God Presents: "Do The Right Thing".

So, today, me and God were hanging out together while I was talking a walk during my break. It was just the usual chit-chat, but when I crossed the street, I encountered one of Lincoln's homeless. This guy sits all day in the sun with a sign that says "Homeless. Every Little Bit Helps."

I've worked in downtown Lincoln for almost 15 years, and I don't recall ever seeing this many homeless people. They're on every corner, every park bench. Some will beg for money, some will try to touch you, and one even imparts words of wisdom in Lakota. Some are worse off than others. Some have clothes that look like they've been washed in the last few weeks, while some are wearing the same things they wore when I first saw them 15 years ago. Some are obviously mentally ill, while others look like they have just fallen on hard times.

Anway, I see this guy sitting there, like he is every day, and I decide that for today, I'm not going to avoid eye contact. I usually do, not out of any disdain, but because I don't want them to think I'm staring at them. Today, though, God kind of nudged me. "Look at him."

He looked up at me with startling blue eyes and smiled. I said hi, he said hi back and I asked him how he was doing today. He said he was fine as long as he stayed in the shade. Luckily for him, it's about 25 degrees cooler than it was last week, so it's not quite so brutal. I continued my walk and paged God again.

"I want to do something, God, but I don't know what. Every one says don't give them money because they'll spend it on booze or drugs, or God knows what else. What else, God?"

"Things he needs. Water. Snacks."

"That sounds like a good idea, God. I'll run over at break and get some bottled water."

So, I did. I got some bottled water, some M & Ms, a package of granola bars, some trail mix. I then walked back over to where he had been sitting.

He's not there.

Crap. Now what do I do? I don't want to keep it at my desk and trek around town tomorrow trying to find this guy. My plans are ruined!

"Not so fast."

There is another group of homeless on the other corner. I could give the stuff to them, but there's four of them, and frankly, they don't look so homeless. More like skater boys gone rebellious. More like people who might choose to be homeless. I know that's harsh, but they didn't appeal to my homeless helping Ego.

"Well, God, I can't say I didn't try. I guess I'll just..."

"Over there."

I see legs poking out from the OTHER corner. (See? I told you the population was big.) I think to myself, "Cool! There he is! Hopefully he'll remember me!" I go bopping across the street to hand him his new snacks, and IT'S NOT THE SAME GUY!

I had about 2 seconds to decide what I was going to do, when this man looked up at me with striking blue eyes and smiled.

"Go on."

I stopped by him and said, "How about some water and some snacks?" He said, "That would be great, babe. Thanks!" I set the bag down by his legs, smiled, and left.

I walked away thinking, Crap! That's not the guy I wanted to give it to! I wanted to give it to my new friend down by the Post and Nickel building! Now that guy has all the stuff and my guy has nothing and I'll.."

"His need was greater..."

Oh. Got it. God led me in the right direction. He's a good friend and I'm glad he was with me. Or, I'd have had to go looking around for Mr. Post and Nickel tomorrow. I'm convinced there will be another chance for me to help Post and Nickel out again. Until then, I'm avoiding the skater boys. I don't care what color eyes they have.

"All I Know." AKA...me and Garfunkel.

The first piano notes come from the song "All I Know" by Art Garfunkel. (sidenote: Wouldn't you change your last name if it was Garfunkel?).

My skin chills and the hairs on my arms stand up. This song has a tune that haunts me. Not even just the tune, but the words. The whole package.

"The endings always comes at last. Endings always come too fast. They come too fast, but they pass too slow. I love you and that's all I know."

"I love you and that's all I know." That's all I know. That's all I need to know. This song reminds me of my dad. Let me tell you why.

Ever since he died almost three years ago (oh, how it STILL pains me to type that), I have thought about what I would say to him if he would be able to come back for five minutes. I've often thought up these dissertations about how I could convey to him how much we all missed him and how much he meant to us. I would try to tell him that I was in awe of him my whole life. I looked up to him. I was proud of him and proud to be his daughter. I would tell him that I desperately wished there could have been more time, but it wasn't meant to be.

I would tell him that I thought of him every single day. I would tell him that I tend his grave like Miss Daisy. I would tell him that I was sorry I couldn't save him. I would tell him that I often talk about him, so my daughter won't forget him. I'd tell him how it took me two years to look at a picture of him. I would tell him how raw it all was for the first 3 months after he died. I would tell him that my life would never be the same.

But wait. I only have five minutes, right? Here's how I would make it go:

Dad: "Hi, Kid. I was allowed to come back for five minutes."

Angie: "Hi, Dad. How's heaven?"

Dad: (sighing and rolling his eyes) It's beyond anything you can imagine. I've told you that in your dreams about a thousand times."

Angie: "I love you, and that's all I know."

Dad: "That says it all."

That says it all.

Then I would sit and stare at him for the other four minutes. I would touch his arm. I would sit by him, really close, so I could smell his aftershave. I mean, I love him. What else is there to know? I wouldn't waste the other four minutes on some long-ass Gettysburg speech, for Christ's sake.

Four Score and Seven Years Ago, I love you. That's all I know.

Lance Armstrong is a Super Human and My Emotional Day

First of all, Lance Armstrong cannot be a human being. I think I read one time that the guy's resting heart rate is like, 38 bpm. Seriously? I have another word for that: Dead. I don't think my heart rate has ever been below 100. Plus, is body is a machine, using oxygen far more efficiently than any normal human being. I have another word for that, too: Robot.

Truthfully, I have never understood the Tour de France. Good thing I don't really have to. I mean, every time they show Lance, he's like, fourth place. How can he win that way?? I don't get it.

Today was an emotional day for me, for some reason. I don't even know why. I cried when I read an article in a magazine. I cried when I watched "Dateline". I cried when I watched parts of "Extreme Makeover Home Edition". I cried when I watched the news. What is wrong with me?? Maybe it's the heat. Good ol' Nebraska has been over 100 degrees for like, 2 weeks. The other day, the heat index was 110. (See description of hell.) Today, the temp reached 103. Good God. I didn't go out much except to hang some clothes up on the clothes line, which I love to do, and then I went for a 15 minute walk tonight. That's the extent of my day. One exciting thing, though. I got all my hair cut off. Six inches in some areas. (Before you think of a person with lopsided hair, just remember I have layers.) So, six inches in some areas, 3 in others. Of course, with this humidity, it looks pretty boolah. I'll have to actually style it tomorrow for work.

I keep dreaming about floods. I'll have to grab my handy dream dictionary to look that sucker up. Sometimes I dream of sharks. Sometimes I dream it's the end of the world. (Bring out the fire hydrant!) Anyway. ...(Or, Anyhoo as some people say...people I want to KILL. I HATE that.) that's the major excitement of my life.

The Case of the Fire Hydrant and my Dreams

I recently bought the 10th anniversary edition of "The Dream Dictionary." One of my favorite books. I have the original one at work. This book is pretty neat. You look up dreams and the book tells you what they're supposed to mean.

I'm a vivid dreamer. Have been my whole life. I remember them, and I remember them for years. For example, when I was four years old, I had a dream I was being chased by a giant Cornflake during a thunderstorm. See? I don't forget.

Anyway, every day I look up things from my dreams to see what they might mean. A common theme I keep getting is "represents things from your past". Or, "Could be an indicator of past hurts." "might show your ability to deal with past events." See the common denominator? The Past. Ago.

See, I had a weird past and I have been tempted many times to go into it on this blog board. I will still do it when the time is right, but now isn't that time. There were many things that happened to me, around me, and because of me that make up a whole black hole in my Ago. There they sit, sucking some of the happiness I may get from today. My past is always budging into my forebrain, convinced it needs to be part of today. "Hey, look at me!" It hisses. "Here I am! Don't forget me!."

What I would like to do is this: I would like to flip open the top of my head, hook a hose up to a fire hydrant, turn the water on, and BLAST the past from the part of my brain it lives in. I want to wash my gray matter clear of this gangrenous cancer that is the past. It affects my dreams, my waking hours, and my every day life. Can't it be so easy as to flush it out?

My therapist from Ago told me one time that I was very shaped by my childhood. (as is everyone, but I was, perhaps, misshappen) The problem is, I just don't exactly know how to unlock that. I don't know how to get it out of the back of my brain, into the front and then OUT. It seems to get stuck either in the back, or in the front, but I've never been able to get it out. Even subconsciously it's sticking there, affecting me. Affecting my relationships and my self esteem and my self confidence. Affecting how I view myself. Affecting how I view others. There has to be a way to deal with and get it out, but I'm at a loss.

I'm not convinced that the hydrant is a really BAD idea, per se. But, won't it also spray my eyeballs out?

Amy Maria Tortilla Fajita

This is my sister, Amy. We called her "Amy Maria Tortilla" all the time when she was a kid Eventually we just shortened it to "Tia". We had to stop calling her that when she forgot her actual name. (I'm being dead serious).

And, no, she's not developmentally disabled, although she has spent 1/2 her life apparently trying to prove that she is. She's a great younger sister and I love her lots. Plus, I wanted to practice putting pictures in my blog. Excellent. More stuff for people to NOT look at. HA!

I need to have Dear Amy explain to me why her eyes are going two different directions. I just finally am getting to the point that I understand her eyes are two different colors, and now she throws THIS at me. I don't even know what she was doing in this picture. She took it herself, though. Maybe that explains it.

Drop Dead Index

I can barely talk about how hot it is outside. It's 101 degrees, with a heat index of 108. For those of you who may not know what a heat index is, it's a way, using heat plus humidity, to determine how much a person actually wants to drop dead. Around here they call it a "feels like" temperature. Kind of like wind chill, only the opposite.

This heat gives me a headache. Not to mention the fact that it makes me sweat, makes me sick, and makes me miserable. And that's sitting in air conditioning!! I could barely make it to my car from work. I am such a baby. When I was younger, I could be out in this heat all day, from sun up to well past sunset. I spent days at the lake, in 100 degree weather. Now that I"m an old fart, I can't tolerate the heat. In the next couple of years, I plan on not being able to tolerate loud music and teenagers.

Now...Things I like

Although I'm not quite done with things that I hate or annoy me, here are some things I like. You know, just for a change of pace. In no particular order and beyond obvious things like my family and my friends.

Hilary Swank
Morgan Freeman
Cicadas (the sound they make, not the actual bug thing. They're kinda gross.)
Perfume
Purses
Movies
"Gladiator"
Taking naps
FOOTBALL!!!!
The Chicago Bears
The Atlanta Braves
Dark chocolate
Makeup
Babies. Any babies. All babies.
True Crime books.
Infomercials
Beer
Getting a free toothbrush from the dentist
Nip/Tuck
Words like "Budge" and "pudge"
Buying books.
Hanging clothes on the line to dry.

That's all for now.

More things...

1) What humidity does to my hair. I look like I should be in the Globetrotters during the 70's.

2) When you're watching the news and they come on and say, "Good Evening. I'm Shirley Smiley. Adam Asswipe has the night off." I don't CARE where the other anchor is. I don't care if he's banging the babysitter like a screen door in a hurricane. I want the news. Tell it to me. Now.

3) Shitty smelling air fresheners that smell worse than the shitty smelling shit they're trying to cover up. We've got one at my work, and I literally want to throw up in my mouth every time it sprays, which is about every time I walk in the bathroom. I think it's called "cherry scented." Apparently "rotten cherries sitting on a pile of dirty ass underwear" couldn't fit on the bottle.

Things that annoy me...(Or freak me out OR make me mad)

Here are some things that freak me out, annoy me, or make me mad.

1) Kids depicted as angels.

I will have a panic attack ever time I see some cutesy picture depicting children as angels. It's like watching a horror movie, at least to me. I'd rather see a kid depicted as LeatherFace.

2) When people cough on a conference call.

What the hell? No mute button? We don't want to hear you hack and cough on the call. Believe me.

3) When you go to a fast food place and the employee THROWS your food at you.

I HATE that. I will call people on that every single time.

That's all for now. Look for more later. Feel free to add your own.

The burning cauldron of hellfire that is...

The YWCA pool.

Today, my six year old daughter started her fourth year of swimming lessons. She was to be an Octopus this year, up from last year's Seahorse. Not a problem, right? I mean, we've done this before. Several times. We've all been looking forward to swimming lessons because they're fun, and kind of a summer tradition.

I should have known things would go wrong when I saw all the "big kids" there. Kids between 9 and 10 years old, maybe older. The teacher verified my daughter's name, though, so I knew we were in the place where we were supposed to be.

The first thing the teacher has these kids do is swim the entire length of the pool, doing the breast stroke. Mind you, at the end of last year's classes, they were just learning to dive, for Christ's sake. They had just learned the hand motions and head turning that go along with the breast stroke. Jerica (that's my kid) went to swim across for her turn, and started floundering about 5 feet away from the wall. The bad thing is, they started on the DEEP end of the pool, where nobody can touch. At one point, halfway down the length of the pool, I yelled at the teacher to GET HER, considering she had gone underwater and the teacher wasn't helping her regain her, um...swimmingness.

Jerica did make it to the other side. In one piece, and not drowned. Yet, I didn't feel good about it at all. Then, the kids all had to swim back. They're all about in comas because this is WAYYYYYYY advanced for most of them. There were eight kids in the class, and one actually ended up crying after the first length. Jerica was having trouble, and so was a third kid. By this point, I'm pissed. My husband and I agree that this class is too advanced for her. We walk down to the other end of the pool and ask Jerica if she wants to leave. She said yes. I felt bad later because she told me that she thought we were mad at her, because she wasn't doing very well. I explained to her that I was mad at the teacher, not her.

So...that's not even the end of my anger. There were two teachers in the whole pool. Count 'em. Two. One class had two girls in it, who were very advanced, and my daughter's class, who ended up with seven kids. One leaving, one in tears, and one panting by the side, unable to lift her arms at this point. Two teachers is NOT enough to ensure safety. While the kids were swimming the length of the pool, she was watching the kid swimming, but couldn't watch the kids still down by the wall in 10 feet deep water. I had such a bad feeling about this whole thing, we left. But first we told the teacher we were leaving. Not that it would have mattered by that point. She kind of looked baffled. I'm sure she was probably old enough to drive, but I wouldn't put the ol' teacher much older than that. I told her that I didn't feel comfortable with what they were having the kids do, and that last year they hadn't even practiced going the SHORT length of the pool, let alone flop them in the first class and make them go the whole length. Plus, I didn't feel like there were enough staff to watch everyone at the same time. Then we left. I was shaking, because I was pretty mad at this point. I mean, this is the class they TOLD us that Jerica should be in. This is the class that FOLLOWS the one she was in last year, but it was clearly way over her skill level.

We went down to the front desk and I told that lady what happened. She said she wondered from the beginning of the class if there hadn't been some mix-up, since the Octopus class usually has 2 or 3 people in it, not 8. She wondered if maybe the YWCA advanced kids too quickly. She acknowledged that Octopus is a big step up from Seahorse, but she said that the teachers should have tested all the kids in the beginning to see what they were capable of and go from there, not just start with their own agenda and expect the kids to follow it, regardless of their skill.

I also told her of the supervision issue. She said that she had seen the aquatic director leave, and she thought that was crazy, since it was the first day of classes. She thought the director should have been there. She said that 2 teachers for 9 kids was not nearly enough, especially when one could only be watching the swimmer or the standers, not both. She was very nice, this front desk lady. She ended up switching us back to seahorse class, which is fine. I'm not doing this to train Jerica for the damn Olympics, I just want her to know how to swim, and to have some fun during the summer. I felt bad for Jerica, because she thought she wasn't doing very well. I had to convince her that this class should have been for the bigger kids. I wonder what happened to the crying girl. When we left, she was still standing by her dad, not going back in the water. I wouldn't be surprised if she was a seahorse next week, too.

I may have to jump in myself. You know. Just to make sure everything is a'ight.

To dance With My Father...

goodbye, Luther...
Back when I was a child, before life removed all the innocence. My father would lift me high and dance with my mother and me and thenSpin me around 'til I fell asleep. Then up the stairs he would carry me And I knew for sure I was lovedIf I could get another chance, another walk, another dance with himI'd play a song that would never, ever endHow I'd love, love, loveTo dance with my father againWhen I and my mother would disagreeTo get my way, I would run from her to himHe'd make me laugh just to comfort meThen finally make me do just what my mama saidLater that night when I was asleepHe left a dollar under my sheetNever dreamed that he would be gone from meIf I could steal one final glance, one final step, one final dance with himI'd play a song that would never, ever end'Cause I'd love, love, loveTo dance with my father againSometimes I'd listen outside her doorAnd I'd hear how my mother cried for himI pray for her even more than meI pray for her even more than meI know I'm praying for much too muchBut could you send back the only man she lovedI know you don't do it usuallyBut dear Lord she's dyingTo dance with my father againEvery night I fall asleep and this is all I ever dream