Success

In my pjs.

Dark house.

Tiny, not-so-fun size candy all for me.

Boo-humbug pumpkin on the porch.

Sprinklers on.

NO TRICK-OR-TREATORS.

Success.

C.T.

It's 1999, y'all.

And the new albums from The Backstreet Boys and Britney Spears are out today!




Everybody. Rock your body. Like it's 1999.

Backstreet's back.

Apparently.

And don't worry, the Spice Girls start their new world tour next month.

Because it's 1999. Apparently.

C.T.

The worst sock ever.

Unfortunately, it is that time of year that requires me to wear socks. I hate wearing socks. But frankly, it gets below about 90 degrees and I am chilled until it warms up to a more respectable temperature . . . like 95. And the first things to be cold are my feet, and the rest of me can't get warm unless my feet are warm.

I'm pretty much a little old lady shuffling around in my thermal socks from mid-October until April. Except I'm not all that little anymore, but that's a blog for another day.

I have this one pair of shoes that I wear to work that requires black trouser socks or else the shoes literally fall off of my feet. I have really skinny feet. Most shoes fall off. I have come to accept this. Sometimes socks help.

Last year I stocked up on black socks at Target, only to later find that every single pair of the Target socks got a hole where my left big toe is about the second time that I wore the socks.

At first, I thought I just had a bad batch of socks. So I bought another batch.

THE SAME THING HAPPENED.

Then, I assume I had a razor sharp toenail on my left big toe. So, I filed it and groomed it as such that the toe could not possibly be a threat to any sock anywhere in the world.

THE SAME THING HAPPENED.

By that time it was warm enough to not have to wear socks anymore, so I abandoned all of the socks (faulty or not) and moved on to more important things in my life.

Like pizza or something.

So, this past weekend I was at Target and I passed the sock department and I remembered that I am a bit low on socks (since they all got holes in them last year). I decided to try some more socks, but thinking that I was getting a different kind than last year, I bought more socks at Target.

I wore them yesterday.

THE SAME THING HAPPENED.




Same hole. Same sock. Same place on the same sock. The first time I wore the socks.

It CANNOT be my toe because I have filed and painted my toes, like, 108 times since I wore socks last season. And I refuse to accept that I have a gnarly sock-slicing toe that slices and dices all socks. Plus, I don't have this problem with any other socks that I own.

WHAT IS UP?!?!?

The worst socks ever. That's what.

C.T.

C.T. Pumpkin's Halloween message for you:

Boo-HumBug.

In other words, "I don't have any candy so stay off of my porch."

We'll see how long she lasts before she gets smashed by some hoodlums.

I should decorate for Halloween every year.

C.T.

I really want a pumpkin this year

And I don't really understand why. Or what it means for me as a person.

I'm usually anti-pumpkin. I don't like the fall season or this time of year, or any fall-ish decorations. But for some reason, I feel like I really need to buy a pumpkin tomorrow.

I'm pretty excited about a pumpkin, actually.

How long do pumpkins last? It's not like, a pet or a child, right? I don't have to keep it alive forever or anything, do I?

Do you even keep pumpkins alive? See, clearly I know nothing about having a pumpkin. What do they eat? Can it live out on my porch, or should it be more of an inside pumpkin? Do I have to bathe it? Does it require vaccinations? Will it need a litter box?

Will the evil cat try to eat it if I put it outside? Or worse . . . mate with it?

Do I need to have my pumpkin spayed or neutered? I'm not sure I can handle a litter of tiny baby pumpkins running around here.

I feel like I will want to name it, then I will name it, then I will become attached to it, then one day when it is too rotten to keep, I will be sad and I will miss it when it's gone.

Maybe I'm not ready for a pumpkin, yet. It seems like a lot of responsibility.

C.T.

Now I know what to do next time a squirrel tries to get in the house.

My dad also recommended that I construct one of these for the evil cat that stares at me through my back door.

C.T.

Car Paid Off Eve, y'all

Today, in the mail, I received the final bill for my very last car payment on the Jeep.

60 months.
60 payments.
1 Jeep.

I've never paid off a car before. My dad helped me buy my first car when I was sixteen, the infamous 1987 white Ford Tempo. He bought it, then I paid him back for half-ish of it.

The 1996 Dodge Neon was stolen during year three of my plan to pay it off then drive it forever. So, I was forced to start over with a new car.

The 2000-something Alero went back to the dealership after year three, or else I owed them a bunch of money to pay it off all at one time.

And now, the Jeep.

This is all very exciting for me. I've had a car payment for a little less than half of my life. But after November 2, I will no longer have a car payment.

I sense, however, that Chrysler Financial is less excited about this than I am. They are already filling my mailbox with flashy, full-color magazines and brochures about the new Jeep Liberty. They are ready for me to buy a new one and start more payments.

And, there was no fanfare when I opened my last bill today.

No, "Congratulations! You no longer owe us any money!"

No, "Enjoy your payment-free Jeep, which incidentally, makes it much more enjoyable than it was when you still owed money on it!"

No, "We appreciate you paying your bill on-time, every month, without fail, for the past five years. So, in honor of you being the best car payment customer we've ever had, don't worry about this last one. And, you're very pretty."

It was all very underwhelming to open the envelope and see that it was just another bill. No song. Not even any confetti that fell out.

Would it have killed them to put a little smiley face on the bill somewhere??

But, even though they downplayed the significance of this bill, it wasn't just another bill. At the top, tucked away in small letters, it said: Payment 60 of 60. And that's all I really need it to say.

In honor of my Jeep and me being debt-free, I will now publicly reveal her name on this blog. It is . . .

Jumbalaya

I love Jumbalaya dearly, and I plan to drive her forever. I hope that when the check is received for my last payment that it does not fall apart or explode the very next day.

Although, I did sit in the new Jeep Liberty at the Fair Auto Show on Sunday, and it is VERY PRETTY and AWESOME.

But not now.

Payment-free. That's me.

C.T.

Thank you, City of Dallas

I really think these will make a difference.

In fact, I'm already inspired to pull up my baggy flannel pajama pants.

C.T.

I'm so cold. And I am wearing flannel pjs.

I just spent two days outdoors in 90 degree weather, yet tonight I am huddled on the couch underneath two blankets in my flannel pjs.

Global Warming my arse. It dropped 30 degrees in less than 24 hours. And now my arse is cold.

I do not like that I had to wear long sleeves to work today.

I rebelled and still refused to wear socks with shoes, but my feet were cold all day so that made me unhappy. I wore shoes that did not require socks.

I did not wear a jacket today . . . again, out of rebellion. I refuse to admit that warm weather may be gone until spring. And I hate jackets.

But of course, I was colder outside today than I probably needed to be because I refused to wear the jacket.

I also refused to take my trash out tonight for two reasons:

1. It was dark outside.
2. It was cold outside.

These are both signs that it's winter and not warm or fun outside anymore for a long time.

I do not like this one bit.

C.T.

I don't think I will ever eat again.

I had a corny dog in my belly before noon today.

I ate all of the Fair food that I had been waiting for since last year within the span of about 2 hours today.

It. Was. Amazing.

Then there was some Mexican food later near the Farmers Market.

And now I don't think I will ever eat food again.

At least not until tomorrow. And I will certainly be ready for more Fair food in time for the Fair next year. But I think until the Fair next year, I will eat only salad.

Also, my sunburn is now so ridiculous, it's ridiculous even for me. And believe me, I've had some really, really ridiculously ridiculous sunburns in my day.

I'm like a frightened raccoon now.

But I had a corny dog today, y'all.

C.T.

Some sort of white-trash pink raccoon thing

It appears that I've got some sort of white-trash pink raccoon thing going on here.

It's a convergence of all of the best kinds of sunburns, acquired at the football game today.

My forearms are sunburned, but only up to where the bottom of my shirtsleeves ended, and my left arm more so than the right arm, since the sun beat down on us from our lefts the whole time. Very farmer-white-trash-esque.

My left ear is toast.

My sunglasses, while keeping the sun out of my eyeballs, also kept the sun from AROUND my eyeballs, leaving the rest of my face burned in a raccoon-esque manner. Again, the left side of my face being far more burned than the right.

And, my neck. The left side. Is, well, just really, really, ridiculously red.

Oh, and the part on the middle of my head up there all up in my hair is pink-ish.

I intend to even things out tomorrow at the Fair.

This should all peel nicely in two to three days.

C.T.

I don't know.

I don't know if I want to KNOW her, or if I want to BE her.



I just don't know.

C.T.

Anger Management

Have you ever not known you are angry until someone (or sometTHING) tells you that you are angry?

I had a doctor's appointment today during lunch. Yes, it takes a team of highly skilled doctors to keep the finely tuned Tyrant running at peak performance at all times through any number of grueling everyday conditions.

So today, I get to the doctor's office (early, I might add), and a sign on the door greets me:

Anger Management
Seminar begins soon!

I'm not all that angry that I know of at the moment, but seeing that sign right in my face kinda made me a little bit angry.

And then I saw it three more times before I even got to the sign-in counter at my doctor's office. So I was a little more angry every time I saw it again.

Is this rudimentary signage method really the best way to get angry people to deal with their anger? Or is the problem that angry people were NOT signing up for the seminar, so they decided to make some non-angry people angry to fill the seats in the seminar...

But, then I wasn't angry anymore as I was greeted by the greeter-lady-person. They know who I am when I get there and I don't really have to sign in or anything. They recognize me when I walk in the door, and I hardly ever even have to wait. They shoo me right in.

This is true at many of my doctor's offices. I've spent a lot of time with a variety of doctors over the years. As much as I hate doctors and all that they stand for (if I'm there, I'm usually ill or needing a procedure of some sort), I like it when I get to the point where I am recognized without them having to ask who I am, or how to pronounce my name. It is good when they are glad to see me, and not because I am putting their children through college with all of my medical expenses.

Like the guy at my gas station where I buy my Sunday morning paper every week. He sees me coming and he has the paper and my change ready (with some chit-chat) before I even get to the counter. I always pay with two dollars. He knows that.

So at the doctor-type-places, it's good when they recognize me because what they really recognize are my excellent patient skills. If I have to spend time with doctors, then I am going to be the best patient they ever had. EVER.

I will always be on time to my appointments. I will always take any necessary medication EXACTLY as I am directed. I will follow all instructions. And, I will not scream in pain even when it hurts.

Of course, getting me to go to a doctor in the first place is like pulling teeth. Especially if it involves actually pulling my teeth.

Anyway, so today I am sitting and waiting in the doctor's office where I am known and enjoyed as a patient (and I'm sure as a person), and I notice that I've been there awhile. These appointments are usually really fast. In and out in 20 minutes or so. But when I was still sitting in the waiting room after almost 30 minutes, I started getting a little angry again. I think it was mostly the power of suggestion.

Anger Management

Everyone in the room had been cleared out, including patients who had arrived after me. I started wondering what was up.

On a normal day, I might not have cared too much, and I might have continued patiently waiting. But, today I had to be back at work for a meeting, and my office is not at all close to my doctor's office.

BUT, I did NOT want to be one of those patients who goes back up to the counter-greeter-lady-person and is all . . . "Um, excuse me, but I have been waiting here for nearly HALF AN HOUR and I just want to know how much longer you people are going to make me wait???"

I decided to sit just a little longer and do this instead:

"Ok, if they take me back NOW and they spend 5 minutes with me, then it takes 2 minutes to schedule my next appointment, I'll have 21 minutes to get back to work. I'll park in front instead of in the garage. I can do that and still make the meeting."

"Ok.... if they take me back NOW, and they spend only three minutes with me, then I leave without scheduling my next appointment and I call back tomorrow to schedule it, and I drive 80 miles an hour all the way back to work, I'll have 17 minutes to get back to work. I can do that."

"OK . . . . it they DON'T take me back RIGHT NOW they'll have less than 2 minutes with me, I'll have to ask them to hurry (which is probably rude and unfair to other patients that they took back before me, but I'll have to risk it), I can then RUN out the door, drive 90 miles an hour without getting stopped for speeding, drive right up to the curb and leave my car running while we have our meeting and hope no one steals the Jeep until I can come back and park it properly, I'll make it. I can do that."

Finally, I really had to get back to work. And I didn't think it would go over very well to call my boss and be all, "Hey, I'm stuck in the doctor's office and yes, it's really only a 5 minute appointment, but I'll be 30 minutes late to our meeting and I've already been gone almost an hour..."

Of course, I'd already rescheduled this appointment TWICE because of work, so the thought at this point of having to bail and reschedule again was not all that fun for me.

Anger Management

So, when they called the last remaining other person back into the bowels of the office and I was the ONLY one still sitting out there (seriously, like 10 people had gone before me), I decided I had to say something.

I smiled (a lot) and went timidly up to the counter-greeter-lady-person and just told her that I was sorry, but I have to get back to work and I can't wait anymore.

She said, "I am SO sorry!" And I believed that she was because she is very sweet, and I am one of the best patients. EVER.

I know I am.

But then she lowered her voice and said, "Um, they can't seem to find your chart, so that's what is taking so long." She was apologetic on their behalf.

And incidentally, when the only thing separating me from the doctor-type-people in the back is a big, CLEAR piece of plastic window, just know that I can see you looking at me, then looking down at stuff, then looking back out at me, then pretending to be busy, then looking at me, then looking away hoping I didn't see you. It finally made sense why they were all running around back there but pretending I wasn't still sitting out there in the waiting room WAITING on them.

And ok, so were they just going to let me sit out there FOREVER and not tell me what was up??? I'm sitting over there literally AFRAID to go tell them I have to leave (which I have never EVER done before at any doctor anywhere), and all the while they are TORTURING me because they misplaced MY CHART????

HOW DO YOU MISPLACE A CHART???

See, I could understand that if I was a new patient and my chart was very tiny, easily misplaced. It could slide almost anywhere and never be heard from again.

But take, for instance, my chart at my ENT's office. After years of appointments, sinus surgery, three years of allergy shots, and countless follow-ups, they have to practically wheel that chart in on a cart all by itself. It rents a room in the basement. It has children. It has its own gravitational pull AWAY from the moon.

It has a solar system.

So, as I'm standing at the counter with an ANGER MANAGEMENT poster right in front of my face, at a doctor's office where I am well-known (and dare-I-say . . . loved), listening to her tell me that they've lost my chart and they let me sit there for 40 minutes without telling me, I considered that maybe I should go ahead and sign up for that Anger Management Seminar that I kept seeing so much about during my 40 minute pointless office sit-in, you know, while counter-greeter-lady-person rescheduled my appointment for next week.

I asked her if I was going to be charged for my visit today. Since, you know, that's really all it was. Me visiting them.

She said "OF COURSE NOT!!!"

Good. That subsided my anger for the time being.

Then I went back to work and no good came from that, either.

I might have been better off just waiting it out at the doctor's office to see how that whole missing chart thing worked out.

C.T.

I'm a little scared of The Bee Movie.

Because I'm allergic to bees.

I spend my whole life staying away from bees because they are evil and sting-y. So what does this teach people who are allergic, or small children who don't know any better? That cartoon bees are okay, therefore real bees should be played with, too?

That real bees are cute and cuddly and funny, just like the cartoon bees?

It's going to desensitize the whole world to the dangers of bees.

Next will come hornets and wasps and yellow jackets. And as we all know from that B movie I watched about the crazy wasps, you can NEVER trust a wasp. But people will think that you can.

You never know when a wasp will somehow turn into a toxic, psycho, vengeful wasp that gathers it's friends to eat your face off.

I don't like this whole cartoony Bee movie one bit.

Not one bit at all.

The only good bee is The Singing Bee. Mark my words.

C.T.

I read somewhere once . . .

I read somewhere once that the drummer from No Doubt taught himself to drum.

I feel like I can do that too.

C.T.

Seriously, I just want to ride around in my car.

And listen to my new speaker.

Actually, I'm listening to all of them. In fact, they all sound just a bit better than they did three days ago.

But I'm especially paying attention to the new one.

It's like an aural party in my ears on the way to work. And then another aural party on the way home.

But a different party since the songs are different on the way home.

C.T.

Sometimes, I just really miss Airwolf.

Know what I mean?

Jan Michael Vincent?

Anyone?

C.T.

Yard, thou hast redeemed thyself

I had a great day in the yard today.

I trimmed up the fig tree.

It was cool outside. The weather was fantastic.

And yes, while I trimmed, I danced in the yard to the tunes on my ipod.

What.

The old Asian man behind and to the left of my house goes out in his bathrobe and throws whole pieces of bread into his yard for the birds. And the lady behind me to the right put up a 12-foot privacy fence around ONLY her patio, you know, for privacy while she is in the hot tub on her patio. Plus, her yard used to be a sand volleyball court, so there is no grass, and there is still a volleyball stuck in one of her trees.

So, I can dance in my backyard and I am by far NOT the weirdest person in my neighborhood.

C.T.

Scooby Doo macaroni & cheese

Sometimes, you just really have to have Scooby Doo macaroni & cheese.

You know you do.

I have some right now, yo.

C.T.

Less Rattle, More Cowbell

About six months ago, I noticed a new trend in music. I always have music on in the car, and sometime around April, I discovered that the latest in music engineering and produciton seemed to be a recurring rattle in each and every song, in the whole world, old and new.

Then I realized that wasn't really the case, that the music was still okay, but that the speaker in the door of my car was rattling. Regardless, since I've spent the last six months or so listening to music with an increasingly pronounced rattle at all of the important moments in a song, even when I hear songs in my head they . . . have the rattle.

It started small. And it has progressively gotten worse each and every livelong day during the past six months. When I realized what it was, I wasn't very happy that I was going to have to take the inside of the Jeep door off to solve this problem.

So, as I tend to do when something frightens me, I put it off, hoped it would heal itself if I ignored it, and I decided I could deal with the rattle for awhile until it healed itself. I had hopes that the speaker was just loose, and not broken.

But when my dad and I got into the door last Saturday, that wasn't the case. The speaker was certainly rattling, and broken, and definitely ruining my music experience. And I had decided that I just couldn't take it anymore.

Long story short, turns out the premium speakers in my Jeep can only be purchased at the dealership. So, I sold a kidney to purchase a new speaker for my Jeep last week. It's apparently a very fancy speaker, and I figured I use the speakers in my Jeep more often than I use that one kidney. So, I feel good about it.

The first time my dad and I ever delved into the world of replacing car audio thingies together is when I had my very first car when I was in highschool: the 1987 white Ford Tempo. It was an awesome piece of machinery that had one of those old radios with the push buttons that you had to push in all the way to get that little orange line to move up and down the dial when you wanted to tune in a preset station.

I decided that I wanted a tape player and a digital radio tuner for the Tempo (you know, so that my friends would stop laughing at my archaic radio), so my dad helped me get the tape deck and we closed ourselves in the garage one weekend to install the new radio ourselves.

I don't remember all of the details, but I remember that it was quite a process with lots of wires and instructions and fitting my tiny hands into small places to hook things up under my dad's direction. We worked hard and got the old radio out and the new one in. Then we fired it up and . . . it worked!

We were geniuses!!!

Until . . . we opened and closed the car door and the radio went on and off with the dome light in the car. Turns out we had wired it into the door/dome light thingie.

I figured that would probably get annoying after like, a day. So, we rewired it. Then it was fine. And . . . AWESOME. Y'all, I had a TAPE PLAYER in my car!!!

All that to say, today's speaker replacement in the Jeep was MUCH easier. It took about 10 minutes. Car doors and speakers are made almost so you can't mess them up (I say that now that we've successfully replaced the speaker without messing it up).

And y'all, IT IS AMAZING!! The "premium" is now back in my sound system, and I pretty much just wanted to drive around the rest of the day listening to every song I've listened to in the past six months so that I can now hear everything WITHOUT the rattle.

It's like all new music, y'all. Even my Jackson 5 collection....

Of course, I didn't drive around the rest of the day because now that I have a (not cheap) new speaker, I can't afford gas to put in the Jeep.

Oh well. Now I can sing at the top of my lungs again in the car and the acoustics will compliment my voice. Or at least now I can crank up the bass again to drown myself out.

I do loves me some bass.

If anyone needs me tomorrow, I will be taking apart the old speaker because I am determined to figure out what broke and how it works. Because that's the way my genius brain works, y'all.

C.T.

Consumer Alert

You know those packets of cheese cubes that include a mix of cheddar cubes and monteray jack cubes?

Just so you know, there is not an equal number of both cheddar cubes and monteray jack cubes.

I feel like I had to tell you this out of good concience in case you were expecting your pack of cubes to contain the same number of cheddar cubes to match the same number of monteray jack cubes.

C.T.

Immobilized

I think there were several points in my day today when I just sat at my desk staring at the piles of To-Dos all over it and at the e-mails coming in at about one per minute on my computer screen . . . and I just couldn't form words or complete thoughts.

Immobilized by the piles.

I have bailed on dinner plans tonight, even though I didn't completely commit to them (if you are reading this and I was supposed to be at dinner with you, this is my way of telling you I'm not going to make it). However, I have no idea what I'm going to eat for dinner tonight, and I have no energy to cook, or go fetch. Hopefully the new fridge has a secret dinner surprise for me that I will discover in a few minutes.

I'm sitting on my bamboo couch outside on my patio . . . for probably the fourth time since I bought it at the beginning of the summer. I love the bamboo couch. This is a great spot. I should have spent more time here this summer. It's nice and cool outside again so I'm quite enjoying myself right here on the bamboo.

I think I have just decided to name her Bambi. The bamboo couch.

I'm listening to my water sprinklers. I LOVE the sound of my water sprinklers. I also love to watch the water go back and forth. It soothes me . . . even though I get a little bit frustrated with the water sprinkler when the back and forth trail that it leaves is not exactly even every single time.

I sometimes think I am a little bit autistic.

I know I am getting eaten by mosquitoes right now. But the sound of the sprinkler has me so calm right now . . . for the first time all week . . . that I don't care.

I might care if I end up having West Nile Virus tomorrow.

Maybe I should go inside and look into what my fridge might hold for dinner now.

Crap, the sprinkler just shut off.

C.T.

Dear Gas Stations,

Why do you have to ask me so many questions before I can put gas in my car?

Here's the thing: Getting gas is a regular inconvenience. We all have to do it, regularly, to keep our cars running. But no one likes to get gas.

It's annoying.
It's expensive.
I don't have time for such trivial things.

So forgive me if I don't understand the logic of the gas pump thingie asking me a bunch of questions BEFORE I can start pumping gas. This makes the whole event more annoying and inconvenient than it really needs to be.

"Debit or Credit?"
"Do you want a car wash?"
"How about some coffee?"
"Want a receipt?"
"What is your name?"
"How tall are you?"
"Are you really sure you should be wearing that?"
"Are you sure you don't want a car wash?"
"Will you be needing an oil change today?
"How about tomorrow?"
"Shouldn't you drive a more fuel-efficient car?"
"You should really at least clean your windows, don't you think?"

It's like a ridiculous small talk conversation with someone you don't want to talk to, just to get to that blessed screen that says "lift the lever and begin fueling." I don't want to answer those questions for most people, much less a machine that is holding gas hostage until I click the "yes" or "no" button enough times.

It is really none of your business whether I want a car wash or not.

Anyway, by the time you get to that screen that finally let's you pump gas, you've been standing there at the pump for five excruciating minutes. And these are five minutes that I could be watching TV, sleeping, or writing about something other than gas pumps.

Let me make a suggestion. Why not ask these questions (if you must ask) WHILE I am pumping my gas? That way I can answer the questions WHILE my car fills up with gas.

This saves time.

And, saving time makes me less annoyed. Which might also encourage me to come back to your gas station the next time I need gas.

I'm all for loyalty to situations that annoy me the least.

And for the record, I never want a car wash.

Sincerely,
C.T.

Today, they are officially not puppies anymore.

But they will always be puppies in my heart.



Duke, in his first year of life, has discovered that he likes long romps in the mud, chewing on the house, licking, jumping, jumping, jumping, and jumping. He's good at naps with my dad in their chair and with helping my mom with the cooking in the kitchen. And after overcoming his intial fear of the stairs, he now deftly bounds up and down the stairs, willy-nilly.



Duke hopes as a grown-up one-year-old that he will develop the skills to jump with purpose, rather than for no apparent reason . . .all the livelong day.

Daisy, in her first year of life, also enjoys long romps in the mud, making high-pitched and loud screeches to be dramatic, showing you all of her toys, and jumping up on the table in the yard when she thinks no one is looking. She also enjoys naps with my dad, and could care less about what's going on in the kitchen with my mom.

As a blossoming one-year-old, Daisy hopes to conquer behaving on a leash without yelping her head off to where the neighbors are pretty sure we are torturing puppies in the back yard.



Happy Birthday to my two favorite puppies who aren't quite puppies anymore.

C.T.

The Tyrant's Doping Confession

I feel convicted by recent events.

In the spirit of Marion Jones's recent doping confession and the return of her Olympic medals, and in spite of Floyd Landis's refusal to fess up to the doping that helped him win the Tour de France despite testing postive for the drugs he insists he didn't take, I feel it is my turn to come clean on this very important issue.

I am, after all, a role model for the youth of the world.

I have carried this weight for many, many years. But it is time that I publicly admit that while I was in elementary school, I was on asthma medication. During this time, I participated in many school-wide Field Days in which I competed in various events resulting in various levels of wins that I earned, including but not limited to the 100-yard dash, and the long jump.

Without the aid of my asthma medication, I would not have been able to breathe well enough to have competed in these events, let alone win any ribbons or awards. It is only with the help of these performance-enhancing drugs that I was able to secure my 5th, 6th, and yes, even 7th place ribbons in multiple events throughout my elementary school Field Day competitions.

I am certain that without these drugs, I could not have competed, and therefore would not have quite literally stolen these accolades from other more deserving 5th, 6th, and oh yes, 7th place winners. I can only imagine the lives I have ruined in the wake of my actions.

It is with a heavy heart that I hereby renounce my winnings, even after all of these years. And as soon as I am able to locate, somewhere in a box in my attic, these pink and green ribbons that I unfairly earned with the help of drugs that other children did not have, I will return them to my school to be awarded to those children who came in 6th, 7th, and oh yes, 8th place behind me in these events.

I know that this gesture will never right the wrong that has haunted me all of these years to this very day. But I can only hope that one day this will be but a distant memory and a fading mark on what would otherwise be a blemish-free athletic career.

Also, I might also have been on a lot of Motrin while running the White Rock Team Relay Marathon, and for most of my long bike races. However, the toxicology screenings are still out on those events. Until a panel can conclusively prove that I was, in fact, on Motrin to ease my aches and pains during these events, I will hang on to those Participant medals.

I offer my sincerest apologies for my actions to the world of athletics far and wide.

C.T.

I just saw the most horrible thing I have ever seen in my life.

And on behalf of China and the safety and sanity of all people in the world, I am recalling this product right now, effective immediately.



If you have this, get rid of it right now.

If you don't have it, don't buy it. Don't even look at it or think about buying it.

If I know you and you have already bought or have any intention of buying this for your children, I am immediately disowning you and your children.

Was it really necessary to take Tickle Me Elmo and create a more annoying, more ridiculous version, now called Extreme Tickle Me Elmo?

I extremely hate whoever invented this.

C.T.

Most un-therapeutic yard work EVER

I knew it was a bad sign when I woke up this morning and opened my front blinds to see the old Albino man across the street getting his paper without his shirt on.

Blech.

Working in my yard calms me. On a normal day. But not today.

Also, I might be the clumsiest person I've ever met. I tripped all over everything possible in the entire wake of where my yard begins and ends. Just when my legs had cleared of bruises, I added a large new one to my right thigh.

I didn't mow last weekend, so my grass was a little extra tall today.

Then, it rained a lot yesterday. So it was kinda still wet today when I got started. I was covered head to toe in wet grass, mud, and general yard shrapnel within about two minutes of getting started in the yard.

My weed-whacker would not cooperate at all today. I seem to have lost my good trim-line-winding skills, and I managed to wind the trimline in just such a way so that it wouldn't work right in the weed-whacker.

I also managed to put the weed-whacker too close to my leg when I was moving the cord (being clumsy and all), so that resulted in a few nice lashes on my leg from the trimline that seemed to hate me today anyway.

I bagged the grass in the front yard since it was so tall and wet. I don't usually bag the grass. I am bad at getting the grass from the mower bag into a garbage bag without dumping it all over my driveway . . . more than once.

I insist on listening to my ipod while I work in the yard, and today I lost count of how many times I turned the wrong way and jerked the earphones out of my ears. I also got wrapped in a bush with the earphone cords, in the front yard where people could could see me.

I finally decided to clear out the kudzu/poison ivy that had taken over my fence and the whole area behind my shed. It was messy and wrapped around everything for miles and miles and miles.

I'll let you know later if it's poison ivy.

I counted 108 thousand acorns in my driveway before I blew them away with my leaf blower, many of which I stepped on and it wasn't fun. I imagine squirrels will be coming from miles around to have a party at the end of my driveway.

It was hot outside.

I got sunburned.

The amount of yard therapy I needed today fell way short of what I got, and mostly I was just mad at my yard the whole time. So I think it was actually anti-therapy.

Oh well. I have ice cream around here somewhere.

C.T.

Don't ever tell me I don't have goals.

My goal this weekend is to watch as much TV from my DVR and as many movies as is humanly (or inhumanly) possible.

I'm well on my way.

C.T.

I love a good B movie on a Saturday morning.

Sittin' in my chair, drinking my coffee, halfway watching a fantastic B movie on the Sci Fi channel is a perfect way to start my Saturday.

This morning's piece of cinematic excellence involves radioactive yellow jackets and wasps hunting people down in swarms and pretty much just stinging them to death. Apparently, wasps can be angry, can organize themselves into vindictive swarms, and target idiots doing stupid things out-of-doors.

Right now, the local county hamburger cook-off is about to get eaten by these ridiculous wasps, while the local entemologists try to warn everyone in vain.

Meanwhile, the local crazy pest control guy is hunting the even crazier wasps with a flame-thrower.

What can we learn from this film? I will tell you.

1. Outdoor hamburger festivals are dumb and wasps hate them. No hamburger is worth your life.

2. If wasps are following you, climb into a large trash can. Apparently, plastic cannot be penetrated by even the angriest of wasps.

3. Always listen to your local entemologists. If they tell you angry wasps are killing everyone, run away. Or find a trash can (see #2 above).

4. Always keep a flame-thrower on hand. You never know when you might need to fry a swarm of yellow jackets.

5. If you are a reporter covering a local hamburger festival, you are a target for angry wasps and you will certainly get eaten. And your camera man will capture all of it on film.

6. Once you are in a safe trash can, don't come out to check on things after thirty seconds. The wasps are smarter than you are and they are waiting outside of the trash can to eat you. Stay in there for like, a month. Just to be safe.

Remember, just because it's on the Sci Fi channel, doesn't mean it couldn't happen in real life . . .

C.T.

Not So Electric Avenue

I woke up way too early this morning. I don't know if it was the sound of things clicking on and off, or that it was just really hot and still in my room, but I woke up to find that my electricity was off.

Then on.

Then off again. And it stayed off.

It was really hot in my room. The ceiling fan wasn't moving and the a/c wasn't blowing. And it was way too early to be awake and realizing that I had no electricity. But I still had to figure out how to get myself ready for work.

I grabbed my flashlight that I always keep by my bed (safety first, y'all). It was my Grandpa's flashlight that is probably 50 or so years old. He got it back when he worked at the paper mill. It still works and comes in handy when my house decides not to have electricity.

I went out to stand on my front porch to see if the whole street was broken, and it was. If it's more than just my house without electricity, that's a good thing. It means my house isn't broken. Just the street is broken.

I dug out my electric bill (still in the dark with just the flashlight) and called the number on it to report an outage. The automated thingie told me they would have it back on by 8:00.

Um, that's a problem. It was now 7:15 and I leave for work at 8:00, which means I had to figure out how to get ready for work in the dark for the next 45 minutes.

So, I set up a series of flashlights in the bathroom (I have more than one of my Grandpa's old flashlights . . . that still work). It's tough to find good flashlight angles when a mirror is involved in a small space where, say, you have to do your hair and put on makeup and make it all look decent.

I have a hard enough time getting my makeup and hair to look decent in full bathroom light. I don't know if the flashlighting will make that worse . . . or better.

You have to find the right angles to prop the lighrs so that the room gets adequate light from the small beacons of light while not blinding you by reflecting badly off of the mirror.

I finally got it all set up . . . then the electricity came back on.

And then I didn't have much time to get ready for work, so I'm pretty sure I still looked like I got ready in the dark by the time I got to work.

Maybe I'll get ready in the dark for the rest of the week to be prepared for the next time the electricity goes out. You know, just in case.

C.T.

Tonight is just one of those nights.

You know, one of those nights when you are in your pjs by 7:30, stretched out on the couch, eating cashews, watching a documentary on WWII while downloading Jackson 5 Greatest Hits, then realizing you already downloaded those songs a few weeks ago.

Fantastic.

C.T.

I don't really like . . .

. . . that after I leave work then stop at Target for 20 minutes, it's already almost dark outside by the time I get home.

I accidentally told someone today that this is my favorite time of year. That's not entirely true. I like that it's not so hot outside that I can't be outside. I like that I can sit outside in the evenings and enjoy some lemonade and perhaps a nice book (although I haven't actually had time to do that in like, a year).

What I don't like about this time of year is that the days start getting shorter. The sunlight goes away before I can get home to enjoy that it's cool enough to sit outside and enjoy the evening out of doors.

Then it starts getting cold. I hate that.

Then my winter depression sets in until March.

So this is actually my least favorite time of year, leading up to the time of year that I thoroughly hate . . . until March when there is hope again for warmer weather and sunshine past 5:00.

Stupid fall season . . .

C.T.