Monthly Archives: April 2007

my rep and my weekend in tupelo

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Apparently, I’ve gotten myself a reputation. Not only am I so very domestic, but I can also out drink you while wearing my French Maid costume. I’m not even gonna tell ya what I can do with that feather duster…

So this past weekend was spent in Tupelo, MS for soccer District tournament. Now, I know some people aren’t big fans of Tupelo…(see question and answer #5) but I’m here to tell you there are worse places on earth. (Pine Bluff, AR comes to mind…)

There may be a few bad things you can say about Tupelo (as a whole, the city really is void of much character) but they have one thing in their favor–they love their soccer. And it was so nice to attend a well organized event with good parking, a nice concession area, nice restrooms, and plenty of soccer fields and places for fans.

We had an 8:00 a.m. game both mornings. (God, help me, but I had to be up at 5:00 both days…) On Saturday we arrived and the team started to warm up while we parents stood around drinking (slugging) our coffee and taking in our surroundings. We noticed three big Xs dividing the fan areas so we asked what they were for. Apparently, the fans for each team were to pick a side and stay there–to avoid any fights. They’ve had a history of out of control parents at District before and so they had field marshals posted at each field to make sure the rules were adheared to.

Um, fights? Over 9 year old soccer?

We laughed and rolled our eyes. Sheesh. Could you imagine being like that over 9 year old soccer? Some people just need help.

And then, on Sunday at our 8:00 a.m. game, I finally realized exactly why those Xs were there…and I had to stop myself from becoming one of those parents. (and probably becoming one of those jailbird parents…)

There was a Big Man with an accent (I think it was British, but I really couldn’t tell because of all the blood rushing in my ears) who did a lot of yelling at the other team from the sidelines. Enough yelling that I actually wondered if maybe he wasn’t the 2nd coach and just positioned on the fan side to help out. He was obnoxious, but mostly I could ignore him.

I pretty much drowned out his voice and just stuck to my own way of supporting–with generally positive cheers and the occasional, RUN! But nothing out of the ordinary. But when our coach questioned a call and wondered whether it was our ball or not, Mr. Big Man yelled “We’d like for you to keep playing for us, but really, it’s our ball this time.” I said something like “Nice. Very nice. I bet that made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”

And I let it go, because I wasn’t gonna be THAT parent.

I wish I hadn’t. I found out later that he’d been yelling things like, “Don’t let that fat kid beat you.” “What a weak kick, how did your team make it to District?” Blah blah.

If I had heard that, I’d have gone for his throat. Probably it was a blessing that I’m so good at ignoring assholes and completely tuned him out. What is wrong with people? I’ll never understand the idiots of this world.

my rep and my weekend in tupelo

Posted on by
3

Apparently, I’ve gotten myself a reputation. Not only am I so very domestic, but I can also out drink you while wearing my French Maid costume. I’m not even gonna tell ya what I can do with that feather duster…

So this past weekend was spent in Tupelo, MS for soccer District tournament. Now, I know some people aren’t big fans of Tupelo…(see question and answer #5) but I’m here to tell you there are worse places on earth. (Pine Bluff, AR comes to mind…)

There may be a few bad things you can say about Tupelo (as a whole, the city really is void of much character) but they have one thing in their favor–they love their soccer. And it was so nice to attend a well organized event with good parking, a nice concession area, nice restrooms, and plenty of soccer fields and places for fans.

We had an 8:00 a.m. game both mornings. (God, help me, but I had to be up at 5:00 both days…) On Saturday we arrived and the team started to warm up while we parents stood around drinking (slugging) our coffee and taking in our surroundings. We noticed three big Xs dividing the fan areas so we asked what they were for. Apparently, the fans for each team were to pick a side and stay there–to avoid any fights. They’ve had a history of out of control parents at District before and so they had field marshals posted at each field to make sure the rules were adheared to.

Um, fights? Over 9 year old soccer?

We laughed and rolled our eyes. Sheesh. Could you imagine being like that over 9 year old soccer? Some people just need help.

And then, on Sunday at our 8:00 a.m. game, I finally realized exactly why those Xs were there…and I had to stop myself from becoming one of those parents. (and probably becoming one of those jailbird parents…)

There was a Big Man with an accent (I think it was British, but I really couldn’t tell because of all the blood rushing in my ears) who did a lot of yelling at the other team from the sidelines. Enough yelling that I actually wondered if maybe he wasn’t the 2nd coach and just positioned on the fan side to help out. He was obnoxious, but mostly I could ignore him.

I pretty much drowned out his voice and just stuck to my own way of supporting–with generally positive cheers and the occasional, RUN! But nothing out of the ordinary. But when our coach questioned a call and wondered whether it was our ball or not, Mr. Big Man yelled “We’d like for you to keep playing for us, but really, it’s our ball this time.” I said something like “Nice. Very nice. I bet that made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”

And I let it go, because I wasn’t gonna be THAT parent.

I wish I hadn’t. I found out later that he’d been yelling things like, “Don’t let that fat kid beat you.” “What a weak kick, how did your team make it to District?” Blah blah.

If I had heard that, I’d have gone for his throat. Probably it was a blessing that I’m so good at ignoring assholes and completely tuned him out. What is wrong with people? I’ll never understand the idiots of this world.

how very domestic, indeed.

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12

Main Entry: do·mes·tic
Function: adjective
Etymology: Middle English, from Middle French domestique, from Latin domesticus, from domus
1 a : living near or about human habitations b : TAME, DOMESTICATEDdomestic cat>
2 : of, relating to, or originating within a country and especially one’s own country
3 : of or relating to the household or the family
4 : devoted to home duties and pleasures domestic>
5 : INDIGENOUS
– do·mes·ti·cal·ly /-ti-k(&-)lE/ adverb

Anyone who knows me, knows I’m anything but domestic. Basically, the only way I can get myself to clean my house is to have people over. And even then, the company I’ve invited has to include folks I don’t know very well–because let’s face it, if you know me, then you know how I live.

I’ve determined that in a past life, I must’ve been a frat boy. I can leave dishes in the sink for days. I don’t even see the empty beer bottles and coke cans and pizza boxes strewn about the counter. And when I get undressed, I’ll throw the clothes in the hamper if I’m standing in front of it when I disrobe. Otherwise, they land where they land.

Motherhood has helped me overcome my domesticated issues somewhat. I’m better about the dishes…sorta. Actually, my theory is I usually cook so someone else can clean. And a few days later when nobody has picked up on my theory, I break down and unload and load the diswasher. (BTW–the dishwasher always has dishes in it…it’s just a cabinet that happens to clean.)

So, when Killer called me domesticated in the comments of my last post, I kinda took offense. Me? Domesticated? Hardly.

But, I think he might be onto something.

What has changed me, you ask?

My new Dyson DC17 Animal

Yes, a vacuum cleaner may have just changed my life.

First a little history. We have 2 dogs and 2 cats. All of them are hairy little bastards and shed constantly. Well, in the past 4 years, we’ve gone through 3 vacuums. Too much hair–not enough suction.

But not anymore thanks to this bad boy. That Dyson is my hero. As a matter of fact, my friend Andrea suggested that I name a hero in one of my books Dyson…consider it done.

This little monster works better than anything I’ve ever seen. My only complaint is that it’s a little difficult to learn how to put some of the pieces together, but then my rocket science degree didn’t cover brilliant vacuum design.

If ever you can’t find me…just look for me in the House of Dyson. I’ll be the one up front worshipping at its altar.

how very domestic, indeed.

Posted on by
12

Main Entry: do·mes·tic
Function: adjective
Etymology: Middle English, from Middle French domestique, from Latin domesticus, from domus
1 a : living near or about human habitations b : TAME, DOMESTICATEDdomestic cat>
2 : of, relating to, or originating within a country and especially one’s own country
3 : of or relating to the household or the family
4 : devoted to home duties and pleasures domestic>
5 : INDIGENOUS
– do·mes·ti·cal·ly /-ti-k(&-)lE/ adverb

Anyone who knows me, knows I’m anything but domestic. Basically, the only way I can get myself to clean my house is to have people over. And even then, the company I’ve invited has to include folks I don’t know very well–because let’s face it, if you know me, then you know how I live.

I’ve determined that in a past life, I must’ve been a frat boy. I can leave dishes in the sink for days. I don’t even see the empty beer bottles and coke cans and pizza boxes strewn about the counter. And when I get undressed, I’ll throw the clothes in the hamper if I’m standing in front of it when I disrobe. Otherwise, they land where they land.

Motherhood has helped me overcome my domesticated issues somewhat. I’m better about the dishes…sorta. Actually, my theory is I usually cook so someone else can clean. And a few days later when nobody has picked up on my theory, I break down and unload and load the diswasher. (BTW–the dishwasher always has dishes in it…it’s just a cabinet that happens to clean.)

So, when Killer called me domesticated in the comments of my last post, I kinda took offense. Me? Domesticated? Hardly.

But, I think he might be onto something.

What has changed me, you ask?

My new Dyson DC17 Animal

Yes, a vacuum cleaner may have just changed my life.

First a little history. We have 2 dogs and 2 cats. All of them are hairy little bastards and shed constantly. Well, in the past 4 years, we’ve gone through 3 vacuums. Too much hair–not enough suction.

But not anymore thanks to this bad boy. That Dyson is my hero. As a matter of fact, my friend Andrea suggested that I name a hero in one of my books Dyson…consider it done.

This little monster works better than anything I’ve ever seen. My only complaint is that it’s a little difficult to learn how to put some of the pieces together, but then my rocket science degree didn’t cover brilliant vacuum design.

If ever you can’t find me…just look for me in the House of Dyson. I’ll be the one up front worshipping at its altar.

finally…

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6

I was beginning to wonder if Blogger was ever gonna transfer me to the new blogger site. They finally did.

So, I redecorated. Whatcha think? I’m not sold on it yet, but I had fun playing with the colors.

Anyway, I’ll be away in Tupelo all weekend watching soccer. Lots and lots of soccer. District tournament is this weekend and both boys are playing. I’m also taking a book and some sunscreen. heh.

Last Friday, I met the Killerific Killer of Killer Rants!. I am working on a blog about that momentus occasion, but have been so busy this week, I just haven’t finished it.

I purchased myself two new toys this week:

a new phone: Samsung Blackjack

and a Dyson DC 17


Take note…this may be the last time ever I get excited about vaccumming. Will report back later…

finally…

Posted on by
6

I was beginning to wonder if Blogger was ever gonna transfer me to the new blogger site. They finally did.

So, I redecorated. Whatcha think? I’m not sold on it yet, but I had fun playing with the colors.

Anyway, I’ll be away in Tupelo all weekend watching soccer. Lots and lots of soccer. District tournament is this weekend and both boys are playing. I’m also taking a book and some sunscreen. heh.

Last Friday, I met the Killerific Killer of Killer Rants!. I am working on a blog about that momentus occasion, but have been so busy this week, I just haven’t finished it.

I purchased myself two new toys this week:

a new phone: Samsung Blackjack

and a Dyson DC 17


Take note…this may be the last time ever I get excited about vaccumming. Will report back later…

14 years and counting

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13

Happy Anniversary, Fishdog.

Heh. I miss the days of oversized spectacles and small waists. And Fishdog with hair. Lots of glorious hair. Funny what 14 years can do to ya:


2 kids and a couple of pantsizes later and still going strong.

14 years and counting

Posted on by
13

Happy Anniversary, Fishdog.

Heh. I miss the days of oversized spectacles and small waists. And Fishdog with hair. Lots of glorious hair. Funny what 14 years can do to ya:


2 kids and a couple of pantsizes later and still going strong.

i’m at a loss…

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4

So my naughty river post about Steve Burns tickled me so much that it must’ve dried out my blogging river. I don’t know what the hell I’m going to blog about.

I have to say, if I’m forced to choose between a naughty river and my blogging river, naughty is gonna win, hands down. I figure that’s a win-win choice, anyway. Eventually, the naughty river should inspire a post…though I’m not sure if I’ll be able to actually publish it.

In the writing world, I’ve been slowly working away on Bite Me! as well as putting together a new proposal–this time an adult book. Carving time to write is sometimes difficult, but I seem to manage when I focus on it. It’s something I really want (and am now getting paid) to do, so I just make it a priority.

OH I KNOW WHAT I CAN TELL Y’ALL!

Okay, so the other day, a dude was in the office. He was an older dude, not old-old, but not a spring chicken either. He was waiting to interview with someone in the company. Our receptionist was away from the front so I asked old dude if I could help him.

He smiled and read my sweatshirt. (my sweatshirt reads: CAREFUL OR YOU’LL WIND UP IN MY NOVEL)

OLD DUDE: I wanna be in your novel. What kind of novel is it?
ME: A vampire novel
OLD DUDE: Oh. (look of dejection) I can’t be in that novel. Well, I guess you can make me an unwilling victim. Hey, did you hear that Anne Rice is a Christian now??
ME: You know, you can be a Christian and write fiction. It’s been known to happen. Honest.

I have no tolerance for that kind of thinking. None. What. So. Ever.

I try to be a fair minded individual but come on. To make an assumption about someone’s spirituality (or lack thereof) because of the type of fiction they write or read is ludicrous. It’s absurd. And it pisses me the fuck off.

But, if they want to make enough of a stink about it that it shoots me to the bestseller list, then go ahead. Stink away.

i’m at a loss…

Posted on by
4

So my naughty river post about Steve Burns tickled me so much that it must’ve dried out my blogging river. I don’t know what the hell I’m going to blog about.

I have to say, if I’m forced to choose between a naughty river and my blogging river, naughty is gonna win, hands down. I figure that’s a win-win choice, anyway. Eventually, the naughty river should inspire a post…though I’m not sure if I’ll be able to actually publish it.

In the writing world, I’ve been slowly working away on Bite Me! as well as putting together a new proposal–this time an adult book. Carving time to write is sometimes difficult, but I seem to manage when I focus on it. It’s something I really want (and am now getting paid) to do, so I just make it a priority.

OH I KNOW WHAT I CAN TELL Y’ALL!

Okay, so the other day, a dude was in the office. He was an older dude, not old-old, but not a spring chicken either. He was waiting to interview with someone in the company. Our receptionist was away from the front so I asked old dude if I could help him.

He smiled and read my sweatshirt. (my sweatshirt reads: CAREFUL OR YOU’LL WIND UP IN MY NOVEL)

OLD DUDE: I wanna be in your novel. What kind of novel is it?
ME: A vampire novel
OLD DUDE: Oh. (look of dejection) I can’t be in that novel. Well, I guess you can make me an unwilling victim. Hey, did you hear that Anne Rice is a Christian now??
ME: You know, you can be a Christian and write fiction. It’s been known to happen. Honest.

I have no tolerance for that kind of thinking. None. What. So. Ever.

I try to be a fair minded individual but come on. To make an assumption about someone’s spirituality (or lack thereof) because of the type of fiction they write or read is ludicrous. It’s absurd. And it pisses me the fuck off.

But, if they want to make enough of a stink about it that it shoots me to the bestseller list, then go ahead. Stink away.