I took my dog, Kasey, to the vet today. She’s sort of a small-medium size, looks like “Benji” from the movie. Turned 13 years old on Valentine’s Day, she’s been slowing down quite a bit in the last year or so. Naturally, I first noticed this with a jovial “Join the club!” kind of response. But, today, when I lifted her onto the table to be examined, she looked at me, and my heart suddenly seized.
The look in her eyes is new; it’s different. It wasn’t her regular, “Whoa, why are we here again? I hate this place!” Her gaze is beginning to say something else these days. Waiting for her veterinarian to come in, the two of us locked eyes for a long moment, and her expression spoke so clearly it was like hearing Kasey’s voice.
Today's column is titled “Morons: Why So Many?” Now, don't get all offended -- we each have our moron moments. I know I do. (For the sake of brevity, I won't address my own stupidity today, except to say that it is occasionally stunning.)
Example 1: I subscribe to The Wall Street Journal (as well as The Herald-Sun). I went on spring break last week, and canceled the WSJ during that time. When I got home Tuesday, my neighbor brought my mail along with a pile of newspapers that had been delivered every day while I was away. I called to tell them they messed up: No problem, you’ll get full credit.
It’s Easter, and my love to you all! (No, I’m not in the bourbon, I’m on spring break … FINALLY!) In honor of this wondrous holiday, I began the following poem:
OK, I’m on a tear right now, and unless you’re interested in getting on it with me, I think you’d best put down this paper and maybe take a walk, eat a doughnut, or go shoe shopping. In fact, I’ll give you a slow ten-count to get yourself out of the line of fire ... I’m counting ... aaaand 10!
I’m in the mountains for spring break. (Most of my students are, a) in Hawaii; b) in Europe; or c) on a cruise, whereas the only way I could afford even the mountains was if I came with a friend who owns a house here. “Free” is my favorite price.)
Meanwhile, there are only nine more days, folks. Nine more days until the tax man cometh. I’m sure you knew that. I’m sure you’ve got everything organized, listed, filled-in, calculated and submitted. You probably had your H&R Block appointment weeks, or even months, ago, and are waiting for your $11,000 refund … this is a big reason you and I will never be friends. I brought all my tax stuff up here, hoping to find someone who will “do” my taxes for … well … nothing!
I don’t know who you are, but I don’t mind that you drove up to see my house for sale, since you can’t see the house from the street, and you were driving a nice BMW, so I figured you were probably not a robber or serial killer, although why can’t a serial killer drive a BMW if he wants to, it’s a free country!
Anyway, you seemed to like what you saw -- even if you haven’t made an appointment to see it yet, not that I’m pushing -- because I could see someone smiling in the car, although if you’re riding around in a BMW why wouldn’t you smile, right?
People often ask me where I “come up with” the ideas for my columns. I don’t have to “come up with” anything, because my life is naturally filled with material from the moment I get out of bed. I’m a woman, a daughter, a sister, a mother, a teacher, a dog-owner, a consumer, a driver -- combine that with the fact that I am a gal for whom the simplest things become complicated, bizarre, hilarious, dangerous and unheard-of events, and you’ll begin to get it. My life just kind of writes itself. Watch:
Last week, I covered classes for a friend who teaches high school PE. I don’t normally cover anyone in PE, because I hate to sweat, whereas sweating seems to be the goal of Physical Education classes. You know, all that heart-rate-target-zone stuff, which, please, I can’t ever get the math right anyway, so I shouldn’t be expected to, like, do it. I also can’t do the math for the “Body Mass Index,” thank God, so I can’t be blamed for not adhering to that, either.
Welcome back to Part II of “How The Threat of Horrible Pain Can Make You Skinny” -- or, how I have finally discovered the answer to fast, effective weight loss -- which I learned because I was in desperate need of avoiding the potentially horrendous pain of a knee replacement. I know you probably think I’m just a ridiculous, wussified weakling because this potentially horrendous pain scares me so much, and you think I just need to get over it and woman-up, grit my teeth and take it, and you know what? I don’t care.
Those of you who have wandered with me over the years through every diet plan, opinion, advice, success, failure, misery and raison d’etre (that’s right, I am waxing lyrical, mostly because I’m hungry) will be thrilled (or skeptical, or possibly bored) to know that I have finally found my answer. No, it will not be the answer for all of you -- not the vegetarians or vegans or fruitarians, and especially not those who don’t need to lose weight because they “have the metabolism of a hummingbird and can eat just anything I want and it NEVER affects me (giggle)!” And, to that last group, I would say firmly: Turn the page, close the computer, go out into the world and spread your joy -- we will never be friends.
I went to the mountains with friends last weekend, since we had three days off, and got there just in time to see their snow! Ten frickin’ inches of it, slammin’ down like angry BBs, defying the fairly warm ground not to let it accumulate. HAH, said the snow, absorb THIS!
And, with the wind blowing as well, it was like walking through a sandstorm -- snow in every nook and cranny you own, I mean nooks and crannies you didn’t even KNOW you owned. And, I absolutely loved it.
Tonight is one of the holiest ones of the basketball season: UNC is playing Duke. If you didn’t know that, or don’t care about it, just put the paper down now. You wouldn’t understand how UNC Royaholics feel today, or often this season. You just wouldn’t “get” our agonizing over the bewildering losses, the repeated miscalculations -- and the frickin’ inability to make a frickin’ foul shot - that have overwhelmed our hero … oh, and the boys, too … this season.
Five more days till Valentine’s Day, and gentlemen, I’m sure you’re as ready as the ladies are. Even ready-er. Super Ready! You’ve planned, researched and organized every little thing to make this V-day a perfect, soupy, sappy, nauseating, romantic bender, am I right? No, don’t look at your feet, look at me -- am I right?
It snowed last night! At my house in country, it was about 1 to 2 inches. Naturally, traffic came to a stop, businesses were shut down, schools were closed, and there was panic in the streets.
Personally, I do the dance of joy when we have a snow day, not just because I’m a teacher.
So, it’s 10 o’clock at night, and, unusually late for me, I’m getting ready for bed. (Mostly, I’m asleep by 10, not because I’m old and exhausted from teaching children all day, but because ... well ... fine, I’m old and exhausted from teaching children all day. But last Friday night I tried desperately to pretend I’m young and have the energy of, say, a 50-year-old, so I stayed up all the way to 10 o’clock!)