a cowboy hat to remember

The other day, Motherscribe was reminiscing about how she met

her husband, here and here. Mrs. G at Derfwad Manor was describing a defining moment when she knew that Mr. G was her forever and ever man.

It got me to thinking about the defining moments in the early days of my relationship with Sam, my husband of 16 years. Maybe I'll post about a few defining moments later. But right now I want to tell you about one of the most memorable moments. One of those moments I wondered what in the hell I had gotten myself into.

It was late on a Saturday night, probably 2am. SAM and I had just gotten home from our favorite dance hall, a place we called the "Hall of Shame," or "Shame" for short. As in, "You going out to the Shame tonight?"

Earlier in the evening, like any night at any Texas dance hall, there were a ton of guys wearing cowboy hats. It occurred to me that I had never seen SAM in one, or I didn't remember if I had, and I told him so. SAM was born and raised in Texas. He owned nearly a dozen pairs of cowboy boots. His grandfather was a horse trainer and a horse trader. His father routinely wore a hat (Stetson for most of his life, then a sudden switch to Resistol). So with that background, I knew he owned one. SAM told me that yes, he had owned a hat or two in his lifetime, but that he pretty much only wore a cowboy hat to shield himself from the sun when he was framing a house. He couldn't remember if I'd ever seen him wearing one, either.

So I'm in the kitchen, leaning over the sink, eating one of my favorite late night treats: an egg, potato and cheese taquito from WhatABurger, with lots of hot sauce. Which explains why I was leaning over the sink, to protect my shirt from the dripping. Or, this is how you do it when its 2am and you've had one too many longnecks.

I looked up and realized that SAM wasn't in the kitchen. His taquito was getting cold. Where did he go? I presumed he made a trip to the bathroom.

A few seconds later, I hear SAM say my name. I turn around to find him standing in the doorway, buck nekkid except for a pair of boots and a cowboy hat on his head.

"What are you doing?!?" I yelped, egg and potato dripping down my chin.

Sam replied, "You said you couldn't remember if you'd seen me wearing a hat. This way, you won't forget."

I reckon.

prickly pear picking, part II

Cognitive Daily summarized research indicating that alliteration enhances memory. So "she sells sea shells by the sea shore" is easier to recall, than, say, e.e. cummings, "it is at moments after i have dreamed" or Emily Dickenson's "A narrow fellow in the grass."

With that in mind, I am hoping my readers haven't forgotten my post way back when on plans to pick prickly pears.

Pick them I did on the trail above. And two days later, no, two weeks later, I was still picking. Prickles. From my fingers. (You knew this was coming). And my hand. Especially that soft, fleshy area at the base of my thumb. And other parts of my anatomy I'd rather not put out there in the public domain. Those little bastards were turning up everywhere. So I will begin in order of necessity.

My list for post prickly pear picking:

1. a good pair of tweezers
2. a pair of high magnification reading glasses for seeing and grabbing those little skin sticking suckers.

I was given advice to wear thick gloves. I did, my first trip. Bad idea. My suggestion - make it your goal to have no hand-to-pear contact. Gloves or no.

Here's my experience tested prickly pear picking supply list:

1. a pair of metal tongs

2. a bucket

3. a metal or otherwise hard, flat cutting surface (I used a cookie sheet)

4. a knife to cut the pear open lengthwise

5. a thin edged spoon to scoop out the seeds and fleshy pulp

6. a strainer of some kind

7. teenager with a strong back and a penchant for mashing

I used a colander for jelly straining. Or, well, my able bodied teenage assistant did.

I also used a simple metal strainer, squooshing the seeds and pulp with a spoon.

Wooden cutting boards? Another bad idea. They capture and spread the prickles around. Unless you are cultivating a passive-aggressive plan to get even with your spouse or harbor a masochistic desire to hear him grouse about stickers in his hands for weeks afterward, do not lay your prickly pears on a wooden surface, like so:

That's a picture of my kitchen island. It has a cutting board top. Kitchen-central at our house, we wheel it around and use it for everything: food prep, dinner plate set up, homework checking. Burrowed down in the wood, those little prickly suckers enjoy an effective half-life of for-focking-ever. Take my word for it.

.

.

I did follow Rachel's advice on freezing the pods. I now have a dedicated bucket in my freezer. Can take out two or three at a time as (my blood alcohol level wanes) needed.

Burning the prickles off before handling works well, too. I heard of this method from two sources. The first was a friend who, years ago, was in the Peace Corps in Senegal. She recalled native children bringing her cactus bulb prepared this way. The second source was my mother-in-law who grew up in the Texas Hill Country. During drought conditions, she and her siblings (all nine of them) used to burn the prickles off the cactus in small bonfires and feed them to their livestock.

So I tried the burning method. With my tongs, I held a pear above my gas burner flame. Spore by spore they lit up in teeny little sparkles and burnt away. Worked great. A bit time consuming but made for easier handling later. Which, a few margaritas into the project, was appreciated.

So back to the fruit I picked. Or, the fruit of my efforts: a deliciously dark fuscia pink margarita, which, prickles not withstanding, was damned worth it!

And not a bad way to toast our new President-elect!

Cheers!

How will you all be celebrating this wonderful weekend in November?

this one's for you

Rosa Louise McCauley Parks

(February 4, 1913 – October 24, 2005)

And for every American. We've come a long way, baby.

Congratulations Barak Obama!

76 days and counting.

if you haven't done so, get out there already!

Reading Jenn's post about closing her eyes til it's all over made me think about how we plan to watch the returns. My neighbors are having a party, watching the results come in on a big projector screen outside. I don't especially want to mix alcohol with so much riding on the outcome. Could get ugly. So I'll likely stay home. Or I might slip over there if the returns come in with a clear victory early. I may wants to gets me some group hug action. Its been a long 8 years, 12 plus if you count the fact that we had to cope with Bush as governor before he was President.

My husband will stay home. He is a true political junkie. He will have nothing to do with such a public spectator event. He wants full control of the remote so he can frenetically change back & forth between pundits. He wants to hear every word, see every magic map change color, watch as each state's winner is declared. And eat popcorn while he's at it.

Our favorite commentator is James Carville. He's a coonass, sha.

We want to see him looking victorious. It's been hard watching him look so, well, rabid these past 8 years. We loved watching him on Crossfire, pitted against Robert Novack.

Our very favorite pundit event is when husband and wife duo, Carville and Matalin, face off.

Where has she been this campaign season, anyway? Has James finally won her over to the dark side? I find myself fascinated with their marriage, right versus left, staunch Clinton supporter versus Cheney aide. How does that work, exactly? What must their pillow talk be like?

For the benefit of any other Carville fanatics, I stumbled upon this post in my Google search. It talks about the Carville-Matalin D.C. abode as featured in Architectural Digest January 2008. Damn, missed that! Will be dialing Half Priced Books in search of.

And Chris Matthews of MSNBC Hardball is my daily standby pundit.

We'll be catching him tonight for sure. He's a Philadelphia boy, if noone figured that out with his Phillies cap on the day of the victory parade. I like to hear his accent, reminds me of "home." As well as his hard hitting, won't-take-fluff-for-an-answer, questions.

How will you watch the election returns? Got any favorite television pundits?

same sex marriage can strengthen traditional marriage

Opponents of same sex marriage argue largely based on fear. You can get a general idea here on my blog, or at Queers United here. One frequently heard argument is that it will somehow subvert or weaken the institution of marriage. I've never quite heard a sound basis for this reasoning. I truly have not a clue how two same sex adults marrying has any impact on anyone else considering marriage. When you're in love, you're in love.

Fighting fire with fire, I offer an argument in favor of legalizing same-sex marriage based on an idea I haven't heard proponents use. I predict that gay marriage can strengthen traditional heterosexual marriage, at least indirectly.

The right to marry is one large step toward acceptance. Eventually this increased tolerance will lead to more gays and lesbians coming out earlier, which will in turn lead to fewer deceptive marriages. Hetero brides and grooms can feel more confident when they tie the knot that they are marrying a bonified straight person rather than a closeted gay person who is using marriage:

a. to go straight,

b. to hide deeper in the closet, or

c. to convince themselves that their homosexual inclinations are insignificant.

Or some combination thereof.

Legal same sex marriage may mean, then, that hetero-wanna-bes, hetero-fakers, or those who have unwittingly stifled their true sexual identities will be less likely to carry out the facade of a man-woman marriage. Instead they will live authentic lives pursuing the partner of their true desire.

Fewer sham marriages equals fewer divorces equals fewer disillusioned spouses and shattered children coping with the fallout.

One such sham marriage happened to a friend. Many years and tears later, they divorced. She is still in shock. He is still in denial. Or more accurately, he continues to deny. Fortunately, in this case, no children were involved.

I want to underscore that I believe in gays having the same rights and priviledges granted to all adults because its the ethical, moral, and constitutionally guaranteed thing to do. Period. But I do hope a few hold outs might be swayed by the pragmatics involved in my argument.

I have reservations about posting this for fear I will offend. I know that in many cases, sham marriages occur out of a lack of self knowledge, out of fear and out of well intentioned hopes to live a normal life, to avoid hurting family members, or to avoid shame. Who can't understand these motives? The culture of intolerance carries the larger blame.

I am hopeful that legalizing gay marriage is one step toward tolerance which is another step toward gays being free to live exactly as they are instead of trying to fit into a one-size-fits-all, narrow minded view of love and marriage.

So on Tuesday, November 4th, think about it, give the arguments some sound reasoning, and ....

Arizonians: Vote NO on Proposition 102 which bans same-sex marriage
Californians: Vote NO on Proposition 8 which eliminates the right of same-sex couples to marry
Connecticutians: Vote NO on initiative 1 which brings into session a constitutional convention.

Floridians: Vote NO on Proposition 2 which eliminates same-sex marriage, civil unions, and domestic partnerships (even for heterosexual couples).

In other words, vote NO on ALL Propositions on same sex marriage.

You can read a lawyerly argument defending same sex marriage as a constitutional right, here.

don't speak for me, sarah palin

That I dressed up as "Sarah Palin, Hockey Mom" for Halloween last night but a friend emailed this YouTube video one day too late for me to add it into my performance, notwithstanding, it has me laughing. And if anyone would like to correct my use of punctuation or grammatical structure in that sentence, or this one, for that matter, I would not hold it against you.

have a socialist halloween!

Have a safe and happy halloween, ya'll!

congratulations phillies!

To the losingest team in history - you're the winningest team tonight!

Congratulations

to the

2008 World Champion Phillies!

.

I may call myself a Texan these days,

but I'll always be a phan of the Phillies!

And of course, the Phurry Phanatic!

feel em, baby

You know you want to.

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Do your share for healthy breastesses by visiting Monkeys and Princesses. She is having a giveaway so that she can giveaway more bloggy income to breast cancer research.

Give up more than the obligatory click so she can give up more to the cause (meaning, check out a few of her other posts).

You've got until October 31st! Now get over there and GET FELT UP!

hangover cures

Comparitive Childhood talked about McDonald's fast food today and got me thinking about my hangover eating preferences.

First and foremost, I've gotta have a Pepsi (Coke will do in a pinch but it isn't quite the same). I keep a 12-pack of Caffeine Free Pepsi in my pantry, available on a strictly "break open in case of hangover" basis.

Second in line, and later in the day: a burger and fries.

Back in my college days, weekend mornings were synonymous with hangovers. Genesee Keg party, anyone?

I shared a Victorian era house with a group of Irish Catholic girls who collected keg money on Friday night with all the solemnity of a Sunday morning collection plate. In those days, it wasn't unusual for me to stay up half the night with my buds, sometimes til the sun came up, until we floated the keg.

Something about keg beer and particularly nasty hangovers.

Which meant there was hell to pay if I was scheduled for the morning shift at my Kmart job (yes, that's right, that was me on the loudspeaker announcing Blue Light Specials in Ladies Lingerie). But make my shift I must, so I trotted off with a serious dog on my head.

Conveniently, on the way to work, there was a string of fast food restaurants. First stop McD's for their excellent fries and a Pepsi. Next stop Wendy's for a burger with mustard and pickles only. Ahh. Good as new. Or good enough to get me through the day.

These days I have moved away from keg beer (far, far away) and toward vodka that's been distilled four or five times. On another preventative front: B-complex, an ibuprofen, and LOTS of water before I go to bed. Works like a charm, when I remember to take it.

How about you? What are your hangover cures? Replies along the lines of, "I don't drink enough for hangovers" will be summarily deleted. (kidding, of course).

Here are a few (hopefully) helpful links:

-- Hangover-cure is a blog dedicated to the cause.

-- Ten Quick Hangover Cures offered up at Mental Floss, here.

-- Ten Healthy Hangover Cures, here. Before: Almonds; During: clear alcohol; After: no caffeine, sports drinks and lots of water.

-- Sciencebase says there is no such thing as a hangover cure, here. Boo hiss boo. Leave my placebo voodoo alone, please. These buzz kills say the only way to cure a hangover is to prevent one by drinking less. Well ok, if you say so.

A political aside (because there is always a political aside from where I'm sitting). These hangover hints will not help Alaska's Senator Ted Stevens, I'm not sorry to say. Today he was found guilty on all seven counts of corruption (read about it here). I'd call that suffering from 4o years of swigging pork barrel swill and swindling his constituents.

sex video for real women

It's been awhile since my last juicy sex post. So let's get started, shall we?

I am going to do light hearted, yet serious, review of one of the self-help-sex video's I purchased several years ago. Expand Her Orgasm Tonight! It has the potential for being a great video for women to share with their partners. It can be helpful for men who think they have "tried everything" to help the woman in their life have regular, dependable, orgasms. Maybe even batting-1000, Big O's. This video teaches skills that help women achieve multiple orgasms, too. Now wouldn't that be nice?

Very important, though. Read this first: There are many causes of inorgasmia in women (or men). Most causes are due to psychological factors: inadequate technique, performance anxiety, shyness, sexual identity issues, and conflict in the relationship, to name a few. In some instances, however, physical or medical factors are at root. Women and men experiencing orgasmic difficulty should see a physician or psychologist or certified sex counselor who has expertise in the area of sexual dysfunction to assist in ruling out medical problems. But many people who are comfortable with sexual intimacy and comfortable with their partners can be helped by learning a good skill set. And this video addresses technique enhancement.

Next very important. Read this second: This video requires quite a few up-front disclaimers. Humorous pointers that I think help viewers get the most out of this video (and in some cases not run out of the room laughing). But an overall good rule of thumb: Adjust expectations according to your own goals. This video is promoting marathon orgasms. What woman doesn't want that, right? Well frankly, many of us. Most of us are looking for our partners to give us orgasms on a reliable basis. Mulitiple orgasms are a really, really nice bonus. Extended orgasms are an entirely different matter. Both partners should be on board for such a goal.

I suggest thinking about the video in this way: Think of a jogger who wants to improve her running time or increase his distance. This video would be like picking up an instructional video on running a marathon. You can learn to run a marathon here. But you can also learn simple skills for improving your running performance, no matter what distance you choose.

View with the understanding that noone has to go for the marathon orgasms. It's probably better if people do not, at least not initially. This video is a means of teaching people a set of skills to enhance orgasm. Period. Too often, men especially take on a competitive mindset. If he can do it, so can I. If she can do it, so can my partner. Not necessarily. Each woman is unique. Goals need to be reasonable and in sync. And woman friendly first. Her preferences matter most here. If you push too much, you could sabotage good sex.

More commentary and disclaimers:

1. The participants in this video are not professional actors. They are sex educators. The teacher of expanded orgasm is Dr. Patricia Taylor (Dr. Patti, to her students). She has a PhD in Transpersonal Psychology. I don't know what that is exactly. But in this instance, it doesn't seem to matter. She is not treating anyone for major depression or bipolar disorder. She is teaching sex skills here. And I think she does a good job.

Brief mention of Dr. Patti's dissertation title: Expanded Orgasm as a Pathway to the Transcendence of Consciousness. That's what I call a cocktail party conversation starter. Dr. Patti began her career path with an MBA in Finance from Wharton. No small fry, that. She eventually decided studying and teaching about orgasms was more fun than managing mutual funds. Who would guess?

2. The man who "co-stars", Jim Heynemann, is also purported to have a PhD and an MBA but I haven't been able to verify where he got his degrees or what in. Again, the degrees aren't what matter in this video. The man has incredible hands and the willingness to teach.

3. What Dr. Jim is not so good at, unfortunately, is pillow talk. When he strays from the instructional script, he gets a little, um, canned sounding. Maybe he watched too much 1970's porn. Or not enough. I don't know. But after my husband and I viewed this video I gave him this gentle warning: If you ever say "Now you're cookin' Patti" to me, I will go postal on ya.

You may want to issue a similar gentle warning your partner as well. It is that un-sexy.

4. Last word on Dr. Jim. You will never look at a short, silky turquoise blue robe in the same way again. In fact, I had the severe misfortune of having bought a short, silky turquoise blue robe for myself a mere few months before viewing this DVD (WTF?). A few days after my husband and I watched the video, I came home in the middle of the afternoon to find my husband waiting for me. He was wearing nothing but a mischievious expression and said blue robe. His idea of funny. My idea of "burn the goddamn blue robe already."

5. Most of us get used to Hollywood style movie actors who are stunningly beautiful or distractingly hawt. Well, these educators do not fall into either category. So advice to readers: Get over it. These are real people having real sex. And I can almost guarantee you have never seen this kind of real sex portrayed on your home DVD player before. Unless you, like me, review how-to sex improvement videos. But seriously, it takes a bit of getting used to, these average looking video stars.

6. An important word about lubricants. This video may have been made before personal lubricants were widely available. Maybe before lubricants were invented. So when you practice the skills in this video, for the love of goddess, substitute "petroleum jelly" with one of the many water based personal lubricants or "warming jellies" available. Several brands are sold at your garden variety chain pharmacy and in the personal health section of department stores, such as Tar-jay. Do yourself or your partner a huge favor. Buy some. In my case, hubby doesn't like the smell or feel of personal lubricants. He prefers good old fashioned saliva. (TMI?) And it works for me. The bottom line is, whatever works for you. And if petroleum jelly is all you've got, so be it. It seems to work for Patti. But know that petroleum jelly is generally thought to be drying and that's not what we're after here.

7. A final word about lubricants in this video. Or specifically, about the massive amount of petroleum jelly used by Dr. Jim on Dr. Patti. Anytime I watch this, all I can think about is how many repeat showers it must have taken Dr. Patti to wash all that gunk off of her love nest.

In other words, it may take a second, or third, viewing for the actual skill set to make inroads. To get past the distracting elements. And to get past feeling embarrassed. I felt quite embarrassed when I first watched this. Its way more intimate and real than porn. It took some getting used to.

I wish I had excerpts from the video here, but I don't. You can listen to a podcast or read the transcript of an interview with Dr. Patti where she describes expanded orgasm, here. You can read more about Dr. Patti here. And I found a blog she hasn't posted on in many months, here. You can see her on YouTube giving a talk about using tantric concepts, such as being more "springy" here to get an idea of who she is. The Expand Her Orgasm Tonight video, however, does not get into the concepts of kundalini, or Kashmiri Sharvism, or tantra. It is strictly nuts-and-bolts, practical information and skills.

Last Warning: This video could lead to pregnancy. Not the skills or activities presented in the video but activities that are likely to occur directly afterward. I gave the video as a gift at a white elephant party. Several months later the recipient of the gift showed up at the next party pregnant with her third child. And with a big smile on her face, I might add.

wtf? or, wherefore art thou, comment prompt?

For some reason, when I view my last post, I can only see my comment prompt some of the time. One minute I view my blog and I see it, the next minute I don't.

By the way, since the day before yesterday I am feeling pretty free with the words, WTF.

SAM and I went to see Burn After Reading.

I wonder if anyone did a tally of the number of times Malkovich alone used the phrase.

But about the movie. I liked it. Didn't love it. It had some very funny moments. It had a plot that kept you guessing. Brad Pitt's peformance kept feeling a little too hammy. As for Malkovich, I thought he was mindblowingly funny. Worth the price of matinee admission for that alone. But the rest of the time I kept thinking, "shoulda rented."

Back to my original question. WTF? Are any readers NOT finding the comment prompt?

And no, this is not a pathetic attempt to prompt readers into commenting. Ok, well, maybe. I mean, if it works, then ok.

But seriously, I ask my blogspot experienced friends, WTF? Ever had this happen?

UPDATE: I just viewed this post... the comment prompt is there. But on the real maverick post, it's not. WTF???

will the real maverick please stand up

Or, well, sitting down on Meet the Press works, too.





Don't you know Tim Russert was smiling big on Sunday morning?

will your tax bill change under obama?

I saw this at Women Against Sarah Palin. And here.

you and your partner's name - sound the same?

Cognitive Daily asks whether people with similar names are more likely to hook up and enjoy longer relationships. Good question.

Click here to find the link in the post. You will see "click here to participate." Give a few seconds to science and take the survey (you have until October 23rd). It took me about one minute (or less). Easy schmeezy.

It gave me food for thought, too. While my grandparents names aren't similar, I did realize my husband's name is similar to one of my grandfather's, the one I cherished most. I hadn't thought about that before. I wonder if name similarity to a loved one is correlated with longer unions.

The other interesting name thing in my love baggage: I have had three long term (five years or more) relationships. Each of them have similar sounding names. Something along the lines of Dan, Randy, and SAM (current). Which has meant that my parents often mistakenly call my husband by the name of a former boyfriend. Fortunately, he's a very good sport. He doesn't even mind when I accidentally call him Dan during an arguement. Ouch.

Any interesting name similarities in your relationships?

Oh. And if you want to see a really funny, inadvertent, adult-only result of my google search, click here. Irreverent but hilarious ad, it won a Clio. I call it, "because women like a man with a moustache."

latest craze! the chocolate diet and exercise program!

It's new! It's easy! It's exciting! And guaranteed to help you lose weight!

A diet and exercise program designed especially for the perimenopausal woman. Where the only purchase you make is your favorite chocolate bar! Sound too good to be true?

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.

Here's how it works:

1. Hide your chocolate bar.

2. Forget where you hid it.

3. Wander from room to room searching all of your hidey holes in vain. Get angry! Let a few choice curse words fly! Get that heart rate up!

4. Speed up your search. Run from room to room! You want your chocolate and you want it NOW! You've entered the aerobic phase of the exercise program.

5. Involve your whole family. Swat your kids and husband when they laugh at you for being such a scatterbrain. Intensify your aerobic gains with this great upper arm workout!

6. Time for the cool down. The chocolate is nowhere to be found. Deep knee bends as you fall to the ground in defeat. (I didn't say it would be painless).

Who's with me?

save tina fey

Vote for Obama and keep Tina Fey on this earth.

aggie loss, my gain

It was an extremely tension filled moment. One might say agonizing. The Aggies were playing Kansas State University at Kyle Field with 78,000 fans packed in. We were down 20 points, late in the 3rd quarter. The spectators sitting next to us, a white haired man and his young granddaughter, had already left in disgust, leaving behind a half eaten bag of M&M Peanuts. Or so we thought. I moved my seat over, giving us remaining fans more room.

SAM and I had come to the game armed only with our water bottles, determined not to spend a small fortune on overpriced stadium refreshments. No snacks for us. No sireebob.

I had moved my seat over, in order to make more room for the fans on the other side of us. This is when I spied the abandoned M&Ms.They proved too much of a temptation, this perfect compromise to our "no snack" rule. On impulse, I went for the quarterback sneak. I leaned over like I was picking up my water bottle. But no, I scooped up the remaining M&Ms instead.

SAM and I laughed. Look at us. Two dumpster divers chomping away on a small child's throwaways. Unlike the Fighting Texas Aggies, we had no pride. We polished off that bag in no time.

Early in the 4th quarter, to my great vexation, the grandpa and his unsuspecting granddaughter returned. Oh no, I thought. Where is the empty bag? Where is the evidence of my thievery? What will I do if she asks, "Papaw, where's my candy?!" And the fact that I had moved my seat over. I was the likely perpetrator. The old man will know.

And then I remembered. M&Ms melt in your mouth, not in your hand.

I signaled my husband into conspiratorial silence.

The little girl started to look under her seat. Grandpa began looking under his seat, too. And mine.

I thought I heard the man mention the Aggie program. Which was under SAM's seat. We handed it over, apologizing for having usurped the program in his absence. Looks of mock honesty on our faces. Hoping this was, indeed, what they were searching for.

But no. Grandpa offered to let us have the program. "I've got another one."

"Thanks" we both said in unison, a little too enthusiastically for the size of the gesture, our anxiety returning over the fate of the missing bag of candy.

The best defense is a good offense, I decided. Divert their attention back to the game. SAM and I shouted out encouragement to the Ags. DEFENSE, AGGIES!!! HOLD 'EM!!!

But my peripheral vision, growing ever more acute, was eyeing the small child as she haphazardly rooted under the seats.

The Wildcats were about to score. Grandpa pacified her restlessness, "We'll leave after Kansas scores this touchdown."

Score, I thought. Score and get it over with.

And score they did. Putting the Aggies deeper into their hole.

But I was relieved. Piece of shit fan that I was. Piece of shit human being who steals candy from a baby.

I watched Grandpa and the little girl exit the aisle. For good this time. I was spared.

The Aggies lost 44-30. But who cares. My dastardly deed went undiscovered.

She didn't need the rest of those M&Ms anyway. Bad for her teeth. Right?

not eccentric

One of the few times in my life I'll ever say this, but I hope ultraconservative George Will is correct.


In yesterday's Washington Post editorial he said of Obama, "it is not eccentric to think he could win at least 350 of the 538 electoral votes."

And of Palin, he referred to her as McCain's "female Sancho Panza."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (snort!)

first car and bumper sticker prophecy

A car post by Dr. Deb reminded me of my first car. A Datsun 210 hatchback, circa 1980, powder blue, stick shift.

.

I had driven a stick only briefly when I first learned to drive. I was probably 15 years old. I was on vacation in Louisiana. One of my aunts took me out in her little hatchback (AMC Hornet, maybe?). I jerked and sputtered my way around a high school parking lot until I sorta figured it out.

.

It wasn't until the summer before my junior year in college that my dad and I picked out my first car, the Datsun hatchback. Dad drew the short straw and we rode around my little hometown as I tried to remember how to maneuver a stick. Until that point, I had been driving my mom's 79 Monte Carlo (also powder blue, as it happened -- it was a popular color in 70's). The Monte Carlo was a standard so I was more than a little rusty on a stick.

.

I did fine as long as we were moving. You know how that goes. My dad was patient. I give him that. He gripped the passenger door handle and through gritted teeth told me to let out the clutch slowly while simultaneously and slowly giving it a little gas. It was no good. I stalled out at least a hundred times in front of the post office. We're talking very small town post office right smack dab on Main Street. Saturday morning. Entertaining the townsfolk as they watched the beet red girl try to pull out into traffic. I remember the sweat dripping down my arms and onto the stick shift. "I am letting it out slowly, Dad!"

But once I figured it out, once I got over the learning curve, that was all she wrote. I loved that car. I loved shifting gears. I loved the freedom. No more borrowing from the 'rents. I always had a ride. I was the ride.

A funny aside. I did my undergrad in Pennsylvania. It was spring break of my senior year when I visited Austin for the first time. I had never heard of Austin, barely knew Texas was on the map other than the fact that Astroland was located there (never mind that Astroland is now located in Coney Island. Or was. WTF?!?)

But back to Texas. Texas just wasn't on my map at that time. But I loved Austin and I bought this sticker in the airport.

.

.

The sticker stayed on my Datsun until I sold it, several years later. Prophetic, huh?

What was your first car?

First bumper sticker?