This Day Just Stinks...

And it stinks big time.

Squib and I got home from the week in Houston proper at about ten this morning to a very quiet house. He strode through the door with his usual bravado and paused in the doorway with his chest puffed out and declared "I'm here!" "Here" had at least four syllables in it. I get the biggest kick out of that. It's like he's Tarzan or something and is about five seconds away from pounding his chest and letting loose a primordial yell. All male, that one.

Just Buddy and Mimi were here. Hogging the recliners, I might add.

I am all conferenced out, sick and tired of working with the Arkansas Oil and Gas Commission's database, and the spreadsheet that ate New York City (this thing is huge) has been giving me fits. Most of the week I've been in mourning for the days when I really feel like I'm doing something like pouring, mixing, weighing, distilling, titrating, etc. Number crunching IS important but I don't exactly find it satisfying. RocketDog (my laptop) has been giving himself his own things to do and really seems to think that my iTunes needs to be opened every five minutes, so he obviously has some sort of problem I have to track down.

But, so far the day had not TRULY reeked. Yet

Papa and Baba returned from Sadler Clinic and we all sat down to lunch (spaghetti with Buddy's homemade sauce and green beans--yummy). Over lunch, the real suckage began.

Both grands had been to their respective docs. Both grands have now been diagnosed with cancer. Papa has prostate cancer which has metastasized to the pelvic bone (NOT bone cancer he says despite the word "bone" that follows the word "pelvic"). Baba has breast cancer.

This sucks. No two ways about it. And, unlike most Scats, I have not inherited the ability to make jokes about it or appreciate the jokes they make about it. They're alert, articulate, agile people who could pass for mid-sixties/early seventies though they're in their early eighties and still capable of enjoying life with no hindrances. The one exception is that my grandfather is rather hard-of-hearing. Big deal.

He still does all the yard work because he likes it--DO NOT get in his way. The geophysical work he does with Dad and I is a hobby. She still runs all the errands and goes to the gym because she likes it--and don't you dare try stopping her, either. They read incessantly, teach, visit with their friends, take lots of walks, love to watch movies, and generally enjoy life. So, no, I am not ready to joke about their death (which I don't exactly see coming yet regardless of the news). It seems off-color and premature.

But listen to their grisly jokes is exactly what I had to do as they fielded the calls this afternoon. I couldn't even work because I was getting data in the wrong fields and was just generally unable to pay attention--and getting downright weepy (odd for me).

So I played with my new toy from one of my favorite places: http://thinkgeek.com It's a Quadrilla (you have GOT to try one of these!). Kudos to them for making an awesome, creative, wooden toy for all ages. It's for Beanstalk, but I had to "test" it :) Just to be safe. Now I "need" some of the add-on sets. And I'm using the word "need" here! Not just your average marble track-building set. It's a remarkable testament to the Quadrilla that it was sufficiently distracting on this particular day.

Squib woke from an awesome nap and we tried to play chutes and ladders, but we never landed on any ladders and kept hitting all the chutes. That sucked, too, and I lost interest almost before he did. I asked him if he wanted to try a different game and he said "I really don't think so, Mom." 'nuff said.

So here we are...being vegetables and watching Bob the Builder. We WOULD be in the kitchen eating dinner, but there's thunder outside. That's four-yr.-old logic for you. He asked if this was a hurricane because he "donna wunna tate a baff wike dat." He's referring to the well-water bucket bath I gave him before the propane stove was fixed during IKE. To be fair, I took one, too, but I agree that it belongs in the fifth circle of hell. Dang, that was cold. It's been a year and he still mentions it at least every other week. So, we're both obviously thinking happy thoughts right now.

He also wants to know if I can make the thunder go away...yeah...Mommy, goddess of thunder. Riiiight.

Scat

The List

This idea is totally stolen from Chris at Notes from the Trenches, but I thought it was a cool idea and a very thought-provoking exercise. Forty things I'd like to accomplish before I turn forty. Two-and-a-half years is sounding like five minutes right now.

My 40 before 40 list:

1. Go on a date with a decent man.

2. Toilet train all my kids (Half way there...8/10/2010. Cha-ching! Done.0).

3. Get another dog. I believe firmly in liberating what I call "pound dogs." Got a chicken, instead. Her name is Houdini McNugget

4. Lose forty pounds for good (15 to go 8/10/2010).

5. Improve my credit score. Hmmmm....

6. Visit/tour Hoover dam with the boys.

7. Get all my teeth fixed for the LAST time. Yeah, bad teeth are in the family.

8. See all my relatives (this is a mammoth undertaking and probably overrated).

9. Hear Alex call me Momma again.

10. Find a way to keep my house clean without the gnashing of teeth.

11. Consistently grow the gardens from season to season.

12. Add herbs/spices to the gardens.

13. Write a book.

14. Ride the Roaring Tornado again.

15. Go to New Braunfels and float like a river rat for days.

16. Own a King-Sized bed and sleep diagonally.

17. Take the boys on their first camp-out (probably on our land).

18. Take the boys on their second camp-out (not on our land).

19. Simplify.

20. Expand my library. (mwahahaha)

21. Start taking pictures again.

22. Hike the Lone Star Trail (yes, all of it, and for no particular reason other than it's there).

23. Revisit Enchanted Rock.

24. Go on a cruise, OK two. One where I am a total lazy bum and another aboard one of the scientific research vessels that cater to us geek-head tourists.

25. Get out of debt. This is gonna be a miracle given the medical expenses of my kids, but a very healthy goal (and it's actually happening! Yay!).

26. Learn how to make soap (I'm leaving this one b/c it's random and weird and even I am wondering WTH I was thinking when I wrote it).

27. Integrate essential oils into my health regimen (mostly done 8/10/2010).

28. Write more consistently.

29. Love without fear. Live without fear (that's really two).

30. Have confidence in myself and my abilities.

31. Learn how to make my own candles (again with the earth momma crafty stuff that I really don't find appealing).

32. Visit Tokyo again...for about two weeks alone. Go again sometime and take my boys with me.

33. Stay in better contact with friends and acquaintances.

34. Relax and enjoy each day without care or worry for tomorrow.

35. Teach something (again).

36. Build something.

37. Review my genealogy with my grandfather so I can continue the work when he is gone.

38. Pay more attention to the world I live in and contribute (I think the clinic idea fits in here).

39. Attend my high school and college reunions (strike one and strike two for the 20 and 15 year marks due to circumstances beyond my control).

40. Ride in a hot air balloon.

Wow, that's a lot! And you?

Yet ANOTHER run in with a plant...

Ya'll may or may not know that I sing. It's something I really enjoy doing and I have been immersed in music and music performance since I can remember breathing. Sometimes, though, the love affair has it's moments.

You see, there was supposed to be a nice calm break in the set today during which I sat on a stool minding my own business and looking professional. However, once all the other musicians were seated, I was left without a chair bringing a new and embarrassing meaning to musical chairs. One singer who shall remain nameless because, well...because...began wandering around the stage trying to give me his chair (which I wasn't going to take because then I'd have ended up on the wrong side). It took about three people to put him back in his chair and I made the executive decision to slip off to the side and sit behind the piano which is usually a clear shot.

Usually.

So...I turn around to do just that and stare at the narrowest opening I've ever seen.

Not only that, the opening is between a decorative railing that I know from experience to be tipsy (another story for another time) and a fake potted plant. So...

I head through the opening like I was supposed to be going there. I discovered that there was an amorphous pile of crap just on the other side and end up perched precariously on the drum platform and crouched over like I'm not there.

The allotted time passes. Slowly.

I get up to return to the stage and find that the precarious railing is oscillating. So I make yet another executive decision and grasp the railing as I pass through the narrow gap on my way to my spot. The railing becomes still and out of the corner of my eye, I see that I caught ONE leaf of the fake plant with my right foot. ONE.

The fake plant, the decorative urn that contained it (notice the past tense) and the bark chips that disguised the imaginary root wad defy gravity or any other force for that matter and launch toward the front row like an exploding football.

The urn hits the ground with a ringing thung and the shower of bark chips spatters to the ground and the "plant" was left capsized right next to me as if to say "It's all her fault!"

Of course, at this point, I was wishing I was NOT part of anything at all. Over half the members of the sound booth had disappeared which indicated they'd collapsed in laughter. The one that remained standing is notorious for snapping pics with his iPhone, so I'm sure this whole thing will be immortalized on YouTube. Some kind soul returned the plant to the urn and put it right next to me (gee, thanks), but gave up retrieving bark chips once they discovered it was a lost cause.

Needless to say, I spent a lot of time putting bark chips back where I found them, and I started thinking about other little mishaps that have lined the hall of funnies along the way...

Here are just a few:

1. Earlier this year, I was holding a friend's newborn before a performance and he yakked up an entire 9 oz. bottle of formula all over the front of my t-shirt. I sang in the puke and now I always have an extra t-shirt in my bag.

2. One Christmas, I was wearing a loose-fitting stretchy dress and as I exited the stage, the girl behind me stepped on the hem and the entire thing stretched clean off my body.

3. Yet another Christmas, my cousin and I were doing a ballet number while a laser show was going on (sounds cornier than it really was, though I never had the privilege of watching it). We had to stopped exactly on our mark or we'd get zapped. Said laser zapped my skirt and burnt a hole clean through it. Twice.

4. I was directing a marching band once and was standing on a large box so that I could be seen. I sort of forgot where I was and backed completely off the box and discovered exactly why your rump is padded the way it is. I had been laughed off said box many times before...and I was always glad my backside was to the stands.

5. The orchestra PIT is so named because once you are off the stage the distance to the ground is unbelievably far and I am not even going to admit how I learned that.

6. Musically speaking, I've gotten lost, forgotten words, sung the wrong words, come in early, come in late, and every permutation thereof.

7. Prior to the plant wrestling experience of this morning, the best screw-up by far was a mistaken entrance. I just got up and walked on to the stage at the WRONG TIME!!!!! The girl I was singing with followed me (I'm pretty sure she doesn't trust me any more). When I realized I was wrong, I stopped. She didn't. She crashed into me full force and we did a Three Stooges thing there for what seemed like forever before we could get turned back around and exit.

Do these things happen to other people? Yeah, they do. Probably not as often, but yeah they do. It must have to do with the cosmic plan to keep me humble, I don't know. I keep thinking it'll get better with age and confidence, but no. I remain a magnet for the weird and bizarre no matter what I am doing. Nevertheless, I have fun. So what if I am remembered as that girl who kicked the plant into the audience?

Gotta run, I'm off to another rehearsal for a Christmas program and then later tonight I shall test my memory as I sing a song I haven't actually done in about a month (totally not a good idea, but circumstance has set me up on this one). Somewhere in all this I have to get Squib ready to go see his dad and dress him up as Bob the Builder for the fall festival thing I'm singing at. Not necessarily in that order. I may be all funned out already.

Fake it til you make it,

Scat

Exiting the Dating Scene...

With a big flop.

Or maybe a kerplunk.

A giant swan dive, perhaps. Into an olive that has had a little too much martini already.

Nevertheless, I am declaring yet another a time out. For an indefinite period of time.

I seem to ultimately attract one man. Sadly, I can count them all without completely using two hands.

First, they all claim to really know how to treat a woman. Truly I have no specific expectations in this department, but when someone feels the need to claim such a thing right off the bat, I do start to worry. "Real" dates (whatever that means)...dinner, dancing (dancing? really?). No movies cause you really can't get to know someone while sitting through a movie (I understand this, but inevitably we end up renting a movie parked on a sofa somewhere, so actually entering a theater to see one might be nice on rare occasion). Walks, etc. Flowers. I've seen the dinners, yes sort of. And once, one of them gave me flowers. My ex did give me flowers on Mothers' Day...a couple times? Two of them were good at gift-giving, though the gifts from the second one have since fallen apart. Hmmm. Clue: It really doesn't take all that much. Simple attentiveness. Being yourself. Having fun. Going places. Doing stuff. Getting a glimpse at each others' lives. Candy and flowers have their place, I suppose, but aren't really necessary. Quality time...that's priceless.

Second, the royal treatment (see above paragraph) lasted less than about two weeks during which time there was maybe one or two "real dates" and then we're on someone's sofa watching movies (see!!?!) that I not only didn't have any option/help to pick, but didn't want to see again and again (or, ok, ever)... I should say that "the royal treatment" is not something I really expect, but I'm a person that likes a smidgen of variety on occasion and going and doing...I DO like to watch movies. Very much. But exclusively? Especially certain movies. Um, no...

Let me make a caveat here....there is a place in this world for Ace Ventura, Hot Shots, Naked Gun, Pauly Shore movies, David Spade, Adam Sandler, Will Ferrell, Police Academy, Napoleon Dynamite and the like. I suppose. And I am being nice here. But, to watch these types of movies exclusively is a special kind of torture. One I have endured too long. I've lost seven YEARS worth of sci fi, mystery, and the like to fart-joke movies that, quite frankly, I seem to remember after the first time I saw them.

Now, Star Wars? I'll watch that repeatedly (some of them). Ditto for some of the Star Treks and many of other films you would think are definitely outside the chick flick arena. I'm not wishing any brand of special torture on anyone.

Third, not to put it so delicately, they seem to think that after about two dates or less I'm obligated to have sex with them. Usually after less time than that. I really don't think so and that causes a problem. So, uh, no. Enough said.

Fourth, a handful of the handful seem to have real anger issues. Which means there are occasions when I definitely don't like how they treat me and there are definitely times when I don't like how they treat others. Two have been very proud of being "assholes" (yes, they said that verbatim out loud--this is the staggering part that I REALLY don't like) and really seem to enjoy their poor treatment of certain people in their lives.

Run away, run away!!!

Fifth, they just aren't that smart. This may sound derogatory, but I really have a need to be able to have a decent discussion on occasion. Not dumb down my language. Maybe even speak on occasion. Not looking for Einstein, here. Just a person who thinks or on occasion wants to put two and two together. Coming up with four would be a bonus. (That does sound harsh, doesn't it?)

I'm not saying all men are pigs. In fact, they aren't. Just the ones I seem to run into--and to be fair I've not been hanging around in a lot of places lately where I'm likely to run into anyone even remotely interesting. I know many who seem great and they are (mostly) married. I'm sure there are some out there who are even single. Just none that I know. And...none who seem interested in an intelligent, single mom who works hard and likes to enjoy life and not spend most of it sitting on the sofa watching B movies.

Yep, I'm a bit of a geek--both scientifically and "computerifically"--I do odd things like read and write and hike in no particular direction. I have quirks of my own. I have faith and strong beliefs. I love music and dancing and really get off my rear and do both. And, apparently, those are undesirable qualities to the average mid-thirties to mid-forties male. I said average, not every.

So, I officially give up. For a time, I guess. Not forever. Ugh. I am just weary of this.

Gonna go sleep in a tree,

Scat