Wait, she isn't giving away her blog. So maybe I should re-word that.
Blog Holiday Give Away!
Oh, forget it.
Hey adoring fans! And not so adoring ones:
Head on over to Girl On A Mission and enter yourself for a delicious give away. That is if you love to cook, love free things, have kids and/or husband and can't get them to eat vegetables. Otherwise, stay away.
Remember this post about this book? Kelly is having a drawing to give one copy away on December 13th. All you have to do is head on over to her blog, comment on the post titled "Blog Give Away" and you are entered! How easy is that?
Besides, she has such a stinking cute blog! And while you are there, read her other posts too...you will be blessed by the Lord.
Talk to you soon....
Nor any drop to wash a dish.
The Rime of the Ancient Dishwasher
Thursday was a great day of food and family.
And then it happened...Let me splain.
Thursday evening, after the day and the family were spent. I stood in my kitchen and stared up at all the dishes stacked precariously on the counter. And in the sink. And some on the stove. And I'm pretty sure there were more in the living rooms.
Of course you ask, why Dana? Why so many?
Well, I shall tell you my inquisitive ones. There were the ones from Thanksgiving Morn Breakfast, a grand tradition in the Moya household.
And then there were the ones from cooking the wonderful 15 course meal required on this day of thanks. Plus snacks. Plus the fine china we supped upon. Okay not really, we used paper plates but the silverware was for reals y'all.
Plus the 20 thousand cups used but one time each by 2 children who, it seems, cannot have their precious delicate lips touch the rim of a cup more than once for fear of death causing germs. The very same children who try to refuse a shower for days on end despite the fact that they smell like the end of a barnyard animal who has wallowed in his own muck because "they are not dirty."
Oh, then there was the 10 or 50 or so containers emptied of their long forgotten leftovers (I know, shame on us) because someone (cough! Dana! cough!) thought it a brilliant plan to clean the refrigerator NOW since the trash men cometh on Friday and there was need of room for the new leftovers of our feast.
I normally wash dishes as I cook but this day we were painting and sanding. It was Eddie's turn to wash on the chore chart but I figured I would take down Mount Dinnerware for him. He is not the skilled climber I am. What a mom. My children rise and call me blessed.
Blessed mother I have nothing to wear!
As they stand in front of a closet full of clothes.
Blessed mother I cannot find the ____!
As they sit not two feet from missing object.
Blessed mother there is nothing to eat!
As they stand in front of the refrigerator looking at 10 or 50 or so tubs of leftovers.
And why not just throw them to the dishwasher? That dear sweet beloved appliance died some time ago. Probably from many a climb up the Dinnerware Mountain. May it rest in peace. We will one day replace it. Sniff. It's a sensitive subject. Let's move on shall we?
Where were we? Oh yes...The mountain stared back at me, taunting me, daring me to bring it on. I grabbed my gear (dish-mountain climbing gear, chisel, saw and sandblaster) and walked towards my foe.
Then from somewhere deep, deep, deep in the bowels of the earth came a groan. And then the sink gave a visible shudder. I cried out in a triumphant voice "Ha, I've got you now you vile fiend...you are trembling with fear....your doom draws near!"
Then the cursed thing threw up on me. Merely anxious about the coming flood of dishes, I figured. No matter, I would not be deterred from my duty. I approached yet again and looked into the soul of the sink, laying in its own vomit, visibly shuddering in the the throes of death.
Alas, no matter what I did, or how I tried, the blasted sink would not be revived. So, I did what anyone else would do in this situation, I called in reinforcements.
Honey?!?!? Can you come here?
"I'll show you!" I whispered to the sink.
2 hours later the underbelly of the beast was gutted, its shredded entrails laid in an indeterminate pattern over the kitchen floor. I thought I could see the outline of the Pope in one of the blood stains, but I'm not too sure about it now.
The Mountain? Completely unmoved. And I think growing....*shudder*
The sink? Oh friends, it is an ugly tale of woe.
It seems the pipe that goes into the wall - way, way, way down into the wall, where cutting of sheet rock and wood and the digging up of yard and quite probably foul curses must take place - had cracked. This somehow caused the pipes under the sink to back-up into the house and regurgitate all over Dana.
Call a plumber? Bite your tongue. And while your at it, bite your lip and nails and...I am glad to have a husband who is able to repair most anything we own. But lo, 36 hours and many a trip to the Home Depot later we still have no sink to wash a dish in. Of course things of so-called import (like sleep) have intervened on his behalf. Whatever. Yes but dears, we have saved quite a pretty penny.
A pretty penny I could use to take my dishes down to the local Dish-O-Mat with. Throw these crusty boys into the industrial super-colossal Dishwasher of the immortals with the rest of the non-dishwasher-owning people of the world, and sit and watch it spin. And be done with them in one foul blow.
Or I could just chuck the dity ones into the trash with the leftovers and run out to Target and purchase.....
No fear my loves, the dishes were washed, um, eventually. I will spare you the details. Suffice it to say, Mount Dinnerware is no more.
Although I'm sure it will be back soon. In smaller, less daunting hills. I will leave those to my children to climb. It is good exercise.
And one day, one glorious and fine day, I will have my very own lave-vasaille. That's French for dishwasher.
I had to look it up. But for one second you were impressed with my muy bueno linguistic skills weren't you?
Until that day....
We never know the worth of water until the well is dry.
Made Me Everything I Am*
I ran my hand over the wood tracing the scars from many years of use. There are nicks and scratches caused by moving it from home to home and room to room. There are various stains and areas of fading, all marks of well loved furniture. Each scar and stain an allegory marking a moment in its antiquity.
In my other hand the sander worked at removing these signs of the past life from the piece. I sanded off layer after layer, my daughter by my side. We worked together for hours. My mind retracing indiscriminate memories as I go, just as my hand had traced over their embodiment.
I have always been fond of this particular piece of furniture, built in the 50's by my father, a master wood worker. That fact does not lend value to its sentiment, it is simply a fact. I have several pieces of his work, each handsome and unique. Each of them a manifestation of the mastery of his gift, his personal style and his eye for art.
I think of my father standing over this piece some 50 years ago doing the very same thing. I stopped and laughed at the reality that he never, not once, poured an ounce of this same care and love into me. And yet here I am with my daughter, forging another work of art. Bringing it to life once again. A new chance, another journey to begin.
And while it bewilders me, that he could not love me like he did the work of his hands, it matters not. I am grateful for who I am without him. I am thankful for the fact that he was not in my life.
If he were...
Would I still wrestle with the rule of God?
Would I learn to accept the love of a Father?
Would I still have the need to please everyone?
These are winds not worth chasing.
I turn off the sander and go inside. The smell of ham and green beans, fresh rolls and pecan pie, the sound of laughter and football. My daughter and I working side by side in the kitchen and outside. My family together, creating memories - scars & stains - marks of a well loved and well lived life.
Today, a day of thanks, I give thanks for the I Am. And to I Am, I give thanks for the I am not.
*Read this on my oldest daughter's myspace page. The quote comes from a song by Kanye West, of whom (who/whom? I always stumble) I'm not a fan. But I like the quote for some reason and ever since I saw it on her page it has stuck with me. Besides, I happen to be a big fan of her!
Last night while watching a kitchen remodel on the DIY Network the woman kept describing the tile and the grout and the cabinets and everything else they remodeled in her kitchen as looking like chocolate.
My daughter said "She must really be craving chocolate!"
I said, "She must be pms-ing"
She asks "What's that?" (Yes folks, we have had "the talk". We have had several "the talks".)
I said "You know how sometimes I'm nice and happy and easy to get along with? And then others I have lasers shooting out of my eyes and I growl because I'm mean and grumpy?"
Then she answers with just a little fear creeping into her voice...
"Is this a trick question?"
So the days float through my eyes
But still the days seem the same
It took one long week to get here. Seven very drawn out and arduous days to get to this point. Both out there and here. Out there - the world outside my blog - because I am on vacation this coming week and I know time stood still on at least 3 occasions. And here - in my little blog-world I've created - because I've made several attempts at writing, had a few good starts but no connections, no finishes. I tried, I really, really tried. Nothing.
My writing self needs a little more fiber in her diet.
And it's not like I've not had things to write about I have.
Take for instance an email I received on Monday in regards to my son's progress at school. The young lady writing me is a counseling intern and has followed Eddie for the last few weeks.
In the email she introduces herself and proceeds to tell me about how she feels Eddie is depressed, and lethargic (I think to myself What the...? Eddie? Depressed? No way, I've seen him depressed and he is far from it. Lethargic? He's just sleepy. Who is this again?)
But despite my parental experiences or my motherly instinct I feel my heart twinge and my mind question...
She proceeds to say that perhaps he isn't taking his medicine again and that sometimes kids lie. (Yes this is true Missy however, I think we've seen what not taking his medicine does to him and I am more than certain he is taking it. I think.)
Again, doubts swim around in my mind and I begin to be very upset. Perhaps he is just hiding it well at home...
She then tells me she is quite concerned about some things he has written and leaves it at that.
Alarms go off.
Red flags wave like mad.
Wait, he's writing?!? That's weird.
And just what is he writing? Fear, doubt, resentment all wrap around my heart, I am a snake bed of emotions at this point.
I return her email. Thanking her for her concern, her time spent and letting her know what we do and do not see at home. Blah, blah, blah....Then I ask her what exactly is it that Eddie is writing that concerns her. Is it dark and morbid? Is it threatening? Is it suicidal? I wonder how could I not see this at home?
The email reply was sent early Monday morning. I wait.
A few hours later the Vice Principal calls, Eddie is in his office because he was unable to control himself in class. He is concerned, wants to have another special education review. We have more discussion, then finish up and when I hang up I begin to cry.
His phone call compounded the panicky feeling I was already fighting.
Late afternoon I receive the reply from Missy Intern. I open the email, bracing myself for what I might read. I scan the letter, wading through the blather and jargon. And I get to this:
One of the teachers forwarded an assignment to me in which he was supposed to be writing answers to a couple of passages he had read. His response for one of the questions was "You can pick your friends, you can pick your nose, but you can't pick your friend's nose." Another response appeared to be lyrics to a song about running over and squishing the Taco Bell Dog.
More tears. Only this time because I am laughing, laughing so hard I begin to wheeze.
What a relief! That is just boredom and nonsense...
Intern Lady if that concerns you with all you know about my son and the world, then you have quite a way to go in your learning.
I couldn't form a reply. I feared I would be rather snarky and then she will be concerned about me. Besides, I chalked it all up to her inexperience. At least in telling parents about her observations if nothing else.
Ch-ch-ChangesAnd then there is the fact that my bff Sharona has accepted the offer to get a lot more pay and better benefits What's that about? at another job. Ok, so hurrah for her but what about her friends?
Just gonna have to be a different woman
I'm just kidding, because seriously, I couldn't be more happier for her. She has worked at the church in every role but the Pastor's with all of her heart put into it everyday for 10 long years and no one, and I mean no one, is more deserving of this opportunity. Even if it's not with us. Sniff.
Oh, look out you rock 'n rollers
I know we will always stay the best of friends, nothing can change that. I love you Sharona! But it still changes everything. And that is life right?
Time may change me, but I can't trace time.
Whatever that means...
So I am going to end it here. With the hopes that this David Bowie song will finally leave my head.
Strange fascination, fascinating me...
Seriously. Love the song, but it has been the ear worm from hell for the whole week...
(no really, what does that mean David?)
I talk to my mom on the phone at least once a day. Mostly she calls me at night right after her dinner. She is in a nursing home and stays busy until after dinner, then she doesn't have much to do. My mom suffered from a stroke 14 years ago this January and is paralyzed on one side. She cannot do a thing for herself except eat and read. She loves to read.
My sister lives in North Carolina and my brother in Virginia. After 25 years of a life together my mom's husband left her to go live with his daughter in California and that was the last we heard of him. His daughter called some time back to say he died, it had happened a month earlier and could we sign some papers?
So I am the person she calls daily. I like to think it's because I am the favorite, what child doesn't?
Mostly when she calls she just goes on and on about whatever she has been thinking about that day and you cannot get a word in because she has it in her mind what she wants to say and she is going to say it. Besides her roommate watches her tv so loud she wouldn't hear you anyway unless you yelled.
Sometimes when she calls she is confused, she doesn't remember that she is in Houston. She doesn't remember that her husband died, she doesn't realize that I am her daughter Dana. She doesn't realize her dreams aren't real. Those phone calls leave me tired and sad.
Sometimes when she calls she talks about things that make no sense. Sometimes she calls just to tell a joke - some new, some she has told me a hundred times before but always funny, she has a great sense of humor. I laugh and let her tell again. We talk and talk and then she hangs up abruptly every time.
She called the other night and before she hung up with me, she said something that I've never heard from her before.
She said "Dana, you are so beautiful. You really are. I was looking at this picture of you here, and I think you are just the most beautiful woman."
And I waited for the if or the but...
Because when I was growing up that kind of statement was always connected with an if or a but.
You would be so pretty if...
You really are a lovely girl but...
You could have any man if...
...you would just lose weight.
...you could stand to lose a few pounds.
...no man wants a fat girl.
This time neither the if, nor the but were said. She left it at that, said 'I love you, I really do' and hung up. I cried. No, I curled up in a ball and I sobbed.
All my adult life I was stuck with the if and the but of self-perception. There was never a day without the thought that I just need to lose a few more pounds and then I, and everyone else, would be happy with me. A lifetime of wishing I were a certain size so that I could be good enough to be loved. And a lifetime of crying because I was not. All those years of battling an eating disorder that hospitalized me more than once and almost killed me.
These past 10 years I have spent learning to love Dana no matter what the scale said. A lesson I have to learn each and everyday and even more so now that I am very much overweight. And I still hear the if and the but of every statement in my mind. A constant voice playing in my head like an endless tape recorded message. But, as a friend of mine taught me, you have to change the tape.
Since I have come to know Jesus, the wounds have slowly begun to heal but the ugly scar remains. A reminder of perhaps if...
The impact her words of acceptance had on my heart made that scar just a little less visible. And perhaps the next time I hear if or but after my husband or my mom tells me I'm pretty, the voice will be a lot less audible, drowned out by the words no matter what.
I sat down with my daughter the next day and we talked about the conversation I had with my mom and why it had affected me so. Then I told her how absolutely beautiful she is to me and that nothing she could ever do would make me love her more or love her less. I told her that her smile makes me happy and I love how smart she is. I told her that she makes me laugh and that I love the sparkle in her eyes when she laughs. I told her this is how her father feels about her and this is how her Father in heaven feels about her.
I hugged her and kissed her and I prayed that this would be the voice that she would hear into her adult years. That she is loved. No if, no but.
I was tagged quite some time ago by two dear friends and I've dragged my feet in responding. Sorry!
The first meme is from miss Sharon. She is a fellow blogger, a co-worker (not for long) and one of the best dang friends I will ever have. Sniff.
1. Hardcover or paperback, and why?
Yes! Because, I love them all!
2. If I were to own a book shop I would call it…
Think. Ink. Drink. (You have to have coffee!)
3. My favorite quote from a book (mention the title) is…
This is a most unfair question. I mean, how to pick one? There are so many good books. I am not answering. Well, I answered, but not really.
4. The author (alive or deceased) I would love to have lunch with would be...
Alive. I couldn't have lunch with a dead person sitting there! Ew.
Okay, seriously Stephen King – the man is scary genius. Or Maya Angelou. I love her poetry. I would like to have lunch with Sharon Ziegler as well. She is a new author that I think everyone should read.
5. If I was going to a deserted island and could only bring one book, except from the SAS survival guide, it would be…
what the heck is the SAS survival guide?
Okay, the complete works of William Shakespeare? Or maybe The whole set of The Chronicles of Narnia? Oh, well, does this include my bible? Because I have to have that as well.
6. I would love someone to invent a bookish gadget that…?
If I could tell you I would try to invent it.
7. The smell of an old book reminds me of…
My childhood. I had lots of old books and I read them over and over again. Books were the friends in a lonely girls life...
8. If I could be the lead character in a book (mention the title), it would be…
I don't want to be anyone else. When I read or see characters I admire, I think 'those are admirable traits' I would like to be more like that. However I don't want to be them. Also, I don't really want to be the lead character, one of the side kicks I most admire is Samwsie Gamgee. What a loyal and steadfast friend.
9. The most overestimated book of all time is…
This one is way too easy for me. “Your Best Life Now” ugh.
10. I hate it when a book…
Is predictable. Yawn. Or when someone uses 200 words where 20 would have sufficed. I mean they go on and on and on, and you are like - dude I get the point already and then you flip through the pages trying to get past...
This next meme is from Jessica. She is a fellow blogger, a friend and co-worker and one of the sweetest and prettiest girls I know!
1. Who is your man?
He is the father of my children, he is strong, he is love, he is my strength, he is confidence and he is humility. He smells like autumn and when he hugs me I feel safe and at home.
2. How long have you been together?
15 ½ years.
3. How long did you date?
2 years. Well, seriously we dated about 4 months and then we moved in together (before we knew Jesus people).
4. How old is your man?
50 (shut up! right?)
5. Who eats more?
Just think about that one. Actually it is him. It is so unfair.
6. Who said "I love you" first?
Don’t remember. Sad huh? But we both say it several times a day now. Even when we are mad, we say IAN. Which is our little code for I Always love you No matter what. (The other letters didn't fit...)
7. Who is taller?
He is by like 1/8th of an inch. But don't say anything, pretend not to notice because he is pretty sensitive about that... :)
8. Who sings better?
Me, but not by much.
9. Who is smarter?
10. Whose temper is worse?
What is that supposed to mean?? Mine.
11. Who does the laundry?
Both of us. Actually, all four of us.
12. Who takes out the garbage?
The kids. But he did when they were little...
13. Who sleeps on the right side of the bed?
He does. Always has. What does that say about us?
14. Who pays the bills?
We both do.
15. Who is better with the computer?
16. Who mows the lawn?
Him! And the kids. I plant stuff.
17. Who cooks dinner?
Both. He mostly grills. But he does make one heck of a bowl of cereal!
18. Who drives when you are together?
Do you NOT read my blog?
19. Who pays when you go out?
Does that matter? He is the one who pulls out the card or cash, but it is OUR money.
20. Who is most stubborn?
Actually, we both are stubborn, so I wouldn’t know…we are both still working on the whole compromise thing.
21. Who is the first to admit when they are wrong?
22. Whose parents do you see the most?
It was his mom when she lived with us, now it’s about the same.
23. Who kissed who first?
He kissed me. It was crazy...
24. Who asked who out?
Gosh… I offered to buy him a beer, does that count? But we were already friends because we knew each other through his sister Candie who has been my friend forever. So we were already hanging out together.
25. Who proposed?
No one. We were living together (before we knew Jesus people!) and we both thought it was the next step to take.
26. Who is more sensitive?
Oh yeah, him. He cries at the movies and he...Okay, not really. It's me.
27. Who has more friends?
Him, hands down.
28. Who has more siblings?
Again, Jesse by a long shot! 13 to 2.
29. Who wears the pants in the family?
That's a weird question these days. I mean if you are being literal, we both do...But if you are asking who is the man in the family, which is what that used to mean, of course he is. And of course I love it. I hate that people think Christian men are misogynistic and macho if they are the head of the house. I am in no way a welcome mat or a meek little wife who just does what I am told. I have a voice, an opinion and he asks and loves to hear both.
We cannot end on an odd number...Why would you end here? I will make one up..
30. What do you love about your man?
I love that he can make me laugh, even when I am mad. I love that he loves me even when I am mad. I love that he is honest, faithful and steady. I love that he worries about providing. I love that he is not perfect. But he wants to be the best husband and father. I love that he is passionate about life, his kids, his home, his family and of course Jesus.
Thank you for reading. I am tagging no one.
A 2-fer! I guess by now you know what ¿mande? means. If you don't, then read here and here. And now on with the show...
I didn't mention that on Saturday at the Bowl-a-Rama birthday party from Scary Ville, US of A my daughter's Spanish teacher was in attendance. She is a character straight from Saturday Night Live and it was quite um, inspirational? to listen to her talk because, I'm telling you, she knows everyone who is anyone. And she was not afraid to hold their names out for all to see and let them hit the floor with all the impact of a well, since we were there, a bowling ball.
But this isn't about her. We were just talking to her. I mentioned to her that Elena wanted to be in the drama class this year but was unable to because the class was full. The lady that was talking with us mentioned her daughter would be great for theater because "she is so dramatical!"
And she said... "Dramatical. Dra - mat - ti - cal. The word is dramatical."
Mmm, thank you Mrs. Scripps for sounding that out for me.
This evening while waiting in line at the pharmacy I get to overhear this little huh? of a conversation coming from an elderly man on his cell phone...(all one sided mind you.)
"Hello, how are you?"
"Yeah, me too"
"Me? Oh nothing. I just hung out at the pool all day with our priest."
Tee hee... ¿Mande?!
Do priests swim? Gosh how silly of me, I'm sure they do. What about nuns? What do they wear? Does that make it holy water? I'm just wondering..... because I really never thought about that before.
So tell me, in your most dramatical prose, (that's an oxymoron...ox - ee - mor - on) have you ever heard of a priest or nun at the pool before?
EDIT: I have NO clue what is going on with the font or the pictures. Sorry...
So began my weekend of culture. Don't be hatin'!
Friday was a national holiday. Did you not know? Oh, I am so sorry for you! Of course it is a relatively new holiday and known only to my close circle of friends, but still a holiday nonetheless. Friday was Take Your White (read: deathly pale) Friends to the Beach Day, yes it was. And it was fabulous darling!
Those outside the circle might ask, why call it Take Your White Friends to the Beach? The story behind it isn't as interesting as the title. Um, that is if you think the title is interesting. It's just a bit of silliness and no offense is meant to the few who find offense in everything.
The first major hurdle was convincing my boss that TYWFttBD was indeed an actual holiday and one that must be observed with the utmost reverence. For some reason I don't think he was convinced...geesh, he's hard core peeps.
Mmm, okay, that was the only hurdle. Everyone else was pretty much on board for this one.
This year's TYWFttBD coincided with Dia de los Muertos - Day of the Dead. Coincidence? I think not...
It also coincided with the Lone Star Biker Rally...shut up. No, I cannot. It is true...Thousands, upon thousands of Harley Davidson's EVERY.FREAKING.WHERE!!
These were some of the purtiest bikes.
Just look at the tires....whitewall.
And the rims, flames...
And more bikers...Are they allowed to wear pink?
Loved this vest:
TYWFttBD was scheduled without us knowing about the rally. So, plans to have a quiet lunch followed by shopping on the Strand were off...because of scenes like this...
This isn't the Strand. But you get the idea.
And we did get to have lunch, but it was in no way quiet. The sounds of Harley engines cruising up and down Sea Wall Boulevard were at deafening decibels. Our lunch conversation was a little restrained, I mean how can you compare notes and discuss characters with all that noise? I didn't want to get killed because I was overheard discussing Kitten's lovely leather bustier, that's for sure.
After our lunch and attempts to find the Strand behind all the leather, the three of us went to the beach. The actual beach. You know, the sandy thing with questionable water washing over it. Water that is brown and scary to be near. With signs everywhere that say swim at your own risk of infectious disease and polluted lungs.
This is a lovely shade of sludge don't you think? Makes you want to dive right in huh?
Just in case you can't tell, this is Candie. She is posing all sexy and mysterious.
We have been friends for 30 years.
She hates when I say that. Not the part about being friends - she lerves me - it's the part about 30 years she hates. However, we met when we were -11. That makes us 19.
This sweet little message was in the sand...awww!!!
(It says "Caramel hearts Manly")
I was informed that if I was to post this picture I must include the following legal-photo-disclaimer:
"We, (the afformentioned participants of TYWFttBD), have absolutely no clue who Caramel or Manly are or if 'they' even exist. This was merely 'found' and 'we' are merely 'sharing'. If 'we' did know who 'they' were, 'we' would in no way divulge this information to 'those' who would take this little joke and run willy-nilly with it. A lot more than we did. That is all, thank you."
If most of the pictures look familiar to you, it is because I had to use all of Sharon's pics. She is a muy bueno photographer with a muy 'spensive camera. Me, I have a stupid camera that betrays my mad lens skills. Yeah, I got's some skills.
Dear friends-who-were-not-in-attendance, I seriously think, I have never laughed so much in my life. I cried my mascara off, my head hurt, I was dizzy, and my stomach hurt terribly from all the laughing. Sounds more like the flu symptoms. Ah, this was a much needed & much enjoyed TYWFttBD! I hated to see it end. I also hated that not everyone of our circle could join. Perhaps next time.
But in the meantime I was given some messages to relay:
Nancy - Skull and Spike are sure sad that you couldn't come. They were so hoping to see their long-time friend and said they are just going to have mail those Butterfingers to you. They know you love them so! They also said next time you better go because they know you will be the Queen of the Leather & Lace Ball.
Sassy - Your freeway flame contacted me. He said he has the "money-shot" whatever that means, and will burn the negatives if you go on a date with him. I have his info if you should feel so inclined. He said he would be willing to shave his head for you. What is he talking about???
Caramel - Manly hearts you too. He truly does. And once you two are finally free of your so-called commitments you can stop this torment that comes with in-your-dreams love and then the two of you can truly be together. In the meantime continue going to your Not A Couple meetings. They are helpful.
Butch, Skull, Spike & Kitten - we had a great time. I will always cherish this day...sigh. But remember, what happens at Galveston, stays at Galveston. A much used term now I know, but still a good reminder to all. Kiss little Skull Jr. for me?
Everyone else - join us next year?
I have gone on so long about the bikers and the beach (hey that sounds like a musical gone wrong - The Bikers and the Beach: A Broadway Musical of Hot Leather & Steamy Sand...) that I've not much time for the Bowling...I know, sad. Sniff.
My daughter's friend had a birthday party. Each one of you know that I sooo love a party (sarcasm) and I couldn't wait to go be social with people I've never met (more sarcasm)...especially since we were having this opulent to-do at the local bowling alley. Mmm, cigarettes, beer, bad music and the gene pool the size of Barbie's tea cup.
Stepping into the place I felt as though someone had transported me to the Wal-Mart in Livingston, Texas. Well, minus the cigarettes 'cause you cain't smoke n ther.
I kept hearing Hobson's voice from Arthur saying: "Normally, someone would have to frequent a bowling alley to meet someone of your stature."
All joking aside, everyone was very nice. The mother of the birthday girl and I talked almost the entire time. I found out that she has an autistic son as well and that common bond became the instant ice breaker.
Whenever she was busy with the party I was able to people watch, which I tuly love. I would share all the lovely details, however I have gone on rather long. And once again I have no pictures. Stupid camera. Oh well, it's probably best. No use subjecting you to the images that are seared into my brain.
And now for a few unrelated items.
Miss Jessica and Miss Sharona have both tagged me for a meme. I have not forgotten. I promise I will rise to the occasion soon.
I've added a few new blog friends to the left (sing it Beyonce'). I do hope you visit them for some insightful reading and some good laughs. If you are not added, and would like to be let me know! I didn't leave anyone off out of dislike or shame. Just unsure of their willingness to have so much traffic once I link them 'cos I iz pop-u-ler. I am also so very delusional.
I won't tell you exactly where I work. Some of you know already, some of you may have an idea. Others, have no clue what I do for a living (like my bosses and co-workers for instance). Therefore if I actually told those of you who have no clue what I do, you would have visions of Dana Carvey dancing in your heads. And that, while funny, would be downright wrong.
Perhaps I will make a contest out of it one day. You know, everyone would take a guess and I could award prizes. I could call it "What Does Dana Do?" or WDDD? for short. I could make t-shirts and bracelets, oh and even bumper stickers! That would be special!
You could put those on your car and drive like Jesse and people would see the sticker and say to each other "They are such hypocrites!" "I thought Dana LOVED people, they don't act like they do!" Or when you wear your bracelet/t-shirt people would ask What Does Dana Do? and this would be the opportunity to ...
Hey now...it's just a joke. Please don't take offense. I am not in any way attempting to make fun of Jesus...just His followers...of which I am one...most of the time. Sometimes I'm sitting on the side of road whining "are we there yet?" or "I have to pee!" or "I'm hungry!" Sometimes I just sit there complaining about how my feet hurt and I'm tired. He yells at me from the front seat "Don't make me pull this thing over!" and I go back to following quietly - but still whining on the inside.
Eee gads, I am way off track here. Back to conversations at my job.
So, knowing exactly where I work will not in any way help this story. But, knowing what I do will help. So I will tell you. Brace yourself Effie...
I, Dana Moya, Sarcastic Queen of the Universe, am a church secretary. THERE! I said it. Go ahead, envision Dana Carvey doing the little purse of the lips and saying "I don't know, SATAN maybe?!?!" and then doing the 'Church Lady Shuffle.' I'll wait. I told you it would be downright wrong...For one I don't dress like that and two I certainly don't have gray hair. Praise you L'Oreal! But I have shared, and having done so I feel much better.
And not just any kind of church secretary mind you, because now we call ourselves Administrative Assistants, and I am the Administrative Assistant in the singles department of our church. OK, that's all I'm giving you. Any more and I have to come give you a bible and tell you that Jesus loves you! Or kill you. Whichever will get rid of you faster.
First you must read THE DISCLAIMER: In some instances the names have been changed to protect me. Me? Yes, me. Why? Because, well, there are no innocent here and those spoken of may come hurt me once they've read this. And that would be bad. Very, very bad. For me. The names selected in no way reflect who it might be. I've gone pretty far to protect myself...I've chosen dog names...They will be nice to me now.
Me: This is Dana
Anastasia: (thick, very thick, Romanian accent) I want your young people.
Me: Ew! Hey, that's illegal!
Anastasia: At my church we have no young people. I want your young people.
Me: Um, no.
Aaaand, later on in the conversation she informed me she was given the "Wolunteer of the Year" title at her church. Her award, a certificate and a glass of Vhiskey.
or this one:
Me: This is Dana
Sparky: (cheesy car salesman voice) Hey there Dana how are you young lady?
Me: (ew) Fine sir, how can I help you?
Sparky: Well, you know I need me a bible class to go to.
Me: I don't mean to be rude sir, but may I ask what age you are? (we sort 'em out by age, helps them stay away from our young people.)
Sparky: Yes, ma'am I'm 55.
Me: Uh, (trying to be tactful) Sir, I need to transfer your call to our older singles department. One second.
Sparky: (interrupting) Ma'am, I would like to stay right here with you, the younger singles. Cause you see, I'm looking for a young Christian lady for a wife and I won't find one there.
Sparky: Can you help me?
Me: Lord help me.
And another favorite:
Me: This is Dana
Bella: I was looking for a singles bible study.
Me: Okay, I can...
Bella: First, can you tell me how many good black men go to your church.
Me: (Looking around for hidden camera) Excuse me?
Bella: Are there a lot of them or what?
Me: Um, I've never counted...but (What the?!?)
I kind of think, that since we work at a church people assume that all we do is sit around, holding hands and praying, talking about the Lord and stuff. You know, spiritual stuff. Cause, we is so spiritual. But truly we are a diverse group of people who can have a conversation about anything and everything.
And we do. We talk about kids, husbands, moms, eMiLys, recipes, Britney, sex, world hunger, Sponge Bob, OJ Simpson, sex, Dancing With the Stars, Bono, sex, pee wee bowling, Uzbekistan, each other, sex...
And I love my friends and our lunch conversations. And truly, I cannot put any of them here cause...
Sadie: CoCo asked what we really talk about at lunch. I told her...
Daisy/Ki Ki/Princess/Sandy/Lady/Fi Fi/Snookems: *panic stricken voices* Wait, she asked what?
Sadie: What we talk...
Daisy: And you told her all we talk about is Jesus right? You said we have bible study and talk about Jesus, cause what happens at lunch, stays at lunch. Right?!!
Sadie: I told CoCo that I can't keep up with what we talk about.
Daisy/Ki Ki/Princess/Sandy/Lady/Fi Fi/Snookems: Good girl.