Friday, July 08, 2005
Little bits
Haven't had much time (or inclination) lately to update this here blog. Life's been happening; in some ways it's downright wondrous... others perplexing. But here's a few li'l bits:
The Friday work day could not end fast enough. Felt like I was draggin' a snail down a sandpaper track, but what more can you expect when faced with a three-day weekend... (well, a two-day wheeeeekend in my book). Saturday was much like Friday. But at the magical time of 6:30 pm central (bar) time, I was off... sitting down after 8 hours of schlepping beer and burgers. Plans! Plans I had aplenty. Party here. Party there. Invite to dinner. Invite to this, that or the other. Jazz Fest going on about three blocks from my house. Oh yes... I had big plans. But when I sat down after my shift on Saturday drinking a Harp, **whoosh**! Of a sudden, the only thing that sounded really right to me was going home. This, however, I did not immediately do. (Bad Angie)
***
Sunday morn, tangled up in my own legs and the damn gazillion pillows I have on my bed, that technologically inept contraption that is my answering machine awoke me. I didn't really hear what was being said. Instead, I simply rolled over and tried to fall back asleep. That didn't work because by that time it'd hit me that not only was my head thudding ever so slightly, but boy howDEEEEE did I have to pee. So, up I got. Did da bidness... stumbled into the kitchen, made some coffee, defended my ankles from the poog. Usual routine.
Eventually, I checked my messages (which means I half listened to three of 'em and concentrated -as much as humanly possible before coffee- to the last one). That one was from my friend, The Rog. Now then, Rog is one of my best friends on this earth. There's probably not a damn thing I wouldn't do for this guy. He needed a ride to the hospital. So, of course, I said "Let me drink some coffee, take a shower... I'll pick ya up in an hour or so." (I'm a damn good friend in an emergency). Anywhoodle, long story short, poor guy had a knee a the size of a watermelon. Couldn't walk. I still have no idea how he made it down the stairs of his apartment... So Roger gets a less-than-limo ride to the emergency room. After it was firmly established that morphine was his friend and they (THEY... the ones what want yer money and will gladly charge you for each and every square of toilet paper you might use during your tenure) were strongly suggesting that an overnight stay in the B & B of have-Mercy-on-your-poor-soul-because-you're-going-to-be-paying-this-off-FORever), there was nothing more I could do.
Unfortunately, turns out there was nothing the doctors could really do either. Poor Roger had to spend four days and three nights there before one brilliant doctor decided to give him a shot of cortizone. Yep, the wonder drug worked. Rog is out dancing jigs again and all is right with the world.
***
Same Sunday, it turns out that while I was at the hospital with Rog, my mom and stepdad were at the hospital in their town. Allen missed a step and busted two bones in his ankle. Yowza! So now he's gimpin' around with a walker on which Mom says she's going to put a pink basket, cup holder and a bike horn (the kind with the big rubber ball... oh yeah...).
***
Also on Sunday, another friend of mine and I went to hear John Doe play at The Mill. Oh yes, peoples, I sat not 10 feet from JOHN FRIKKIN' DOE. The 3-piece band (Luca, from Tuscon, AZ) that opened for him was ok... their original stuff was pretty repetitive, but they were great when paired up with the superstar himself. It was a tiny thrill to see the bass player wipe the pained look off his face while plucking through songs written to showcase the lead guitarist, and actually become animated; John Doe kept calling him "purdy and smart". They really did mesh well together. And it's with great joy I say that 2.5 hour set was the best 2.5 hours of my entire weekend. I could spend a lot of time writing inanely about the show and how much it ROCKED, but why don't you all do yourselves a favor and just go out and buy his latest CD, "Forever Hasn't Happened Yet"?
***
Wednesday I finally went out to my garden. Oh. My. Lawd. I headed out to the park after work armed with tomato cages and a resolve to make my plot purty. After ascertaining that yes, that rectangular area with weeds up to my thighs was mine, I carefully waded in, scaring out all sorts o' snakes 'n bugs 'n shit. None of that bothers me... but I'll scream bloody murder at a grasshopper. Sifting through the ragweed, wild mustard, jimsonweed and thistle, the only way to decipher what was noxious and what was not was the four plastic spoons I had put around each plant. A friend told me it keeps the rabbits away, so what the hey... I'll try anything once. Not only did the spoons keep little nibblers from munching on my Biker Billys, Hot Lemons and Cherry Bombs, but they were beacons beseeching me not to yank up the little darlings. Three and a half hours, several blisters and an aching back later, I can proudly proclaim my garden no longer resembles a vegetative ghetto. The weeds have been annihilated, the tomatoes have been staked, and I no longer have to hang my head in shame when my green thumb neighbors walk by.
***
And so here we are, having arrived once again to Friday. I dare say my expectations of this weekend will not be so high as last weekend. I will have fun in some little old way, whether it's going swimming tonight, out with friends tomorrow or a little trip to Sutliff on Sunday. Who knows what the weekend holds. Not I... but it's going to be a good one.
Who dat snappin' back? |
The Friday work day could not end fast enough. Felt like I was draggin' a snail down a sandpaper track, but what more can you expect when faced with a three-day weekend... (well, a two-day wheeeeekend in my book). Saturday was much like Friday. But at the magical time of 6:30 pm central (bar) time, I was off... sitting down after 8 hours of schlepping beer and burgers. Plans! Plans I had aplenty. Party here. Party there. Invite to dinner. Invite to this, that or the other. Jazz Fest going on about three blocks from my house. Oh yes... I had big plans. But when I sat down after my shift on Saturday drinking a Harp, **whoosh**! Of a sudden, the only thing that sounded really right to me was going home. This, however, I did not immediately do. (Bad Angie)
***
Sunday morn, tangled up in my own legs and the damn gazillion pillows I have on my bed, that technologically inept contraption that is my answering machine awoke me. I didn't really hear what was being said. Instead, I simply rolled over and tried to fall back asleep. That didn't work because by that time it'd hit me that not only was my head thudding ever so slightly, but boy howDEEEEE did I have to pee. So, up I got. Did da bidness... stumbled into the kitchen, made some coffee, defended my ankles from the poog. Usual routine.
Eventually, I checked my messages (which means I half listened to three of 'em and concentrated -as much as humanly possible before coffee- to the last one). That one was from my friend, The Rog. Now then, Rog is one of my best friends on this earth. There's probably not a damn thing I wouldn't do for this guy. He needed a ride to the hospital. So, of course, I said "Let me drink some coffee, take a shower... I'll pick ya up in an hour or so." (I'm a damn good friend in an emergency). Anywhoodle, long story short, poor guy had a knee a the size of a watermelon. Couldn't walk. I still have no idea how he made it down the stairs of his apartment... So Roger gets a less-than-limo ride to the emergency room. After it was firmly established that morphine was his friend and they (THEY... the ones what want yer money and will gladly charge you for each and every square of toilet paper you might use during your tenure) were strongly suggesting that an overnight stay in the B & B of have-Mercy-on-your-poor-soul-because-you're-going-to-be-paying-this-off-FORever), there was nothing more I could do.
Unfortunately, turns out there was nothing the doctors could really do either. Poor Roger had to spend four days and three nights there before one brilliant doctor decided to give him a shot of cortizone. Yep, the wonder drug worked. Rog is out dancing jigs again and all is right with the world.
***
Same Sunday, it turns out that while I was at the hospital with Rog, my mom and stepdad were at the hospital in their town. Allen missed a step and busted two bones in his ankle. Yowza! So now he's gimpin' around with a walker on which Mom says she's going to put a pink basket, cup holder and a bike horn (the kind with the big rubber ball... oh yeah...).
***
Also on Sunday, another friend of mine and I went to hear John Doe play at The Mill. Oh yes, peoples, I sat not 10 feet from JOHN FRIKKIN' DOE. The 3-piece band (Luca, from Tuscon, AZ) that opened for him was ok... their original stuff was pretty repetitive, but they were great when paired up with the superstar himself. It was a tiny thrill to see the bass player wipe the pained look off his face while plucking through songs written to showcase the lead guitarist, and actually become animated; John Doe kept calling him "purdy and smart". They really did mesh well together. And it's with great joy I say that 2.5 hour set was the best 2.5 hours of my entire weekend. I could spend a lot of time writing inanely about the show and how much it ROCKED, but why don't you all do yourselves a favor and just go out and buy his latest CD, "Forever Hasn't Happened Yet"?
***
Wednesday I finally went out to my garden. Oh. My. Lawd. I headed out to the park after work armed with tomato cages and a resolve to make my plot purty. After ascertaining that yes, that rectangular area with weeds up to my thighs was mine, I carefully waded in, scaring out all sorts o' snakes 'n bugs 'n shit. None of that bothers me... but I'll scream bloody murder at a grasshopper. Sifting through the ragweed, wild mustard, jimsonweed and thistle, the only way to decipher what was noxious and what was not was the four plastic spoons I had put around each plant. A friend told me it keeps the rabbits away, so what the hey... I'll try anything once. Not only did the spoons keep little nibblers from munching on my Biker Billys, Hot Lemons and Cherry Bombs, but they were beacons beseeching me not to yank up the little darlings. Three and a half hours, several blisters and an aching back later, I can proudly proclaim my garden no longer resembles a vegetative ghetto. The weeds have been annihilated, the tomatoes have been staked, and I no longer have to hang my head in shame when my green thumb neighbors walk by.
***
And so here we are, having arrived once again to Friday. I dare say my expectations of this weekend will not be so high as last weekend. I will have fun in some little old way, whether it's going swimming tonight, out with friends tomorrow or a little trip to Sutliff on Sunday. Who knows what the weekend holds. Not I... but it's going to be a good one.
