Wow! It's been two months since I updated this blog! Shame on me (the worst kind of shame...internet shame)!
I've been scrapbooking the photos from our Carribbean cruise which is akin to an autopsy. There is visual proof it existed and served its function but then it was taken suddenly from us. Now I'm left rummaging through the ashes of mere memories....what a downer!
Actually, reliving the cruise has put me in a great mood and has inspired me to contribute to the world via my blog today. Plus, all that scrapbooking junk has rendered our dining room table an arts & crafts area where no food or drink dare tread. I had to get away to the computer to enjoy some coffee (and we all know that right next to a keyboard is a great place for a huge beverage).
The cruise was everything I expected and more...with the "more" being the tremendous amount of food they shove at your face. The first four days were great but I have learned that there is such a thing as too much delicious food. Since I don't really cook at home enough to speak of, my body was not made to handle this level of cuisine seven days in a row. By the last day we were in the line for the breakfast buffet, I started thinking that a bowl of Cap'n Crunch sounded really appealing.
The trip started with a couple of hiccups. When we parted with our luggage in Galveston, all seven of our bags were loaded onto one cart and hauled away. We waited in line after line after line at the cruise terminal, stopped for a family photo, and then were hustled aboard where we were immediately offered adult beverages. In other words, it ended up costing about $25 just to board the ship comfortably and with a reasonable keepsake. We had some time to kill prior to the compulsory lifeboat drill (which no one warned me about prior to the trip and I never saw on a single episode of "The Love Boat" -- or were they just not as safety-conscious in the 1970s?) so we wandered the boat, located the dining areas, pools, etc while waiting to be reunited with our luggage at some point. After our first excursion around the ship, we returned to our rooms where they happened to be unloading our bags....well, six of our bags at least. When I inquired about the 7th bag, I was told that we were to give the staff a grace period until 8:30 pm to complete the bag delivery. The little naggy voice inside my head said "They lost it! And you knew that was going to happen! Score one for you!"
We left again to go to the dinner buffet and returned to find no 7th bag and only half our shore excursion tickets. By this time, I was thinking "This vacation is ruined! I hate this cruise line! The incompetence of these people is astounding...." I boldly grabbed the confirmation sheets I printed out at home and headed down to the Guest Services desk to demand that they rectify everything at once or face severe pouting and a stern talking-to from me in front of other guests (as if they're not subjected to that every day...they probably keep score and rate our outbursts on a scale of 1 to 10).
As it turns out, my bag wasn't really lost. It was just hanging out in the lobby waiting for me to arrive. As soon as I stepped off the elevator to the lobby, my bag grabbed my attention (How could it not? After all, it's a purple gingham bag with "Megan" embroidered on it"). It was sitting up against a wall with the other dislocated bags like a police lineup. Well, that's one problem solved thanks to my tenaciousness on a totally unrelated matter. I snatched it up without missing a beat and took my spot at the end of the Guest Services line. When I finally made it up to the desk, the nice Indian gentleman explained that I would have to plead my case to the Shore Excursions desk which would open at 10:00 the next morning. After reviewing my paperwork, he seemed optimistic that the situation would be remedied with very little static.
The next morning, we ate breakfast and played some mini golf at the top of the ship where it felt like we were sailing across west Texas. The wind was unbelievable. It made for some golf hilarity fit for "Happy Gilmore". A ball would linger past the hole, then take a 180 and land straight in the cup. As expected, even though Trent landed two holes-in-one and no one else did, he still managed to get mad at the wind (he's also been known to get mad at the sun when it's too bright in the morning) because he didn't ultimately win.
Once we were done with the futile task of hitting a ball into the wind for 30 minutes, I decided to head to the Shore Excursions desk. Imagine my surprise when I saw all the people who had decided it would be better to wait in line on the ship and take the leftover excursions that hadn't been booked to capacity rather than book their excursions in their pajamas online like I did a month prior to the trip. Who does this? Seriously, the line snaked around the corner and must have been fifty people long! This was unacceptable to me. First, they tried to chintz us out of half our tickets then they had the nerve to make me wait in line to fix their screw-up. I think not.
I marched back over to Guest Services and calmly explained that I would need a proxy to represent me at Shore Excursions. This woman could see I was obviously at a breaking point...or she saw my windblown hair and just assumed I was bat-poo crazy. She excused herself to Shore Excursions as I waited at the counter. Minutes passed and suddenly Neal emerges from the elevator waving an envelope. "They brought the other tickets!" he hollered just as my proxy returned with duplicate tickets. "Nevermind...thanks!" I waved at her as I took off. Problem solved.
Megan took to her teen group right away and we pretty much never saw her on the boat from that day forward. We would occasionally reunite when she would check into the room to change clothes or ransack the place during a scavenger hunt but other than taking her ashore with us, we pretty much vacationed without her for the majority of the trip. Trent, on the other hand, found his group entirely too pedestrian for his tastes and elected to stay with Neal and myself. I guess there were no other boys with whom to discuss "24" and guns (those silly neophytes!).
The first excursion into Jamaica was extremely dangerous and filled with peril, and I'm not referring to the dope dealers and panhandlers. I'm talking about the incredibly negligent driving practices. We were supposed to participate in a Jungle River Tubing Experience that day so we met up with our group in the cruise terminal which looked just like a dirty bus station in Houston. (That was after we managed to free ourselves from the clutches of the women selling African art, jewelry, and rasta-man hats right on the pier by the ship.) We were then herded onto a shuttle bus and driven outside the huge concrete walls separating the Americans from the impoverished masses that the cruise line would rather us not see. As we proceeded up the mountain, I realized I was glad I had visited the ladies room before we boarded because I would have peed my pants otherwise. That driver was whipping around curves where there was "nothin but cliff" on one side. His demeanor was the typical "Every little thing gonna be alright" but I think we were starting to suspect that was a facade.
We arrived with our lives intact at the top of the mountain and were told to wait for our guides at the little outpost. Neal decided that this would be the best time to administer some insulin to our son so we wouldn't have to worry about it once we were in the river. He had pre-filled a syringe on the ship and shot it into Trent's arm. It was shortly after that when we re-examined the syringe and realized we had given him waaaay too much insulin. We have been so spoiled with his insulin pump doing all the calculations and administering the doses that we were out of practice with the old-fashioned method of diabetes control. Naturally, I started to panic as we gave Trent all the fruit snacks I had in my bag. Neal was doing some quick math in his head and determined that Trent would need about 3 bottles of Sprite and a couple of bags of Skittles to offset this insulin dose. That probably sounds good to a 10-year-old boy at first but then halfway in, he realizes why too much sugar is not a good thing. Same theory behind making your kid smoke a whole carton of cigarettes if you catch him experimenting with smoking except no one can afford to do that now.
As we sat at the picnic table being sugar cheerleaders for Trent, the guide approached and told us we needed to head down to the water to get ready to raft. We explained what had happened with Trent and she took the Jamaican approach of "it'll be alright, mon". I kid you not. Stereotypes exist for a reason and the phrase "It's OK, mon" or any variation of it was repeated to us numerous times throughout the day, totally reinforcing it. The guides were extremely nice and they really wanted us to have a good time but we had to keep explaining why our 10-year-old having a seizure in the middle of a river in Jamaica was NOT ok. One of them said "All he has to do is lay in the raft. He be fine, mon." And actually, after an hour, he was fine mon but we couldn't take the chance that he wouldn't be fine mon and our group was long gone by then. We filled our time until the next bus departed by counting the amazing number of feral cats roaming the outpost.
We took another death-defying journey in the shuttle bus back down the mountain. This time, it was while sitting in jump seats so that made it even more memorable. The folks we hitched a ride with were coming off the zip line excursion which I could kick myself for not choosing.
The next day we arrived in gorgeous Grand Cayman. This was by far the most naturally beautiful island of the three we visited. The folks in Jamaica were very gracious but the folks in Cayman were gracious AND were rockin a British accent. Mmmm.....love those accents!
The excursion for the day was "Reef-n-Rays Snorkel". We boarded the little boat about mid-morning and were transported to a huge barrier reef, all the while freezing to death. When I started trembling from the cold is when I realized we had forgetten our towels on the ship. I gave myself an internal pep talk -- after all, how many times in my life would I get this opportunity? So, after a short talk by the guides to which I paid no attention to the content because I was so mesmerized by the accents, we were issued snorkel gear and instructed to jump off the boat and snorkel around the front side of the reef. I made everyone else jump in first because I'm a baby when it comes to being cold. One by one, the other members of my family jumped into the water and reported their experiences back to me. Finally, I clenched up and went for it. Whaaa! That was some cold water! I've been in colder water but on a much hotter day.
I eventually acclimated to the temperature but I couldn't seem to get the hang of snorkeling. I must be claustrophobic because I had all kinds of problems breathing through that tube. I spent the majority of my time practicing above the water and being overcome with jealousy that Megan took to it effortlessly. It got to the point where she was instructing me. "Mom, you're moving too much. Just relax and float and put your face down!" Wouldn't you know it? When someone explained it to me in a non-British accent, I totally got it. I followed her instructions and started to enjoy it when I realized I was trembling from the cold. Since I wasn't thrashing around anymore, I wasn't able to maintain my body temp. I was so fed up by then I just swam back to the boat. Luckily, 5 minutes later they sounded the horn for everyone to come back so I didn't feel too slighted.
Once I climbed back aboard, the misery multiplied. I was soaking wet, no towel, and the boat started cruising toward Stingray City at a brisk clip. Neal couldn't believe how cold my skin felt. I couldn't believe I was still conscious.
When we arrived at Stingray City, I was finally dry thanks to the frigid air whipping around me. Even the thought of petting the stingrays was not appealing to me at that point. Nothing short of al-Queda was forcing me into that water again. The sun was finally starting to warm things up and I was determined to bask in it. I gleefully watched as Neal and the kids swam among the stingrays and one of the guides caught one for me and the other weenies to pet from the ladder of the boat.
Once back to shore, we headed over to Jimmy Buffet's Margaritaville for some lunch. Trent was fascinated that another restaurant actually went over-and-above the fun factor of Chuck E Cheese's. He quickly ordered his food and went straight over to the water slide. Megan stayed with us as we drank our yard-long daquiris and watched unseamly middle-aged people try to hang with college kids in the ring in the center of the restaurant. Watching the shenanigans, we soon realized why a "cheeseburger in paradise" cost us $15. They use that money to recoup their liquor costs. I kid you not...people were doing conga lines past the bartender as he poured tequila straight from the bottle down their throats.
The final excursion day was spent in Cozumel swimming with dolphins. I highly recommend this for anyone who doesn't have a deathly fear of dolphins. They're like ocean-dogs...cute, smart, and trainable. Megan and I decided that if we ever get "Oprah-rich", we're buying a dolphin habitat. This was our favorite excursion...so much so that we purchased several photos and the DVD of us swimming with them. They're so persuasive, I just handed Neal's wallet to them and told them to take whatever they thought they needed.
We had some time to kill after the "dolphin confrontation" (as Hank Hill once called it) so we walked to a local public beach. It was totally unlike how I thought it would be. I pictured white sands, blue water, and tropical fish. We got blue water alright but we also got a rocky ledge, litter, and a dog that almost peed on our bag had I not yelled at him as he was lifting his leg (I've used the word "peed" twice in one post. Wow.) Neal was the only brave soul who dove from the ledge, following the lead of two young Mexican men who arrived on a moped with the dog in tow. Trent desperately tried to find a safe entry into the water but there just was nothing available. So the three of us baked on the rocks and guarded our stuff while watching Neal swim. I couldn't take his gloating after about 5 minutes and told him it was time to go.
The next day was spent trying to pack the suitcases strategically so that all the souvenirs could fit and generally just lounging by the pool. I was ready to be back in my own bed again. I was sick of everyone else on the ship. As I was taking inventory of the week, I concluded that we all could have lived fulfilling lives without ever visiting Jamaica and that I would have traded that day to get home a day earlier to get a jump-start on the laundry.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Sweets and sweetie-pies
It's almost 5:00 pm on a Sunday and I have no idea what to cook for dinner. The only thing that sounds good right now is Girl Scout cookies. I'm really starting to think I have a problem with these things. (The first step is admitting you have a problem, right?) I have the ability to resist them if I have reinforcements with me. For instance, Neal, Trent, and I were leaving Lowe's today when we were jumped by a couple of uniformed pushers trying to entice us with their caramel-laden treats. I literally had to look away from them in order to resist a hasty purchase that I would have regretted 10 pounds and two dress sizes later. I know it's karma's way of getting back at me for selling cookies outside the YMCA in Houston several years ago. These sweaty people would emerge from the gym and attempt to walk past our table but we could always tell which ones were serious about getting fit and those that were just getting their money's worth for the membership they bought in order to comply with their New Year's resolutions. The weak always worship at the altar of Thin Mints.
On the home front, Trixie is no longer with us. It took a few days, but Trent's initiation tactics finally caused her to growl and nip at him. He just doesn't understand that dogs don't like being hugged to the point of near asphyxiation. Neal reluctantly returned her to her foster home and bid her well. Meanwhile, I stayed home and used the vacuum to remove any trace of her. I think Remington was secretly celebrating on the inside. In fact, it wouldn't surprise me if Remi and Trent conspired to get her out of the house so Remi could take possession of her new cushion to sleep on. He has been lopped all over it ever since.
Neal and I celebrated our 15th wedding anniversary recently by acting like we'd been married 30 years. Dinner and a movie, no cards exchanged, me presenting him with a practical gift (clothes to wear on the cruise), and him sending a bouquet of flowers to my place of business. Pretty standard stuff but appreciated nonetheless. We're pretty low-key so this kind of observation of our anniversary fits us just right.
The stupidest holiday ever invented falls just a couple of short weeks after our anniversary. How can we be expected to get all stirred up for Valentine's Day (or "Forced Romance Day") when we just acknowledged our epic love two weeks prior? Valentine's Day is a pain in the rear regardless of your status. All it can do is cause sadness, resentment, or embarrassment. Sadness if you're single, resentment if you "outdo" your significant other, or embarrassment if you didn't meet expectations. Everything has to go perfectly from the perspective of both parties for this to be a win-win. Rarely is that the case, especially with women.
Valentine's has to be approached very carefully in the sense that you can go one of two ways: You can try to top what you did for Christmas, in which case you are setting a terrible precedent for future Valentine's Days, or you can act like you're above it and keep reiterating to your significant other that you "don't need one day on the calendar to celebrate your feelings because you do that every day of the year." Either way, you're not in a good place. In this economy, I would opt for plan B. This is the approach that Neal and I have adopted but the only reason it works is because it's mutually agreed-upon. Perhaps that's why Valentine's Day was created -- to set boundaries and test compatibilities. It also just happens to work for us because we have Christmas, our anniversary, and "VD" all in a less than two-month span...and this year, we "overstimulated" the economy for Christmas so it left plenty of residual for the other two occasions.
The other bad thing about Valentine's Day? That would be the people who pronouce it "ValenTIME's Day". If I hear you say that, I will take one of those candy hearts and I will....make you EAT it!
On the home front, Trixie is no longer with us. It took a few days, but Trent's initiation tactics finally caused her to growl and nip at him. He just doesn't understand that dogs don't like being hugged to the point of near asphyxiation. Neal reluctantly returned her to her foster home and bid her well. Meanwhile, I stayed home and used the vacuum to remove any trace of her. I think Remington was secretly celebrating on the inside. In fact, it wouldn't surprise me if Remi and Trent conspired to get her out of the house so Remi could take possession of her new cushion to sleep on. He has been lopped all over it ever since.
Neal and I celebrated our 15th wedding anniversary recently by acting like we'd been married 30 years. Dinner and a movie, no cards exchanged, me presenting him with a practical gift (clothes to wear on the cruise), and him sending a bouquet of flowers to my place of business. Pretty standard stuff but appreciated nonetheless. We're pretty low-key so this kind of observation of our anniversary fits us just right.
The stupidest holiday ever invented falls just a couple of short weeks after our anniversary. How can we be expected to get all stirred up for Valentine's Day (or "Forced Romance Day") when we just acknowledged our epic love two weeks prior? Valentine's Day is a pain in the rear regardless of your status. All it can do is cause sadness, resentment, or embarrassment. Sadness if you're single, resentment if you "outdo" your significant other, or embarrassment if you didn't meet expectations. Everything has to go perfectly from the perspective of both parties for this to be a win-win. Rarely is that the case, especially with women.
Valentine's has to be approached very carefully in the sense that you can go one of two ways: You can try to top what you did for Christmas, in which case you are setting a terrible precedent for future Valentine's Days, or you can act like you're above it and keep reiterating to your significant other that you "don't need one day on the calendar to celebrate your feelings because you do that every day of the year." Either way, you're not in a good place. In this economy, I would opt for plan B. This is the approach that Neal and I have adopted but the only reason it works is because it's mutually agreed-upon. Perhaps that's why Valentine's Day was created -- to set boundaries and test compatibilities. It also just happens to work for us because we have Christmas, our anniversary, and "VD" all in a less than two-month span...and this year, we "overstimulated" the economy for Christmas so it left plenty of residual for the other two occasions.
The other bad thing about Valentine's Day? That would be the people who pronouce it "ValenTIME's Day". If I hear you say that, I will take one of those candy hearts and I will....make you EAT it!
Thursday, January 22, 2009
The Labricorns...ready for our VH1 "Behind the Music" special
The passports arrived with incredible expediency on January 17, making it one of the last wondrous feats of George W.'s administration. We had applied on December 27 and were convinced that we would get them in the knick of time for our vacation in March, but alas, they arrived in all their federal government glory. As disappointed as I was with the passport photo that I submitted, I was pleased to see that I look much better with a watermark over my face. It does wonders for a pale complexion. Neal still has obvious bedhead in his photo. Nothing can camouflage that.
In other news, we have completely succombed to technology. Over the past few weeks, we have discovered all that Facebook has to offer, caught on to this texting craze, and met lots of new online "friends" through XBox Live.
I resisted Facebook for as long as I could. Quite honestly, I had not visited my MySpace account in months because it has become so skanky on there that I felt I needed rubber gloves to touch the keyboard whenever I was logged on. And furthermore, I didn't really miss it that much. In short, it had run its course. But every time I checked my e-mail, there was an invitation from someone to join Facebook so I reluctantly took a peek. That was my first mistake because it has resulted in major time suckage ever since. I can kind of justify it though because it eliminates the need for high school reunions and other such events. In fact, I can log onto Facebook and see what a classmate from 20 years ago is doing this very minute (or within a few hours, usually). I haven't seen this person since we left our graduation ceremony and probably never will again but I know what they had for dinner. Who wouldn't want that information?
I have long scoffed at texting -- the logic being that however long it takes you to text information, you can accomplish the same thing in a fraction of the time using your voice. The few times I attempted to "fit in", my thumb was "textually challenged" and I was ridiculed, usually by my daughter or sister. My theory was that perhaps texting was not made for people over the age of 30. After all, we grew up in the 70s and 80s when there were no cell phones or internet and you actually had to interact face-to-face on occasion. I kept that theory in my pocket and then whipped it out whenever someone would ask me why I don't text. ("Because I'm not a socially-retarded moron!") But let's be real for a moment...there are plenty of people out there that I really don't want to talk to. This is my get-out-of-jail-free card. So the fact that my daughter surpassed her allotted number of texts per our cell phone plan gave me the excuse to institute unlimited texting for all of us. (Forget punishing her, right?) So my new theory is...if you got it, use it.
Playing "Rock Band" via XBox Live has been completely irrisistable to Neal and Megan. They are constantly joining musical forces with people whose handles include "Stinky Hobo" and "Here 4 the Buffett" to create auditory magic. Our crew here at the five acres is known as "The Labricorns", named after the offspring that would result from the mating of our dog and a mythical creature. Normally, Neal grinds the lead ax, Megan comes in on bass, Trent provides a rousing vocal, and I bang the skins. It's pure bliss until one of us drops out, then we search for a sub online. "Stinky Hobo" is a recurring player who got on the mike looking for Megan. Neal picked it up and in his deepest voice said "She's not here and this is her dad." We haven't heard from Stinky since.
Mine and Neal's 15th anniversary is just around the corner, then two weeks later, it's Trent's birthday. Plenty of blog fodder awaits.
In other news, we have completely succombed to technology. Over the past few weeks, we have discovered all that Facebook has to offer, caught on to this texting craze, and met lots of new online "friends" through XBox Live.
I resisted Facebook for as long as I could. Quite honestly, I had not visited my MySpace account in months because it has become so skanky on there that I felt I needed rubber gloves to touch the keyboard whenever I was logged on. And furthermore, I didn't really miss it that much. In short, it had run its course. But every time I checked my e-mail, there was an invitation from someone to join Facebook so I reluctantly took a peek. That was my first mistake because it has resulted in major time suckage ever since. I can kind of justify it though because it eliminates the need for high school reunions and other such events. In fact, I can log onto Facebook and see what a classmate from 20 years ago is doing this very minute (or within a few hours, usually). I haven't seen this person since we left our graduation ceremony and probably never will again but I know what they had for dinner. Who wouldn't want that information?
I have long scoffed at texting -- the logic being that however long it takes you to text information, you can accomplish the same thing in a fraction of the time using your voice. The few times I attempted to "fit in", my thumb was "textually challenged" and I was ridiculed, usually by my daughter or sister. My theory was that perhaps texting was not made for people over the age of 30. After all, we grew up in the 70s and 80s when there were no cell phones or internet and you actually had to interact face-to-face on occasion. I kept that theory in my pocket and then whipped it out whenever someone would ask me why I don't text. ("Because I'm not a socially-retarded moron!") But let's be real for a moment...there are plenty of people out there that I really don't want to talk to. This is my get-out-of-jail-free card. So the fact that my daughter surpassed her allotted number of texts per our cell phone plan gave me the excuse to institute unlimited texting for all of us. (Forget punishing her, right?) So my new theory is...if you got it, use it.
Playing "Rock Band" via XBox Live has been completely irrisistable to Neal and Megan. They are constantly joining musical forces with people whose handles include "Stinky Hobo" and "Here 4 the Buffett" to create auditory magic. Our crew here at the five acres is known as "The Labricorns", named after the offspring that would result from the mating of our dog and a mythical creature. Normally, Neal grinds the lead ax, Megan comes in on bass, Trent provides a rousing vocal, and I bang the skins. It's pure bliss until one of us drops out, then we search for a sub online. "Stinky Hobo" is a recurring player who got on the mike looking for Megan. Neal picked it up and in his deepest voice said "She's not here and this is her dad." We haven't heard from Stinky since.
Mine and Neal's 15th anniversary is just around the corner, then two weeks later, it's Trent's birthday. Plenty of blog fodder awaits.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Cruisin toward possible disaster
Well, it happened. Neal hit his mid-life crisis. First, the Mustang convertible. Now, he has met a "lady" on the internet who has captured his heart.
Her name is Trixie and she's part german shepherd and part huskey. I'd like to say that I'm as fond of her as he is but her fur (which is white, thick, and very whispy) has saturated every square inch of the house. In fact, I have witnessed her hair floating through the air like snowflakes. She also has some less-than-desirable habits which have led me to nickname her "white trash."
However, she tolerates Trent well which is the most one can ask of a dog. It has been our experience that about four out of five dogs are terrified of Trent upon first sight and the rest are at least half-leary of him until they realize he's fairly harmless.
As usual, I have an uncanny ability to point out the negatives in every situation and didn't hold back with this household addition. So far, I have enumerated at least five of her bad habits. She drinks water from the toilet and then lets it drip out of her mouth, forming a trail that details her whereabouts since leaving the bathroom (that's technically two bad habits). She becomes incontinent when confronted with attention after having been left alone for an extended period of time. She invites herself onto the furniture. She has attempted a couple of escapes but her efforts were botched.
Then, there are the added complications of a second dog: double your vet bills, double your pet-sitting bills, double the fur tumbleweeds in the house. But on the flip side, there's double the wags, double the kisses, and double the companionship. That's a fair trade, I suppose.
I'm already dreading leaving the dogs for a week while we go on vacation for spring break. We finally broke down and booked a cruise since, from all accounts, we appear to be the last family on earth that has not cruised. It's almost a requirement these days. I can't communicate with certain people sometimes because I can't relate when they use a cruise simile in the conversation. For instance "That's a nice house but the master bath is like a cruise ship bathroom" (judging from the context and using my common sense, I can deduce that a cruise ship bathroom is tiny but I'd like to check it out firsthand). Or "That buffet is the best one since our cruise last summer!" (I'm so old-school I still use Vegas references when discussing the superlative in buffets but apparently cruise buffets are in contention for the ultimate prize).
I'm hoping and praying that I don't get kidnapped in any of our foreign destinations. Not just for the obvious reasons, but my passport photo is the absolute worst picture of me that has ever been captured digitally (I've had worse ones captured on film but between the two mediums, digital can at least be enhanced so there's really no excuse). I can just picture myself sitting with my captors in some dirty hut in Central America while they turn on their little TV and my passport photo is all over the screen. That's my idea of torture. The photo is so bad that people would probably just assume that my captors had already tortured me, forced me to read propoganda, and then snapped my photo to send to the media so that it's evident to everyone that these guys mean business. Maybe I'll dig up my Glamour Shots from thirteen years ago and put them somewhere that Neal can easily access them if I turn up missing. Unfortunately, I have aged since then and I don't make it a habit of wearing satiny green jackets and heavy makeup but at a minimum, I'd look nice and airbrushed. That's the image I'd like people to take away with them.
"It's too bad they never located that woman with the smooth, ideal complexion and the gorgeous shiny jacket!"
Her name is Trixie and she's part german shepherd and part huskey. I'd like to say that I'm as fond of her as he is but her fur (which is white, thick, and very whispy) has saturated every square inch of the house. In fact, I have witnessed her hair floating through the air like snowflakes. She also has some less-than-desirable habits which have led me to nickname her "white trash."
However, she tolerates Trent well which is the most one can ask of a dog. It has been our experience that about four out of five dogs are terrified of Trent upon first sight and the rest are at least half-leary of him until they realize he's fairly harmless.
As usual, I have an uncanny ability to point out the negatives in every situation and didn't hold back with this household addition. So far, I have enumerated at least five of her bad habits. She drinks water from the toilet and then lets it drip out of her mouth, forming a trail that details her whereabouts since leaving the bathroom (that's technically two bad habits). She becomes incontinent when confronted with attention after having been left alone for an extended period of time. She invites herself onto the furniture. She has attempted a couple of escapes but her efforts were botched.
Then, there are the added complications of a second dog: double your vet bills, double your pet-sitting bills, double the fur tumbleweeds in the house. But on the flip side, there's double the wags, double the kisses, and double the companionship. That's a fair trade, I suppose.
I'm already dreading leaving the dogs for a week while we go on vacation for spring break. We finally broke down and booked a cruise since, from all accounts, we appear to be the last family on earth that has not cruised. It's almost a requirement these days. I can't communicate with certain people sometimes because I can't relate when they use a cruise simile in the conversation. For instance "That's a nice house but the master bath is like a cruise ship bathroom" (judging from the context and using my common sense, I can deduce that a cruise ship bathroom is tiny but I'd like to check it out firsthand). Or "That buffet is the best one since our cruise last summer!" (I'm so old-school I still use Vegas references when discussing the superlative in buffets but apparently cruise buffets are in contention for the ultimate prize).
I'm hoping and praying that I don't get kidnapped in any of our foreign destinations. Not just for the obvious reasons, but my passport photo is the absolute worst picture of me that has ever been captured digitally (I've had worse ones captured on film but between the two mediums, digital can at least be enhanced so there's really no excuse). I can just picture myself sitting with my captors in some dirty hut in Central America while they turn on their little TV and my passport photo is all over the screen. That's my idea of torture. The photo is so bad that people would probably just assume that my captors had already tortured me, forced me to read propoganda, and then snapped my photo to send to the media so that it's evident to everyone that these guys mean business. Maybe I'll dig up my Glamour Shots from thirteen years ago and put them somewhere that Neal can easily access them if I turn up missing. Unfortunately, I have aged since then and I don't make it a habit of wearing satiny green jackets and heavy makeup but at a minimum, I'd look nice and airbrushed. That's the image I'd like people to take away with them.
"It's too bad they never located that woman with the smooth, ideal complexion and the gorgeous shiny jacket!"
Sunday, December 7, 2008
High drama
Life has really been passing at light-speed lately! Smithville has been perculating with events, particularly since last weekend.
The first Saturday in December marked the annual Festival of Lights which, this year, featured the dedication of the cookie sheet we used to create the World's Largest Gingerbread Man (as certified by the folks at Guinness...see page 124 of the 2009 Guinness Book) into a monument under which all future generations can take campy photos. Don't get me wrong, I love the big lug, but it reminds me of National Lampoon's Vacation where Clark implores his family to see the second largest ball of twine in the world. Physically, he reminds me of the StayPuft Marshmallow Man from Ghostbusters with his eternally jolly expression. Let's just hope some apocolyptic event doesn't occur in which he comes to life and summarily levels our historic downtown buildings.
The high point of the day for me was the finale of High School Musical as performed by the budding thespians of Smithville High School. My daughter was credited as 'Wildcat cheer leader'...not a huge stretch for her seeing as how she's been a cheer leader for a team with a feline mascot for three years now. Challenge or not, she was divine as was the rest of the cast. We laughed...we cried (well, we didn't cry but we cringed a couple of times as the inevitable goofs popped up but rejoiced in the flawless recovery from said goofs)....we felt a range of emotions. (They did a fantastic job!) One of the emotions I felt was disappointment in the fact that we were not allowed to take still photos or videotape the performance without the express written consent of Major League Baseball...I mean Disney. I don't care what they say about their love of families and all things good, when it comes to their precious pocketbooks, you might as well forget all that. As if we're going to take the videotape and dupe it a million times onto blank DVDs and sell them on the street corner of the area that's considered Chinatown in the closest major city....
Other than these events, it's been Christmas prep 24-7. Decorating, shopping, office partying (which is typically the most interesting kind of partying).
Neal and I had a very productive day of shopping yesterday in Austin. One of my stops was Ulta, where Neal refused to accompany me inside. I think he thought he would have to check his manhood at the door. Plus, someone in there could have taken a picture of him with their cellphone and posted it all over Facebook. He could never live that down. Instead, he chose to play with the kitties at the pet adoption day at PetSmart next door, a much more manly undertaking. (To be fair, he split time between the dogs and the cats but I did catch him making goo-goo eyes at a kitty when I came out of Ulta).
But...back to Ulta. I arrived totally stocked with numerous coupons and "buy-this-get-that-free" offers. I was so prepared you would have thought I stayed at a Holiday Inn Express the night before. I was no-nonsense in my mission, visiting only the displays that I absolutely had to visit to fulfill my list. I was intimately familiar with the exclusions and rules of usage for all my coupons and was prepared to split my items into multiple transactions in order to get maximum impact savings. I approached the register and started organizing my items into piles when the cashier stopped me mid-sentence and said "That's OK...we'll combine it all into one purchase." I thought "Wow....I think I may have stumbled upon a seasonal employee who doesn't care about the bottom-line and just wants to get through her shift with as little static as possible....YES!" She then scanned each item, scanned the three coupons I intended to use, then flipped over the catalog I brought and said "Did you want to use this coupon too? It's a mascara buy-one-get-one..." I think I fled the register to retrieve another mascara before she even finished the sentence. I arrived back to discover that she had entertained herself by flipping through and finding yet another coupon for an additional $5 off the entire purchase. I knew of the existence of this coupon but would never have had the intestinal fortitude to ask if I could use it in conjunction with the others. That would just be pushing the limits under normal circumstances -- but not with a seasonal employee.
I realized the extent of my good fortune when I overheard the customer at the register next to me try to utilize her coupons in the same manner only to be rebuffed by a stern-looking woman who appeared to be a manager of some type. She broke the news to the unlucky patron "Ma'am, I'm sorry but you can't use this coupon for this item...and this discount only applies to this type of make-up." I knew right away I needed to make a clean getaway before that customer divulged my good fortunes to the mean cashier lady. As I waited for what seemed like an eternity for my credit card to process, I locked eyes with my cashier. We communicated in an unspoken language that said "You better get out of here, fast." I scribbled a completely illegible signature onto the screen, threw down the stylus, and grabbed my bag as if I were robbing the place. "Have a good holiday!", screamed my cashier toward my back as I was halfway out the door. "You too!" I yelled over my shoulder.
You just never know where you'll run into good fortune. Sometimes the little things really make a difference and you are in the right place at the right time with the right answers. It reminds me of an incident in Sunday School this morning. Trent's class was taking a quiz and the instructor posed the question "What was Jesus' first miracle?" Trent knew right away and answered proudly that Jesus' first miracle was turning water into wine. I think maybe the other kids in his class were taken aback briefly since it was Trent's first day in that class and especially since he is the youngest student in there. Then, Trent added "That's from an Iron Maiden song."
Oh well, just goes to show....
The first Saturday in December marked the annual Festival of Lights which, this year, featured the dedication of the cookie sheet we used to create the World's Largest Gingerbread Man (as certified by the folks at Guinness...see page 124 of the 2009 Guinness Book) into a monument under which all future generations can take campy photos. Don't get me wrong, I love the big lug, but it reminds me of National Lampoon's Vacation where Clark implores his family to see the second largest ball of twine in the world. Physically, he reminds me of the StayPuft Marshmallow Man from Ghostbusters with his eternally jolly expression. Let's just hope some apocolyptic event doesn't occur in which he comes to life and summarily levels our historic downtown buildings.
The high point of the day for me was the finale of High School Musical as performed by the budding thespians of Smithville High School. My daughter was credited as 'Wildcat cheer leader'...not a huge stretch for her seeing as how she's been a cheer leader for a team with a feline mascot for three years now. Challenge or not, she was divine as was the rest of the cast. We laughed...we cried (well, we didn't cry but we cringed a couple of times as the inevitable goofs popped up but rejoiced in the flawless recovery from said goofs)....we felt a range of emotions. (They did a fantastic job!) One of the emotions I felt was disappointment in the fact that we were not allowed to take still photos or videotape the performance without the express written consent of Major League Baseball...I mean Disney. I don't care what they say about their love of families and all things good, when it comes to their precious pocketbooks, you might as well forget all that. As if we're going to take the videotape and dupe it a million times onto blank DVDs and sell them on the street corner of the area that's considered Chinatown in the closest major city....
Other than these events, it's been Christmas prep 24-7. Decorating, shopping, office partying (which is typically the most interesting kind of partying).
Neal and I had a very productive day of shopping yesterday in Austin. One of my stops was Ulta, where Neal refused to accompany me inside. I think he thought he would have to check his manhood at the door. Plus, someone in there could have taken a picture of him with their cellphone and posted it all over Facebook. He could never live that down. Instead, he chose to play with the kitties at the pet adoption day at PetSmart next door, a much more manly undertaking. (To be fair, he split time between the dogs and the cats but I did catch him making goo-goo eyes at a kitty when I came out of Ulta).
But...back to Ulta. I arrived totally stocked with numerous coupons and "buy-this-get-that-free" offers. I was so prepared you would have thought I stayed at a Holiday Inn Express the night before. I was no-nonsense in my mission, visiting only the displays that I absolutely had to visit to fulfill my list. I was intimately familiar with the exclusions and rules of usage for all my coupons and was prepared to split my items into multiple transactions in order to get maximum impact savings. I approached the register and started organizing my items into piles when the cashier stopped me mid-sentence and said "That's OK...we'll combine it all into one purchase." I thought "Wow....I think I may have stumbled upon a seasonal employee who doesn't care about the bottom-line and just wants to get through her shift with as little static as possible....YES!" She then scanned each item, scanned the three coupons I intended to use, then flipped over the catalog I brought and said "Did you want to use this coupon too? It's a mascara buy-one-get-one..." I think I fled the register to retrieve another mascara before she even finished the sentence. I arrived back to discover that she had entertained herself by flipping through and finding yet another coupon for an additional $5 off the entire purchase. I knew of the existence of this coupon but would never have had the intestinal fortitude to ask if I could use it in conjunction with the others. That would just be pushing the limits under normal circumstances -- but not with a seasonal employee.
I realized the extent of my good fortune when I overheard the customer at the register next to me try to utilize her coupons in the same manner only to be rebuffed by a stern-looking woman who appeared to be a manager of some type. She broke the news to the unlucky patron "Ma'am, I'm sorry but you can't use this coupon for this item...and this discount only applies to this type of make-up." I knew right away I needed to make a clean getaway before that customer divulged my good fortunes to the mean cashier lady. As I waited for what seemed like an eternity for my credit card to process, I locked eyes with my cashier. We communicated in an unspoken language that said "You better get out of here, fast." I scribbled a completely illegible signature onto the screen, threw down the stylus, and grabbed my bag as if I were robbing the place. "Have a good holiday!", screamed my cashier toward my back as I was halfway out the door. "You too!" I yelled over my shoulder.
You just never know where you'll run into good fortune. Sometimes the little things really make a difference and you are in the right place at the right time with the right answers. It reminds me of an incident in Sunday School this morning. Trent's class was taking a quiz and the instructor posed the question "What was Jesus' first miracle?" Trent knew right away and answered proudly that Jesus' first miracle was turning water into wine. I think maybe the other kids in his class were taken aback briefly since it was Trent's first day in that class and especially since he is the youngest student in there. Then, Trent added "That's from an Iron Maiden song."
Oh well, just goes to show....
Saturday, November 22, 2008
A turkey of a pre-Thanksgiving task
Here I sit, just days before Thanksgiving, and I'm trying to organize my thoughts. Obviously, this requires a new blog entry.
As I gather my mental "to do " list, my mind keeps creeping back to this morning's task which was to remove all the shoe polish from the downtown merchants' windows that the cheerleaders so enthusiastically slathered onto the glass homecoming weekend. That means that the shoe polish has baked in the sun for about 2.5 months, and therefore was dangerously close to being a permanent display. With Festival of Lights quickly approaching (Dec. 6), it would be completely inappropriate to keep our football references visible. It's like having your Christmas lights up in July except even more tacky. Don't get me wrong -- the spirit slogans were very upbeat and everything was spelled correctly, but no one wants to be inundated with tiger paws and megaphones as they try to imagine themselves in a winter wonderland. Even if this is Texas.
Why was I charged with this mission, you ask? Because I am an employee of the Chamber of Commerce (who hosts Festival of Lights) and a cheer mom. There are zero degrees of separation. My daughter needed the community service hours (she has to perform 15 hours for cheerleading and probably some for student council...can't wait to find out what that will entail!) so she earned exactly two hours of credit before she had to be at theatre rehearsal this weekend and last weekend. So that left little ole me scrubbing the windows with vinegar and water plus a dash of Windex. (It makes for a tantalizing scent...in fact, that's why my mind keeps drifting back to this morning. I keep catching a whiff of myself.) So I was left with a dilemma...do I wait for her to help me finish this job or just go ahead and complete it myself?
Well, let's think it through. We're up against the clock (Dec 6). I don't feel like listening to her complain with every stroke of the towel she makes across the window. I can't very well leave a window half-done so that it reads "We are" when it previously read "We are #1". That's just an open invitation for some juvenile reprobate to complete that sentence with his own brand of vulgar humor. So...I concluded it would be best to just embrace this project as my own.
As I stood alone on Main Street, scraping and scrubbing away the Tiger Spirit, passerbys would comment to me such things as "What did you do to deserve this?" and "That looks like fun". Then, it occurred to me that they probably thought I was performing court-ordered community service. I was so embarrased by the prospect of being confused with a thug of some sort that I worked extra briskly just to get out of public view. Humiliation is always a good motivator.
At one point, the shoe-polish writing was so high up on the window that I marveled at how the cheerleaders were able to reach that height. Were they performing stunts as they decorated? It amazed me much like one would be amazed by Stonehenge or the pyramids. With the limited amount of tools and implements that were available to them, how did this result? Was it divine intervention of some sort? Alien involvement? Once I got past the initial amazement, it occurred to me that I too would have to reach radical heights to erase these markings. Crap.
The shop upon whose windows these markings appeared just happened to be open this morning for a few hours so they were kind enough to lend me a chair to stand on. Upon closing time, they repossessed their chair and I was left to my own devices. The window ledge was a good 6 inches, so I hoisted myself right up and began scrubbing. I felt like Spiderman. Then, I laughed as I imagined someone walking by while I screamed "Stay away from me or I'll jump!" That thought, in turn, made me chuckle and I lost my balance, plummeting three feet to the concrete surface below. Like a cat, I landed on my feet and was unphased but I quickly looked around to make sure no one witnessed this event.
Speaking of witnessing events, the four of us plus four of my daughter's friends went to see "Twilight" last night and I have to say I don't get all the fuss. I'm sure it's because I was the only person above the age of 12 who hadn't read the book prior to viewing the film. Half of the trip home from Austin last night was spent discussing what was wrong with the sequence of events and who was completely miscast in the movie. The girls' conversation made me more interested in reading the book than the movie did.
Forget Thanksgiving planning....I'm gonna veg out with Twilight. Then, when we go to the theater to see the sequal, I can wear an Edward t-shirt and audibly swoon when he appears on screen like the 6th grade girls in the row behind us did last night.
As I gather my mental "to do " list, my mind keeps creeping back to this morning's task which was to remove all the shoe polish from the downtown merchants' windows that the cheerleaders so enthusiastically slathered onto the glass homecoming weekend. That means that the shoe polish has baked in the sun for about 2.5 months, and therefore was dangerously close to being a permanent display. With Festival of Lights quickly approaching (Dec. 6), it would be completely inappropriate to keep our football references visible. It's like having your Christmas lights up in July except even more tacky. Don't get me wrong -- the spirit slogans were very upbeat and everything was spelled correctly, but no one wants to be inundated with tiger paws and megaphones as they try to imagine themselves in a winter wonderland. Even if this is Texas.
Why was I charged with this mission, you ask? Because I am an employee of the Chamber of Commerce (who hosts Festival of Lights) and a cheer mom. There are zero degrees of separation. My daughter needed the community service hours (she has to perform 15 hours for cheerleading and probably some for student council...can't wait to find out what that will entail!) so she earned exactly two hours of credit before she had to be at theatre rehearsal this weekend and last weekend. So that left little ole me scrubbing the windows with vinegar and water plus a dash of Windex. (It makes for a tantalizing scent...in fact, that's why my mind keeps drifting back to this morning. I keep catching a whiff of myself.) So I was left with a dilemma...do I wait for her to help me finish this job or just go ahead and complete it myself?
Well, let's think it through. We're up against the clock (Dec 6). I don't feel like listening to her complain with every stroke of the towel she makes across the window. I can't very well leave a window half-done so that it reads "We are" when it previously read "We are #1". That's just an open invitation for some juvenile reprobate to complete that sentence with his own brand of vulgar humor. So...I concluded it would be best to just embrace this project as my own.
As I stood alone on Main Street, scraping and scrubbing away the Tiger Spirit, passerbys would comment to me such things as "What did you do to deserve this?" and "That looks like fun". Then, it occurred to me that they probably thought I was performing court-ordered community service. I was so embarrased by the prospect of being confused with a thug of some sort that I worked extra briskly just to get out of public view. Humiliation is always a good motivator.
At one point, the shoe-polish writing was so high up on the window that I marveled at how the cheerleaders were able to reach that height. Were they performing stunts as they decorated? It amazed me much like one would be amazed by Stonehenge or the pyramids. With the limited amount of tools and implements that were available to them, how did this result? Was it divine intervention of some sort? Alien involvement? Once I got past the initial amazement, it occurred to me that I too would have to reach radical heights to erase these markings. Crap.
The shop upon whose windows these markings appeared just happened to be open this morning for a few hours so they were kind enough to lend me a chair to stand on. Upon closing time, they repossessed their chair and I was left to my own devices. The window ledge was a good 6 inches, so I hoisted myself right up and began scrubbing. I felt like Spiderman. Then, I laughed as I imagined someone walking by while I screamed "Stay away from me or I'll jump!" That thought, in turn, made me chuckle and I lost my balance, plummeting three feet to the concrete surface below. Like a cat, I landed on my feet and was unphased but I quickly looked around to make sure no one witnessed this event.
Speaking of witnessing events, the four of us plus four of my daughter's friends went to see "Twilight" last night and I have to say I don't get all the fuss. I'm sure it's because I was the only person above the age of 12 who hadn't read the book prior to viewing the film. Half of the trip home from Austin last night was spent discussing what was wrong with the sequence of events and who was completely miscast in the movie. The girls' conversation made me more interested in reading the book than the movie did.
Forget Thanksgiving planning....I'm gonna veg out with Twilight. Then, when we go to the theater to see the sequal, I can wear an Edward t-shirt and audibly swoon when he appears on screen like the 6th grade girls in the row behind us did last night.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Computer gremlins and Halloween goblins
I logged on to find cobwebs collecting on this blog. Sorry for the extended vacay, but there's so much to be said that I can't succintly yet adequately express myself. I'll just hit the high points.
First, we all know the outcome of the election. May I refer you to the South Park episode that wraps it up so nicely like a Food Saver? It really captures the extremes on both sides with hilarity plus an Ocean's Eleven twist.
We lost one of our computers this past week, although temporarily. It's "in the shop" for an undetermined period and we have found it necessary to coordinate our computer usage among the members of our household. We even resorted to taking turns and using our computer time efficiently! (Body shiver) It was like living at the library except there are children talking loudly and other various distracting background noises. (So in other words, it's like living at the Smithville library.) Anyway, that could not stand for long. Neal quickly rushed to Best Buy and ushered in the newest member of our family, a bright red laptop. Its main stated purpose is for the new EMR system at the hospital but right now, it's used purely for entertainment. We all felt a little more normal when the person-to-computer ratio was restored to its previous level.
Halloween was awesome this year. Neal dressed like a beer and I as a beer waitress. The weather cooperated so we were not forced to cover our outrageously-priced costumes with jackets. My daughter went dressed as a Greek goddess and my son had a dual Halloween....he went to school dressed as a space commando -- until that high-priced, low-quality garment ripped at the waist, exposing his midsection. (Good thing he wasn't authentically "commando" if you know what I mean.) Therefore, we were pressed to compose a new, homemade costume just an hour prior to the commencement of trick-or-treating. We threw together elements of previously worn costumes plus old clothes and he emerged as a nerd. (I should try out for "Project Runway".) The best part was that he hardly broke character all night as we combed the town for candy. He would tell strangers "Did you do your geometry homework?...Because I did mine five times!" and then kind of snort-laugh. He also talked about Star Trek conventions and Lord of the Rings quite a bit. He was so convincing. I wonder where he picked up all that nerd culture? Hmmm....
Football season reached fever pitch after Smithville's first victory over La Grange in a decade but then quickly declined as we failed to capture another win for the remainder of the season. The team played better than anyone can remember and had a couple of close games that could easily have gone our way. Hopefully, we will at least shed automatic "whipping boy" status in our district. That will be measured by how many of our "away" games are the home team's "homecoming" games.
This past weekend, Neal and his 2007 first-place cookoff team attempted to defend their title at "Cookoff on the Colorado". Last year, Neal's ribs placed 7th overall and his team's chicken was unabashedly proclaimed #1 by the judges, helping to catapult them to the team title. This year, not so much. They didn't have an entry that placed in the top 20 for any category. It was deflating to say the least. Oh well, any day spent sitting around drinking beer, eating meat, and watching football is a day well spent no matter the outcome. Even if the Aggies gave up more points than ever in the history of Kyle Field. (Aggie Football -- breaking new records every week!)
First, we all know the outcome of the election. May I refer you to the South Park episode that wraps it up so nicely like a Food Saver? It really captures the extremes on both sides with hilarity plus an Ocean's Eleven twist.
We lost one of our computers this past week, although temporarily. It's "in the shop" for an undetermined period and we have found it necessary to coordinate our computer usage among the members of our household. We even resorted to taking turns and using our computer time efficiently! (Body shiver) It was like living at the library except there are children talking loudly and other various distracting background noises. (So in other words, it's like living at the Smithville library.) Anyway, that could not stand for long. Neal quickly rushed to Best Buy and ushered in the newest member of our family, a bright red laptop. Its main stated purpose is for the new EMR system at the hospital but right now, it's used purely for entertainment. We all felt a little more normal when the person-to-computer ratio was restored to its previous level.
Halloween was awesome this year. Neal dressed like a beer and I as a beer waitress. The weather cooperated so we were not forced to cover our outrageously-priced costumes with jackets. My daughter went dressed as a Greek goddess and my son had a dual Halloween....he went to school dressed as a space commando -- until that high-priced, low-quality garment ripped at the waist, exposing his midsection. (Good thing he wasn't authentically "commando" if you know what I mean.) Therefore, we were pressed to compose a new, homemade costume just an hour prior to the commencement of trick-or-treating. We threw together elements of previously worn costumes plus old clothes and he emerged as a nerd. (I should try out for "Project Runway".) The best part was that he hardly broke character all night as we combed the town for candy. He would tell strangers "Did you do your geometry homework?...Because I did mine five times!" and then kind of snort-laugh. He also talked about Star Trek conventions and Lord of the Rings quite a bit. He was so convincing. I wonder where he picked up all that nerd culture? Hmmm....
Football season reached fever pitch after Smithville's first victory over La Grange in a decade but then quickly declined as we failed to capture another win for the remainder of the season. The team played better than anyone can remember and had a couple of close games that could easily have gone our way. Hopefully, we will at least shed automatic "whipping boy" status in our district. That will be measured by how many of our "away" games are the home team's "homecoming" games.
This past weekend, Neal and his 2007 first-place cookoff team attempted to defend their title at "Cookoff on the Colorado". Last year, Neal's ribs placed 7th overall and his team's chicken was unabashedly proclaimed #1 by the judges, helping to catapult them to the team title. This year, not so much. They didn't have an entry that placed in the top 20 for any category. It was deflating to say the least. Oh well, any day spent sitting around drinking beer, eating meat, and watching football is a day well spent no matter the outcome. Even if the Aggies gave up more points than ever in the history of Kyle Field. (Aggie Football -- breaking new records every week!)
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