puberty and connections

I just polished off the last of a big ol' batch of fried rice. I know, big whoop.

Thing is, when I make fried rice, I go big with the egg. I like a lotta egg in my fried rice. I made this latest batch with duck eggs.

Recall that coworker Sarge's family took on three baby ducks a little over a year ago. By late last fall, the ducks reached puberty and began earning their keep.

Sarge typically collects three eggs a day - ample supply for his family of 5. Ample enough that he often brings surplus in to work. 

I brought six surplus eggs home and turned them into fried rice. 

Three duck eggs in hand, one store bought
 large chicken egg for scale

They are noticeably bigger (duh!) than chicken eggs - nearly double the volume. I made double the amount of fried rice I usually make with 6 chicken eggs.

I give 5 stars. The duck eggs are bigger, fluffier, lovely to cook. I don't know how much of that pleasure is from them being duck eggs and how much is from them being homegrown fresh.

Sarge said, at first his kids were all, "Ew, you're eating duck babies?!"

So he explained they're not babies since they're not fertilized. 

Saying they're eating the product of a duck ovulation cycle is much more appetizing.

And speaking of sex ed... I don't remember having that taught to me in school. I only remember "health" class where boys and girls went to separate rooms and we talked a lot about periods and tampons and all the fun that entails. 

The real sex ed came in the form of a book, circulated among myself and several friends.  I was reminded of that book this week. 

Okay, anyone play "Connections", the NY Times game? I play occasionally, and did so this last Tuesday - May 19. One of the categories was books by Judy Blume. Spot them?

I'd heard of Fudge and Superfudge, but never read them. Never heard of Deenie. But I'd most certainly heard of AND read Forever.  

As I recall, there were two very worn out paperback copies that circulated among this little impromptu adolescent girl book club. We read the sh*t out of that book. 

I'm pretty sure it's the only Judy Blume book I've read. I understand it was quite controversial at the time - maybe still is. Also, as far as I know, my mom didn't know I read it, but who knows. She seemed to just know stuff without me knowing she knew it.

In my case, yes, it was educational. 

I don't remember much of it now, but in summary:

Two high schoolers fall in love. They have sex. It doesn't last forever. Everybody's fine. 

192 pages of that for my 13-year-old friends and I to discuss. Dang we were studious.

saving time

Happy November on standard time. I don't know anyone who likes the twice-a-year ritual of changing our clocks ahead or back an hour, but here we are still doing it. I'm more of a morning person, so if I were to choose a preference, I guess I'd go with standard time, but really, I'd be happy to just pick ONE and done.

I did another one of those Tortoise and Hare races this morning - this one a 5k. It was well attended under overcast skies and about 40 degrees F.  Results aren't in yet, so I don't have a final count on attendees, but it was probably the most crowded of these races I've done yet. Granted, I started doing them in 2020, somewhat socially distanced, so it's good to see the numbers continuing to increase.

As far as my performance, I felt pretty good about it. My big push to the finish was a bit hampered by the crowd - the nature of these Tortoise and Hares is that the pack gets thicker closer to the finish - so it was more of a big bob and weave, but much fun was had and that's the point. 

We watched a couple of movies this weekend. Firstly, Athena was an engrossing film, loaded with symbolism and complex cinematography. Thinking back on it now, I don't remember any "slow" parts with any sort of breather. That said, it's also very gritty, violent, and edgy and is not one I would recommend for the masses. It's French with English subtitles, and it was challenging to follow the dialogue while also taking in all the visuals. The ending left us with more questions than answers, and I'm sure if we watched it again, we'd see things we missed the first go around.

Nextly, we watched The Way Way Back which was certainly on the lighter side from Athena, but it had its share of emotion as well. It's about an awkward 14-year-old kid who spends the summer at a beachhouse with his mom, her jerk boyfriend, jerk boyfriend's daughter, and the somewhat lacking-in-morals adult friends of jerk boyfriend. 

It was cute, predictable, had its comedic moments, and I liked it well enough. Steve Carrell plays the jerk boyfriend, and it was interesting to see him as a non-humorous asshole for a change.

I've taken on a couple more tutees, and a common theme is how lacking in skills a lot of these kids are. I call them "lost children of the pandemic". 2020 and 2021 were not good years to be in high school. Ooch.

like you used to

My first swig of booze was from my parents' liquor cabinet. I was maybe... what... ten years old or so? Ten years old and curious about the booze thing.

Gawd, it was awful. People drank that stuff voluntarily? I don't remember what it was. Something dark. Bourbon maybe. Curiosity satisfied, I put that sh*t back in the cabinet and never touched it again.

Eventually, I made it to high school where drinking was a means to an end. Taste? What did that have to do with anything? We're only doing this to get blasted/ hammered/ smashed/ trashed/ etc., right?

I recall drinking horrible rum and cokes mixed by stupid teenagers (me and my friends) while in a gas station parking lot . One guy noted, "This tastes like Flintstone's Chewables". By George, he was right. Then there was Jungle Juice. Remember Jungle Juice?

Now, I was not a super partier by any means as a teen, but did my fair share of giving into the peer pressure for something to do. Ours was a small town, booze was easy to come by and made for lasting memories I suppose.  Bonding by hair-holding.  

Having drunk enough paint-thinner tasting concoctions by the time I was of legal age, I'd already pretty much lost interest.  Also, going in to work the morning after a night of drinking is surely made more difficult with age.

Playing some drinking game
with fellow poor friends during
the college years

I went to a university known for partying, but those were rich kid affairs - Sororities and Fraternities. I went to a Frat party or two, but never drank much at them. I mainly observed and wondered who was going to clean everything up. So much sticky.

Between classes and my part-time job, I really didn't have money or time for such things anyway.

I did very little to add to the party statistics of my school. 

Next thing I knew, I was an adult. Had a husband, mortgage, kids... 
I enjoy a nice glass of wine or beer or mixed drink on occasion in social situations. But I can't recall  the last time I would've fallen into the "drunk" category, let alone "blasted/ hammered/ smashed/ trashed".

To my kids, apparently, I am super clean and a major lightweight - or maybe "light flyweight" to use a boxing analogy.  I guess they have it in their minds that I never drink other than "maybe a halfa beer on a weekend".

I found this out at Meego's recent college graduation. He and his fellow grads/roommates hosted the potluck bash at their rental house. I sipped some champagne and a bit of beer.

Eventually, the shot ski came out, and Meego and I bellied up to join one of his roommates and roommates mom. 

L to R: Meego, Abby, Roommate, Roommate's mom

Omigosh, the cautionary advice that ensued from Chaco and Wolfgang! Which booze to allow in my shot glass, expectations, something I can handle, etc. It's like they imagined me stumbling about and peeing myself after one go at the shot ski. 

Anyways, the ONE shot I did was Deep Eddy Lemonade Vodka. I rather enjoyed it, and imagine it wouldn't have taken much more for me to become "blasted/ hammered/ smashed/ trashed". In truth, I am a lightweight, but not so squeaky clean.

I'd say it's probably a good thing I started my alcohol journey with that moonshine tasting crap we concocted in high school. 

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Linking up this week with Mama Kat for the prompt:
4. Write a blog post inspired by the word: clean

mama, he's crazy

My family doesn't make a big deal on Mother's Day, per my wishes.  It's a Hallmark Holiday and doesn't meld with my nonconfornist demeanor.  I used to gift/ send notes and cards/ call my mom when she was still around, but I've told our kids that "every day is Mother's Day" for me.

That said, two memorable Mother's Days come to mind.  

My first real job - i.e. I had to pay taxes - was as a busgirl at a hotel restaurant that was popular for Sunday brunch among the locals.  I'd been working there only a few weeks when Mother's Day rolled around, and OH Migod, the bedlam. 

So many tablefuls of so many people making so many messes:  a busperson's nightmare.  The wait staff didn't like it either since it was buffet, so tips were  non-existent to miniscule.  Kitchen staff struggled to keep the buffet stocked.  The dishwasher... oh, the poor dishwasher...

That job helped my teen drinking kick into gear.  Or at least it certainly didn't hurt. Sunday brunch mimosas became rather appealing.

So these days, I'm just happy not to be working OR attending a Mother's Day brunch.

The other  - much more memorable - Mother's Day was in 2000 when I was hugely preggars with Meego.  He was 2 weeks past his due date at that point.  

I recall being in bed and kind of flopping around like a beached whale, trying to get comfy, when I felt a strange *pop* then warmth and realized my water had broke.  I laid there for a while, on my beach, and thought, "Hmmm.  Interesting", because I'd been pregnant for so long, I'd started to feel like it was going to be a forever condition.

Just as I looked over at the bedside clock, it changed to 12 midnight.  It was officially Mother's Day.  Meego arrived all "Happy Mother's Day!" a few hours later, no Hallmark card needed.

Maybe that's another reason I don't need anything special for Mother's Day.  How they gonna top that?

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Linking up this week with Mama Kat for the prompt:

1. Write about a memorable Mother’s Day.

jet lag

It was our last days of summer youth.  We'd recently graduated high school and had few obligations.  My good friend, Ingrid, would be off soon to onboard at West Point Military Academy.  I would soon be doing less rigorous things, but on that particular day, we were pretty carefree.

That summer after high school, Ingrid had wanted to "get in shape" for West Point and sort of recruited me to join her in pre boot-camp boot-camp.  Yeah, okay, why not?

We bicycled, we ran, we didn't drink any alcohol...

And we canoed.

Ingrid's neighbor friends had a good sized canoe they let us borrow whenever we wanted.  I drove an old pickup truck with room in the bed for the neighbor canoe, so a few days during the week, we would drive up to the reservoir and paddle around before I'd go off to my restaurant busgirl job.

We'd paddle out to the middle of the lake, boot-camp style, then languish in the sun, eating chips and drinking pop.  The pop and chips probably canceled out any benefit of the paddling, but it's good to have balance.

As often happens in Colorado summertime, a violent thunderstorm approached on that afternoon as we languished among our Doritos.  Seeing the dark clouds rolling in, we roused ourselves out of our sunbathed-and-monosodium-glutamate-induced lethargy, and took up our oars.

We were making good time getting back to shore, however, the lake surface began getting choppy, and we began floundering a bit.  The storm did not flounder but continued its relentless approach.

Motor boats - our companions on the lake that day - were zipping by toward shore as Ingrid and I paddled away in our suddenly realized slow, exposed craft.  I glanced to Ingrid behind me to see her determined look:  her face sweaty and focused, her hair wild in the wind and humidity.  I thought, "better her than me going off to West Point".

Dark clouds made it seem like it was almost nighttime even though it was mid-afternoon.  Would we make it back to shore before things got really crazy? 

But then, alas, a good sized waterski boat came up behind us, and I heard its engine slow.  It was driven by Jet, the high school football coach (yeah, he really went by "Jet").

"YOU GIRLS NEED A TOW BACK TO SHORE?", he called all masculinely in his typical shirtless presentation.  Maybe a slight smirk on his thickly mustached face.

And I was all, "Oh thank gawd, let's get the hell outta here", as raindrops began pelting.

But not before Ingrid raised her sweat stained wild haired head and replied, "NO, WE'RE GOOD".

I looked at Ingrid.  I looked at Jet. I resumed my fervored paddling.

Jet hit his throttle and left us to make our way back under our own power.  I glanced again back at Ingrid.

"That chauvinist pig isn't gonna be the one to save our asses!"

And with that, we saved our own asses.  

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Linking up this week with Mama Kat for the prompt:

4. Write a blog post inspired by the word: flounder.

 
along with a little...
2. Tell us about a random act of kindness that you witnessed or were a part of.

since he DID stop to ask, and we actually did survive.

a little bit of everything all of the time

I was sitting between two others on the bench seat of a pickup, holding on to a couple of "forties".  I don't remember who the driver was or who had the window seat.  I was 15 or 16 years old, and the three of us had gone on a booze run from a party we'd been attending.  Who bought the booze?  Why forties?

Those questions didn't really matter to me at the time because I was thinking, "Wow, my first drunken high school party!!"  Yeah, I'd made the "big time" *snore*.

I recall that my first real "ex" was also at that party.  He'd been a bigtime crush - sent my heart all a-flutter just at the site of him.  He drove a Pontiac Thunderbird - the only one like it in town - and whenever I saw that car, I became a big noodle, knowing he was in there.

Earlier that school year, I'd gathered all of my nerves and asked  him to go to the Homecoming dance with me.  OMG, what was I thinking?! I was a sophomore, he'd been a senior the year I was in 8th grade!

But I'd crushed on him big time, and it worked.  I actually called him from a payphone to ask him out because this was LONG before cell phones, and I didn't want anyone in my house overhearing the momentous call.  

We went to Homecoming and were together for a while.  It eventually fizzled the way these things do, so then I had an ex!  AND I was at a drunken high school party!!  Woo hoo, look at me checkin' all the boxes!

Thankfully, while I attended that party and many more to follow, I was never a big drinker - or smoker for that matter.  In the low-income small town where I grew up, "drugs for the rich" weren't much of a problem as far as I knew.  Alcohol and weed were about it.

Oh sure, I underwent that rite of passage, but in the end, I got over the "let's get shitfaced!" mentality pretty quickly.  That served me well later in college as I'd already gotten my party days out of me for the most part.  I was too broke to party much in college, plus I needed to do my homework.

College was where I met the equally not-into-getting-shitfaced Magnum, who eventually asked me to marry him.  Admittedly, I think we both were a little tipsy at the impromptu proposal.

There are so called "healthy" addictions too.  I've sometimes wondered if I'm addicted to running since I've enjoyed running for as long as I can remember.  Times when I couldn't run - e.g. injuries and pregnancies - I would sometimes have dreams about running, then wake up and be all, "ah, bummer".

Or people will ask what I'm training for, and I'm, "Nothing.  It's just for fun".  But I'm sure I'm not addicted.  Pretty sure.

For January of this year, a local running store created a challenge on the running app I use: walk or run at least one mile a day for 15 days in January to be entered in a drawing for a free pair of shoes.  I signed up, mainly to support the store but not expecting to win anything.  January came to a close.

This morning, I decided to see what was what with that challenge.

Lo and behold.

My name?  Listed as the winner?

I thought maybe the app was glitching.

But nope, apparently it's legit.

New shooz for me!

Not only do I get freebie shoes, but everyone who participated gets a 15% discount in February.

What a nice thing for that store to do.  These COVID times, businesses are hurting. 

And I thought I'd link up with Mama Kat this week, but it was a tough decision regarding which prompt to write about!

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1. Tell us about something you are “addicted” to.
2. Write about your proposal.
3. Tell us about a crush you had in high school.
4. Write a blog post inspired by the word: party
5. Share a blog post about a tough decision.
6. Tell us about the last nice thing somebody did for you

how did I get here?

I have this photo tacked up in my home office.  It fell out of a box of other photos when we were moving in to this house.  I thought of chucking it back into the box, but paused and decided to tack it to my cork board.

Not sure why I was making that face, that smirk. But I can remember being that age - about 12 or 13 years old.  I was thinking more about who I was and what I would do in the future.  I was becoming more independent of my parents.  I was noticing boys, and subsequently, my clothing and hair choices.  Note the precursor to the Farrah hair of high school.  Clothing would need to catch up.

I remember reading - in a magazine article or such - about getting back to your "true" self as an adult.  The article suggested thinking back to when you were about 12 or 13 years old.  I guess that is supposedly our "true" self age?

So that's why I tacked the photo up.  To remind me to be myself.  

I'm thinking of this because Astrid over at A Multitude of Musings posed the question of what 12-year-old you would never believe about your current self.  

Well, the answer for me would easily be my current job in geriatric nutrition - specifically the "Front of House" side of things.  Certainly health and nutrition were of interest back then, but more the science of it.  And  geriatrics?  Nope.  Serving geriatric meals?  Heck no. 

But things change and life leads us down paths we don't anticipate.  I started out post-college life in the corporate world, which made sense to 12-year-old me.  In addition, I

• ✅ got married and had kids
• ✅ was a busy volunteer mom 
• ✅ did some teaching and tuting

This food and nutrition gig is all right, though, mainly taken on as a part-time "retirement" job.  Then the boss made me lead Den Mother.  I waivered on that one, but 12-year-old me said to do it.

Today, our boss gathered us and announced that she's resigning.  She's accepted a position that is a step up for her, and it's a good time for her to move on.  We're all a bit wary as she's a well-liked manager, and we're bracing for what could happen next.  

As she gave us the news, she noted that any of us should feel free to apply for her position once the opening is posted.  I swear I caught a brief telling moment of eye contact.

Oh, hell to the no.  Shut up 12-year-old me.  You don't know what you're talking about.  And wipe that smirk off your face.

What would surprise 12-year-old you about your life right now?

working for the law

"Are you the sheriff!?  Ahahahaha!"

*snore* They thought they were so witty.

My first real job - a job that provided real paychecks with stubs and FICA and Social Security line items - I took when I was 16.  Well, I think I was actually 15 when I started, but don't say anything because it might've been a violation of child labor laws.

Either way, I was a hostess/busgirl at a popular restaurant establishment that was housed inside a popular hotel establishment in my hometown.  My job was to seat customers, tell 'em the specials, get 'em water, clean up after 'em, make sure all the waitresses had a fair share of tables, blah, blah, blah. I also received payments and made change back in the day when "I can make change" looked good on an application.

The hotel catered mostly to tourists rather than business travelers as it was the first real stop in Colorado just north of the New Mexico border along the interstate.  Plus, my hometown was rather podunk, so who would be there on business?

Other than that, most of our guests at the time were in town for their gender reassignment surgeries, and that's another part of the town's history.

Because of that prime location, the hotel and restaurant were typically very busy and often filled to capacity.  Weary travelers would stop, looking to book a room, and be all shocked to find we had no vacancies.

"B-b-b-but... it's just a little podunk town!"

And at the time, the management played the game by decking the place out in full western regalia.  As if to say, "Welcome to Colorado!  Home of cowboys and cowgirls and nuthin' else!"

As such, a portion of the restaurant, aptly called "the corral", was enclosed in a fricken' horse fence.  All us front of house people wore cowboy shirts and denim skirts.  We wore bandanas around our  necks and had name tags that looked like sheriff badges.

I can't tell you how many times some annoying tourist asked me if I was the sheriff.  There was one who got a little creative and instead asked, "Are you the law?", so I always found him a little more endearing than the others... which isn't saying much.




Here is my class picture taken from my cowgirl busgirl era.  I remember it because I had to register for school after my shift ended and didn't have time to change my shirt, so my class photo for my Junior year looks like I just came in from the barn.


At least I remembered to remove the bandana and sheriff badge and fluff my Farrah hair.





We were actually located outside the city limits, so when we did have to invoke the law, it was indeed the sheriff we called.  A couple times I remember had to do with drunk guys getting in bar fights and a weird couple getting naked in the pool and brandishing a hand gun.

Omigosh, it really was the wild west.

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Linking up this week with Mama Kat for the prompt:
5. Tell us about one of your very first jobs.

there's room for maybe just one more

Why doesn't Dracula have any children?
Because he has a hollow weenie.

*GROAN*

My high school science teacher told us that joke and thought it was just the funniest thing, while we all just looked blankly at him.  But damn if I don't think of it every Halloween. 

I filled up a bowl with the candy I'd bought and thought it didn't seem like enough, so I picked up some more candy.  I should've stuck with the original.  It was a very low traffic Halloween night as was expected because of all the snow and cold.  We were generous with the handouts, but still...

At around 8-ish, I declared, "next bunch gets the whole bowl!". 

There was no next bunch, so Magnum's office gets the leftovers. 

I've mentioned here that we have one of those Ring®️ Doorbells.  I learned that there's a snooze feature that allows stopping notifications for when there's a lot of expected activity.  The goblins were so few and far between, I didn't see the need to snooze. 

The groups who visited were mostly two or three older kids trick-or-treating together, or very little kids with parents waiting in the shadows.  I did rather enjoy this group that accompanied a young boy of about 8 years.  They were all dressed up and even brought the dog 🐶
The adults in the group spotted the doorbell cam, hence the wave.

In other news, while on my candy run, I decided to get that flu shot yesterday.  The pharmacist upsold me a tetanus shot too.  She also sold me on a shingles vaccine, but I said I'd do that next week because I didn't feel like a 3-for.

I'm wanting to get this stuff done before the end of the year since our health insurance provider is changing, and we don't know the details yet.  I scheduled a tooth filling for later this month as I wanted to get that other bum tooth all taken care of before returning to regular programming. 

The tooth hole seems to be healing, but it's a weird feeling.  For so long I had a dull ache from that tooth, now it's gone.  When I'd get my heart rate up slightly, I could feel my pulse in that tooth, and that's gone too.  I could gauge my heart rate from my tooth, it was like a built-in monitor. 

What am I supposed to do now?!  Nevermind, I can get used to this.

high and dark

We were sitting on a log, a few feet back from the first row of partiers gathered around the fire.  Where it was dark.

Several of the others were also friends from work.  Jimmy and I were coworkers at a restaurant.  I was in high school, and Jimmy was a year or two older, but I'm not sure if Jimmy ever graduated.  We sat customers to tables and then cleaned the tables after they left, a.k.a. "host and bus".  Jimmy was known around town as a tough kid.  Got in fights and never lost.  He wasn't big, but he was muscular and quick.  He told me he won fights because he was so quick.

We went to the party after work.  It was summertime and we were pretty tired because the restaurant was always busy in the summer months.  So it was nice to be quietly sitting there on that log.  Where it was dark.

Jimmy pulled out a baggie from his shirt pocket.  From the baggie, he pulled out a previously rolled joint.  He put it to his lips and lit it with a long drag.  He held it between his thumb and index finger as a wordless offering to me. Where it was dark

"Where'd you get that?", I asked him

"My brother", he answered.

But Jimmy had lots of brothers.

I took the weed and had a puff.  I wasn't a very experienced smoker, but I tried.  Then I gave it back to Jimmy, who took another slow drag as we sat on that log and watched the fire and the people in front of us closer to the fire.

We were talking about whatever small-town teenagers talk about after their tourist restaurant jobs while sitting on a log while sharing marijuana from a brother while sitting a few feet back from others sitting around a fire.

Then Jimmy pointed up and to his left.

He said, "Look, a falling star"

I turned my head to look in his direction.  That's when he kissed me.

Funny guy, that Jimmy


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Linking up with MamaKat this week for the prompt
3.) Write a blog post inspired by the word: dark.

thanks for sharing *sarcasm*

A high school here in Colorado had a sexting scandal in the news for much of last year.  Much sharing of many nekkid photos.  Officials pondered what to do.  Under current law, those kids were technically participating in child porn distribution.

While we adults shook our heads at the stupidness of the activity, the general consensus is that it goes on a lot, those particular kids just happened to get caught.

When I was a stupid teenager, we were a long ways from cell phones.  One feature of that era of my life is that 3.2 beer was available to anyone at least 18 years old.  "3.2 bars" - or underage dance clubs - were a regular hangout for teens, and my home town had a couple of popular ones.  Friday and Saturday nights would find us there, dancing and socializing and drinking pitchers of Coors Light in all our awesome 80's fashion.

Random Google Image

Occasionally, the bars would have some sort of "mixer" event.  I remember one such  night around the time the fall session was about to begin at the local junior college, as a way to welcome new students, I suppose.

There was a sexy legs contest - open to guys and girls both - and a wet t-shirt contest.  Just girls for that one...

And let the record show that I did not enter, nor did I want to enter either!

To me, the contests seemed rather sleazy but cheaply entertaining except for when people I knew got involved.  One guy I was sort of dating at the time entered the legs contest.  He did have nice legs, and he just walked around the stage wearing nothing below the waist other than his tightie whities and a pair of cowboy boots.  He was a nice guy, and my view of him dropped after that.

I asked him about it later, and he embarrassingly explained that he was a bit drunk and let friends talk him into it.  Side note:  he won.

Another once-nice-guy I'd dated (I really didn't get around THAT much, it just seems like guys I dated had a penchant for entering sleazy contests?) got into the legs contest, stripping down to a tiny jock strap and doing what I guess he thought was a sexy dance.  My view of him took a definite plunge.

I don't remember much about the wet t-shirt contest except for the girl who won.  I remember because she was the older sister of a good friend of mine.  She must've been in her  mid- to late 20s at the time, and I was wondering why she hung out at the teen bar.

She came onto the stage in her drenched shirt and began dancing embarrassingly around and looking like the old lady she relatively was.  As with the leg contest, winners were chosen based on the amount of applause from the crowd of spectators.  She was getting an okay amount of applause when she reached down and removed her shirt completely.

Needless to say, she won.

Now, I'm no prude, but I found that particularly pathetic.  First of all, why hang out as old lady in the teen bar?  And why take off the shirt?

Maybe it's good that people have opportunities to expose *snicker* a side of themselves and let others get a more well rounded *ahem* picture of who they are underneath the surface *COUGH*.  Better to find these things out sooner rather than later.  Also, kids do dumb things sometimes that they later regret when caught up in the pack mentality.

Nowadays it's even easier to do the dumb stuff.  We had big hair, but we didn't have any sexting back in the 80s.  That's a good thing.

Ever shared anything you later regretted sharing?  Care to share?

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Linking up with Mama Kat for the prompt:
4. Write a blog post that ends with the word: share


.

throwback Thurthday

Well, I hope everyone had a happy Marijuana Day.   We celebrated in our usual fashion - by making no notice of it.

Meego had the day off school since a while back, many school districts in Colorado decided to give students that day off.  Marijuana Day coupled with the anniversary of the Columbine shootings deems 4/20 a bit of an Asking-For-Trouble Day, so it has traditionally become a Teacher Development Day.

I think it's safe to say that since recreational pot became legal in Colorado, the number and identities of resident users before and after has pretty much remained the same.  I understand that weed has become a bit of a tourist attraction, however.  Oh well, helps the tax revenues.  We've got more to offer than snow now.





But speaking of Meego and before-and-afters.  I was at the orthodontist's office this week.  Meego was getting his braces removed.

As I sat in the waiting room doing some reading for school, a woman of about 30 years old walked in.  I'd say the majority of patients there are kids, but just barely.  I'm a bit surprised at the number of adults - mostly women - with braces.  In fact, I sometimes run into our 50+ year old veterinarian there.

Anyway, the woman was rather tall and leggy with long straight hair.  Pretty.  As soon as she came in, the receptionist was all, "Oh, HI!  You're getting your braces off today aren't you!"

Tall pretty woman with braces replied quietly that yes, she was.

"You wanna be our 'before and after' for our facebook page today?!", the receptionist asked.

"Uh...  okay...", was the response.

Hmm... so Meego didn't make the orthodontist facebook page, but lucky for him, his mom has a blog *COUGH*

I actually couldn't remember when that first evaluation day was.  Lucky for me, I have a blog, and what would oversharing be if it didn't include a kid's first day of orthodontia?  He's had braces for two years, but that first evaluation, I found from digging in the archives, was three and half years ago?!  Sheesh, he was just a little kid...

That's when we learned that his teeth were crooked, his jaws were misaligned, and if we didn't fix them, we were heinous child abusers.

Okay fine.

But, he's made it to the promised land.  Monday, the braces came off.

Later that evening, Chaco stopped by.  He wanted some tax advice - WHAAAT?!  Oh well, that's another story.  I asked him if he noticed anything different about Meego.

"Uhm... he looks... browner"

Okay, not quite the answer I was expecting, but then...

"Oh, he got his braces off!  Now his teeth are straighter than mine".

Bingo

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Linking up with Mama Kat this week for the prompt:

1. Throwback Thursday: Choose a photo from a previous April and write a poem or a blog post.

(I know the "before" pics are not from a previous April, but I thought they were before I found out the truth, and I'm not coming up with something else now...)


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the prodigal returneths

Tuesday was check-in day for Meego at the high school.  EEP, my *baby* is in high school!

It so happens, I was tutoring one of Meego's classmates over the summer, and Tuesday morning, just before check-in, was our last session. 

My tutee showed up looking crisp and alert.  At one point, he was working and a small hair clipping fell onto his paper.

"Oh, ha!  I'm shedding!", he remarked, "I just got a haircut".

And I knew it was probably because it was check-in day, which is also Picture Day = photo ID day. I'd been thinking of that because, lo and behold, Meego had actually requested a haircut a couple of days prior!  But, alas, I - being the barber of Abbyville - had yet to get around to it.

And there we were.  Picture Day was upon us.  And there I was, with my crisp looking, freshly shorn student - someone else's kid - while Meego languished in his mop top on the verge of being before the camera.

I think it was band camp that did it.  All that hair... trying to stuff it under his hat each day, thinking how much cooler and easier short hair would be. 

So he not only requested a haircut, but he said he was seriously contemplating a short haircut, like from the days of yore. Works for me!




Except... I was busy, y'know? The schedules just didn't align properly to get it done before check-in day.  So, off Meego went to get  his school year ducks in a row.  He returned with his fresh photo ID.






Then yesterday, we finally got to the shearing. 

He seems happy with it, while feeling a bit weird.  There's also some concern about the start of school next week. 

When he shows his ID...

will anyone believe it's him?

this one time?

Meego starts band camp today.  Each of our kids participated in middle school band, but Meego is the only one who has, so far, spilled over into high school.

It's not sleepover camp, just nine fun-filled days at the high school.  I think it's mainly for the newbies, the optional sleepover camps being for the true band geeks.

It's reminded me of my own band camp experiences during the summer between my junior and senior years of high school.  Off I went from our little coal-mining / sex-change town to big Denver.  Five fun-filled days, with four sleepovers at a college campus.

It wasn't TRUE band camp however, but just flag / rifle / percussion camp, me being with the flags.  There were four of us flag girls, two rifle girls, no percussors.  Our band director drove us up in one of those huge 80s station wagons.

I was excited, a little nervous, and already missing my boyfriend - ah, teen drama.


Our director had put me in the "advanced" group, another of us in the "intermediate", and two newbies with the "beginners".  He sent me off with those advanced big-city flag girls, and actually spent most of his time with the newbies!

I remember our instructor was from the Blue Devils Drum and Bugle Corps flag squad.  Fun, energetic, and a great leader.  She appeared that first morning, looking very strong, which had me wondering what she had in store for us.

Soon, we were in formation, going through drills.  The more we drilled, the less intimidated I became.  I noticed that those big city flag girls weren't all that sharp after all.  I was holding my own just fine!

I ended up having much fun, learning new moves, and making new friends.  

Then there was the time spent in the phone booth with my sniffling boyfriend *omg*.

I DID miss him.  I don't remember what we talked about, I just remember our alone time in that dorm phone booth.  I know what we didn't talk about though...

Back then, flag and rifle squads consisted of just girls.   We'd go through our hot daily schedules of drills and routines and practice, practice, practice, but I know we all looked forward to what became known as "drummer time"


We'd hear them before we saw them - the percussion teams.  While we flags and rifles had our designated patches of grass among the many fields, the drummers marched all around campus.  They'd come through our areas, announcing their presence with a stirring cadence.  We'd stop and watch and cheer them on. 




They were probably as geeky as we were, after all, they were at optional band camp.

But they were the only boys we saw for five days.  And, wisely, they stayed in a different dorm. 

Rock Stars.

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Find Abby?
She's probably back row, fourth from the right

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that summer

End of July, 1981.  I was 16 years old - summer between my sophomore and junior years of high school.

It was morning.  Early.  My dad came into my bedroom and woke me up.  Said we needed to get up.  This was weird because (1) my dad never entered my bedroom during all my teen years, and (2) my dad never entered my bedroom during all my teen years.  I think he was kind of afraid of me at that stage - a teenaged girl with who-knows-what going on hormonally at any given time - even though I was his own kid.

He'd said something about how there was no water.  I still didn't know how that equated to us having to get up at butt crack of dawn.  In fact, to this day, I still don't.

The thing what happened was, the water main into town broke, so there was no running water for anyone.  Nowadays, I hear about water mains breaking and people being out of running water for a couple of hours.  In my hometown, in summer of 1981, we went for two weeks.

We'd been made aware of the impending stoppage of water flow.  The break was somewhere upstream from town, so until the main was emptied, we still had running water, which everyone proceeded to hoard.  In our house, we filled our bathtubs and some big garbage cans.  We were not immune to the hoarding.

And then, just like that, the water stopped.

For two weeks.

Several restaurants and other businesses closed.  People ate with plasticware off of paper plates.  I remember feeling hot and sticky all of the time.  Prince Charles and Lady Diana got married while we were having our waterless summer.  My best friend and I watched the glittering ceremony on TV while hot, dirty, grimy, and snacking on canned Chef Boyardee with a spork.

And then there were the water buffaloes.

See, the army came to the rescue, in the form of water buffaloes.  Not the big cow-looking animals, but these things:

Water buffaloes were stationed at various places, and our neighborhood had one at the end of the street.  Each household was allowed a certain  number of gallons per day.   I don't remember the circumstances, but it seems like it was usually me that was sent to fetch the water.  In the beginning.

I'd just walk down the street in my short shorts and flip flops and have the empties filled up by the young, strong, heroic army guardsmen.  Maybe we'd chit chat a bit.  Then I'd lug the water home.

One evening, my mom came with me to help lug the water.  I remember the concerned look on her face as she sized up the young, strong, heroic army guardsmen, then looked to me in my summer outfit as my heart rate probably increased and my pupils probably dilated.

After that, Mom made sure that she or someone else came with me to get the water.  Moms.

Eventually, we townfolk were told to open up our faucets because water would soon flow again, and a sudden spike in pressure could break the pipes.  We opened and waited as nothing flowed from the faucets.

Then one day it happened.

I remember it clearly.  I was bored and went out to pedal around on my bicycle for lack of anything else.  I was slowly rolling around on the street in front of our house when I heard the most eerie sound.  Like a ghost moaning.  Not that I've ever really heard a ghost moaning, but like I imagine a ghost would sound if it were moaning.

I stopped pedaling and looked around, thinking Armageddon had arrived, when lo and behold, water began spewing forth from the lawn sprinklers.  From everyone's lawn sprinklers.  Cool, clear, beautiful, magnificent water.  Came in sputtering at first, but soon flowed like oil from a struck well.  It was like Christmas only way better.

I think of that summer every time I flush.

Not really.
.....

Hookin' up with Mama Kat today
3.) A memorable summer.

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throw back thursday

Meego is supposedly getting his schedule requests in for the start of high school next year.  We all went to the school for a disorganized event  on Monday evening.

It's possible that it was more organized than we experienced because we showed up about an hour and a half after it began because we couldn't possibly imagine they would have two and a half hours of things to go through.

Never had to do that with Chaco and Wolfgang, by the way, even though it's the same high school they attended.  Oh well, the main draw was that he would get a t-shirt.  He got that and a tote backpack too, so  - win!

 He seems to be organizing his year around the extracurriculars:

"So... I can do marching band in the fall, basketball in the winter, and track in spring?"

"Yep.  Hey, that's what I did in high school!"

He looks at me weirdly, and then says, "YOU played BASKETBALL?!"

Okay, so why is that shocking?

"Yes!  I used to be way taller in high school!", I answered

He didn't believe that.

But I still don't know why it was a surprising revelation.  I explained that anyone can play basketball, there are positions for the shorter ones, especially if they're quick.  And I'm not all THAT short (5'5"), but Meego has just recently noticed that he's just at about my height and has no intention of stopping there.

"WILSON!!" ~ Tom Hanks

So I checked my HS yearbook to make sure I wasn't imagining it all.

Not surprisingly, I was a point guard.

I also happened to be a team captain my senior year.

I managed to make all-state honorable mention sumpin' sumpin' that year too.

I was heavily recruited by several top colleges.  Okay, THAT was  major imagination!

But most importantly, I had fun and made lasting friendships.  I know the yearbook pic doesn't prove to Meego that I actually PLAYED basketball in high school, but it's all I've got.






Clearly, I've been giving him way too much leeway when we go out and shoot hoops.  He's going to definitely need to up his game now!

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I just wanna say...

This month's NaBloPoMo theme is "love and sex", centered on Valentine's Day, no doubt.  So I've blogged on a couple of the prompts dealing with "firsts" - first crush, first love... without going into a great amount of detail.

I do like to keep things pretty lighthearted around here, but I want to acknowledge that real crushes and real first loves can be quite intense, dramatic, and often dangerous.  The teenage years are volatile ones when level-headedness, foresight, and maturity aren't always on par with physical development!

Speaking from my own experiences as well as those of friends and acquaintances, I just want to caution against taking teenage romance too lightly.  Those relationships shouldn't be lumped in the same bucket as the little pretend romances we have as young children.  From an article in Psychology Today:

"Adults who underestimate the strength of the bond-- or the impact of the loss -- of a first love may have forgotten what a blow it was when they lost their own first loves. They may even try to comfort teenagers with lighthearted lessons: a surprising number of men and women wrote to me to bitterly complain about parents who joked years ago, "Don't worry! Boyfriends/girlfriends are like buses... a new one comes along every ten minutes!" This was not helpful, and it was not funny. The loss of a first love can be so crushing to some teenagers that they become suicidal."

Sad but true.  And that's all I want to say about that.

Thus endeth today's Public Service Announcement.
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halls of higher learning

On the few occasions that I have been at my kids' largish high school during a passing period, I've been a bit overwhelmed by the sheer mass of teenaged humanity.  My own high school was relatively small, just a little over a hundred students in my graduating class.  So while at my kids', I've mainly needed to just focus on getting from point A to point B, not really taking time to observe the general behavior.

A few weeks ago, I was in another local high school during a passing period.  Now, that school is just slightly bigger than the one I attended.  It was a much more familiar scene.  Not so much a mass of teenaged humanity, but the air was thick with pubescent hormone driven activity.

Like a lot of people, my first love came about in high school.  Living in a small town where everybody knew everybody, I knew of my boyfriend quite a few years before he was a boyfriend.  In fact, for some reason, I have a vivid first memory of watching him shoot a free throw during an 8th grade basketball game.  It would be about another three years before I took much notice again.

I was a high school sophomore and he was a junior.  We were both on the track team, and track was a sport where boys and girls practiced together - being separated by the events we did rather than by gender.  I was a sprinter, he was a hurdler and jumper.  Close enough.

We became good friends at first, getting through practices and cheering each other on during track meets.  It wasn't until early in the following school year that we began "going out".



I've always liked the quiet ones for some reason, and "DJ" was no different.  He excelled at sports, but unlike a lot of "jocks", he was rather shy.  Academically he.... well, he excelled at sports.

Soon I was head over heels, and he and I were part of the passing period PDA show.  In all, we were together for about 2 years - half of my high school "career" - which seems about 10 years in real life.




Also, like a lot of first loves, our ending wasn't without messiness.  Those final months were a roller coaster of break-up, make-up, break-up, make-up...  but we eventually got over ourselves and moved on.

Our first loves, although they usually happen when we are quite young, can be pretty powerful.  I even think they can be more powerful than those that come later when we're "mature" and have other goals and  responsibilities.  Either way, they certainly shape our future relationships.

In fact, I know that Magnum can thank/blame DJ for setting the stage for him.  But that's for a whole 'nother post...

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From the NaBloPoMo prompt:
"How old were you the first time you fell in love?"

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'Cause there's music in the air and lots of lovin' everywhere

Let's call him Doogie.

He was 19 when I was 15 and had a major crush on him.  It's hard to say what it was that I found so crushworthy, but I clearly recall how there was just something about HIM that set HIM apart from all the rest.  Whenever he appeared in my line of sight, I could practically feel the skipped beat of my heart and the dilation of my pupils.  What the...?  I was fifteen!

He was actually kind of a "pretty boy", not my usual preference.  Designer jeans, just right hair.  He drove a very unique, pretty car, none other like it in town.  Seeing the car caused the same physical response in me that seeing Doogie caused.

I brazenly asked him to go with me to my high school's homecoming dance (he couldn't ask me, he'd already graduated!).  He accepted and countered by asking to take me to the football game the night before the dance.  From then on, we were a couple.  For a while.

Looking back, I wonder what my parents thought.  I'm sure my mother wasn't happy about such an "older" man/boy.  I don't think my mother would've been happy with anyone for me when I was 15.  But I don't remember her saying anything specific about it.  We lived in a small town.  Everyone knew everybody else.  The whole town had eyes.  Doogies' dad cut my dad's hair.

I didn't love Doogie.  Just puppy loved him, I guess.  We didn't last beyond puppydom.  But still, whenever I hear George Benson, I think of Doogie.


And so, my first crush, my first boyfriend  - not counting Frank, whom I "married" in first grade.  Hmmm.. maybe I really should count Frank?

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From NaBloPoMo prompt:
"Tell us about your first crush"

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leaves

It was a beautiful sunny morning.  We met at one house, then the four of us piled into one car and headed towards the mountains.

It was a pretty drive in all it's fall color glory.  Music streamed through the car stereo with us switching out the cassettes in the tape deck occasionally for a nice variety of tunes.  Two girls, two guys.

One of the boys, Derwin, was just a good friend of mine, as was the other girl Lana.  The other boy, Ringo was new to our circle and had been dating Lana for a couple of weeks.

We reached our destination and got out of the car for a fall hike.  It was a perfect day for it.

As I got to know him, I found I didn't really like Ringo.  He was nice looking, but arrogant and too worried about messing up his designer clothes.  Seriously?  We're hiking.  Lana could do better.

Lana must have realized it on that trip too.  She and Ringo began to bicker with each other about every little thing.  Derwin and I tried to just ignore them and enjoy our time in nature, but I think Derwin was having a hard time relaxing.  He was the one who'd set Ringo  and Lana up.

Still, we managed a nice enough hike thanks to the beautiful weather and fall colors that day.  We made it back to the trailhead and found another friend, Munchie, from town was there.  He was by himself in his car and we went over to hang out for a while.  Pretty soon, he broke out a baggie of pot.

Ringo seemed ecstatic at the sight of the weed.  Lana was uncomfortable.  Derwin seemed to feel it an intrusion.  Yet, pretty soon a joint was rolled and lit.  Lana refused to smoke, already having inwardly broken things off with and acting very cool towards Ringo.  The guys happily partook of the doobie, and when they passed it to me, I thought, what the hell.  Maybe it would make Ringo less obnoxious.

Things did lighten up after that.

Munchie took off in his car and the four of us hung back a while.  Ringo wanted to talk with Lana alone.  He must've sensed he was losing her and wanted a last chance to adorn her with his charms.  They went off into the woods.

Derwin and I hung back at the trailhead, talking about whatever.  We'd been good friends since kindergarten.  He was like a cousin to me.

As we hung out in our fogged state, just talking about nothing, waiting for Ringo and Lana to work out their issues, Derwin told me he wanted to kiss me.  WTF?

I just laughed because... well, pot?

He laughed too, then said, "No, really".

Sh*t

Next thing, we're smooching.  He wasn't too shabby, but still... we'd been friends for too long, plus something just wasn't doing it for me.  I looked at him to convey, "Okay, there.  Can we be done now?"

Ringo and Lana soon returned.  Lana as fed up as ever, Ringo as annoying as ever.  Derwin never kissed me again.  We never spoke of it, and remained good friends.

Like me, Derwin is now happily married to a lovely man.

An annoying guy, a bickering couple, unwanted drugs, kisses from a gay boy.


For today's NaBloPoMo prompt:
Maybe not the Worst but... "Tell us about the worst trip you ever took."
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