Dinosaurs & Cheese

I nearly died.

A few nights ago it was raining armadillos and bluebells (that’s how it happens down here) outside, and I was driving.  And it was dark. And Houstonians don’t do so well when it’s not sunny out.

I was driving on the highway when a large pickup truck pulled out in front of me from the righthand lane.  I slammed on my brakes to try to avoid ending up in this guy’s glove compartment.

Tires squealed and I was shaken.

Breathe, breathe. Did you pee yourself? Okay good.  Wow, adrenaline makes you kinda buzzy feeling. 

When I regained calmness again, I noticed that on the back of this lifted, chrome grill, double exhaust truck was a huge sticker that said, “Bone Collector”.

Great, I was almost killed by an anthropologist.

I can be catty.

Ok, I  admit it. I can be.  It doesn’t happen often….probably because I don’t hang out with many other girls.  You know how cattiness is encouraged by other females.

But last night. Oh last night. Last night V.G and I sat around and watched Miss America.  Oh boy howdy!  We critiqued and giggled and mocked while the women pranced around in their high heels and bathing suits. Were we really that far off the mark?

Our favorite of the night were the talents.  She and I both feel awkward when women start dancing by themselves…the ballerinas and such.  Perhaps because I would rather amputate a limb than have to dance/sing in front of others.  But the coup de grace was the ventriloquist country singer. 

Take a moment. Take that in. Ventriloquist. Country singer.  Complete with two country dummies.  Dummies….braids and freckles for the girl…bow tie for the fella.  Creepy eyes for both.

The least creepy pic I could find

And that girl got up on that stage and sang a country song and those dummies sang right along with her.  Bless her heart.

What I learned last night:

• I have no sense of style (ok, I didn’t learn that last night)  but wow…..evening gowns.  I found only one that I tolerated.
• Beyond not being tall enough or having enough self esteem, I could never be in a pageant because I certainly do not have an appropriate pageant talent.
• Ventriloquism dummies make me really uncomfortable.  I’m  certain they come to life at night.
• I giggled everytime the women said they joined Miss America so that people would take them seriously in their future careers.

Here she comes….

So welcome to a life of personality crises…  you are probably no longer the astrological sign you’ve grown to know and vaguely believe in.

Naturally, the world of Facebook is in uproar…because, well, it’s Facebook. In fact, there is a new element of sadness in my life, because I only learned of the new signs through Facebook.  I don’t want that to be my news outlet.  (I’m not suggesting astrological signs are big news. Please don’t get me wrong.)

In any case, I couldn’t help but think of my brother.  He has a tattoo of Scorpio on his arm.  Well, lo and behold, he is now a Libra.  His natural reaction was, “Well crap. Now what do I do?”  Since tattooing over it is not an option…he’s decided to stay a Scorpio.  I thought that stubbornness was restricted to my sign.  Who knew?

(On a side note, I am still a Taurus. I made it by just a day.  I’m a Mega-Taurus. The original and stuff. Yo.)

I must admit that I did make sure that The Boy was still a Pisces.  Our signs aren’t exactly compatible… since I’m a Taurus and we’re known for being…um… spirited. Our signs are more on the less-likely-to-end-in-a-murder-suicide sorta signs.  Must be love!

To save you a Google search:

Capricorn: Jan. 20-Feb. 16

Aquarius: Feb. 16-March 11

Pisces: March 11-April 18

Aries: April 18-May 13

Taurus: May 13-June 21

Gemini: June 21-July 20

Cancer: July 20-Aug. 10

Leo: Aug. 10-Sept. 16

Virgo: Sept. 16-Oct. 30

Libra: Oct. 30-Nov. 23

Scorpio: Nov. 23-29

Ophiuchus: Nov. 29-Dec. 17

Sagittarius: Dec. 17-Jan. 20

So.  Feel free to hang on to your old sign.  And Pluto is still a planet, dammit.

Spelling Bee from h-e-l, well, you get the idea.

It was like a comedy of errors. The E. W. Scribbs Company would have been outraged.  By the end, we were all trying to maintain our professionalism, which becomes a challenge at the end of the day regardless. 

So, we didn’t have a dictionary, which means that the kiddos couldn’t ask that all important question:  “Can I have the definition please?”  At one point we just started winging it. We knew what the words meant, it just wasn’t a Mr. Webster version. I couldn’t look at the other teachers, because I wouldn’t be able to maintain my composure. Giggles were about to occur.

 By Round 17, we were fairly certain that the spelling bee was never going to end. The words kept getting easier and easier.  At one point a student got “magazine” and he actually rolled his eyes.  Round 8, Round 12, Round 83, Round 183, Round Aggghhhh!

And at the end of the hour…we still have three contestants in the contest.  Due to time issues, we had to finish the next day. After the contest, another student said she spelled a word correctly as well. We went back and one of the judges agreed. So now we have four kiddos to carry on. 

BUT…. when one of the teachers became upset about the whole thing-  I was able to say it…

Bless her heart.

My dog’s trainer’s first trick was to teach me how to shake hands.

Apparently, because I’m a woman, I cannot shake hands like he, a man, can.  In fact, he told me, “Sweetheart, you’re a woman. You don’t have to do that tough shake with me.”  Don’t.Call.Me.Sweetheart. Then he took my hand and moved my wrist so he was holding just my four fingers delicately.  I hate this man.

For the next ninety minutes, he spent most of the time making fun of me.  Apparently The Boy looks way too tough to mess with. Neat.  Three cheers for the fairer sex.

I learned: “No, sit.” “No, sit.” “No, sit.”  

So now my dog somewhat sits. Lettuce call that progress.

And when we left, the trainer corrected my handshake again. He even told me ‘no’. I really hate this man.

After my extensive training session, I’m tuckered out. Tomorrow I’ll detail the changes with my aged pup.  I requested that the trainer teach Dog to pour coffee for me in the morning. I’ll let you know.

Will she bee good?

I had to send my dog to boot camp.

I would like to say first off, before you judge me, that I think it’s society’s fault. She grew up with another family, she was too much for them, so she was then sent to me. The system failed her. She didn’t know English- she only understood Hindi.  You can imagine how confusing that is for a chil…er..dog..    Furthermore, she watches way too much tv and listens to that damn rap music.  She may have ADHD. I’m going to get her tested. She can’t be controlled. It is not-I repeat- is not my fault.

Basically it boiled down to this:  It was just one too many trash cans.  She rooted around in just one too many trash cans and it was finally the last straw. So when The Boy and I went North (read: The Great White Holy Frack It’s Cold Up Here) for Christmas, my 7 year old dog went for a two-week intensive training course.  Please note that I said my dog.    She is mine whenever she misbehaves or requires a lot of money. But when she’s cute and cuddly.. well , just watch all the ours being thrown around.  The dog probably picks up on that. Her behavior is The Boy’s fault. She has abandonment issues.

So tomorrow, The Boy and I will be going to pick up our fur child and will be in a 90 minute training session.  I expect they’ll hand the leash to me, laugh, and walk away…but maybe I’m just cynical.