Billy Bob's Booze Cruise

Have I mentioned that a day with Barbara is like a week in a Crack House?

This story is set at Claytor Lake near our homes. We usually didn't have enough money between us to go to the Beach for a week; if we found the money, 4 kids would have accompanied us and who wants that? As it was, we each had two aunts in their 70's who couldn't get enough of us. Hell, this time I'm even using real names because you will enjoy it more.

We rented a nice cabin right on the lake. There was a boat dock and a ladder for climbing down in the water or you could run quickly thru some nasty-ass mushy grass and silt.

As I've told you earlier, we both worked at Tech and we planned our vacation together this time. Babs and I both have gills and fins and our main concern was toys for the water. No, I take that back, our main concern was probably having enough booze, food, books and then water toys. I am sure we made a list and checked it twice and still forgot things and had to go home or into town and buy more supplies.

We arrived at the Lake on a Sunday afternoon and we begin unpacking. Of course, the first thing we did, since we were FREE and ALONE, was to mix a drink, the cars could wait. We opened the place up to air out and sat on the screen porch to look at the lake, the boats, the skiers and we think we have died and gone to heaven. Did I mention we were ALONE. Oh, yea, I see I did mention that. First things first though. Babs knew immediately where her blender and tequila and mixers were and her cigarettes. I knew where the tape player/radio was. After all, we do have our priorities. My God, you would think we had never been out of the house the way we acted on those occasions when we did get out and WERE ALONE.

Drinks were frosty and good and the cars eventually got unloaded and we decided we belonged in the water and not in the cabin. That took all of 5 minutes. Well, that took me 5 minutes. Babs takes at least 30 minutes because in between taking off each particle of clothing there is a drink of tequila involved and a puff off of a cigarette. My God, now do you know why I loved giving her permanents??? That was my only revenge and she was so unaware.

By the time Babs was finally ready I probably had guzzled 3 margaritas. I am a guzzler and she talks and smokes in between. Therefore, I was probably on my ass by the time she walked out of her bedroom and said she was ready. I know how men feel after waiting forever on their wives to get ready to go somewhere. Neither Babs nor I are little petite things; Babs is short though and did I mention she WHINES. Off we went with inner tubes to the Lake. In a lake you always wear tennis shoes so you don't cut your feet so I am sure we were a beautiful sight. Two 165 lb (ha, ha, ha)women, inner tubes around their bellies, in tennis shoes, yelling here we come ready or not would be enough to scare snapping turtles out of the lake. I am getting a picture as I type this blog and it makes me laugh. I am sure we stayed out there til we (or at least I) sobered up. We had lots of unpacking and bed making and grilling to do that night. Of course, Kreg would call at least 3 times to see what we "were doing" and then Lucy would be next and Babs wouldn't answer the phone. All of the unpacking was done in between dancing, singing, drinking and eating and laughing.

Babs and I have always been very funny about clean commodes, no matter what we were using them for. One thing I could always count on her for was to make sure if I was going to hug the porcelain that it would be so clean it sparkled. Nothing worse than throwing up in a nasty commode. Remember, I'm a guzzler.

I am certain when daylight broke on Monday morning it was like Christmas for us. We had the cabin on the lake and we had tubes and we were ALONE. Babs also enjoyed her beauty rest and God knows she got enough that she should look like something off the Red Carpet -- NOT! I am sure I had lots of things to entertain me until she awoke and stumbled around and coughed and drank coffee and coughed again.

No doubt about it though Babs had planned this week out. She worked in a department that dealt with computers at Tech. She had brought along several different packaging kits of styrofoam. This was to be configured into a floating dock for our cooler, which would be filled with Margaritas. Not only did she bring the packaging but bungee cords and ski rope. My God, the woman is a genius. I'm so lucky to have married into that family (joke). Our cooler was styrofoam as well so there was a plan and the floating cooler invented and we were PROUD. This time I was sure we didn't run to the Lake but walked carefully so as not to jog our brains loose from the night before when we were ALONE.

Babs did lots of camping and fishing and loved being outdoors. I liked the beach and sunbathing. So she was in charge of tying the ski ropes to the inner tubes as well as the cooler. I never doubted for a moment that she couldn't do it. I trusted her with my life. We had to carry our cooler out, wading thru that nasty silt (you could feel your feet sinking down deep into and wondered what you were stepping on). Once we got ourselves situated in the tubes we proceeded to get the cooler tied in between us. Nobody was going to be separated, from the cooler. Once our large butts got down in those tubes and our knees hung over the top we were once again in Heaven. We sang, and we waved at all the boats that went by and blew their horns at us and LIFE WAS GOOD. Margaritas were excellent, tequila was tasty and I was shit-faced. We both woke up to lots of horn blowing and it was dusk and we had floated out into the middle of the Lake. Yes, we were still tied up to a very, very, very long ski rope. WHO KNEW IT WAS SO LONG. WHO KNEW WE WOULD FALL ASLEEP, WHO KNEW WE WOULD GET SO DRUNK, or sooooooooooo sick. Do you have any idea, no you can't, but try to get an image of two overweight, female turtles on their backs on crack cocaine in the water.

The porcelain was sparkling that night and as well as I can remember it was still sparkling the next morning while I hugged it tightly. Guzzler, remember.

By now, everyone has decided we had BEEN ALONE enough. Lucy, Barbara's aunt finally gets thru and wants to come up and bring things she has made. She was an excellent cook and figured that was her only way to get an invitation. Barbara probably lied to her and told her the phone had been out of order -- no, she probably did and Lucy believed her. Babs was so mad, she saw her every day when she was at home, talked to her 40 times a day and now she could not even have a damned vacation w/o her. I assure Babs it will be fine...not to worry.

I think I forgot to say that Babs had brought along a video camera from her office. So we would have a video of this trip. Of course, Hell will freeze over before Babs ever finds it.

I have my own Aunt Eula. Drop the "e" and you have ULA. I feel that I should invite her up as well, just for the day. She would never spend the night and she isn't a gourmet cook.

Lucy showed up with 3 bright yellow tee shirts that she had had made just for us. They read "Billy Bob's Booze Cruise". Therefore, the title. She was so proud of herself. We made a big deal out of the shirts, the great food, etc. Lucy hit the wine, we all drank and cooked. Babs gets the video camera out and Lucy and I began play acting. The night goes down hill from there. We laughed all night long and everyone woke up with such a headache. Lucy went home that day vowing to come back and I could see that Babs was not happy. Hell, the food was great, use her, let her come back.

Babs was supposed to bring along some porn for us to watch. Her boss was furnishing the camera and the porn for our entertainment. I have never been able to watch porn with Babs. She can't shut her mouth. She kept telling me there's no plot so why can't she talk..her talking sorta ruins it for me. So her boss must have given her 2 or 3 porn tapes and the same amount of blank videos. But we were having too much fun to pay attention to anything other than making sure we didn't drop the camera.

We also had some friends come up one night and Babs informed everyone that I had never been skinny dipping. Unheard of, and that must be remedied immediately. I'm pretty sure that tequila or vodka was once again involved as I remember the lawn being littered with clothes as we all trek down to the Lake. By the time we get down the hill to the Lake we are in our underpants and that's it. It is dark outside, except there is a dusk-to-dawn light on the dock. There were always boats fishing on the lake at night -- what were we thinking or were we thinking at all? We hit the water and it was freezing and we had no shoes on, gooey water near the bank and as we began coming out of the underwear, we both fell in and jumped up as someone took a picture. God, I took off running up the hill, underwear around my ankles, what a sight. By the time all of us girls got back to the house we were hurting from laughter.

Someone had loaned us several big floats. One of those was a whale and the other was an alligator. I believe Frank, my son, took videos of us trying to get on those. If we just had that damn tape Babs! Nobody was drunk and that that was hysterical.

The week was winding down, Kreg had come and gone home (checking on us, under the pretense of fishing); friends had visited and we had skinny dipped (sorta) and we had good tans to show off back at work.

Aunt Eula is invited along with Lucy and another older couple that Barbara knew. We had a huge lunch and lots of laughs and told lots of lies and embellished lots of stories I am sure. Babs wanted to show them how much fun we had really had. She said I have a video of our good times. Let me get it.

We all take our ice tea into the living room and find a seat and wait for the movie. The video is hilarious, we are all laughing, our sides are hurting and then, at the same time, Babs and I see, the porn movie is on, a woman is moaning, her legs are spread and a man's head is between them. We almost knock each other down in the middle of the room trying to turn off the TV. She made it.

Thank God they were old, deaf and blind. They had no clue, Barbara and I were hysterical and couldn't quit laughing and the older folks kept saying "What, What" did we miss something? Babs said no, you didn't miss a damn thing. Little did they know. Had they seen they wouldn't have known. Babs and I still laugh about it to this day. We could relive it all over again if she could find the damn tape.

Since the day we left the lake I haven't had a taste of tequila and swore I never would again!

The Honeymoon

I realize now that this should have been the first blog of all. I never plan ahead. I have been thinking for several weeks now that I have run out of blog subjects and wondering how can that be. Before I started all of this writing I thought I had years worth of tales to spin. So tonight as I am sitting with the dogs next door it dawned on me that I do have more. I will start with the Honeymoon. I might sometime want to go back and relive the wedding but that will take some long, hard thinking. That's a lot to share with strangers and some of it is ugly and most of them are dead.

I might as well use the husband's name rather than to continue and call him the husband. I don't think he can sue me. Well, not yet anyway. His name is Kreg.

My brother, whose name "was" Connie and who "was" married to Connie Sue, was a character. His name for Kreg was "Candy Ass". My brother was a "Smart Ass" and that runs in my family.

My brother and his wife had eloped in South Carolina, I think in 1961. So he was an old married man and quiet the expert on marriage by the time Kreg and I got married in December, 1962. Connie and Kreg had become friends and they both loved to hunt, fish and hang around together when there was time (when Connie had time -- remember Kreg watched lots of soap operas). Connie, at the time Kreg and I got married, was a Deputy Sheriff for the County.

As a Deputy Sheriff he traveled alot and met lots of people through his work. He was a gregarious person, knew lots of people and everyone liked him. Well, I guess those that he arrested or gave tickets to didn't care for him. Anyway, the point is that he new where to hunt, where to fish or where to eat....anything you needed to know, he could help.

So for our Honeymoon, we decided to rent a elegant lake front home 25 miles from our hometown. We had a December wedding and it was cold, so there would be no swimming or sunbathing and my idea and Kreg's idea of a honeymoon were a little different. I didn't learn that until we left our reception and headed for the lake front home.

Oh my God, we were both so excited (I think) and I must have had 2 cups of rice in my french twist hairdo. It was dark by the time we got to the Lake and found the keys and began our first night as newlyweds. We had plenty of booze, snacks and food for for a week. I remember the next morning we awoke to someone beating on the front door and it sounded more like someone was trying to break in.

Kreg got out of bed to peep out the windows to see if he could see who it was. As he got near the door, Connie yells "CANDYASS GET UP", Kreg ran barefoot to the door and made him get in before he woke up the neighbors. My brother came thru the house yelling "Lydia, Lydia you ok, you up"? I remember laughing and shaking my head and as I did, rice started falling all over the bed. I was up and dressed and went into the kitchen as they were both trying to figure out how to make coffee. I asked Connie what on earth he was doing at the Lake and on my Honeymoon? He explained that he and Kreg had plans to go duck hunting. Well that was news to me. That was not the way I thought you spent a Honeymoon, going separate ways.

After the guys got the coffee perking and Connie was fixing breakfast, Kreg dressed and got his hunting gear from the car. Hmmmm, he had a plan after all. Boy was I in the dark. I think I just smiled and went along with it -- glad that everyone was happy. There were magazines for me to read all over the house and besides I had to figure out what the hell to do with my hair, other than comb the rice out.

I think Connie and Kreg were gone about 3 hrs and when they returned freezing and bitching because they sat in a duck blind in sleet and were frost bitten. They wanted me to fix them soup and sandwiches to warm them up. Wait a minute, what on earth was wrong with me. I am sure I hurried and fixed them a hot lunch but then when I looked into the sink and saw the two dead ducks they left there I cried and cried. There was no need to kill those two little ducks. My God, we didn't need food, we weren't starving. Those assholes, they killed for fun. Then they made fun of me -- that's why you go duck hunting.

They ate and got warm and went back for more. Yes, I got dumber while they ate. I had decided that since the ducks were dead I would be a good wife. Jesus, I can hardly believe I am telling anyone this story. Not only was I dumb I was SICK! I remember as a child when my mother would fry chicken for lunch on Sundays. My grandfather raised chickens (and we lived in Town) and he would chop the head off of a chicken and throw the flapping headless chicken at me (probably the fear I have) and then later on my Mother would pull the feathers off the chicken and what she didn't pull off she would burn off with a newspaper. Do you have any idea where this is going? I bet not.

So after looking at the pitiful ducks in the sink I picked one up. Oh it was awful, who feels my pain? Anyone? So I held the duck by it's little webbed feet and tried to pull the feathers out. That's not easy to do. My Mother made it look really easy. I got a newspaper and sat at the table in the kitchen and put the duck on the table in hopes it would be easier that way. I didn't dare call my Mother and tell her what I was doing on my Honeymoon (either way...ducks or no ducks). We would both have been horrified. Sitting at table was no better. Those damned feathers were not coming out. Maybe duck feathers and chicken feathers are different -- ducks stay in the water all the time. It was time to go to Plan B. I decided to look for scissors. Found a pair of them rather quickly. Added more paper to the table and the second duck. By that time I was over the ducks being dead. I just wanted to get the damned feathers off the ducks and prep them for cooking, like a good wife would do.

It took quite a while to get all those feathers cut off. The heads were flopping all around each time the bird was turned. Had to do the neck and the butt (not pretty) and the belly feathers. The neck and belly feathers were very short anyway. Now Plan C was going be relatively easy, or so I thought. How hard could be burning the rest of the feathers off? I'd seen it done many Sundays. Piece of cake. Search was on for matches, cigarette lighter and more newspaper. That's the way Mother did it. She would roll a newspaper up so that it would stay lit for a long time, long enough to burn all the feathers off. Well, I decided I would use one big paper roll per duck.

This was during a time when everyone smoked. There were no lighters or wood matches anywhere. I found a single book of matches. There were 3 paper matches in the book. Damn, that wouldn't work. I knew something would go wrong and I would be out of fire. So I opened every drawer in that house. No matches (can you imagine) but lots of candles. Off to the kitchen I went with candle and candle holder. Lit the candle and made sure it had a good wick and once I realized it was going to burn for awhile and I grabbed a duck. The candle sat firmly on the table and I held the first duck by its head and feet and rolled it over and over the candle flame, like a rotisserie. By God, it worked. It worked but..... the house was filling up with smoke and feathers and I was choking on both. What the hell. This never happened to my Mother but she never did it inside. So I propped all the doors open in the house and some of the smoke and feathers went out, but not alot.

The house smelled like someone had set my hair on fire. God it was awful. So I took the duck out on the screened-in porch and put it on a newspaper. The other duck was on it's own. If they wanted the ducks fixed then by God, they could fix them. I was really distraught. I had my hopes set on having the ducks all ready for them to cook and eat when they returned.

Well when they finally did return, it was dark outside, all the doors were propped open and the house still smelled like burnt hair and all this little fuzz (called down) was still flying around. Connie and Kreg both came in yelling and asking me what the hell happened and WHAT HAD I BURNED. I told them the story and I cried and cried. They laughed and they laughed. Then they drank bourbon from the bottle to warm up and they laughed some more. Connie explained to me that I was right about our Mother doing that. But what she was burning was the pin feathers. NOT THE FEATHERS. He said that what I had done was classic and that I had outdone myself. The worst part was that the ducks were wood ducks and not edible anyway.

Connie Sue came that night to spend the night (on our Honeymoon) and we all got drunk and we all laughed at my screw-up. We cleaned the house before we got drunk though. The next morning, after everyone had coffee and aspirin and decided we might live, we laughed again. Later in the morning Connie yelled, "Candy, Ducks on the Water, Ducks on the Water". Stupid us, we all ran to look. There were always ducks on the water, it was a lake. To this day, when I see ducks on the water I want to yell out "Candy, Ducks on the Water."

By weeks end the smell was gone and hopefully all the feathers. This month will be the 46th anniversary of that Honeymoon and I bet somewhere in that house you can still find duck down.

Learning to ride a motorcycle

Several years ago, while I was still working, I just happened to see a flyer advertising a class that taught motorcycle riding. YAHOOO. I had no idea there was such a thing. Oh, I was so excited I couldn't work the rest of the day. Oh, I worked for the State and you know what they say about government work.

The class was to be taught at the Community College which was 30 miles, round trip from my house. I called, registered and was accepted. Oh My God -- Excitement took over my whole body (quite alot of excitement, trust me). I went up and down the hall telling everyone at work, they were so happy for me and wondered about my health insurance and was it paid up. Nothing like a smart ass to ruin the moment. They were only kidding since everyone knows I'm a good time.

The information I received said the first night would be introduction to safety and a movie. I was going to need boots, gloves and a jacket. Well I would worry about supplies later. The night arrived and I listened to so much grief from home about how stupid I was and did I have a death wish? I would probably be the oldest person there and what was "wrong with me"? Oh, tweak my buttons will ya -- I will go or die now.

So the night arrived and I hit the road and sang all the way to the school. Oh My God, my heart was pounding. I was popping my gum and almost bit my tongue off. As I enter the building I saw a woman younger than me, with hair almost to her waist and she had on black biker boots with buckles and black jeans. I am in heaven. She gives me a look and says are you here for the motorcycle class? Well, the smart ass that I am, I clench both fists and make a noise like I'm revving my Harley. That was a No No. She advised there would be none of that. Instant dislike and I knew I was gonna fail. God, who fails a class where you learn to ride a bike? Who? What am I gonna say, the teacher didn't like me? Right.

I rush past her and take a seat. I chose a seat right in the middle of what looked like 40-50 year old bikers. Wait, they can't be bikers I thought, bikers know how to ride. These guys gave me the once over and said "Hey, howya doing". I grinned really big and said GREAT. They asked if I had a bike? No, I didn't, I told them. Then they wanted to know if I was going to get a bike. No, I don't think so, I answered. "Well what the hell you doing here" they asked? One of those guys only had 3 front teeth and he had a blue bandanna around his head and lots of tattoos. I told them I loved motorcycles and always had and that Harleys were my favorite. They advised that a "little lady like me ought to get 'erself a bike." I started agreeing with them.

The woman with the long hair and a pudgy man in leather pants comes in and starts the class. Everyone has to introduce themselves. GOD I HATE THAT. There is no point in doing that because you are never going to see them again. Also we are to tell if we have ever ridden a bike and if we are doing this to get our permits or the reason. If you take this class and YOU PASS, then you can go to the DMV hand over your certificate that says you passed and you get your permit -- how easy can that be. No test, no practice run, no nothing. So if I pass, I go get a permit and don't even have to buy or rent a bike. GREAT. My husband will die. YES!!!

So we watch a movie and learn safety points and then take a test and ask questions if there are any. It was a 3 hour class. I was so sleepy. The guys were asking me how I liked it and telling me how much fun I was gonna have riding tomorrow. They all rode bikes, dirt bikes, motorcycles, 4-wheelers, and "man it's sumthin."

The next day was Saturday and the class started at 7 a.m. I had no decent shoes to wear, no jeans (I never wore jeans) and no gloves (remember I am really hot natured). So I find a pair of hiking boots I bought to walk to work in on snow days that would do. I found an old pair of garden gloves, that would work. I wore a silk button up shirt that looked good. I was ready to rock n roll. Jumped in the car with my supplies and sang all the way to School. OH GOD MY HEART BE STILL. When I parked my car I saw all these bikes lined up in the parking lot. I wanted to run as fast as I could but I had on hiking boots and would probably trip and fall. Took my time, ambled over like I'd been around bikes all my life.

The teacher with the LONG HAIR said for everyone to join her in a circle (high school, right). We would be issued a helmet and then we could go stand beside a bike. Oh God, someone would beat me to my bike. I wanted my helmet first, I'm older than anyone there - then it hit me -- she doesn't like me. Hell, I will be last and probably not even get a bike.

I finally get into the trailer to get my helmet. MAJOR PROBLEM. I have forgotten to tell you all, I WEAR HEARING AIDS. Well, you can't wear hearing aids with a helmet. Hmmm, I can't really hear very well without my aids. Well there are small holes in front of where your ears fit inside the helmet. Right, like I will be able to hear. Oh God, I'm sweating. The guy is fitting me with a helmet and I know someone is getting my damn bike. God, the guy in the LEATHER PANTS (other teacher) is ripping my damn head off. He said something, I couldn't hear. I look at him and he says "You have a big head." GREAT. I'm now deaf as a door knob, sweat is running and staining the silk shirt, underarms are soaked and I have a BIG HEAD. Two more fittings and one fits me. I run like hell down the ramp out of the trailer. Thank God, my bike is there. I want to hug it. I don't dare. I stand there like I have ridden for years.

The excitement is killing me. Nobody else is acting like me and I am trying to calm down. LONG HAIR walks out front and all I know is I see her mouth moving. Oh Shit - I can't hear. I have on my garden gloves and have to take them off to unbuckle the helmet and almost rip both ears off trying to get the helmet off. Well that really didn't help that much, my hearing aids are in my pocket. I raise my hand and tell LONG HAIR that I can't hear her. She tells me to walk up there near her. GREAT. Now I know everyone is looking at me. Back has to be wet and bra straps showing thru silk by now. I learned we are going to straddle our bikes (YES) and then we are going to walk them to the other side of the parking lot, turn them around, walk them back to where we are right now. Then we will do it all over again -- piece of cake. Big deal.

My son, and everyone at the office had threatened to come videotape this class. Oh God, I wish they had. I know you all are not going to believe this story. It is so true, I want to cry.

So the bike is on my right side and I am holding the handlebars with both hands and I'm proud. I turn my body and attempt to throw my right leg over the bike. I had no idea the bikes were so heavy. Thank God I had a good grip or it could have been really ugly and I would have made a scene. Finally got the leg over w/o help and straddled the bike. Oh God, my thighs hurt so bad. Oh, I haven't even moved and I wonder if this is like a groin pull? Suck it up, you're a biker I think to myself. Ok I'm ready. LONG HAIR blows a damn whistle and starts waving her arms in the air like she's at a race track. Everyone takes off like they are at a race track too. Hell my feet will barely touch the ground, hold up, wait a minute. I think my crotch is too short or something. I must need a shorter bike cause I can't keep up. They are way ahead of me now and I am toeing as fast as I can. My Achilles are killing me. And, what the hell does this have to do with riding a motorcycle. I am never going to push it anyway, I have AAA.

As I finally get to the other side, everyone else is back to the beginning and I know what they are thinking, "this is the slow kid"...you know, remember in high school....

Also, I forgot to mention that those guys that were so friendly with me. They didn't choose the 7 a.m. class. So I don't know anyone in this class and most of them are young, virile guys. There are a couple of girls maybe in their early 20's and they know how to ride.

Okay, so back to the parking lot and pushing that damn way tooo tall motorcycle back and forth. Now this is the good part. They have to wait at least 30 minutes for me before they can move on to the next part of class. I get there finally, crotch on fire and I want ice and Advil and can't tell anyone. Next part of class is to start your bike. GREAT, finally, today, start that sucker and forget your crotch. So LONG HAIR said why don't we all take a break and get a drink or use the bathroom before we move one. THANK GOD. I really needed that break.

Break is over and my hair is pasted on my head, so sad and yet so funny. Girls in the bathroom did not make eye contact with me even though I tried to carry on a conversation with them.

Hurry, Hurry get the leg over and start your engines (I'm thinking to myself). This time LONG HAIR is at the other end and I have guy in LEATHER PANTS at my end. He is whispering, I swear to GOD, he's whispering. Off comes the garden gloves, unbuckle the helmet, pull the helmet off to hear him. He says turn the key and hold in the starter button. Okay, got it. Helmet goes on, buckle it up, put the wet gloves on and the damn key won't turn. I hear rumbling all around me. I'm not hearing that great sound from my bike. The one I coveted. My teacher has walked away everyone but me is having fun. LEATHER PANTS finally turns around and I raise my hand. You could tell what he was thinking. I told him my key wouldn't work.

Panic, LONG HAIR AND LEATHER PANTS, heads together, back to the trailers. There are 4 more bikes in the trailer. Only 1 has a key that will work. It is not a bike similar to mine. So whomever has a bike identical to mine is going to be asked to trade -- well they find out it's a NINJA BIKE (a crotch rocket). There are 4 takers. YAYY. Everyone is happy again.

It's time to boogie. Riders start your engines. That's what LONG HAIR said, I think. Anyway, I started. We then learned how to find neutral gear with our left foot and how to give it gas with our right hand on the handle bar, brakes on our left handlebar. So while we sit still we practice shifting gears and I think that the seam on the top of my Hiking Boots may be interfering with my being able to tell if I'm in gear, but I will wait and see. So we practice and we practice and we are ready. We are told to form two lines, side by side. Go very, very, very, slow says LONG HAIR. I hope that I don't run over someone (with LONG HAIR).

Thank goodness I'm not first in line, since I can't hear squat. I will be playing follow the leader. We are directed to go slow, and to do a figure 8. At last, a breeze, I felt a breeze on my face. I am actually riding a bike. I cannot quit smiling and I wish someone was videotaping me. So we all do the figure 8 over and over and "damn I'm good". So then we are directed back to the starting line. As LONG HAIR gives instructions, LEATHER PANTS sits up leather cones. Hmmm, this could get ugly.. Hell, I can do it, I just did a figure 8.

Before the cones, we practice going really fast in a square, pretend there is an intersection, the other group is doing the same thing and we are at a crossroads. Someone is gonnna forget to stop or forget who has the right-of-way or something. We do that several times and we are supposed to be speeding and slowing and speeding and slowing and braking. I find myself braking with my feet, I forget the brakes are on my handle bars, and I hope nobody sees and I try to go slower and remember where the hell they are. I am pretty good slowing down with my feet though. That Ain't Right...

Line up, directions are given to those who are not HEARING IMPAIRED and I am playing follow the leader again. So we weave in and out and in and out and damn it's a good breeze and I'm going faster. Obviously, I'm not going fast enough for LONG HAIR. She starts blowing that damn whistle at me and flogging her arms and I'm grinning and riding towards her. As I go around her she says "GO FASTER, FASTER". She is trying to kill me, I know that for sure now.

Cones are being removed as we head back around for another go and I see my group lining again. Hmmm, missed that command but I will follow my group. Being deaf is a bitch. So now we are going to be going even faster and in between each other. Holy Shit someone could get hurt. LONG HAIR and LEATHER PANTS are on their big Harleys showing us how it is done. Speed up, sharp right, sharp left and in between another biker. Sweat has started up again, down the face and ears now. So we are lined up to go, guys are going yea, they wanted to do a high 5, you could just tell.

LONG HAIR and LEATHER PANTS park their hogs and walk over to get us started. Start your engines, put it in neutral, I was with them so far, as the person in front of me took off the seam in the top of my hiking boot got hung under the shifter and I couldn't undo it and as I tried to lift up with my left foot, my right foot came off the pavement and the bike turned over on top of me. I wasn't hurt and nobody behind me was going anywhere and LONG HAIR and the guy behind me were helping me up. She wanted to know if I was hurt. I said just my pride. She said you should never have worn those boots. I don't think you can even feel the gears shift. Lowwwww Blowwwww. That was the end of class. We were all reminded to be there at 7 a.m. on Sunday to take our exam.

Guess who had decided prior to falling over (weebles wobble) that she would not be there on Sunday. Guess who really had a groin pull now. You got it. ME! I returned my helmet and walked to my car with helmet hair, a really red face and a damp silk shirt. I ran into the guys I had met the first night. They told me they had seen me riding and I looked damn good on that bike. I asked if that was before or after I let the bike fall on me. They laughed and laughed and laughed. They thought I was kidding. I assured them I wasn't. They slapped me on the back and said see ya tomorrow girl.

Wonder if they ever figured it out -- what happened to that sweaty fat girl?

Happy Trails

P.S. I took the test on line a week later and I passed. Too late, no certificate.

My Younger Days

I supported my husband to get him through college, Virginia Tech. Before we were married, his family helped with his tuition and he worked part time.

The job I am going to write about was my second job after we were married. This job was at the University and not far from our apartment. I was a high school graduate with one year of college and had taken secretarial classes in high school. During my high school years I had even worked part time after school on campus and was able to look at all the good looking college boys too, yowsir, now those were some fun times. Now I'm married and not looking!

So for my second job I had to go through all the typing and shorthand tests (some of you younger people have no clue what shorthand is. It is like writing in code, but very quick). Well, I passed and lucky me. I had three interviews and only one department must have liked me. They wanted to hire me. I was hoping people would fight over me because I was cute, funny and cute. NOT!

I was hired to work in the Department of Poultry Science. OH GOD, HELP ME. To begin with, I am so afraid of chickens. I will run a mile if one looks my way -- hell, I don't care if it's a hen or a rooster -- I'm running. But then, I calmed myself down - you won't see a damned chicken, you are working at a University, in a building, with people, and handsome boys. I knew I would be answering the telephone, typing, taking shorthand, using a calculator and doing whatever else I was told to do. I would be making $3,200.00 a year. YAAAAY. My husband would get through school and we could move away to a city and out of this tiny town. We would save a lot of money and buy a new car.

I showed up for work on my first day to find a huge room, with seven women. We all were to work facing a wall. Everyone had a typewriters and the funniest looking calculators that I have ever seen in my life, hundreds of little buttons and the carriage moved. I wondered what I had gotten myself into, I did know how to use an adding machine, and I thought maybe a calculator... hmmmm, did I put operate a calculator on my application.. damnit, I know I did. Well, how hard can this be? I walk in the room, everyone turns around to check out the new girl. They are friendly and smile and I am a wreck. I have to pronounce my name twice and spell it numerous times. We chat and the door flies open and hits the wall and in like a tornado comes my boss. He doesn't speak, walks straight to his office and screams my name. My knees get weak, they all smile at me like they know something.

Nobody has actually told me where my desk is so I go into the office where the tornado went (oh, by the way, I have on gloves). He is smoking a long, black cigar. I want to cry and go home. He tells me to grab a chair, I still want to cry and go home. I find a chair and he tells me to move closer. He explains to me that he is a geneticist and that we will be working on different grants and I will be calculating figures for him, working in a lab, mixing "chicken shit" in an experiment for cattle feed. I can't breathe and I am sure my deodorant has failed me. He said chicken shit. I said uh huh. Then he drops the bomb. He asks if I have a car. I can't imagine why he wants to know, now I'm scared. I am afraid to say yes and/or no. I said yes. He relights his cigar, leans back in his chair and throws his feet up on his desk. He sorta swivels my way and said 3 or 4 days a week I will call you to meet me at the Chicken Farm. I feel myself hyperventilating, honest to God, is it me or his cigar, he has a huge nose, I can see his eyes dancing thru his glasses, is he waiting for a response, is this a test? I knew I was going to faint. I felt like I couldn't swallow and I was afraid the saliva was going to run down my chin. It seemed like an hour before I could speak, I know it wasn't.

I asked him why would he want me to meet him there? I thought I worked in this office. He said you do, sometimes. Then I dropped the bomb on him. Tears started down my cheeks and I felt like I was gonna start gasping and I told him I was afraid of chickens.

He let out a war whoop. Then he said Jesus Christ, who is afraid of a fucking chicken. Where are you from? I thought you were from Blacksburg? I know I am hyperventilating now. I am so embarrassed and I feel the heat moving up my neck and I want to run to the bathroom but I don't know where it is. The office full of women is quiet enough to hear a pin drop. I know they are listening and laughing. OH NO.

I try to get control of myself. I feel as though my fingernails have gouged holes in my palms. Then the boss said well that's it for now I will bring some research figures out for you to add up for me just to give you some idea of what you will be working with. I don't like screw ups either. I bring in lots of money to this department and I want my work done perfect, do you understand. I am sure I didn't speak, I know I didn't. Maybe I nodded. I think the sonofabitch loved what he was doing to me. Poor Green Me.

He said ok, you can go on in and acquaint yourself with the girls, get a cup of coffee, I think it's break time anyway.

The rest of the day went pretty well, I learned to use the machine, formally met all the girls and their bosses and when the day was done I went home and cried.

My husband had been home for hours, classes for him were over at noon, in time for him to watch his soap operas, have lunch and take a nap. He said I was silly and it would be fun, I would adapt. We needed the money too. I was 19 years old and REALLY, REALLY STUPID.

I show up bright and bushy tailed the next morning for work, had my coffee and chatted and finished my computations and the telephone rang. Gail, it's for you. Oh, wonder who that could be. Guess who. It was Paul, the boss. He wanted me to walk to the Biochemistry Building and bring some notes off his desk and plan to spend the day. OH GOD, nails in palms, deodorant not working, fainting is an option again, knees weakening. I look at the girls and they say you don't have to worry. You are going to have fun up there. Paul is nice and funny, the people in the lab are very nice and helpful too.

I found the lab and everyone was sitting watching the door. As I walked in the stood up and clapped. I laughed and they said we had a bet going. Paul said you wouldn't show. He just lost $5.00.

I was handed a lab coat, something that looked like a putty knife, and a pair of rubber gloves. When I saw the gloves I knew it was going to be bad, really bad. Over in the corner was a metal shelf on wheels. It was loaded with metal trays of chicken shit. Not fresh chicken shit, but dried up, old chicken shit. Still not good.

I was told to sit or stand, whichever was I was comfortable (they had to be kidding) and to scrape the c.s. into a bowl. The trays were labeled and I was to write the label numbers down on my pad and once all of the c.s. was scrapped into the bowl, to set aside the tray and to notice there was a professional blender in front of me as well as a solution. I am thinking, whoa, back up -- I am no chemistry major, I have no clue here. Someone sensed the problem and patted my back. "We are here to help you, don't worry" -- Sweat is starting to run down the back of my neck and it's very warm. I'm wondering if they can see it? Well the lab study was to mix the c.s. with other ingredients for use in making cattle food. Try not to think about beef you may have eaten a long time ago and if it sorta tasted like chicken too.

I will share two more events with you. There are many more but I don't want to bore you with chicken stories

The first was when I was told to bring old clothes and shoes to work that I would be going to the Barn. The Poultry Barns. My worst nightmare come true. I pulled up to the barn, following my boss and the sound was deafening. Chickens talking to each other. The stench was ungodly--a fresh ammonia smell. I wonder had I fainted, would it have helped bring me back. NO WAY.

I was shown a restroom to change into my old clothes (there were no such things as blue jeans for women then) so I had old slacks and a shirt and Keds. I came out and was handed the nastiest pair of boots I have ever seen. Men's boots covered with chicken shit. Paul opened the door and there stood two of his male graduate students. Michael and John. We were introduced and they had smirks on their faces. That damn Paul -- he told. Oh the smell was overpowering and I was getting all sweaty and I wanted to cry but didn't. Paul turns around and looks at me and says bring your pad, pen and a chair and come into the pen. OH JESUS NO. I swear to God, my feet wouldn't move .... they would not move. Why would I need a chair anyway. The pens are huge and their is "chicken wire" on the outside so you can see and hear everything. They are looking at me and I am trying to move. The tall boy, Michael said oh I should get the chair for her and he did and held the wire door for me. My feet finally did move, someone moved them, I know I didn't.

Now I'm in the cage, with shit covered boots, and the chickens are pecking at them. I want to kick its head off and I want to run away. Michael says Gail, your chair is over here by the stand. Paul has a ugly white chicken under his arm and a big pair of scissors in his hand. JESUS CHRIST what is he going to do to that ugly chicken? He says "Gail, hurry up we don't have all day." Sit down and write this number down as I call them out.

The two boys are chasing chickens around the pen and laughing and I am trying to get all of my body in the seat of the chair. Paul throws his chicken away and they throw one at him, over my head, and laugh. I screamed. John said "Oops, Sorry." Sure he was. Paul screams at me to pay attention and write down the numbers and don't screw up. My husband is at home, watching soap operas and taking naps. What is wrong with me.

There is a lull while the boys chase some chickens and the chickens are screaming like in cartoons with the hawk is trying to catch them. I happen to look up at Paul and he has cut the top, red notch off of the chicken's head. What the hell. I want to throw up. Why would anyone mistreat even a stupid chicken. Oh God, I knew I was going to throw up. I just kept gritting my molars as hard as I could. This went on for 5 cages and when we were finished I was told I might want to go home and take a shower and change clothes. No kidding. I got home and my husband, who watches soaps and naps said I smelled like a bunch of cats had peed on my clothes. This time I didn't cry -- I used as lot of curse words and it sounded good and I used them over and over and over til he quit speaking and apologized.

The second story I will tell you makes me feel good and I mean really, really down deep good. I was once again called from the office to come to the barns. Not to go into the smelly part but to go into another section where the roosters were kept in really nice cages(or suites). One big ole ugly white rooster to a suite.

Michael met me at the door and by now we were good friends. He told me that Paul was out of town and had asked us to run some trials. I asked what we were doing in the rooster suites. They are nasty, mean birds. They want to hurt you, you can tell. Well, Michael tells me "we are to time the matings." This is a first. I laughed and so did he. There are 4 huge roosters that are to be tested today. I said "what will Paul do if they can't get it up, kill 'em" and we both laughed. He told me that these were Paul's prize roosters and nothing would ever happen to them.

So I thought I have never seen chickens screw anyway, how hard can that be to watch and count how many times and time how long he does each chicken? Piece of cake, maybe fun. We will joke and laugh all afternoon. Fun, Fun, Fun. Finally.

Michael didn't tell me he was putting 5 hens in with the Rooster. So I realized there could not be fun involved with this. How could I watch the Rooster have sex with 5 chickens and how could I tell? Michael assures me that he is gonna "walk" me through the first group. He brings a cage of 5 hens in the room and tells me he will grab two at once and when he says open, I am to open the rooster cage so he can toss the hens in. WAITTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT Just a Minute. I am going to open that door where that big Rooster is pacing and is oversexed and knows what's getting ready to happen. He knows, I know he does. He's done it before, he is a Champion.

The top of the hen cage is open they squawk Michael grabs two and screams open the door, I do and he throws them in and I slam the door, we do it twice more. The timer is turned on and I have a pad that has numbers 1-5 down the left hand side and I am to put marks by each number each time he courts and mounts and screws. Michael says watch closely, he's courting, he's dragging his wing, he's grabbing her head, he's mounting, he's in, he's out; he's courting, he's dragging, he's grabbing, he's on, he's in, he's out; he's courting, etc. Well 2 hrs of this and I had it down pat.

Michael tells me I did a great job and we laugh that I am an experience chicken mater and some other nasty things. He is going in to bring out the last of the hens. He warns me that the Rooster might try to come with the hens, so for me to be very careful. Hell, that Rooster is not getting out on my watch. No Siree. Michael grabs hen number 4, steps out throws her in the cage and gets hen number 5 and as he gets one leg out I see that Damn Rooster coming, I said "hurry, hurry" Michael jumps out and the Rooster does too. I slammed that damn door and the Rooster's neck was in it. Michael turned as I did it and he screamed "NOOOOOOOOOO".

Dead silence except for those damned noisy hens. Michael said "Paul will kill us" "YOU HAVE KILLED HIS CHAMPION" -- I just stood and looked through the door at the Big Ole White Rooster all sprawled out on the straw, if he was dead, he died very satisfied. I thought of that and told Michael, he never laughed. He was scared too death. He was a graduate student, getting his Ph.D., under Paul, he was finishing in the summer (maybe so, maybe so). I realized he wanted to cry. I then started to feel bad, for him, not the Rooster. But then, that Rooster moved. I could see the side of his head and he had one eye on me and he looked at me for a second or two and then he tried to get up. Michael threw open the door and rushed into the Rooster suite. Jesus, I thought he might give him mouth to mouth for a minute. He massaged his neck and his back and his head and damned if that old Rooster didn't get his Mojo back. He survived, despite me. Michael and I swore to never tell anyone. We never did.

Michael graduate and probably is a professor of Poultry Science at some big Northern University and Paul is 80 years old retired but still goes into work and I see him often. One day I should tell him about his Champion. Maybe not.

Happy Trails

Let's Go Fishin

Many years ago my husband and his best friend decided that they wanted to go fishing at a lake. I would have been "stiff legged" to be left alone for a long weekend but the friend knew his wife would "go crazy". Therefore, a couples weekend was planned. I hate that stuff and I'm not a couples person either. I don't play well with others.

The Lake is about 50 miles from where we live and we would be staying in someones cabin -- another problem for me. Cabins, spiders, mice, ticks, lice, bed bugs, etc. I knew I was not gonna be a happy camper from the get-go. I also knew the other woman could be a terror and that made me smile. So it was decided that we would drive separate cars -- wonder why they would even come up, especially with a couples event planned??? Go figure.... So blankets and pillows and food and booze and rods and reels and bait and more booze and cards are packed. We hit the road.

My husband and I arrive on time. The other couple did not. Just as I expected, I'm still smiling, even broader. The friend is a good ole boy, easy come - easy go and real laid back. Wife not so much.

When the other couple finally arrived, 3 hours late it was dark and we had been in the booze and were sorta happy they made it. Then one of them had left something behind and I'm sure it was a crucial something needed for this trip but I could never recall what it was now. So the bickering starts. I pour another drink and suggest we all drink more. I think we do but again, I can't recall. Sometime later on we all turn in for the night. We were all glad to do that too.

The next morning we wake up with the sun shining in thru the dirtiest damned windows you have ever seen. The place didn't look too bad at night. Ohhhhhhh, during the daylight it wasn't pretty. Somehow if I walk on tiptoes, I can avoid most of that, at least I think so. I sorta lean over the commode seat too. Are you getting a fuzzy picture? My toes are pointing as I type. The men are cooking breakfast and laughing and the coffee does smell good. But wait, there is a person missing. What, don't tell me that I am the only female in this house. Yep, and that's why they are laughing. DAMNIT. I should have known. Well, I brought along a good book to read. Breakfast was good, the men cleaned up and I was full and happy and they were leaving. No, they weren't leaving without me. DAMNIT. Where is the other woman? Well, they said she wasn't happy and she went home. Hell, I wasn't happy when I woke up, but I'm still here. They went to look for a cooler for beer and told me to get ready to go fishing.

First things first. I don't like fish, I don't like to eat fish and I don't like to touch fish nor do I like the way they smell or make me smell. I protested -- hell no, I won't go. Oh how they bragged and bragged. By then, I was a hellofa fisherwoman. Give me that rod and I'll show you how to catch some fish.

We also hauled our little John boat (flat bottom boat) to the lake. It had a motor and sorta of a flat seat at the back by the motor and then there were round metal rods that you were supposed to sit your rounded ass on to fish for hours. Hmmm I was pretty sure my ass was not that rounded and would not sit nor stay on very long. The men loaded the cooler which not only contained beer on ice, but Bologna with Miracle Whip (oh God) sandwiches too.

The boat was pulled up on the sandy bank and the friend was in the back where the motor was and the husband was on the bank giving me advice and a helping hand into the boat. I was to get in the middle, sit on the cooler, be still and do as they said. I was not happy. I told them where to put the rods, reels and cooler. They said they were kidding but they weren't. I'm on a cooler, husband is on the metal rod on his flat ass and with a paddle is backing us out into the lake. I am handed a baseball hat and told I need that to keep sun out of my eyes so I can see where to cast my plug. That way I won't get tangled up in trees and waste allot of their time trying to get mme untangled. My mood is changing quickly - from unhappy to MEAN.

Things went well. We have maneuvered out into the middle of the lake, boys are laughing and joking and my plan is to outdo them. They want me to cast on the opposite side of the boat which they are casting on so that I don't get tangled up in their lines and "cause a mess". Probably no fish over there either. I thought, I'll show you.

I rared way back and cast my line and start working that plug and reeling that baby in and all of a sudden something grabbed my line and jerked the hell out of it and I screamed I have a bite, a big one. I jerked and I felt something. Guess what, I had hooked myself in the top of my head. Hell yea, I had a big one alright. A 130 pounder. Then I pulled and it hurt. Then I screamed. Then they cursed and we all cursed. It must have been after I had gotten my rounded butt settled that I took that hat off. It would have protected my tender scalp. OH MY GOD. I was terrified. I knew they were so pissed, no one had caught anything and then I (on purpose) pull this stunt. So tears and mascara are running down my cheeks and we go back to the sandy bank where we had put the boat in the water.

The men help me out of the boat and tell me to sit on some old firewood, full of spiders, while they get their pliers. What the hell did they just say? Pliers? I need medical attention now, and probably a tetanus shot -- not pliers. They happen to have pliers in their tackle boxes to take hooks out of the fishes mouths, can you imagine how damn clean those pliers are? Can you? Oh God, I am gonna die for sure. It gets even better. Since there are "treble hooks" on the plugs that translates to their being about 6 different hooks in my tender scalp. Those hooks have little things called barbs on them and they prevent the fish from spitting the hook out of their mouths. Soooooooooo, you cannot back the hook out of where it went it -- GUESS WHAT. YOU HAVE TO PUSH THEM THRU THE SKIN. OH NO, OH GOD NO. Well I'm told, it won't be that bad, one will push as the other takes "his sharp knife" and cuts a 'tiny' hole to push it through.

All of the procedures were done and we even, believe it or not, had a pint of Wild Turkey Whiskey in the cooler (lucky us - The Gods were with us that day) and they were able to spare a little bit for my wounds so I didn't get an infection and we each had a sip for good luck and prosperity. They were way to good to me. I did end up having to get the tetanus shot too.

But even though this is a good story, it could all have been prevented if one man could have kept one woman happy for just 8 hours. Is that to much to ask of one stupid man?

Happy Trails and I'm Still Looking For That Elusive Cowboy

Another fun subject to write about would be my sister-in-law, Barbara.

Barbara lives about 15 miles from me and we both worked at the University nearby. During this time period we were in our early 50's and thought we should celebrate Hump Day (Wednesday) and Fridays. She actually needed a drink more than I did on those days. She has always been a funny person with a great sense of humor so we made the most of it.

On those two particular days of the week, Babs would give me a call at work and say "have you got any booze"? Depending on my answer one of us had to make a stop and that would depend on which one of us had any money. I usually walked to and from work (1 1/2 miles each way) so I could depend on Babs for a ride and a trip to either the liquor store or Kroger's for wine.

Babs had a Chevy Camero and in it's time it was a hot car. But Babs had scraped it a few times and the inside was trashed. So it wasn't all that sexy and hot anymore. We thought we looked good tho.
She also had a CB radio, but that will have to be another blog. The more I write, I swear, the more stories are coming back.

On our Friday trips home the local radio stations would always play Take This Job and Shove It by Johnny Paycheck. The stations would all play that between 5-5:30. We would sing it all the way to my house, just to get in the party mood. My kids loved it. They knew there would be a lot of laughing and singing and good snacks and probably some dirty talking by their Auntie. She has never disappointed them there either.

My husband was a beer drinker and he always had a cold one ready to pop a top and he also worked for the University and his office was closer to home than mine. So he would beat us home. In the spring and summer was when we would have our little deck parties. The weather was getting warm, birds were getting wound up for mating and people watching and we were setting up the CD player for some oldies but goodies.

Babs loves to talk and smoke and lots of both. She sips her drink, whatever it is. I am a mover and shaker and waste no time. I can drink wine (if I have to) but it's not my favorite drink. I prefer Vodka (in a mixed drink). I used to only by 100% alcohol and would listen to Babs bitch that I would get wasted quicker because I couldn't sip. I have learned and I don't buy 100% anymore. Only took me 30 years to learn that lesson and they were some fun years and some years with the porcelain. I am a very slow learner.

Many of those summer evenings Babs and I would be left alone. The husband had had enough or the news was on. We solved many problems as we laughed and watched the sun go down. Lots of times Babs would complain that she was so broke or that she needed this or that... I was always something.... Jesus, like a broken record. One time when she was whining, I caught something about needing a perm. I perked right up. I said I have rollers, a friend of mine has given me perms and there's nothing to it. You buy the perm and it's a piece of cake. Man she quit the whining and we decided the next time we met at my house she would bring the perm and we could kill two birds with one stone. I'm starting to snicker as I type.

I know you are getting anxious --- DON'T--DON'T read ahead.... So it's 5 p.m. and we have the booze and the permanent and she is starting to whine -- do you really know what you are doing. I tell her if she makes me mad I won't do it. She says okay, okay..... I trust you. Music to my ears. I am secretly rubbing my hands together. I can hardly wait to give her the perm. But, first things first. Booze. We mix a couple of drinks -- by then we're getting warm and decide just to pull our slips up over our bras and work that way. Can't have a fan on when you're doing a perm, might stop the solutions from working. I am really hot natured too. It could get ugly if I overheat.

So we set up at my dining room table. We have the rollers, 5 different sizes and colors. We have the solution and Babs is gonna read as we go. So I have a little cape to put around her when it's time to start the solution. So as I start to comb her hair she starts moaning. I asked what the hell is wrong? She says I'm having an orgasm. I asked why. She said you are touching my head and hair and I'm having an orgasm. I said well I will stop cause that's not happening in my dining room chair. She pleads, okay, okay....I'll try to stop moaning. My God, what have I gotten myself into. I knew she wasn't normal. Well this moaning and groaning goes on for almost an hour til I get her damn hair rolled up. Lord help me -- I swear to God I will never give her another perm. I couldn't get that drunk again.

I open the solution and Babs wants a towel, in addition to the cape around her. Then the husband is bitching about th'e smell and why are we doing it at our house and not her house. It's her brother.....So I get her a towel. I start putting the solution on and she lets out a blood curdling scream, I wet my pants. "What the hell is wrong", I asked. She says,"it's cold" -- I said shut up, it's not that cold. More whining. Then she says she needs another towel to get the solution off her face. I bitch because that's one more towel for me to wash. I go for the towel, mumbling the whole way.

I come back and she tells me that she thinks the solution is burning her face. OH MY GOD, it would be so easy to snap her neck right now, she would never know what happened. I have just begun putting the solution on her. If I don't soon get it all over her head, the front of her hair will look like a poodle. She won't stop whining.

I run to the medicine closet to see what I might have to protect her face. We've all had permanents -- haven't you? They put cotton, around your face and under the curling rods before they squirt that stinky stuff on you. Well, that's what a professional hairdresser does. I AM NOT A PROFESSIONAL. SHE KNEW THAT WHEN SHE BOUGHT THE PERM. I find Vaseline, that will work, but not cotton and especially none like the beauty parlors use. Aha..... I found TAMPONS. I run back to the dining room with the Vaseline and the Tampons. "Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat is that for" she asks? I said shut up and put this Vaseline on your face. In the meantime I am pushing those tampons out of the cardboard so fast it was making me dizzy. I slapped a tampon all around her WIDE HEAD under each curling rod, string and all. Then I got tickled and handed her a mirror. Then we both laughed til we cried. Then I got the solution on. AND THEN WE DRANK and WE DRANK and the timer went off. Then we shampooed her in the kitchen sink.

Did I happen to mention that Babs might be 5'2? She is short and wide. So I say belly up to the sink. She says I can't get my head in the sink (WHINNNNING) Then it's "I need a clean towel" I said hell no, you have two towels, shut up and get your head in the sink. She said I was killing her, she couldn't breathe that her ribcage was in her bra, yadda, yadda, yadda. I got the curling rods, out, rinsed her put another solution on her and shampooed her. She finally did have to have another towel, damnit. But my revenge was sweet.

We went back into my dining room and looked into the mirror and she said, "OH GOD, I look like ORPHAN ANNIE". I said "your hair isn't red". She said I have to go to work tomorrow. I told her it would be fine. She said there was no way it would be fine. I assured her that it was this tight because we had just taken the rods out. In the morning when she got up and took a shower and shampooed, it would be relaxed. I even swore to her that it would be. Then she said, "how will I fix it tomorrow"? I told her I was loaning her my hair pick (remember those)and all she had to do was pick it after she dried it. I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing.

When she got ready to go home, we had both sobered up. I walked her to her car (in my slip above my bra) and the stars were out and the lightning bugs were blinking lights at us and it was good. She was leaving. She pulled out of my driveway, blew the horn and waved. I waved and grinned really wide and sat down in the dew covered grass and laughed til I cried.

Happy Trails

This is my first try and I am sooo excited to see if I have what it takes to write a blog that anyone would want to read.

I am a 65 year old Caucasian, married woman. It seems that everyday is so much fun for me. Not sure whether that is because I have retired and have no schedule and no boss (even if I am married) or whether after turning 60 I have a whole new attitude about life and what's important. So Far, this is pretty easy.

Today for example, I went to the best damn hairdresser in the world.Kevin is huge. He is the same age as my son, 36 and he must be 6'2 and probably weighs 215. When Kevin laughs it is from the belly and he means it. He shaves his head and dresses like he reads GQ (who knows). He pays no attention to what color hair I want this month or style. He calls me gorgeous and then I could care less what color/style I have. I'm convinced, I'm easy, he knows it. So today I'm sorta platnium/gray, when I awoke this morning I was a blonde -- amazing what 4 hrs can do.

I have two great kids, a boy and a girl. Both are married. Daughter lives in Hollywood and son lives in Virginia, about 12 miles away. We have a good relationship and when we are together we have lots of fun and laughs. As a matter of fact, even when they were growing up we laughed a lot. You know you read stories about parents can't be friend with their kids -- well, you can. You have be a parent first.

Now that the kids are grown they tell me they were latchkey kids as well as abused children. I worked so they could have things they needed as well as wanted and I beat the shit out of them when they needed it (I think that covers the abuse part of our relationship). Didn't hurt them a bit and they are probably much better for it. They didn't fight in the car either. They got one warning and then I would hit the brakes and slide in the gravels into a ditch and they would start begging. I bluffed allot. Sometimes I would go to bed and laugh til I cried at how they never knew if I was kidding or not.. kept on the edge.

When the kids were maybe 8 and 10 I would take them down to some property we owned and teach them how to drive one of our old Volkswagens. They were so proud and felt so grownup. What kid gets to drive at that age, behind the wheel, mother in the other seat -- think about it --- not many. On 20 some acres we had a couple of very steep hills. My God, we would end up sideways and I knew we were gonna turn over, but we never did and we would laugh and have the best time. Now, there was some screaming, by all 3 of us, at different times -- but it all worked out. Everyone knew how to drive by the time they were 13 yrs old. I can remember one winter looking out the living room window and their dad had tied two ropes to the VW and was pulling them up and down fields across from our home on inner tubes off of tractors.

One more VW story. God, they were all P.O.S. One really warm summer day they both wanted a slurpee. So off we go into town. Coming home I heard my daughter scream watch out, you will fall through the floor! WHAAAAAAAAT I screamed? Well half of he rear floorboard had rusted away (pretty typical for VW's back then) and you could see the road. The seat belt, which was never used back then, was dragging the road and sparks were flying. Wonder who thought those were "THE GOOD OLD DAYS". NOT ME, THAT'S FOR DAMN SURE.

Anyway, kids are grown and happy and since retirement my best friend, Judy, has been my traveling companion. My husband prefers to sit in his chair and watch TV. Judy and I have traveled from Virginia to California 3 times. After the 2nd time I decided I needed to be sending newsletters back home. Of course, I was working then and had plenty of people to entertain. Many times there was a need for embellishment too. I'm not above it either. Those newsletters were shared with many people, even people we don't know. We now meet people and they say "oh, we've read your travel letters and loved them". Now we have a reputation to live up to, I guess.

Judy and I remember meeting in 7th grade. We later found out that we were 2nd cousins -- who knew. We have been best friends ever since. We truly can finish each other's sentences and it's the kind of friendship that we look at each other and laugh.

I might one day figure out how to insert some of those newsletters in this blog -- doubtful tho. I will probably have to re-type them. We have attended cattle auctions where I purchased a whip and the King's Ranch in Texas, mainly for my search of the vanishing cowboy on a horse. We've been on a boat in Maine looking for whales, had a picnic, unbeknownst to us, in the middle of a big yellow jacket nest, in Kentucky and used the restroom in a jail on the backroads of Louisiana. Our travels have been wonderful. If I think this blog will work, I will do more later.

Happy Trails.