Monthly Archives: October 2010

Halloween 1974

It must have made an impact at the tender age of 14 because this many years later I still remember it.   I had tremendous teenagers, however, I was not one.  I was, I guess, a tad rebellious.   I started high school at 14 in 9th grade.  My older siblings always worked hard to achieve good grades. Every teacher I had on that 1st day was glad to get an Austin in their class, when they’d relay that to me (usually in the “oh good, you’re an Austin” manner) I’d just shrink in my chair and glare at them and think “yeah, but you don’t know me yet”.  I proved myself.  By the end of 9th grade, all of them had wished I hadn’t been in their class.  So yeah, I didn’t always follow the rules and usually looked for ways to break them in and outside of school.  Halloween in 1974 was on a Friday night and my girlfriends and I were headed to a party in the next town.  We were 14, we couldn’t drive, how  were we going to get there?  I think we all told our parents that we were just going to hang out at each others houses.  “Leave it to me” Sandy said “I’ll get us a ride”.  Sandy almost always accomplished what she set her mind to do, she got us a ride.  We met at her house and asked her who was taking us,  I believe she told us  that she didn’t know his name.  Young and dumb and wanting to go to the party we all piled in.

To this day I still have no idea why we were pulled over.  I kind of think the police knew the guy that was driving  and were looking for him but I really don’t know,  just remember hearing that later.  So right, we got pulled over about block from our intended delivery point. Apparently the driver was over 21 and we were all jail bait so we were all asked to exit the car.  Suburban residential area,  Halloween night, of course kids in costumes were all over the streets and the squad lights were going round and round and all the kids gathered around the squad cars and were staring at us watching to see what would happen next.  I remember looking at all the kids in the red, white, red, white flashing light atmosphere as they formed their circle.  I also remember one particular kid who was dressed as Satan and held a pitchfork.  I remember him because he was staring at us and then he looked at his pitchfork and  jabbed the (plastic) pitchfork at his ass.  A little weird.  Stressful situation, being questioned and frisked by the police when one is 14, not knowing why and when the kid poked his own behind with his little pitchfork my girlfriend, Cheri, and I looked at each other and burst out laughing.  That wasn’t taken kindly by the policemen.  We were out there an hour being questioned together and individually while the police searched the car we’d all been in and then our driver was escorted, in handcuffs, into one squad car and my friends and I were escorted, not in handcuffs, into the other.   That was that last time we saw that guy.

While my friends and I were being driven home by our new driver,  Mr. Policeman, we were lectured incredibly and and specifically told that we each HAD to relate to our parents the events of the evening.  I still didn’t get  it.  We hadn’t done anything wrong.  If  we had reached the party and the police had picked us up there we would have been guilty of underage drinking.  We hadn’t gotten to the party, we hadn’t done anything wrong.  Of course we all swore we would tell our parents.

I got home and my mom was a little surprised to see me home so early.  I made up some lame excuse and went to my room and thought about my vow to tell my parents.  I knew my mom.  I had plans to leave town the next morning w/ Sandy to some small town about an hour north of the Twin Cities.  Sandy’s grandma lived there.  The previous weekend some of the football players of that remote town’s high school were in our neighborhood and we made dates for Saturday night, the night after Halloween.  Back to I knew my mom.  I could tell her tonight, still not understanding what it would be that I would have to say, I wasn’t arrested, nor had I done anything wrong and I would have been grounded just because I was brought home by a policeman.  Oh yeah, and my mom’s dad had been a policeman.  I’ve heard stories of her brother being brought home by other policemen…apparently that wasn’t a good thing.  Do the math of a 14 year old girl with a date on Saturday night.  I decided to tell her when I got home on Sunday.  Wasn’t breaking my promise to the policeman, he never said when I had to tell my parents.

So Saturday morning Sandy and her dad picked me up and we went up north to visit his mom.  We spent a few hours with her grandma before we were picked up by our dates and we went to (get this) a bar.  I guess that in small towns it was completely acceptable to close a bar to the public to host a party (alcohol included) to the local high school football players if the team was doing well that season.  Huh.  Odd, but there were were, Sandy and her date and Wolf-boy and I.  I’d only met the guy once, the week before.  He was very nice and polite when we’d spent time together  the week  before.  This  time I really don’t know if he was trying to impress the guys or what but he appeared to be all about putting his hands on me.   I just kept pushing him away and drinking faster.  Wow, great bar service in small towns who knew?  Endless supplies of….are you ready….keep in mind this was high school…sloe screws.  Never had one before and never have since.   Succeeded in the bar, to keep Wolf-boy off of me but then it was time to leave.   I had to get into the backseat of a car with Wolf-boy.  Immediately upon entering the car he gave me his class ring (my, this WAS a small town), after that I had to fight with him again to keep his hands off of me.  Good thing for me that I wasn’t someone who could handle my alcohol at the time.  What I’ve realized from this event is that the best defense against date rape is to just puke all over your attacker.   Repeatedly works best but I’m pretty sure that even a one shot deal would do the trick.   While I was heaving my guts out all over Wolf-boy, Sandy was in the front seat playing tag with her date.  In the process she managed to smash her face into the steering wheel.

I was done hurling by the time we got back to Sandy’s grandma’s house and Sandy had an enormous lip.  We went downstairs and went to sleep.  I’ve heard we slept until noon and at one point Sandy’s dad went downstairs to check on us while we were still asleep.  He walked back upstairs and was asked by his mom if we’d had a good time.  His response was “I’m not sure.  One of them came home with a class ring and the other one came home with a fat lip”.   We eventually woke up and our dates from the previous night came over to see us off.  I got the opportunity to throw Wolf-boy his ring back and Sandy got the opportunity to kiss her date good bye, fat lip and all.  Then we went home.

I got home and my mom met me at the door, never a good sign.  She asked me how my weekend was, I told her I’d had fun (or I’d never been allowed to leave for a weekend again) and then she informed me that she’d gotten a phone call from the Lakeville Police Department.  That’s when the shit hit the fan.  “Although your daughter was innocent we just thought you’d like to know”  is what they had told her.   My mom is not quite full blooded Irish but she sure acts like it.  I let her know that I had planned to tell her when I got back from Sandy’s grandma’s and that even though I hadn’t done anything wrong (and the call from the department had told her that) I knew she wouldn’t have let me go if I told her I was driven home by a policeman on Friday.  “You’re DAMN right you wouldn’t have gone” was what I got back.  So I still didn’t really get why I was in trouble.  Whoever it was that had called my mom told her a lot more than anyone had told me.  The driver guy from Halloween night was a drug dealer and they found plenty in his car when they searched it.  Okay, that’s something I could have understood had anyone told me.  I was never clear on what it was that I was supposed to have told my parents that Friday.  However, I still wouldn’t have told my mom anything until I got back home on Sunday and right, I was again, grounded for a month.  That was pretty much a normal thing for my early teen years, grounded for a month.  A month is a long time when one is 14 but there were always plenty of ways around it.   Eh, another story for another day.

That was my Halloween weekend when I was 14.   We all learn from our experiences.  I had a few experiences that I learned from that weekend, the least of them was don’t ever drink sloe gin.

Samantha projects 2

When Samantha 1st went away to school she went to UMD, which is 3 hours from us.  She left in the middle of August to be in marching band, it was a couple weeks before school actually started.  The band kept her extremely busy w/constant practice and Samantha had never been away from home that long before (well, except when we went to Ireland but she wasn’t alone, Rob, Bob and I were there as well).  She is by far the most family addicted person I’ve ever met.  I know, figure that one out.  Extremist family-addict is the one who banishes herself from the county for 11 months.  Anyway, Samantha was over tired, she was crabby, she had a room mate from hell and she was very homesick. She also wouldn’t be able to come home until Thanksgiving because of the marching band schedule.  The 1st day of school coincided with my niece, Grace’s, birthday party.  Before heading to the party I grabbed my camera and wrote up some encouraging signs because I thought I had a great idea.   At the party I took pictures of  family members holding the signs, printed them and snail mailed them to Samantha.  In those original photos the backgrounds look a little shoddy because my parents were repainting and re-wallpapering and there  is a red strip of cloth in each photo that someone decided had to be in every photo.  I don’t know the reason behind that one but there it is.  That’s my family.

Samantha received the photos and  apparently they only added to her homesickness. There were her loved ones all gathered without her.  Right, toss me into the “bad mom” category.  I felt awful.  Then I did the math.  Okay, if seeing family members holding encouraging signs make her sad……then it would make sense that….complete strangers holding random signs wouldn’t make her sad at all.  It works, right?  I thought of that one day and it happened to be the day I was going to sub for my mom’s card club in the evening.  Again, I whipped up some signs and grabbed my camera and headed out.  The 2nd set of signs were still a bit encouraging,  I hadn’t perfected my skill yet. Yes, the ladies were very surprised when I told them I needed to take their picture holding a sign so I could send it to my homesick daughter who didn’t know them.  Lots of people just don’t understand my logic. I printed those photos and snail mailed them off to Samantha as well.  She understood my logic and appreciated the humor.

Third thought: why have random sayings on the signs when they could all be family jokes?  There ya go.  I made more signs and I took them and  my camera to both jobs.  I called Alex and Shannon and asked them for more family sayings, made more signs, sent my camera and some signs to work with Shannon, sent my camera and signs to my brother’s shooting club.  I took my camera everywhere (when I hadn’t sent it w/someone else).   My niece  in Michigan (Officer Kellly) emailed me photos of her and her loved ones in MI, w/signs.  My  brother-in-law, then in GA, sent photos of his dog with signs.  I re-included family members holding signs  because the new ones would make Samantha laugh.   No more “I miss you” or “I love you” signs, these were more likely to say “cheap art” or “I eat glue”.   I included Boo and Lacey in the photos blaming things on each other.  That 3rd thought took off like a rocket.  I wish I ‘d have thought sooner that each and every one of them needed to be different from the rest but live and learn.  There are a lot of repeats in the middle.

In November that year a very dear friend of mine was coming to MN for a short visit from MT where he’d moved about 25 years previous.  He was bringing with him his lovely bride.  My sister and I had contacted some of the people in that are still in this area that we hung out with way, way back when and we arranged a night for all of us to get together at my sister’s house.   That night is another story and it was a blast and I came prepared to this event with my camera and new signs. Samantha was due home for Thanksgiving soon and I’d decided that she would survive the semester and before she came home I gave her a grand finale from my friends that gathered that night.  Samantha’s middle name is Robin.  She loves her middle name.  My ring tone for her, at the time, was Brave Sir Robin from Monty Python and the Holy Grail.  The last snail mail she received from me before she came home was the entire Brave Sir Robin song, via signs, as held by my friends from my teen years :o)  The entire collection of people and signs are all in my “Dear Samantha”  photo album on FB.  I had a great time, Samantha had a great time (she put the pictures up on her dorm wall) and I can’t thank everyone enough for letting me (or Shan or Bob) take their photo holding a sign that made absolutely no sense to them.

Second semester I knew she’d be fine.  Someone at B&N showed me a book of postcards entitled “Grandma’s Dead; Breaking  Bad News With Baby Animals”.   Something like that.  It was hysterical!  The cover showed a postcard of the sweetest little puppy and across the bottom it said, of course, “Grandma’s Dead”.   I bought the book of postcards thinking that I’d send it to Samantha, knowing she’d get a kick out of it.  Then I had a better idea. I know, my 1st thought isn’t always my best but they do give birth to better.  I decided that I’d make sure that everyone wrote to Samantha by having everyone she loves fill out the back of whichever postcard they chose.   I addressed them and stamped them  but everyone had to write on one.   Imagine a postcard with a picture of baby chicks in an Easter basket and across the bottom it says “It’s syphllis” or a photo of a baby bunny and across the bottom it says “You’re Fired” or a picture of some really cute kittens doing something funny and across the bottom it says “I’m leaving you”.   They were so funny, baby beagles letting you know “You’re the father” or baby geese letting you know that “You’re not the father”  lambs letting you know “The donor backed out”.   The humorous point of the postcard book was to soften the blow of bad news.  My humorous point in having them all sent to Samantha was making her laugh.  It worked.

Samantha’s freshman year at UMD ended and of course she survived and she was home for a blink and then off to Germany for a 3 week, some sort of study journey.  I just know she got credits for it.   At this point I need to introduce Buffy.  Buffy is a stuffed dog.  When Samantha got him she was 5 and he was almost as big as she was.  He has slept with Samantha every night since then.  He used to be white.  He is well loved and on this trip to Germany, Buffy is with Samantha.  On her 1st trip to Germany I was asked to babysit him.  No time to mail I kind of gave Samantha a photo diary of Buffy’s time in her absence.  I have a teddy bear who, apparently, is pretty good friends w/Buffy.  I posted a new photo every day on what Buffy was doing in her absence.  Buffy and my teddy bear went to the grocery store,  went to story time at B&N, hung out on the deck, read books, played wii, came to work with me, etc.

When I took them to B&N I set them up at a table in the cafe and asked Rob if he would watch them while I ran in back to check my schedule.  Rob was mortified.  He thought I was asking him to sit with them.  Hahahaha!  No, just please make sure no one walks away with either of them.  When I came back out the boys were still at their table and Rob was a few aisles away, peering at them on the pretense of reading the book he had in his hands.  That’s just cute.  When I went to the grocery store with them and brought them in with me, Rob wouldn’t hang with me :o)  I propped them in a grocery cart and took their photo and got lots of strange looks.  Only one person was actually brave enough to approach me and ask me why I was doing what I was doing.  Ya gotta love people like that.  As quietly as I could I answered her and showed her the photos I’d taken previously.  Very, very quietly.  If you’re not brave enough to ask, I’m not going to let you eavesdrop.  Yep, I’d rather let you believe that I’m a lunatic  than to shout out loud why  I’m doing what I’m doing if you’d rather point and whisper than ask me.  I can even act on it.

Completely off subject.  That statement just reminded me of this.  This is probably the only time in my life that I’ve ever “gotten” my dad.  When I was 19 or 20 I met my dad for lunch at a local restaurant.  My dad not so much, but I can be very animated when  I talk.  I don’t know if it was that or suspicious minds and the obvious age difference or what it was that brought my dad and I to the attention of several tables around us.  I’m an airport baby.  I’m a people watcher even when I’m not bored.  It came to my attention that lots of  folk were, not staring, but taking quick and repeated suspicious looks at us as we kibbitzed and noshed.  I get it.  Okay, 1st people are stupid, I look just like my dad and 2nd people are too quick to judge, 3rd, feed me and I’ll give it to you, 4th someone, at some time has to”get” my dad.  Pick me!  I’ll take advantage if the opportunity presents itself.  This was that opportunity.  We finished lunch and stood up to leave and I kind of threw myself around his neck and thanked him loudly and rrepeatedly for taking time out of his big, important day for the likes of  “lil ol’ me” and let him know that I couldn’t wait until I saw him later that evening (we lived in the same house) and so on.  I remember calling him a big, strong, handsome man.   I did nothing or said anything  inappropriate.  I was an adoring daughter,  however, I never gave him the “dad”  title, or any other title for that matter.   Apparently our table neighbors didn’t see me as the adoring daughter .  Shame on them.  My dad caught on to their (at this point) staring and  finally understood  and turned beat red. He tried to leave as quickly as he could and I did my best to detain him for as long as I could.  Score: dad, eight thousand or so, me, 1.  That 1 was everything .  Never felt the need to “get” him again.

Anyway, Samantha is now in Germany again for 11 months and is quite homesick and has a giant white wall in her bedroom that she wants to fill w/family photos.  My initial thought was negative.  Why would I send you family photos if they’ll make you sad and more homesick?  Trying to think of a solution and I know that the sign thing is a thing of the past and now she’s thousands of miles away instead of 3 hours I’m not going to send photos of strangers.  It came to me one day, I was going to have dinner w/Alex that day so he was the 1st victim.  I gave him notice when he picked me up.  I’ll give Samantha what she wants, family photos  but I don’t want to make her homesick so therefore I’ve given everyone a head’s up and a challenge.  I am going to take  your picture to send to Samantha but you have to do something in your photo to make her laugh.  Sending one each week and I’ve got about 49 or 50 weeks to kill.  Alex  was great as the 1st victim, Leon was 2nd he completely panicked, which is why I brought props for him.  I’ve taken more photos then I’ve posted in the new “Samantha project: Germany” album thus far but I’m not going to post them before she receives them.  Right and I’ve purchased tons of cards and again, everyone has to sign one, therefore she gets mail from everyone like the postcard project.  Each week Samantha will get a card from a loved one and a photo of another loved one.  I don’t match the cards up to the photo.  That way she gets 2 people a week.

Right, and don’t ever, ever think that I do these things solely for Samantha.  I’ve talked to a few moms who’s oldest children have just gone away for the 1st time.  Damn straight we miss them like crazy, even if it’s not the oldest or the 1st time away.  Skype is awesome but having a project gives the mom something to do and the child something to appreciate. Projects also always involve siblings who also miss the person in question.  But the key term here is “gives the mom something to do”.  Samantha and I have both benefited from my little projects in her honor.  Keeps me busy trying to think of new things, keeps me in contact w/my family members (I tend to hermit, at times) because I need them for whichever project I’m currently working on and makes Samantha, so far away, look forward to snail mail and makes her laugh when she receives it.

Samantha does need to quit going away by the time I have grandchildren, however, or she will be sorely surprised that I have no time to amuse her, I’ll be busy elsewhere :o)  I know, she’s going to hate this ending.  She’s already against Shannon and Kevin of  maybe producing any offspring because ” I understand the next in line to the the throne thing”.   Right, 1st, there is no throne.  She’s the baby, she’ll get how additions are the best things in life.  Where would  the rest of us be if Samantha hadn’t been added?

People I don’t like 1

I don’t hide it from them.  I’m not nice to them.  Really, ask anyone that I don’t like and they’ll tell you that they are aware of the fact that I dislike them.  I dislike people who believe that the world revolves around them.  I dislike people who can’t think outside of the box.  I dislike people who believe that rules can never be bent.  I dislike people who believe they will get to heaven but anyone who doesn’t agree to their religion goes to hell, therefore….they are holier than thou. I don’t like mean people, although I can be one if pressed.  Parents who don’t pay attention to, or discipline their children, I dislike tremendously.  I am a bigot in the sense that I dislike everyone I dislike.  I try very hard not to judge  anyone on their race (although one nationality is pressing my buttons a lot lately), religion or sexual orientation, individuals have to give me reasons to not like them.

Back at the restaurant there were 2 separate couples that frequented the place that I disliked.  One was an older couple and one was a younger couple.  I had the unpleasant opportunity of waiting on each couple about every 3rd week.  Both men thought the world revolved around them and were crabby all the time.  The older woman was as crabby as her husband and the younger woman, although a brunette, was a dumb blond.  I’ll tell you more about her later.  I’ll refer to her as “stupid-girl”.  I know, it could just be me but I am not favorable to crabby, the-world-revolves-around-me people.  Therefore, each and every time I had to wait on them I pretended to have never seen them before.  That used to really piss them off.  Keeping in mind that I’m sure they were positive that the restaurant only existed for their pleasure, I should KNOW that they’ve been there before and I should KNOW what they want…well and probably especially because I had waited one each couple several times previous.  Also because they frequented the restaurant, they expected to be treated like royalty.  Sorry, I’m not that easy.  I also have never felt the need to inflate already inflated egos.  I’ve never been afraid to forgo a minimal tip for self satisfaction.

On any given Saturday I could have a conversation with either couple that would be something like this:

Me:  Welcome to the Timberlodge.  Have you been here before? Are you familiar with the menu?

One of the 2 men: I COME HERE ALL THE TIME!

Me:   Well then I guess you’re familiar with the menu, what can I get for you?

One of the 2 men:  I WANT THE USUAL!

Me:  Okay, what would that be?


Me:  I’m sorry, I wait on several people each and every day.  What can I get for you today?

One of the 2 men:  I’d like blah, blah, blah

Me:  How would you like that done?

One of the 2 men: (this is where their fist would hit the table) YOU KNOW HOW I WANT THAT DONE!

I could keep that up forever.  Soup or salad?  What type of dressing.  Potato, wild rice or veggies? Which type of potato?  Beverage?  Dessert?  Coffee?  After dinner drink?  Each and every question I asked would make each of these men  irate, it always gave me a warm fuzzy.  That and I could contain my gales of laughter until I got back to the alley.  Right, ya gotta have fun at work where you can get it.

Working in a restaurant and at book store for years I can tell you that a lot of parents would rather have a conversation with an adult than deal with their children and therefore the children were let to run wild.  My daughter, Shannon, became a hostess at the restaurant I worked at when she turned 16 and was surprised watching children running wild around the establishment.  She’d come to me with giant eyes and say “we NEVER would have done that!”  She was right.  My children simply weren’t allowed to run wild in public and I made it a point to curtail any conversation I may have been in to pay attention to my children and make sure they behaved.  I worked with a woman who, way back when, was in charge of the kid’s section @  B&N and she once  had a woman walk her daughters to that section of the store and deposit them while she took off and hung out elsewhere in the store (fyi, you wouldn’t believe how many parents do that).  The daughters looked to be about 3 and 5 years old, after a while one of the little girls was in obvious need of a restroom.  My co-worker asked the little girl her name and paged the mother to the kids section.  The mom showed up and asked what the issue was, my co-worker informed her that her daughter was in desperate need of a bathroom and the woman looked at my co-worker and asked “what?  you didn’t want to take her?”   Where was Bill Engvall that day?  I would have liked to have seen him, instead of just present it with “here’s your sign”, I’d have liked to see him hit her with it.   I dislike parents who expect the world to do their parenting for them.

Every weekend there were women who would meet up in the cafe at B&N.  Between them they had somewhere around 7 children.  The moms would gossip and gab and let the kids run amuck…  and their kids were awful.   The kids would take out hundreds of books and not put them back, the kids would knock over displays and run away, the kids would open things that were in cellophane so they shouldn’t be opened until purchased.  The kids would also touch base with their moms to tell them something cool or ask about something and the moms always chased them away.  Sad but true. So…watch that happen enough and realize that the parents have no interest in what the children have to say and then one just feels free to threaten the children.  Or, actually, get bossy.   Watch the kids take out 75 books and attempt to leave them all over the floor and I’d tell them to put them away.  They could complain to their moms but the moms just shooed them away.  I could watch them run full speed through the store and knock over a display and I’d stop them and tell them to clean it up.  Again, they could complain  but the moms didn’t want to listen.  Yes, I very much dislike these parents.

The race that pushes my button currently used to use the book store as a babysitter.  They’d send their kids to the book store after school and it was up to the children to entertain themselves for 3 or 4 or 5 hours until the parents picked them up.  What’s not to dislike?  A dozen children between the ages of 8 and 14 in a retail store for that amount of time with no adult supervision.  Not a good situation for the children or the employees.

Anyway, back to stupid-girl that frequented the restaurant with her boyfriend.  She was a single mom whom I’d seen occasionally at the book store as well, without boyfriend but with an 11 or 12 year old son.   With her boyfriend at dinner she was a silent, adoring girlfriend who always appeared to be as smart as a box of rocks.  With her son at the book store she appeared to be a silent, stupid, single mom who appeared to have as much common sense as a sock .  She would let her son run wild while she buried herself in the romance section.   I just didn’t like stupid-girl on many levels.  I walked into the store, The Limited, one day and guess who worked there, right, stupid-girl. As stated, I”m not nice to people I don’t like.  Stupid-girl approached me as if we were best friends. She apparently recognized me but couldn’t place where from.  Leave it to me to look at her as if she was an idiot.  That stopped her in her tracks.  She asked me if I’d worked with her previously and I assured her that I hadn’t.  She then looked a tad embarrassed.  At that point I walked away.  It was okay with me that she felt like an idiot.   Yep, I can be mean.  I tried on a gray jacked and she ran back over to me and told me that it looked wonderful and let me know she had the “perfect” shade of pink to go with the jacket.  I looked at her and then I looked at the shirt I was wearing which was the exact same shade she was trying to sell me and then I looked at her again and yes, I did look at her in the “you are a moron” manner.  Apparently she was bright enough to understand that I was looking at her in that manner and she walked away with her tail between her legs.

I was a complete male-basher  through most of my 30’s, therefore any male who approached me in a bar was instantly on my “do not like”  list.  I wasn’t a nice person but then again I don’t think that any one of them was worth being nice to.  That whole era I don’t feel bad about.  Being mean to jerks in bars, sorry…I kind of liked that.  I met a good friend of mine by being an ass to an ass one night.  Back then every Tuesday after work the restaurant crew would head to Champp’s after work, have a few beers and play bingo till the bar closed.  One night I walked in and instantly there was some guy in my face asking me who had laid the diamonds around my neck.  In my favor, no one had ever asked me that and I was taken a little off guard, give me a break…not the usual pick up line, so I asked him how he knew they were real.   Right, color me stupid.  What he was asking was if I had a husband or not.  Hindsight is best.  His answer to my question was “my daddy is a jeweler” so basically that’s a “sleep with me sista and you might get a little somethin’ somethin’ out of it”.  Okay…on the “do not like”  list.  Blew him off and caught up w/my friends at the bar, sat down and ordered a beer.  Shortly after jewel-boy walked up behind me and put his arms around me.  He asked me a few questions, to which I gave my usual rude answers as I tried to pry him off of me.  I don’t remember the whole verbal exchange except for the last round when he told me that I needed a “real man”.  My response to that was to ask him to let me know if he knew any “real men”.   That was the point where I was finally able to shake him off of me, physically, and apparently that was the final turn off for jewel-boy and he finally wandered off.  It was at that point that I noticed that the little guy sitting next to me was laughing his ass off.  He was laughing his ass off to my responses to jewel-boys questions.  Apparently I used to be incredibly sarcastic.  I can still be sarcastic but not incredibly.  I think I miss that.

Again, this is too long and it’s late and I need to wrap it up.  Bottom line:  there are people I dislike, they have to give me reasons for disliking them and then…I’m just not nice to them.  Wait, then…sometimes I’m mean to them.