Not a Total Loss.........

The news isn't as good as I hoped, but I'm not disappointed. Much. We came in second at the S.E.C. gymnastics championships. Bama came in first, and well they should have. They were totally on their game all night. We started off on balance beam, and the first two girls fell. That just shook our confidence from the beginning. We came back strong on the other events, but the damage was done. Kudos to Bama. And at least we still beat Florida.

On a more positive note, we are headed for the Grand Ole Opry to see Kelly Pickler and the Charlie Daniels Band. I'm not a HUGE country music fan, but come on. It's the Grand Ole Opry. And Charlie Daniels is a legend. I just hope I can stay awake for the show.

This blogging from the Blackberry is awkward. My thumbs are exhausted.

Mother of the Year Award.....NOT......

On our way to Nashville today, something in our conversation reminded me of one of the many times in Sweet Girl's life when I was definitely NOT Mother of the Year.

First of all, let me explain why I had my 3-year-old in a bar in the first place. We had only stopped there for a moment to pick up the ex. It's not like I was in there boozing it up and not paying attention as my child wandered unsupervised around this honky tonk. It was the middle of the afternoon, and there were very few customers. Everyone there knew her.... Okay, that doesn't sound good either.... Never mind.

I did have a short conversation with the ex and a couple of his cronies at the bar. While we were talking, we heard a blood-curdling scream come from the back of the bar where the pool table and pinball machines were.

Sweet Girl came running across the floor, her mouth wide open in that silent scream that I also referred to when I wrote about her nearly tearing her uvula off.

Hanging off the end of her index finger was a very small rodent.

Evidently the mouse had taken offense when Sweet Girl stuck her hand up in the ball return of the pool table.

She shook her hand, and the mouse fell off.

Everyone in that bar went silent, and I scooped her up and ran outside with her. Because I knew just as soon as she got her air back, the bar would no longer be silent. And it would be an ear-piercing, curl-your-toes kind of scream.

Oddly enough, when the bar owner (Robert) went to scoop the offending rodent up off the floor, IT WAS DEAD.

The skin was broken, but she wasn't bleeding, and at that point in my very early motherhood I would probably have taken her to the emergency room under normal circumstances.

These weren't normal circumstances.

I pictured myself explaining to the medical personnel just how a mouse happened to bite a little girl on the index finger. And where we were when it happened.

I decided just to treat it myself. I was paranoid (maybe justifably so) that some overzealous social worker might be on duty at the hospital that day and they would take my baby away from me.

It turned out all right, and there were no lasting effects.

As we started to leave, Robert said sardonically, "My lawyer will be in touch about your young'un killing my pet mouse."

I love the word "sardonically."

More Customer Not-Service......

I took my SUV in to have the oil changed today, mainly because it was time for it, and partly in preparation for my road trip to Nashville this weekend with my two sisters. I won't tell you the purpose of our trip, because it might be all I can think of to blog about tomorrow night. Or Saturday night, when I hope to have wonderful news to post. Not that many of you will care.

But I digress.

I mentioned on Sunday that I had a technological close call with the code for the keypad on my SUV. I like to leave the keys in the car, and it's an aggravation -- okay, so a minor one -- that I can't do that now because the keypad won't work.

So when I went to get the oil changed today, I asked the technician to check the keypad. He said it would cost $50 to find out what was wrong with it and looked at me as if to ask if that were okay. "It doesn't work," I said. Implying that I'm curious enough to spend $50 to find out what the hell is wrong with it.

I waited in the customer lounge and played numerous games of BrickBreaker on my Blackberry, because I cannot seem to achieve the same level of mastery as my friend Wanda the Warrior Princess. Henceforward known simply as WWP. When they called my name to say my vehicle was ready and that the oil change I had a coupon for would only cost me $91, I asked about the keypad problem.

"Oh yes," the cashier replied, "he pulled your code for you. It's written right here."

"I know the code," I said, trying to smile and NOT to talk through my teeth. "It just doesn't work."

"Oh. Let me check on that."

Apparently the words "Keypad inop" written on the work order indicated to the service technician that I was too stupid to know my own code that I've been using for 4 years. So he "pulled" it for me. For which they charge $40.

Back to the customer lounge and more BrickBreaker. And college basketball, for which I have zero interest. Possibly even negative interest.

After finally going in search of the right PROBLEM, the technician came and told me that a wire is broken down in the door panel, and it will cost approximately $300 to get it fixed.

For $300 I can buy some pants with pockets to carry a key in.

I'd Like to Have THAT Job......

I was reading the blog of a witty (and busy!) lady from the United Kingdom, Lakeland Jo, who posted a warning to all bloggers today about using copyrighted material on blog entries.

Seems she got a stern warning about a copyrighted image on her blog, and the writer informed her that a second offense would result in the deletion of her blog.

The offending image was of the golden arches associated with a particular fast food joint, whose name I am now terrified to type here for fear of stepping on someone's toes.

Really? Seriously?

These folks don't have anything better to do with their time?

I would think they would welcome ANY publicity, considering A) the economy; and B) the stigma these days of admitting you eat at the golden-arches-fast-food-place.

Then I started thinking about all the images that I've used on my blog.

There's the vodka bottle. (Ironically, I believe this exact same image appears on Lakeland Jo's blog about four entries down from her warning to all bloggers. Ha ha ha ha ha)

And the Hess logo.

Not to mention the picture of Courtney Kupets, which I did NOT take myself. I have lots of pictures of gymnasts' backs and butts and upside down and flying over the uneven bars, but none of them are that good.

Or the picture from the movie Chicago, which I'm sure they would take offense at even though I did give credit as to the source.

Or the picture of Monk from the television show.

Do you think I could put in an application for that job? Imagine the cocktail party conversation:

• Guest: What do you do?
• Me: Oh, I read blogs.
• Guest: No, really.
• Me: Seriously, I read blogs and search for copyright violations. It's very rewarding.
• Guest: I think I left some laundry in the dryer, the stuff with the label that says 'tumble dry medium, remove promptly.' I'll have to go now.

Okay, you know that's a bogus conversation because A) I don't have guests over who don't already know what I do for a living; and B) we don't have cocktail parties, we have beer and nachos during a football game.

I know copyright is a serious issue and people don't want other people (for example, malicious bloggers like you and me) using their stuff for free, but come on..... The golden arches?

Seriously?

Happy St. Patrick's Day.....

If this shamrock isn't moving when I post this blog, I'm canceling my subscription to Animation Factory. Not really, I need it for school. But I don't understand why it will be animated on SOME things and not others. Stupid clip art. Maybe some techhie out there can explain it to me. But my eyes will glaze over and I will only pretend to understand.

I think about this story every St. Patrick's Day.

My grandmother used to live in Savannah, and we went there fairly frequently to visit her. My aunt and two of my cousins still live near Savannah. One year when I was about 15, we were visiting during St. Patrick's Day weekend, although it was only a coincidence that we were there at that time. We wouldn't have made the trip for something as silly as green beer and a green river and a parade and lots of drunk people. Those ended up just being a bonus.

My cousin and I wound up on River Street on Saturday night with about a gazillion drunk folks. We were walking down the sidewalk, when all of a sudden there was this drunken sailor LITERALLY hanging onto a lamppost.

As I got near him, he swayed out toward me and slurred, "You've got boooooooootiful eyes."

Remembering my home training, I averted my eyes and quickened my pace, wanting to get past this guy as quickly as possible. I was already embarrassed enough to be the chubby, frizzy-haired, out-of-town cousin next to my skinny, straight-haired cousin who lived there. I realize that last sentence lacks parallel structure and I don't care.

So the drunken sailor shut up.

Until I got past him.

At which point he yelled at the top of his lungs, and in a completely sober voice,

"BUT YOU'VE GOT A BIG ASS!!!!!"

I don't remember if I was wearing green or not, but I was scarred for life.

Billy and Elton Part 2.....

As promised, I TRIED TO POST video from the concert Saturday night. I didn't get any video of Billy Joel and Elton John singing together. I was way too excited at the beginning, and by the end when they sang together again, I had used up my memory card. [Note to self: Purchase a larger memory card before you go to the Dominican Republic next month.]

It's not great video, and it certainly doesn't capture the essence of being there. It probably violates all sorts of copyright laws and a couple of international peace treaties, but oh well.

I created the video from clips that I took Saturday night, and then I added fairly mundane captions and titles to the movie.

And I THOUGHT I formatted it small enough for it to upload. But it's been spinning for an hour (maybe more, I lost track of time), and it's past my bedtime.

Just trust me that I was really there.

When I first started going to see Billy Joel in concert, he was 29. And he had hair. He will be 60 this year, on May 9th.

Back in the 80's he would do back flips off the piano.

In the 90's he would stand on the piano and pretend he was going to do a back flip, then just jump off backward.

Now he doesn't even bother getting up there. I'm not sure he can.

He still puts on a heck of a show. But that twirling the microphone stand has got to go. I think he's milked that one for just about all it's worth.

Technological Close Call........

I wrote a post a few months ago about how I feel obligated to use the whole set of something. If I have a 5-piece luggage set, I feel guilty if I don't use all 5 pieces. Even if I'm just going on an overnight trip.

I feel the same way about gadgets. If I have them, I consider it my duty to use them. I have a GPS for my bicycle, so I won't just hop on the bike for a casual little ride anymore. It has to have the GPS on it to document my mileage, elevation gained/lost, and a map of the route.

My first motorcycle had a locking helmet hook on it, so I felt compelled to hang my helmet on its designated place, never mind that the cool people just hung their helmets on the sissy bar or the mirror and it was a B-I-T-C-H to lock/unlock anyway.

Some gadgets, however, I find useful in their gadgetness, not just because they are cool toys or features to have. For example, the key pad on my SUV. It was one of the features that sold me on this car. That and the fact that Hubby had a tee time and he had already told the salesman, "Wash it, we'll be back for it when I get off the golf course."

Using the key pad eliminates the need to carry my keys. Since I also abhor carrying a purse, this is very handy. I don't often have pockets, so I like the convenience of being able to lock the car but not carry a set of keys with me.

You can probably see where this is going.

It almost came back to haunt me in a bad, terrible, rotten, no-good kind of way. My apologies to the author of that childhood story, because I'm sure I just mangled its title.

Yesterday Hubby and I ran some errands, since the weather was too yucky for him to play golf. We meant to go to the tanning bed (give me a break, we're going to the Dominican Republic in a month and we don't want to get sunburned to a crisp), but we had already bought groceries when we remembered.

We took the groceries home, and Hubby said he didn't want to get out again in the yuckiness. So I went off to the tanning bed alone. That was the first good stroke of luck.

When I came out of the tanning bed, my key pad code would NOT let me in my vehicle. No reassuring click, no unlocking of the doors, no flashing of the lights, nothing. I did it a few (hundred) times just to make sure, and then I was pretty sure I had locked myself out of the key pad for a period of time. So I went to a nearby grocery store and bought something I had forgotten on my FIRST grocery buying expedition that morning, and just to kill some time.

No luck. The code just would not work.

So I called Hubby, and he came with the spare clicker and unlocked my door as he drove by. I'm sure the girl working at the tanning salon saw me walk out to my car and open the door and thought to herself, "Well the dumbass could get in all along." But I digress.

We tried the code again and again when we got home. It wouldn't even LOCK the doors. Hubby looked in the owner's manual to see if it mentioned a fuse or anything that could be wrong with it, but he came up empty.

And everything was basically okay, since I had the spare and now I know not to lock my keys in my car.

But I shudder to think what COULD have happened.

Because last night was the night that Katydid and Nurse Jane and I went to the Billy Joel/Elton John concert.

If I hadn't gone back to the tanning bed, I wouldn't have known that my keypad didn't work anymore.

Until after the concert.

In downtown Atlanta.

At midnight.

On a Saturday night.

With Hubby 60 miles away.

NOW who says tanning beds are a bad thing?