Running Will Turn You Into a Blob of Emotion

So yesterday I met up with Betsy and Harms to go jog at Crockett high school. I got there at 6:00pm, started around 6:15 and ran until about 8:00pm. Yeah that's right y'all!

I'm not a fast runner, like, at all. But I don't run fast as I can because I want to be able to run this 1/2 marathon without stopping to walk. If I run as fast as I can, I tire out WAY too easily. This means I need to take a slow and steady wins the race approach. Don't get me wrong, I'd like to go fast. Who doesn't want to finish at a good time?! But I'd rather opt for slow and steady and finish at an okay but not great time, than tire out early and totally give up six miles before the finish line. Here's some possibilities of what that would look like.





So anyway, I trucked around the track for about 2 hours, before we collectively decided it was enough for the night.

When I looked at my nike+ (which helps track your time, distance, pace and etc) I couldn't believe my eyes!! A 9.50 minute mile average?!?!?

YES!!!!!!!! YESYESYES!!!!

Oh. Wait. There's seriously no way at all that 9.50 is accurate.

MAYBE IT IS ACCURATE!!!!!!! What if it's accurate you GUYSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!?!

No. Nope. There's no way that's right. I will never be able to run that speed consistently. My fastest mile EVER is 9.56, and I was trying very very hard.

Bitter discouraging loathing of myself and my lack of speed set in. And a feeling of damnation towards the nike+ for getting my hopes up.



So, feeling very diminished and defeated, Betsy took me home. When I got home, I discovered that Kevin, being the wonderful (and lets face it, extremely attractive) person he is, had dinner waiting for me. Woo!

Suddenly, an ick set in. ICK. Oh a very icky feeling. My throat started hurting. My muscles ached. I got shivery.

After managing to shovel down some food, I said I would do the dishes since Kevin was nice enough to cook dinner. I tried to get up, and then, well, I didn't. I knew dishes were not a conceivable option at that moment in time. I addressed this by saying... "like...uhhhhhh...I'm going to lay down."

Hours (or what felt like hours) went by. Kevin walked into the room to get something, and I sat up in a flash.

I'M GOING TO DO THE DISHES. KEVIN?!?!?!? I AM. I'M AWAKE, SEE? KEVIN!!! I'M AWAKE!!!!!!!!!

He had already gone in and out of the room before I said any of that, I discovered after receiving no response. So I decided to lay back down, assuming he already knew that I was fully aware of the fact that I needed to do the dishes, and that I was planning on honoring my obligation.

Guilt at taking so long eventually overtook me, so I got up. My throat still hurt. I was still achy. I was still living with a knotted stomach at the despair of my disappointment in not having a 9.50 minute mile speed.



Anger slowly built with the pain of achy muscles, then exploded like a reactor.

"KEVIN, it's like you TRY to see how many dishes you can get dirty in the course of making dinner. IS THAT WHAT YOU DO?! You sit here and go... "hey, how can I make as many things for Mary to clean as POSSIBLE??!?"

Kevin: um, no?

"YES YOU DO. I see how you are, all, sitting over there with a secret grin on your face. I'm sorry I wasn't home at a time you thought was adequate enough for dinner to be served and that you had to do it yourself. But next time, let's not punish me by leaving an entire KITCHEN full of DISHES in the SINK!!!"

Kevin: silence.

Before I even finished saying it, I knew I was in the wrong. But was I going to admit that? Of course not! Saying something awful and immediately conceding defeat would open the door to backing down in future arguments. And everyone knows that a marriage will not work if one party is a doormat. Right? And um, plus, I hate being wrong. Actually, there's no valid excuse except that I don't like being wrong. So I went to bed.

I woke up this morning, throat still hurting and ashamed of my lash out. And I still feel like this.




Moral of the story: running will turn you into a blob of anger and despair. And it will mug your family. And it will give you the Bubonic Plague.

ps,
That weird looking blob thing is actually a FISH! It's called a blobfish. Isn't that crazy?!

Bwahahamahh

Howdy all,

I've had the hardest time motivating myself to write a blog post lately... probably because we just got done moving to South Austin, and I'm having trouble motivating myself to do anything in general. Especially to unpack boxes. I've started two posts and have yet to finish them. One is about how to keep yourself entertained on ridiculously long road trips, and the other is about how Kevin annoys me with piling his shoes up where they shouldn't go.

I just wanted you to know that I'm still alive, and yes, I am planning on posting again. Stay tuned!

Tapir Caper: a mini post

The other day I was watching Dora the Explorer. I was with my daughter, okay? Quit looking at me like that. Though I have been known to watch Spongebob by myself, I have yet to get to watching Dora by myself. I've already resigned myself to the fact that I will never learn Spanish, or Spanitch as I call it, and therefore I pay little attention to what's going on in that show.

So anyway, they happened to showcase a particular animal on Dora. Wait, Diego. Yep, it was that Diego show. Diego is Dora's cousin that saves animals. Why do I know this?! Whatever. They both try to teach Spanitch so they're essentially the same. So ANYWAY on Diego their animal that they're supposed to be saving is a tapir. AND HOLY CRAP HOW MUCH DO I LOVE TAPIRS?! So much, y'all!!!



Holy Mother of God, is that not the most bizarre looking thing? Look at that proboscis!! And weird ungulate feet!!!

So basically what happened was that I got on google image search, and just started looking at tapirs, as you can see. Then, I came across this image. I've written you a caption so you can tell what he's saying - in case there was any confusion.


EEEEEEEE!HEHEHE!!!EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!

So yeah, I laughed a lot at that. I'm still laughing at that, actually. And as I continued to peruse more pictures, I stopped short. In shock. THERE IS A TAPIR CALLED Baird's Tapir!!!!



I really wanted to create a caption for that, and believe me, I have one in my head. It doesn't translate well to internet paper though, as it involves a weird sequence of meeps. However, if you approach me curiously wondering what the meep sequence is, I will gladly oblige.

Fear and Loathing at Adobe Walls

I used to work at CitiFinancial in Amarillo, and I used to work A LOT. Twelve, sometimes thirteen hour days, which to me are hours befitting an attorney. I, however, just sat at a desk auditing files and closing loans for people that didn't realize how ridiculously high the interest rates were. As in there's a chance they could have brought me downtown on a rape conviction, the rates were so terrible.

Anyway, I spent so much time working that I would forget to take vacation. It just simply didn't occur to me. One task would follow another, and before I knew it I'd have one month to get rid of a week or two of vacation time before it was lost to me at the beginning of a new year.

So come December 2005, panic struck. Not only was I in desperate need of work removal, but I was also in desperate need of wisdom teeth removal. So along with planning my vacay time, I attempted to make an appointment with an oral surgeon to remove the blasted teeth that were causing me to emit vociferous yelps of pain. I called all around town, and no one accepted my insurance. Guess where they did accept it? Lubbock and Austin, and probably Uzbekistan. But definitely not Amarillo. Downtrodden and forlorn, I planned to book passage to Austin to use my hard-earned vacation time to get my teeth removed. Worst vacation ever, probably.

Three days prior to my, erm, vacation... it was 75 degrees in Amarillo, but all of a sudden the winds changed. And before I knew it, the weatherman was wildly gesturing showing a low-pressure front blasting in from the north. A blizzard was predicted to hit Amarillo before nightfall.

Welp, there goes my trip.

I slumped down in my chair at work, mentally preparing to go nowhere, do nothing and be in pain during the course of my week long vacation that would be spent at home. I was sullen, and mentally pictured a cloud of scribbled anger lines above my head.

No, I said to myself. Nope! Not gonna happen. I decided then and there that somehow, against all odds, I could somehow attempt to make this wreck of a vacation week fun. I immediately reached for the phone and called Betsy.

Me: Hey dood, what are you doing this next week?
Betsy: Nothing. What's up?
Me: Like really nothing? You don't have school or anything? It's important that you really, truly have nothing to do.
Betsy: Nope. I'm on Christmas Break, why?
Me: I want to go on a bender to cloak the pain of my wisdom teeth.
Betsy: Come pick me up after work.

This is what best friends were made for.



I picked Betsy up and we trucked down to Gem Lake Boulevard to go to our friendly neighborhood liquor store and get hmm... like 40 gallons of vodka. Then we headed to United Supermarket because I think "Hey! Blizzard! Let's make chili, that'll be fun." When we arrived grocery traffic was not too bad. However, by the time we were ready to check out it was gridlock. Lanes were backed up all the way to the BACK OF THE STORE. This is an Amarillo phenomenon I will never understand. We get cold weather for the holidays, always. But for some reason when it inevitably happens - people panic and act like they need to stock up for nuclear fallout. Thus, Betsy and I abandoned the basket (which pained me, thinking of the poor grocery workers). Thank God we went to the liquor store first, we collectively thought, and then proceeded to my apartment.

Countless dirty martinis and a spaghetti bake (and probably a nap) later, Betsy and I started to watch six hours worth of our favorite miniseries of all time - Lonesome Dove. Those who know me well surely know that I can barely get through one sentence of what Lonesome Dove means to me without crying. For Betsy, it's the same.

Later, after hours of cinematic masterpiece in action, we came to the point of the film where Gus rescues Lorena from Blue Duck and stays at the ruins of Adobe Walls. And then, like the gold rush of 19...or 18...something, we sifted through the fog of the martinis and found the most epic adventure ever, EVER, to embark upon.



Okay, well, maybe not EVER...but pretty close.

We decided: We shall go to Adobe Walls and pour a drink out for the FALLEN HEROES of the many battles that have taken place there...

For those of you ignoramuses (which will undoubtedly be everyone...because who would know this?!?) who don't know what Adobe Walls is, you can click here. The marker commemorating the battle was our destination, just outside of the lovely municipality of Borger, Texas.

We woke up the next morning to sub-zero wind chills and bundled up in a haphazard collection of my mis-matched ski gear. We bumbled out to the car and readied ourselves for our quest, stopping only to get gas and buy a six pack of 32 ounce beer. I popped in my favorite cd at the time, which was a compilation of hideous pop music including Clay Aiken, Nick Lachey and Britney Spears. Perfect music to christen the beginning of our trip. We pulled out of the gas station and had a sudden revelation.

Me: Betsy?
Betsy: Yeah...
Me: Where do we go?
Betsy: I have no idea. I'm calling Hemi.

Hemi is one of Betsy's friends that lives up in, well, I can't remember where. So I'm just going to call it North Jesus. I'm not even sure he's been to Texas. However, this is the first person we think to call to google the battle site and subsequently relay instructions to us. He was rudely awakened and thus not too happy, but was still concurrently interested as to why two girls in Amarillo, Texas would call him in North Jesus and ask for directions. On speaker phone, he proceeded to tell us to take the "Doo-MAUS highway." Betsy and I shared a good laugh, then exchanged a glance of remorse, realizing that we live in a place that opts to pronounce the word Dumas as "Doomus."

Side note - I'm terrified of driving on ice. I did a three lane crossover on a highway in Abilene one time after hitting black ice, and I think it gave me a bit of post traumatic stress disorder. So Betsy was driving on at a pretty good clip, and I secretly had my fists balled up paralyzed with fear that every slight jerk of the steering wheel was bringing us one step closer to an icy rollover.

We reached Borger, and I quickly suggested that we stop at a bar called "The Hitchin' Rail." You know, calm the nerves. Um, excuse me. I SEE you giving me that look, you judgy reader. DON'T JUDGE ME OKAY!?!?! I'm on vacation here, for PETE SAKE! I'm also 22 years old in this story. I'm 27 now. Ugh.



We got out of the car, and proceed to go in this smoky, carpeted, ridiculous bar. In lieu of traditional forms of payment, we noticed that instead they'd opted to just put peoples' names on a chalk board behind the bar - where they were tallied and billed monthly. We also noted that there was a list of people who had been banned from entry to the establishment, including "crazy bish" and "the postman." Deciding that this was too good to go undocumented, I got up and went to the car to get our video camera, which we had been using to catalog our journey thus far.

I got out, went to the car, and came back in filming. I looked at Betsy, whose terror-filled eyes put me on the road to caution. She cut across her neck with her hand, signaling me to desist my filming efforts. With slanted brow, I questioned her motives.

Me: What's going on??
Betsy: There's about to be a hick bar fight.
Me: What??
Betsy: See that lady over there?
Me: Yeah, the one with the short skirt?
Betsy: Yes. She was talking to this guy over there that's playing pool, loudly, saying "Im'a leave his ass!!! I got the car parked out front, it's all packed up with my stuff!!!"
Me: Oh no!
Betsy: Just wait! So, I expected to hear the guy she was talking to respond, but instead, the bartender starts yelling "FINE!! JUST LEAVE, LIKE I CARE YOU SKANK!!"
Me: So...the guy she's leaving is the bartender.
Betsy: Yes.
Me: And she's talking to some dude playing pool, but what she's really doing is antagonizing someone who up until recently was her boyfriend.
Betsy: Yep.
Me: Let's get the eff out of here.

Having sucked down only half of my beverage, my hair was still on end while we were driving. The absolute zero a la kelvin temperature was still raging, and the wind had picked up even more - which I didn't think was possible.

Finally, we reached our destination. Much to our disappointment, there were no ruins. Only markers. There were two markers, one for the Indians and one for the Rangers. I decided to pour my beer out for my Native American brethren. I'm not Native American whatsoever, but I like them. So yeah. And Betsy likewise took the Ranger post.



We got out of the car and were immediately bitten by the frosty air, which we would later discover was 17 degrees below zero (wind chill).

Me: SHITSHITSHIT!
Betsy: GODDDDDDDDDD!

I opened the beer, started pouring, and speed-read the names - which were over a hundred in number.

HERE'S TO YOU SLUE FOOT! DANCES WITH WOLVES! RACCOON PELT!

Betsy in the mean time jumped up and down, alternating feet, laughing her frozen buttocks off while I tried to finish. Then, she threw the camera down and bounded over to the Ranger monument.

My hands shaking and frozen, I picked it up, ran over to the Ranger monument and began to film - while laughing my buttocks off. She got through about six names, and with the beer practically freezing mid-air, suddenly stoped in action and with a wide-eyed expression, dropped the can and jumped back in the car.

Recovering the can carcass, I poured the remainder out saying "and to the rest of you guys" and bounded back to the car myself.

Me: What was that about?!
Betsy: I peed.
Me: What?
Betsy: I laughed so hard, I peed some.
Me: HAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHhahHAHAHHAHA Betsy Pee Pants!

We drove back home in almost complete silence, our skin ACTUALLY RED from a brutal wind burn. I mean, we were only out there for a few seconds! How does that even happen?!

Having finally made it home, we got out of the car feeling somewhat defeated by the weather, and stumbled back to my apartment - rattled from the journey. We threw a log on the fire and stared at it burning in silence.

Me: Betsy?
Betsy: Yeah?
Me: This is the best vacation. Ever.
Betsy: Agreed.
Me: Hey, do you want to make chili and drink?
Betsy: Yeah, just promise me we'll never go to Adobe Walls again.
Me: Word.

The Magical Lewyt

Ah, the 1920s-1950s. Wasn’t that a grand place in history? I certainly miss it, or I would if I had actually been alive during it. Yes, yes, I realize this was the Dust Bowl Era in the Panhandle. And obviously the Great Depression is not something that most people want to live through. But seriously, time periods like those are the ones in which people are born that change the world because of the perseverance they have to have in order to survive. Take Woody Guthrie, for example. I can think of no better person to illustrate my point than ole Woody. Such an invaluable piece of American history, that man.



I see pictures in the Amarillo Globe News of that era that just fascinate me. Times were just simpler, and simplicity is something I cannot help but craving in this filthy time that you and I are tragically stuck in. Teaming with blogs, facebook and nearing the edge of a precipice into bizarre “technological advances” such as cell phone microchip brain implantation. These were once the things that only science fiction was made of… now teetering on being a reality.

Don’t believe me? Check this article out.

Yes I know I have a blog, a facebook page and a cell phone. But if an opportunity arose where I could completely disconnect, I think I would. It’s just that when things of this nature become the standard for everyone, one is forced to conform.

Tangent complete.

The reason for my now completed tangent, is that something from my aforementioned era of greatness surfaced the other day - and caused me quite a bit of confusion.

Now as you all well know, the sashaying conga line of freakishness that is my family never ceases to amaze me. I regularly share a silent chuckle with myself at their expense, and did so with extreme fervor the other day when my uncle Bill posted this picture to facebook.



What is that? A giant toaster? Wait... I see attachments... is that a vacuum?? Then I notice uncle Bill’s caption which read, “Vintage 1950s Lewyt canister, it was the family vacuum for most of our childhood.”

Back up. The family vacuum? Come on now - what is this thing, a dog? And furthermore, let me explain something you that may not be immediately obvious about this picture. In my mind, this is what was needed order for this picture to have happened:

Uncle Bill: Oh my God, this vacuum, I love it. Would you please take a picture of me and the vacuum?

Person taking picture: Uh, yeah, I guess.

Can you believe that? Then he gets the vacuum, and hoists it up onto his lap. Because clearly it’s not enough that he’s near it, it’s actually lap-worthy.

Uncle Bill: Oh wait! I forgot about the (freakishly long) attachments; let me hold it up so everyone can get the full scale accurate representation of the majesty that is this vacuum.

Person taking picture: Oh yes, it is important that they get the full blown majesty.

By now I’m thinking, “oh wow this is just silliness." And fortunately for me, the next day following my viewing of this interesting picture, I’ve planned to eat lunch with my father – and thus will be able to regale him with the silliness. Then I read this little gem that my aunt posts on the picture, and it only adds to my little gossip bag that I can’t wait to tell my very pragmatic father.

Aunt Mary: The Lewyt was special to me because I can remember how much fun it was to sit on it while Mom vacuumed. It made a great toddler chariot!

Pffft!!

Next day. Father, at lunch time. I begin to tell him.

Me: Hey dad, uncle Bill posted the funniest thing to facebook the other day. It was this picture of a vacuum, and… (before I can even begin to describe this image...)



Dad: THE LOOT! LOOT!!! Was it the LOOT?!

Me: Uh, yes. Is that how you say it? You say Lewyt like LOOT?

Dad: Yes! ...... (wistful sigh)

Me: So um, what is the deal with this vacuum? It seems like you, uncle Bill and aunt Mary all have this magical tie to it…

Dad: It holds a very special place in our hearts.

So in closing, my family actually has a physical place in their hearts (specifically under the superior vena cava, to the bottom left of the right atruim and next to the tricuspid valve) in which they keep a vintage 1950s Lewyt (LOOT!) Canister.




What is my life.

List of Fears

In honor of the spectacular holiday that is Halloween, I've decided to go with a theme that seems appropriate. Today we're going to be exploring fears - more specifically, my fears. Because this is my blog.

Everyone has fears, some of them rational and some of them not. I'd say I'm about fifty-fifty on mine. But some of my fears are down right weird. So weird that some of them might make you wonder about my sanity, and that's okay because you already know that I'm a little off at this point.

It's really hard for me to rank my fears in order, because they're all pretty high up on my fear Richter scale. So, while they are in fact numbered - this should not necessarily convey to you that one is higher than the other unless otherwise specified.

*disclaimer
I don't like to cuss in my blog, but because these things get me to the most rudimentary of my very human fight-or-flight reactions, I'm going to cuss. But my way of cussing is different than most. I use abbreviations of the actual word. So it's not like I'm trying to spare you the pain of the word I'm actually wanting to use, I just don't like to say whole cuss words. Or if I do, I slightly modify them to seem a little less... intimidating.

Example: I say bish instead of, well, you know. Or I'll use the first letters of the actual cuss word, but spell it out like this: eff. Like, EFF YOU MAN!!! So that's that, and on we go.

Fear #1
Sharks



HOLY EFFING ESS, I'M SO AFRAID OF EM EFFING SHARKS!!!!!! Look at that! It's just a scary mouth!!! With RAZOR TEETH!!! It has no other purpose than to feed. And sharks can't stop moving because of the way their gills work SO IT'S A CONSTANTLY MOVING MOUTH LOOKING FOR FOOD. Scariest thing ever!! EVER!!!


Fear # 2
Snakes


Would you just LOOK at that? Pure em effing evil. If you own or like snakes I have no interest in you as a person. SNAKES will BITE your FACE. See? See the picture? This is similar to my shark scenario, because it's just a moving mouth. Snakes can stop, of course, they don't have to constantly move like the sharks do. But don't be deceived - they're JUST AS BAD. Because they hide!! Sharks don't hide. But snakes hide, and they hide with malice. This cannot be proven, but I'm like that kid in captain planet that can communicate with animals. Or at least, I think I can. Because when I look at snakes I KNOW FOR A FACT that they HATE ME and all they want to do is BITE MY FACE!!! And guess what? They want to bite your face too, so you just watch yourself MISTER!


Fear # 3
Pennies


SICK. Sick me out. You dirty, filthy and sickening pennies. Looking at this picture seriously made me cringe. Stop handling those pennies you little child!!! Don't you know how disgusting they are???

I hate touching change in general, but particularly pennies. I'm not sure when this irrational fear started, and in an attempt to determine the origin I thought long and hard. I think this is when this fear, which I'm sure had already started to form in some fledgling way prior to this incident, became highly exacerbated:

I had to go to the doctor and get an x-ray, and they injected me with this dye. A sudden streak of panic shot through me like wildfire, as a taste began to form in my mouth. Metal. Nay. It was pocket change. With a gasp of horror I managed to inform my medical attendant in a grave tone.

Me: Ma'am? My mouth tastes like pocket change.
Attendant: Oh don't worry hun, that's normal.

(NORMAL!?!?) I've never fully recovered from this incident, and whenever I see pennies I feel like they're in my mouth. BJSKJDFJAOI!!! I just cringed again.

Fear # 4
Mice


Dude, cat. Get your ESS together and eat that mouse! They're weird creatures that bear disgusting little flesh colored mice babies. And the way that mice skitter across the floor freaks me out. When I look at them skitter I feel like they're going to get into my hair.

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

*it should be noted that the word flesh also sicks me out, which I have just remembered.


Fear # 5
Heights


First of all, this woman who is holding her child up to the edge of the tallest building in the US is a human WASTELAND, and more importantly, should have CPS called on her. You get that baby away from the edge you filth! I don't care if it has glass!!! Both baby AND glass would SHATTER if they fell from that height.

Being up high scares the effing ess out of me, and it should scare the effing ess out of you too.

Look people, human beings were never EVER meant to be up this high. I don't look over the edge of buildings because it defies everything we're supposed to fear as humans. It's hard-wired to our systems to not like to be up high, because the chances of falling off something high and dying are higher than not being on something high and falling and dying. If you are not afraid of heights then there IS SOMETHING WRONG WITH YOUR BRAIN. Like seriously, you have a BRAIN MALFUNCTION. You should probably get that checked out, fella.


Fear # 5
Touching Kleenex



Boy howdy, this gives me the creeps. I don't know why, but when I touch kleenex it makes me want to vom. Unless it's the kind that's loaded down with the lotion - for some reason that texture is totally different. But if it's not? Ewewew. I have bad allergies, and when the time comes for me to need to blow my nose I'd rather run to a corner store and get a GEE DEE paper towel roll than have to touch cheap, dry, thin and icky kleenex.


Fear # 6
Goat Eyes







Completely self-explanatory.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This concludes my em effing list of fears. Happy (almost) Halloween readers!!

Miasma

As you all may know, except for the relatively new readers, occasionally I will post extremely boring, dry and lengthy updates on what's going on in la vida Mary. Apologizes in advance for one of these segments which I would now like to call: MIASMA UPDATE WITH MARY BAIRD

Mary? What's a miasma?

Well little ones, it's noxious exhalations from putrescent organic matter; poisonous effluvia or germs polluting the atmosphere.

I like to refer to my life as "the miasma" because life, in general, twists and turns and puts you through some pretty bizarre trials. Beautiful noxious gas.

Besides, when would I otherwise get to use that word in my day-to-day routine? And furthermore, can you imagine what people would say if I had to explain this word by any other medium than my blog? When you read it, it's pretty funny. But talking about it in regular conversation? Please, like I need another excuse for people to think I'm a freak show.



This is me in a homemade fat suit with Lisa at a "pretty in pink" party circa 2006. I rest my case.

Onward.

So several months ago Kevin decided he was going to go into the Navy. Right around the same time, I was diagnosed with epilepsy and as a result couldn't drive for six months, and now again I can't drive for yet another six due to further issues with it. So basically Kevin and I jointly decided to scrap plan Navy because it just wouldn't be wise for him to leave for great lengths of time in case anything happened that affected my ability to drive, etc. We were pretty disappointed by this, because we were both excited at the plethora of opportunity the military offers. But life goes on.

So a new plan was devised! This is: plan school.

Kevin and I are both planning to go to school starting in August at Sul Ross, which is a small university in Alpine, Texas, right near Big Bend National Park. Sul Ross was a famous Texas Ranger and was the 19th governor of Texas, which is why they named the school after him. It was also called "possibly the most underrated little university west of the Mississippi" by CBS's Dan Rather. Neat!


My parents used to have a house in Alpine, and that's how I heard of it. Sul Ross is part of the Texas State University system, along with Sam Houston State and Lamar State, but it's by far the smallest. I believe the student population is less than 3,000. I understand why - it's a really small town that is in the middle of nowhere. But I love the town!!



It's settled right in the middle of the Davis Mountains. I would be so grateful to get out of this allergy infested humid Austin air into a dry air desert shrub climate.



Logistics on this is that my job will end mid-April at Foundation Communities. I'm contracted by the government for a year, so unfortunately all good things must come to an end. I'm going to furiously cry at the end, I just know it. I've really loved my time there and the people I work with are nothing less than fabulous. Tear. So needless to say, I have been racking my brain trying to figure out what I would do (Find another job? Take some time off?) when the time comes, and this seems like the best fit.

I really like the idea of going away to school, too, because I know that if I stayed here and went back to Texas State I would find excuses not to go because of my transportation issues. Texas State is in San Marcos and I feel like the job opportunities are too limited there - and so we would live in Austin, and thus begins the cycle of putting it off. Of course all plans are subject to change, but this is where we think we're headed for now.

This has been your miasma update.

Oh before I forget - check this link (click the word link) out. It's some attractions in the area that might entice you to come visit!

Thank you, and goodnight.

The Tale of Adolph C. Hunt

Let me first start off by saying that I'm quickly approaching 2,000 unique views on my blog. Who on earth is reading this?! I have no idea, but thanks whoever you are. And please keep reading.



So for those who have no clue who I am, other than this person who writes ridiculous stories, you may be wondering who all these people are that I'm talking about. Initially I thought about not using names, but then I figured it would get kind of obnoxious if I just kept using "my friend" instead of their actual name. So I've mentioned Shanda, Lainey, Elaine, Lisa, and Omar....and of course my husband Kevin....and etc. I will never give any more background on these folks other than what's relevant to the story. So since you don't know them, feel free to use the creative process to invent whatever details about them you'd like. A few new people will be introduced in this story, so enjoy. That is all.

Adolph C. Hunt. The name sounds fabricated, I know. But it's not. Adolph, well, the problem with that name is definitely self-explanatory. But the letter C being so close to the word Hunt just begs to be made fun of. The whole name is rather unnerving, if you ask me, and that's precisely where the story begins.

I was hanging out with Shanda one day, and she excused herself from the room to make a phone call. She came back, and I asked who she was speaking with. Her words: "Adolph C. Hunt, he's this guy I prank call." I starred at her blankly. "Excuse me, what?" I said. "Yes," she said, "a guy I just decided to prank call. I had to, his name is Adolph C. Hunt."




She informed me that she had been looking up a number in the phone book (remember when we used to use those?) and had run across the name, and found it irresistible. She then began the odyssey of oh-so-fabulous prank calls, that had been going on for a considerable amount of time.

I was beyond intrigued by this. And naturally, I felt like I had to do it too. I asked "what do you say when you call him?"

Shanda, oh Shanda. God love Shanda.

Shanda said, "I just sing 'I like to move it move it' over and over in a man voice." It took me quite some time to collect myself after hearing this, but I managed. Then I spent a moment trying to provoke a sense of calm before calling Adolph myself.



Adreneline pumping (yes, I excite easily) I picked up the phone and dialed. When he picked up the phone, in the background I heard the loud sounds of a football game and a bunch of rustling that suggested that Adolph had dropped the phone. A second later, a voice at the other end says "FUHBALL" as a form of a greeting. FUHBALL??? Do you seriously answer your phone during football season by saying FUHBALL? This completely caught me off guard, and immediately sent me into a fit of the giggles. I had to hang up. Clearly this Adolph fellow was a curious fig, and definitely an out-of-control football fan.



Moments later, I call again.

Adolph: "FUHHHHBALL!!"
Me: I like to move-it-move-it I like to move-it-move-it I like to move-it-move-it I like to move-it-move-it.....(pause)
Adolph: WHO THE HELL IS THIS, DAMN IT
Me: (pause)
Adolph: WHO THE HELL ARE YOU PEOPLE, I'LL CALL THE COPS
Me: I like to move-it-move-it I like to move-it-move-it I like to move-it-move-it I like to move-it-move-it.....MOVE IT!
Adolph: AH GAAD DAMMIT!!!! (click)



Shanda and I, who of course did this on speaker phone, then proceeded to roll on the floor convulsing with laughter. That was it. I was addicted.

News of the Adolph C. Hunt prank call spread throughout our group like wildfire. Everyone wanted in on this, it was just too entertaining to not love. We would have what were just short of Adolph prank calling parties....and the amount of people calling grew and grew.

I remember on nights we were bored, Betsy and I would drive around in her sister Sally's land rover and use one of those old school car cellulars to call Adolph on speaker phone. Over, and over and over. Adolph hated us. It was awesome.

Finally, by the time next football season rolled around, Adolph had decided it was enough. He answered the phone with his usual salutation, and when he heard "I LIKE TO MOVE-IT-MOVE-IT!!!" start up again, a spring sprung. He was finished. He held a number button on the phone down so it beeped loudly enough that we stopped to see what was going on. Betsy, Greg and I were the culprits in this situation, and had three-way dialed Adolph. We were always careful to block our number. This time, however, we had failed. He threatened his usual threat - but this time with a renewed fervor, saying "I HAVE YOUR NUMBER NOW YOU LITTLE BASTARDS! I'M GOING TO CALL THE POLICE!!!!"



Sweet precious mother of God.

He called Greg back, and a police officer was on the line. He wanted to file charges on us for harassment, and we were all going down in flames.

Luckily, and much to our surprise, the police officer seemed more amused than upset. He made us all apologize to dear old Adolph, and swear that we wouldn't do it again upon pains of imprisonment. We did all of the above without complaint, for we had been sure we were going to jail. I look back at it now and laugh, like, yeah right! Who would put teenagers in jail for prank calling a guy named Adolph?!

I'm sure Adolph C. Hunt has long since left this life, but he will not soon be forgotten. And that being said, I will be sending out evites to host a Skype prank calling party. God knows there surely is somebody named Adolph C. Hunt somewhere in the world that is just dying to be harassed. Let the legend live on.

Mental Majesty

A certain series of events has been told to me that created the best, and most hilarous, mental image I've ever had.

Now, I've only heard it told once. Perhaps the details are a bit fuzzy, but I've put together what I can remember and am attempting to write it down in the form of a story.

I'm a very visual person. Not that I necessarily am a visual learner, I just instantly picture what people say when they tell stories... even when I'd rather not. Very vividly, I might add. Which makes disgusting stories disgustingier, and beautiful stories beautifullier, sad stories saddier, and whatever else involves me seeing a clear mental picture of what's going on as if it were right in front of my face. Ps, I heart purposefully bad spelling. I do not, however, enjoy accidentally bad spelling - and I hate it more than anything when I realize I've sent an email out with exceptionally poor spelling after-the-fact. It eats at my very soul.

I also hate it when people ramble, yet astonishingly (and quite apparently) I do not mind if I do. On that note, we shall finally begin.

Every now and again, a funny story comes along that tickles my fancy because of the mental image aspect. When I think of these stories, one stands out among the rest.

Let's say there's a man, and this man has a wife. The wife happens to be pregnant, and is so pregnant that it makes it very difficult for her to sleep. She naps in the day when she can, and when she can't she's exhausted. In fact, either way she's exhausted.

I tried to pull up a picture of an exhausted lady on google, but all it came up with was Lady Gaga pictures. Go figure.

So one night the wife is trying to sleep, but all the husband and wife can hear is the loud chirping of frogs coming from a pond in their back yard. They try everything they can to distract themselves from the sound, but it's so overwhelmingly loud that no sound can be created to cover it that doesn't cause sleep-interuption in of itself.

After strong deliberation on how to solve this quandary, the man promptly gets up, goes outside, collects the frogs and throws them down a storm drain.



Quite proud of his brilliant solution, he crawls into bed - sure that this will no longer be a problem for him, or his wife.

Geez, google is in rare form today. I looked up "couple peacefully sleeping" and got this:



The next night the couple lays down to sleep. Suddenly - a bombardment of frog noises begins to rise like thunder. THEY HAD COME BACK! AND IN GREATER NUMBERS! Much like the sand people in Star Wars: A New Hope. Yes, I totally just went there.



The man, seething with anger, grabs the big bunch of frogs and once again makes a trek to the storm drain.



The next day comes and goes, and once again night befalls them. Silence. Then a cacophony of deafening frog chirps begins.







The man is completely filled with rage. Blind by the sudden rush of hate-fueled adrenaline, he starts grabbing frogs in a crazed fury. He comes out to the street with hands and robe pockets full of frogs. He doesn't know what to do. The storm drain idea is clearly a bad one, because apparently all they do down there is recruit friends to come back.

Then an idea begins to form. The man thinks "I SHALL END THEM!" But how? A car drives by, and light bulb in his head is ignited.



Like a crazed madman, his eyes wide with fury, he begins pelting the frogs under the wheels of passing cars like a gory bloodbath version of frogger.



This is the part of the story where I laugh to the point of tears. Because in my mind, there is a robed man pelting frogs at under passing cars at the speed of a major league pitcher...and laughing like the wild man of Borneo....




At this point he is experiencing the ecstasy of relief in his frog murder spree. Blinded by such elation, he manages to not see an approaching police car. Once again, he unleashes the Wrath of God on a frog by pitching it as he would a fastball under the police car.




The police officer promptly slams on his breaks, turns around, and rolls down the window. Realizing what he's done, the man snaps out of his frog murder high and comes back to his impending animal cruelty misdemeanor. Panicked, he begins to explain his actions.

OFFICER! My wife, she's pregnant. And the frogs...the DAMN FROGS....THE NOISE! She couldn't sleep! And I DIDN'T know what to DO!!!

In a storm of wild gesturing, the story tries to come out in a series of sentence fragments. The police officer, having heard enough even prior to the story being finished, simply rolls up his window and drives away.

The man, in awe of the events which had just transpired, empties his robe pockets of frogs. He trudges back to the house to his wife. He lays down, in a silence that is devoid of frog noises, and relishes the thought of the mass murder as he drifts to sleep.

The Prank

In high school Lisa and I did a whole lot of driving around on a daily basis. Since Lisa was birthed, she has had a planner - and in order to fulfill all of the obligations Lisa's planner details (of which there are many), one is required to do quite a bit of errand running. In fact, I'm not sure how we ever got anything accomplished prior to Lisa getting her driver's license.

During the high school years everyone was extremely bored until they discovered parties. I remember Rachel and I would just call each other on the phone and watch tv. We wouldn't even say anything until the commercial breaks, and sometimes not even then. Class was boring, life was boring, so naturally when all other options had been exhausted - you just started calling people.

So Lisa and I filled our time with errand running and general running around waiting for phone calls which could potentially lead to doing something other than being bored. However, sometimes there were planner action items that needed to get done which occasionally prevented us from taking calls. During these times when we were unable to answer - once a person had tried one of us, they would try the other if the first one didn't answer. We found this annoying or funny depending on the day, and we would jointly make decisions to answer or not answer our phones.



One day on a no calls afternoon, Lisa received several calls from Omar - which of course went unanswered. We ran our errands for the day, back and forth from Kinkos to Lisa's. I can't even tell you how many countless hours I've put in at Kinkos just watching Lisa finish various projects. When she decided to laminate her projects, I went ahead and did mine too. Lisa is definitely a large contributor to several As I received on my stupid high school projects.

At any rate, at some point Omar decided that he was displeased by the lack of returned phone calls. As a result he decided to exact the best prank ever played with Elaine, a friend whose phone calls had also gone unanswered by Lisa that afternoon.

Later, when evening had rolled around, and Lisa and I decided to leave her house again. I'm sure we'd probably munched on cheez its and had enough diet coke for it to be considered dinner, and decided to go to Roasters for coffee. We got into her Isuzu Rodeo, and pulled out of the driveway. We were mostly out and almost pulling onto the street, when we saw something like this in the driveway where her car, only seconds earlier, had been parked:




The animal was completely indecipherable, but one thing was certain - it was most definitely dead. "What IS that?!?!" was probably said close to a million times along with "I DON'T KNOWWW!!" Still undecided on what this creature could be, we resigned ourselves to the fact that nothing could be done any longer. Perhaps it had been a cat that got caught in the engine? Cats are known to nap in or under cars in cold weather. All we knew was that it made us sad, and we didn't want to touch it. Shaken and disturbed, we decided to go on with our plan to get coffee.

At Roasters we began to tell people of this horrid incident, and when news of it reached two certain people - it was met with only smirks of blatant satisfaction. Why were Omar and Elaine so pleased at our misfortune?? I'll tell you why. They'd carried out the most innovative and disgusting form of revenge ever. They had actally created this mystery dead animal, and had been watching us discover its "remains" from the alley.

In their planning phase, they had decided the objective was to get our attention. But how? What could they do to ensure returned phone calls and simultaneously gross us out? A solution emerged out of the darkness, and took form as a dead animal. Logistics then began to be formulated.

For lack of wanting to actually kill an animal or touch roadkill, they had come up with a brilliant alternative. They de-stuffed one of Elaine's plush stuffed animals and filled it with ground beef, egg shells and various other things that would create a crunch noise. They also removed the plastic eyes or anything else that would trigger us to think it was fake. Then they placed it on the driveway, and covered it with red syrup to create the blood. All that was left to be done was to watch us pull out of the driveway from a safe distance so they could hysterically laugh.

At that point, all I could think was "bastards."

It was disturbing, disgusting and horrible - but I had to give them credit. At least it was innovative and original.

The evening came and went, and the next day Lisa told her parents and began to start a clean-up effort. Lisa and her dad went outside, and discovered something very odd. The creature was missing. They looked low and high, and could find it nowhere. It had vanished.

Later that afternoon, Lisa's mom was approached by their elderly neighbor; one of two twin sisters living next door. She quietly said "I found a poor little creature that died on your driveway. I think he had fallen from a tree. I nestled him in a shoebox, and said a little prayer before putting him in our dumpster."



Lisa's mom, who was now well informed of the prank, did everything she could to not laugh. This poor elderly woman of deteriorating mental capacity thought that it was real, and had even given it a burial. Rather than trying to explain a genuinely bizarre teenage prank, Lisa's mom just said "Thank you. Thank you so much, how sweet of you." and called it a day.

When she reported this back to Lisa and I, we laughed until we cried...but not before we returned a lot of phone calls.