Category: Life

That Awkward Moment

I don’t call into comment on talk radio programs. Or at least I don’t call in with the expectation of actually getting through to the host. But yesterday I was listening to Pete Dominic’s show, Stand Up with Pete Dominic on Sirius/XM 122 Insight and became horrified by what was being said by a guest on the show. 

He was defending Donald Trump’s false accusations about President Obama. I was furious. I pulled to the side of the road and dialed the number on my radio display, ready to come to the defense of my president, as if the Commander-in-Chief needs a retired teacher in Florida to protect his virtue.

Almost as soon as I hit “send” on my phone I realized that the show’s host was mocking the Donald and his supporters. It was a satirical show. Rather than hang up I waited until my call was answered a few seconds later and explained my mistake to the intern who took my call. 

She said, “I’m going to put you on with Pete. Hold on.”

Well, crap. What was I supposed to do now? Say, “oopsie” and be done with it? When Pete Dominic came on the line I explained my mistake. He laughed and asked if I’d ever listened to his show before. I admitted to being a first time listener, first time caller.

After poking a bit more fun at the Donald I went on my way and enjoyed the remainder of the program. 

Now, kiddies, what did we learn from this experience? If you want to be on a national radio program do not stop to listen to all the facts. No. Make a snap judgement and act on it. That’s what the Donald does. 

FYI, this is the exchange at a town hall meeting hosted by Trump’s campaign that prompted Trump’s comments, thus leading to the satire on Mr. Dominic’s program and my error:

Mr. Trump call on a man in the audience who said:

“We have a problem in this country. It’s called Muslims. We know our current president is one. We know he’s not even an American. Birth certificate, man!” the man said, alluding to the “birther” movement. “We have training camps growing where they want to kill us. That’s my question: When can we get rid of them?”

Rather than setting the man straight, Mr. Trump said that he would look into that.

Donald Trump has a really tough time speaking the truth. That he is the Republican front runner is disturbing. God help us if he lands the nomination for his party.

Peace, people.

A post 

The man I love, aka Studly Doright, is playing in a two day golf tournament. He had to rise at 6 a.m., drive across Tallahassee, and play a stupid game for four hours.

I spent my day sleeping in until 9:45 a.m. and then walking through the Super Target where I purchased enough Tylenol Severe Sinus medication to last me at least a month. 

At this exact moment I am enjoying a tasty Momo’s personal flatbread pizza and a pint of their exquisite Oktoberfest brew. I’d say that I win. I haven’t broken a sweat and I have a beer in my hand.

  
Peace, people!

Experience Speaks

we’re told
everything happens
for a reason.
i’m not sure
i agree.

we’re told
we’ll never be
given more than
we can handle.
that’s a lie.

we’re told
that what doesn’t
kill us only
makes us stronger.
i beg to differ.

experience tells us
that sometimes crappy
things happen for
no apparent reason.

experience tells us
that sometimes what
we’re given would
make Jesus weep.

experience tells us
that sometimes what
doesn’t kill us leaves
us wounded beyond repair.

so if the platitudes
seem too saccharine
to swallow,
rejoice! there’s
always tomorrow,

or so we’re told.

peace, people!

emilymcdowell.com

College Mascots

Studly Doright and I have lived in five different states, and have adopted a “bloom where you’re planted” mentality.

When we moved from Texas to North Dakota we learned to enjoy knoefla soup and rivel. In Kansas we learned to pronounce Arkansas incorrectly, and in Florida we learned to value SPF 90. In Illinois we learned the value of a college mascot.

We’re Texans, Studly and I. Having grown up near Lubbock, I was convinced that Texas Tech was the best university in the nation and that Raider Red and the Masked Rider were the absolute best mascots anywhere. They’re still close to the top of my list.

   
 
Studly was more of a University of Texas guy, so I accepted Bevo, as well.

   
 When we moved to North Dakota I attended the University of Mary in Bismarck. So I had a new mascot in my life, the Marauder:

  
From North Dakota we moved to Kansas and fell hard for the University of Kansas Jayhawk mascot. Both of our kids attended KU and Big Jay is a dandy mascot. There’s even a Baby Jay:

  
After Kansas we ended up in Melbourne, Florida, but didn’t form an attachment to any of the Florida college teams during that four year period. But when we moved to Mahomet, IL, just outside of Champaign, we quickly adopted Chief Illiniwek, proud mascot of The University of Illinois.

  
Unfortunately, the Chief’s reign as the Illini mascot ended shortly after we moved to Illinois. I promise we had nothing to do with his demise. Eight years after the end of the Chief the U of I still has no mascot. That makes me sad. I understand that Native American groups found the portrayal of the chief disrespectful, but shouldn’t we have had an alternative in place? 

We currently live near Tallahassee, Florida, the home of two universities: Florida A&M and Florida State.

FAMU’s mascot is a rattlesnake.  

   
Not exactly a cuddly mascot, but I love it! 

Florida State has Chief Osceola and his faithful steed, Renegade.

  
I understand that the Seminole people have an agreement with Florida State University that allows FSU to use the likeness of one of the most famous Chiefs in history as their mascot. It’s sad that the University of Illinois couldn’t have worked out a similar agreement with the Illini.

At any rate, Studly and I are enjoying our new mascots. Soon I want to attend football games at both FAMU and FSU. I need to see what those mascots look like in action. 

Peace, people!

Update on Cooking for Studly, Dammit!

One of the key ingredients for cornbread dressing is, duh, cornbread. Instead of making my cornbread from scratch I bought a mix. It was a new brand and I read over the list of dry ingredients to make sure there was no sugar in the mix. Sweet cornbread does not make a good dressing base. Trust me on this. 

The cornbread baked up beautifully. And sweet. I must’ve missed the sugar listed on the box. Perhaps I was just weakened by the manual labor. Poor, poor me.

Thank goodness I tasted the cornbread before I began putting together all of the other ingredients. Of course now there’s no time to bake another batch of cornbread, but fortunately I had some Pepperidge Farm stuffing mix on hand. I’ll be keeping my fingers crossed and will appreciate it if yours are crossed, too. Unless you’re doing something important, like brain surgery.

Peace, people.

Cooking for Studly, Dammit

Yes, I’m still cooking for Studly Doright. For those of you not in the loop here’s a brief recap: 

1. I’m not a good cook.

2. I’m unemployed.

3. Studly Doright, my husband of 39 years suggested that I need not seek employment IF I began cooking our evening meals.

4. I agreed.

The quality of my cooking is like a roller coaster with big highs and stomach emptying lows. Recently I’ve relied a great deal on Marie Calender and Stouffer’s for our entrees, with Digiorno’s pizzas thrown in on occasion. And while those will never qualify as haute cuisine, at least they’re always edible. Mine cannot always make that claim.

Then last night, out of the clear blue Florida sky, Studly decided he wanted a full-blown holiday-type meal: turkey, cornbread dressing, cranberry sauce, fruit salad, rolls, etc., on a week night. That’s just sacrilege! Illogical!

But of course I’m slaving away today making Studly Doright a holiday meal. Dammit. I wouldn’t mind it so much if there was a present with my name on it under a tree. Any tree. 

   
 Peace, people!

All Hands on Deck

Studly Doright and I bought our home in Havana, Florida, more than a year ago. We love this house and its little neighborhood of Lake Yvette. Recently, Studly added a nice garage/shop where he stores our motorcycles and does repair work as needed. He’s very pleased with the finished product, and I’m pleased when Studly is pleased.

The only part of the home we weren’t crazy about was the back porch. At first look, it was perfect, with nice brickwork and ample space for a table, grill, and a couple of lounge chairs. But anytime it rains, and it rains often in north Florida, all of the rainwater pools at one end of the deck, rendering it unusable. Obviously, after the home was built it settled counter to the drain. 

So, while we were in a building/remodeling frame of mind we decided to have the deck converted into a covered/screened porch. The contractor has begun the job, and like all such jobs it’s a bit messy. And noisy. 

The cats stay hidden most of the day, emerging only for their beloved Temptations treats. They have no idea yet just how wonderful the new screened in porch will be for two confirmed lifelong house cats. 

Studly and I are making bets as to how long it takes our youngest cat, Patches, to make her first steps into the wild new world. In her whole three years of life she’s been out of the house only to go to the vet and of course during our car ride from Illinois to Florida.

Our elder cat, Scout, has occasionally escaped when the front door has been left open a fraction too long. But then she would sit quivering on the front lawn until we could herd her back into the house. Neither cat will ever receive a medal for bravery.

Here are photos of our work in progress:

   
    
 We’re hoping to have the deck finished in a couple of weeks, then we can find out how our cats react. It is all about the cats, after all.

Peace, people!

Singing in My Sleep

I’ve been sick for the past couple of days. It’s nothing life-threatening, just a nasty sinus infection that has messed with my equilibrium and given me horrendous headaches. My doctor prescribed an outrageously expensive and difficult to obtain antibiotic that I finally tracked down at a local CVS pharmacy. Truthfully it was available at a Walgreens, but even with the coupon my doctor’s office provided the cost was going to be $238, so I set out in search of a better price.

CVS did honor the manufacturer’s coupon, so I ended up paying only $35.00 for the antibiotic. There is a lesson to be learned here, but I’m sick and can’t formulate what that might be. Something to do with comparison shopping and challenging the status quo I think. This post was supposed to be about the strange dream I had this morning anyway (note the title). 

I’m going back to bed.

Peace, people.

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Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders: Making the Team

Disclaimer: I have the natural grace of a boulder.

Binge watching the series Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders: Making the Team might lead to delusions of grandeur, or a case of severe depression. I didn’t intend to binge watch, but after one episode I had grown fond of a couple of the rookie wannabes. 

Before long I was standing in front of the television shaking my imaginary pompoms and tossing my hair to the music. I’m quite good when nobody’s watching.

Then I was sobbing uncontrollably when Melissa H. a small town girl from somewhere in Idaho, failed to make the team, and had to return to the Midwest, a victim of shattered dreams all because her kicks weren’t quite high enough.

Maybe it’s time to take my antidepressant.

  
Peace, people!

Fox Pass

I overheard this while sitting at a table in the mall food court today.

Kid: I can’t believe I made that fox pass.

Mom: Huh? 

Kid: I just feel so dumb for doing that.

Mom: What did you do?

Kid: I asked my science teacher if she was pregnant and she said no. It was a fox pass.

(At this time I started giggling.)

Mom: What does a fox have to do with anything?

Kid: You know, when you make a mistake it’s called a fox pass.

Mom: (laughing) Oh honey, it’s not pronounced “fox pass,” it’s French and pronounced “fo paw.”

Kid: Oh, no wonder Mrs. Kinder looked at me funny when I apologized for my fox pass. I won’t make that fox pass again.

One thing I know, the kid is a reader. I did the same thing with “facade” for years until someone told me it was pronounced “fussod.” 

 

Now THAT’S a faux pas!
 
Peace, people!