I toiled on and as we were nearing the corner of 3rd and MLK there was a LOUD car at one of the mini mart’s gas pumps. Lily kept trying to lead me into the fire station just before the mini mart. She wanted nothing to do with that LOUD BOOMING car. That thing might just suddenly pounce on her! Who knows. We made a wide berth around it and kept on walking.

Let me tell you this: A lot of people will be walking toward us and will cross the street rather than meet up with me and Lily. My big giant puppy puts fear into people at first sight. Not everyone, just the majority. I know it’s because of her size, but the thing is, she doesn’t look scary at all to me. She just looks huge.

I’ve come across other Great Pyrenees in my life and I’ve never seen a scary one. I mean — look at that face!

Does this look like the face of a killer? Are you afraid? Did you lean back from your computer screen? Would you cross the street if you saw this face coming at you? Not me. I see a big giant dog out walking with it’s owner and I am there just loving all over that dog.

As we came upon the Living Arts and Science Center I could see this event was really popular. The parking lot and surrounding streets were full of parked cars and the grounds were cluttered with pholks milling about. Heather (LASC director) was "fencing" off a no parking area with some chairs. We chatted for a bit and she asked me if I was coming back, I told her no, but that we did walk through the cemetery and it looked great.

Why didn’t I want to go back? I’d been feeling pretty puny and tired all weekend. Darling Hubby was out of sorts, too.

The night before we’d only had five ( 5 ) trick-o-treaters. Five. Halloween sucked for me this year…

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Maybe the baker really is a knave…

10/30/2009

Rub-a-dub-dub
Three men in a tub;
And who do you think they be?
The butcher, the baker,
The candlestick maker;
They all jumped out of a rotten potato,
Turn ‘em out, knaves all three!

So recently I suddenly got a hankering for a cupcake. A fresh delicious cupcake. At first hankering I’m thinking, no, I prolly shouldn’t — but then I rationalized wanting one because I was awakened three times the night before with low blood sugar — my body must need this cupcake I’m jonesing for. So I drove on over to a local bakery that makes the best cupcakes ever — except when they’re not.

The back-story: So there is this locally owned bakery and caterer in Lexington that really does make awesome cupcakes. I’ve had them at events and parties; and I’ve purchased a few of them every few months or so, too. They ran about $2 each, but were totally worth the treat.

Well, a couple of months ago I picked up a half dozen of them. I brought them home, made a fresh pot of coffee, and then served them to myself and darling hubby.

We took our first bites and looked at each other at the same time because the cupcakes were dry.

Don’t you just hate it when you’re expecting a delicious moist taste of cupcake and instead it is dry?

Putting them on a damp paper towel for a few seconds in the microwave improved the texture, but they definitely were not fresh baked today cupcakes. Did we take them back? No. They weren’t awful, they just weren’t fresh. And besides we’d had fresh and delicious cupcakes from this local baker before — we figured this batch must have been the leftovers from the day before.

We knew all about stock rotation practices from our own work experiences in the food industry. And since I’d just picked up these cupcakes for our breakfast it just made sense that they weren’t baked that morning. We didn’t take the stale cupcakes personally, but knew we’d make sure to get the freshest cupcakes next time. "Baked fresh daily," doesn’t say all of the product being offered for sale were baked today — only that they bake fresh daily.

Because, really? Don’t you just hate it when you’re expecting a delicious moist taste of cupcake and instead it is dry?

And now the more current event: I pop into the bakery for a cupcake and take notice of the cookie case, too. Pumpkin chocolate chip? Oatmeal raisin? One dollar each. And I’m thinking that these are prolly gonna be the best cookies I’ve ever had in my life.

At the cupcake case I lean over to quietly ask which of the cupcakes are the freshest today (not that there was even any other customer in the store that would have heard me).

The owner tells me he bakes his cupcakes fresh every day, but I smile and say back to him that no, because…

And then all hell broke loose. Okay, maybe not hell, he wasn’t yelling, but his voice did go up a couple of notches, and the way he was went off was really out there.

What? You got a bad cupcake so now you know I don’t bake mine fresh every day? Fine, you just take these cookies at no charge and get out of my store (and he shoves the cute little box of cookies at me).

Seriously.

And I say no, that I’ll pay for the cookies, and that I’m sorry, maybe those cupcakes were just from a bad batch —

But he’s on now, and it’s all about how proud he is of the fresh product he makes and sells every day and then I come in here and insult him in his store and in front of his wife —

*sigh*

Now there is a girl sitting on a low chair behind the cupcake case and she’s been smiling from beneath a baseball cap through this whole interaction. So I’m thinking that this must be the girl who has waited on me before because I have never seen this guy at the bakery in the half dozen or so times I’d been there. And I’m thinking she’s smiling because he must do this with his customers all the time.

Honestly, because I’m thinking SOUP NAZI!

And so I say that yes, I can see her sitting there smiling, and she says she is smiling because she can’t believe I’m standing here arguing with her husband and that if I don’t like their cupcakes why don’t I just leave.

What? I didn’t think we were arguing. I wasn’t angry or loud. He wasn’t especially loud or angry sounding. And really? Did I say I didn’t like their cupcakes? I’m thinking all of this in my head and he is still carrying on and on and ON!

So I try to say that okay, I shouldn’t have said he doesn’t bake fresh every day, I should have just said that we got some that were a little too dry (because I’m am still thinking this is some kinda SOUP NAZI game) —

And he’s all, no, you meant what you said, you chose the words you used so don’t get all passive-aggressive on me now because I grew up in a family of passive-aggressives and, and, AND!

Now he was loud and waving a cooking utensil around, too.

Man, I don’t think this guy is a SOUP NAZI at all. OMG! I’ve been buying cupcakes from a crazed baker?

A baker who is maybe so embarrassed that he was called on for selling some stale cupcakes that he tries to turn the problem back onto the customer?

A customer who just wanted one of their fresh delicious cupcakes instead of another dud?

So I’m all, well never mind, thank you, I’m leaving now.

And in my car I’m just about explode from all the laughter inside my head.

So I went home and had some yogurt.

What? You haven’t heard of The Knave Diet. It’s all the rage.

Maybe I should hire this guy to just lay wait for me in my kitchen?

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Because I’m such a social animal …

10/26/2009

… not.

I rejoined Twitter today. I might even tweet more than once a quarter (today doesn’t count). I have been managing to post a few times a week at Facebook, so who knows, this could be a trend…

Every Monday a lovely neighbor hosts a cornbread supper. I keep thinking I’ll go, but then I don’t.

For weeks now I’d been planning to walk over some disposable plates and cups, etc., that have piled up from a party or a cookout we’ve had in the past. Today I walked over there with Lily, the goods in two old grocery bags. Rona was glad to have them. We chatted at her back door for a bit and I promised her I’d make it to a supper … eventually.

I will. I will!

Tomorrow some pholks from work are treating me to a good-bye lunch. I’ve met everyone who will be there and even got to choose the restaurant, so yes, I’m going.

*sigh*

This afternoon Lily, Grace, and Mini had a grand time barking at some guys installing a new cable service for someone nearby. That particular utility pole is well seen from the front of our house: