Hold the bacon

So, I have come to realize, my eating habits are not that of a normal 31 year old female.  They are, however, very similar to a five year old child.  I have a few rules, more like guidelines, that I follow.  

1. If it is something someone else has cooked, it can’t have more than three ingredients.  I don’t do casseroles unless it has been cooked by myself, or by my mother.  Don’t even throw the word meatloaf at me.  Putting together a conglomerate of ingredients and then forcing it into the shape of my Aunt Judy’s homemade loaf of bread, is NOT a meal.  I have found over the years people really dig this pile of duke.  They open the refrigerator and see a couple chicken nuggets (left over from last weeks kid’s meal), chop it up (because that qualifies as the “meat” in meatloaf), throw in a few other things that could be anywhere from onions to cotton candy, and place it in the oven, only to pull it out in 45 minutes and place it on the table around the family.  Really?  What did they do so bad to deserve to eat that mess? 

Casseroles are also out of the question for me.  Most casseroles have more than three ingredients...so I am out.  

1. Bacon.  There is ONE place where you should find bacon.  Next to your eggs, in the shape of an airplane runway.  Don’t stick it on my sandwiches and hamburgers.  For crying out loud, don’t chop it up and sneak it into my sides either!  Do you know what people put bacon on?  I order green beans, and it has bacon in it.  I order mashed potatoes and they have diced it and MIXED it in (this is borderline casserole)!  Restaurants chop it up and stick it in corn, salad, and spinach.  Now, it doesn’t matter what I order I say, “Please hold the bacon.”  Yesterday: “I would like the peach cobbler, and please leave off the bacon.”  Better safe than sorry.   
2. Beans.  There is one kind of bean to eat....green ones.  I am not picky (imagine that) about how you give them to me.  They can be french style, cut, or long...I prefer them out of the can, but would be willing to choke down fresh ones (depending on my audience).  Those other beans?  The brown ones?  You can hold those too.  I would rather save the baby food for the babies.  If it’s round, and has a tough skin, I am not putting it in my mouth.  The beans that qualify under this category?  Pinto, refried, lima, kidney (don’t even get me started on putting a body part with the word BEAN on it, in my mouth), black, brown, white, purple, orange...there are too many to list.  Green is the only one I am eating.  Case closed.
3. Soups.  I LOVE soup.  I know what you are thinking, soup is just a liquid form of a casserole.  I agree, which is why I order soup and only eat the broth.  There is an exception to this (as with any rule).  Olive Garden minestrone soup.  Not only will I eat the broth, but I will eat the sea shell noodles too.  As for all the other thrown in ingredients (probably a mixture of bacon and cotton candy)?  I will pass.  
4. Pizza.  Don’t worry, I am not going to bad mouth America’s favorite food.  I LOVE pizza.  I even like pepperoni pizza, but I don’t like the pepperoni.  So, I order the pizza, and remove the pepperoni.  I like the juice from it, just not really the pepperoni itself.  Pizza is another exception to my “three ingredients” rule.  I like a vegetarian pizza too, and will ONLY eat it because I can physically SEE all the ingredients.  It isn’t hidden in a loaf shape, or buried somewhere beneath the cheese covering to a casserole dish.  Of course I pick off the onions, green peppers, and yellow peppers.  But I LOVE the mushrooms, and the juices from all those other veggies.  
5. Speaking of onions.  I don’t like onions chopped up in my food (similar to the bacon issue), or put on my sandwiches and burgers.  BUT, I LOVE bloomin’ onions...because, I know what I am getting.  It is a dish with onions, nothing more, nothing less.  
6. Blue foods.  I am not doing it.  I shouldn’t have to explain why the color blue should not be eaten.  If I have a bag of M&Ms, I eat all but the blue ones.  Sweet Tarts?  All but the blue ones.  I stay away from blue suckers, and any other candy that might have the slightest tint of blue.  As for blueberries...what color are they?  Case closed.    
7. I like my food warm, but as far as my cookies, cakes, and brownies?  They need to be room temperature before I will eat them.  So fresh cookies out of the oven need to sit about an hour before I will pick one up...same with brownies.  Don’t ask me why, I just don’t like them warm. 
8. Leftovers.  I don’t do them, unless it is pizza.  I don’t want to eat food that is more than six hours old.  Why is that so weird?  
9. Fresh fruits and veggies.  This is a grey area for me.  I really don’t like many fresh fruits or veggies.  Fresh fruits make my gums feel dry and weird.  I will eat apples, but bananas give you stinky breath so I stay clear of them.  And vegetables, well, lets just be honest, I am not a fan (unless it is asparagus or artichoke).  Give it to me in a can, and I am great (as long as it’s green beans or corn).    
10. Drinks.  Of course we are talking non alcoholic (because I don’t drink alcohol)...I like them room temperature.  When I order soda at a restaurant I ask for just a little ice.  If I order anything other than soda, I tell them no ice.   When I go to the Olive Garden with Blond BFF, I request, “Peach tea with no ice.”  She promptly follows that with, “I would also like peach tea, but I would like mine the way normal people drink it.”  At home, I don’t like my sodas out of the refrigerator, I like them out of the pantry where I can add my own ice.
11. Chinese.  I can’t do it.  I have tried on multiple occasions to eat their chopped up baby kitten, and I just can’t swallow.  Have you ever noticed the meat is unrecognizable?  Is it beef, or chicken, beef, or chicken, beef or.... Can’t do it.  In my mind, kitten, or puppy, kitten, or puppy...
12. Eggs.  There is one way to eat an egg.  Over easy.  Simple right?  Well, I thought so.  I eat my eggs in a very specific way.  I first take my fork and cut around the yolk and eat all the white.  Then I carefully slide my fork under the yolk, making a serious attempt at NOT popping that yolk.  I balance it on the fork, and lift it to my mouth.  Once in the mouth I press the yolk against the roof and let it pop in my mouth.  If you didn’t think I was a freak before, I probably just changed your mind.  Call me crazy, I like to save the best for last.  No need to make a big mess all over the plate, when I can have every ounce of pleasure in my mouth all at once in a quick burst.  Are ya hungry for an egg yet?

The reason I am blogging about food, is because of who I am temporarily living with.  Blond BFF and her husband, who I will choose a very appropriate alias of: Garbage Disposal.  Garbage Disposal will eat ANYTHING.  He has my 5’7, 105 pound Blond BFF trained to eat the same meal two days in a row.  IMAGINE the horror!  People wonder why she is so damn skinny!  They have a system.  They cook enough for two meals (by “they” I mean him, Blond BFF doesn’t cook).  For example, what they cook on Monday, they eat on Monday AND Tuesday.  Then what they cook on Wednesday, they eat on Wednesday AND Thursday.  It is an endless cycle.  Needless to say, every other evening I have “prior dinner engagements.”  

This man will eat anyone’s leftovers.  I don’t DARE throw away food (at least not while he is looking).  If I eat out, I bring him my last two bites.  “No, I don’t live with a dog, I just live with the human garbage disposal...do you mind wrapping up that table over there’s left overs too?”  NO food goes to waste with this man in the house.    

I am very much, a steak and potato kind of girl.  I need simple, I need plain.  I don’t wander outside of my box very often.  It baffles me that people think I am finicky about my food.  Brunette BFF informed me that she won’t cook when I come over because she is terrified of making something that I won’t eat.  I assure you, if you make me a meal, I will choke it down whether I like it or not, because my momma taught me, “You eat what is put in front of you.”  Of course I would not go to someone’s house and not eat what they have prepared.  That is just plain rude.  I assure you, I will smile, choke it down, and then not return for a meal again because I will have “prior dinner engagements.”  

My regular orders:

Chick-fil-a: Chicken sandwich with pickles only, hold the bacon

Wendys: Chicken sandwich on a REGULAR bun (they will give you those stupid wheat buns with seeds on them if you don’t request the “regular” one), with pickles only, hold the bacon.

McDonalds: Big Mac, with no onions, lettuce, or tomato, hold the bacon.

Taco Hell: Cheese roll up (simply cheese in a tortilla shell), hold the bacon.

Hooters: Crab legs, hold the pepper and bacon.

Twin Peaks: Steak Skewer, medium rare, leave off all spices and peppers.  Corn and fries, hold the bacon.

Logans/Texas Roadhouse: Medium rare sirloin, fries, and corn, hold the bacon.

Olive Garden: Peach tea (no ice), Cheese ravioli with marinara sauce, minestrone soup (broth and noodles only), hold the bacon.

Mexican Restaurant: Chicken fajitas, hold the bacon.

Ice cream Shop: Vanilla ice cream, hold the bacon.

That’s me in a nutshell.  I am a vanilla square.  Hold the bacon.

Line Cutters

        There is a special place in hell for people that cut in line.  Nothing infuriates me more than YOU thinking you are important enough that you don’t have to wait like everyone else.  The airplane lands.  Everyone in the front stands up, people in the back stay seated, knowing it’s going to be a ten minute wait.  You always have that impatient jack wagon that comes from the last row that runs halfway up the isle before the seatbelt sign finishes it’s ring.  I want to make something clear.  I like to be first, but I am not a cutter unless I feel it is necessary.  For instance, if you are next in line instead a fast food restaurant, and you are on your phone and not paying attention, chances are, I will walk past you and go.  Don’t get in line unless you are ready to order.  Hence the fast, in fast food.  I don’t have time for people that piddle around.  With that said, when you are in an airplane, and everyone is trying to get off the plane, don’t be an ignoramus and jump ahead of everyone.  That is just breaking the rules, and I am NOT a rule breaker.  I was on this flight a couple years back and I was sitting next to a young kid (13ish).  We were towards the middle of the plane, and it had landed and was making its way to the gate.  Someone out of the corner of my eye caught my attention.  It was a woman that was standing up getting her bag out of the overhead (rule #1: don’t get up until the fasten seatbelt sign goes off).  Then we got the “it’s okay to get up” ding, and I immediately stood up as she plowed into me.  She said, “Excuse me.” 
        I said, “You are excused.”   
        “Can I get by?”
        “No, you can wait like everyone else.  You can’t go anywhere anyway, no one is moving.”
        The woman tried to squeeze by me...seriously.  I might look weak, but I am not pushover, peeps.  I stood my ground.  I wouldn’t let her by.  I then made sure every seat in front of me was empty before I walked forward.  The kid that was sitting next to me stood up and tried to squeeze in.  The woman starting pushing him.  At that point I almost lost it.  “Lady, CALM DOWN.  You are pushing a CHILD.  You are acting completely inappropriate right now.”  I made sure to say this all very loud, so she would receive the stares of onlookers.  I thought her tiny, Clinique filled face was going to explode. 
        Another place that I hate cutters.  In the car.  Nothing makes me more angry than people that ride in that left hand lane when they know it ends up ahead.  I seriously am going to be on the news one day.  I can see it now: Frisco woman, beats up business man with the hook end of an umbrella, then breaks his window with the heel of her red pumps.  Witnesses say she was screaming, “WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, YOU IGNORANT JACK WAGON?!?  DON’T YOU SEE THERE IS A DAMN LINE HERE?”  Seriously, makes me want to shoot someone.  It’s probably a good thing I don’t carry a gun...or an umbrella.  
        If you are reading this, and YOU are one of these line cutters...may your balls fall off and your hair fall out.  So help me God.    

Side note.  When someone lets you in, thank them with a wave.  Is that too much to ask?  Didn’t you listen to your momma when she taught you to say please and thank you?

BYOD

So here is the deal.  Schools are allowing kids to bring their electronics into the classroom.  Let me repeat that (can you tell what kind of teacher I am going to be?).  KIDS ARE ALLOWED TO BRING THEIR ELECTRONIC DEVICES TO SCHOOL WITH THEM!  Okay, here is my opinion.  Seriously?  Don’t we think they are already distracted enough?  

This middle schoolers have so much on their minds, and we feel as though this will smooth it all over and make life easier on everyone.  SO with that said, each kid has their Ipad, Iphone, Nook, Kindle, and MacBook sitting out on their desk.  

The theory behind this is we should be using these devices as teaching tools and move towards the technology advancements that are happening around us.  With that said, let me give you the real scoop...in my opinion, of course.    

It points out who has money and who doesn’t.  It points out what kids are over privileged and which are lucky to have a pencil with them that day.  It is completely a status thing.  America has these kids so excessively spoiled, it is ridiculous.  

My specialty is English.  Kids are required to bring books to class everyday so that they can do SSR (sustained silent reading).  In my first period class there are 17 kids.  About 6 of them have books.  The others are reading on their Ipads, nooks, and phones.  Does this seem fair to you?  To me this seems to be a rule that applies to the rich only.  In other classes, the kids are free to use them to do research, type papers, and look up information...

Besides stating the obvious (pointing out who can afford the newest technology and who can’t), it also creeps up on another issue.

Some parents have made the decision that they don’t want their 12 years olds having free access to the internet.  WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD!  The Chief and I JUST caved last year and bought the little man a cell phone and laptop.  Now, with that said, I want to make it clear that he isn’t allowed to take either to school, and both are taken away from him every evening at 8 pm.  AND, to top that off, if he is having ANY problems in school, he gets them taken away.  So basically, in the year the Little Man has had these...he has only actually had them in his possession for the two and a half months of summer :)  Yes, welcome to my world...  

We are very strict with things like access to the internet.  He can’t even get on his laptop without an adult in the room.  It is locked with a password, that he doesn’t know.  He isn’t allowed to take it to his room, IF he gets on it, it is in the same room as us, where we can see his screen at all times.  AND, imagine this...his phone doesn’t even HAVE internet access (did you know they even made phones like that anymore?)!  We are not one of these parents that give their children free reign to do as they please.  I don’t think we are the only parents out there like this.  If this is you too, then guess what?  The school is making a mockery of your decision as a parent. 

This whole thing rubs me the wrong way.  Now our kids come home and beg and plead even more because EVERY kid has one and brings it to class.  I can hear it now: MOOOMMMM, I am the ONLY kid that doesn’t have one!  I have to read a stupid book made of paper!!  I am the biggest dork ever!!  PLEASSSSSEEEEEEE buy me one!!  

How marvelous is that?  You can thank the school districts.  Let’s point out the kids that have all the money, and make it EVEN more obvious.  As if moms pulling up in Navigators isn’t enough.  Lets show all the kids, who can afford nice things, and who can’t.  Let’s call out the parents that have made the personal decision to hold off on cell phones and laptops.  

These kids DO NOT need to bring their cell phones to class.  They can read the good old paperback books, and they can use the school’s computer lab to do any work that requires internet.  I get that it is important to keep up with technology, but I think we are a few years too early on this one.

My Hometown

I want to start off by saying this:  The blond BFF said to me last night, "You haven't blogged in forever...a TRUE blogger would blog on the toilet."

So here is my blog...I will try harder to do more.

I have started probably five blogs since I last blogged.  I am funny with writing.  I blog when I feel passionate about something going on in my life.  Currently, nothing has stood out.  I am in Texas doing my student teaching, and life has gotten busy very fast.  

This whole thing is extremely bitter sweet to me.  I moved to Connecticut in January, knowing that I would be coming back for three months of student teaching.  I feel as though I was almost holding my breath for those 9 months in Connecticut.  I feel as though I didn’t really absorb the fact that I no longer live in Texas.  I moved to Connecticut in January.  The parents stayed with us the first month in Connecticut to help us get settled.  I had a trip planned back to Texas in the last week of January (so I wasn’t even gone three weeks, before I got to come back and visit).  In March, I took ANOTHER week trip back to Texas.  Then in April, the blond BFF came to see me for a week.  In May, the brunette BFF came to see me for a week.  At the end of May, the Chief’s BFF came to visit us for a week.  The parents also came back at the end of April and stayed until the end of May.  Then right before I came back to Texas, ANOTHER close friend of mine also came to visit.  So basically, life was busy.  I had enough to look forward to with friends and family coming to visit me, and with my trips planned back to Texas.  I felt like there was always a light at the end of that tunnel, so I didn’t let my spirits drop.  Now, I am here back in Texas...for three wonderful months.  

So far these weeks have been wonderful.  I have my calendar booked with spending time with my loved ones.  I took for granted all the things I had around me when I lived in Frisco...I won’t make that mistake again.  I have enjoyed running to the grocery store, running to the mall, driving to see my sister and her kids, and driving to spend time with friends.  I am truly blessed.  

I also started going back to my church (the church I went to in Frisco before I left).  Walking in, I felt this wave of relief overcome me.  I stood there, by myself in a room full of people, and felt like I was “home” again.  I wasn’t close to these people, but the pastor is amazing, and has touched me in many ways over the years.  This was the icing to my cupcake.  The first service I attended, we are all standing there and singing.  I couldn’t even sing, because my eyes were so full of tears that I couldn’t see the screen.  I don’t know why I was crying...but I do have a thought.  

I have searched for church homes in Connecticut.  I have tried a total of 3 churches, and my mom has tried 2 other churches for me.  I feel as though God is missing from the state.  None of the churches fit my bill.  When I ask if they have a youth group they respond, “yes!”  I ask how many kids are in it, and they respond, “two”.  What is wrong with this state?  Where are the churches hiding?  This Sunday, my Frisco pastor said something important that has stuck with me all week.  Church is not a place, Church is the people.  YOU are church.  I still don’t know where this is going, but I can feel it working on me.  I feel lost in Connecticut.  I don’t feel like it is my home.  It is all very foreign to me.  I haven’t made any true connections.  No one has invited me out for coffee.  Am I that terrible?  Am I that unlikable?  Why can’t I make friends?  What is wrong with me?  Why am I having so many problems accepting this is my new home?  

Being in Texas has only made me miss it more.  This is so hard for people to understand.  Texas is all I know.  Everything I am comfortable with is in Texas.  If you know me, you know I am as square as they come.  I don’t go outside my box.  I don’t venture and try new things.  I want what I want, when I want it.  My BFF’s could go with me to ANY restaurant and they could pick up the menu and order for me.  I NEVER go outside my box.  I am completely predictable.  Picking up and moving wasn’t an option for me.  The Chief finally got, a much needed and much deserved promotion.  I couldn’t take his dreams and set them on the back burner.  Part of a marriage is being together and making sacrifices for each other.  I love this man with all my heart.  I would follow him where ever he wants to go.  With that said...keep this in mind.  He has lived in many states.  He was never tied down to an area for all his life, so moving didn’t impact him like it did me.  

Being in Texas only lets me breathe easy.  I am here and there are two things I miss as of right this moment.  My love, and my Little Man.  That’s it.  How will I ever grow to love an area outside of my Texas box?

You're in the wrong spot lady

I finally took my first trip back to Connecticut this past weekend.  Let me tell you how it started.  I woke up Saturday morning in Texas EARLY.  The blond BFF was taking me to the airport, and we had to leave the house by 6:30.  I came out of my room and had to go through the kids play room in order to head down the stairs.  There is a digital clock on the shelf that read the wrong time.  I glanced at it and this is what time it said: 9:11.  Okay, scary right?  So I head down the stairs...

We are driving to the airport and I realize my cell phone didn’t charge the night before, so I borrowed Blond BFF’s car charger.  I plug it in and we get carried away in conversation (do you see where this is going?)  We pull up to the airport, I grab my stuff and say my goodbyes and start heading indoors.  Not even ten steps, and I realize I left my cell phone plugged into her car.  I turn around and run back to the street as she is pulling away.  I drop my suitcase and run after her car with my arms flailing, screaming at the top of my lungs for her to stop.  She doesn’t see me.  THANKFULLY, someone ahead of me does and waves at her to stop.  I catch up to her, now sweating and shaking because I can’t imagine life for five minutes without my phone.  I grabbed my phone, and hugged it to my chest...not caring about the traffic jam my abandoned suitcase was causing in the middle of the road.  I jog back to my suitcase while lecturing to my phone about how it is a serious crime to hide from me.  I head inside and make it over to the kiosk where I need to print my ticket.  I do the whole process and wait patiently for my ticket to print.  When it does, I quickly take it and head to security. 

“Ma’am, Ma’am...you forgot your other ticket!” 

I turn around and realize it printed out my connecting flight too.  So I thank the stranger and take my ticket from her.  I turn around to go back to security, and for some reason my legs decide they are going to disown me.  Bastards.  I trip over my whole suitcase, and fly forward landing on my stomach.  So now, here I am...sweating and shaking from my cell phone episode, and now I am laying on the ground...ON MY STOMACH in the disgusting airport.  Trying to not think about all the diseases I have just caught by touching the carpet with every exposed part of my body, I quickly get up as gracefully as I can.  Of course everyone at the airport saw my frantic tumble and was staring at me...I was suddenly having flashbacks of falling in the hallway in the 6th grade with my books flying past me while everyone pointed and laughed.  I grabbed my suitcase and tried not to make eye contact with anyone.  I made my way through security, and to my plane.  The Chief checked me in and got me a B2 seat.  

If you haven’t flown Southwest, you don’t know they have a dummy-proof procedure for getting people on the plane.  You have either an A, B, or C on your ticket.  Next to your letter, you have a number 1-60.  At the Southwest gates, they have it set up where you stand by your number (they have them grouped in 5).  Are you following me?  So after the call the A’s, it is time for the B’s to line up.  I walk over to B2 and ask the lady standing there if she is number one.  She looked at me and said, “hugh?”  

I said, “Your number, is it number one?  I don’t want to stand in front of you if it isn’t number one.”  Lets take a moment to remember the Type A personality that consumes me.  Everything must be in order.  I like to be first.  So I am not going to stand there and let a B3 stand in front of me when I am clearly a B2.  She just stares at me.  She is holding her ticket, and I try and look at it as she flips it over to the wrong side.  I said, “actually, your number is on the other side...here let me help you.”  I snatch the paper from her and flipped it over.  “Ouch...your actually a B54....that means you have to go to the very end on the other side.”  I point the direction she needs to head.  She doesn’t move.  Another man walks up, trying to detect who has what number.  He goes to stand behind her and I quickly say, “Actually Sir, you are in front of her because she is a B54.  She is in the wrong spot.”  I say it loud enough to attract attention from the onlookers who quickly look at her as if she is covered with deadly contagious skin lesions.  Ladies and Gentlemen, I take these numbers very seriously.  It doesn’t get easier than this.  Are you really that stupid or are you just upset because your number isn’t as good as mine?  She is lucky I didn’t go ape shit on her for having THREE carry-on bags instead of two (the Chiefs BFF would be proud of me right now).  So she hangs her head and makes her way to the back as far away from the angry stares as possible.  I breath a sigh of relief feeling as though I have done a good deed.  

I get on the plane, choosing my isle seat carefully.  My goal here is to not get stuck by seatbelt-extension-needed passenger.  The challenge is this: My initial reaction is to sit in the isle seat that has someone my age by the window.  WRONG.  Can’t do that because then you will get a 300 pound man that is going to squeeze his way in between us, hoping to score.  So my safest bet is to sit on the isle seat that has a bigger guy sitting next to the window.  This will make it hard for 300 pound man to sit in the middle because he doesn’t want to be fondling a dude on the flight with his under-the-armrest chub.  So I find the perfect seat, and sit down.  

Just when I think I am safe and clear, a pregnant woman sits down next to me.  Okay, this may not be so bad.  I attempt to look completely engrossed in my book, so I don’t have to make small talk.  She obviously didn’t notice.  She asked me if she was supposed to change flights to get to Albuquerque.  She explains she has never flown before, so I tried to be pleasant and help her out.  I look at her information and tell her she does get off at the next stop and switch plans.  Then, I thought I would extend an even softer hand and ask her when her baby is due.  

“I’m. Not. Pregnant.”  

Excellent, I thought to myself.  Just when I thought this day couldn’t get any worse.  I apologized quickly.  

“That’s okay, I actually have a tumor so it looks like I am,” she said quietly.    

I apologized again and then looked back down at my book and remained silent the rest of the flight. 

And you wonder why I hate flying.  It NEVER goes smoothly for me.     

Ignoramus

The airport.  This is a fun place, maybe more fun to me because I haven’t had any drama in my life for the past eight months.  This morning the Chief took me to the airport for my three month trip back to Texas.  After checking my two, very large, very full bags...I head to the line to get through security.  In front of me a little boy is with his dad.  He is asking his dad four hundred and seventy-two questions about flying.  For about two minutes I thought MY little man was in front of me!  After a long pause, enough for me to sigh relief thanking God little man was past the age of questions, he turns to his dad for another round of questioning.  This is how it goes:

Child: Do airplanes have car batteries in them?

Dad: No, only cars have car batteries in them.

Child: So, if it doesn’t have car batteries...we are flying hoping Jesus holds on tight to the plane and doesn’t drop us?

Dad: Thats right, but the planes are also made to fly on their own.

Child: Just in case Jesus is busy?

Dad: Yes.

There is another long pause as the dad is helping the little boy take off his shoes.  

Child: Will I be able to see clouds?

Dad: Yes, really well, if we can get a window seat.

Child: Will I be able to roll down the window?

Dad: No, they don’t let you do that.

Child: Because then Jesus might try and climb in to take a break from carrying us?

Dad: No, you can’t roll it down because it would make it hard to breathe.

Child: Oh.

Another pause.

Child: Why would it be hard to breathe? Does it smell?

At this point he heads through to the other side out of earshot.  The way his little mind was turning was almost...refreshing.

I make my way to my gate.  Walking in front of me is a woman with her two year old...on. a. leash.  I admit, when Little Man was about that age, I too thought that was the greatest invention ever.  I strapped that thing on him, clipped him in, and tried to test it around the house.  He took one look down at the clip across his belly, and you could almost follow his train of thought as his eyes drifted to the long strap behind it.  He promptly sat down and started whaling.  I took a picture of this, the one and only time I put it on him.  

This idea is now very strange to me.  Why would people put their children on a leash, and put their dogs in a stroller?  What is wrong with society?  Think about it for a second.  We have these cupcakes that dress their dogs up in clothes and treat them as if they were children.  Last weekend we were out of town and I watched a dog go by in a stroller.  A STROLLER FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!  Of course this wasn’t some mutt basking in the sun, it was your stupid little yapper dog that never shuts up.  In my opinion, if it weighs less than five pounds, it isn’t a dog, it is however, a long haired rat that thinks it’s a princess.  Look here princess, you are no better than my 95 pound mutt that we call our “special needs” child because she can’t catch a marshmallow if it hit her on the lips.  So here goes by this hairy rat with a tutu on and a ribbon above it’s left ear.  I am thinking to myself, was this owner dropped on her head as a small child?  Does she know that is a dog and not a two-year old child?  Then I thank my lucky stars that my mother isn’t a fruit loop like this retired, obviously extremely bored, and too rich, woman.  So back to society.  We dress our dogs up and push them around in strollers.  Then we put a leash on our toddlers and walk around in public with them.  Let me tell you folks, the cheese is sliding off everyones crackers....

Forty-five minutes later, I am sitting on the plane trying not to make eye contact with anyone.  This is the most stressful part of flying.  I am so fearful that I am going to be stuck between “morbidly obese man”, and “woman with screaming baby”...both making me want to put a screw driver through my left eye ball.  I got lucky.  The plane filled up and I wasn’t stuck with anyone crazy.  We get up in the air...away from escape, and I hear a man snoring.  I bend forward thinking it was the man next to me, and it wasn’t.  I look behind me and there is the criminal.  A man in the middle seat with his mouth hanging open.  I am trying to read a book, and I am not sure why this is making me so irratated.  I was having flashbacks of all the nights that I have laid awake and listened to that same maddening noise.  I had the urge to kick.  The man next to me doesn’t know how lucky he is that he doesn’t have bruises running up and down his legs.  I know he wasn’t the one snoring, but he was the closest one to me.  I want to make it very clear, I am not talking about just a bothersome little rumble.  This fat ass snored for 2 hours straight.  Do you know how loud a plane is?  You of course have the irritating plane hum, then you have the random baby screaming...you may even have talking around you.  The only thing I could hear for 2 hours was this obnoxious snoring.   It was infuriating.  I seriously wanted to hit someone.  I was sitting there, with my eyes reading the same lines on my book over and over again, thinking about how I could possible shut the man up.  Here are some scenarios that came to mind.  

1. Stand up, turn around, and shove a napkin in his mouth.
2. Tear open my bag of pretzels, and throw them one by one at his face.
3. Scream at him to shut up.
4. Ask “woman with screaming baby” to swap places with his neighbor.
5. Tell the flight attendant that he was talking about a bomb earlier, and that he was very suspicious.  
6. Roll up the Air Mall magazine and start pounding him over the head with it.
7. Fill my mouth with soda, shake it around, stand up, turn around, and shower him with love sprinkles (this one probably is a no, because the innocent victims on both sides would also get the soda spray).

As I sat there, pretending to read, my anger stepped up to a top level position.  I wanted to put my hands over my ears and scream.  I love the Chief, but when he snores, it takes everything for me NOT to punch him in the face.  I wanted to strangle this stanger.  Just as I grabbed my pretzel bag and prepared to send them flying (which is a HARD thing for me, because I love Southwest pretzels like Molly loves peanut butter), the ignoramus woke up.  

I took a deep breath, and my heart rate slowed as the plane met the ground.  One flight down, two more to go.  

Graveyards...

I am trying to accept this is the state I live in.  Embrace it.  Find things you love about it.  Lets see...I am close to everything...well thats not the case considering I have to drive 15 minutes to get to a damn grocery store.  Okay, I have lots of friends and family...hmmm, wrong here too.  I not only have no friends, but my husband is staying out later and later every night...probably making friends (bastard).  Okay, there is something good...the food!  No wait, that isn’t possible considering every freaking restaurant is Italian and if I see another noodle or slice of pizza I might just take the pliers and pull my toenails off one by one.  Back to the positive...oh oh I know...I have learned my way around.  Nope, not that either because I CAN’T GO ANYWHERE WITHOUT MY MAGELLAN...not even to that damn grocery store!!!  Okay, this blog has taken a turn for the worse...

Back to the positive.  Something this state has that is wonderful...graveyards.  Recently I have decided to “take to” them.  Some of them are absolutely breathtaking.  I have taken pictures.  Check this one out

So pretty right?  This one is super old.  Many of the tombstones are simply large rocks with nothing written on them.  Look...

Here is another...

And another...

This one is my favorite...

Another Saint Mary's, this one is in Rhode Island...

See the picture above?  I want to know what you do to get a gravestone like that!  Just think of all the money thrown into that shrine, for a dead person!...or family!  Check out the one two above it...so many stories behind this!  Can you imagine, a mother, loosing her baby girl (only a year old), THEN just when you think it doesn't get worse, a few weeks later, she looses her 5 year old son.  Imagine the grief she went through.  She is left with two children.  One, dies only four years later.  Now she is left with only one son, who dies at the age of 22.  What was going on with this family?  How sad is that?!?  To have a gravestone that large, they must have had money, right?  Why couldn't the children be saved?  I wonder what disease robbed this woman of her children.  

Look at this odd graveyard...

So, I wonder what the rocks are for?  There were only 15 gravestones, but each of them had rocks spread across the top of them.  Is it the result of children playing in the graveyard, or does it mean something?  This one definitely left me stumped.  

I will close with this grave stone that I saw in the Saint Mary Cemetery (Rhode Island).

Laying tipped over in front of this stone was a single plant, that was dead.  I was going to move it before I took the picture, and decided I better not.  What a sad stone.  It was alone by itself.  It wasn't in the shadow of an oversized stone, and it wasn't camouflaged in with other stones it's size.  There it sat, alone.