How I remember it

It was summer and Darby had a little league game at Alpenrose main. I wanted to go - I went to all the games with Brenda and her family, even after they moved out of our neighborhood a mile or so to Highland Hills. Things weren't looking that great at my own house, there was a kind of finality in the air. I was 14; all I wanted to do was what I always did - go watch the baseball game.

So I left at, I don't know, around 3 or so, to walk over to Brenda's. I don't remember exactly but I'm guessing the game started around 6 so we would leave from her house at around 5:30. I remember sitting in their dining room, just waiting around to leave, when I heard a siren in the distance. And knew.

About 15 minutes later my brother Tom showed up to take me home, but I didn't want to go. I remember not crying or really even saying anything, I think I just wanted it to be normal, until Brenda's mom found me and hugged me, hard. Then I think I just cried because I didn't like being the center of attention, that this wasn't going to be a regular summer night and that I wasn't ready for this sudden change. I told Brenda's mom to make Tom leave because I wasn't going with him, and so he left.

A little while later Barbie showed up. She was 26, so she was old, and there really was no saying no to her. I had to leave with her and I wasn't happy about it, and I know Brenda and Lenore didn't really know what to say or do so they stood there at the top of the stairs and watched me leave. I don't think I spoke in the car or even at home, though Barbie did, and I remember her speech, but I didn't want to cry in front of everyone because they expected me to. Anyway there were enough people at my house when we got there that I could just fade into the background.

By the time we got home the body was gone. I remember Mom calling Alaska to tell Benny and Chris. I remember Brad and I going to Burgerville (a very rare occasion - we never had fast food). I remember my mom being pissed at the ambulance company for running the siren when she specifically asked them not to (and I still think that was for me), but I don't remember much of anything else. Sitting around, too young to drink, wondering what was next and not wanting to find out.

Brenda and Lenore phoned me from Alpenrose. I remember that because I can imagine how hard that must have been for them. That was like really shocking to me, that they cared enough to call. We were neighborhood friends since we were toddlers, we were more like siblings than actual friends. I guess I was just surprised to see how people treat you when they care about you.

The rest of it was just auto-pilot. The first time I ever got drunk was the day of the funeral; that was the first time I ever met my Aunt Pat, too. Auto-pilot, act like it's just another family event, don't let them see you sweat. Nobody tells a 14 year old how they are supposed to act at a time like this.

Since then I have always been the girl without a dad, back when divorce was what happened to public school kids. Nobody on my end of the family ever talked about it; it happened and then it was over and then life just went on.

I went to public school, I made lots of friends, I drank too much too young, I sort of went to college, I learned a great work ethic, I moved out of state, I had relationships, disappointments, victories, memories. I can be friendly, intimidating, mean, loud, helpful, thoughtful, moody and irritable. I've been every age to 44, but still sometimes I'm just 14.

And that's that.

Self respect - it's worth the effort

I usually listen to 105.9 during the afternoon drive home because I like their show. They have my sense of humor. Whenever commercials or music comes on, I change, because the only time I allow not singing in the car is when I am listening to Mark and Brian in the morning and the folks in the afternoon. Unfortunately, in the afternoon, their isn't much talking, and the music on that station isn't consistently good, so I guess I don't listen to them THAT much, just enough.

So yesterday apparently (because I missed the original lead-in) there was a caller, a mom, who wanted to let them know that she is raising her daughter to enjoy sex whenever she can get it, and get really good at it, because it's fun and she should enjoy life. I think her daughter is like 12. This elicited much feedback from the rest of the listeners, of course, and all of it, of course, was anti-this mom. Of course. It should have been. This mom is a whack job that shouldn't be raising kids. But truthfully, some of the feedback had me a bit worried.

I'm not a mother (to human children, anyway) and never wanted to be one. Because of this I rarely opine about how people should raise their children. But I think that when people are raising their kids, it doesn't hurt to remember what it was like to BE one.

Not in the sense of "When I was a kid my parents didn't let me do ANYthing, so I'm going to let my kids do EVERYthing". More in the sense of "When I was a kid, my parents didn't let me do ANYthing, but I sure found some ways to do it all!" Kids are crafty and resourceful - their minds are not yet jaded and shrouded in the bitterness that only "real life" produces. So when a parent says to a kid, Don't do this, it's wrong and it's bad, and you'll go to hell, and it'll go on your permanent record, the odds are pretty good that kid is going to find out just how true this advice really is. So when the callers calling to say Oh my God, horrible Skank Mom! You're teaching this girl that she is rubbish and she as well as all others should not respect her!, I think to myself, well, if the kid doesn't think sex is all that big of a deal, then maybe she won't be that interested in getting it early and often. Reverse psychology, although that's a pretty big gamble.

I have a friend who read on her under-18 year old kid's FB page something about getting some pot for a party. The kid is pretty responsible (at the surface, I mean, really, who knows? I made a pretty good impression myself back in the day..), and it was a shock to my friend, so she called her kid and chewed him out over the phone in front of his friends, etc. She called me later to tell me about it, and as much as I wanted to say (well, I DID say), Oh my hell, pot's NOTHING compared to what we were doing at his age! I knew that none of that mattered. She HAD to yell at him, he HAD to be in trouble, she HAS to be a hypocrite. Because that's how it works. You throw out some boundaries, they test them, they get in trouble when they get caught. None of this feel-good-so-long-as-your-safe-and-understand-the-consequences bullshit. Chew 'em out, take away the car, ground them, make them suffer. They'll either not do it again or just learn to not get caught, but that's life's lesson right there - once they are out in the "real world" they'll need to know how to overcome obstacles all the time (which is a nice way to say "get away with bigger, more important stuff").

But I digress. So the Skank Mom is pretty much not a great person. And her kid is going to be all fucked up in the end, no question. But I guess what kept bothering me about the other callers was the undercurrent of all of this was: Sex is a bad thing that only bad people do, and the only one who loses the respect of others when they DO have it is the girl. Talk about a double standard. I think once we start teaching kids self confidence and self respect, the rest should fall into place. Doesn't that make sense? A kid looking for love in all the wrong places is doing so because they can't find it from within. And that, my friends, is the moral of today's long, disjointed post.

Bottom line, all you people who chose to have kids, be a parent. Which means "parent". Set boundaries. Be the bad guy when you have to. Anything else is just irresponsible. Or just don't reproduce for the sake of having a mini-me.

Almost famous

Apparently TtheD was featured as the Blog of the Week in the Oregonian on Saturday. The entry from July 11 where I didn't take a shower and tried to find a fan. Desperately exciting post. I don't get the Oregonian but my brother Tom does and he is also a TtheD reader so imagine his surprise. I think it's probably only in the west side editions because it was in a community-related section and they obviously change those out so their Sandy residents don't have to read about what's going on in Aloha. It has had absolutely NO impact on traffic to the site, however, but that's okay. It's not like I'm looking to become famous or anything. Famous people have to shower constantly.

I've been everywhere this week (almost), and have had a lot of ideas to blog about but now I can't really remember what they were so we're back to pretty much nothing. Trying desperately to find a vacation for August. I think we've landed on Palm Springs/Palm Desert, if the price is right. I'm a complete cheap skate and want to spend as little as possible for luxurious opulence. Since my vacation is less than a month away I might as well get right on it.. I need real sun. I don't know why I don't go to my own pool here at the casita, but I don't. Usually when I think about it it's Sunday and Sunday is Screaming Child Day here, apparently. I'm not sure why Saturday isn't, but Sundays are pretty much relentless with the kiddies at the pool. I didn't even think that many kids lived here. At least I don't see very many of them the other days of the week.

It's been a long week, surely I had to have done SOMEthing.

Oh.

Tuesday afternoon I made a last minute decision to go to a broker open house in Lake Oswego with Whitney and Sheree' (I was working downtown). Good choice. This house is phenomenal - right on the lake, incredible views and a guest house that I would love to live in if I could only find someone to buy the property. The girls went on a boat ride while I chitchatted with the realtor client, and we ended up staying until around 5:30, chatting on one of the five balconies, enjoying the view and the afternoon sun. That's the way to live. None of this hoping-no-one-is-parked-in-your-carport-can't-use-the-pool-Sunday-because-of-screaming-kids-need-to-run-all-over-town-for-a-fan-for-the-living-room crap. But the flip side is that someone would need to keep that place clean and I have a hard enough time doing that in a two bedroom flat. Oh well. In my next life I'll have the wherewithall to afford that kind of lifestyle.

Adult ADD Me just realized the Anniversary Sale is going on now, so perhaps I should finish cleaning the bedroom and shower and hit the Square. And leave you all with the confidence that this particular entry will never be Blog of the Week anywhere.

iFeliz Cumpleanos!

Happy Birthday to Becky!


This fabulous girl is a great friend from the Mexico days ~ just one of the many reminders of what great fortune I have had over the years.

Hope your day is wonderful and that all your wishes come true!

Because I just have nothing to say, mostly because of this ear and the meds that aren't sitting right and frankly, I like this song. It seemed to fit.

Is someone trying to tell me something?

One has to wonder what kind of a day it will be when it starts like this:

- The only dreams that are the clearest and easiest to remember from last night involve plane crashes
- You wake up, twice, thinking you have slept through the alarm due to your ear infection that has rendered you, once again, deaf in one ear, all in a panic until you realize it's an hour earlier than you woke up thinking it was
- Just before it's time to go in and plug in the curling iron, you see one of your cats ass-out behind the kitty litter jug in the bathroom, tail swinging furiously, trying to get "something"
- You realize what that "something" is and go back and sit at the computer with your coffee, hoping she'll get it and you won't have to deal
- Five minutes later you see her chewing on "something" in the hallway
- On your way back in to plug in that curling iron you see what is either a piece of rolled up thread or the remains of your kitty's morning snack
- You decide you just don't want to know which one it is
- One of your first thoughts of the morning is, Hm, I wonder if I'm going to get my ass chewed out more, or less, today from that attorney that called me an idiot yesterday
- You realize you can't seem to let that one go
- You also realize that you have back to back to back to back signings starting at 8:30 this morning and you are not fully ready for the last two
- You're pretty much ready to go at 6:19 am and don't have anything to blog about so you just decide to go to work

Happy Friday. Give me strength.

Well I guess I could give you the recipe..

Really? You want to make something I call "ghetto pasta salad"? You asked for it. But first, some background.

I've been poor most of my adult life, except for that 4 or 5 year stint where I had no bills, paid next to nothing in rent, and had insane disposable income while saving to move to Mexico. Of course, I lived in the house of cards, which was fine if you ignored the carpenter ant issues. But then I moved away, spent all my money, came back, made some more, moved back, spent even more money, racked up my credit and am back to being poor. The circle of life. Anyway, back when I was just newly on my own, living in Southern California on next to no money, I used to have to dream up concoctions for dinner that would utilize what might happen to be in the cupboard at the time and still tasted somewhat decent. Some of these concoctions will never be replicated; others, like my ghetto pasta salad or my ghetto fried rice, are still a part of my diet. I don't expect anyone to bring this pasta salad to their next potluck, nor do I expect you to even want to try it, but I think it's pretty tasty. Of course, I have kind of weird taste.

So here goes.

Ghetto Pasta Salad

You'll need -

Pasta - any size, shape or amount except the long skinny stuff. These days I use whole wheat pasta.
Lawry's Season Salt
Oregano
Olive oil
Water
Sliced black olives
Mild white cheese, cut into cubes - I used to use Farmer's cheese before it got popular (and ridiculously expensive) - now I use white Mexican "Casero" cheese because it's cheap at the Winco

To prepare -

Boil your noodles (I shouldn't have to tell you that)

Make your dressing - 5 tablespoons olive oil and 6 tablespoons water. I don't know why but that's what works. Add the season salt and oregano - heavy on the oregano. If you're not sure, you can always make up for it, so go sparingly on the salt until you're used to making it. There's no fixing too much season salt. Stir and set aside.

Drain your cooked pasta, and run cold water over them until they get cool. You don't want any heat left in them at all. Drain well.

Add the noodles to the dressing, add the sliced olives and the cheese, and mix well. Here's where you can taste to see if you need a dash more season salt, or more oregano. I like the taste of the oregano so I generally will add more in this step. It's just not ghetto pasta salad if you don't leave the table with oregano in your teeth.

Chill and serve.

I'm not a mayonnaise person so I like this, and I'm not really sure what 22-year-old me was doing living in her dumpy Huntington Beach apartment with olive oil and Lawry's Season Salt in the cupboard, but I guess it's a good thing I had it. I usually make enough to last me a few days, because I'm not a big fan of cooking for one mid-week and it gets better the longer it sits in the fridge. I suppose you could add to it, but then it wouldn't be my recipe, would it?

Provecho!

Unclean

I don't like to shower. I do, because I have to, you know, everybody should at some point, but I don't like it. It's not so much the showering part, it's the part afterward. I have the kind of hair where there is just no letting it dry naturally. My naturally-dried hair resembles a cross between crabgrass and cotton candy - not pretty. So the part about showering I don't like the most is all the shit you have to do when you get OUT of the shower. And don't suggest that I take a shower and not wash my hair, because I sleep on my face, and it is a rare occasion that my bedhead is even remotely presentable to the public.

But there are days..

So whenever possible, I try to have a no-shower day, obviously a Saturday or Sunday. Today is that day. I probably should have showered, in retrospect. It was pretty stuffy in the casita yesterday evening, what with the sun going down right into the living room and causing any breeze outside to not make it through the screen door. It wasn't even that hot yesterday, around mid 80s I guess. But when the sun sits there shining in, and there is barely a breeze, rendering any CROSS breeze moot, it gets a little stuffy. I had napped in the late afternoon so I wasn't feeling my freshest to begin with. Then when I got up this morning I drank some really strong coffee and proceeded to vacuum the hell out of the place. And the furniture, all of it. Then I changed the sheets, cleaned the bathrooms, changed out the kitty loo, hauled out the trash and made ghetto pasta salad for the week and suddenly realized I hadn't tanned since Tuesday.

Checking the mirror, I convinced myself that with a clip and some sunglasses my hair didn't look all THAT bad, and where was I going anyway? Three blocks up Murray and in to the tanning salon, no one would notice. But when I got to the salon, the computer was all screwed up so she couldn't check me in. She didn't know what kind of wait there would be, so I told her I would just come back. Then changed my mind in the car and went to the Beaverton salon.

Which, despite the fact that I live in Beaverton, is 150 miles away. Sunday morning traffic in Beaverton is just like 2pm traffic in Beaverton on any given day, stupid slow and lots of people driving for the sake of driving, and doing it poorly while they're at it. I made it to Beaverton, tanned, checked the mirror again and realized how NOT presentable my hair really was. It was then I decided to go get a fan for the living room.

I thought I would hit the RiteAid by the Lamb's Thriftway. I'm not really sure why, but it was probably because 106.7 plays American Top 40 reruns on Sunday mornings and this morning was 1976 and a song I liked came on just before I got to the RiteAid at Murray and Allen, and so instead of not hearing the song and going to the closer RiteAid I decided to listen to the song and go to the further RiteAid.

Which, of course, had no fans.

So I decided to just bag it and bring the one from the bedroom into the living room during the day and save some money, but then I saw the Walgreens and told myself, Good God, so far roughly 27 people have seen you and haven't made a face yet, so how bad could you be?

The Walgreens did have fans, and a really slow checker, but I made it out without too much visual damage to my fellow Beavertonians. But seriously, I should have taken a shower this morning.

Because now that I don't really need to go out in public again, there is no way I'm taking one today. And if I tonight I feel even close to what I feel like right now, after a hot car and a hot tanning bed, tomorrow's shower is going to be AWESOME.

Why change?

So yesterday at work, while watching the clock tick down to 5pm, I mentioned my intention to hit the Winco after work. Groans from my officemates ensued (well, two people groaned and there were only four of us there. The other person was on the phone.). Sherri suggested that since I get up at 5am I should just get up, throw on clothes, and knock it out first thing. I tried to tell her it never works that way, but in the end I tried to take her advice. I went to the Target instead, got the few things I needed there, including a french press, and did not go to the Winco, thinking I really would do it first thing. But I didn't, because I made coffee in the french press and I am still sitting here, two hours later. Nice effort.

I need to get over the fact that there is no leaving the house before 10am on a Saturday. This really is my favorite part of the week, I should just flipping enjoy it.

It's been hot the last few days (and remember, I define "hot" as 95+); today is not supposed to be above 85. I'll take 85, I have no problem with 80. I just want it to be sunny because it's July. All I am asking of this summer is to show up. It's only fair.

So I spent the other night with Barbie during her post-operation-act-like-you're-still-in-the-hospital phase. It was painless (for me, anyway). I had a brief visit with Mr. Reynolds and then he left me alone for the night. I think, anyway - I slept pretty hard. I wouldn't have noticed if Barbie had tried to get up in the middle of the night.. She seems to be coming along swimmingly. I can't imagine being on crutches for the next ten weeks, though, holy crap what a drag.

I have finished my four-week stint in Beaverton Friday and am off to the regular routine of a different branch every week. I'll miss those girls, and my guess is they'll miss me. On account of how fun I am and all that. Mmhmm.

I don't have much more to report except that people are still assholes, my routine is pretty much back to normal, the cats forgot my abandonment of them last weekend, the house is still covered in fur, and I need to get in the shower. That's pretty much my life in a nutshell. So I guess we're just back to me being me.

I should just embrace it and leave it alone, shouldn't I?

A haunting in Beaverton

For some reason my Comcast internet isn't working. Luckily I still have that Clear on auto pay. Sometimes when I set up auto pay accounts I just never un-do them when I don't need them anymore. I don't know why. I don't know why I think I can afford to pay another $25 a month for something I will never need again. Except for now, when my Comcast cable stops working. So I guess it's nice to have a backup.

Except I shouldn't NEED a backup.

Plus I think the Comcast modem is haunted. It's the only explanation I can give for the fact that, despite the fact that it is connected to NOTHING, not plugged into the cable, the computer, or the wall plug, it's still all lit up like a Christmas tree. Seriously. I could pick this modem up and walk it out to the curb RIGHT NOW and it would still be all lit up. It makes no sense. There isn't an off/on switch. But it's not connected to ANY power source WHAT SO EVER and yet, here it is, glowing brightly in my second bedroom. So when the computer suggests that, to check connectivity issues, you should unplug and turn off the modem for at least 10 seconds and then turn it all back on again, you're pretty much shit out of luck over here. So the only real explanation that fits, in my mind, is that it's haunted.

I don't have time in the morning to mess with it, and I won't have time after work either, as I have to pack a bag and go spend the night with Barbie. She had ankle surgery and her original caretaker (she needed to be completely immobile for 3 days, and had arranged a "sitter") bailed, so we are taking shifts. It kind of stresses me out, spending the night away from the kits mid-week, but what the hell, you gotta do what you gotta do. It's not Barbie's fault. And she put my happy ass up for 3 months a while back so it's not like I don't owe her. I'm just way too set in my routines.

Apparently I prefer staying with a haunted modem over her own resident ghost. They're everywhere, you know.

Roadtrip

I needed an adventure.

Friday I worked until noon with the intention of hitting Hwy 26 east at 12:02pm (I work on the fourth floor and sometimes you have to wait for the elevator), but I hadn't had a chance to tan the night before so I thought I would tan before hitting the freeway (this doesn't matter at all to the story except that instead of hitting Hwy 26 east at 12:02pm I hit it at 12:45pm, and that doesn't even matter either). There wasn't as much traffic going east as there could have been (plenty heading toward the beach, though), and I made pretty good time to my first stop at The Dalles (I realized I didn't have anything to drink at all for the road, so I was drinkless for two hours. Again, completely useless information). The whole trip east was fairly uneventful traffic-wise, until roughly La Grande, when I started to hit construction. Also it rained directly over Boardman, and then also sprinkled some throughout the construction areas from Baker to that horrid stretch right before Ontario. At one point about five miles west of Ontario it was raining so hard I should have pulled over. I didn't, because good Lord it's July. I pulled into Helen's at around 8:15 Mountain Time (I was on Pacific Time, you know, Ontario is an hour ahead of us here) or so, it was windy (and dry) and cold. We had some dinner, sat up and chatted, and went to bed at a reasonable hour. I read, and then slept like a rock.

Saturday didn't have too much of an agenda for the day, so we lazed around Saturday until 5:30pm when it was time to go to her sister's ranch for a family celebration that involved the 4th of July, her brother-in-law's 89th birthday, and her sister and brother-in-law's 63rd wedding anniversary in the little town of Jamieson, Oregon. Jamieson is about an hour's drive from Helen's house in Ontario, if you are Helen and drive 55mph the whole way. I am not Helen. We got there a little bit early (the others were going to 5pm Mass in Vale and Helen figured we would all arrive at the ranch at roughly the same time). Since we were early (way), and I had never been to the Maags' spread, Helen took us on a little driving tour of the operation. We stopped first at her sister's house (huge, sweeping views, fabulousness. This is what ranch houses will always be to me), then decided (for some reason) to take the "back way" over to Doug and Terri's house. This is a big spread, so though you could see Doug's from where we were, it was like a little dot in the distance.

Things were calm as we set off on the dirt road that farm vehicles use to get from field to field. Doug does a lot of farming, and this place seriously is huge. We were meandering around for what seemed like a long time, still keeping Doug's house in sight, while the road started to get rougher and rougher. We got to a point next to Willow Creek (river. It was a river down a steep embankment that one wrong turn could only mean certain death) where the road was pretty much flooded and muddy and impassable, so we drove right into it.
Luckily there was a farm hand (wearing hip waders, just for the record) standing in the middle of the field (were they onions? I have no idea) watching this all go down. We didn't actually get STUCK in the mud, but we were close to it, and there was a lot of panic and pandemonium going on inside the car, because for God's sake I grew up in Beaverton, I don't know how to drive through this kind of crap, next to a steep embankment where one wrong turn or loss of traction would mean certain death. Not to mention I dream about this stuff all the flipping time. To say I was kind of flipping out is kind of an understatement.

Helen bodily through me out of the driver's seat (she's 78 so that's actually kind of funny) and we sank to our knees (tops of our shoes) in the mud. I got the Mexican farm hand over to the car and desperately tried to communicate with him (again. Remember my time in Mexico? I can get myself around in a taxi, I can buy groceries and get my laundry done, I can pay my bills and take a telephone survey, but I never ONCE had the opportunity to practice phrases that might have ANYthing to do with backing out of a mud bog and finding a better road to get to Doug's house). I wanted him to drive the car itself, but Helen wasn't having it, as she grew up in Juntura Oregon and apparently that place was a mud bog from 1931 to 1960, and if anyone could get us out of this mess it was Helen. Angel (seriously, that was his name), instead, had the daunting task of trying to direct us out without careening off the embankment, and since Helen doesn't know right or left either (I don't) (not that that mattered much, there wasn't a ton of verbal communication going on), and it finally worked, and after he assured us of a route that was a thousand times dryer for our ultimate destination, we set off with Helen of Juntura driving on a REALLY narrow dirt road that was so close to the creek's embankment I couldn't look pretty much the whole time. We got to a bridge. Crossed it. Made it to the house. Parked. Walked around back so we could take our shoes off. It was only 6:45 but everyone was home and most of them had been watching us.

The good news is that both Doug's son AND Angel had encountered similar issues with that particular stretch of "road" earlier, so we didn't look like COMPLETE morons, though many were thinking Helen would NEVER have attempted to take the farm roads to the house.. so while I was in the kitchen singing Helen's praises for saving the day, she was in the living room telling everyone that despite having lived in Mexico for nearly two years I couldn't speak a word of Spanish.

It was a very festive affair, there were tons of people and Doug and Terri's house is huge and fabulous, again with the sweeping views of their land and seriously, this is just God's country. There was a Cornhole tournament (I realize this is eastern Oregon, but it's not what you think, and anyway eastern Oregon is nothing like the deep South) before and after dinner (my team was ahead for most of our game until my cousin Brian and Terri came from behind to win.. crushing.), a big spread of food that you can only get from ranch country, and much fun and laughter. Seriously, it was a blast.
Look at that view!

By the time the mud dried on our shoes it was time to go back to Ontario, so off we went. We chatted for a little while before going to bed, exhausted from the ordeal and the festivities.

Sunday morning we went to church (I have been to Blessed Sacrament more in the last year than I have been to St. Cecilia's in Beaverton in the last 15 years), and I left Ontario at about 10am local time. There isn't much to say about the drive home except I took the Burns way and it took me for FLIPPING EVER to get home. Eight hours. Insane. That's probably another blog post, if I'm up to it.

In summary, a happy holiday weekend with people I should be spending more time with. That country isn't about all the bullshit I have to put up with here. But, you know, I like making money, so I guess for now I'll just have to settle for the occasional thunder run.

Did I mention it's raining again?

Well, it's been a week, I should probably say something, though what, I'm not really sure. I haven't had much to blog about. I'm not tanning enough, work hasn't been too draining, the weather was sunny but now, of course, it's pouring down rain. Probably because I expect it.

I have a friend in turmoil and it's hard to see friends struggle. I wish I could just put my mindset into her brain and make her see what I see. It isn't that easy, nothing in her life is easy, and it saddens me to see someone who was so much fun go through so much not-fun. Whaddya do, this is life. I guess. Not my life, but still a part of me.

In other gut-wrenching-but-only-really-to-me news, today would have been my dad's 84th birthday. Dang. Happy Birthday.

So tomorrow I am working til around 12n and heading east. I thought perhaps I would go through Burns on my way in, but Helen seems to think it's a longer drive. It probably is but she doesn't realize maybe that I can make it to Burns in four and a half hours if the traffic through that God-awful Wood Village is moving. Instead I'll take I-84 and just burn freeway. I'm not going for any personal bests, I'll just get there when I get there.

I'm only staying until Sunday, however, so I will miss rodeo-related things, but that's cool, I've decided to start living guilt-free (let's see how long THAT lasts). This way I'll be back with the kitnesses before they know I'm gone and I'll still have a complete chill day on Monday. AND I'll get out of dodge, which I definitely need.

Speaking of which, there is a possible Vegas trip on the horizon, so if I get off my ass and work on booking it I'll be that much closer to the privilege of bursting into flames in 120 degrees of Las Vegas August. I want to stay at Mandalay Bay for the sole reason that their pool is like a beach and since I can't really afford to go to Mexico, I might as well do the next best thing. Right? Plus I need an adventure.

Lord knows this blog does.