On This Day in History

Today is October 31st and we all know what that means: it's my first blogiversary!

Oh yeah, and it's Halloween, too. I really like Halloween...or more accurately, I really like dressing up and I have a difficult time avoiding candy. I figure any holiday that combines costumes and sugar has to be pretty cool. I've been a pumpkin, Little Red Riding Hood, a fairy, a ghost, and a hippy in years past. (You'll just have to trust me on those since I don't have scan-able evidence.)

Post high school - yes I still dress up...I believe 'growing up' is a conscious decision I haven't made yet - I've gone as...



A housewife. You would not believe how soft my face was when I washed off that mask!








*snort, a nerd














A 70's star











A band geek. Oh wait...that's from high school. How did that picture get in the costume pile?









A Gothic punk






Um, and someone with a boa













As I mentioned, today is my one year blogiversary. I could hope and wish each of you might send me a gift but that's highly unlikely. ...which is why I've decided to hold a contest and give one of you a prize. A $20 gift certificate to the store of your liking! $20 could buy the turkey for your thanksgiving dinner, the stamps for your Christmas letters, or one sock from Neiman Marcus. You just need to submit a caption for the following picture by next Tuesday evening.

"Caption Me!"

Presenting ... Cruella De'Vil. Seems I got a little mixed up with the wrong Disney movie this past weekend. Here I am at a tea party with the Mad Hatter. Put on your thinking cap, sorcerer hat, golf hat, baseball cap, or night cap and submit those creative captions. My favorite wins the $20, or all my left over candy...whichever they choose.

This Blog Rated G

Disclaimer: I like to keep my blog clean and funny; G-rated if you will. Today's post is slightly different. It's rated G as in Gross. Continue at your own risk.

On Saturday I joined 5 friends to check out Netherworld. This haunted house is located near Atlanta and boasts it's so scary "you better bring an extra pair of pants". Thinking I would rather relieve myself before rather than during the haunted house, a few of us broke from the line and headed to the porta johns.

Mama Mia taught me, when using public restroom, to line the edges with toilet paper if seat covers aren't available. If one really takes the time, 3 strips are necessary. One on each side and one on the top. I was in a hurry and skipped the 3rd strip. I mean, why do you need to stick one at the top?

Wanna know why?

Because that's precisely where someone left a surprise for the next porta-potty visitor.

Me.

It was dark.

I should have squatted.

I can not adequately describe how disgusted and upset I was. The night was ruined. Netherworld was right: you better bring an extra set of pants.

Work Stinks

I have stories about bathrooms, airports, and today, another involving both. Seems I'm unable to leave the airport's facilities without wet hands and a new story.

It all started innocently enough. I got off the plane and found the nearest bathroom. Apparently there was some attraction inside that everyone wanted to see because the line wrapped around the corner. I decided to continue my search in the further terminals. Although I had a 3 hour layover, I didn't want to spend all of it in line. I found a ladies room and walked in. That's when I saw the desk and bathroom attendant.

"Oh. Hi."

I walked - stunned - to one of the furthest stalls. I'd heard of bathroom attendants but never actually seen one. Plus, I somehow convinced myself that attendants only work at golf courses or casinos where the low table starts at $10,000 ~ you know, places I frequent, oh, never. But here she was - in the bathroom at the airport - with peppermints and a tip jar.

A thousand thoughts went through my mind. Well, at least a dozen anyway: People really do this for a living? Why would you want this job? What if someone, you know, "fluffs" or something? What if she were going to a class reunion - what would she say? "Oh, I listen to people go all day and hand them a paper towel." Do I tip? Is it based on the softness of the toilet paper? It is soft. How much do I tip? Do I even have any cash? Does she hear lots of interesting cell phone conversations? Has anyone ever turned a stall into their personal reading lounge? What skills would she list on her resume? Do the really skilled attendants get promoted to busier spots? What...wait...really?!

I decided I would quickly head to the sink, wash, then leave. I would give a nice "Thankyou" nod as I left. I got some soap but before I had a chance to count to 20 - or sing my ABC's - there she was next to me, handing me a folded paper towel.

"Um. Thanks."

I realized I had one penny on me. I debated which would offend less: to give my one cent or nothing at all. I glanced - she didn't have a credit card machine and I'm sure she wouldn't take personal checks. I opted not to tip.

I felt lame. I would hate to be in her shoes ~ having to help people that hardly acknowledged my service, confined to an "office" with no windows, no Internet, no real chance to interact with people.

... and I thought my job stunk!

Who's on First

Although I just got back from my 10 year high school reunion, the stories will have to wait. I'm not the only one 10 years older... I still use my camera from 1997 as well. Translation: I have to wait for film to be developed before I blog certain events and corresponding photos. I'm a bit, uh, slow in the technology department.

*ahem.

I started the adventure in Atlanta. I would fly to Charlotte, NC for a layover and end up in Dallas, TX. Mama Mia dropped me off at the terminal and I proceeded to the airline counter. I managed to check in using the do-it-yourself kiosk and joined two other men as we waited for our baggage labels. The attendant pulled a strip from the computer, looked at the last name, then addressed the three of us.

"Schultz?"
Both men raised their hands, paused, and looked at each other.
"Your last name is Schultz, too?
"Yeah. Ha...what are the chances?"

The attendant, realizing he couldn't use the last name only, called the destination.

"Charlotte?"
All three of us raised our hands, then looked at each other confused.

"I'm Schultz."
"I'm Schultz going to Charlotte."
"I'm Charlotte."

I'm no Statistics Major but I figure the chances of 3 people - two with the same last name and one with the name of the destination of the others - standing together at the same ticket counter waiting for luggage stickers is pretty rare. Rare is good. Rare is like an antique...reminds me of a camera I own.

Class of 97...

I'm out for a little while!

Way too true...

I'm Slacking and Wimpy

I've been slacking lately. I've hardly visited or commented on blogs at all this week. I guess everyone has that off week and that's my excuse. Actually though, I have been busy. Just this week I've:

* finalized trip details for my class reunion next week
* picked Little Boy Blue up from school twice since Mama Mia is out of town
* filled out an application for school to go back and get a masters
* filled out an application to be a counselor next year at EFY
* filled out an application ~ goodness...another application?! ~ for a job better suited to my skills
...and
* helped organize the details for a church activity scheduled for Saturday.

Whew.

I've still managed to maintain a somewhat consistent schedule at the gym. I do go later in the evening though which has really changed the demographics of my treadmill neighbors. Instead of the working class individuals who come directly after work, the evening gym is home to students in high school and college. The 5:30 crowd is there to work out. The 10 pm crowd is there to check out. After I finished on the treadmill, I walked into the weight room.

Side note: I don't do free weights all that often. I'm what you call, wimpy.

I walk over to the small barbells where three frat brothers happen to be. Of course they are doing reps with barbells 1/3 my weight. (I do that too...well, 1/3 the weight I was at age 5, anyway). As I approached the guys, one lifted a 60lb barbell off the floor as easy as a tv remote, flexed and asked, "Are you looking for this?"

I just smiled and said, "Actually, can you hand me the 12?"

Yep. I'm smooth...

Tackiness

Johnny Cherie is a very loving sister. She and I had a very close bond when she was little. I left for college after she turned 5 and didn't realize how much she missed me until I heard her say over the phone, "Charlotte, I love you. I miss you. I want you to come home."

*Thump

That was the sound my heart made as it fell into my stomach. I loved and missed her too. As much as I loved college, part of me longed to go home as well.

Fast forward to now. She is a sophomore in high school and I'm headed to my 10 year reunion soon. On occasion, just for fun, we will say to the other, "I love you. I miss you. I want you to come home." Never mind the fact we actually live together.

This morning she said something different. I'm sure it's the new way of saying "I love you" since she and I share that type of bond. However, I was a little confused so perhaps you can help me translate teenage lingo.

She came into my room around 7:20. She was wearing red basketball shorts, a black and white stripe sock, a flip flop, a basketball shoe, another mismatched sock, a over sized t-shirt, a tank top on top of the tee, a tie around her head, suspenders, a belt, a necklace, and a coat. I looked at her odd outfit and paused long enough for her to say, "Today is tacky day at school. I need to borrow some of your clothes."

Hmm...

I love you, too?

SWF Seeks More Friends

Julia Gulia and I have a mutual friend who happens to be pursuing his undergrad in preparation for medical school. He currently works part time in the emergency room at a local hospital. He has learned quite a bit and is always eager to share that knowledge with others.

During a recent visit, our typical hang out activities turned to Hospital Care 101. Instead of movie talk, web browsing, or playing a game, Julia Gulia and I were treated. This included an explanation of medical tools, my hand being looked at (see #8), a plantar wart examination, and our ears being cleaned. As I laid on the couch, a towel around my neck, hydrogen peroxide fizzing in my ear, and Julia Gulia watching on while an explanation of the process was given, I thought, "I really need more friends."

Yes - more friends. Specifically I'm looking for anyone in culinary or massage therapy school. Oh, and if you happen to be a financially secure, generous world traveler, I'm sure we'll get along just fine!

God Bless the USA

This post is week old news but still important to me.

On September 21, 2007, Joshua Jackson Reeves was born. His mother, Leslie Reeves, phoned her husband, Josh, in Iraq to tell him the happy news. Spc. Joshua H. Reeves was able to hear his son cry before the phone call ended.

Spc. Joshua H. Reeves was killed the next day, September 22, 2007, when a bomb detonated near his vehicle.

The funeral was last Saturday and I thought I'd be fine. I had only talked with Josh once at a Christmas party last year. His parents and siblings go to church with my family though, so I wanted to support them.

I had a hard time. The community support was unbelievable. On the way to the funeral, hundreds of people lined up on the side of the road with hands over their hearts and flags waving. The Patriot Guard Riders, a group of bikers who attend funerals of fallen soldiers, stood at attention with flags to form a walkway to the chapel. After the hour long service was an hour, and I don't think there was a set of dry eyes, we drove to the cemetery. Again, hundreds of people who had never met Josh lined the street to show support. The ceremony was completed with the presentation of flags, a trumpeter playing "Taps", and 21 gun salute.

At some point last Saturday, I realized just how fortunate I am to live in the United States. This blog isn't about my views on the war, the government, or choices made but a sincere thanks to all those who serve on my behalf. Thank you.

God Bless You. God Bless America.

Julia Gulia

Today Julia Gulia turns 22! In honor of her big day, I thought I'd let her know how much I love her: LOTS!

On an unrelated note, Julia Gulia has LOTS of purses. Some in the closet, some in my closet, some in the garage, some in the basement...

HEY! I like JG "LOTS"; she has LOTS of purses...

Allow me to get purse-onal and share just a few reasons why I love Julia Gulia!




She is random. She and I once had an argument as to who was more random. She won. Hmpf.










Her laugh.












Her hair. Seriously, it always looks great.











Her clothes. She is so stylish. I especially like her clothes that fit me.











She gives great back scratches.












Her taste in music.











Her hugs!










Her random obsession with Harrison Ford. She even bakes a cake on his birthday!










She is driven and goal oriented.











Dramatic. This can be good, bad, or entertaining.










She has some classic "blonde" moments. Don't we all...












Very stylish eye. She loves anything eccentric. (as you can see from some of these purses).








Makes great cookies








Passionate about life. She wants the most out of every situation.











Never a dull moment when she's around!











Bargain shopper! (This purse is an eBay victory).











Actually has her head on straight. I don't worry about her - she will do great things.










Very, very generous.











Her smile.










Fun road trip buddy.



Whew! That was long. Of course, there are more reasons why I love her - and more purses. Maybe next year I'll document my love using her shoes. Then we'll really be here all day!

Happy Birthday Julia-Gulia. I love you (and all of your baggage)!

My Father: The Tom Sawyer of Chores

I was not "allowed" to mow the lawn until I was 12. P2 said I needed to grow tall and strong so I could see over the mower and push it across the grass. Once, when I was 11, he let me practice.

"Just one row, Charlotta."

"Aww DAAaad! I want to mow more..."

"Not until you're 12."

My birthday finally came and I was thrilled to have the new responsibility of Lawn Care Professional bestowed upon me. This excitement lasted about two weeks.

"DAAaad! It's too hot out here! You mow."

"Nope. It's your responsibility now. TheDeanInc turns 12 next year."

TheDeanInc was smarter than me. I approached him with the deal of a lifetime. I was willing to part with my favorite hobby of all time when he turned 12. Of course I didn't want to but was would because I loved him so much. He turned to me and said, "I don't want to mow the lawn. You were stupid to fall for Dad's trick. It's your job."

I had to keep the task until TheDeanInc turned 12. He didn't want to mow but he got the job anyway. (I think that's why adults have children: cheap labor). Mowing has been passed through all but one of us 6 children.

Lucky for P2, in 3 years, LittleBoyBlue will get his turn. Dad's already letting him "practice".

That's right LittleBoyBlue! Push! Faster, Faster!