I'm Out of Kahlua, But I've Still got Vodka.

Right now, I feel a little jazzy.
I wish I lived in the old neighborhood.
That place where we could light up the grill at 10 pm
and get the whole neighborhood in on the party.
I wish somebody would offer me a toke (even though I'm allergic).
I wish we could turn it up and 
let it loose and
invite the cops.
I wish it was Margarita Monday
with a bit of Sassy Saturday mixed in
for your listening pleasure.
I wish I could take a clumsy spin around the patio
with old Green Eyes
who secretly loves me.
But he's just too cool to say it.
 

Look at these while I bask in Gloriousness.

Just a little bragging: I managed to complete my Associates with Highest Honors in the top 1% of my class. Not too shabby...

I Asked for This (or Something Like This).

I left my comfort zone.

Yes, again.

It's terrifying really, to step outside my cozy world into something about which I know absolutely nothing. I don't like change. My body and my mind are creatures of habit. I like knowing what to expect. I like knowing how to handle all the things that come my way. I like being in control.

It's even more terrifying when I make a plan, but, since I have no holding in this new, slippery world, I get pulled off course and get snagged on a crevice I hadn't expected to find and rub elbows with folks I hadn't expected to befriend.

They...the native villagers...the ones who've been here longer...they feel more comfortable with each other. They know each other's idiosyncrasies and each other's habits; they have private jokes. They buy each other sentimental little gifts and have cute little nicknames for each other. They know when to leave each other alone and when to give hugs. They're family.

I'm just one of the distant cousins. We share the bloodline of the company, but I'm that relative who got lost in the woods as a child and had to be raised by wolves. I'm socially awkward, so things come out wrong, or maybe I don't catch on to the tone of the conversation right away. Oh sure, I can fix my hair and iron my shirt. I can strut around with my big red badge that says, "Hey, I belong here. See? It says so right here on my Official Red Badge of Belonging." 

But I still can't help but to cringe when one of the underlings asks for a "real manager." It's hard to smile and remind them that I do not stand on the shoulders of my new-found giant family. I've got my own two legs, shaky as they may be.

Oh...and, of course, I've got my red badge of courage.

The Free Twenty

This is my free time today. I came upon it quite suddenly, and without prior knowledge of its existence.
What shall I do with this new-found, delightful spread of time? I can't quite start any new projects in a mere twenty minutes, nothing of consequence, anyway. I can't cook a proper meal in twenty minutes. I can't even run to the drive-thru and scarf down a hamburger in twenty minutes.
All of my respectable friends are at work right now, so it would probably be rude to call for a chat. The rest of my friends? Probably still in bed, the slackers.
I suppose I could put away the laundry, but it would be a hasty job, no real commitment to ironing the things which truly need ironing.
If I start that new book I bought, I'll be sorely disappointed that I won't be able to finish it in one setting.
British Literature calls, and today we're watching a scandalous film, Byron. I wouldn't want to miss out on watching the boys squirm during Lord Byron's love affair with his sister. (gross.)
After that, it's on to Spanish, where we're learning the difference between por and para. That will probably take about twenty minutes.
I recently polished up my short story about the banshee and submitted it to the college magazine. Who knows if they'll publish it. It's a little racy, and I sent it to the most critical professor on staff. I figure if it makes it past her, I might stand a chance out there in the real world. We'll see.
I didn't win for my short story. I plan to submit it elsewhere, though, so I can't publish it here at all. Rest assured, if it does win, or manages to get published anywhere, I will definitely be bragging about it here, and I'll post a link for anybody who's curious or crazy enough to want to read it.
This is the week of exams for me. I had four exams out of five classes. My mind is a little scattered now that it's all over. I still need to focus though, so I can learn all my new jobs at work. Turns out, I have to learn no less than four new positions before I can settle in as a bookkeeper. I've got one done. Three to go..ugh.
Oh, look, that's the end of my free time.
Lord Byron, I'm on the way...

Does this transition make me look pretty?

Yesterday was the last day of my incarceration in the cutting room, with the big, knife-wielding boys and their caveman attitudes about everything, including women. I can't say after eleven years of bossing the boys around that I'll miss it at all. There's been enough blade-slinging in my life. Enough name-calling. Enough ass-grabbing.

I'll miss Alyssa. I feel awful leaving her back there on her own. Everybody needs a wingman. She was mine. I was hers. I'll miss Jesse for a little while, but I suspect he'll seek me out when he gets too lonely. Of course, he always seems to find a buddy where ever he looks. He'll be alright without me.

I can't say I'm heart-broken to be leaving the man-cave, even if it is only to the front part of the store. Bookkeeping, they told me, but they've got me scheduled to check. Maybe there was some miscommunication. They told me before that I make too much money to check. I completely agree. Bookkeeping seems more like my kind of thing. Who knows what's going on. It'll straighten itself out soon enough.

I'm shrugging the shoulder and thinking it's whatever.

Everybody says there's so much drama at the front of the store, but there's drama everywhere, and I'm all grown now, so bring it on. We're gonna work that shit out.

The best part is, I'll get to be pretty and look like a girl. I went and got my nails done today to celebrate the transition. I almost went for the mani-pedi, but opted for the eyebrow-waxing instead. It was time...

Spring Break begins tomorrow afternoon, but I have those kinds of teachers who like to take that opportunity to give a lengthy assignment, in case of boredom. Bless their little hearts.

I'm taking the day-long tour of the university tomorrow in Canyon. I'm so lucky to be living here, where the college and the university are so accessible. I thought about moving to Canyon, to save gas, but then I remembered it's a dry county, so...no.

Besides, the kiddos and the grand-kiddos would miss me too much. I like to think I'm pretty much their favorite person.

I'm going to miss Mr. Green Eyes. I think I'll miss him most of all.

Snow. Meh.

My little Ford Focus coasted very well across the snow-covered, idiot-packed streets today. I'm happy to be alive.
When I was about about half-way to the college, my phone chimed its little chime. I'm such a rebel, I checked it while driving, despite the new law against it.  Dr. Ferguson had emailed us and let us know that he wasn't going to hold our absences against us, but if we showed up, we could go ahead and write our response papers as planned.
I was already half-way there, see, so I just kept chugging.
He left before class was over and let his assistant collect our papers.
That was the mood of the day.

I've been snapping pictures over the course of the week. I like to play around with the filters on the photo editor, make 'em all artsy fartsy. Sometimes, I get some winners.

I wonder, how did birds stay warm before electric lines?

Fun Fact: The Elbow is an Awesome Weapon

There I was at Walmart again.

I truly hate shopping at Walmart, especially on a Friday, but by the time I decided to get out and get my shopping done, it was eleven o'clock at night, and Target was closed. I needed hem-tape and ink pens, so...Walmart, yippee.

So I went to Walmart on a chilly night, when there doesn't seem to be any kind of strict observation of bedtime. For once, I thought I might try to get a parking spot close to the door, so I started to drive right in front of the store, where the flock of shoppers pour from the doors and make thru-traffic practically impossible. I don't know what I was thinking.

I was commiserating my mistake, when the guy in the car two cars ahead of me abruptly stopped his car and jumped out.

What the HELL? Was he about to run into the store with his car parked right in the middle of the driving lane while the rest of us were trapped there by the stampede of pedestrians and the lack of a tow truck?

But no. He did not go toward the store. Instead, he ran toward a little girl, about five years old, who had lagged behind her family as they made their way toward their car.

He scooped her up!

Right there in front of me, I was witnessing a kidnapping, folks! I jumped out of my car, not really knowing what I would do. The woman in the car directly in front of me was also ready for action. She popped out of her car, and we were about to save that little family from the most frightening thing I could ever imagine.

The adrenaline was pumping through me so quickly, but time seemed to slow right down, to a dull swoosh. I imagine myself making use of all those self-defense lessons I'd taken back when I left the kids' dad. I sized the guy up as I moved forward.

In my mind, I was sweeping the leg, jabbing the eyes, pulling the hair, using the elbow...

The squealing laughter is what stopped me.

The little girl...she was laughing, and when the family turned around saw the perpetrator trying to steal their little girl, they too, began to squeal with laughter and happiness.

They'd found their grandpa.

Or, rather, Grandpa had found them.

It really was quite touching. They hugged and laughed and held a genuine reunion right there in the middle of the Walmart parking lot.

I returned calmly to my car. The woman in front of me, my would-be co-hero, gave me a nod and a smile as she returned to her car. We connected in that moment. Should we ever find ourselves in a situation like that again, we'd have each others' backs.

Kidnappers beware.



For another Walmart experience, visit my friend Juli's blog Surviving Boys here.