Wednesday, September 29, 2004

Better late than never.

I was going to finish telling you about the Cubs game I attended two weeks ago. However, I'll just skip all of it and tell you about the wee (no pun intended... as you will read later) bus adventure afterwards.

As you'll remember, I was with Harry; he was on crutches and I was on a tummy full of Budweiser. We escaped the Friendly Confines relatively unscathed and inched our way to Waveland at the plodding pace of a snail. I wanted to run around and get the blood moving in my legs, but alas, I couldn't relinquish Harry to the sea of exuberant fans who might very likely knock him off his pins. Therefore, plod, plod, plod went the Cooter, scuff, scuff, scuff went the sticks... ok, new paragraph before I break into a song about heartstrings and a trolley...

Without going into the ordeal that involved protecting Harry AND trying to find the damn bus on Waveland (which was a sea of buses that ALL looked alike to me), I'll just say it took us 45 minutes to board. Everyone else was already on. Eeps... so the fact that we're stuck in traffic is now MY fault. Then it hit me: I really really REALLY had to pee. Yes, I'd rather go in the dark, dank cells that Wrigley coughs up than to sit my tender white ass down in a BUS. Alas, it appeared there was really no choice in the matter.

I took a deep breath and headed to the back of the non-moving, stuck-in-traffic-because-we-couldn't-leave-right-away-because-Harry-and-I-were-late-getting-on bus. It felt like everyone was boring hot holes of hatred into my beer-laden crog. All except for Courtney (remember him from my last post?) who was sitting in the very back directly opposite the restroom door.

Courtney: "You don't have to number two, do you, Angie?" (said loudly... of course)

Cooter: "No, Courtney. But I DO have to piss like a racehorse." (muttered under my breath between clenched teeth -- yes, I had to pee that bad...)

Courtney: "Ok, Angie. Win the race!"

Cooter: **whu?** (quick eyebrow raise)

Into the little stainless steel coffin I go... have I ever mentioned that I'm really frikkin' claustrophobic? Or the fact that I *never* use the "restrooms" on a plane (or, in this case, bus)? There's a logic behind it all somewhere. Well, this was a particularly painful experience for me, because not only am I 'trapped' in this tiny metal room, but it took a long time to relieve myself of all the beer. Plus, it seemed like one of those bad dreams where you're naked in public. I just KNEW everyone on the bus could hear me urinating. It just couldn't get any worse. Right?

Toward the end of my marathon Number One, the bus started to move. We'd been inching along in the traffic, much like Harry on the sidewalk. But then it was really, truly moving. And stopping abruptly. Then moving. Stopping. I was actually in the throes of pissing hell. And then I heard something...

Courtney: "ANGIE!!! ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?" (oh yeah... he was shouting...)

Cooter: "I'm fine, Courtney... I'll be out in a moment." (whispering loudly)

The bus stops abruptly again.


Cooter: **by this time, I'm bracing myself against the sink and the wall trying to button my shorts, all the while absolutely laughing my ass off**


With that, I wrest the door open (yes, AFTER I washed my piddy paws) to a very frantic, red-faced Courtney... who truly thought I might have fallen into the abyss of indigo terlet bus water. The look of relief that flooded his face when I came out was absolutely priceless. And then it happened.

Everyone on the bus applauded.

I guess it must have been my ability to maneuver the hazards of a Tri-State Tour bus. Red-faced, I proudly made my way back to my seat, whereupon I received a high five from the 'sign language' guy. And, throughout the four hour trip back to Iowa City, Courtney came up to check on me about every 15-20 minutes. I think he still had that picture in his head of me floundering in bus gak.


Who dat snappin' back? |

Monday, September 27, 2004

**chortling out loud**

Heya peeps! I know... the Cooter was getting a little musty with no new posts. **spritz, spritz**

This weekend was pretty damn wonder-full in my book. My parents came into town on Friday, and as much as I was kind of dreading it, we had a pleasant visit. My stepdad is a good influence on my mom, and we only argued a leetle teeny bit. We hooked up at George's on Friday after I got off work. Blake, Mark and Victor all came down and we had a few (ie. several) beverages and shot the shit. Then Mom, Allen and I went to Iguana's in Hills for dinner. It used to be one of the better Mexican restaurant in these parts, but it's slacking a little... Mom wasn't too thrilled with her carnitas and I'd like to know since when do margaritas look like Quasar's reanimator fluids? Ah well. The salsa didn't suck.

I won't bore you with a run-down of it all, but on Saturday morning before my folks left for a fish fry at my uncle's, they hung my pot rack. I came home from work Saturday night and, lo and behold, my Calphalon was hangin' from the ceiling. Granted, there're about 40 tiny holes as a result of Allen's stud-finding quest, but I don't care. It's one of those stupid things (in the sense that it's a very simple, yet delightful, surprise) that made me so happy I cried. Goofy eh?

So on Sunday morning I got up bright and early and started really cleaning the kitchen. It's amazing how much more space I have... now I can get out my new Fiestaware and pack up the old Crate & Barrel stuff. No longer will I suffer from tumbling tupperware beanin' me in the head every time I open the cupboard. I now have enough space under my butcher block to stow those oh-so important things that take up space but only get used *maybe* bi-monthly (like the steamer, the crockpot, the Cuisinart, etc.) In essence, I have a brand new kitchen. Yep... it's the simple things in life.

The poog and I hung out together for a good part of the day (watched the Cubs lose to the Pirates... sucky, I say... and what the f*ck was Kerry Wood doin' out there?!!), when out of the blue I got an unexpected phone call that turned my day 180. 'Twas from the Viking. We haven't spoken in four months, and damn it, it was great to hear his voice. He drove up and we babbled at each other for hours. I was planning on making eggplant parmesan for dinner that night, so he stayed. Unfortunately, after two and a half hours of preparing the sauce, the eggplant, and assembling it, my kitchen was hot, I was sweaty, cranky, and wanted OUT while it was baking. Well, guess what? All that work and I burned the damn thing. Luckily, the Viking'll eat damn near anything. I consoled myself with vodka.

Anyhoo, that's really the gist of nothing happiness that was my weekend. I'll try to make the next post a little more entertaining... been awhile since I told one of my 'embarrassing' stories for your amusement.

Here's hoping everyone in Blogland is having a great Monday... I know I am!

Who dat snappin' back? |

Wednesday, September 22, 2004

I am bad.

Ok, I had a post up last night that I deleted just because I could. You see, I used the Lord's name in vain, thereby breaking a commandment. Come to think of it, I've broken every single fucking commandment there is except for the murder one. Hmm... I'm going to hell directly after God smites me.

I would like to say one thing: Stacy, I don't know you. You don't know me. And if you did, you wouldn't send me that piece of shit 'test' to take (I kept waiting for the punchline). See, if you did know me, you'd know that I think the Bible is work of fiction. I do not believe in God. I believe in science. I do not believe in heaven or hell. I believe in death. Yes, I have a spiritual side that is mine... and not something I feel the need to share with people I don't know.

For all my faults, I do not judge others based upon their religious bent unless, like you dear Stacy, they preach to unwilling listeners. You are more than welcome to visit my site and comment, but keep the proselytizing out of it.

Who dat snappin' back? |

Thursday, September 16, 2004

A Day on the Bus and a Few Hours at Wrigley

Boof! What a week, eh? I've had my ups and downs since last Saturday (haven't we all?), so I want to post something fun.

The Chicago Cubs Rock My Tiny World

Yesterday I took the day off work and went to Chicago to see the Cubs kick the pantalons off the Pirates! It couldn't have been a more beautiful day at Wrigley. But it didn't necessarily start off all fun and games. In fact, it began with me oversleeping, because I'd tried to watch the Cubs v. the Pirates the night before. However, when the score was 2-0 (Pirates) in the 9th inning, I decided to go to sleep... but I'd had too much to drink whilst rootin' for my fellas, so when I DID get my ass out of bed the next morning, not only was I running late, but I was running late with a hangover. Go figure. (At least the Cubs came back and won 3-2 in 12 innings... even if I missed it.) Anyway, here's the scoop:

I've written about Harry before. The guy who gets me a red rose every Saturday. Well, every year he takes me to a Cubs game for my birthday. Last spring he broke his hip, so we were unable to go. The year before that, they changed the afternoon game to a night game, so we were unable to go. And the year before that, they just plain cancelled the trip. 'They' are the City of Iowa City Parks and Rec Dept. They load up a bus three times a year, and for a nominal fee, you get a ride and a ticket. You never know with whom you will be sharing this day, and at times it has been a joy, other times you wonder how you could ride on the same bus with some asshole you envision falling down steep concrete stairs of the reserved terrace section...

Well, this year, the Rec Dept. decided to leave at 6:30 a.m. instead of 7. I had to pick Harry up at 6 to be to the Rec Center on time to meet the bus. It's hard to wake up in the morning when it's still dark out (and your head is throbbing like a Faster Pussycat song). But we got there on time, lugging cinnamon rolls, bottles of water and colaches. Two of Harry's friends, Shirley and Raymond, also went along and brought an urn of coffee.

There's always ONE...

As we are all preparing for take-off, the bus driver feels the need to share some information regarding the amenities of the bus, such as "If you push the button on your armrest, your seat will recline." Of course, the woman in front of me immediately does just this, whacking me on the knees and making it virtually impossible to sit behind her unless my legs were sticking out into the aisle. If anything, I have long legs. Can you say DIS-COM-FORT? Luckily, there was an empty set of seats across the aisle, so while Harry and I didn't have our usual 'here-we-are-going-to-a-Cubs-game' conversation, I was at least able to make myself a little more 'at home'. Despite the unforgiving plastic armrest that rode up against my back for four hours on the way there, I was able to stretch out in some semblance of 'now this is the way to ride the bus, ride the bus, ride the bus...' as I looked across the aisle at the knee-mooshing woman who had pillows galore. I hated her already.

And then for the sweetpeas...

On this particular trip, there were four individuals and their staff. One guy didn't speak at all... just kinda nodded to himself. Another guy also didn't speak, but would make leetle eety beety sounds, whistle from time to time, and gesticulate in a strangely haphazard way that made one think he was doing some form of ebonics sign language. He was sitting in front of me, so I did my share of back patting (he would mime what he wanted you to do) and head scratching. Now, normally I would think it's pretty odd to be scratching the head of a 40-something year old mentally challenged man as I sat behind him on a bus full of people going to a baseball game, but after awhile it became apparent to me that he enjoyed it, along with the numerous high-fives we gave each other. Besides, I was hungover and there for the ride.

At our 45-minute breakfast stop, I got to meet Courtney and Kendee. Courtney asked me on his way off the bus if I was Marvin's staff, to which I groggily replied, "Um, no. Sorry." When I decided to get off the bus to stretch my gams, Courtney promptly ran up and asked me to make sure that Marvin stayed away from him because Marvin was mean and blew in his face. Marvin had also pulled his leg and was mean to Kendee. We spent a little time talking about mean people, then Courtney asked me if I would go to the back of the bus with him so I could keep Marvin away from him and Kendee. Alas, I motioned to Harry, Shirley and Raymond, and told him I was there with them. He asked me if I was their staff, whereupon I had to tell him that 'No' I was their friend. He looked a little baffled that I was with three people 30 years my senior, but I think he decided in his own mind that I was, indeed, their staff. (Incidentally, I still have no clue who the heck Marvin is or was or whatever...)

Once we were all safely stowed back on the bus, Courtney wanted me to write a sign for the Cubs that said "Hit Some Homers." So I did. It was on the back of big piece of tagboard that their (Courtney and Kendee's) staff had made for them. It was their first anniversary as a married couple yesterday, and it was signed by a dozen different people all wishing the Cubs would get a homerun for them. His face was a beacon of unadulterated happiness to be going to the game to see Sammy Sosa (who was born the same year as Courtney... 1968). Kendee simply looked very contented to be with her husband.

At last... our grand arrival on Waveland

Yay! Time to get away from the crowd and into another one! By this time, I was so ready for an Old Style I didn't CARE that it was only 11:30 and the game didn't start until 1:20. Heck, I had a pocketful of money and an i.d. that said I was old enough. Plus, I was in Chicago at Wrigley Field, albeit with a group of people that wanted to sit quietly and watch a ballgame, content enough to sit in their assigned seats. Me? When I'm there, I like to run around all OVER the ballpark. I love the smell of it, the feel of it. The good nature that is evident on everyone's face. I just want to be everywhere at once and soak it all up. I can sit for awhile and watch the game, but for those of you who have been to Wrigley... well, you KNOW it's damn near impossible to not get up and move around. Built for comfort? Nope. 'Course, I've never had the rock star tickets. All I know is that when Shirley and I came back with Chicago dawgs for the Harry and Raymond, I got a left eye full of Harry's elbow and a right eye full of Shirley's elbow. I spent most of the time in my chair leaning as far forward as I could without making the 14 year old kid in front of me think I was flirting with him by blowing on his neck.

Angie rocks the boat... or bus...

Ok. So I didn't spend the entire game sitting with Harry and friends. At one point, Courtney asked me if I would go with him to get sodas. Sure, you betcha, big guy. As long as I can get myself a beer while we're at it. He wanted to go to a specific place he had seen just inside the entrance, which was on the other side of the park and all the way down to street level. I had no problem with this, though I was feeling mighty protective of my soda-loving charge. The guy at the counter of some dumb-ass overpriced vending space (well, ok... they're ALL dumb-ass overpriced vending spaces), got Courtney the wrong sodas and just glared at me when I said something. Meanwhile, Courtney is trying to give the guy $20 for two sodas... I know they're expensive, bub, but give this guy the correct change back or I'm popping my ass over your flimsy counter and giving you a giant can of Cooter whoop-ass. The dude was rude.

So on we go. Baby really wants a beer. We stop at the next available stand, and the guy behind the counter looks at me and just says, "Fuck." I look at him a moment, then realize he wasn't talking TO me.... simply expressing himself. "Shitty day, huh?" I ask. "No, just shitty customers." I ordered two beers (why not... if one was left when we got back to the top, I'd give it to Harry) and tipped the guy $3... I was in a good mood and he made a joke with Courtney and was really nice to me. That says a little something something. I kept trying to go back to his cart, but after four beers, I didn't feel like running all the way downstairs anymore. Ah well, spread the wealth and all that.

The 7th inning streeeeetch...

I think it was at the top of the 7th the skies opened for a brief torrent of coolness that made all the riff-raff scatter like cochroaches in light. And now a word from my sponsor: "Angie, get your lazy ass back to work." I'll finish this later...

Who dat snappin' back? |

Saturday, September 11, 2004

Stuff. Yep.

Quick post...

First off, it's my niece's birthday today. The Did is FIVE years old. Man, I love this child.

Second, it is also Blake's 43rd birthday. He's in Chicago playing in an ultimate frisbee tournament.

Third, and final comment: my friend, Philip Kirk, is an amazing artist. I have linked him up under the Linkertons. Check it out. I have two of his pieces... and wish I had more. I also wish that a ton of people would buy his work. Should anyone feel so inclined, please feel free to link him on your site as well. (This is NOT a paid announcement.)

Who dat snappin' back? |

Friday, September 03, 2004

Loose ends and mayhem

I thought, erroneously, that I could get on here and thank everyone for all the birthday wishes. However, this is the third time I've tried to post this damn missive. (Is there any wonder I couldn't get Dastard's b-day 'card' to go up?) I'd aim for reconstructing the first post, but it was longer than an Academy Award winner's speech. Suffice it to say, seeing as how the third time is a charm, I really just want to thank everyone who called, sent e-mails, sent cards, came to George's for the b-day bash, etc. And Kristen in Texas, I want you to know that I DID get your card. I really appreciate you taking the time to do that, and wanted to let you know that I DID receive and I DO appreciate it! (Now, for the life of me, I can't figure out who you are... but maybe I will later...)
My pug now weighs 25 pounds... 14 to 18 is considered the 'normal' weight for a pug. And he's not fat. Really.
There are several blog links I want to add to my page, but alas, I am lazy. This will happen, though. Probably in little, tiny spurts so I don't wear out my brain.
The Round Table Confessional is up and running. We have yet to decide on a book, but will by the end of the day. Right, Catt? And anyone who wants to join in, FEEL FREE. That is, if you don't have enough to read what with all the blogging glut...
I somehow pulled my left quadricep and it hurts like hell. Tomorrow is the first Iowa home game (we're playing Kent State), so I'm hoping my bar legs will return. As it is, I'm hobbling around like my grandma. This could make running up and down the stairs a torturous joke.
Meg and I went to Sushi Popo for dinner last night. This is something I could eat every day of my life. Seriously. Mmmm...eeeeel....
Jason leaves tomorrow for England (for two weeks). **sniff** I'm going to miss my buddy, but think I have properly shamed him into acquiescing to send a postcard my way.
I've read some comments on others' blogs that are downright frikkin' snide to the author. That's just wrong and rude. Should I ever disrespect anyone on their site, please pull my shit to the curb. I'll respect you for it.
Blogger romance... I've also noticed a little of this goin' on. It's kinda cute... but sad, too. Trust me, I've got crushes on everyone out there I make a point to read, but geesh. It's not like I know Thing One (or even Thing Two) about these people. But they are as they read AND what I make them in my own mind. This is a topic I may have to think about some more as it is a rather strange phenomenon.
Well, time to walk the poog and eat some lunch before heading back to the Appreciation Factory. I wish all of you in Blogland a wonder-full and safe Labor Day weekend! Bye-o!!

Who dat snappin' back? |

Wednesday, September 01, 2004

Color me yellow

Jenny, a co-worker at George's, is also a nurse. She had to give one of her patients an enema today. A man dying of liver failure. Her story about the enema coming back on her with a force to be reckoned with, made me laugh so damn hard tonight that I actually woke up. I know, it's a sad and tragic story of a man who has literally imbibed too much of the alcoholic beverage and is dying because of it. My comment was "So he's a little jaundiced, eh?" Her reply... "Like a fucking school bus." Sorry, but it was funny.

Who dat snappin' back? |

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