I have a lot of opinions about football. Over the years I have been shocked to see how many females do not have an opinion, or even worse a flawed one. Little girls should be taught about football positions by preschool, as it is a real life survival skill. To simplify matters as much as possible, I will start with the Girls’ Guide to Football Positions, dating edition. It is numbered for quick and easy reference (you can thank me later).
1) Quarterbacks are sexy. Yes, everyone loves the boy throwing the ball. #1 dating choice.
2) Running backs are strong and cool. No one will begrudge you that, a solid dating choice. Just make sure he’s a real one (hint- he may not even know)
3) If you can’t date a Quarterback or a running back, a wide out is socially acceptable, a good strong choice albeit a flashy one. Also see cornerbacks.
4) Linebackers and kickoff team specialists are mean. They look really good on and off the field, but you should be wary of dating them. And never ever look them directly in the eyes, they take that as a challenge.
5) Tight Ends, Centers, Offensive Line …they are like the stage crew for the play. They are very important and if they do their job well you don’t notice them much. The unsung heroes of football, truly.
6) The defensive line can make and break a game. Their job is to make you notice the offensive line, or lack thereof.
7) And then there’s special teams. They are for underclassmen to date.
I think this sums up what girls should be taught about football positions, cliff notes style. Interestingly enough, what they don’t teach you about football positions is that sometimes it is best to ignore all of the above rankings and rules.
Quarterbacks
I dated a quarterback in high school when we were sophomores. We had a fabulous time all summer. As soon as two a days started, he broke up with me. Apparently the coaches told him he “Didn’t need any distractions” and upperclassmen told him “He would have lots of options if he didn’t have a girlfriend.” Sheesh. Round 1 to the quarterback.
We had another go summer after our senior year. We weren’t really a couple, but dated casually. I am not sure why I did it, but for some unknown reason I totally stood him up for a big festival and dance that June. I think I told him I couldn’t go, did I say I was sick? I can’t remember. What I do remember is that I went to the festival with another guy and all the quarterback’s friends saw me there. Thankfully this was before cell phones, so he didn’t find out until the next day. Round two to me.
While I was a freshman in college I ran into an SEC quarterback in a club in Fayetteville. He was an amazing physical presence, as all SEC quarterbacks are. This one went on to win the Heisman trophy. I spent about an hour with him at a cozy table and on the dance floor that night and I found him to be very smart and funny. We exchanged numbers but just didn’t click. You know he is still not married, but is a fascinating and sought out public speaker after spending 6 years in the NFL. Round three, a draw.
I say all of this to point out that quarterbacks have a lot of people in their heads all the time. Coaches, trainers, other players, and all of these people are telling them what they should and shouldn’t do. This includes their dating life. Point in fact- Tom Brady. How many of us heard about Giselle lashing out at his receivers for not catching the ball in the Super Bowl? Well, all of us because every major news outlet called on Tom to put her in check and forbid her from speaking about football ever again. Yes, you will deal with crud like this if you date a quarterback, but if they look like Tom maybe you won’t care.
Running backs
I was set up with a running back in college. He lived in the athletic dorm and I had seen him around. He was touted as an underclassman that was not receiving much playing time, but dark haired and blue eyed and gorgeous, OK? Come to find out he was a scholarship baseball player that had walked on to the football team, but did not receive a scholarship so he went back to baseball.
You see, in my experience this is what you are dealing with in running backs. Either they are or they aren’t but they just want you think they are. They are so confusing sometimes it’s best not to try. Their heads are so wrapped around the rules from above (yes, guys know which the best dating football positions are) so they just can’t let it go. If you can find a real running back, it is a little something like finding a real man’s man. They are highly valued and few and far between. IF you find one, keep him.
Back to Toby, I tried to work through it. I thought maybe he would eventually be a little more than a baseball player. After all, he spent lots of time in the gym. I went out with him a couple times but just could not forget (no matter how awesome his eyes were, no matter how much he looked like a running back) that he was trying just a little too hard to be one. So I ended it. Round 4? I am too confused to call.
Receivers
Since I did dedicate a lot of my dating time in the quarterback category, I never worked my way down to the receivers. I do love their flair and am not sure why it never happened. I still adamantly maintain that a wide out (even a cornerback which is not necessarily a receiver but most men would understand why I would place them in this category) would be an excellent choice to date as long as you don’t mind them having as many styling products and as much jewelry as you do. These guys spend lots of time in front of the mirror. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing, because they are tall and spend a lot of time in the weight room too. They have great smiles and your Mama will love them. Daddy may be a bit on the apprehensive side. I think that is part of what gives them extra points ;)
Linebackers and Kickoff team specialists
These guys are pure unadulterated testosterone. They are not the guys whose mothers taught them how to open doors for ladies or to turn the other cheek when someone says something they do not like. If born in another time they would be gladiators. Most are nothing more than one man wrecking crews that see little if anything but their target. They like playstation and whiskey. They love the gym and hitting things hard. They love their boys. This is generally not a situation you can win, and it is best to proceed with extreme caution if you just can’t help yourself and were dumb enough to look one of them in the eyes. Try to mentally prepare yourself for a very near future involving ice cream, sad songs, and long conversations with girlfriends about why all men are jerks.
Tight Ends, Centers, Offensive Linemen
These are the guys whose job is to learn all of the plays for the other guys. I know you’re thinking that they should all know all the plays. Well, yes they should, but come on what world are you living in? Offensive linemen salaries rank third highest in the NFL, just behind quarterbacks and defensive ends. They are paid for their brawn and mostly for their brains. They are dependable on and off the field and would be probably the best dating choice out there if young women knew what experienced women did. If it weren’t for the flair of the wide outs, the physicality of the linebackers and the prestige of the ‘backs, maybe the younger girls wouldn’t get distracted away from the good guys. These are the guys to marry if you figure it out before it’s too late and they’re already taken.
Defensive Line
These guys are again, kinda mean. It is their job to hit and break through the offensive line, whose job it is to hold and protect their Quarterback. Where the offensive side is just and heroic, the defensive side is… well, they are just villainous marauders. Intent on securing and hurting their targets, putting an end to any valid course towards the goal line, this is what they do. The guys who played for New Orleans and were paid bounties? You guessed it, they were defensive linemen. You can imagine how successful a foray into dating one of these individuals would be. Look forward to a future where you learn about your ended relationship through his status on facebook.
Special Teams
Last but not least, special teams. There are many who disagree with my assertion that special teams are for rookies and underclassmen to date. Many would point to the end of the year footage of greatest plays of the year (any year) and all the 90+ yard t-down returns made by these guys. Yes, they are talented and not only on special teams because they are waiting to move up to another position on offense or defense. Having said this, most of the highlight film players also double as a receiver or cornerback and we have already covered their dating desirability above. As for the others- well ladies my advice is to start with them and then move your way up to another position as it becomes available. Don’t worry about it- they will most likely do the same thing and maybe you will be going out with him again… but as a cornerback next time.
Best of luck to my lady friends and until next time, Go Hogs!
Monday, August 20, 2012
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
I run
I run.
It is 2:13 p.m., June in South Texas, 106 degrees. I don’t care. I run every day at 2:15 because it is the time I have. I work 11-2, 5-close most days (Mondays off) and this is the way I clear my mind.
I run because I don’t have to think. I run because for that hour or so I can feel the wind in my hair and can feel life in my veins. I run because I don’t have to put on any fronts for others. I run like a maniac because it hurts and I want to feel something, anything at all. I run because I have little to no self-worth but on this track I am hoping to find it.
I run because I left him.
I really had no other choice but to leave. I tried and tried, God knows I tried. I am now a broken individual and not sure that there are enough pieces of me left to put together, but I’m running to try.
This is at least partly my fault- if I wasn’t so broken maybe this wouldn’t have happened. But it might have happened again, I don’t know. And so I left him. And so I run.
Our friends look sad when they see me. They don’t know what to say, and so we simply don’t speak of him at all. He hurt me the way no one else ever has. He meant everything to me, for heaven’s sakes he held my hand while my mother took her last breath. We were both 17 at the time, just kids. I was foolish to think it would end well. Or not end at all.
A friend told me that even if I asked for his new number he would never give it to me. I am glad to have that friend in my life so that I don’t have the option of getting in touch with him. I am sad that friend has feelings for me I cannot return. I don’t want to hurt him, so I run.
Sometimes when I’m on the track I think I just found the right person at the wrong time. Can I really and fairly have expected him to do everything right? Well, I sure as hell expect him to respect me more than he did. Will we get through this? Will he ever want me again?
I run because I want him back.
Maybe I’ll get tan and toned. Maybe when he comes back to town he will hear I am doing well, looking great. It would feel good for him to notice, to care. I know he cares. He calls my sister though I won’t speak to him. Not yet.
I run because I have lost everything but I am looking forward. Someday soon I will start to feel better. With nothing left to lose you have everything to gain.
I want to feel again.
It is 2:13 p.m., June in South Texas, 106 degrees. I don’t care. I run every day at 2:15 because it is the time I have. I work 11-2, 5-close most days (Mondays off) and this is the way I clear my mind.
I run because I don’t have to think. I run because for that hour or so I can feel the wind in my hair and can feel life in my veins. I run because I don’t have to put on any fronts for others. I run like a maniac because it hurts and I want to feel something, anything at all. I run because I have little to no self-worth but on this track I am hoping to find it.
I run because I left him.
I really had no other choice but to leave. I tried and tried, God knows I tried. I am now a broken individual and not sure that there are enough pieces of me left to put together, but I’m running to try.
This is at least partly my fault- if I wasn’t so broken maybe this wouldn’t have happened. But it might have happened again, I don’t know. And so I left him. And so I run.
Our friends look sad when they see me. They don’t know what to say, and so we simply don’t speak of him at all. He hurt me the way no one else ever has. He meant everything to me, for heaven’s sakes he held my hand while my mother took her last breath. We were both 17 at the time, just kids. I was foolish to think it would end well. Or not end at all.
A friend told me that even if I asked for his new number he would never give it to me. I am glad to have that friend in my life so that I don’t have the option of getting in touch with him. I am sad that friend has feelings for me I cannot return. I don’t want to hurt him, so I run.
Sometimes when I’m on the track I think I just found the right person at the wrong time. Can I really and fairly have expected him to do everything right? Well, I sure as hell expect him to respect me more than he did. Will we get through this? Will he ever want me again?
I run because I want him back.
Maybe I’ll get tan and toned. Maybe when he comes back to town he will hear I am doing well, looking great. It would feel good for him to notice, to care. I know he cares. He calls my sister though I won’t speak to him. Not yet.
I run because I have lost everything but I am looking forward. Someday soon I will start to feel better. With nothing left to lose you have everything to gain.
I want to feel again.
Monday, April 30, 2012
Cody
“Marry me.”
Looking at him all I could think of to do was laugh nervously. The me-of-10-years-ago would have never believed I would be standing right here right now receiving a marriage proposal from Cody. Hell, I would have never imagined being cool enough to rank being at this party at his house. I looked up at him nervously, biting my lip.
“I’m serious! Marry me. You know I’ve been after you since you were 11.”
Now that was taking it a little too far. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“You promised me then if I didn’t throw you out of line you would date me in high school.”
I can’t believe he remembers that. “Cody- middle school and high school have come and gone so you missed your dating chance. As a matter of fact, I would have dated you in a heartbeat and I think you must have forgotten I existed.”
“Well, I’m trying to remedy that oversight now. Marry me.”
He is simply incorrigible. “You are ridiculous. Seriously, Cody- sharing a moment at the middle school lunch stand in 1989 does not the basis for a marriage make. You aren’t serious, you don’t love me. You just love that little kid that wouldn’t take any crap from you.”
“Well, I do love that 6th grader you were but I much prefer your figure these days.”
I throw my head back and have to laugh. Cody is 23 years old, blonde haired and blue eyed, about 6’1” with the build that screams he’s been working hard on the ranch for years. He is quite a catch- funny as hell, attractive, and he is looking me dead in the eye. This man in front of me- a good, stand up man- was trying to right a wrong that he didn’t do. Looking at him watching me laugh, he has a confused look on his face. Damn, I think he is serious…
“Crap woman! I am trying to propose here. I don’t care whose baby this is, if it’s yours it’s gonna be beautiful and I would be honored to raise the little heathen as my own. Shit, I would do that if we weren’t married but I would much prefer you here making my breakfast every morning and in my bed every night.”
I blush. “Cody- this is the most misguided attempt at bedding me I have ever encountered and I have encountered many a misguided attempt.”
At this point, the crowd comes in. Sharon, overhearing my last comment only, buts in with a story of her own. “You remember that time that we were on 6th Street and Nikki Sixx told you that you would look great in some ink? I thought I was gonna die!” Everyone loves the Nikki Sixx story. “The Nikki Sixx encounter of 1995” is the kind of thing that people in Fredericksburg say only happens to me. I have to disagree, as I am quite sure there have been more than a few girls that Nikki Sixx has hit on over the duration of his illustrious career.
While everyone is laughing about that and mentioning other celebrity run-ins in Austin, I look up at Cody. He is smiling, and looking in on the conversation, peeling the label of his Lone Star. Then he looks up at me, through me. I don’t know what to do.
“Cody.” I take him by the hand and we walk outside into the Texas night. How did I get here? Here at Cody’s house and in this predicament if you can call it that. I am 20 years old- 21 in a month- and pregnant. Everyone in this small town knows my business. My father can’t even look at me. My grandmother has Alzheimer’s and when I call her to talk about what I have done she forgets who she is speaking with. I look again at this man in front of me, this damn good looking man that I have absolutely no romantic feelings for at all who is promising me the world.
Tears start to form in my eyes, “I know what you are trying to do and I appreciate it. There are girls all over town who would drop everything in a minute to accept your offer. You deserve one of them and not one like me that is hesitating.”
He reaches up and wipes the tear off my left cheek with his calloused thumb. “Maybe I have already had them and maybe I want you.”
“Maybe that is because you have not had me and you will get tired of me when you do.”
“Not gonna happen.”
“I know, because I am not going to say yes” as I laugh.
Cody looks wronged, and it hurts me. I take his hands and kiss his cheek.
“Thanks, Cody. I’m the happiest girl in the county tonight. I wish I could say yes to you, I really do.” And with that I walk to my car. I don’t look back. I just get in and take off down the kolege drive.
Looking at him all I could think of to do was laugh nervously. The me-of-10-years-ago would have never believed I would be standing right here right now receiving a marriage proposal from Cody. Hell, I would have never imagined being cool enough to rank being at this party at his house. I looked up at him nervously, biting my lip.
“I’m serious! Marry me. You know I’ve been after you since you were 11.”
Now that was taking it a little too far. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“You promised me then if I didn’t throw you out of line you would date me in high school.”
I can’t believe he remembers that. “Cody- middle school and high school have come and gone so you missed your dating chance. As a matter of fact, I would have dated you in a heartbeat and I think you must have forgotten I existed.”
“Well, I’m trying to remedy that oversight now. Marry me.”
He is simply incorrigible. “You are ridiculous. Seriously, Cody- sharing a moment at the middle school lunch stand in 1989 does not the basis for a marriage make. You aren’t serious, you don’t love me. You just love that little kid that wouldn’t take any crap from you.”
“Well, I do love that 6th grader you were but I much prefer your figure these days.”
I throw my head back and have to laugh. Cody is 23 years old, blonde haired and blue eyed, about 6’1” with the build that screams he’s been working hard on the ranch for years. He is quite a catch- funny as hell, attractive, and he is looking me dead in the eye. This man in front of me- a good, stand up man- was trying to right a wrong that he didn’t do. Looking at him watching me laugh, he has a confused look on his face. Damn, I think he is serious…
“Crap woman! I am trying to propose here. I don’t care whose baby this is, if it’s yours it’s gonna be beautiful and I would be honored to raise the little heathen as my own. Shit, I would do that if we weren’t married but I would much prefer you here making my breakfast every morning and in my bed every night.”
I blush. “Cody- this is the most misguided attempt at bedding me I have ever encountered and I have encountered many a misguided attempt.”
At this point, the crowd comes in. Sharon, overhearing my last comment only, buts in with a story of her own. “You remember that time that we were on 6th Street and Nikki Sixx told you that you would look great in some ink? I thought I was gonna die!” Everyone loves the Nikki Sixx story. “The Nikki Sixx encounter of 1995” is the kind of thing that people in Fredericksburg say only happens to me. I have to disagree, as I am quite sure there have been more than a few girls that Nikki Sixx has hit on over the duration of his illustrious career.
While everyone is laughing about that and mentioning other celebrity run-ins in Austin, I look up at Cody. He is smiling, and looking in on the conversation, peeling the label of his Lone Star. Then he looks up at me, through me. I don’t know what to do.
“Cody.” I take him by the hand and we walk outside into the Texas night. How did I get here? Here at Cody’s house and in this predicament if you can call it that. I am 20 years old- 21 in a month- and pregnant. Everyone in this small town knows my business. My father can’t even look at me. My grandmother has Alzheimer’s and when I call her to talk about what I have done she forgets who she is speaking with. I look again at this man in front of me, this damn good looking man that I have absolutely no romantic feelings for at all who is promising me the world.
Tears start to form in my eyes, “I know what you are trying to do and I appreciate it. There are girls all over town who would drop everything in a minute to accept your offer. You deserve one of them and not one like me that is hesitating.”
He reaches up and wipes the tear off my left cheek with his calloused thumb. “Maybe I have already had them and maybe I want you.”
“Maybe that is because you have not had me and you will get tired of me when you do.”
“Not gonna happen.”
“I know, because I am not going to say yes” as I laugh.
Cody looks wronged, and it hurts me. I take his hands and kiss his cheek.
“Thanks, Cody. I’m the happiest girl in the county tonight. I wish I could say yes to you, I really do.” And with that I walk to my car. I don’t look back. I just get in and take off down the kolege drive.
Friday, March 9, 2012
George Strait and Scott Staudt
Sitting here listening to some George Strait “Right or Wrong” I am instantly transported back to a summer night in 1995 or 96, 18 or 19 years old, road trippin’ on back roads with Will Alberthal and Scott Staudt. Ain’t it funny how a melody can bring back a memory? Wait- I’m trying to talk about George, not Clint, lol. Back to the story…
When participating in the South Texas rite of passage also known as road trippin’, with two individuals as manly and, well, large as Will and Scott, you (if you happen to be me) end up in the back seat of the truck. It’s just how it is. This is not an episode of women’s lib gone wrong, nor is a clear case of Texas sexism. This was simply a straightforward issue of leg room. They needed a lot of it. Me- not so much.
Anyway, there I was stuffed in the back seat of Scott’s truck. The guys were up front, deep in some conversation about something. If I had to guess I would say their conversation had something to do with weightlifting or car stereos or maybe where was Bullet Haas. So I was left to entertain myself until the topic came back around to something that interested me, such as guns, tanks (Texan for a “pond”) skipping rocks, something of that nature. And entertain myself I did.
The radio was cranked up with Scott’s windows down, and we were rocking George Strait’s “Right or Wrong.” Since I was uninterested in the topic at hand, I sang my little heart out along with George. I love George just as much as any Texan should- as a matter of fact I think someone should make a bumper sticker proclaiming his greatness along the lines of the “God Bless John Wayne” one I see so often when in West Texas. But I do have ONE tiny little problem with him (gasp). When my voice sings George Strait, he hits me right in the “break” and I have to jump back and forth from chest voice to head voice a whole lot. To the trained musician, this is a pretty laughable and avoidable situation. They are thinking to themselves, “She needs to wait this one out and try to sing next time Clint comes on the radio.” But to Scott Staudt that night, I was a fabulous new discovery.
Scott got all quiet and said, “I didn’t know you could sing!” He kept saying, “Sing this! Sing that!” And he pulled out Strait out of the Box and clicked through hit after hit. I was happy to oblige him on that awesome summer night, singing with my arm hanging out the open window. The night seemed to last forever. We drove, skipped rocks in the Pedernales, stropped at JEK’s a time or two, and just lived. I remember the air on that night and am thankful for those nights gone by with old friends.
As I sit here today at 35, I am watching the rain and singing “Right or Wrong,” ignoring the breaks. Smiling. Thanks, Scott.
When participating in the South Texas rite of passage also known as road trippin’, with two individuals as manly and, well, large as Will and Scott, you (if you happen to be me) end up in the back seat of the truck. It’s just how it is. This is not an episode of women’s lib gone wrong, nor is a clear case of Texas sexism. This was simply a straightforward issue of leg room. They needed a lot of it. Me- not so much.
Anyway, there I was stuffed in the back seat of Scott’s truck. The guys were up front, deep in some conversation about something. If I had to guess I would say their conversation had something to do with weightlifting or car stereos or maybe where was Bullet Haas. So I was left to entertain myself until the topic came back around to something that interested me, such as guns, tanks (Texan for a “pond”) skipping rocks, something of that nature. And entertain myself I did.
The radio was cranked up with Scott’s windows down, and we were rocking George Strait’s “Right or Wrong.” Since I was uninterested in the topic at hand, I sang my little heart out along with George. I love George just as much as any Texan should- as a matter of fact I think someone should make a bumper sticker proclaiming his greatness along the lines of the “God Bless John Wayne” one I see so often when in West Texas. But I do have ONE tiny little problem with him (gasp). When my voice sings George Strait, he hits me right in the “break” and I have to jump back and forth from chest voice to head voice a whole lot. To the trained musician, this is a pretty laughable and avoidable situation. They are thinking to themselves, “She needs to wait this one out and try to sing next time Clint comes on the radio.” But to Scott Staudt that night, I was a fabulous new discovery.
Scott got all quiet and said, “I didn’t know you could sing!” He kept saying, “Sing this! Sing that!” And he pulled out Strait out of the Box and clicked through hit after hit. I was happy to oblige him on that awesome summer night, singing with my arm hanging out the open window. The night seemed to last forever. We drove, skipped rocks in the Pedernales, stropped at JEK’s a time or two, and just lived. I remember the air on that night and am thankful for those nights gone by with old friends.
As I sit here today at 35, I am watching the rain and singing “Right or Wrong,” ignoring the breaks. Smiling. Thanks, Scott.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
So, I've started couponing...
And like so many other things I choose to spend time on, I find myself overwhelmed/obsessed with it. It is absolutely intoxicating and a (positive) outlet for my time. Though I do randomly think, "I really should be knitting..."
When I first started, I was going after everything I had a coupon for. Now, let me qualify that statement... I was not going after things my family did not use- I was only clipping and using coupons for things I ordinarily bought. Smart huh? Not exactly.
I missed out on an AWESOME deal that still haunts me. The John Frieda deal. Target put John Freida stuff on clearance, and with the high dollar coupons that I looked at (but did not clip and threw away) I could have gotten a bunch of it for free. To make matters worse, the darn expiration date for those ill fated John Freida coupons is still not up, so weekly (if not daily) I am accosted on the couponing blogs about how I can STILL get free John Freida. sheesh.
But let's let bygones be bygones, and talk about the deals I HAVE scored. I have grown past the "get everything I have with the coupons" stage to the "let's check the deals this week and see what I can get for free or almost free." I have gotten 8 sharpies, 60 pens, 6 scotch tapes, 3 tylenol precises (they were $.27), 3 ben gays, 4 milka chocolate bars, 4 green giant frozen vegetables, a couple of heinz vinegars, 4-4 packs of dove men+care soap (they were $.79), 4 free men plus care deodorants, several free body washes from dial, 12 sally hansen nailpolishes (they were $.04) some jiff peanut butter, 6 boxes of ritz crackerfuls (they were $.74), 2 free reams of printer paper, 23 free toothpastes, and more.
Unless stated otherwise, all of the above items were free. I know you are anxiously awaiting to hear about my progress, and I cannot wait to tell you about it!
When I first started, I was going after everything I had a coupon for. Now, let me qualify that statement... I was not going after things my family did not use- I was only clipping and using coupons for things I ordinarily bought. Smart huh? Not exactly.
I missed out on an AWESOME deal that still haunts me. The John Frieda deal. Target put John Freida stuff on clearance, and with the high dollar coupons that I looked at (but did not clip and threw away) I could have gotten a bunch of it for free. To make matters worse, the darn expiration date for those ill fated John Freida coupons is still not up, so weekly (if not daily) I am accosted on the couponing blogs about how I can STILL get free John Freida. sheesh.
But let's let bygones be bygones, and talk about the deals I HAVE scored. I have grown past the "get everything I have with the coupons" stage to the "let's check the deals this week and see what I can get for free or almost free." I have gotten 8 sharpies, 60 pens, 6 scotch tapes, 3 tylenol precises (they were $.27), 3 ben gays, 4 milka chocolate bars, 4 green giant frozen vegetables, a couple of heinz vinegars, 4-4 packs of dove men+care soap (they were $.79), 4 free men plus care deodorants, several free body washes from dial, 12 sally hansen nailpolishes (they were $.04) some jiff peanut butter, 6 boxes of ritz crackerfuls (they were $.74), 2 free reams of printer paper, 23 free toothpastes, and more.
Unless stated otherwise, all of the above items were free. I know you are anxiously awaiting to hear about my progress, and I cannot wait to tell you about it!
Monday, April 11, 2011
Home Sweet Home and Corby Schaub
Last night my sister and I along with a few of our Jonesboro friends traveled the 2 hours south to Little Rock to see our friend from back home Corby Schaub. We had a great visit as always, though it started out kinda slow... we were all tired, as Corby was on the tail end of a long rock and roll tour, and I am a Mom therefore I am tired. Despite slow beginnings, it ended with a bang as Corby and crew gave the performance of their lives. It makes me so proud that each time I see them play they are better than the last.
The show was like a build up to my upcoming trip home to Texas- seeing Corby was almost like the movie Independence Day where the long ago crashed alien ship starts to tingle and move when the new ones start to come in. Corby and I both felt it- he said he was going to have the best show of the tour, and I was even more excited about my trip home than I already was (if that is possible) just being around him.
This experience is a rare one, and one that I share with very few people in my life. Corby is one of those people and always has been. I must interject that I am blessed to have a wonderful family, the best husband, and great kids who know me inside and out. They love me unconditionally for who I am everyday despite any and all glaring shortcomings and flaws. I cherish these people God put in my life everyday and make a concerted effort to be "put together" for them from dawn til dusk. Truth be told at times it is exhausting to try so hard every day to be what others need of me. That's why nothing can substitute for friends from home.
Friends from home can be proud of and appreciate who I have evolved into while still loving and remembering the person I used to be. Only friends from home ask you questions like "Are you OK with your career? I swear to everyone that you should have been a musician. Hell it's not too late." Friends from home can say things about ex boyfriends that simultaneously floor me and crack me up. "I never knew Will well," Corby said, "But he seemed like the life of the party." He hit it right on the head. "You can imagine how happy my Dad was about that," I said. Corby just cracked up, agreed, and went on to say that he thought Will was a perfectly logical dating choice (I know, right?).
We spoke about the Band Turkey Dinner. We laughed about bundt cakes and our strong aversions to them since the Fredericksburg right of passage which is the Cake Walk. We remembered heart breaks, life changing events, and the resulting repercussions. We talked about the worst losses in our lives and our biggest hopes and dreams. We reminisced about the Peach Jamboree, road tripping to the soundtrack of George Strait, and how to this day any random 80s Strait song on the radio can make me and this certified Rock Star both long for the hills of home.
Corby knows who I used to be and who I still am somewhere deep inside. Corby knows about my indiscretions, bad decisions, who I may-or-may-not have given Mono to in high school. He worries about me, and looks through my put together facade to see the real me. It is unnerving and yet somehow so very comfortable to shrug off everything and just be, if only for a few hours in a super loud club on President Clinton Avenue with Corby, my sister, and 600 of our new found best friends. I am so thankful for him in my life, and for all the other "Corbys" I have, Emil, Shawn, Angie, and Ava.
Ava, remember the time we were running out in your pasture and my brand new shoe got sucked off in the mud? I thought I was dead for sure. Angie- remember showing sheep? I know you do, but I just wanted you to know I think about that every once and a while and smile fondly. Emil- thank you so much for being my computer math partner. And I also remember dancing with you our senior year to Journey's "Faithfully" while all the freshmen girls watched and swooned. Shawn- being a manager with you in 8th grade was possibly some of the funniest times in my life! That and fake slapping Leslie Lees in front of a packed house in the San Angelo dorms. I love you guys, and though you may not be in Fredericksburg when I get there, I'll be thinking of you.
The show was like a build up to my upcoming trip home to Texas- seeing Corby was almost like the movie Independence Day where the long ago crashed alien ship starts to tingle and move when the new ones start to come in. Corby and I both felt it- he said he was going to have the best show of the tour, and I was even more excited about my trip home than I already was (if that is possible) just being around him.
This experience is a rare one, and one that I share with very few people in my life. Corby is one of those people and always has been. I must interject that I am blessed to have a wonderful family, the best husband, and great kids who know me inside and out. They love me unconditionally for who I am everyday despite any and all glaring shortcomings and flaws. I cherish these people God put in my life everyday and make a concerted effort to be "put together" for them from dawn til dusk. Truth be told at times it is exhausting to try so hard every day to be what others need of me. That's why nothing can substitute for friends from home.
Friends from home can be proud of and appreciate who I have evolved into while still loving and remembering the person I used to be. Only friends from home ask you questions like "Are you OK with your career? I swear to everyone that you should have been a musician. Hell it's not too late." Friends from home can say things about ex boyfriends that simultaneously floor me and crack me up. "I never knew Will well," Corby said, "But he seemed like the life of the party." He hit it right on the head. "You can imagine how happy my Dad was about that," I said. Corby just cracked up, agreed, and went on to say that he thought Will was a perfectly logical dating choice (I know, right?).
We spoke about the Band Turkey Dinner. We laughed about bundt cakes and our strong aversions to them since the Fredericksburg right of passage which is the Cake Walk. We remembered heart breaks, life changing events, and the resulting repercussions. We talked about the worst losses in our lives and our biggest hopes and dreams. We reminisced about the Peach Jamboree, road tripping to the soundtrack of George Strait, and how to this day any random 80s Strait song on the radio can make me and this certified Rock Star both long for the hills of home.
Corby knows who I used to be and who I still am somewhere deep inside. Corby knows about my indiscretions, bad decisions, who I may-or-may-not have given Mono to in high school. He worries about me, and looks through my put together facade to see the real me. It is unnerving and yet somehow so very comfortable to shrug off everything and just be, if only for a few hours in a super loud club on President Clinton Avenue with Corby, my sister, and 600 of our new found best friends. I am so thankful for him in my life, and for all the other "Corbys" I have, Emil, Shawn, Angie, and Ava.
Ava, remember the time we were running out in your pasture and my brand new shoe got sucked off in the mud? I thought I was dead for sure. Angie- remember showing sheep? I know you do, but I just wanted you to know I think about that every once and a while and smile fondly. Emil- thank you so much for being my computer math partner. And I also remember dancing with you our senior year to Journey's "Faithfully" while all the freshmen girls watched and swooned. Shawn- being a manager with you in 8th grade was possibly some of the funniest times in my life! That and fake slapping Leslie Lees in front of a packed house in the San Angelo dorms. I love you guys, and though you may not be in Fredericksburg when I get there, I'll be thinking of you.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Rain Rain go away
As I sit here and watch the rain come down, I have to think about Canada. Oh, those happy little Canadians upstream that are probably thinking what a nice spring they are gonna have. Warm in front of their fireplaces, eager with anticipation. Down here in the Delta, we hope their spring holds off just a little longer, as the Mighty Mississippi is overburdened as it is, pushing tributaries backwards, and we are watching the waters rise, rise, rise.
In 1927, the worst flooding in American history started this same way- unseasonably wet winter for us, lots of snow melt in Canada. Build the levees higher, that was the verdict. Most of the levees built were breached, and the ones that held did little but hold water in- not keep it out.
Of course, we are so advanced and smart in now and have the Corps of Engineers looking out for us, and something like that could never happen again (remember New Orleans?)... And as papers talk of comprimised levees, and cresting points this weekend, it rains.
The one thing no one has mentioned is if it rains in Canada, our waters rise. If it rains in Kansas, our waters rise. The Mississippi drains half the U.S. if not more, and when it rains anywhere to the North, we end up with it.
How prophetic- Northern problems always wash downstream, leaving them with hope while forcing us into despair. Isn’t that how history usually goes?
So I sit here, and watch the rain.
In 1927, the worst flooding in American history started this same way- unseasonably wet winter for us, lots of snow melt in Canada. Build the levees higher, that was the verdict. Most of the levees built were breached, and the ones that held did little but hold water in- not keep it out.
Of course, we are so advanced and smart in now and have the Corps of Engineers looking out for us, and something like that could never happen again (remember New Orleans?)... And as papers talk of comprimised levees, and cresting points this weekend, it rains.
The one thing no one has mentioned is if it rains in Canada, our waters rise. If it rains in Kansas, our waters rise. The Mississippi drains half the U.S. if not more, and when it rains anywhere to the North, we end up with it.
How prophetic- Northern problems always wash downstream, leaving them with hope while forcing us into despair. Isn’t that how history usually goes?
So I sit here, and watch the rain.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Aunt Caroline Dye
I have an atypical Park Interpreter station here at Parkin Archeological State Park. The largest part of my job seems to be researching Arkansas History. Arkansas is an exceptionally colorful state, with complex and vivid stories about things you wouldn’t believe, not even if I told you. This is one of those great Arkansas stories- the story of Aunt Caroline Dye.
One of Arkansas’ biggest Blues legends wasn’t even a Blues singer at all. “Aunt” Caroline Dye, of Newport Arkansas, passed away September 26, 1918. Born a slave in Spartanburg South Carolina, immigrating to Arkansas some time in young adulthood, much of the rest of Caroline’s history is the stuff of Arkansas legend.
Well, I’m going to Newport just to see Aunt Caroline Dye.
Well, I’m going to Newport just to see Aunt Caroline Dye.
She’s a fortune teller, Ooh Lord, She sure don’t tell no lie.
Hoo Doo Women, Johnny Temple
Caroline’s exceptional abilities started as a young child. When she was 10 years old and still a slave on the plantation, she was helping to set the table for Thanksgiving Dinner. She started insisting that they had not set enough plates, that Mister Charley was coming. Charley was the Plantation owner’s brother, who was thought to have been killed four years earlier in the Civil War. Sure enough, later that day Charley came walking in the door. The family couldn’t believe it! He relayed the fact that he had been wounded, taken prisoner, and had not had the chance to come home until that day. No one ever knew how she could have guessed such a thing, and all her little coincidences really started to be noticed after that.
“White and colored would go to her. You sick in bed, she raise the sick. ... Had that much brains — smart lady. ... That’s the kind of woman she was. Aunt Caroline Dye, she was the worst woman in the world. Had that much sense.” Band Leader Will Shade
Hers is an interesting Arkansas story- the story of an uneducated, African American woman who amassed a small fortune as a wealthy landowner, rental property entrepreneur, and most importantly, as a seer and rumored hoodoo woman- all of this while being unable to read or write. She is one of the most prominently featured women in the Delta Blues- though she herself was never a musician. The great Blues artists couldn’t keep away from her legend in their songs, too numerous for me to list them all here.
And she told my fortune as I walked through the door.
And she told my fortune as I walked through the door.
Said, “I’m sorry for you Buddy. Ooh Lord, your woman don’t want you no more.” Hoo Doo Women, Johnny Temple
Caroline became famous all over the Midsouth for her otherworldly abilities. She never advertised or charged for her services, but everyone always paid for them, one way or another. Affluent people from far and wide sought her services and feared her verdicts. Many prominent people would not make major decisions without at first consulting her, and if they could not bring themselves to consult her because of whatever reason, they did their best to avoid her altogether.
(Of Dye in her heyday) “…it is doubtful that even the name of President Wilson was more generally known.” John Quincy Wolf, Arkansas Folklorist
Speaking of the President, there was at least one Governor who took complete stock in her abilities. Governor-elect Donaghey refused to be inaugurated on either the 13th of the month, or on a Friday. He declared he had no desire to take the oath of office on “hoodoo” day. When asked when he thought the inauguration would take place, he replied “Probably Thursday the 14th or Monday the 18th. Wednesday the 13th, would of course be a bad day. Friday would never do.” New York Times article, published January 6, 1909.
Aunt Caroline Dye she told me, "Son, these women don't mean you no good." Aunt Caroline Dye she told me, "Son, these women don't mean you no good."Said, "Take my advice and don't monkey with none in your neighborhood" Aunt Caroline Dyer Blues, The Memphis Jug Band 1930
Celebrated by many, feared by most, Caroline Dye is an excellent example of a strong Arkansas woman having a profound effect on our history. Through the Delta Blues, many of her lessons are still available to the masses. An atypical muse, Caroline influenced some of the greatest blues songs ever written, maybe even the best blues song ever written- W.C. Handy’s St. Louis Blues.
Now dat gyspy tole her, “Don’t you wear no black,
Now dat gyspy tole her, “Don’t you wear no black,
Go to St. Louis, you can win him back”
St. Louis Blues, W.C. Handy
Do you believe her? Get out sometime in our own backyard and explore history here in Arkansas- Aunt Caroline would tell you it’s a good idea.
One of Arkansas’ biggest Blues legends wasn’t even a Blues singer at all. “Aunt” Caroline Dye, of Newport Arkansas, passed away September 26, 1918. Born a slave in Spartanburg South Carolina, immigrating to Arkansas some time in young adulthood, much of the rest of Caroline’s history is the stuff of Arkansas legend.
Well, I’m going to Newport just to see Aunt Caroline Dye.
Well, I’m going to Newport just to see Aunt Caroline Dye.
She’s a fortune teller, Ooh Lord, She sure don’t tell no lie.
Hoo Doo Women, Johnny Temple
Caroline’s exceptional abilities started as a young child. When she was 10 years old and still a slave on the plantation, she was helping to set the table for Thanksgiving Dinner. She started insisting that they had not set enough plates, that Mister Charley was coming. Charley was the Plantation owner’s brother, who was thought to have been killed four years earlier in the Civil War. Sure enough, later that day Charley came walking in the door. The family couldn’t believe it! He relayed the fact that he had been wounded, taken prisoner, and had not had the chance to come home until that day. No one ever knew how she could have guessed such a thing, and all her little coincidences really started to be noticed after that.
“White and colored would go to her. You sick in bed, she raise the sick. ... Had that much brains — smart lady. ... That’s the kind of woman she was. Aunt Caroline Dye, she was the worst woman in the world. Had that much sense.” Band Leader Will Shade
Hers is an interesting Arkansas story- the story of an uneducated, African American woman who amassed a small fortune as a wealthy landowner, rental property entrepreneur, and most importantly, as a seer and rumored hoodoo woman- all of this while being unable to read or write. She is one of the most prominently featured women in the Delta Blues- though she herself was never a musician. The great Blues artists couldn’t keep away from her legend in their songs, too numerous for me to list them all here.
And she told my fortune as I walked through the door.
And she told my fortune as I walked through the door.
Said, “I’m sorry for you Buddy. Ooh Lord, your woman don’t want you no more.” Hoo Doo Women, Johnny Temple
Caroline became famous all over the Midsouth for her otherworldly abilities. She never advertised or charged for her services, but everyone always paid for them, one way or another. Affluent people from far and wide sought her services and feared her verdicts. Many prominent people would not make major decisions without at first consulting her, and if they could not bring themselves to consult her because of whatever reason, they did their best to avoid her altogether.
(Of Dye in her heyday) “…it is doubtful that even the name of President Wilson was more generally known.” John Quincy Wolf, Arkansas Folklorist
Speaking of the President, there was at least one Governor who took complete stock in her abilities. Governor-elect Donaghey refused to be inaugurated on either the 13th of the month, or on a Friday. He declared he had no desire to take the oath of office on “hoodoo” day. When asked when he thought the inauguration would take place, he replied “Probably Thursday the 14th or Monday the 18th. Wednesday the 13th, would of course be a bad day. Friday would never do.” New York Times article, published January 6, 1909.
Aunt Caroline Dye she told me, "Son, these women don't mean you no good." Aunt Caroline Dye she told me, "Son, these women don't mean you no good."Said, "Take my advice and don't monkey with none in your neighborhood" Aunt Caroline Dyer Blues, The Memphis Jug Band 1930
Celebrated by many, feared by most, Caroline Dye is an excellent example of a strong Arkansas woman having a profound effect on our history. Through the Delta Blues, many of her lessons are still available to the masses. An atypical muse, Caroline influenced some of the greatest blues songs ever written, maybe even the best blues song ever written- W.C. Handy’s St. Louis Blues.
Now dat gyspy tole her, “Don’t you wear no black,
Now dat gyspy tole her, “Don’t you wear no black,
Go to St. Louis, you can win him back”
St. Louis Blues, W.C. Handy
Do you believe her? Get out sometime in our own backyard and explore history here in Arkansas- Aunt Caroline would tell you it’s a good idea.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Tortured Souls
Again, I find myself singing in my head all kinds of songs from Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness. I suppose in some ways it is better to sing things in your own head rather to hear strange voices in your head, but for my part I am a bit tired of all the to-do and energy this ever present soundtrack takes from me.
For one thing, I never find myself singing Miley Cyrus songs. Many would find that to be a tremendous relief, but I think just once "Party in the USA" might be less of an emotional drain. It is hard to be, well, melancholy while singing Hannah Montana.
I wonder- do people around me know that while they are going on and on about priorities, bills, job assignments, volleyball practice that I am actually singing "All by myself" at the top of my head's lungs? How about "Sometimes Love Just ain't enough" "The Difficult Kind" or "Jesus to a Child?" I tell you, these sad songs invade me and are ever present. What a burden!
You know, I hear about artists' tortured souls, about musicians, painters, Renaissance men of various genres and disciplines, and it seems as if all of them battle- well- their own little battles. Van Gogh and his bloody ear, child geniuses and their suicide rates, but I have never heard tell of anyone with an annoying ever present soundtrack of desperation.
It would be me.
For one thing, I never find myself singing Miley Cyrus songs. Many would find that to be a tremendous relief, but I think just once "Party in the USA" might be less of an emotional drain. It is hard to be, well, melancholy while singing Hannah Montana.
I wonder- do people around me know that while they are going on and on about priorities, bills, job assignments, volleyball practice that I am actually singing "All by myself" at the top of my head's lungs? How about "Sometimes Love Just ain't enough" "The Difficult Kind" or "Jesus to a Child?" I tell you, these sad songs invade me and are ever present. What a burden!
You know, I hear about artists' tortured souls, about musicians, painters, Renaissance men of various genres and disciplines, and it seems as if all of them battle- well- their own little battles. Van Gogh and his bloody ear, child geniuses and their suicide rates, but I have never heard tell of anyone with an annoying ever present soundtrack of desperation.
It would be me.
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