NEWS BULLETIN...

Miss Bethie was offered a jobby-job.

Details to follow later.

Also in the process of being written:
Laughs-a-lot's ex.

Its my anniversary!

Four years ago today, I was robbed at gunpoint, my gorgeous ring I had received for my birthday just 7 weeks earlier--platinum, emeralds and diamonds--was stolen, as well as the cash from the register where I was manager on duty.

The robbery itself was surreal. I was working at a store that sold surgical scrubs. Surgical Scrubs! The guy came in, and was engaging and funny. He told me he had some more shopping to do, (the strip mall where we were located had a Target and Walmart, as well as a lot of small shops), but he worked at a hospital and his wife a nursing home, so he would be back.

About an hour later, he was there again. I approached him and said, "Well, I see you made it back!"

As silly as it sounds, he sounded on the up and up. Hospitals use specific colors, and often the floors use specific colors or patterns. He was talking about the accepted colors and so on. He had made a decision, and asked if there was an ATM close by. As it just so happens, there is one right across the parking lot.

When he showed up shortly thereafter, I was expecting him, and even joked, "You're like a bad penny!"
I took him to the counter, began checking him out, and thought to myself, "How odd. He is dancing to Yes's Roundabout. Not really a dance tune."
I did my usual, "Is there anything else you need?"
He pulled out a gun and said he needed all the money from my register.
I was working with a 16 year old girl under my charge, and my concern was keeping her safe, which was ironic because I was documenting her behavior and lack of work to fire her.

I'm not bragging, but I handle him very well, and was able to keep him calm. I had taught at a school where we had two fatal shootings, so I had been trained on what to do in a crisis situation when a firearm or weapon is being brandished.

I called 911, and ran to the parking lot. As it turned out, there was a police car in the lot, getting ready to pull out of the strip mall. Because I was on a cordless phone, I was unable to go into the lot without losing the connection, so I told the 16 year old to run to the office. She walked at a snail's pace, which was her usual speed. So, somewhere there is a 911 tape of me yelling, "Would you please run to the car? They are about to pull out of the parking lot!"

Once I had called 911, I called the other store in the area. The manager there thought it was a prank. Once convinced she called the manager and the owner of the company, and I took the 16 year old to the store next door, because she was nearly hysterical. They wouldn't let her sit in their backroom because it was against policy to let people in there. Nice.

I called my parents, and cried that my ring was stolen. They, of course, said the ring was replaceable and they were glad I was safe. Dad was there lickety split, and the 16 year old's parents were also called and quickly arrived.

The police were great--and the lead detective HOT! At the station I was finger printed so they could tell what prints were mine, the 16 year olds and his. I had to do the composite drawing. They were impressed with my memory of him, but I had seen him 3 times and joked around with him. I described the gun, what he was wearing, and what he looked like.

What was horrible was the way the company treated me. They told me I could take the next day off, but I wouldn't get paid. The night of the robbery, they told me they would replace my ring, if not through their insurance, they themselves would pay for it. They lied. I didn't expect them to pay for it, but then they really should not have said they would.

I told them I was not comfortable to continue the night deposits, because this man was obviously staking us out, which was why he kept leaving and returning. He didn't want any customers there.
Sorry, we are going to still do night deposits. (Did I mention that it was usually 2 women working there? We had 2 guys, but there was no way they could both work every night.)
They got a security camera, but only used it to watch the employees.
Not long after, I left. The owner would never ask me how I was doing, and even though she saw me a few times, and would ask how the investigation was going, never asked me directly how I was doing. Instead she would ask the manager, who would relate it back and forth.

I ended up leaving after they told me "too bad" about the night deposits. We didn't have a safe to keep a deposit in, and so the money wasn't secure. Neither were the people making a deposit at 10:00 at night, but that was no thing.

Then, after I left, they started opening my mail that was from the district attorney. (They caught the guy, which is another tale).
I was livid. The manager wouldn't even call to tell me I had mail there. She would open it and read it and leave a sticky note to let her know what was going on, but would have the night managers call me and tell me it was in, rather than call me herself. I told the night manager the second time this happened that it is a federal crime to open another person's mail, particularly when it is from the prosecuting attorney's office.

So, that is the tale that started so many changes in my life. Believe it or not, most of the changes were for the better. I will illuminate more over the following days.

Jackpot!...Or rather, raffle

Laughs-a-Lot and I still talk on the phone for 2 hours a night, the week he doesn't have Bubbles and if we aren't going out.

After tonight's phone call, he calls back almost immediately.

He has won $1000 from his daughter's school raffle.

The best part is that his ex was called and she had to relay the message.

I teased him that it is like his sofa and loveseat are free!

He suggested that he and I go somewhere with it.

I told him we could talk about it later. I would LOVE to go somewhere with him, but I don't want him to waste this money. He has a lot of financial responsibilities with Bubbles, her tuition, her braces, and everything else going on.

But a weekend getaway somewhere we could drive to could be fantastic!

We're oh so domestic, now

Laughs-a-Lot is moving into a house in 2 weeks.
He has an ugly, lumpy, threadbare reclining sofa that is a total eye sore.
He had enough sense to see that he really needed new furniture.
He asked if I would help him find a sofa and love seat combo that doesn't "look hoosiery." I was more than happy to help out.

I wanted to make sure he was fine with the possibility that people would think we were married or at least engaged. I had this happen when I went suit shopping with a guy, and he TOTALLY freaked out. I was sure LAL would not care, and his laugh just assured me he didn't mind people thinking we were married.

So, Saturday we started the afternoon at a furniture store about 3 blocks from where he lives, and maybe 3 miles from where he is moving to. We found a sofa that was manly, but stylish. He thought it was comfortable, and liked it. (He is more than a foot taller than me, so really, we don't agree on what makes it comfy. I would love to have my feet hit the floor when I sit, whereas he prefers to not have his knees in his nostrils when he sits.) My joke of the day was, "Okay, well we better make sure it is comfortable to make out on. Scoot over, big guy." And he would say in a dopey, hen-pecked voice, "Okay." We'd chuckle and continue our search.

We decided to look at some other stores. After looking at some discount places, where we had no luck, we went to some other places, where we had even worse luck.
The next joke I was wanting to spring but never had the chance was when a salesperson asked if we wanted leather or upholstery. I wanted to say, "He only likes leather when he is wearing the chaps." We were never asked. DAMN IT!

We went to Lane, and they had a few things, but noting really tickled our fancy. We then went to Thomasville, where we saw a $5,000 dollar sofa. I asked, "Didn't you say you wanted to go up another level at work?"
"Yeah, that sofa is about 2 levels higher, minimum...And really I can only go up one more level."
But not only was it $5,000 dollars, it was ugly.

As we tried out sofas, he was really wanting my opinion on the comfort.
"Sweetie, I don't care what you get. This is going into yours and Bubble's house. I mean, I am there on the weekends, but it is about the two of you."
"Honey, I want you to be as comfortable there as we are."
I thought I knew what he was insinuating, but I wasn't totally sure.

After leaving Thomasville, feeling exceedingly middle class, we went to Broyhill. Again, some decent stuff, but we came to a conclusion...We liked the first sofa the best. They were closed by time we grabbed some dinner and got back to our neck of the woods.

Then Laughs-a-Lot says, "I guess I am going to need a coffee table, or something, too." (Basically, he just wants something to put his feet up on. He admits that he totally doesn't get the "nicknack" thing, and a coffee table for him is purely functional.)

So, the next day is Father's Day. The furniture store opens at 12:00, he is to pick Bubbles up from her mom at 1:00 and we need to be at my brother's by 1:30. We get to the store shortly after they open. I totally take charge. A salesperson approaches us, and I see the sofa we chose, but in blue. "We want that, but in the olive."
She takes us to it and asks if we need anything else.
"We need a coffee table."
She explains that most come in three packs, with the 2 end tables.
I look at LAL, and he says that is fine.
She asks wood or metal and glass.
I say wood, then remember this is LAL's furniture, although I am pretty sure he is a wood kind of guy. I look at him, and he nods.
She tells us where the wood tends to be in the showroom.

We find a coffee table and end tables that we like. They are manly and simple yet stylish. We find the salesperson. Turns out the one we picked is sold seperately. I finally let the poor guy talk. He decides he still wants 2 end tables as well as the coffee table, even if it is all seperate.
She asks if there is anything else we need, lamps, etc. Nope. We're ready.
We start the funfilled process of filling out paperwork.

I asked if I was being to bossy; too controlling. He assured me he was glad that I was taking charge, because he had no clue on anything.

The salesperson keeps trying to get me to sign on the paperwork. We keep saying no. She is trying to let us know we will get a larger credit line. We are not interested. She clearly thinks we are engaged. She gets up to get a few forms, and I tell LAL that when she comes back, I am making a comment, acting really ticked, that I am livid that my ring has to wait so he and his brat can have a new sofa and loveseat. LAL laughs. Of course. During this time, Bubbles calls to say her mom is dropping her off. He tells her where we are, so her mom will drop her off there.

While he is still waiting on the paper work, I go to the door to meet Bubbles. Meeting Bubbles and her mom is a whole other story for a whole other day.

I show her the girly sofa and loveseat I have fallen in love with. (A hip chartreuse in a classic style.) We discover it is EXTREMELY comfy, too. She prefers it to what he and I have actually chosen, and what he is buying right now. She loves the orange pillows on this sofa, though, so her daddy promises her that he and I were going to shop for accessories after everything is delivered and set up, and he will buy the pillows then. (I had no idea that this was going to be a multi-shop adventure. But that is fine.)

While he goes to yet another station to get his contract and warranty, Bubbles and I wander around some more.
As I come around the bend, the salesperson says, "When you get married, you know she likes this furniture, and hers can go in the livingroom and yours in family room. You'll work it out. The furniture is not a problem, believe me."
I have no doubt in my mind that this is the man I am going to marry.
I would like to think that he brought up us getting married to the sales lady. I wanted to ask, but didn't want to embarrass him.
And it is quite possible that she is the one who brought it up and he was just making small talk.
Still, it took all of my willpower to not do a cartwheel right there in the store.

I didn't embarrass him with the engagement ring comment.

The Beat Goes On...

So, Laughs-a-Lot and I are in that euphoric (and to onlookers, annoying) part of the relationship. You know what I mean--
You're the cute one.
No, you're the cute one.
No, you are.
No, you are!

I love you!
I love you more!
I love you most!
I love you infinity!

Yeah, that is pretty much us. Pathetic, yet precious. In a sickeningly sweet sort of way.
We even made lists of what we love about one another. My list had 101 items, his only 60, but hey--he's working all day and I am on summer vacation with nothing to do but think about him as my niece takes her 2 hour afternoon naps.

But life keeps on moving, sometimes to our dismay.

At this point--Miss Bethie still does not have a job for next school year. I regret leaving my position, but everyone around me is glad I left. They like a SANE Miss Bethie. Or, at least a less insane Miss Bethie. And Family and Friends have no doubt that I will find a job. I am not so sure, so their words of cheer and hope mean a lot to me.

My nephew is a great kid who is, in my humble opinion, not treated fairly by his parents--one of whom is my own brother, who makes all over the two girls. He's a great daddy, but has forgotten what HE was like as a 14, almost 15 year old boy. His son is WAAAAAAY better behaved and more trustworthy.

My nephew is a tall, lanky kid who prefers reading and playing XBox to being outside. So, two weeks into summer, his mom went into his room and told him he has to go outside and play a little bit everyday. She will not have him laying in bed all summer playing video games and reading, never stepping foot outside except to take out the trash.

He went out on his bike that afternoon--and had a wreck. He now required his ACL to be totally rebuilt. But the kid is young and will heal quickly, so it should be worry free, right?

The doctors can't operate right away because they fear my nephew could have Marfan's Syndrome. This often goes undetected until the person drops dead because their aorta basically blows. There are other health problems associated with it, too, such as possible blindness.
If he gets it from his mom's side, we worry about the girl having it, too. If he gets it from his dad's side, the girls are clear.
I am really worried about this. Physically, he looks like he could easily have it. He always reminds me of a marionette when he moves. He joints are a little too loose, and he never seems to be fully in control of them.

The good news is, if he does have, with regular echocardiograms and eye scans, people with Marfan's are living into their 70s now.

Let's hope that the news is he is just an exceptionally tall, lanky kid.

Perspective

As women, we are never completely satisfied with the way we look. It is in that double X chromosomal pair, I suspect. Men may have some insecurities, but not the way we do.
Yesterday I participated in the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure for breast cancer research and treatment. With me were 2 12 year old girls, both lanky and gawky and late bloomers. I remember that age, and I remember being flat chested at that age. The girls were the meanest about it, but the boys were cruel, too. I ache for both of this sweethearts knowing what they may have heard and probably will hear in the near future. (Both are thin and have long legs, giving them an advantage over me. I hope they have that supermodel thing where they go from geek to fabulous!)
Breast are a universal part of women that we never seem satisfied, (barring those who have had the silicone torpedoes placed on their chest). Maybe they are second behind the butt/hips, but they are high on the list.
I know women who complain about being too small, too large, too saggy, nipples too small, nipples too big, uneven in size, too sensitive, not sensitive enough, and so on. We've all heard these from other women, and have a pet complaint ourselves.

Yesterday, though, I saw women undergoing treatments, I saw husbands walking in memory of wives, some with young children in tow. I people of all ages, ethnic and social backgrounds, sexes, sexuality, and political affiliation. And all I thought about all day is that it really shouldn't matter to men or women about the sizes, shape or feel of our breast. We should just pray that they are healthy.

Laughs-A-Lot and the Tickle Spot

When I am dating someone, I love to be close, and joke around. Tickling allows both, except that I am far more ticklish than anyone I date. It would be a physical impossibility, I think, for me to date anyone more ticklish than I am.

LAL and I would be sitting on his couch, watching a movie, and I would pounce and tickle, and he would, of course, laugh. He did NOT laugh, however, because he was ticklish. Oh no, he was laughing at me because he has no tickle spot.
Despite being told this over and over, I still would search him all over, looking for a tickle spot. Bubbles even told me, there is no tickle spot.

LAL says it is because as a kid he would ride his bike behind the huge truck that would spray a fog of pesticides. Our indoor soccer team, The Steamers, ran out on the field through fog, and he wanted to be a Steamer. He insisted that this was why there was no tickle spot on him. I was sadly disappointed, but still tried my best.

And then one day, it happened. I found the elusive tickle spot that LAL didn't even know existed! (I am still perplexed that he and his ex were together a total of 13 years, not including the 5 times he says he broke up with her in high school, and she never tried to tickle him!) It is on his back. I told him the pesticides may have killed the tickle nerves in the front, but not in the back. It was on. He was getting tickled CONSTANTLY. He was really worried about what would happen once Bubbles learned about this. They have a gave, not unlike Cato and Inspector Clouseau, where she jumps on him unexpectedly, and he tickles her until she snorts. You know what they say about pay backs!

The first week that he had Bubbles after the discovery of tickle spot, I never mentioned to her that I found it. He was sweating bullets, too. When she would go to her room, or sit on the other side of him, I would zap that spot with my long nails. My big guy would jump about a foot. He'd retaliate, but I couldn't help myself! And after tickling him, I couldn't help but smile to myself, much like the Cheshire cat. He would shake his head and just say, "You're so proud of yourself, aren't you?" Then my demonic laugh would burst out of me. After a while, in complete retaliation, LAL went into a tickling frenzy on me. Upon hearing my peels of laughter and shouts of, "Stop! I'm gonna pee!" Bubbles came out to see what was going on.

I looked at her pleadingly, "Bubbles...your daddy is tickling me!"

"She found a tickle spot on me Bubbles! She's been tickling me all night!"

Soon he had two of us pouncing on him. Bubbles and I had already bonded, but now we were a united front.

It got better, however. After Bubbles got bored with us and decided to go back to her room to watch Nickelodeon, there was another session of attack tickling. LAL was getting frustrated that my little and fairly flexible body allowed me to use my lets as well as my arms. He didn't think it was fair. It became worse when I pinned his right arm against his head using my fully extended legs. His arm flopped around uselessly and in a voice several octaves higher than normal, and laughing the entire time (OF COURSE!)he was squealing, YES, squealing, "I can't move my arm!" I finally couldn't take it anymore and had to let him go.

He swore it would never happen again. Guess what.

I am so glad he is such a good egg. I am also glad he still doesn't know about my blog so he can't read the stories I share about him.

Cardinal Red Leaving Me Blue in the Lou

I LOVE Cardinals baseball. I can be so girly-girly, but when the Cards are on TV, I am all over it and can call a game as well as any man. I think it is genetic, as my grandma is the BIGGEST Cards fan I know, despite her diminutive size.

I LOVE people who could be rich, self-absorbed jerks, but instead use their money/power/connections for good.

Albert Pujols is a Card, and a good guy. He is out for 6-12 weeks. St. Louis is sad. ANY baseball fan is sad. He is a natural talent...and by natural, I mean he doesn't juice himself.

Why could Barry Bonds be the guy with the torn muscle?

(I know...I'm probably going to hell for just thinking it!)

A quick break from hearts and flowers...

With all the sunshine and daisies I am feeling in my laugh--all due to Laughs-a-Lot, there are still many saddening events going on and people and families I would like to mention here. For those who are religious, prayers are appreciated, and for those who are not, just keeping them in your thoughts is much appreciated.

The owner of the dealership I work for two nights a week has had a rough month, and it looks only to get worse.
His wife had a heart attack, and though not fatal, she did need to have bi-pass surgery. This happened the same weekend the owner was diagnosed with a cancerous brain tumor. He is having radiation and chemo, but the doctors have told him that he doesn't have long. He has been to some of the best hospitals in the country; the hospitals that take lost causes, and has been told not to bother traveling there. Despite this, he still wants to go over the customer service reports my department makes. It is important to him that through this we keep up the high quality service he built his business on and that is customers are still the priority.
And that sums up his character. He is a multi-millionaire who spends a huge portion of his income for varies charities that benefit sick children, the homeless, sick veterans, abandoned animals and many others we are probably not privy to. He spends Christmas at a local children's hospital having a huge dinner with the families and their children as well as handing out presents.
When Katrina hit New Orleans, he used his connections (he has many) to get food and supplies there. No mention was ever made of him, because he was never a publicity hound. In fact, he often visits his dealerships, people have no idea he is the owner, because he shows up in old blue jeans and Hawaiian shirts. His sister-in-law, whom he looks after as a sister, said that anytime he would see a need, he became a driving force to see positive change.
I just keep thinking about him and his family. I hope his boys carry on with his philanthropy.

One of our equine participants passed away recently, too. I never had the honor to work with her, but it breaks my heart, all the same. While her syndrome was fatal, her life expectancy was late teens to mid-twenties. Sadly, at the age of 10, she passed away in her sleep after a seizure.
The room where her visitation took place was filled with her pictures, poems, stories and crafts all horse related. She loved the freedom she found on top of a horse. She appreciated the movement she regained on a horse, and the power and control she had over a horse while it was leaving her body.

Old or young, it is always sad when special people pass. While you tell yourself it is the circle of life, it still touches you. That is what makes you human.