I'm not 60

I realize I have neglected my duties as a blogger, and as a result, I apologize to all 3 of my readers (Dad, Neep, & Shawn). You know me - I have to have 457 things going on at once as to give about .15% of my effort to each activity.

Anyhow, I have an entire list of topics to discuss, but I use this blog to vent (if you haven't already noticed), and therefore, need to vent about an incident that occurred about 7 minutes ago.

There is a young lady in my office, whom I refer to as "KinderCare2". She's 22? I think. Anyway, bless her heart, she's a Florida Hick, and she sadly thinks that she and I have much in common because I'm from Texas, and she is country.

Clearly...this is not the case.

Anyway, she's perfectly nice, but a few minutes ago, she was behind me while I was at the water cooler. She said in her twangy voice, "Melissa, I can only hope that one of my legs is half the size of yours when I'm your age!"

I stopped fresh in my tracks to the point where my cup runneth over. (that was for you, babe)

WT Fat?

Let's break this down...

First of all, what she said could have been taken in the context that my legs are big, and that she hopes her legs get bigger to where they are "half the size" of my big legs. Fortunately, for her sake, this is not what she meant.

Secondly, "when I'm your age"?!?!? I mean...I'm 33! I'm not 60!!! Not that being 60 isn't fantastic (Jenn), but, really??? Who says that?!?!?

Sigh...do I have to teach these people EVERYTHING?

On another note, this past weekend we had the pleasure of visiting San Antonio (Texas, not Florida, I always have to say that b/c people in Florida never actually think you leave this state, and there does exist a San Antonio, FL) . I was so happy to be back and to take Shawn, because it was his first time to visit. We had a marvelous time, and I got to revisit some places that took me back to childhood.

A funny story:

I kept telling Shawn how excited I was to visit my grandparents on Saturday, and that I couldn't wait to stop and get homemade breakfast tacos along the way. Old Boston Boy kept thinking that I meant tacos, as in, Taco Bell crunchy shell with beef tacos, because I kept saying "tacos". San Antonio has a few areas that may not be entirely pleasing to the eye, so to speak, and so on the way to my grandparents house, we entered the barrio, and I told Shawn (who was driving) he could stop at a number of establishments along the way for $.99 cent tacos. He said, "Babe - I don't want tacos!" Thinking, that I meant regular tacos, and I'm like, "Why not?! It's breakfast!" Long story short, we finally clarified that I meant breakfast tacos and not tacos regular. A breakfast taco, by my definition to him, is a delicious homemade flour tortilla filled with any number of items including eggs, potato, bacon, chorizo, and barbacoa. He finally said "ooooohhhhhhhhh - okayyyyy - I get it now."

Gringos...

Anyway, continuing along the road, we were sort of in an unfamiliar area, and Ern called about the time we were arguing about tacos. Ern was (of course out of worry) somewhat flustered that I had not followed his directions, nor did I entirely know where I was located at the time. He told me to "head south" to get to my grandparents house, to which I responded "I don't know what that is." He said, "Don't you have a compass in your car?!"

Seriously? Who has a COMPASS???

I'm thinking, "Dad - I have an iPhone! An iPhone with a GPS that will get me directions to anywhere at any time. " Sigh...

As we continued down the road, I told Shawn to stop at another place. He took one look and said, "With bars on the windows?" I'm like, "Honey, we ain't gonna find a place around here without 'em, and besides, it's just an extra precaution, we are perfectly safe."

So, finally, after passing several establishments, we stopped at a place. Shawn reluctantly went in, and asked me what he should order. I told him he would enjoy the egg & cheese, and any other egg option on the menu, so he ordered three tacos (breakfast). $7.00 and 5 tacos later, we were satisfied and happy. I think I gave Shawn a new reason to love Texas.

The wedding was absolutely fabulous. A truly gorgeous celebration of two beautiful people. We could not be more thrilled for the wonderful couple. I do have at least 3 hilarious stories to tell, but I'm afraid my parents will be mad, so I may have to direct you to my "secret blog" where I can say anything and everything and not be in trouble (even though I'm 33, married, and live out of state).

Cougarville?

I had so many topics to write about today, and perhaps I will find a way to incorporate them or save for another day (which is impossible because I am impatient chicken and have to get everything out immediately - word vomit). This morning has been entirely too productive, and I feel the need to share such comedy and entertainment with the world. I would hate to deprive people I know of the humor I experience on a daily basis.



This morning, as I drove Shawn's car with the XM radio, which mine doesn't have because my car sucks but I'm not bitter, I was listening to the 90's station. Sidecar: The first time I heard of a 90's station, I nearly had heart failure. I mean, 90's is now so distant that we have stations and club nights dedicated to all things of that decade? Am I really that old? Anyway, I was listening to the station on my way to work, and what should be playing? "Pump Up the Jam". Is this one of the ultimate 90's "pump it up" songs, or what? As many times as I've heard it (overkill), and as cheesy as it has become, I simply could not bring myself to change the channel. Besides, "Dead and Gone" was on all the other stations - one was playing the radio version, another playing the club remix, and still another playing the instrumental T-Lake piano-only version. You can only hear Justin sing "I've been battling down this road too long..." so many times in one sitting.



Back to the lecture at hand...

So I'm listening to "Pump Up the Jam", my foot can't stop tap-tap-tapping, tap-tap-tapping, and I'm on my way to work thinking - THIS song should be streamed into the office every morning as people arrive. It doesn't have to be loud, just loud enough to get the foot tapping and blood flowing before we start our day. I even thought that maybe we could all engage in some office calisthenics before selling our little hearts out. (BTW - Bucs Season Tix - pick-a-seat May 15-16th)



I then changed the station to the 80's channel only to hear one of my all-time favorites - "Maniac" from the movie Flashdance. I have deemed this my personal theme song. Let me tell you, it took every ounce of me NOT to get out of the car and start twirling around in the classic Jennifer Beals Maniac run in my office parking lot. No, I had to suppress my dancing energy and go into the office, where no "Pump Up the Jam" was playing as I had hoped. Sigh.



I come into the office and speak to my "niece," Amy. I quickly send an email to the cool kids (all 25 and under) and tell them about my ideas for "Pump Up the Jam" and "Maniac" and I proceed to ask them about their personal theme songs. Amy reminds me that "Pump Up the Jam", the Space Jam remix, is a better mix for the song than the original. She stared at me dumbfounded when I told her I never saw the movie Space Jam. She says, "How can that be?" I proceed to tell her I was 19-20 years old when the movie came out, and she quickly reminds me she was 10. Thanks.



I then realize that she probably has never even heard of the movie Flashdance or the song "Maniac" because, oh ya, she wasn't even BORN when it came out. I was 7. I had to BEG my parents to let me watch the movie, and they didn't even allow me to watch it until I was 10, or maybe older, so I had already fallen in love with the soundtrack but had no reference because I wasn't allowed to watch the movie!



Now, I have to laugh, because I was not allowed to see the movie at age 7 as a result of the stripping and the two times they dropped an F-bomb, yet my children will be born into strip club mania because Tampa has one on every corner next to every grocery store and Kinder Care. It's pretty amazing how things have changed.



So, Amy and I continue to discuss the phenomenon that is Space Jam, and MJ in his early days. We move on to the topic of MJ, and Amy expresses her disdain for him, not as an athlete, but as a cocky, pompous, philanderer (ok, those last two were my words). We are then reminded of an interesting story that Neep told me, and I passed on to the next generation (Amy). Just call me a modern day Aesop, if you will. We discussed the story again (you'll have to wait for my memoirs), and I guestimated that this event occurred probably somewhere around 1990-92, when Amy was 5-6 years old. She continues to ask me how old Neep is, and says (sorry, Neep), "Oh - she's a cougar."



Pause



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Um...what?!?!?



I said, "UH, NOOOOO!!! A cougar is FORTY!" She says, "Noooo. A cougar is 35 and older." Am I wrong to be arguing with a 22-year-old about this? So, I proceed to tell her that I am a cougar, and she says I am not because I'm not 35...yet. I tell her that I am when it comes to Jacoby or Rondo (whom I would never actually like, but I just LOVE Rondo - he's the bomb - another triple double last night, THANK YOU! and did you see that dunk?!?!), and she gives me a weird look.





This has been my day thus far, and it's only 10am. I can't wait to see what is in store after lunch.

Unadulturated Hatred

Yesterday, I was talking with Neep, and we were discussing various Neverending Basketball Association players we admire and adore. Of course, I went on a tireless rant about Rajon Rondo, Ray Allen, etc., and I proceeded to "dis" (is it one 's' or 2?) her boys Kobe & Pau Gasol.

Hint: I'm not going to write this blog as if you all do not know who or what I'm talking about. You have Google...use it.

Anyway, I went on and on and this rightfully disturbed my friend. She proceeded to say "Man, I am SO nice to you about people I don't like." For example, Paul Pierce. She said she keeps her thoughts to herself for my sake, and I just say whatever I feel. I said this to pc last night and told him that I have made it my mission to be nicer about people I don't like to Neep (only - baby steps) because she holds back. He said, "Right pm. And you don't hold back - EVER."

As a result, I'm going to make a conscious effort to do this.

So, today, we were discussing this exchange, and she said, "its great though, in contrast, when we can gar on rotags and other weaselly teams and individuals." To which I replied, "there is the occasional misfit that one supports and not the other, also i have an unadulterated hatred for $c for ewe." I went on to say, "What does that MEAN anyway? Unadulterated?"

I mean, we hear people use it all the time, but what does it truly mean? So the definition she found was this: Not mingled or diluted with extraneous matter; pure. See synonyms at pure. Out-and-out; utter: the unadulterated truth.

PURE HATRED

My thought is this...when you are a child, you are pure. As an adult, you become corrupted and jaded, thus losing all purity you once had as a child. As a result, you are UN-childlike, hence, an adult. Also, it sounds like adultery. (most) People hate adultery because it is not pure.

You following me?

I have unadulterated dislike for the following items: Cilantro, Bugs, and Joakim Noah.

Do you think that Brad Miller (not you, Sours, you're "the guy") has an unadulterated hatred for people who hit him in the mouth?

I wonder if the Celtics are developing an unadulterated hatred for double and triple overtimes? Do you think they might want to go ahead and develop such a hatred so they might actually WIN a game WITHOUT going into OT and keeping me up all hours of the night on the edge of my seat????

...but I'm not bitter.