Mouser

Our mouser died last month.

My husband does not like cats. Mister stated that we are not getting another cat. He even said his foot is down. When a husband says his foot is down a woman knows not to push the issue.

Sunday afternoon my husband was in the yard when a giant mouse ran across our yard and under the lounge window. Ran right past him! Mister came inside and got a sticky paper trap, put it outside our lounge window, and came in and told me he had the situation under control.

So we are in our jammies watching television when we hear squeaking and thumping under the window. My husband jumps up and tells me to grab the flashlight and follow him outside. He is carrying an axe.

As we run around the front yard chasing a mouse stuck to the sticky pad, me wearing a nightgown and carrying a flashlight and Mister wearing pajama pants and swinging an axe; he looks at me and says: “Maybe we should get a cat.”

Turn Signal

Recently my car broke down, as in completely stopped running, on the interstate when I was driving alone and 106 miles from home. Two weeks after that I was driving home from making groceries and experienced a blow-out on a rear tire. Both nerve-racking driving experiences involving waiting for a wrecker, but each trumped by my most recent white knuckle ride.

My car has a short in the electrical system that controls the blinkers. This means that sometimes the blinkers work, sometimes they don’t. I don’t really stress about whether or not the blinkers are working because the majority of the time I am driving around the small town I live in and I assume other drivers recognize my car and know where I am going.

Monday evening I was in driving through downtown Birmingham in rush-hour traffic when the blinkers quit working. I wasn’t sure of where I was going so I was making a lot of erratic last minute lane changes. In the interest of safety I decided to go old school with the turn signals and put the window down and stuck my arm straight out to signal left turn or out and up to signal right turn.

After pissing off a lot of my fellow drivers and receiving a few rude hand signals of theirs, it dawned on me that traffic hand signals may be lost knowledge.

Wash Day

This is great clothes drying weather.

That thought popped into my head as I stood on the deck drinking coffee this morning. Odd, I know. Who considers the weather conditions before throwing in a load of laundry?

I have been living the life of a reluctant Luddite this past month. First our air conditioning went out. Mister is very hot natured so we had a repairman out to fix that, ASAP.

The following week our water heater stopped working. Because we had spent so much of our 2011 home repair budget Mister decided he would replace the water heater on his day off. We had no hot water Tuesday evening and Mister’s next day off was Saturday. Not wanting to take a cold shower but not wanting to skip bathing for 5 days I went old school and heated water on the stove to pour into the bathtub. Saturday evening I stood in the shower so long I ran out of hot water and red wine.

The week after that our clothes dryer called it quits. Seriously?! This is not in the budget. We have a clothes line in the backyard for those days I am feeling particularly “green” and want to hang the towels out to dry, but hanging out every piece of laundry I wash is not practical for a woman that works full time. I can see me turning in a leave request to the state saying I need to go home because it is clouding up and I am worried it will rain on my whites.

We are now starting week 3 with no clothes dryer. Funny how quick you adjust. I didn’t know I was thinking about laundry when I stepped out back with my morning coffee.

Suggestions

What have I ordered through Amazon to make them think I want to dress my dog in a cheerleader outfit?

About once a week there is an email waiting for me from Amazon telling me of things I may like. You know how they are…I order an apron and cookbook as a gift and a few days later Amazon sends me an email with “suggestions” I may like of best seller cookbooks. Or I order a textbook on Asian Religions for a course I am taking and a few days later Amazon sends an email with “suggestions” featuring Buddha statues and lotus candles.

I have always been able to recognize the pattern before. But this week Amazon sent me a suggestion of a University of Alabama cheerleader outfit for my Chihuahua (with guaranteed Friday delivery). Seriously, what have I ordered to make them think I want to dress my dog as a cheerleader?!

Helicopter

Every profession has nicknames they use to label a type that is seen regularly. In college admissions we refer to parents who can’t let go as helicopter parents.

Sometimes the helicopter parent wants to choose their students courses, sometimes the helicopter parent wants to buddy up with the admissions staff, but today I met the ultimate helicopter parent:

A mom just called and stated that her son is a sophomore in high school and is thinking of attending here in the future. She asked if she could have the names and phone numbers of some of the professors that her son would have so that she could meet with the professors and ensure that they would not overwhelm her son with coursework that is over his head.

That poor guy must be sooo embarrassed…

Lose Weight = Loose Tights

The above equation occurred to me today as I tried to discreetly yank my tights back up.

This morning I put on a pair of tights that I haven’t worn in over a year. A person really doesn’t think about whether their tights fit or not. No one ever put on tights, looked in the mirror, and said: Wow, these tights fit great!

It wasn’t until I was at work that I realized my tights were no longer tight- they were loose. Really loose. Like sweat pants loose. And loose tights do not stay where you put them. The crotch of my tights was nowhere near where I meant it to be. And there was no way I could move gracefully with the crotch of my tights half-way to my knees. And there was no way to pull my tights back up without the entire lobby, the guys watching the security camera, and a hallway of co-workers seeing what I was doing. This was one very long day.

After pulling those tights back up all day you better believe they went in the trash when I got home. I embarrass myself enough already without being sabotaged by loose tights.

Over-packed and Underprepared

I used to be one of those people who could pack for a week at the beach using an overnight bag. I would pack maybe 2 outfits and 10 pairs of panties. Seriously, I figured as long as I had enough underwear to get me through, it didn’t matter if anyone saw me in the same outfit more than once. My thinking was: I am a tourist; I don’t know these people and will probably never see them again.

Believe it or not, Mister was the over-packer at our house. When we left for the weekend that man had clothes for any possible occasion along with him. We once went to a casual wedding in Florida and one of the ushers was unable to make the wedding, Mister said “Let me go to the car and change.” Another time we were on boat deep sea fishing and he rooted around in his bag and pulled out the Yellow Page Directory to look up a phone number. I can’t tell how many times he loaned me a coat or t-shirt when we are away from home.

In the beginning I would tease him about over-packing. I said if you leave home with a change of panties you are travelling. He would just laugh and say that it felt good to have his stuff with him when he was away from home.

Then I started asked him to put a pair of my shoes in his bag. That was the beginning of my over-packing. Before I knew it I needed one of those suitcases with wheels. We leave for 2 days and I need 3 outfits, 2 pair of shoes, accessories, and 3 pair of panties. I still say you need fresh panties every day.

I have now embraced over-packing.

We recently went out of town for a long weekend. I had my wheeled suitcase so filled I could barely zip it. Along with all of my clothes I also brought along a couple of outfits for my Chihuahua (you know, so we wouldn’t clash).

Imagine my horror the first evening when I opened my suitcase and realized I had packed NO UNDERWEAR!! I had 6 different outfits with me and not one change of panties. All of those clothes and I was washing my smalls in the sink each evening. Just because you over-pack doesn't mean you are travelling.

Snowed In 2011

Saturday: Snow is announced for Georgia. The news is teasing us with forecasts of 4 to 6 inches of snow. I don’t know who they think they are kidding, telling us to stock up on groceries, water, and firewood. I am not going to be one of those crazy women at Wal-Mart throwing milk and bread into my cart because we may be housebound for half a day.

Sunday AM: The meteorologists actually sound serious about the snow. Maybe I will cook a little something in case the power goes out tomorrow. It will be nice to have something good to eat while we sit around enjoying a day off work.

Sunday PM: I have a vat of potato soup cooking, a pork roast in the crock pot, one cake, a pan of cornbread, a pan of biscuits, and a quiche ready. Mister comes home and says he can’t find firewood anywhere and maybe we should go get some groceries that can be cooked on a camp-stove if we lose power. At Food Depot we find bare shelves and go home with the last 2 cans of spaghettios. You can’t get any Little Debbie’s for love or money.

Monday: This is great!! Six inches of snow and we still have electricity! This is the kind of snowstorm people talk of for decades, the most snow Georgia has received in the history of measuring snow. The view is breathtaking.

Mister and I sleep late, eat well, play Yahtzee, and wear our jammies all day. We put on our boots and walk out to the road to discover there is a sheet of ice covering the snow. There has been no traffic outside our house. We are truly snowed in.

Tuesday: Mister and I awake to the sound of spinning tires and sliding cars. It turns out that some people can’t take more than one day off from work and are trying to get out of the neighborhood. The key word is trying- they aren’t going anywhere. I wonder what makes a person who sees 6 cars in the ditch or sitting sideways in the road think they will be the one to make it through. The newscasters are saying that the roads are not passable and recommending people stay home.

We walk for miles through the snow. Everything looks foreign blanketed in white. We come home to potato soup and watch a movie. Being snowed in is like being on vacation.

Wednesday: Mister’s work calls to find out if he is coming in today. He tells them that we are still snowed in, that we are 65 miles west of Atlanta and there are no snow plows or sand trucks coming by our house.

The ice that covers the snow is really hard and slick. We pretend to ice-skate in the backyard and even our Manchester terrier, Boo, has learned to slide across the ice. Hot buttered rum is a cozy drink when we come in from the snow.

Thursday: Snowed in on my birthday. This has been the best birthday, snowed in together all week. No responsibilities and no guilt.

Honestly though, we are starting to get cabin fever. Mister goes out to try to get the car out and spends hours chipping away at the ice. We are going to be on a meat only diet before long. The only one who doesn’t seem to have claustrophobia is our Chihuahua, Nadine- she goes to the door, looks out, and turns around to reclaim her spot on the sofa.

We spend the evening drinking Crown and Coke and watching Smokey and the Bandit. Snowed in with the Snowman.

Friday: Mister makes it out of the driveway around 10AM. He calls to tell me that the roads clear up about 2 miles from our house but that I shouldn’t leave as the driving is treacherous around our home. I am SO ready to get out of this house, but I don’t know how to drive on ice and can’t afford to replace the car if I wreck it.

Around noon there is a news helicopter hovering over our house. I go out to see what is going on (cause I’m nosy that way). A firetruck has sliden off the hill and has the road blocked. The maintenance department shows up with gravel and sand and throws it out on the ice. A giant tow truck comes to help the firetruck.

I call Mister and tell him of the excitement outside. He tells me not to leave the house, that if I want anything from the store he will bring it home. I say “Sure, hog all the fun of going to the store.” He laughs and says “Pack a day bag. We are going somewhere warm tomorrow.”

Saturday and South Georgia. Spanish moss and sago palms. Walking down sandy dirt roads with Mister and the dogs I realize I am not made for snow.

I Am Not Sick

I have been lounging on the sofa, not being sick, during my vacation.

I insist I am not sick because I am not going to be cheated of my days off. True, I have spent the last two days on the sofa, under my electric blanket, reading Edith Wharton and flipping through tv channels. That doesn’t mean I am sick.

I had glorious plans of doing nothing on vacation. Sleeping late, lunching with friends, browsing the junk/antique shops, and cooking good suppers…basically pretending to be a lady of leisure.

A fever and achy chest are not in anyone’s vacation plans- so therefore: I am not sick.

Now I am going to schlep into the kitchen for some orange juice and tylenol. That is what all the cool kids do on vacation.

Elbows

I tried on a dress in front of the mirror and turned every which way to get a look at myself. I was totally surprised by my elbows. This getting older thing has many surprises. I had no idea my elbows were going to look like they do.

I am fine with laugh lines and crow’s feet. I knew they were going to happen. I can deal with a slower metabolism, not happy about it, but I can deal with it. These are things you see happening around you and know are going to happen to you.

But seriously, the elbows? What is up with that?

2 Minutes til Dinner

In an effort to save money, I have been carrying my lunch to work. I have tried every frozen meal for one that the grocery store stocks. I have had some good meals and some bad meals; and have narrowed my choices down to about a dozen that have become staples of my work day diet. I don't have high expectations of gourmet delights from my frozen dinners; I am just looking for something edible to keep me from starving while I shut myself in my office for an hour and concentrate on school work in the middle of the workday.

Being the rule follower that I am I read the directions on how to microwave each dinner and carefully completed each step as described. Lift one corner to vent...microwave 3 minutes...lift plastic, stir, replace plastic...let sit for 1 minute. I have been a slave to those tiny printed directions.

A week or so ago our custodian came by while I was studying the side of the box and said "I find that 2 minutes on high will cook anything." I thought I would give it a try, and I have decided the man is a genius.

I can't believe how much of my life I have wasted waiting on the microwave.

Jack O'Lantern

This past summer Mister and I were riding down the road when we passed a yard sale. The largest plastic jack o’lantern I had ever seen was sitting on a table. I yelled “Turn around, turn around! I saw a blow mold!” Laughing, Mister made the first legal U-turn and pulled up to the yard sale.

This was one of those yard sales that people dream about. Lots of good junk spread out under the trees. Dog houses, lawn mowers, furniture, salon equipment, baskets, and a large supply of Halloween decorations. It was the jack-pot of yard sales. We spent a little over $20 and bought so much stuff we had to go home and get the truck.

The best buy that came from the yard sale was the giant jack o’lantern. I have shown him to everyone who has been to the house since we brought him home, and mentioned giant jack to many more. If I could have thought of a creative way to use a giant plug-in pumpkin in my 4th of July decorations I would have.

Finally, time to bring giant jack out into the open. There is something about colored lights and over the top decorations that thrills my soul.

Happy Halloween!

Homecoming Decroations

The college where I work is holding their first ever Homecoming.

The staff is working like crazy to get the place looking festive and collegiate. We have hung 45 records and a disco ball from the ceiling of the lobby, built a large display of gold mums in the courtyard, and bought every toy related to our theme that the dollar store carries.

Looking around at our decorations I don’t think that any of us that work here would fit in one of those “only white lights at Christmas” kind of neighborhoods.

The campus is brazenly beautiful.

Swimwear

This past Spring I bought a skirted bathing suit. A really cute skirted swimsuit, with shirring on the sides of the top that could be let down to just cover the bottoms. Not an old lady suit (I told myself), but definitely with more coverage than I usually wear. I am older, I weigh a little more than I used to, and I thought it was time to change my style of swimwear.

All summer I continued to wear my one-piece suits from previous years. I told myself it was because we were just at the lake; no one really cares what a person wears there. I told myself that I continued wearing my old suits because I didn’t want to get picks in the seat of my new suit from sitting on the dock.

We recently went to the beach and I packed my new (still unworn) skirted swimsuit. Mister had not even seen it. For some reason I was really embarrassed for him to see me in the skirted swimsuit. At the last minute I opened my suitcase and stuffed in one of my old swimsuits.

Navarre Beach was beautiful. Serene and with no crowds, it was just what we were looking for in a beach. I went up to the room to change into my swimsuit, and couldn’t put on the skirted suit. Seriously, I was having the kind of anxiety women get over being seen in public in a bikini. Turns out I am much more comfortable with my body than with covering my body.

Thirty years from now if you see an old fat lady at the beach wearing an inappropriately young swimsuit, just wave and tell me hello.

Fashion Advice

Our office is having Mix and Match day. The idea is to wear clothes that don’t match. For example: a blue winter shirt, linen pants, and sneakers.

I am going with all plaid. I put on a plaid shirt, plaid jacket, plaid scarf, plaid trousers, and to top it off- plaid shoes. I asked Mister how I looked, and he said “You can’t wear that. It matches.”

Laughing, I made a mental note to never take fashion advice from that man.

Real Smart

You know how when people are angry and call in they start talking before you are finished saying hello? I received one of those calls.

The caller said: “I want to know why ya’ll done put me in learning support. I know for a fact I am smart. People tell me so all the time.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, even while I recognized how sad this was.

Psychic GED Staff

One of my jobs at the college I work in is to track application files and turn them over to an admissions counselor once the student has submitted everything needed for admission. Because registration deadline is approaching, today I am calling all applicants that have outstanding items. Some students need to come in to take the placement exam, some students need to submit residency information, and some students need to submit high school transcripts. All pretty routine, the phone calls are just a reminder to the students to get their butts in gear.

I just got off of the phone with a student who is under the impression that the GED board is staffed by psychics. I informed the student that we are still awaiting his GED transcript before we can review his file for admission. The student stated that the transcripts should be here any day. I asked when he requested the transcripts.

The phone was silent for a second, and then the student stated: “Am I supposed to? Don’t they just know where I want to go?”

That’s right. The GED board is psychic and he is sending thought waves letting them know he needs his transcript.

Costumes

A friend and I went to see Phantom of the Opera Friday night. The costumes and staging were beautiful. In opera, people are dressed so that their personalities and characters are known by the audience the minute they step on stage. I have been thinking how convenient life would be if everyone would dress their part.

The long talker in the office would wear a plain white button front shirt - something easy to see peripherally so that you could duck down a side corridor before you got caught in a 15 minute conversation on blue versus green cars.

The woman who always puts food in her purse at all you can eat buffets would have pig ears and giant pearls, like Miss Piggy. When anyone with pig ears and giant pearls showed up to Ryan’s, they could meet them at the door and refuse service.

You would never be surprised that your neighbor is a perv because his Jack Nicholson eyebrows and burgandy smoking jacket would have clued you in to that fact.

I am just worried that I would be wearing a dunce cap.

Summer Cold

There are many ways to have a cold.

You can “take it like a man,” and “do what you have to do.” Don’t let a cold get the best of you. Go into work, insisting that you aren’t sick. Force your foggy head to retain and retrieve information that is relevant to your work life. You never really fool you co-workers that everything is as normal, and because you don’t want them to know you have a cold, your co-workers wonder if you are on something, mentioning to one another that you don’t seem yourself.

Another option is to wallow in pity, whining to everyone that you are sooo sick. Drag out of bed in the morning, complaining that you have to go in, no matter if you are sick. You barely dress appropriate for the office, and when you get there you lay your head on your desk, getting nothing done and being a nuisance to your co-workers.

My way of having a cold is to announce that I have a cold, take leave from work, and lounge around the house in an old nightie. I watch reruns of “Leave it to Beaver,” drink hot tea, and curl up to sleep with my dog and my favorite blanket.

I don’t know if my way of having a cold is the best, but I am sure that my co-workers appreciate the fact that I kept my cooties at home. Also, it is nice to see what that Eddie Haskell is up to.

A Bribe, For Me?

I am insulted. I am just not sure about what.

Our college holds open registration. That means that students may register themselves for classes during a 3 week period each term. We don't keep registration a secret. It is on our website, advisors mention it, and we have a banner we place on the front lawn.

Still, after registration closes students will come into our office wailing that they "have to get into that class!" Most of the time students try to play the pity card hoping it is the first time we have heard the excuse they are using and will break the rules and register them for the class they want.

Today a student tried a new approach. She offered me a bribe. Seriously! This student leaned over my desk and in a low-toned voice offered me $10 to get her in the class she needed.

I don't know whether to be insulted that she thought I could be bribed, or insulted that she thought I could be bought so cheap.