Softball Player Turns Debutante

Spring Cotillion was last night and this was my family's contribution to the big party. Not bad, eh? Hard to believe she was, only hours before, covered in mud on a wet, squishy softball field. More fabulous photos of Emily on my Flickr, so go take a look.

Funny story: Emily called me Friday afternoon, while I was at work, and she said she had good news. She'd broken up with Matt (her first boyfriend.) I asked her why it was good, and she said she'd found out that he had been lying to her. He'd been telling some other sixth-graders that he was going to break up with her, and she had been hearing these rumors. She said that Matt denied this, of course, but she said, "I decided to beat him to the punch, so I broke it off with him." Thirty minutes later, cute-guy Wes asked her out. She told him to give her a week, then she'd be his girlfriend. She told me that she really needed a week off from having a boyfriend. Lesson to all men: do not mess with Merrell women. We don't need you. You're just toys to us and if you don't behave yourselves, we'll replace you so quickly your heads will spin. We'll need a week off, of course, but then we'll be back with full force!!

Nothing Much

It was a busy weekend. Reece spent the night with me on Friday and we had a good time eating Subway sandwiches and chips and cookies and watching movies. Then Saturday morning we went for donuts. I don’t know who enjoys the sleep overs more: the child or the aunt. Saturday and Sunday I spent watching Emily play softball. Her team won first place in the tournament. Go, Emily!

I just received an acceptance letter from the University of Tennessee-Knoxville. I’d received an e-mail from my new advisor at UT on Friday, but I didn’t get a letter until today. Now I’m actually going to have to decide the best place to go. Ultimately, however, it will be money that will be the deciding factor. I’ll go wherever I can go and work while studying for my masters. But, anyway, yeah! It’s good news that I sort of have a choice. It’s also stressing me out trying to keep all the e-mails straight, and trying to find a job and everything else that I can possibly worry about. I especially like to worry about all the things over which I have absolutely NO control.

It’s beginning to thunder and it looks like rain. I’m paranoid about being on the computer when it’s storming. Afraid the lightening might zap the life out of my laptop. So, on that note, I’d better turn this thing off and run for the covers!

Avon Calling? I'll call your Avon...

While in the casino hotel a couple of weeks ago, I tried some of Auntie Linda’s makeup that she has recently discovered. It’s Avon foundation, of which I wear very little, just enough to cover the really scary places on my face, but anyway, I was glad to get to try it, because I liked it, and I decided to order some. I found a girl at work who sells the stuff, so I e-mailed her that I wanted an Avon book, and within ten minutes I had the latest Avon book on my desk. “Wow,” I thought, “she’s going to be easy to deal with.” I’ve had a long, aggravating history with Avon people and that’s too bad, because they make the best hand cream and lip liners in the world. I know, because I’ve tried them all. You don’t get to be my age without some sort of useful knowledge, even if it is just about hand creams and lip liners. So, I placed an order with my new Avon representative, R.C., about fourteen days ago. Again, I know a little something about this process, and when I still didn’t have my products yesterday, I e-mailed her and very nicely asked her when she’d have my order for me. When I got to work this morning, there was an Avon bag on my desk. I should have known better than to get too excited. Inside the bad were three of the five products I had ordered and no receipt. I e-mailed R.C. and asked her how much I owed her, and that I didn’t receive the two lip liners I’d ordered, and would they be coming later. I was very nice and restrained in this e-mail, although I really wanted to let her have it = NO MEDS ANYMORE. She replied to me with three little words: “I have them.” I guess she meant she still had the lip liners. She didn’t indicate how much I owed her, or if she was holding the lip liners for ransom, or what. I didn’t reply, because I would have gotten fired for the nasty e-mail I would have sent. I also didn’t hear from her again today, so now I don’t know what to do. I do know, however, that from now on I’ll order the shit online and pay the extra postage. It will be far cheaper than getting a lawyer to defend me for what I’d really like to do.

Better Late Than Never

While cleaning out some old e-mails today, I found this joke that I'd saved to post on St. Patrick's Day. It's still funny, however, so enjoy and have a great weekend!



Jacques Chirac, The French President, is sitting in his office when his telephone rings.

"Hallo, Mr. Chirac!" a heavily accented voice said. "This is Paddy down at the Harp Pub in County Clare, Ireland. I am ringin' to inform ye that we are officially declaring war on ye!"

"Well, Paddy," Chirac replied, "this is indeed important news! How big is your army?"

"Right now," says Paddy, after a moment's calculation, "there is myself, me Cousin Sean, me next door neighbor Seamus, and the entire darts team from the pub. That makes eight!"

Chirac paused. "I must tell you, Paddy, that I have 100,000 men in my army waiting to move on my command."

"Begoora!" says Paddy. "I'll have to ring ye back."

Sure enough, the next day, Paddy calls again.

"Mr. Chirac, the war is still on. We have managed to get us some infantry equipment!"

"And what equipment would that be, Paddy?" Chirac asks.

"Well, we have two combines, a bulldozer, and Murphy's farm tractor!"

Chirac sighs, amused; "I must tell you, Paddy, that I have 6,000 tanks and 5,000 armored personnel carriers. Also, I have increased my army to 150,000 since we last spoke."

"Saints preserve us!" says Paddy. "I'll have to get back to ye."

Sure enough, Paddy rings again the next day.

"Mr. Chirac, the war is still on! We have managed to get ourselves airborne! We have modified Jackie McLaughlin's ultra-light with a couple of shotguns in the cockpit, and four boys from the Shamrock Bar have joined us as well!"

Chirac was silent for a minute and then cleared his throat. "I must tell you, Paddy, that I have 100 bombers and 200 fighter planes. My military bases are surrounded by laser-guided, surface-to-air missile sites. And since we last spoke, I have increased my army to 200,000!"

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" says Paddy, "I will have to ring ye back."

Sure enough, Paddy calls again the next day.

"Top o' the mornin', Mr. Chirac! I am sorry to inform ye that we have had to call off the war."

"Really? I am sorry to hear that," says Chirac. "Why the sudden change of heart?"

"Well," says Paddy, "we had a long chat over a few pints of Guinness, and decided there is no way we can feed 200,000 FRENCH prisoners!"

Holy Moses

I've watched the old "Ten Commandments" movie, the one with Charleton Heston, at least thirty times in my life. I just love it and can't NOT watch it whenever it's on TV. (Same goes for "The Godfather" and "Braveheart.") Last night, a new production of Commandments premiered on ABC. I was curious, so I watched. The second, and final, part is tonight. So, my big question is, What's up with the BRITISH ACCENTS??? It's terrible! These are desert-dwelling Hebrews and they all have British accents. I'm writing to ABC to complain. Plus, Moses has fair skin and blue eyes. And, Omar Sharif? Give me a break. Whenever there's an ethnic part to be played, they always call on him. Like they always used to cast Ricardo Montalban, remember?

Speaking of Moses, did you hear about Gwyneth's little baby Moses? Aside from being really, really funny to me, I just don't care. Nor do I care that he has a big sister named Apple. What is it with this fascination with celebrities and knowing all about their personal lives? Of course, the fact that I just wrote this paragraph perpetuates their fame, doesn't it?

I will say, in defense of the fascination with celebrities, I was glad to know one little tidbit when I was watching "How To Marry A Millionaire" the other night. I've seen the movie probably five times and never caught this line: When Lauren Bacall's character, who is twenty-five, is trying to convince her fifty-five-year-old suitor that she prefers older men, she says "the old guy in 'African Queen'? I love him!" (African Queen - Another superb movie, by the way.) Anyway, I thought that was cute and if I'd not known anything about Lauren Bacall's private life, I'd have not enjoyed that line in the movie. I just can't believe it took me that many viewings to catch that!

Here She Goes, Again

A major pity party has been going on in my house for several weeks now. I’ve written about my depression a time or two, so you know about it, but what I’ve not mentioned lately is that I am now off the meds. There’s no longer a milligram of a milligram of antidepressant in my body. Why would I go off the meds? I have my reasons. Those of you who are hounding me to take them, please find some other cause to devote your nagging to, because I’m sticking with my decision. The fact that I know why I’m so messed up right now is some consolation. Years ago, before therapy and drugs, I had no idea what was wrong with me. That was misery. This is just not a happy time, but not pure misery, since I’m aware of the problem and I’m also aware that I’m doing what I’m doing for a reason.

So, that’s why my blogging has suffered as of late, and why I might not be a regular blogger for a while. My brain is in a transition and I’m going to be “phoning it in” for a while. I'm also going to be writing a lot of awful poetry. I’m optimistic, however, that I’m going to get through this with a lot of insight which will help me deal with my dark side much better in the future. My very, very bright future.

The Grammar Police are on patrol and have found plenty more idiots to arrest. I'm just glad I'm not the only one who hates this stuff.