Studly Doright, my mother-in-law, Saint Helen, and I made an important discovery on our recent trip home from the Texas Hill Country. No, it wasn’t an actual chupacabra, or a new, hotter than hell type of chili pepper. This was something way cooler and far more easy to digest–the mega convenience store called Buc-ee’s.
I’m not even sure mega comes close to describing just how big these stores are.
Above is pictured a small part of a Buc-ee’s food court. Coke, anyone?
Buc-ee is a pretty big deal. Even the Travelocity Gnome paid a visit.
Need a souvenir of your Buc-ee’s trip? You’re covered!
I didn’t find a photo of the bathrooms at Buc-ee’s, but trust me on this, it was amazing! I felt like I’d entered the Buckingham Palace of restrooms. It was huge and every stall had its own hand sanitizer dispenser.
Oh, and as we left we heard the friendly, “Y’all come back now!”
Studly Doright has permanent dibs on the tv remote. Usually, I’m okay with that, but when his search for programming stops on the series, Ancient Aliens, I go into full blown sarcasm mode.
Giorgio Tsoukalos, ancient alien conspiracy theorist
If you haven’t had the pleasure (gag) of watching the History Channel’s Ancient Aliens you have no idea what you’ve been missing. Along with venereal disease and a bad case of poison sumac.
The premise of each episode is the same–to prove retroactively that groups of extraterrestrials were responsible for helping get the human race off the ground. The pyramids? Check. Stonehenge? Check. Mayan temples? Check. Epcot Center? Check.
If ancient edifices weren’t built by aliens as astronavigational facilities, they were erected as gigantic abodes primarily used for conjugal visits for whenever E.T. came to gift humanity with his otherworldly seed.
Yes, according to Ancient Aliens, we are most likely all descended from little green men. That explains a lot: Donald Trump, David Spade, Abe Vigoda.
On some episodes aliens are credited with being the gods of ancient mythology, and we know what a horny bunch they were.
Zeus (in bull form) seduces Europa. Zeus in swan form seduces Leda.Zeus in Nicholas Cage form seduces Farrah Fawcett.
I’m beginning to understand Studly Doright’s fascination with Ancient Aliens. It’s basically soft core space porn.
Outside Doright Manor the temperature is 85 degrees. It’s a warm October day, but not terribly humid. Of course I’m sitting in air conditioned comfort having just enjoyed a Smart Ones spicy chicken and fries meal.
There are two separate shows being played out for my enjoyment. One is a recording of The Walking Dead. The other is the steady procession of roofers hauling bundles of shingles up a ladder to our covered/screened in porch addition.
My cats are fascinated by the roofing show. They want to attack the dangling cords and to pounce on the dropped sacks that seemingly appear from nowhere and float enticingly to the ground. They are both indoor cats, though, so the roofing show is as real to them as The Walking Dead is to me.
Hopefully before too many more days all the work on the porch will be completed, and the cats will be able to venture into the great indoor outdoors. Studly Doright and I are making predictions on their first adventures.
Scout, we feel, will embrace the porch immediately, claiming it as her territory, but Patches fears everything and it may take her awhile to cross the threshold. I give her a week before she takes the plunge, whereas Studly thinks it will take much longer. We live exciting lives, don’t we?
Occasionally I have delusions of grandeur, but I’m never fooled into believing they’re anything other than delusions. I’m not a brave woman. Tonight was proof of that.
I returned home to a dark, empty house after an afternoon at the movies and some heavy-duty window shopping. Studly Doright wasn’t yet home, and I didn’t expect him to return for several more hours. As usual I parked my car in the garage and walked around the car to the door.
Before opening the door I heard a beep-beep-beeping sound. Carefully I turned the knob and edged the door open. The entry alarm was going off. We’ve lived at Doright Manor for a year and a half and the alarm has never even peeped. Slowly I backed away, shut the door, and retreated to my car.
I’m not going to lie, my hands were shaking as I dialed 911 while simultaneously backing the car out of the garage. The operator was professional, and thorough, and didn’t sound like she thought I was being a paranoid idiot.
Then I had to wait. Outside. In the dark. Okay, I had my lights on high beam, but the dark outside of that bright halo seemed particularly threatening. I called Studly and told him all that had transpired. As we talked I noticed my phone battery was on the verge of going dead and hoped that wasn’t a bad omen. Signing off, I felt utterly alone.
By the time the officer arrived, a seemingly endless twelve minutes after I initially called 911, I was convinced that I should sleep in my car until Studly got home. Hey, it’s a small SUV, I could get comfy in there. As long as I didn’t have to use the restroom I’d be ok, right?
The second Deputy Perkins appeared I felt immense relief. He and I approached the back door and could hear the incessant beeping. My heart was thumpety-thumping, providing a nice rhythm section for the alarm.
I turned on the light just inside the back door and with trepidation walked to the flashing alarm, expecting it to read something along the lines of “Danger, Danger, Run for Your Life!” Instead, the words Power Outage were displayed in large LED letters.
Sheepishly I grinned at Deputy Perkins, “Honestly, sir, we’ve had disruptions in power before and they’ve never set off the alarms.”
To his credit, and the credit of his entire department, he was so understanding, and if he thought me crazy he had the decency not to say so out loud.
He also insisted on going through Doright Manor room by room to make sure no one was hiding there. Thankfully all he found were the two cats who were both fairly frazzled from having listened to the annoying alarm for heaven knows how long. One had expressed her displeasure by puking on a bathroom rug.
Now I’m sitting here sipping wine and contemplating the excitement of my evening. I’m still fairly filled with adrenaline from the fright. I know I’ll crash soon, but until then I’ll be doing something constructive. Like having more wine.
Patches has assured me she’s ready to serve and protect.
Peace, people!
Ah, Saturday afternoon! Post-golf, pre-dinner. Perfect for waiting on the cable guy or girl as the case may be.
Who schedules a cable installation between 5 and 7 p.m. on a Saturday evening? Apparently Comcast does.
So here Studly Doright and I sit on what is usually our night out waiting on a cable installer. I’ll be taking bets on arrival times. Closest guess wins a poem in his/her honor. Hey, I’ve got nothing better to do!
Last night I dropped a bottle of beer on the cool green tile of my kitchen floor. Shards of glass flew everywhere. Beer went everywhere. I stood rigidly in place thankful that I was wearing flip flops instead of being barefooted.
Slowly I backed out of the mess and began prioritizing cleanup tasks. Of course, that’s when Studly Doright, fresh from his shower, came strolling barefoot down the hallway adjacent to the kitchen.
“Halt!” I barked.
I kid you not, his first words were, “What have you done now?”
Together we cleaned up beer and glass. The entire time Studly reminded (nagged) me about how much he detests glass anything in our predominantly tiled home. But, no one suffered a cut or slipped on the wet floor. I retrieved a fresh beer from the fridge and we had a gourmet meal of hot dogs and sauerkraut. Because that’s how we roll at Doright Manor.
Peace, people!
Broken glass photography from ggalleryslo.blogspot.com
The home adjacent to Doright Manor in the beautiful Lake Yvette neighborhood about eight miles west of Tallahassee is on the market. It’s a lovely place with real southern charm, so I thought I’d give it a little publicity.
Sandy, the owner, takes excellent care of this home, meticulously maintaining its spacious yard. I always gave her a hard time about making me look lazy. Granted, that’s not that difficult.
I love the little gazebo feature on the west side of the property. It makes me want to put on a floral chiffon dress and white gloves for afternoon tea.
I didn’t want to trespass, so I didn’t venture into the backyard, but the home sits just off a finger of Lake Yvette.
Pictured above are some of the vibrant flowers that adorn this property.
Sandy really thought she’d retire out here, but circumstances beyond her control necessitated a move into Tallahassee. It’s a terrific place for a retired couple.
Studly Doright and I are great neighbors. We don’t throw wild parties, and we don’t have any barking dogs. Plus, we’re fairly amusing, and we have a dock.
Tiny kitten Cake, who was rescued yesterday from a Tallahassee storm drain, is doing well this morning. Through the night I checked on her and made sure she had been drinking her kitten formula, but at some point the little stinker found the strength to jump out of the box to go exploring her wider surroundings–our garage.
Of course my first thought was that she might’ve climbed into one of the wheel wells of my car, but no Cake. I searched under Studly Doright’s car. No Cake. When Studly joined the search we found her cowering between a set of spare golf clubs and our long unused exercise bike.
She was pretty weak, so I held her and fed her a bit of sugar water from a dropper before giving her the kitten formula. After that Cake perked up and she mewed for the first time before settling into my lap for a purring nap.
I asked Studly before he left for work what we should do if she’s too young for the shelter to take her in. The old softie said, “She might have to come back here until she’s old enough.”
Just remember folks, you might’ve read it here first, even though I borrowed every bit from Pinterest. Read and learn. You can thank me later. Or now. I like being thanked. With bacon.
Every man should come with a side of bacon.
I have been known to steal bacon. I’m not proud of it, but I’ll probably do it again.
The next one, I have to disagree with a little. That’s still not enough bacon.
True story, I really thought it was called bacon soda for years.
Studly only looks at bacon like its bacon.
Really, this happens.
And now I’ll return to my previously scheduled diet.
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.
Coke, anyone?
Praying for Eyebrowz 