Took Pete and Re-Pete to a birthday party today. Pete went fishing for the 1st time- and caught a fish! It took hours to reel in, she shuddered with exhaustion, but she prevailed! and here it is-
On an aside- can you see the original pond level in the background- brings fresh meaning to drought, doesn't it?
Ok, so my mother. Right. What to say. Well, she rocked. She was so smart. "Hey, Mom, what does requisite mean?"
"Use it in a sentence."
"Ok, now do you get it?"
"Mom, can I go skating tonight?"
"Sure, I'll clear with your father."
"Mom, can you handle this?"
"Of course"
And she did. She handled a man that suffered brain damage due to a bullet for 20 years. She handled 5 children, three of her own, for several years. She handled 3 kids that dropped out of school, moved out, moved in, moved out. She handled lending money to her kids without getting it back. She handled buying cars for her adult children. She handled the death of her husband and living with her daughter for 4 years. She beat achoholism. She saw her last grandchild born. She handled the dissapointment of having nothing left but the memories. I really thought she'd handle cancer. I really did.
So, yeah, she was great.
Peace. Happy birthday, Mom. I love you.
Today is my mother's birthday. She would have been 64 today. Lung cancer claimed her life 3 years ago. She always had a story for everything- somedays we almost went crazy with her stories. She lived with us for about 4 years. There was a lot of pain and anger between us. But she was the strong one that could handle anything. She was stronger emotionally than my father, always handling things. She was the strong one, and not supposed to die, dammit. Damn, I miss her.
Anyways, y'all kiss your mothers and be thankful for them. If they've already passed, raise a toast with me me to mine.
Finally broke down and went to the doctor. Actually the nurse practioner. She did nor inspire me like this guy's did, but all in all, I'm pleased. She gave me med's- muscle relaxers and an antihistamine. I have slept through the night for two whole nights (marching bands play in the background) Damn, I feel much better. Maybe I'll get something done today.
On a side note, I know how much you guys like hearing about my kids. Re-Pete told her brother not to take some toy she had on the table, to which her smarted off with, "OPh, I will, and you won't find it." Quoth she, "Yes, I will, cuz I'm a great finder." I like her spirit.
Ahhhh.. Look at those cute little girls. I was 10, my sister was 12. This is one of the very few surviving photos of me as a kid, I think. If I remember right, it was taken the day we went to Astroworld in Houston, Texas. Summer of 1977. The picture was taken at a booth there. We took two cars. Everyone was drinking. The oldest person was in the early 20's and there was one girl, Kimmy, younger than me. We were passing beers between the cars on the freeway during the trip there. Got high for the very 1st time there. We were riding The Needle- we were the last people riding that night. Riding up into the sky, smoking.
Later that night we ended up at someone's apartment and I'm blowing smoke into an empty Coke bottle, a glass one. Trying to fill it up and then pour it out, made a mess of my white shirt. At one point I looked around, saw a bunch of high people, beer cans, other tools of the trade, and said, "what do we do if the cops come in?" The reply was- "Close your eyes and hope no one sees you." It's still funny. Man, my parents were furious when we finally got home at dawn. But that, folks, was just the beginning....
Remember that? Robin always had some "Holy Something or Other" to say to Batman. But Sacred sheep shit is my favorite. Even got the boy hooked on it... Sometimes it just fits the situation....
I watched a National Geographic show toninght about fire ants and their lack of natural enemies on this continent. I remember being about 3 or 4 and having to go to the bathroom. We were outside and i wasn't ready to go in, so I dropped my britches- and sat down in a fire ant bed. I don't remember the pain, thankfully, but I remember walking around in a towel and sitting in the bath a lot.
The show was about the phorid fly. Apparently, the fly buzzes around the ant, scaring it. The ant sends out a fear pheremone and all the other ants come to see what's up. The smell, however, turns the flies on, and they mate in mid-air above the ants. The female then jabs an ant and injects the fertilized egg into its abdomen, then go gets her some more fly-love. Get this, the ant doesn't die right away, the maggot slowly digests its insides and only after the ant dies does the maggot crawl from the abdomen into the head. It eats everything in there (I wonder how much that would be) and then once the head falls off an adult fly comes out, all randy and looking for love! The fly comes from South America, where the fire ant population is kept under control.
Here are a few pictures for you:
Off with his head!
Talk about getting inside your head!
Do I make you horny, baby?
One of the joys of teaching is that I get extra duties. I know, sounds like an oxymoron. But I watched a gate tonight for our homecoming football game. I got to see many of my students that have graduated and moved on. I was at one of the back gates and took in about $2,500. Yes, $2,500. At one gate. In the back. Damn. I said, upon seeing which gate I had, "Oh, we've got it easy, and we get to see the game." Right. Did get to see the half time show (our band ROCKS!) and the last quarter (23-6) Thank You Very Much. And 2 interceptions in the last quarter that were both good for a least a 30 yard sprint TOUCH DOWN!!! YAY! Go Team!
Remember when I said football was still boring? Well, let me change that. Football on TV, when you haven't taught half the kids out there, is boring as shit. This, this football live, in the heat, bugs, screaming in your face? This is cool! Did I tell you Fox 5, a local TV station, came out and filmed my son (ok, plus the other Superfans) for a regular sports spot? Way cool.
Life is good tonight, gentle readers, with a few Corona's to help the groove....
Cya
When I was 20 my friend C. and I took our moms to Cancun. Here's a pix of C., my mother, and me at Tulum. What you don't see is the sheer drop off right behind us. So beautiful there. When I was coming down the steps of one of the ruins a guy tried to look up my dress. Man, I loved that dress. Can you believe I thought I was fat?
When I was 13, about 400 years ago, well, ok, 26 years ago, I had a job working in a Dairy King. A little walk up place where I took orders for burgers and fried things while the Greek family in the back made the food. Not bad money, really. I made about $90 a week. I had to turn over all that money. Now, I didn't mind then, because I thought I was helping the family. But, I still got my clothes at Goodwill, we still had our utilities turned off, and we still ended up homeless.
So I'm a little stewed at parents that take advantage of their children today. Go figure.
I am now taking my mother's advice by not saying anything else.
Cya
My son, that is. I realize that at 17, he still has a lot of challenges to face. But teenagers have their share- sex, drugs, other stupid life choices, doing well in school. So the boy and I are talking today. One day several years ago, I caught him and another boy trying to buy cough syrup. Now, they denied, but I called the parents, and that boy went home. My son admitted tonight that he was indeed trying to buy it, and that they had both consumed a bottle of cough syrup a different night, only to spend the night very sick. I know he's been drinking before, and has smoked pot. We've let him have a few beers at the house before. But, he has stopped being friends with a couple of kids now because of their drug habits, and has told others he'll stop being friends with them if the do drugs. I know, he could be lying. But, he tells me he doesn't do drugs and thinks their stupid. A friend of his smokes and C. Is not impressed, to say the least. So, yeah, some ay some hottie or another influential person might convince him to get into to drugs, but for this week, I think we're safe.
Pete, the 8 year, comes home sometimes, okay often, with a chip on her shoulder. I've just begun to expect het to complain about something- picking her up to early, or late, no good food, no one likes her, can't choose which friend, ad nauseum. Well, today was a wee bit different. She came bouncing out of school, then proceeded to tell us all about her day, then repeated verabtim some instructions, then sang every song in her big voice that they're doing at the PTO meeting- "It's Tuesday, I have to be there at 6:30 not you though you have to drop me off then go find a seat and I need a pair of sunglasses but it's okay if I don't have them she has some we can borrow but I have to give them right back **big smiles** " It's days like this that we remember why we kept her.
Just spoke with my nephew. He's a marine, stationed at LaJuene (spelling?) Anyway, he ships off to Iraq in January. He's coming here for a visit October 6th for the weekend. A party is on! He's bringing a friend. I told him I wanted to show him off so he's bringing his uniform. We are so proud of him. I told him I was scared for him to go, and asked if I shot him in the foot if they would still let him go. He said, "don't do that, I want to go." He'll be one of the guys riding around in the humvee looking for bombs. I am so scared for him.
Okay, here's what I really want to know:
How did my darling little boy go from this :
to this:
Go see this guy, he's got the greatest stuff! I love his posts and pics. The dead beaver is the funniest, but the wild life pix makes me want to take a road trip. I wonder if he'd put up with visitors?
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Thanks to Ellison and Lisa for lighting the way to this place.
This will come as no surprise to many of you, but women have snakes in their head. Even me. No, no, it's true, I do. Just the other day....Well, never mind. Let me give you the condensed version of a relationship my daughter has had with this girl for a few years. The girls is a year younger than Pete, but they got along alright for a while. The parents were a little creepy. I should stopped letting Pete hang with them when she went out to dinner with them and didn't come back for 6 hours. Anyway, last spring the two of them were riding their scooters down the hill, after being told to put helmets on. The girl fell, Pete flipped over her, bunches of scraps, and one f'd up helmet. Being the Guiltinator, I pointed out the big scrap and expressed my happiness that it wasn't the little girls head. I told her mother I thought the girls arm was broken, and sure enough, the next day they take her to the doctor and it is. Ever since then, any time Pete has called or walked up to her house to play she has been told the girl is taking a bath or cleaning her room. At all hours of the day. The girl wouldn't return phone calls. I finally tracked the mom down and asked her if something had happened, if my daughter had said or done anything. Oh, no came the reply. We're just always so busy. Right. I tell Pete that for some reason their parents just don't want them to play, it's a shame and their loss, but also their right. The two of them still see each other at afterschool care, sometimes sitting together. Then the girl starts telling Pete her mother says she not a good friend, her father won't let play together, that she's not being invited to the birthday party because she is a "poopy-head". I tell Pete to stop talking to her, tell her if she has something nice to say, okay, but if not, to leave her alone. Then, Pete says she wants to play with the girl at her house, she was invited. I said, not until I talk to the parents. This was about 3 weeks ago.
Did I say this was the condensed version? :)
So, today the girl shows up wanting to know if Pete was "coming to the party, it's right now." Fine, Pete's upset, really doesn't want to miss the celebration. I tell her, Have the mother call me, we'll talk. I'll be damned if she didn't finally call. (Although I suspect it was more because of a poor turnout than a desire to d O the right thing.) I told her what I thought- Pete had been trying to be friends, she'd been rebuffed (baths and bedrooms) and if something had happened I needed to know. She said, oh no, we've been busy the last two weeks. I don't know why Pete's not here, she got her invitation last week (uh, no), I explained some of the things this girl had been saying. In a nutshell, I gave her the chance to tell me to piss off, apologize, whatever. She
lied instead, and then tried to make me feel bad (Well, I guess it's just up to you if you let her come, whiny like) What-fucking-ever!
Look, you don't like my kid, okay, your loss. But don't lie about. This little girl is already playing head games (she's in 2nd grade, now) That's a learned behavior. Fucking snakes in her head, I tell you.
Have you cleaned the house with such vigor you're dripping with sweat and stink? Damn, my family is a bunch of pigs! Well, it's almost all done now, and only a little after 1, so the kids have all day to trash it again.
Hey, y'all. Hubs isn't a total ass, yet. He's watching A Little Foot movie, you know the ones- dinosaurs talk and care about each other. As if. He won't believe me that you just have to make your mind that you are a non-smoker. I wish I had a quarter for every time I said "I don't smoke any more" to help get over a craving. Of course, I also developed high blood pressure, a very fat ass (plus a very fat every thing else), some serious cramps for a few weeks, and a bad case of the super-bitch. Let's just say you don't want me driving in traffic. I'll scream at you iffen you just slow down too much. Let's just say I could relate to all those women that beat their kids.
But I'm really proud of the hubs. It's hard for him, he has a harder time letting go of some stuff than I do.
I go to the doctor yesterday to have a biopsy, not "OMFG it' s cancer", just sorta of a "what's this" kinda of a thing. Only it's internal, to be delicate about it. So I get there, they can't find my file. No biggies, we're asking questions, allergies (iodine). He does the procedure. Now, let me tell you people. They took a sample that was as long and wide as a strand of cooked spaghetti, with no pain meds. That fucker hurt! All done, they leave. I sit up and see this small cup with about a and quarter inch of brown fluid. I think, ewww, that surely didn't come out of me. Then I realize, hey isn't that a bottle of iodine (allergic!). So I go out there, make sure that's what happened and sure enough, I've got some iodine in a , ahem, delicate place. They give me some steriods, tell me if I have trouble breathing or my tongue swells to call 911. So, today, I feel like I've had 12 hour marathon sex. If I had really had marathon sex, I'd be quite happy. But I'm feeling a little cheated.
A blonde woman gets a job working in a Tickle Me Elmo Factory. Her first day on the job, her supervisor points to a room full of the toys and tells her to give each one a test tickle. A few hours later he finds her surrounded by the dolls, a bag of marbles, and needle and thread. When asked what she was doing, she said, "I'm giving each one testicle."
That's the day my hubby turns into a bastard for 6 months. He's finally decided to quit smoking.
Since nothing extremely interesting is happening around the house today, how about a story?
I knew a guy, his name was Frank, but everyone called him Bull. He was a red head, Cajun, temperamental, already had a record, probably about 15. When I first met him, I was a little under his radar. I was about 12 or 11. His Daddy, JR, was in jail for something or other. He lived with his momma, and 2 brothers in a half built house. He had a motorcycle.
Anyway, he lived near a concrete place. There was also a field beside his house. My sister and I would hang with him sometime. He would be stoned, of course. Anyway, we go lay in that field on hot summer nights and he would sing all the Beatles songs he knew. One night, he decided to climb the fence at the TXI place and go up the big ass conveyor belt. He wanted my sister to go, then me. No way, Jose. She and I sat in that field watching him climb up, then come back down. We thought our goose was cooked. We thought he was going to fall off and we'd have to go tell his mother. He acted like it was nothing, but you could tell he had a great time.
So I'm taking my walk tonight, listening to my ipod. I hear those wonderful guitar chords marking the beginning of my most favorite song, Wish You Were Here. Got me thinking of days gone by. There's a place in Alabama, Cheaha State Park. At the top of the mountain is Bald Rock. Used to be, to get there you had to maneuver over rocks and trees roots. The rocks were magnificent, sandstones and the like shot through with quartz and quartzite veins. You risked a stubbed toe or worse walking through there too close to dark. But it was part of the experience to get there.
Couple million years ago the top of that mountain was located several hundred feet closer to sea level and a couple hundred miles to the southeast. It was a quiet beach, most likely. Imagine, a beach on top of a mountain. Thrills me just to think of it. Any way, the path is all pussified now with lights and a damned old wooden path. Took a lot out of going there, it did.
So, the stage is set, we're walking to Bald Rock. Once you reach the end of the path, everything sorta opens up. The path ends and there's a drop off of a good hundred, hundred fifty feet. You're looking west, and you see flat land punctuated with these small cliffs moving away from you, like the land has been pushed and stacked like slabs of, well, rock. Which is exactly how that part of the southeast formed. Georgia and Alabama were pushed up a shoved inland, buckling and creating Cheaha mountain in the process. Standing there, I can almost see it happening. It is truly a beautiful place. Y'all come visit, we'll go.
As we're walking, one guy has brought a guitar. We walk from the campsite to the outcrop to watch the sunset, a sight no Southerner should be remiss in seeing. He's softly playing that song as the sun gets lower and lower, peoples' voices drop to a murmur, then fade away with the last light. I can help but think about that evening whenever I hear that song.
Found this picture, but it doesn't really do the place justice. Seems like a road trip is in order.
So, I'm not a rocket scientist. In fact, the more I learn the more I realize how little I really know. One of my favorite things to teach in biology is DNA and genetics. Since I'm home with Re-Pete today, thought I might bring some schooling to all y'all.
All living things have genetic material. Some organisms, like bacteria, have little rings called plasmids. Scientists take advantage of these by inserting little bits of our DNA into the rings. Then the bacteria make whatever we've programmed them to, say, insulin. There are huge sterile vats of a sugary solution containing billions and billions of bacteria eating all that glucose goodness and happily shitting out human insulin. It's a win-win situation. There's a company making Lysix, bacteria with a purpose! I think this is going to revolutionize the lunchmeat industry. No more Listeria, the culprit in many food poisonings. This bad boy can kill an unborn child, which is why pregnant women are cautioned not to eat cold cuts.
Even viruses, not technically a living thing, contain genetic material. Viruses work by shooting their genetic wad into specific cells. Now, if you're a smoker, you probably have the tobacco mosaic virus inside you. Why haven't you broken out? Because you don't have living tobacco cells inside you. Warts are caused by viruses putting their DNA into your skin cells.
Here's the thing: all DNA is made of the same basic stuff- sugar, phosphates, and 4 bases, A,T,C, and G. All living things have those same 6 ingredients, nothing more, nothing less. How cool is that? You share the same type of genetic material as the cow you had for dinner, or the snake you shot, or the plant material you smoked.
So, the questions begs to be asked- If we all have the same DNA, how come we don't have camel-dogs and sheep-boys? It's all about the arrangement. DNA is arranged into chromosomes. For a new living thing to begin those chromosomes from the male and the female species must match up in number and size. When they almost match up, but not quite, defects occur. If there is a great discrepancy, fertilization won't occur. But that's another story.
There will be a quiz on this tomorrow. Time for recess.
update: Ellison got me thinking:
humans- 46 chromosomes (normally)
corn- 20
humans- 25, 000 genes
corn- 59,000
humans- 3,300 million base pairs
corn- 2,500
see here for more info
My parents are on the far right. My favorite aunt is sitting on the far left, Marianne. My Pete is named after her. My mother always did look good in blue.
Ah, Monday morning, getting ready for work. Of course, little miss Re-Pete is sick, Hubs was up half the night with her. Figures. Maybe I'll be getting the day tomorrow.
I got some advice- write what you want, and often. Before this weekend, some of you guys were just pages in space. I read you, enjoyed, but it was a little impersonal. Now, of course, it's different. I get the joke a little more. I can even imagine some of you typing away, a glass of some tasty concoction, a cigarette, several firearms within arms reach. (For some reason being able to reach a gun at a moments notice impresses the hell out of me) , cats in abundance. It's also a little intimidating to know that you guys might read my posts every so often, too. If I suck, you'll be the 1st to know, and what if you don't tell me? Hell, what if you do tell me?
My son really, really wants to come next year. Says he'll be 18, volunteers to drive, or at least be the designated sober person to fetch things. Heh. I had a really great time. Didn't get to talk to some people. I really wanted to get to know Zonker more, and Lisa (sorry, but I just couldn't go shopping!). Guess that means I'll be going to more of these things.
Things I learned this weekend
1. Scotch tastes like bandaids
2. I like convertibles
3. Beer tastes better by the Chattahoochee.
4. Canadians are cool (and I have the tiara to prove it).
5. Monkeys are funny.
6. Yabu is a standup kind of guy- don't f*** with him.
7. Fireworks hot- burn down building.
8. Dax tells it like it is.
9. Celebrities (tip of the fidora to hissown self, Ellison) are people, too.
10. Football is still boring as shit.
11. Some girls dig cops.
12. I like half-rubber, but need practice. Apparently, I swing "like a girl". I got your girl.
13. Freebird!
14. I know where a man's g-spot is now. Can't tell you how I know that.
15. You cannot make this shit up.
If you're cutting class to hang out in the lunch room, to do your drugs deals with your freaking mouth hanging open like a damn idjit, and a teacher tells you not stand in the middle of the 400 people trying to get past you, DO NOT draw attention to yourself by start spouting off with your mouth about how the teacher needs to back off you and not say your name, then try and leave, only to sneak back into the lunch room.
Lesson is over, you can go back to sleep now.
Admit it, you were all thinking ..."At band camp" even if you never saw the movie. Pete, who is 8, has never seen it either. But she says "this one time" ... Incessantly... So much so that at the age of 6 my BF got her to tell me "this one time at band camp" just to give us a stroke. Good friend, huh. Pete went to Six Flags with a friend and her mother told her she was going to staple her lips together if she didn't stop talking. She even drives strangers crazy. Her poor, poor, teacher. She aims to please. But let me really get into a show (Saved, Grey's Anatomy, Deadwood) or a cool song (RHCP, Stadium Arcadium right now) and she is blah blah de blah f'ing blah. That girl can talk.
My mother used to ask me if I'd been vaccinated by a phonograph needle. Damn, that is so funny now. I never really paid attention to her when she said it before. Well, at least we know were Pete gets it.
I remember watching this guy for years, and I always had a lot of respect for him. I thought he was pretty stupid when he brought his child into the croc habitat, but he brought some positive publicity to animal conservation. Hell of a way to go, though, huh?
just went here to check out the geyser and got to see it go off, cool. The site even lets you know when the next eruption is.
I've posted a little about my family, I think. Here's a story that resurfaced:
My mother said she was born with a Veronica's veil, some type of jelly like covering on her face. Superstition and old wives tales suggested that it kept the bearer from dying from water or fire. My mom was born in 1942, and some uncle was going off to war. Apparently they wrapped that thing up and gave it to him for protection. Don't know what happened to him.
I talked to my aunt yesterday, she told me my mother was born with the vernix still covering her face. That was her "Veronica's veil". My mother's family was Catholic, so I guess that carried a lot of weight, what with the Pope going to see it and all.
Well, I guess it worked, sorta. She did die from fire and water- she died from pneumonia caused by the tumor blocking her air passages. Too bad that thing didn't protect her from smoking.
just finished making about 10 pounds of bannana bread. Or is it bananna bread? whatever. Tis good wherever that extraneous n may be.
yum.
I grew up in a small town right out side of Houston. We moved 13 times in 9 years, but there was a core group we spent our free time with. My sister and I were friends with the girls and my brother with the boys of the adults my parents were drinking buddies with. Sonny and his wife, whatshername, had 2 girls, Missy and Toni. Bob and Mary had Cathy, a little older than me. Little John has his son Dennis, don't know where the wife was. My sister and I called them uncle and aunt. They were our family.
Anyway, we spent Christmas, 4th of July, all that with those people. One Father's Day was spent at Lake Houston, my parents went to spend the night alone, we went up to Kelley's Ice House. Now Kelleys, and ice houses in general, was a modified house. 2 or 3 of the walls were made to pull open and get propped up with posts. Then there would be a Big Ass fan in a corner blowing the air around.
Well, what better way to celebrate being a father then taking the kids to a bar and getting drunk? I was about 9 or 10 at the time. Right before I, too, learned the joys of beer and other mind-altering substances. Anyway, John sends me down the road to get him some tums, when I come back, I see a guy loading a gun in the parking lot. I tell Kelly, he doesn't believe me. My sister tells him a bit later that another guy has a gun inside, still, he does nothing. Flash forward a bit, and Sonny's brother and I are standing in the door when suddenly he shoves me out of the way, shots ring out, and he lands on the floor. He was a total cut-up, so we thought he was kidding. I remember laughing, thinking it was joke. When we saw the blood coming out of his side and Whatshername, Donna, screaming, that took the humor right out of it. So the whole group of us, sans my parents, end up at the Downtown Houston police department, giving statements. Kelley had whiskey in his car, we, including me, would go get a coke out of the maching, pour some out, and add some whiskey. Little John got really drunk and passed out. Someone put a metal basket in front of his face so he would think he was in a cell. I tell you, those people weren't gonna let a little thing like a death stop their party. Any way, the guy got caught and pled guilty. If John-Paul (the brother) hadn't pushed me out of the way, it would have been me that got shot.
Skip ahead a few years, I'm 14 or 15 going on 25, have a boyfriend with a motorcycle, and it's a different ice house, Rubys, mother of said boyfriend. They were cajun and damn that guy had a temper. Anyway, Missy and I are pretty good friends, her Dad, Sonny, and I are dancing to some slow song, and he kisses me, with tongue. I smack his face, and Missy sees it. She's furious with me, I'm scared she saw her Daddy french her best friend. We stopped being friends because I wouldn't tell her why I slapped him.
That same year, Cathy was 16 or so, her 1st child, Little Robert, was having his 1st birthday. We all went, of course, and that's when I found out that Bob wasn't just Little Roberts grandpa, but his pa, as well. Damn, that grossed me out. The next year, Cathy got pregnant again, and we wanted to know if it would have one eye or no legs, or something freaky like that. Well, boy did we get a surprise- that baby was born black! Cathy tried to make it on her own, she moved in to this little one room trailer with her little girl. Little Robert stayed with his Daddy. A few weeks later, Cathy came home, alone. I never knew what happened to her daughter.
Cathy and Mary, plus the boy, finally did get rid of Bob. He moved in with Brandy. Brandy's Daddy owned a junk yard. She and Bob lilved in a hollowed out school bus in the corner, complete with an orange extension cord. One morning Bob shows up at our house, gives my Daddy a gun, says hold this, don't tell anyone. Seems Brandy had been having these headaches, and a funny sore spot on her head, she finally went to the hospital afet 2 days to find, you guessed it, a bullet in her head. Seems the two lovebirds had gotten into a tiff, and Bob shot her in the heat of battle. But then they both passed out and couldn't remember what had happened. She ended up with the big cave-in above her right temple and was a total space case after that.
So why tell you this? When I moved to Georgia, people t old me how redneck everyone here was. Shit, I thought, they're not rednecks, these guys are punks! They'd just get their asses kicked where I come from. I finally did meet some rednecks in North Georgia, though.
Those guys from Texas, that's redneck.
You just can't make this shit up.
Lisa wrote a post about her false memory of peeing by the road. Well, here's my story:
Several years ago, my brother was getting married. Whish is funny since he and his girl had already been living together for 15 years, but had gone religion on us, and was a-feared of going to hell, I guess. Anyhoo, it's Friday afternoon, and we're heading into Atlanta. We're on 285 heading over to 85, it's a Huge ass bridge with a sweeping curve, bumper to bumper, naturally. Pete, who was 3 at the time, was a flower girl and needed to be there to practice. She pipes up, "I gotta potty"
"you'll need to wait"
a few minutes later, and a bout 10 feet have been traveled
"I gotta pee pee"
After several minutes, she's crying, but we're not moving. I get her out of her car seat, pull her pants down, and tell her to pee on the seat. No way.
I end up pulling over about a third of the way up that fucking bridge, getting her out, standing between the car and the railing and letting it trickle down hill. I was worried about getting a ticket, but more distressed that she was so uncomfortable. Coupled with the fact that I crapping hate, hate , hate driving in heavy traffic, and you have one nervous mommy.
We got to the rehearsal just fine, but renamed that infernal bridge: The PeePee Bridge.
Update- here it is folks, the famous bridge, and roughly the same spot.
