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
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
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
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
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
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
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.
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.
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