I was listening to the oldies station at work the other day, “Sugar-Pie, Honey-Bunch- you know I love you . . .” “My brown eyed girl . . .” “Join us for Oldies Fest with Earth Wind and Fire . . . “
“Saudi Arabia is a modern nation which as always enjoyed good relations with the United States. . .”

Uh – Wait, are they really talking about Saudi?! I halt my work to listen to what they are saying, it sounds like someone is reading an Encyclopedia Britannica entry about Saudi.

“Saudi is a country rich in resources and hospitality. The Saudi people are family oriented and have a strong faith network..”

I don’t understand why the oldies station finds it important to give me this information in the middle of the afternoon. I’m boggled.

“In Saudi, we have a very good education system, and the most modern medical facilities.”

“This message was brought you to by the people of Saudi Arabia.”

Wow. I’m not sure what to think.

They totally just played a “Love me, love me—I’m a good Saudi” commercial on the oldies station. Has it really come to that? Do we have “Love me, love me” commercials in Saudi?
What would they say?

“Here in America, we aren’t as bad as you think. We aren’t all slut-whores and perverts. We aren’t all welfare-crack head-unwed mothers hoping to get enough money together for another abortion. No, some of us are church people who wouldn’t touch a dirty whore in need with a ten foot pole. (We’re sure that’s what Jesus would do, or more to the point Wouldn’t do.) We are a prosperous nation, everyone likes us, because if the don’t like us, we beat them up and take away our toys and leave, until we can find another reason to come back and beat them up again. We’re good people and pretty too, I mean look at Hollywood, it’s fabulous. They aren’t all Jews you know. Some of them are New Agers for sure. Sure, our education system is going down the crapper, and we can’t even keep the lights on in New York City, but that doesn’t matter because WE’RE THE BEST!”

The other night Daniel was talking to his mother on the phone obviously trying to get her off the phone "No Mother, I won't be out all night. Yes Mother I know, it's irresponsible. No, Mother, I'm not sure when it will be. Yes, she's here." (It's never a good sign when she asks about me) When I hear him say, "Do you want to talk to her?" I'm sitting on the other side of the table shaking my head no in a not-so-subtle fashion.

He hands me the phone and I say "Hello." We chit-chat for a second when she gets to her point, "Shannon, what is your philosophy on staying out all night long?"

I say, "Ummm, well, I think you should only stay out all night when you can sleep in all day." (sounded like a good answer to me.) She sighed and said in a disappointed tone, "Oh, that's what Daniel thinks too." (I tried not to laugh. )

She said, "Well, I encourage you, as I encouraged him to not stay out all night." I said, "Okay." I was thinking, "I'm not going to stay out all night, my mom taught me better than that, I'm going home, and your son is coming home with me."

I didn't say it. No, no I think my very exsistance in the life of her precious fisrt born is almost enough to send her over the edge. I'm sure she prays for me every night. The very idea of hinting at faulty mothering would be going TOO FAR!

So I was at Taco Cabana a few weeks ago (I feel so behind on my blogging duties) it was 2 am and we are eating our burritos and such when this guy starts yelling.

At first we take no notice, but then he says the magic phrase that makes us want to hear more: "Come on! Yeah, I'll call immigration on your bitch ass!" An immigration threat, now that's serious, and he kept repeating himself, some times adding even more colorful language, "You stupid bitch-ass-wet-back-red-neck-hick! I'm gonna call immigration on you!"

From what I could tell the young man speaking was of latio origin himself, and since the guy he was yelling at never said anything back to him I can either assume that he was a) smart enough to keep quiet and not cause even more of a scene, b) he didn't speak English or c) he was afraid that immigration really would take his "stupid bitch-as-wet-bak-red-neck-hick" self way. Whatever the case was, he handled it well. He looked like a good guy, white hat and all.

The police came and hauled every one away. I wonder if immigration ever got his bitch ass.

I was listening in on a conversation with a guy who owned a truck which he had installed a 27 inch lift kit on. The floor boards were about to my shoulders. It was rediculous. He commented on how he got alot of attention from the police, how little his gas milage was and how many times it had been broken into. He talked about how much it cost him to get everything the way he wanted it.

When he was asked if he enjoyed the off roading he got to do, he said, "Oh, I haven't done any. I'm afraid I might break something."

What the . . . ! That is alot of hassel and exspence to go to for someone too afraid to use the equipment he's installed.

I don't even know what to call that, overblown consumerism, a need to grow up, or at least enjoy your toys.

I don't get it. I'm not a collector. I get something, a collector's edition, I have it out of the box in three seconds. I don 't want to collect it, I want to play with it. I want to enjoy it. Got a pretty candle, burn it. Beautiful soap, wash with it. A truck that will bounce all over creation, drive the crap out of it, go home and assess the damage.

That's how to live.

The other day I saw a cowboy running down the highway shoulder. He was running fast like he was chasing something, or something was chasing him. But there wasn't.

Sometimes I just don't get Texas.

Independence day 2003: I had a pretty darn good day. I got up at 9:30, opened a pina colada wine cooler and enjoyed my first taste of the day. I took a shower and scraped off all the hair from the offensive parts of my body. I then ironed a periwinkle, strapless, floor length formal (crinoline included) gown. I put on the dress, called my friend, agreed to attend a lunch party with her, and warned her of my full intent to wear the formal all day as part of my Independence day celebration. She said it was a good idea, she would wear a formal as well.

Before she came I had time to finish my pina colada and run to Walmart for a hat to complete the outfit.

The lunch party consisted of a set of Iranian twins, Amir and his brother Amir, (no joke) and their father who was visiting from Iran. (Interesting to me was the fact that their father had been the third highest commander for the Iranian Navy before the Revolution) two Indian fellows (one I could not understand for the life of me, and the other, named Robin Alex. That was actually his given name, he was born in India, raised in Bahrain and had a perfect American accent.) my friend Catherine, who told us all how to pronounce her Chinese name correctly Yan He: (Yawn Hu(h) Not Yan Hee, never Yan Hee, just call her Cathy and don’t worry about it any more.) the international students minister of First Baptist Church Arlington, and me.

Amir and Amir declared themselves Agnostic, their father Muslim and the rest of the group claimed Christ. We discussed everything from fire works to Iranian poets. We talked about Sunnis, Shi’ites, Sufis and Ismiles. Amir-1 said the Sufi’s wrote great poetry to God, but he really thought that it was opium induced dancing and love poems about women they couldn’t have.

His brother Amir-2 said he heard that mystics could do many strange things, even stop a train with their eyes, (but, oh, how tired his eyes must be when he had finished.)

I think the Indian boy I couldn’t understand said he had once seen a holy man charm a rope out of a basket as if it were a snake. Or maybe it was a snake that looked like a rope . . .honestly every sentence that came out his mouth sounded like one very long, strongly accented word.

I think the best bit of conversation was this exchange:
The Iranian father (Baba) said, “Yes, many things were very different in Iran before the Revolution, it all changed with Khomaini. Now the priests run the government and the people who should be running the government work in the bazaar.”
Amir-1: “Khomaini was a very bad man.”
Baba: “Yes he was bad.”
Catherine: “I hear about Khomaini a lot, but who was he, what did he do?”
Amir-2: “Khomaini was very terrible, if there is a hell, he is there. He is burning at the very bottom, in the fire, he is the charcoal that burns other people in hell, he was the worst man.”

Now that is serious! Not since Dante of Judas have I heard of such things said about anybody dead or alive. “He is the charcoal that burns other people in hell.” I’ll have to remember that. I can only imagine who well the curses and insults would have come off in Farsi if they were that impressive in his second language.

The next party was a pool/cook out affair. I was not half impressed with the conversations which were by a bunch of adult missionary kids who were newly married, or about to be married or really wanted to get married and about their dogs and/or babies and going to church. (“Gag!” I mean, “cough, cough, excuse me, I need to leave this conversation now.”)

I had changed into my swim suit before most of the guest had arrived so they missed out on the formal, but I put it back on before we left and walked out in all my glory, floppy white hat and all, everyone looked, no one spoke. I smiled graciously, but didn’t say a word. I can only imagine what might have been going through their tiny little mk minds.

At the third party of the day we shot off fire works for an hour or so, I came away with only one small hole burned in my dress near the hem.

I’d have to say that dress was well worth my $4.00 investment at Thriftown.

I had an interview today. I don't think my interview was at all impressed with the fact that I'm a grad student. Drat. It's always something. At least that's a better excuse for not getting a job than "because your name is Shannon" which is why I didn't get the last job. They actually told me that! Losers.

At work tonight I was holding my bucket of shinning, glowing, blinking, flashing feather roses doing my job with the same enthusiasm I always have at work when this girl looked at me, patted me on the shoulder and said, “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.”

I said, “Thanks.”

I was inspired to write down all the jobs I can remember having:

1. baby sitting
2. McDonalds—kitchen crew, until the day I forgot to put the meat on the cheese burgers, then I was moved to register
3. Geneva College cafeteria worker—food server,(describer of mystery meat) salad wench, (kept the salad bar stalked)click chick (counted people entering cafeteria) and clean up crew
4. BSU summer worker—home repair supervisor/shelter counselor (ha-ha)
5. Day care kindergarten childcare provider
6. Dallas Christian College library assistant
7. Dallas Christian College recruiter (torture, it was like torture!)
8. Dallas Christian College Camp team
9. Tutor at LCC
10. sales associate for some crappy mall store for X-mas
11. Day care floater (substitute/helper for which ever class needed me)
12. UPS quality controller
13. IMB journey man—strategy coordinator intern/ESL teacher/community development ie tourist
14. register/stock clerk at Dollar General
15. Interlibrary Loan coordinator at GGBTS library
16. customer service at florist
17. Kirby bastards
18. guest services at Meryvan’s
19. customer service at Temp Glass
20. paper shuffler at Verizon mail center
21. telemarketer for AOL/Time Warner
22. paper shuffler at Adessa Auto Auction
23. customer service at UTA SECC
24. customer service at Dish Network/Digital Link
25. customer service/sales Feather Rose of TX

I saw a Jew today, complete with long beard, tassels, fedora hat and Harley Davidson T-shirt. He walked by twice muttering something to himself, oddly enough he came from the same direction both times.

I get the words evanescence and effervescence mixed up.

I am now registered for fall classes, all in good faith that I will have $1,000 to pay for it when the time comes.

I would like everyone to be duly informed that Summer's parent's dog doesn't like pickles.

I went to Sunday School last week. As I was filling out the visitor's card the single's minister asked me where I was from. I told him I was from PA origionally, and he started up with a 20 point quiz about PA history. I think I passed it. At least I did alot better on PA history than I would have on TX history.

As soon as the quiz was over I was introduced to the minions, and was immediatly handed an invitation to a party. Ummm, friendly little baptists. When I actually looked at the invite I noticed it had two dates on it, and I couldn't figure out what the intention was until I saw it said, "bring your pillow" a sleep over. This girl invited a total stranger, who just happened to show up to Sunday school to her sleep over? (She's 20 something and having a sleep over?!)

Anyway, the class was good, I argued with the teacher about the total depravity of man and predestination while the rest of the class sat there and looked stunned. One girl told me she thought I was "really brave" for showing up to Sunday school and church alone. Yeah, well, I could tell her a thing or two about showing up places. Sunday school was one of the least of my adventures in showing up.

an email I sent last night:

I would like to take a moment to vent:

My feather rose boss says to me tonight, "You know, you really need to be more talkative to the customers when they come to the stand."

He blah-blah-blahed about it, but that was the jist of the lecture. and I'm thinking, "I am not a people person! I hate selling things! If you had interviewed me before you hired me you would know these things!"
Man, people come up to the booth, they are talking among themselves, I don't feel the need to interrupt them with a witness about the obvious! The freaking stand says "Feather rose"

So I'm supposed to walk up and say, "Hey, it's a feather rose. It's a rose made out of feathers-- even the leaves are feathers, because it's a rose, and roses have leaves, but FEATHER roses have Feather leaves. And it's scented, like a rose, get it? Rose? You want to know why it's scented? because these are made out of goose covering, and when they aren't scented they smell like a drowned goose! Isn't that cool? You want to buy one? They are only $4.84 each, including tax"

Okay, so I need to be more personable. I'm simply working under the premise that sales people should be available to answer questions, not necessisarily volunteering information out the wahoo.

They can bite me. I hate people. I want a job working with nobody. Just minding my own business and doing my work which has been carefully explained to me, and me doing exactly what I'm expected to do, no more, no less. ok

good night

Sometimes I find myself doing something, and even while I am doing it, I am wondering
“why . . . what possesses me to do such things as this?”

I was driving down Collins the other day, munching on French fries as I went, listening to Cake (the band) when I noticed an Arlington police officer behind me. I immediately checked my speed. I was actually under-speeding in a 35 zone. I was okay with that, what- with the fries and all.

When I got to the light, it was just turning yellow, so I stopped. (I got a ticket one time for going through a yellow light that happened to turn red while I was under it.) Well, I had every intention of turning right. I was in the turning lane, and the police officer was still behind me. When the light turned red, I couldn’t remember if I could turn right on red or not. It seems like it was illegal somewhere I had been. But I couldn’t remember where. I spent some time considering it, and came to the conclusion that I could turn right on red here in the great state of Texas, but inexplicably I was compelled to sit right there in the turning lane in all of my blue Buick glory with my turning signal on, not turning.

Now it was a LONG light. One of those ones where everyone gets their turn, people going straight, people turning left from the south, people turning right from the north, people turning this way from that direction an “obey your traffic signal only” kind of intersection, right there before you get on 30. It was the kind of intersection where anyone who wanted to turn right on red had every opportunity to do so.

Every once in a while I would eat another fry and look in my review mirror to see what the cop was doing. He seemed very patient at first, but after a while, at least a full minute of sitting there for no reason, he started getting fidgety, looking out the window, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, and I just sat there and looked at him like it was a movie in my mirror.

I was wondering about things like:
1. why am I still sitting here?! I’m already late for work!
2. does he have somewhere specific to go?
3. if its not illegal to turn right on red, is it not illegal to not turn right on red?
4. is he going to keep on following me now because I made him mad?
5. does he think I’m some old person driving this Buick?
6. he’s kinda cute.
7. these fries need more salt.
8. is this light ever going to change?
9. would I still be sitting here if it weren’t a cop behind me?
10. someday I’m going to . . . finally, he interrupted my thoughts when he turned on his siren for about a second.

I moved along, feeling somewhat defeated. I’m not sure why.

Yeah, I'm just waiting on the edge of my seat for something exciting to happen. . . . when it does, I'll be sure to write a blog about it.

You are... Shrek - "Well I have to save my
ass!"
You walk tough and talk tough, but inside you're
just a gooey ball of mush. Your friends are
important to you (whether you admit it or not)
and you'd do just about anything for them (but
you wouldn't like it). Trust is important to
you, and so is respet. Looks don't matter to
you; it's the gooey ball of mush inside that
really counts.


What movie quote are YOU?
brought to you by Quizilla

"Nooo! Not my gumdrop buttons!"

I am infinity You may worship me, but from afar _

what number are you?

this quiz by orsa

Huh . . . I was thinking I would have been a natural number.

Random thoughts from a tired mind:

I like the names Edwin and Skyler Porter, which were my grandfather’s and grand mother’s father’s names.

I also like the name Lucian, which I’ve never met anyone named

I think the toilet paper is too hard, my butt hurts now

I want a stuffed animal caterpillar from a Six Flags game, a blue one

I need a license plate holder for my car

My new plates say “YPH” . . . if

I’m hooked on phonics

Last night I had a dream that I was dreaming, and in my dreaming dream, I was dreaming.

I woke up confused

Miss Venezuela is now Miss Universe

Venezuela is kinda hard to spell

I’m glad I have globe on my desk

I went to a grave yard on Memorial day. There was a celebration going on, but I missed the whole thing as I was only there to pick up a friend (a live one). As I was waiting for him, I decided to look around.

I like looking at the older stones. It seems 100 years ago, people had such interesting names. I suppose it’s a morbid idea to go to a cemetery to pick names for children. But I wouldn’t put it past me.

I found one grave marked, “Dred Greef Widdon.” Dred Greef? What was happening in that family when he was born? That’s a terrible name! It reminded me of the “Not Loved,” “Not Wanted” children in Hosea.

I’m amazed at the stories a grave site will tell, just the name, sometimes an epitaph, flowers or abandonment. I think I would prefer to not have a gravesite or to have it unmarked.

I think I’ve mentioned before the slave yard I saw once in TN. There was a stone that read,
(her name)
She the Suns-
hine of our
house.
She was a second wife, with the information of the first wife engraved on the same stone, just above her name. All the stones in that yard had engravings with spelling mistakes and like this one, hyphenations out of place making it look to be read “Suns hinie.”

But when I consider the time and/or expense it took to engrave that epitaph for the second wife of a slave man . . . when I consider what it must take to be the “Sunshine” of a household that is in every way owned by another man, even down to the last baby, when I consider the losses they surely must have already experienced, I know her stone, and her epitaph are important, historically. Even if none of her descendents know of her, or what she did to be the sunshine of a slave household, at least I know she did it.

She is an encouragement for me.

Dred Greef is a warning.