Urgh! Tonight's class will last until 9:50 on the dot. 9:50. She never lets us get out of there early, even the night she was sick, she sniffled and coughed her way through lecture. (Ewwwww!) So I know tonight she'll talk until 9:50, 10:05, something like that, after which I still have to get home and do some laundry because I am out of clean clothes. Urgh. Somebody remind me again why I want to be educated.
On a much happier note, the electricians are FINISHED!! Damn, I never thought they would leave! I was getting so tired of going off every morning with the house less than secure so they could get and work, and even tireder (huh?) of picking up those little bitty plastic bags that they left all over the house that started out with screws in them, but they really look like little dope baggies. Especially when static makes one stick to the back of your cat's pajamas and she takes off running like the hounds of hell are after her.
Oh, and the repair to the air conditioner only cost $ 80.00. Pitiful state of afairs when you have to have the heater and the air conditioner both serviced within one week, because you need both in one week. Gotta love this south Texas weather.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
I bet you didn't whistle the theme song to "Bridge on the River Kwai".
Ok, so it usually takes me about fourty five minutes to get home from school, last night I made it in 28.
I call home every night when class let's out before I get on the road. It's a long drive and I have a ten year old car, not that I'm worried about it, but it just makes sense to let someone know when you are heading out at night.
So, after a two hour Shakespeare exam I drag to the car, get in and call. It rings, and rings, and rings. Finally my mom answers , breathless and obviously stressed out.
"What's wrong."
"Harlow slipped out."
She was still talking when I threw the phone into the seat next to me, started up Zippy and floored it. I could have gotten so many tickets last night that I'd be one of those poor fuckers you see on the side of the road on Saturday mornings wearing a plastic blaze orange vest and a look on their faces that's like, "please, run over my ass, now!" I drove like a bat out of Hell and there was no cool soundtrack to go along with it because I had stopped on the way to school to gas up and get a car wash and had taken down my car antenna.
So anyway, I white knuckle it through the South Texas night, screaming at anybody who even turns on their signal indicator in my direction. I was fighting the urge to cry as best somebody as cynical and cold (to hear some tell it) as I am can. My mouth was dry as hell and I had to tell myself at one point to breathe.
Anyway, I get to my street were there are usually at least three or four strays running around after dark, turn on my high beams and drive at like threee miles an hour until I get to the house, cause I'm convinced by now that if she does in fact get run over with my luck it'll be me that has to pull bits of my beloved cat out of my radiator. Not a cat in sight. No strays, none of my neighbors cats who are let out at night, nothing. Oh, and did I mention that a pit bull mix has moved onto the street a couple of blocks over? Yeah, I had all kinds of senarios flowing through the rickety plumbing of my mind.
I get up the drive way, expecting her to dart out from under the azaleas and into the undercarriage of my car, get out and grab my cell phone (like I could call her maybe) leave my purse and everything locked up in the car behind me and go running into the house to put on a pair of shorts and grab a flashlight because nobody is going to sleep until I find Harlow. If I had to call the electrician that has been working at the house the last couple of days and get his ass out there to start looking I was going to, and all of his crew too. (Even the one Harlow jumped on and scared the shit out of.) The screen door sticks a little so I had to jiggle it, I was ready to pull the fucker off it's hinges because I had something to do that was more important than finding a 24 hour door service. (What's another couple hundred bucks, shit!) And here come's my mom down the hall like nothing ever happened, "Oh, I thought I latched that screen", and I'm like, "well, it's a little late now because my cat has already gotten out," and I was about to launch into the tirade/litany of questions I had worked out on the brief ride home when Harlow comes prissing down the hall. My mom is like, "I didn't have your cell phone number, and you had just quit talking so there wasn't anything to do but wait." There are times when strangling the person who taught you how to use a toilet does seem like an appropriate response, and it took me a second to talk myself out of this being one of those times.
Anyway, after her assurances that Harlow had never left the premises, (the electrician's kid had seen her but she didn't and later paniced when Harlow didn't answer her) and that she had hunted and called her and whistled for her before just about giving up and deciding that she had to steel herself to face my wrath, Harlow comes prissing out from behind a chair in the living room, just pretty as you please, seh st down at my mom's feet like, "what's up?", I took my shower. And while I was in the shower, I started thiking that if mama whistled, Harlow should have responded, a whistle is her siren song, she can't resist it. But then, that is not entirely true. It dawned on me, mama didn't whistle the right tune.
"Did you whistle the theme song to "Bridge on the River Kwai"?
"Huh?"
"Bridge on the River Kwai" you know, that catchy little tune that they use in the American Express commercial?"
"She'll come to that?" Harlow was chilling behind the television at this point.
"Try it."
So my mom whistles the first little part to the song and sure enough in just a saecond here comes Harlow, she even pushed her way passed the baby bully cat to get to mama and crawl up on the bed next to her, like, "what, I'm trying to catch a little shut-eye."
All I could do at that point was laugh and go to bed. It was a long assed Monday.
I call home every night when class let's out before I get on the road. It's a long drive and I have a ten year old car, not that I'm worried about it, but it just makes sense to let someone know when you are heading out at night.
So, after a two hour Shakespeare exam I drag to the car, get in and call. It rings, and rings, and rings. Finally my mom answers , breathless and obviously stressed out.
"What's wrong."
"Harlow slipped out."
She was still talking when I threw the phone into the seat next to me, started up Zippy and floored it. I could have gotten so many tickets last night that I'd be one of those poor fuckers you see on the side of the road on Saturday mornings wearing a plastic blaze orange vest and a look on their faces that's like, "please, run over my ass, now!" I drove like a bat out of Hell and there was no cool soundtrack to go along with it because I had stopped on the way to school to gas up and get a car wash and had taken down my car antenna.
So anyway, I white knuckle it through the South Texas night, screaming at anybody who even turns on their signal indicator in my direction. I was fighting the urge to cry as best somebody as cynical and cold (to hear some tell it) as I am can. My mouth was dry as hell and I had to tell myself at one point to breathe.
Anyway, I get to my street were there are usually at least three or four strays running around after dark, turn on my high beams and drive at like threee miles an hour until I get to the house, cause I'm convinced by now that if she does in fact get run over with my luck it'll be me that has to pull bits of my beloved cat out of my radiator. Not a cat in sight. No strays, none of my neighbors cats who are let out at night, nothing. Oh, and did I mention that a pit bull mix has moved onto the street a couple of blocks over? Yeah, I had all kinds of senarios flowing through the rickety plumbing of my mind.
I get up the drive way, expecting her to dart out from under the azaleas and into the undercarriage of my car, get out and grab my cell phone (like I could call her maybe) leave my purse and everything locked up in the car behind me and go running into the house to put on a pair of shorts and grab a flashlight because nobody is going to sleep until I find Harlow. If I had to call the electrician that has been working at the house the last couple of days and get his ass out there to start looking I was going to, and all of his crew too. (Even the one Harlow jumped on and scared the shit out of.) The screen door sticks a little so I had to jiggle it, I was ready to pull the fucker off it's hinges because I had something to do that was more important than finding a 24 hour door service. (What's another couple hundred bucks, shit!) And here come's my mom down the hall like nothing ever happened, "Oh, I thought I latched that screen", and I'm like, "well, it's a little late now because my cat has already gotten out," and I was about to launch into the tirade/litany of questions I had worked out on the brief ride home when Harlow comes prissing down the hall. My mom is like, "I didn't have your cell phone number, and you had just quit talking so there wasn't anything to do but wait." There are times when strangling the person who taught you how to use a toilet does seem like an appropriate response, and it took me a second to talk myself out of this being one of those times.
Anyway, after her assurances that Harlow had never left the premises, (the electrician's kid had seen her but she didn't and later paniced when Harlow didn't answer her) and that she had hunted and called her and whistled for her before just about giving up and deciding that she had to steel herself to face my wrath, Harlow comes prissing out from behind a chair in the living room, just pretty as you please, seh st down at my mom's feet like, "what's up?", I took my shower. And while I was in the shower, I started thiking that if mama whistled, Harlow should have responded, a whistle is her siren song, she can't resist it. But then, that is not entirely true. It dawned on me, mama didn't whistle the right tune.
"Did you whistle the theme song to "Bridge on the River Kwai"?
"Huh?"
"Bridge on the River Kwai" you know, that catchy little tune that they use in the American Express commercial?"
"She'll come to that?" Harlow was chilling behind the television at this point.
"Try it."
So my mom whistles the first little part to the song and sure enough in just a saecond here comes Harlow, she even pushed her way passed the baby bully cat to get to mama and crawl up on the bed next to her, like, "what, I'm trying to catch a little shut-eye."
All I could do at that point was laugh and go to bed. It was a long assed Monday.
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