Old Dog, New Trick

I was just complaining to a friend the other day how much of a pain in the ass it is to fold tshirts. I just received a 5 dozen tshirt order and nearly broke my back hunched over folding the damn things up. My friend pointed me to this little gem:


How To Fold A T-Shirt In 2 Seconds - Explained

It cracks me up to hear the lovely British lady saying "Pinch One." I giggle and snort every. single. time. Yep, I'm my father's daughter.

For Pinch Three - be sure to cross your right arm UNDER your left arm. It took me a while to get that part but I finally made it work.

I'm so excited about this new trick that I may finally quit using all my closet space for tshirts on hangers. But there's no way in HELL I'll take back doing laundry from the husband's task list.

Terminally Bored

So we're upgrading our server or something in the home office and of course, nothing works but email. Thanks for the 10 second warning home office, it sure is good to know when things will be down for 4 hours and I can plan my work schedule accordingly. I've done all the manual things to be done so what does that leave me to do?

Nothing.

Except play on the internets.

At least there is a Woot! Off today. My MP3 player is having jack issues - as opposed to jill issues - so I did Woot! me a refurb Sansa 4GB media player. In about 7 to 10 days I'll be able to jam AND look at 1.8" photos or goofy videos anytime, anywhere.

OMG! Senior photos!!

Dear former member of The Class of 1989 WBHS Anti-Conformity League:

My parents are getting a new house - HOORAY! I've been on and off helping Mom packup and trash the past few weeks. What does this have to do with you, you ask? Absolutely nothing except for one tiny photo in a tiny frame.

During my senior year of high school I came into possesion of a small set of cheap-ass "lead from China" kind of picture frames. There were only a couple of them and they were just right for the wallet sized senior pics of my homegirls. The frames were perfect because there weren't too many members of the 89WBHSACL. And of course, your lovely 18 year old face was placed into said frame.

So jump ahead 19 years (HOLY SHIT! 19 years!!??) into the hallway of my parents home. Mom and I are sorting, tossing and sneezing dust out of our noses and she hands me a small picture frame. I COULD NOT BELIEVE IT WAS YOU and I really did have a good giggle. Good times. I can't believe I'd left you behind when I moved out of there. You were probably stuffed in some corner under a pile of my sister's clothes which is why you didn't make the move with me. Don't worry though, I still have lots of pics of you and us back then. Yep, I got plenty of those!

I decided I had enough lead and did toss out the frame but I would keep the photo inside. I take apart the frame and noticed you'd written a nice little message on the back.

"Can you believe it? Six years and all the things that have happened. Somehow, it was always me that caused the trouble - the 8th grade, the mustang, the beer in the school parking lot, etc. I'm glad you thought I was worth the trouble!"

I moved here in the 7th grade, making our friendship 6 years old when we graduated.

I'm not positive what the 8th grade incident was but it must have been the forgery incident. We were in band and had a pretty kick-ass instructor. Often, he would write us notes to get out of class for a practice session. I decided I didn't want to spend the afternoon in Ms. Springs' class so I wrote myself a note (this was his M.O. - we wrote, he signed) and signed it with my best Band Teacher handwriting. It worked until Ms. Springs confirmed said band jam with the instructor the next day. I think I spent 3 days in ISS (school jail) for that one. I think my friend got away though. She was in the super-smart classes and probably made up some story about going to the library or something.

When I was 15 I was dating a guy who was from the country, was 16 and had a car. It was a Mustang but the NG was broken off so we always called it the Musta. He is the first guy that bought me jewelry, small 14k gold heart earrings. Talk about BLING! tee hee!! Anyway - if you spent the night at my house on a Saturday night, you went to church the next morning. No excuses. Mr. Musta picked us up and drove us to church. On the way back home from church she decided she wanted to drive and he let her. We came home "the back way" and as I point out, "You're missing our road!" she jerks the wheel to make the turn, overcorrects and we end up in the VERY STEEP ditch. I had a concussion, a busted lip and a busted up knee. She bounced off the steering wheel pretty good and Mr. Musta came out of it fine - physically. His car wasn't busted up that bad so he didn't get into too much trouble.

Which brings us to the beer in the school parking lot. Being a member of the 89WBHSACL, you had to be somewhat nerdy, poor, social outcast kind of thing. And you had to do that stupid thing with your jeans...taper fold and tuck down into your hightops or boots. A few of us got our nerd on with the Band. The Marching Band. With Mandatory Attendance at all football games. We had a new band instructor by then and he usually let us go after the halftime "performance." (Keep in mind this was his first year and we were a very young band with no marching skills whatsoever. I'm so proud of the real marching band he did build and my sister got to be involved with. They've come a long way since '89!)

So I had put away my band uniform and went to hang with my homies. At this time I was dating no one so I can't remember why we were out in the parking lot, but we were out there. Outside the safety fence of the football field where children do very stuipd things believing that those things are cool. We were out on the backside, farthest from the school. The dark area. I believe her very cool and beautiful boyfriend was in his/someone's car. He was a year (maybe two) older than us. Someone busted out with a six pack of Bud and we all passed around the ONE CAN as we're standing near the car. The can makes it to me and she starts making those eyes at me - the ones that say "DANGER WILL ROBINSON!! DANGER!!"

It was the fuzz!

Of course, the can was in my hand. Of course!

But at least it was friendly fuzz, a sherrif's deputy that I knew. And he let me (and everyone else) go as long as I went home and told my folks what happened. Shit. Now I had to go home and tell on myself. Because a cop told me to.

And I did do it. I went home and told on myself. I don't remember what (or if) I was punished. I just remember getting busted and having to tell on myself. I remember walking into my parents' bedroom and saying, "I gotta tell you something...." Couldn't tell you what the hell I said BUT I DID IT. I DID NOT LIE ABOUT IT.

The beer incident was on a Friday night. I passed Mr. Sherrif Deputy on the stairs at church on Sunday. He asked me, "Did you tell 'em?" And I said, "Yep." And his reply was:

GOOD FOR YOU BECAUSE I WASN'T GOING TO TELL ON YOU!

At the time I immediately wanted to push him down the stairs. But I didn't. I'm glad he made me do it. It was a good lesson - or rather a couple of good lessons:

• Don't be trying to do things you're not old enough to do.
• Don't be trying to do things you're not old enough to do in public.
• Don't think someone is NOT watching you. Somebody saw you do it.
• Tell on yourself if you get caught. Honesty is the best policy.
• Dont' be a liar. Liars suck.
• Your friends always say they're sorry, or they are in trouble with you (giggling madly!). Other people don't give a shit what they did to, with or about you.

And you know who you are my dear. If you contact me, with your permission I'll post your senior photo and my goofy-assed band photo on this here blog-0-matic.