MONDAY MUTTERINGS

Mondays.  Why is it you start off the week with the best of intentions and you end up in your big fat chair after work with a frown on your face?

It starts at work with a computer that decides not to boot up - what?  A simple reboot turns into a 30-minute long OH CRAP I'M GONNA HAVE TO TAKE IT TO THE SHOP adventure.  You mess with it  and finally it looks like it's THINKING about booting up, so you walk away from it before your impatience makes you click or tap on something which delays the fix.  Besides, you are ready to punch a hole in your monitor even though you realize with the thinking-side of your brain that the monitor isn't the problem.  So you leave it and take your coffee to the kitchen computer just to get a few things done while your computer decides what it's doing. 

So you work on the computer in the kitchen where the A/C blows directly on your back and drops your body temperature to about 45 degrees and your coffee drops from hot & lovely to cold  & forget it.  Then you try to help the Front Desk because their printer quit working Sunday and no matter what trick you try it won't freakin' work and you just don't want to give up because you hate saying I CAN'T FIX IT and IT'S BROKE.  But you finally come to your senses and realize it is dead and it will cost $90 to call the computer guy in to confirm, or the inn manager can spend $100 for a new one.

Then you go back to the office and your computer has booted successfully.  For no good reason.  It's just the universe screwing with you.  And this is all before 9am.

And you've planned to drive to the outlet mall after work and you decide to print that $10-OFF coupon before you forget and then you read the small print and it's $10 OFF YOUR $100 PURCHASE.  Uh, no, you weren't going to spend $100.  But wait!  There's a 2nd coupon - 20% OFF - cool - but it starts on THURSDAY.  You didn't want to wait until Thursday, but in the interest of saving a couple bucks you will.  But now you're irritated.

And you get home and you let the *FLB out of the house for a quick pee - no leash - because he does it and goes right back in the house EVERYDAY, but he spots SOMETHING that YOU can't see and he's off like a shot barking at whatever it is.  You sigh and go into the house and grab the leash and come back out and he's sniffing and rooting around the big tree next door - just past the BUCKET where the snake lives.  So you call him and he runs around the tree and you're trying to make like you're NOT chasing the *FLB and he knows you really ARE chasing him and you're worried the snake is NOT in his BUCKET but out here in the yard enjoying the sunny afternoon and if you see him or step on him you're going to have a coronary and then you get up close to your darling terrier and grab that sucker by his neck.  You're NOT going to look up in the tree where HE'S staring because it could be ANYTHING up there; you just make the leash into a quick slip knot and lead your pet gently into the house.

And you open up your email and even though you've gotten 2 estimates for gutters the other condo owner wants just one more from "his guy" and that delays the gutters again.  sigh.

And you read some short stories in your Glimmer Train Winter Issue and they are well-written but the last one punches you in the gut and you toss it aside and decide to do something else, but you feel like crap.

Then you read your daily Dave Barry column and, even though it's from July 2001, it makes you laugh.  It's about taking his baby daughter on a 4-hour flight and involves projectile vomiting.  And on the Georgia news you read that a bug from Asia has appeared in Georgia and it loves to eat kudzu.  The bug is called the globular stinkbug and the last line of the article says it all:  "But if the bug if threatened, it will put off an odor."  What?  How bad an odor?  Like a skunk?  Considering the forecasts that if scientists don't stop the spread of kudzu it will eventually cover the entire southeast, I think southerners can put up with a little odor.  Can't be as bad as that plane ride with Dave Barry's baby.

*FLB=Freakin' Little Bastard

I MAY BE DUM BUT I AREN'T STUPID: HARLEY GAMES

One of the first "tricks" or behaviors that I taught Harley was sitting and staying for his meal.  In order to eat he has to sit and stay until I release him with the "OK" command.  It is really one of the easiest things to teach a dog because you do it at least once a day and it involves what the dog lives for - MEALTIME.  No matter how bad the dog is or how wild or how stupid he seems, he can do this.  Before I ever attended a dog training class or watched "It's Me or the  Dog" or "The Dog Whisperer" all of my dogs learned this behavior.

From time to time Harley does bark or jump up and down while waiting for his meal.  I then remind him to sit, stay, and be QUIET, then I count to 3 (silently), and release him with an OK.  In his first year with me I would often test him by saying some other word with the same tone, then stop him if he got up.  Believe me, he has this command DOWN.

Several months ago I found myself repeating the OK command.  I set the dish down on the floor, said, "OK" and Harley just sat there looking at me.

"OK!" I repeated.  He then got up and walked to his dish.  This didn't happen often enough to make me even think about it, just often enough to make me repeat myself.  Then I found myself repeating the OK command more than once.  I started wondering if he was losing his hearing.  I didn't give it a lot of thought; I was usually rushing off to work in the mornings when this happened.

Then it started happening in the afternoons.  I would find myself saying, "ok", "OK", OK! Harley!  OK!"  before he would get up and walk to his dish to eat.  What was wrong with him?  Did he really not hear me?  Was I saying it differently?  I still didn't give it a lot of thought, but as it continued and it started to happen at each and every meal, I became annoyed.  I knew the *FLB could hear!  Good gosh,  he could be chewing on a toy in my bedroom and hear a dog walking up the street through a closed living room window!

It occurred to me one day that I NEVER have to repeat the OK command when I'm giving Harley a treat.  What?  A very nasty suspicion took root in my mind and I narrowed my eyes.  "Bastard," I whispered.  I decided to test him.

I touched the lid on his treat jar.  He ran out from my bedroom and jumped around me.  No hearing problem there.  I told him to sit and I used the hand gesture I had learned at dog training.  No, not that hand gesture.  Just a fist that you kind of dip at the dog.  He sat and wagged his tail so hard I wondered if it would detach itself and fly off.

I removed a dog biscuit from the jar and put the lid back on.  The jar and lid are ceramic so the lid always makes a sound whether you are taking it off or putting it on.    Harley started jumping for joy again.

"Oh, boy!  Oh, boy!" he thought as he jumped around my legs.

"Sit," I repeated.  He sat and wagged his tail as hard as he could.  His tongue hung out and his eyes watched that treat like a cat watches a mouse just before she pounces.

"Stay," I said as I put the treat on the floor.  He quivered with the strain of behaving.  He drooled and stared at the dog biscuit.

I stepped away a few feet and in a normal tone of voice said, "Ok."  Before I could draw a breath he had jumped on the treat and run off to the living room with his treasure.

"Hm," I mused.  Slowly it dawned on me.  Harley was messing with me.  For months Harley had been messing with me!  There was no other explanation!  I felt almost betrayed!  Almost.  I knew he was a little bastard, but I didn't realize he could really screw with my head that way.  The months of executing his little plan - what tenacity he showed.  Gradually increasing the amount of OKs he would get before he would eat.  DAMN.

Well, the jig was up.  That afternoon at his dinnertime I called him to the kitchen, told him to "Sit", put his dish filled with food down on the floor, and said,"Ok."  He sat there and looked at me as if he hadn't heard me.  Oh, the treachery.

I walked away.

I sat in my chair in the living room and looked back at him.  He was still sitting but he had twisted his head all the way around and was watching me.  I picked up a book and began reading.  Seconds ticked by.  Then I heard it.  Crunching.

Bastard.

NATURE VS NURTURE: PART DOS

Just 2 or 3 weeks ago I was in the kitchen where I work fixing a cup of coffee to take back to the office.  Carolee is the kitchen assistant and part-time chef.  This particular morning she rushed into the kitchen in an absolute frenzy.  She looked possessed.  

"I don't know how I'm ever going to get home," she muttered.  "Is it on me?  Do you see anything on me?"

"No, you look fine," I answered.

"No, I mean, do you see anything ON me?" she asked.  She was brushing her hands up and down her clothes and running them through her hair.

I checked her over.

"No, nothing," I reassured her.

"Good," Carolee said, but she wasn't convincing.  "That means he's still in the car.  How am I ever going to get home?"

Bit by bit her story emerged.

Carolee has to be at work at 7am when she is the kitchen assistant; that means leaving her home in Flagler Beach before 6:15.  This time of year it is still very dark at until almost 7:00.  That morning she got into her car and headed north on A1A to St. Augustine.  A1A runs along the ocean part of the way, then veers inland through the Hammock, a heavily wooded area, then runs back along the ocean. For most of the trip it is dark; there are few lights until you enter St. Augustine Beach.

Carolee was zipping along just minding her own business when she passed a an open and well-lit gas station.  Out of the corner of her eye she spotted something on her rear view mirror.  A second horrified look confirmed that it was a ... banana spider!  
 

At nearly the same instant that she identified the THING on her rear view mirror she passed into the darkness of the Hammock. She careened along A1A terrified that monster was going to jump on her.  She couldn't stop.  What was she going to do?  It was pitch black on the two-lane road; she'd get run over!  (Besides, if she stopped in the woods in the dark and got out of the car how many BUGS, SNAKES, GATORS, ETC. would be waiting for THEIR CHANCE to attack her on the side of the road?)  She squeezed over against the door and kept staring back and forth between the road and the dark rear view mirror.  Was it still there?  Was it looking at her?  What if it was gone?  Where was it?

She rocketed out of the Hammock, past Marineland, and into the brief spot where A1A widens and has street lights next to 3 high rise condominiums.  THERE HE WAS!  He had spun a short web and was HANGING FROM THE REAR VIEW MIRROR.  OMG!  If she took a curve too fast he would start swinging and swing RIGHT INTO HER FACE!!!!

The street lights disappeared behind her; she and her passenger were thrown into pitch darkness again.  She slowed a bit so she could navigate curves without causing the spider to sway or swing.  She couldn't see him at all and hoped against hope that she wouldn't FEEL anything for the next several miles while she pushed ahead in the dark. 

When she entered St. Augustine Beach and the accompanying street lights she looked for the spider; he was gone.  GONE?  Where was he?  She looked all around and twisted and fidgeted in her seat; one minute tensing because she thought she felt something, the next minute brushing herself off frantically.  For the next terrifying 6-8 miles she looked in vain for that spider - and dreaded feeling him on her leg or in her hair or on her arm, or ON HER NECK or ON HER FACE.

The sun was rising as she crossed the temporary bridge over the Matanzas  River into St. Augustine and there he was!  He was scuttling across her headliner "about 90 mph!".  Thank God, he was running AWAY from her.  She hurtled the last couple miles through town and down the cobblestoned and very bumpy St. George Street and into our parking lot.  She slammed on the brakes, turned off her car, opened the door, and tried frantically to get out of her car.  SOMETHING WAS HOLDING HER IN AND WOULDN'T LET GO!  It was her seatbelt.  She jammed the release button and almost fell out of her car.  She slammed the door shut and stood there for several minutes, just glad to be alive and spider-free.

I really tried not to laugh, because it could have been me and I would have been just as upset, but, the truth is, it wasn't me and I started laughing and couldn't stop.  That morning she didn't see any humor in the situation.  She demanded to know how she was going to get home; I suggested she leave her windows down so he could get out.

"NO!" Carolee said.  "Do you know how many creepy-crawlies live in the parking lot?"

I didn't have any more suggestions so I patted her shoulder and took my coffee back to the office.  I ran my fingers through my hair and brushed off my arms a couple times on the way.

I don't want to say Carolee was obsessed with this banana spider, but she admitted later she asked everyone that morning for an answer to her dilemma.  I don't think she met with too many sympathetic responses.  After breakfast service ended she asked Mike, our maintenance guy, if he had any bug spray.  He gave her a big can of Raid.  Carolee opened the hatch of her Yarus, aimed and fired.  She DRENCHED her car.  She said she could see the spray clinging to some webs in there, so she knew the banana spider had been busy.  She shut the hatch, then opened her driver's side door and DRENCHED her car in poison.  She sprayed until the can was empty.  Then she shut the door and went back to work.

When it was time to go home she took a couple of rags and used them to wipe her seat and the steering wheel.  She rolled down her window, but left the others up.  She drove home with her interior reeking of poison, one window down, and the air conditioner blowing full blast.  She didn't see the spider.  (That much poison probably disintegrated him!)  She had been home for about an hour when her significant other Russ said he was going to take the car to run an errand.  "OK," she answered.

When Russ returned he wanted to know what the HELL happened to her her car!  His hands were all sticky from the door, the steering wheel, the controls.  The interior was covered in something sticky and gross!  What was it?  She told him that if he ever LISTENED to her that he would know it was RAID and that she had bombed the car's interior to kill a spider.

Russell took the car to a car wash place and the rumor is he used the high velocity spray to clean the interior.  He never saw the spider.

Saturday Night

More than one month has passed since I disconnected my cable connections and quit watching TV.  Tonight three women are sitting in a beach cottage and each one of us is working on a laptop.  You could look at this and say we've substituted one piece of technology for another; however, that would not be accurate.  My friend LuAnn is working on her Master's Degree and has been working all day on her assignments.  My daughter Melissa was reading for her Disciple Bible study class, and is now catching up with friends on Facebook.  I'm writing my blog.

There is no TV in the background.  And the only time a TV has been turned on has been during my grandson's Noah's baths.  This beach cottage has a room with a whirlpool tub adjacent to the living room.  In addition to the whirlpool tub there is a TV mounted on the wall with a DVD player.  Noah (who is 2) is having the time of his life taking bubble baths in that whirlpool tub while Finding Nemo plays on the DVD player.  Tonight the bubbles were 2-3 feet above his head and he looked like a weird version of Santa Clause when he peeked over the top of the tub.

It's so quiet in here that it was surprising to step outside for a few minutes and hear the Kink's You Really Got Me blasting from two doors' down.  The weekend partyers had tiki torches around their 2nd story deck and sounded like they were having a great time.  It was nice to step back inside and feel the air conditioning and hear the tap tap of laptop keys.

Today was a whirlwind because we had my granddaughter Kinsey's birthday party at 3:00, and shopping to complete before then.  LuAnn stayed behind to work on her assignments while Melissa and Noah and I tooled around in my convertible, and YES, it was a top down day.  This was Noah's first time cruising with Grenah in the Cabrio with the top down and he really enjoyed it.  There was a lot of woo-hoo-ing as we enjoyed the beautiful day.

We finished our shopping and had a delicious lunch at Flavors just west of downtown.  Then home to complete our wrapping then off to the party.  The party's theme was Tinkerbell and not only were the balloons and decorations all Tinkerbell, but Kinsey herself was dressed as the Tink.  She was so cute my head almost exploded.  We had cake & ice cream & presents & it was a grand time.  When Melissa and Noah and I arrived back at the beach cottage we found LuAnn ready for a break.  We caught her up on the party news while Noah ate some supper, then we all laughed while he took his bubble bath with Nemo.  He was asleep 5 minutes after his head hit the pillow.

I give  myself about 15 more minutes and I'll join him in Dreamland...

THE BUTS

I've been cleaning and decluttering in preparation for my company coming this weekend.  In the process I've begun to do some things that I put off doing years ago; for example, hanging pictures in my living room, hanging pictures in my hallway, and clearing out the TV entertainment center (it's going outside Saturday for sale or pickup).  I've disliked the entertainment center for a couple of years now but inertia caused me to just sit and hate it instead of getting rid of it.  Let me introduce you to - The BUTS.  So I'm sitting in my living room glaring at the entertainment center and thinking,

"I hate that entertainment center; it leans away from the wall and that's just so unattractive.  And I have something I like much better to put in its place."  Uh oh, here come The BUTS:

• BUT there's so much stuff piled on it; I'll never find a new home for everything.
• BUT even if I could find a home for everything, I'd never be able to move it by myself.
• BUT even if I could move it by myself, I can't have a yard sale with just one item.
• BUT even if I decided to just junk it at the side of the road, I couldn't drag it all the way out there by myself.

The BUTS are related to procrastination; they are the mental voices that discourage me from even trying to do some activity.

I thought that blogging about BUTS would be helpful, but instead I have killed almost an hour on this stupid topic and still have quite a bit of work to do.  Stupid BUTS.

FEAR AND LOATHING IN LAS VEGAS...NOPE...ST AUGUSTINE

OK, don't freak out, but I've signed up for Google Adsense.  A friend suggested it for earning extra money.  It sounded too good to be true, of course, so I did a lot of research this afternoon.  Results are mixed.

I immediately read as many complaints and as varied problems as I could.  Most of the complaints were from webmasters who earned up to the minimum $100 that Google requires before issuing a check.  They claimed that just when they were expecting their first check, Google accused them of fraud and closed their account.

Aha! said my cynical side.  Typical corporate scam; however, most of the webmasters went on to complain about all the time they put into getting more ads and getting more hits, etc. 

I had almost decided NOT to do it just because I was sure it wouldn't be worth the trouble, AND I already had the Cable TV monopoly and the cell phone behemoth to deal with - I didn't need another company ripping me off.  Then I decided...... I decided to take a leap.  I am so darn conservative and I don't do a lot of things because the results are not guaranteed. 

I thought about it and decided I would only do it if I put NO EFFORT WHATSOEVER into it.  So I filled out the application and it was short and only mildly annoying.  We'll see.  They promise that I can veto up to 200 advertisers (that I may view as objectionable).  We'll see.  If I go through with this you are free to do what you want.  Whoever advertises is chosen by Google, not me.  I'm just letting them use some of my space.  And if I don't like it I'm promised that I can get out of this arrangement quickly and easily.

So call me a sellout.  Whatever.  I need more income.  I am going to try more stuff.  I am going to take more chances.  And so what if it doesn't work out.  At least I tried.

OFFSPRING FROM ANOTHER PLANET

I have not mentioned this NO TV project to my two daughters; I knew they would just think it was another weird thing about their weird mother.  I'm finally getting it that they don't get me and that's OK; I really didn't "get" my  mother either.  That's why we have grandchildren.

Mary Lee (my older daughter who lives here in St. Augustine) noticed Saturday my cable wire was disconnected from my TV and asked me what was wrong with my cable.  So I told her I wasn't watching TV for a year. 

"Why?" daughter asked.

"Because I just wanted to see if I could do it."  mother answered.

"Cool."  daughter comments.  

"Bullshit." mother is thinking.

 I know that's not the end of it.

So I guess the two daughters put their heads together.  I'm sure Mary Lee reported this aberration along with  the new bumper stickers on my car:  EVE WAS FRAMED and DON'T PISS ME OFF - I'M RUNNING OUT OF PLACES TO BURY THE BODIES.  I mean, come on!  My beloved Cabrio is 10 years old and I'm finally only carrying Liability Insurance and I'm driving it as long as I can and have no plans to sell it so if I want to put bumper stickers on it now, so what!  Anyway, they're always comparing notes to see if it's "time".  You know, time to "put me away".  I'm only 55 and they've been preparing for "putting me away" for a decade already.  I've told them both I've got a one-way ticket to Tahiti that I'm using with the last of my strength.  Actually, it's for Nome - I think it would be better to freeze to death on an ice floe than to die all hot and sweaty on a tropical island. 

So...my younger daughter Melissa calls me tonight.  She's driving down from Atlanta for a long weekend with me.  (BTW bringing 2-yr-old Noah - woo hoo!)

"So I hear you're like not watching TV for a year," daughter says.

"That's right,"  mother answers...waiting.

"So does that mean like no one can watch TV?  Like I can't watch Survivor or Amazing Race while I'm visiting?"  daughter asks with her 3-year-old voice.

"That's right, no TV at all.  After all Tim will record everything for you anyway."  mother is screwing with daughter....because she can.

 "Oh... yea...that's right.  Well, that's fine."  daughter sounds pitiful.

"Well, I guess I could hook up the TV in the bedroom and you could spend time with the TV instead of with your mother."  God, this is great.

"No, no, you're right, Tim will record everything."  Daughter is being so nice.  I know it's killing her.

I did let her off the hook, but it will be weird to be all together and not watch TV.  I will have it hooked up so my friend LuAnn can watch while she's here visiting for a week, and it will be hooked up this weekend in case my daughter wants to watch, but I won't use the opportunity to watch.  That would be...like...cheating.