It's different because this is a serious of links that I think are quite entertaining. The subject is "Alli".
For those of you who do not know, Alli is a weight loss drug that has some rather, er...interesting side effects.
Link #1: Alli Side Effects in Layman's Terms
Which brings us to the main topic: Adventures with Alli
Someone on one of my message boards began experimenting with Alli and posted her experiences on the message board. Her stories are quite entertaining to say the least. She never says if she actually has helped her lose weight, but quite frankly....Alli is just one mean b*tch.
So.....I bring to you, Adventures with Alli. Enjoy!
Link #2: Meet Alli
Link #3: Dining with Alli
Link #4: Lunch Date with Alli (Read the entire thread, because there is a separate post about the Wrath of Alli.)
Link #5: Alli goes to CVS
There are more adventures, but they are in a password protected forum because some people got offended. You know how it is, you can't say squat anymore without someone getting their panties in a knot about it.
Anyway, if you know of anyone toying with the idea of befriending Alli, you might want to warn them.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
A Mystery.................
I was all set to introduce yet another family on Grace Street, but The Bucketheads will have to until the next installment. However, due to a special request I'm writing on a different topic.
Years ago at a place I used to work, the ladies room was sort of an imaginary fantasyland. Part of it, I'll admit was part of my own doing.
The door to the ladies room faced the door going out to the office lobby. One night as we were leaving the office, someone was leaving the ladies room. One of my male coworkers noticed that there was a sofa alongside on of the walls.
"Good Grief!!!! You women have a sofa in there? We don't have anything like that in the mens room. When we don't feel good, we just stay home."
So....me being me, told him that we had the sofa because we needed a place to sit while Consuela makes our margaritas.
"Who the h*ll is Consuela?" he asked.
"Our ladies room attendant."
"I'm not buying the margarita BS....but y'all don't actually have a ladies room attendant, do you?"
Well....I figured if he was actually stupid enough to believe that, why not carry it further?
"Sure. Consuela is great. She can do manicures, pedicures, she listens to us b*tch about the men in the off.....oops! She listens to us vent about work, and she keeps the bathroom neat as a pin."
"Oh that's a load of crap. How come I've never seen her?"
"Well....have you ever been in the ladies room?"
"Never mind.....holler in there and tell her to come out."
"Can't."
"How come?"
"Consuela's deaf."
Well, word went around the office about that little story and with embellishment from other women in the office, pretty soon our small ladies room, with three stalls, three sinks, a wall mirror, a broken products machine, and a ragged old sofa also had a bar, an office for the shy and deaf Consuela, and Consuela also now had an assistant named Paloma. Our wonderful ladies room also had a margarita machine, massage table, and an adjustable chair that we used whenever Consuela cut our hair or gave us pedicures. Paloma handled our manicures.
Even the president of the company was impressed. He had his own private bathroom that just had a toilet and sink. But, as far as he was concerned, since Consuela and Paloma worked for tips only, they weren't costing the company anything so he was fine with it.
Which brings us to today......well, actually yesterday since I worked from home today.
There have been major strides lately in the office ladies room where I currently work. (Actually, the fact that essentials such as soap and paper towels are stocked somewhat regularly rather than the previous semi annual schedule is a major stride.)
While there is no Consuela or Paloma, no massage table, bar, margarita machine, etc....there apparently has been a new addition. A radio. A radio that is tuned to an oldies station.
Why?, you must be asking. Well, therein lies the mystery.
My guess is that my request for a jukebox was shot down so the radio was a cheap substitute. (No....I did not request a jukebox! That was a JOKE! Although......there *IS* a suggestion box in the breakroom......hmm. Maybe I ought to put that request in just to see if it gets a response.)
When I first saw the radio, I thought maybe someone had just left it in there to recharge the battery or something, but every cubicle has an electrical outlet so that was out.
So...I have no idea as to the purpose of this radio. I have no idea if there is a radio in the mens room and I don't really care enough to find out.
However, if word gets out that there is a radio in the ladies room, someone may just decide to squeal equal rights and demand one for the mens room.
But I still would like to know the thinking behind this decision.
But now that we have it, I think a few suggestions are in order.
I think that the stations need to be rotated so that everyone gets to listen to their favorite music. One day can be urban/rap day (I'm not going to push for that, though), another day can be country day, another day can be talk radio day. I'll be Neal Boortz would be rather impressed that he is playing in the second floor ladies room of our office. Take that, El Rushbo!
For our next request, I think we need a phone. That way, if we're in there when the radio station is having a contest for say....caller 98 wins a cruise, we've got the phone right there. Actually, if we want to get even more ridiculous, every STALL needs it's own phone. That way, no one has to trip over themselves to get to the one phone.
Oh wait....even better! Stick a few pcs in there two. Desktops, though, not notebooks. The way people have been crashing notebooks lately, someone is liable to flush one and I don't think the chief in charge of approving notebook purchases would be very happy. Although, I can think of a few people that are perfectly capable of attempting to flush a desktop down the toilet and when asked why they would pull an Urkel and say "Did I do that?"
I'm going to just leave it at that. Oh, and by the way.....just in case a certain someone who is on vacation and shall remain nameless is beginning to freak out at that thought of installing phones and desktops pcs in the ladies room......I'm KIDDING!!!! (But, I'm seriously considering asking about that jukebox, though.)
Years ago at a place I used to work, the ladies room was sort of an imaginary fantasyland. Part of it, I'll admit was part of my own doing.
The door to the ladies room faced the door going out to the office lobby. One night as we were leaving the office, someone was leaving the ladies room. One of my male coworkers noticed that there was a sofa alongside on of the walls.
"Good Grief!!!! You women have a sofa in there? We don't have anything like that in the mens room. When we don't feel good, we just stay home."
So....me being me, told him that we had the sofa because we needed a place to sit while Consuela makes our margaritas.
"Who the h*ll is Consuela?" he asked.
"Our ladies room attendant."
"I'm not buying the margarita BS....but y'all don't actually have a ladies room attendant, do you?"
Well....I figured if he was actually stupid enough to believe that, why not carry it further?
"Sure. Consuela is great. She can do manicures, pedicures, she listens to us b*tch about the men in the off.....oops! She listens to us vent about work, and she keeps the bathroom neat as a pin."
"Oh that's a load of crap. How come I've never seen her?"
"Well....have you ever been in the ladies room?"
"Never mind.....holler in there and tell her to come out."
"Can't."
"How come?"
"Consuela's deaf."
Well, word went around the office about that little story and with embellishment from other women in the office, pretty soon our small ladies room, with three stalls, three sinks, a wall mirror, a broken products machine, and a ragged old sofa also had a bar, an office for the shy and deaf Consuela, and Consuela also now had an assistant named Paloma. Our wonderful ladies room also had a margarita machine, massage table, and an adjustable chair that we used whenever Consuela cut our hair or gave us pedicures. Paloma handled our manicures.
Even the president of the company was impressed. He had his own private bathroom that just had a toilet and sink. But, as far as he was concerned, since Consuela and Paloma worked for tips only, they weren't costing the company anything so he was fine with it.
Which brings us to today......well, actually yesterday since I worked from home today.
There have been major strides lately in the office ladies room where I currently work. (Actually, the fact that essentials such as soap and paper towels are stocked somewhat regularly rather than the previous semi annual schedule is a major stride.)
While there is no Consuela or Paloma, no massage table, bar, margarita machine, etc....there apparently has been a new addition. A radio. A radio that is tuned to an oldies station.
Why?, you must be asking. Well, therein lies the mystery.
My guess is that my request for a jukebox was shot down so the radio was a cheap substitute. (No....I did not request a jukebox! That was a JOKE! Although......there *IS* a suggestion box in the breakroom......hmm. Maybe I ought to put that request in just to see if it gets a response.)
When I first saw the radio, I thought maybe someone had just left it in there to recharge the battery or something, but every cubicle has an electrical outlet so that was out.
So...I have no idea as to the purpose of this radio. I have no idea if there is a radio in the mens room and I don't really care enough to find out.
However, if word gets out that there is a radio in the ladies room, someone may just decide to squeal equal rights and demand one for the mens room.
But I still would like to know the thinking behind this decision.
But now that we have it, I think a few suggestions are in order.
I think that the stations need to be rotated so that everyone gets to listen to their favorite music. One day can be urban/rap day (I'm not going to push for that, though), another day can be country day, another day can be talk radio day. I'll be Neal Boortz would be rather impressed that he is playing in the second floor ladies room of our office. Take that, El Rushbo!
For our next request, I think we need a phone. That way, if we're in there when the radio station is having a contest for say....caller 98 wins a cruise, we've got the phone right there. Actually, if we want to get even more ridiculous, every STALL needs it's own phone. That way, no one has to trip over themselves to get to the one phone.
Oh wait....even better! Stick a few pcs in there two. Desktops, though, not notebooks. The way people have been crashing notebooks lately, someone is liable to flush one and I don't think the chief in charge of approving notebook purchases would be very happy. Although, I can think of a few people that are perfectly capable of attempting to flush a desktop down the toilet and when asked why they would pull an Urkel and say "Did I do that?"
I'm going to just leave it at that. Oh, and by the way.....just in case a certain someone who is on vacation and shall remain nameless is beginning to freak out at that thought of installing phones and desktops pcs in the ladies room......I'm KIDDING!!!! (But, I'm seriously considering asking about that jukebox, though.)
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
The Dawsons
Just to set the record straight, I feel the need to stress a couple of important things.
1. Most of the names in the prior stories have been made up to protect their stupidity, and more importantly to protect my butt in the unlikely event that any of them stumble upon this site and decide to sue for libel.
2. I did NOT grow up in the projects!!!! My street, for some reason, seemed to be a "Twilight Zone" that attracted a whole series of odd people. I think there were only five families that lived on that street were normal.
So now, let's turn our attention to the Dawsons.
The Dawsons lived down the street from us. There was the patriarch, Leonard, and his wife Lydia. Lydia had two children from a previous marriage, Doreen and Jake. She and Leonard had one son together named Tyler.
Leonard worked as a mechanic at a local garage. He "fixed" cars for some of our neighbors. I use the term "fixed" loosely, because it seemed like every car he worked on was never actually fixed.
I never understood why the neighbors allowed him to work on their cars, but everyone said it was because he was cheaper than taking it to a dealership. Leonard only charged for parts, not labor. But, if he was fixing things that weren't broken to begin with and the car still ran like crap, you were spending extra money so to me, it just didn't make sense. But that's for another day.
Doreen was a year older than me and rather quiet. Too quiet. As soon as she graduated and turned 18, she left home and I never saw her again. Looking back, sometimes I think there may have been a good reason why she never came back home.
Jake was my age and was mentally retarded....at least that was what it was called back then.
At that time, mentally retarded children were not mainstreamed in school and there was no such thing as special education classes in schools. Instead they were usually sent to special school where they were taught to do basic things to try to get them through life.
I remember when I went into first grade, Jake was in the classroom across the hall from my room. He was stayed in first grade until Christmas. After that, a little bus came to pick Jake up to take him to another school. My friend Greg told me years later that Leonard and Lydia had no idea that Jake was mentally retarded until his teacher had pointed it out.
Whenever me and my brother got into a fight, he would invariably end the argument by telling me that I was stupid because Jake finished first grade before I did.
My brother, Tyler, and my friend Greg all ran around together. So any of the stories that I heard about the Dawsons came from my brother or Greg.
This one is one of my favorites.
One year, Leonard decided to have an in-ground pool installed. This was big doings in our neighborhood because he was the only one on our street that would have a pool. I guess he did really well between the job at the garage and ripping off, I mean repairing cars for our neighbors.
Leonard had a rule regarding the swimming pool. When the pool was opened for the summer, he was to be the first one in it. No ifs, ands, or buts. (Don't ask....the man was just weird!)
So, about the second or third year after the pool had been installed, my brother and Greg happened to be over at Tyler's house. Greg noticed that the cover was off the pool and asked Tyler when could they come over to swim. Tyler told them to go home, change clothes, and come back because the pool was going to officially "open" that night.
Both my brother and Greg ran home to change into their trunks and run back over to Tyler's house.
By the time they got there, Leonard had just pulled into the driveway. He saw my brother and Greg standing there in their trunks. He said "I guess Tyler told you we're opening the pool tonight."
Greg said "Yeah he told us. We're just waiting on him."
Leonard said, "Y'all wait on me."
Unfortunately, Tyler had neglected to tell my brother and Greg about Leonard's little rule about the pool. When Leonard said to wait on him, they thought he was just kidding around.
As soon as Tyler came out of the house, my brother and Greg took a running jump and leaped into the deep end of the pool.
It was at that exact moment that Leonard came out of the house....just as Tyler screamed "NO!!!"
The boys came up out of the water to face a glaring Leonard. They looked at Tyler and asked what was wrong.
Leonard said "What's wrong? I'll tell you what's wrong. What's wrong is that I didn't get to be the first one in the pool....that's what wrong. What's wrong is that y'all jumped in before me."
With that, he turned and stormed back into the house.
They looked at Tyler and started laughing....then they realized that Leonard wasn't kidding. Leonard, a man in his mid-40's, was p*ssed because he was not the first one in the pool.
When Leonard was p*ssed, he was REALLY p*ssed. He did not get in the pool that entire summer.....all because he was not the first one in the pool that year.
Another favorite:
One of the boys' favorite pasttimes was to tease Jake. I just want to preface this by saying that Jake was NOT picked on because he was mentally retarded. All of us kids on that street enjoyed picking on and teasing each other. The difference was that some of us were able to laugh it off or were devious enough to plan a good payback. The others cried or tattled to their mommies.
Jake on the other hand just got mad.
For some reason, when the builder built the Dawsons house, one of the bedroom doors was hung so that the lock was on the outside of the door, rather than in the bedroom.
Leonard never fixed it because he figured when he sent the kids to their room for punishment, he could lock them in there until he decided it was time to let them out.
This bedroom happened to be the one that Tyler and Jake shared. Even though Tyler was the youngest of three children, Tyler sometimes considered Jake to be the annoying little brother.
Whenever my brother and Greg visited Tyler, one of the things they liked to do was lure Jake into the bedroom, then run out and lock him in. This resolved the problem of Jake following them around like a puppy dog, although they still had to listen to Jake banging on the door.
One day, Tyler made an urgent phone call requesting that my brother and Greg to come over right away because he had something really important to show them.
When they arrived, Tyler took them back to his bedroom and closed the door. Tyler walked over to his closet, opened it, and motioned for them to come over. There, stacked neatly in a corner was the holy grail of all 13-year old boys.
Tyler had found.......Leonard's stack of Playboys. Tyler had pulled out a few from the bottom of Leonard's stash thinking they would not be missed and hid them in the back of his closet.
They each grabbed a magazine and plopped on the floor to read....(and I use that term loosely.)
In the middle of all of this, Jake happened to walk down the hallway and heard the three of them talking in his bedroom. Now was the chance he had been waiting on!
He locked them in....then proceeded to bang on the door hollering "I locked y'all in! Not so funny, huh? Y'all are all locked in. HAHAHAHA!"
Tyler looked at the others and said, "I don't know about y'all, but he's about to drive me crazy. Let's get out of here."
He walked over to the window, opened it and the three of them jumped out. They ran to the backyard, climbed up into Tyler's tree house, and continued to read.
A little while later, Jake came out of the house. My brother saw him first and yelled out "Hey Jake!"
Jake was stunned. He had locked them in the bedroom. He knew they were in there. He was furious. He yelled "How did y'all get out? I had y'all locked in there."
Greg yelled, "We're magic. We can disappear and reappear whenever we want. Just like on tv."
Jake said "No you can't."
Tyler said "Yes we can."
Jake said "Do it then."
My brother said "Ok......run back to your room, we'll be there by the time you get there."
Jake ran into the house and all three of them climbed down the treehouse and climbed through the window back into the bedroom.
When Jake unlocked the door and opened it, he was amazed. He begged Tyler to teach him how to disappear, but Tyler told him that it was too hard and would take too long.
Jake was amazed that he had a brother that could actually disappear. Tyler was amazed that Jake never thought to climb out the window whenever he was locked in....but as far as Tyler was concerned that was a good thing.
1. Most of the names in the prior stories have been made up to protect their stupidity, and more importantly to protect my butt in the unlikely event that any of them stumble upon this site and decide to sue for libel.
2. I did NOT grow up in the projects!!!! My street, for some reason, seemed to be a "Twilight Zone" that attracted a whole series of odd people. I think there were only five families that lived on that street were normal.
So now, let's turn our attention to the Dawsons.
The Dawsons lived down the street from us. There was the patriarch, Leonard, and his wife Lydia. Lydia had two children from a previous marriage, Doreen and Jake. She and Leonard had one son together named Tyler.
Leonard worked as a mechanic at a local garage. He "fixed" cars for some of our neighbors. I use the term "fixed" loosely, because it seemed like every car he worked on was never actually fixed.
I never understood why the neighbors allowed him to work on their cars, but everyone said it was because he was cheaper than taking it to a dealership. Leonard only charged for parts, not labor. But, if he was fixing things that weren't broken to begin with and the car still ran like crap, you were spending extra money so to me, it just didn't make sense. But that's for another day.
Doreen was a year older than me and rather quiet. Too quiet. As soon as she graduated and turned 18, she left home and I never saw her again. Looking back, sometimes I think there may have been a good reason why she never came back home.
Jake was my age and was mentally retarded....at least that was what it was called back then.
At that time, mentally retarded children were not mainstreamed in school and there was no such thing as special education classes in schools. Instead they were usually sent to special school where they were taught to do basic things to try to get them through life.
I remember when I went into first grade, Jake was in the classroom across the hall from my room. He was stayed in first grade until Christmas. After that, a little bus came to pick Jake up to take him to another school. My friend Greg told me years later that Leonard and Lydia had no idea that Jake was mentally retarded until his teacher had pointed it out.
Whenever me and my brother got into a fight, he would invariably end the argument by telling me that I was stupid because Jake finished first grade before I did.
My brother, Tyler, and my friend Greg all ran around together. So any of the stories that I heard about the Dawsons came from my brother or Greg.
This one is one of my favorites.
One year, Leonard decided to have an in-ground pool installed. This was big doings in our neighborhood because he was the only one on our street that would have a pool. I guess he did really well between the job at the garage and ripping off, I mean repairing cars for our neighbors.
Leonard had a rule regarding the swimming pool. When the pool was opened for the summer, he was to be the first one in it. No ifs, ands, or buts. (Don't ask....the man was just weird!)
So, about the second or third year after the pool had been installed, my brother and Greg happened to be over at Tyler's house. Greg noticed that the cover was off the pool and asked Tyler when could they come over to swim. Tyler told them to go home, change clothes, and come back because the pool was going to officially "open" that night.
Both my brother and Greg ran home to change into their trunks and run back over to Tyler's house.
By the time they got there, Leonard had just pulled into the driveway. He saw my brother and Greg standing there in their trunks. He said "I guess Tyler told you we're opening the pool tonight."
Greg said "Yeah he told us. We're just waiting on him."
Leonard said, "Y'all wait on me."
Unfortunately, Tyler had neglected to tell my brother and Greg about Leonard's little rule about the pool. When Leonard said to wait on him, they thought he was just kidding around.
As soon as Tyler came out of the house, my brother and Greg took a running jump and leaped into the deep end of the pool.
It was at that exact moment that Leonard came out of the house....just as Tyler screamed "NO!!!"
The boys came up out of the water to face a glaring Leonard. They looked at Tyler and asked what was wrong.
Leonard said "What's wrong? I'll tell you what's wrong. What's wrong is that I didn't get to be the first one in the pool....that's what wrong. What's wrong is that y'all jumped in before me."
With that, he turned and stormed back into the house.
They looked at Tyler and started laughing....then they realized that Leonard wasn't kidding. Leonard, a man in his mid-40's, was p*ssed because he was not the first one in the pool.
When Leonard was p*ssed, he was REALLY p*ssed. He did not get in the pool that entire summer.....all because he was not the first one in the pool that year.
Another favorite:
One of the boys' favorite pasttimes was to tease Jake. I just want to preface this by saying that Jake was NOT picked on because he was mentally retarded. All of us kids on that street enjoyed picking on and teasing each other. The difference was that some of us were able to laugh it off or were devious enough to plan a good payback. The others cried or tattled to their mommies.
Jake on the other hand just got mad.
For some reason, when the builder built the Dawsons house, one of the bedroom doors was hung so that the lock was on the outside of the door, rather than in the bedroom.
Leonard never fixed it because he figured when he sent the kids to their room for punishment, he could lock them in there until he decided it was time to let them out.
This bedroom happened to be the one that Tyler and Jake shared. Even though Tyler was the youngest of three children, Tyler sometimes considered Jake to be the annoying little brother.
Whenever my brother and Greg visited Tyler, one of the things they liked to do was lure Jake into the bedroom, then run out and lock him in. This resolved the problem of Jake following them around like a puppy dog, although they still had to listen to Jake banging on the door.
One day, Tyler made an urgent phone call requesting that my brother and Greg to come over right away because he had something really important to show them.
When they arrived, Tyler took them back to his bedroom and closed the door. Tyler walked over to his closet, opened it, and motioned for them to come over. There, stacked neatly in a corner was the holy grail of all 13-year old boys.
Tyler had found.......Leonard's stack of Playboys. Tyler had pulled out a few from the bottom of Leonard's stash thinking they would not be missed and hid them in the back of his closet.
They each grabbed a magazine and plopped on the floor to read....(and I use that term loosely.)
In the middle of all of this, Jake happened to walk down the hallway and heard the three of them talking in his bedroom. Now was the chance he had been waiting on!
He locked them in....then proceeded to bang on the door hollering "I locked y'all in! Not so funny, huh? Y'all are all locked in. HAHAHAHA!"
Tyler looked at the others and said, "I don't know about y'all, but he's about to drive me crazy. Let's get out of here."
He walked over to the window, opened it and the three of them jumped out. They ran to the backyard, climbed up into Tyler's tree house, and continued to read.
A little while later, Jake came out of the house. My brother saw him first and yelled out "Hey Jake!"
Jake was stunned. He had locked them in the bedroom. He knew they were in there. He was furious. He yelled "How did y'all get out? I had y'all locked in there."
Greg yelled, "We're magic. We can disappear and reappear whenever we want. Just like on tv."
Jake said "No you can't."
Tyler said "Yes we can."
Jake said "Do it then."
My brother said "Ok......run back to your room, we'll be there by the time you get there."
Jake ran into the house and all three of them climbed down the treehouse and climbed through the window back into the bedroom.
When Jake unlocked the door and opened it, he was amazed. He begged Tyler to teach him how to disappear, but Tyler told him that it was too hard and would take too long.
Jake was amazed that he had a brother that could actually disappear. Tyler was amazed that Jake never thought to climb out the window whenever he was locked in....but as far as Tyler was concerned that was a good thing.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
The Operator
This is a true story about one of my brother's friends. Let's just call him Mitch.
Years ago, Mitch got a job working for the telephone company as a telephone operator. This was back when if you dialed zero, you got to talk to a REAL LIVE PERSON, as opposed to a tape recording.
One day, Mitch got the caller from hell. The guy was giving Mitch all kinds of grief, Mitch was trying to help him, the caller got completely frustrated and yelled at Mitch, "Look, just put the call through, motherf*cker."
Mitch got mad. Mitch took note of the guy's phone number, then began plotting his revenge.
When it came time for his break, he stepped outside, and took a short walk down the street to a pay phone.
He picked up the phone, dialed the operator, and said he needed to place a collect call. He gave the operator the caller from hell's phone number. The operator asked "And who may I say is placing this call?"
Mitch said "Mother."
The operator dialed the number, when the person answered, the operator asked if he would accept the charges for a collect call from Mother.
The caller asked "Who?"
Before the operator could answer, Mitch screamed "Motherf*cker!!!" and slammed the phone down.
Years ago, Mitch got a job working for the telephone company as a telephone operator. This was back when if you dialed zero, you got to talk to a REAL LIVE PERSON, as opposed to a tape recording.
One day, Mitch got the caller from hell. The guy was giving Mitch all kinds of grief, Mitch was trying to help him, the caller got completely frustrated and yelled at Mitch, "Look, just put the call through, motherf*cker."
Mitch got mad. Mitch took note of the guy's phone number, then began plotting his revenge.
When it came time for his break, he stepped outside, and took a short walk down the street to a pay phone.
He picked up the phone, dialed the operator, and said he needed to place a collect call. He gave the operator the caller from hell's phone number. The operator asked "And who may I say is placing this call?"
Mitch said "Mother."
The operator dialed the number, when the person answered, the operator asked if he would accept the charges for a collect call from Mother.
The caller asked "Who?"
Before the operator could answer, Mitch screamed "Motherf*cker!!!" and slammed the phone down.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Bedtime Stories
Our house was a three bedroom house.
Until I was about six, I shared a room with my younger brother. This was primarily due to the fact that I had been told that there was a crazy woman that roamed the streets at night peeking in people's windows.
My brother was three years younger and did not realize the peril of this situation, but at least it was another body in the room. Plus, I made sure he got the bed next to the window just in case the aforementioned crazy woman stopped by.
Eventually, though, it was decided that since I was the lone girl, I would have my own room and my brothers would bunk together. I tried to talk my brother into staying, but when my parents bought them bunk beds, that pretty much sealed the deal. They immediately began arguing over who got the top bunk.
When we were in elementary school, our bedtime was usually around 8:30. My parents stayed up for a little while longer watching TV.
Since someone already knew I didn't like to sleep alone, he took it upon himself to tiptoe quietly down the hall and crawl into my room. I usually faced the window so I could keep a lookout for Mrs. Bittles. Ron was a pretty good tiptoer and crawler, so I rarely heard him. He'd crawl underneath my bed, kick and punch my mattress (scaring the crap out of me!) then be back in his room before my parents came to see what was going on.
I told them Ronnie came in to scare me, but then he would appear in my doorway, yawning and stretching, and asking "What happened?" (Like he didn't know.)
After I had calmed down, I made my plan for revenge. I pretended to be asleep by snoring loudly...and then I would begin lightly scratching the walls with my fingers.
I'd hear Danny ask Ron "What was that?"
He'd say "Oh, it was just Annette tryin' to scare us."
"No....I don't think so, she's asleep." My snoring was quite convincing, and the added whistle at the end like they did in cartoons just made it even more believable, if I do say so myself.
Then I'd say in real high pitched voice "oooohhhhh......I'm going to peek in this window and git somebody."
Usually, this would result in my older brother laughing because he knew it was me, my younger brother crying because he believed it was Mrs. Bittles, and my dad coming down the hall saying he was going to be blistering some butts if we didn't go to sleep.
He'd go back in the den to watch TV. It was at that moment that we did something that "The Waltons" stole from us. I'd say "nite Ronnie." Ronnie would say "nite Annette, nite Danny." Danny would say "nite Ronnie, nite Annette." Then I'd say "nite Danny, nite Ronnie." Ronnie would say "you already said nite to me." Then we'd begin arguing over who we had said good nite to and who was owned a good nite..
My dad would make another trip down the hall. "I thought I told y'all to get to sleep. If I hear one more peep out of any of you, you won't be able to sit down for a week." Then he'd retreat back to the den.
I'd hear Ronnie whisper to Dan, "peep, peep, peep." Dan and I would begin snickering. Then Ronnie would holler to my dad that Danny and I were keeping him awake.
Danny and I would then begin saying "UH-UH!! Ronnie started it."
Ronnie would say "No, I didn't. You and Danny are just tryin' to get my in trouble."
It was usually around this time that my dad would come back down the hall...but he wouldn't be alone. In his hand, he held.....a belt. A belt that we were all familiar with.
When the belt appeared, it was time to go to sleep. Usually, the belt just made a quick visit to our respective bedrooms. My dad didn't have to say anything. He just stood in the doorway with the belt in plain view. It was a scene straight out of a Clint Eastwood western. He'd turn, and leave....just like The Man With No Name in "The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly."
That visit was usually enough to know that the nighttime frivolity was over. If the belt had to make another trip down the hall, it wasn't not going to be a pleasure trip.
After watching a few episodes of "Supernanny", our bedroom routine was eerily similar to some of those heathens Nanny Jo has to deal with every week.
Except for one thing.
Someone needs to introduce Nanny Jo to "the belt." I guarantee you she could probably get those kids to pipe down and go to sleep in 15 minutes.
Until I was about six, I shared a room with my younger brother. This was primarily due to the fact that I had been told that there was a crazy woman that roamed the streets at night peeking in people's windows.
My brother was three years younger and did not realize the peril of this situation, but at least it was another body in the room. Plus, I made sure he got the bed next to the window just in case the aforementioned crazy woman stopped by.
Eventually, though, it was decided that since I was the lone girl, I would have my own room and my brothers would bunk together. I tried to talk my brother into staying, but when my parents bought them bunk beds, that pretty much sealed the deal. They immediately began arguing over who got the top bunk.
When we were in elementary school, our bedtime was usually around 8:30. My parents stayed up for a little while longer watching TV.
Since someone already knew I didn't like to sleep alone, he took it upon himself to tiptoe quietly down the hall and crawl into my room. I usually faced the window so I could keep a lookout for Mrs. Bittles. Ron was a pretty good tiptoer and crawler, so I rarely heard him. He'd crawl underneath my bed, kick and punch my mattress (scaring the crap out of me!) then be back in his room before my parents came to see what was going on.
I told them Ronnie came in to scare me, but then he would appear in my doorway, yawning and stretching, and asking "What happened?" (Like he didn't know.)
After I had calmed down, I made my plan for revenge. I pretended to be asleep by snoring loudly...and then I would begin lightly scratching the walls with my fingers.
I'd hear Danny ask Ron "What was that?"
He'd say "Oh, it was just Annette tryin' to scare us."
"No....I don't think so, she's asleep." My snoring was quite convincing, and the added whistle at the end like they did in cartoons just made it even more believable, if I do say so myself.
Then I'd say in real high pitched voice "oooohhhhh......I'm going to peek in this window and git somebody."
Usually, this would result in my older brother laughing because he knew it was me, my younger brother crying because he believed it was Mrs. Bittles, and my dad coming down the hall saying he was going to be blistering some butts if we didn't go to sleep.
He'd go back in the den to watch TV. It was at that moment that we did something that "The Waltons" stole from us. I'd say "nite Ronnie." Ronnie would say "nite Annette, nite Danny." Danny would say "nite Ronnie, nite Annette." Then I'd say "nite Danny, nite Ronnie." Ronnie would say "you already said nite to me." Then we'd begin arguing over who we had said good nite to and who was owned a good nite..
My dad would make another trip down the hall. "I thought I told y'all to get to sleep. If I hear one more peep out of any of you, you won't be able to sit down for a week." Then he'd retreat back to the den.
I'd hear Ronnie whisper to Dan, "peep, peep, peep." Dan and I would begin snickering. Then Ronnie would holler to my dad that Danny and I were keeping him awake.
Danny and I would then begin saying "UH-UH!! Ronnie started it."
Ronnie would say "No, I didn't. You and Danny are just tryin' to get my in trouble."
It was usually around this time that my dad would come back down the hall...but he wouldn't be alone. In his hand, he held.....a belt. A belt that we were all familiar with.
When the belt appeared, it was time to go to sleep. Usually, the belt just made a quick visit to our respective bedrooms. My dad didn't have to say anything. He just stood in the doorway with the belt in plain view. It was a scene straight out of a Clint Eastwood western. He'd turn, and leave....just like The Man With No Name in "The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly."
That visit was usually enough to know that the nighttime frivolity was over. If the belt had to make another trip down the hall, it wasn't not going to be a pleasure trip.
After watching a few episodes of "Supernanny", our bedroom routine was eerily similar to some of those heathens Nanny Jo has to deal with every week.
Except for one thing.
Someone needs to introduce Nanny Jo to "the belt." I guarantee you she could probably get those kids to pipe down and go to sleep in 15 minutes.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
The Legend of Mrs. Bittles
Mrs. Bittles (not her real name) was our neighborhood crazy lady. She lived on the street behind ours.
We didn't really know too much about her except for what we had been told by other people and what we made up because it sounded good.
Here's what we knew to be true about her:
a) she lived alone in a home on the street behind ours
b) she had no car and she walked EVERYWHERE!
Here's what may or may not have been true about her:
a) The purse that she always had with her was chock full of money because she did not believe in banks. It also contained a very large knife.
b) She paid cash for her house.
c) Her late husband had been a professor at Georgia Tech; she went crazy after he died.
d) She had no children.
e) She had children, but they had as little as possible to do with her and were only interested in her money.
f) She had special powers.
Here are a few of the stories I had heard about Mrs. Bittles.
Janet Pendleton's mom came home from work one afternoon. As she walked down the hallway, she heard a noise in the bathroom. It was too early for Janet's dad to be home from work and Janet and her sisters were still at school. Janet's mom peeked in the bathroom and found Mrs. Bittles taking a bubble bath in their tub.
Mike Harris's mom came home from the grocery store one morning. As she got out of her car she noticed the back door was wide open. She knew for a fact that she had closed the door when she left. As she walked towards the house, she smelled bacon. Mrs. Bittles was in her kitchen and cooking herself some breakfast.
My own personal story about Mrs. Bittles:
My dad was sitting in our front yard one evening enjoying his after dinner coke and Mrs. Bittles was walking down the street. She saw my dad and began walking towards him. My brothers and I ran in the house because this was, after all, crazy Mrs. Bittles.
To our utter astonishment, my dad got a lawn chair for her to sit in, and called for us to bring another coke out because we had company. When my brothers and I began arguing over who was going to be the one to bring the coke out, my mom told us to knock it off. She grabbed a coke out of the refrigerator and went outside to sit.
My brothers and I ran to my bedroom because my window was the closest and offered the best view. Plus, we figured if Mrs. Bittles whipped that knife out of her purse, we could easily call the cops since the phone was just down the hall.
Mrs. Bittles introduced herself to my parents. This was the first time all of them had met. She told my parents where she lived and how long she had lived there. As I recall, the conversation ran the gamut. They talked about religion and what was wrong with the world. She told my parents about the depression and how she had lived through it. She talked about how wasteful people were and how they didn't take care of things they had.
To prove her point, she told my parents about the things people threw away and all of the things she found in her roadside travels. She opened her purse and took out a grocery bag. We thought for sure that this was the fabled money we had heard so much about.
She opened the bag and asked my parents to look inside. My mom said there had to have been 100 plastic combs in that bag. Mrs. Bittles said she could not believe the fact that people threw away perfectly good combs. She offered some of them to my parents, but they politely declined.
She also pulled out a couple of coke bottles she had found. She could not believe that someone had thrown them away when they could have returned them to the store and gotten back a dime.
As the sun began to go down, she got up to leave. She thanked my dad for the coke and the conversation and left. That was the only time we were personally visited by Mrs. Bittles.
We were extremely disappointed that none of our questions had been answered. We still did not know if she had all her money and a big knife in her purse. She had not mentioned anything about her husband or her kids if she had any. All in all, we were extremely unhappy that our parents had not taken the opportunity to find out any of this important information so that we could add it to our Mrs. Bittles file.
My dad told us in no uncertain terms that we were to leave that poor woman alone. We were not to bother her in any way, shape, or form and if he caught us or HEARD of us doing anything, we'd have him to answer to. That threat was enough to make us steer clear of Mrs. Bittles' house and give her a wide berth when she walked down the street. We did not talk TO her, but it did not stop us from talking ABOUT her.
Mrs. Bittles served a very useful purpose to all of the kids in the neighborhood. We used her as an instrument of torment against pesky little brother and sisters.
For instance, suppose your little brother was playing with a toy that you wanted to play with. You couldn't just yank it away from him, because he would just go tattle to mama and get you in trouble.
So, what you did was just look at him and say, "Mrs. Bittles touched that." His face would go white and he would immediately toss the toy away. It was a known fact that if you touched anything Mrs. Bittles touched, something bad would happen to you before the day was over.
All you had to do at that point was mumble some sort of jibberish to "break the Bittles spell" and the toy was now yours to play with.
We also told our brothers (or sisters) that Mrs. Bittles like to look in people's windows at night. For added effect, we would go to the window below my (uh, I mean somebody else's) brother's window and stand there in the dirt so that we could leave footprints. Then go get the disbelieving brother and show him the prints.
Oh, it made bedtime so much MORE fun! With each dog bark and leaf rustle, you would whisper "There she is.....listen!" Invariable, this would lead to a mom or dad having to come to the room and sit with him until he went finally went to sleep.....and telling you they'd deal with you the next day.
Here's another good one. Suppose your mom asked you to babysit your little brother while she ran to the store. You didn't want to because it was almost time for "Days of Our Lives" and you knew just as soon as your mom walked out the door, your little brother would immediately pulling out all stops to aggravate the h*ll out of you and ultimately you would wind up missing the episode where Stefano Dimeara came back from the dead for the 15th time.
Not to fear! As soon as said brother began to act up, all you had to do was walk towards the phone and tell him you were going to call Mrs. Bittles and have her "come git 'im". Usually, that was enough to stop him in his tracks. But occasionally, he would push a little more.
At that point, it called for a little something extra. You picked up the phone and actually began to call Mrs. Bittles. (Actually, you were calling the number for the time and temperature, but he never knew that.) That in and of itself granted you the serenity to watch Stefano come back to life in peace.
Ultimately, Mrs. Bittles met a sad fate. She was walking in traffic and was struck by a car. Had she been younger, she probably would have survived, but she fell and broke her hip. She wound up having to go in a nursing home where she died about a month later. But her spirit (figuratively and literally) lived on.
We didn't really know too much about her except for what we had been told by other people and what we made up because it sounded good.
Here's what we knew to be true about her:
a) she lived alone in a home on the street behind ours
b) she had no car and she walked EVERYWHERE!
Here's what may or may not have been true about her:
a) The purse that she always had with her was chock full of money because she did not believe in banks. It also contained a very large knife.
b) She paid cash for her house.
c) Her late husband had been a professor at Georgia Tech; she went crazy after he died.
d) She had no children.
e) She had children, but they had as little as possible to do with her and were only interested in her money.
f) She had special powers.
Here are a few of the stories I had heard about Mrs. Bittles.
Janet Pendleton's mom came home from work one afternoon. As she walked down the hallway, she heard a noise in the bathroom. It was too early for Janet's dad to be home from work and Janet and her sisters were still at school. Janet's mom peeked in the bathroom and found Mrs. Bittles taking a bubble bath in their tub.
Mike Harris's mom came home from the grocery store one morning. As she got out of her car she noticed the back door was wide open. She knew for a fact that she had closed the door when she left. As she walked towards the house, she smelled bacon. Mrs. Bittles was in her kitchen and cooking herself some breakfast.
My own personal story about Mrs. Bittles:
My dad was sitting in our front yard one evening enjoying his after dinner coke and Mrs. Bittles was walking down the street. She saw my dad and began walking towards him. My brothers and I ran in the house because this was, after all, crazy Mrs. Bittles.
To our utter astonishment, my dad got a lawn chair for her to sit in, and called for us to bring another coke out because we had company. When my brothers and I began arguing over who was going to be the one to bring the coke out, my mom told us to knock it off. She grabbed a coke out of the refrigerator and went outside to sit.
My brothers and I ran to my bedroom because my window was the closest and offered the best view. Plus, we figured if Mrs. Bittles whipped that knife out of her purse, we could easily call the cops since the phone was just down the hall.
Mrs. Bittles introduced herself to my parents. This was the first time all of them had met. She told my parents where she lived and how long she had lived there. As I recall, the conversation ran the gamut. They talked about religion and what was wrong with the world. She told my parents about the depression and how she had lived through it. She talked about how wasteful people were and how they didn't take care of things they had.
To prove her point, she told my parents about the things people threw away and all of the things she found in her roadside travels. She opened her purse and took out a grocery bag. We thought for sure that this was the fabled money we had heard so much about.
She opened the bag and asked my parents to look inside. My mom said there had to have been 100 plastic combs in that bag. Mrs. Bittles said she could not believe the fact that people threw away perfectly good combs. She offered some of them to my parents, but they politely declined.
She also pulled out a couple of coke bottles she had found. She could not believe that someone had thrown them away when they could have returned them to the store and gotten back a dime.
As the sun began to go down, she got up to leave. She thanked my dad for the coke and the conversation and left. That was the only time we were personally visited by Mrs. Bittles.
We were extremely disappointed that none of our questions had been answered. We still did not know if she had all her money and a big knife in her purse. She had not mentioned anything about her husband or her kids if she had any. All in all, we were extremely unhappy that our parents had not taken the opportunity to find out any of this important information so that we could add it to our Mrs. Bittles file.
My dad told us in no uncertain terms that we were to leave that poor woman alone. We were not to bother her in any way, shape, or form and if he caught us or HEARD of us doing anything, we'd have him to answer to. That threat was enough to make us steer clear of Mrs. Bittles' house and give her a wide berth when she walked down the street. We did not talk TO her, but it did not stop us from talking ABOUT her.
Mrs. Bittles served a very useful purpose to all of the kids in the neighborhood. We used her as an instrument of torment against pesky little brother and sisters.
For instance, suppose your little brother was playing with a toy that you wanted to play with. You couldn't just yank it away from him, because he would just go tattle to mama and get you in trouble.
So, what you did was just look at him and say, "Mrs. Bittles touched that." His face would go white and he would immediately toss the toy away. It was a known fact that if you touched anything Mrs. Bittles touched, something bad would happen to you before the day was over.
All you had to do at that point was mumble some sort of jibberish to "break the Bittles spell" and the toy was now yours to play with.
We also told our brothers (or sisters) that Mrs. Bittles like to look in people's windows at night. For added effect, we would go to the window below my (uh, I mean somebody else's) brother's window and stand there in the dirt so that we could leave footprints. Then go get the disbelieving brother and show him the prints.
Oh, it made bedtime so much MORE fun! With each dog bark and leaf rustle, you would whisper "There she is.....listen!" Invariable, this would lead to a mom or dad having to come to the room and sit with him until he went finally went to sleep.....and telling you they'd deal with you the next day.
Here's another good one. Suppose your mom asked you to babysit your little brother while she ran to the store. You didn't want to because it was almost time for "Days of Our Lives" and you knew just as soon as your mom walked out the door, your little brother would immediately pulling out all stops to aggravate the h*ll out of you and ultimately you would wind up missing the episode where Stefano Dimeara came back from the dead for the 15th time.
Not to fear! As soon as said brother began to act up, all you had to do was walk towards the phone and tell him you were going to call Mrs. Bittles and have her "come git 'im". Usually, that was enough to stop him in his tracks. But occasionally, he would push a little more.
At that point, it called for a little something extra. You picked up the phone and actually began to call Mrs. Bittles. (Actually, you were calling the number for the time and temperature, but he never knew that.) That in and of itself granted you the serenity to watch Stefano come back to life in peace.
Ultimately, Mrs. Bittles met a sad fate. She was walking in traffic and was struck by a car. Had she been younger, she probably would have survived, but she fell and broke her hip. She wound up having to go in a nursing home where she died about a month later. But her spirit (figuratively and literally) lived on.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Easy Rider
Jane eventually met the man of her dreams....or at least someone who was willing to pay her bills and buy her stuff.
When she first started talking about this guy (let's just call him Bill), you'd have thought he had Elvis' looks and Rockerfellers' money. She went on and on about how good looking he was and when they got married she wasn't going to have to worry about anything.
When we finally met this specimen, we were somewhat let down. In retrospect, she may have been telling the truth. He did look a little like Elvis; the 1977 version of Elvis.....except the 1977 Elvis looked much better.
As for Rockerfeller's money, it was Rockerfeller's ne'er do well cousin's money. Oh, he had money all right because he did work. He had his own painting business. Since he had no employees and he insisted on being paid in cash, it seemed like he had tons of money, but since he spent everything as soon as he got it he was no wealthier than anyone else in our neighborhood.
He was also EXTREMELY arrogant. There was absolutely NOTHING that you could tell this man that he did not already know or already done. He was an expert on anything and everything. In short, he was an a**hole.
He also had a son who was about 13 and a miniaturized version of Bill. He was even MORE of an a**hole than his dad.
And so....it came to pass that the one day when the lady (Jane) met this fellow (Bill), they knew that it was much more than a hunch that this group must somehow form a family and that's the way they all became the Stewart bunch. (sorry, I couldn't resist).
Bill's son...let's just call him Little Bill was the exact same age as Laurie. She hated him and he hated her. Jane hated him, too. He just didn't fit into her plans and if nothing else was just a constant source of irritation for both her and Laurie. LeeAnn didn't care because she stayed in enough trouble herself.
The conflicts that arose between Laurie, Jane, Bill and Bill Jr were not pretty and funny at all. Let's just say that it's the typical stuff you read about with blended families not getting along, taking sides, and kids doing everything possible to get each other in trouble and get their parents to hate each other.
The best thing Jane and Bill could have done was to hold off on getting married until their kids got of age and out of the house. You can pretty much fill in the blanks on what ultimately happened to the marriage.
Anyway, for whatever reason, Bill got a wild hair one day and decided to buy a motorcycle. Not one of those cheap-a** Japanese pieces of crap (his words), but a REAL motorcycle. He bought a Harley Davidson.
It was white, loaded with chrome, had a big windshield and looked similar to one's the cops rode. It was big. And it was loud.
He took it upon himself to take it door to door to show all of the dads in the neighborhood. He had to since none of them made it a point to come down to his house to say "I heard you bought a bike, where'd you get it, how much did you pay", etc....all of the typical nosey neighbor questions.
No one really cared, but to be polite they acted interested.
One thing I've forgotten to mention in ANY of these stories is Laurie and LeeAnn's dog. They had a dog that was a combination chihuahua and Pekingnese. She was black and white, chihuahua temperament with a Pekingnese face. Her name was Rochelle.
Jane and Laurie treated this dog like a princess. LeeAnn treated her like a dog. Laurie and Jane would "talk" to this dog in this high pitched, extremely irritating whine and actually carry on a conversation with each other via "Shaley" (this was what they called Rochelle during these "conversations".
Here's a typical conversation:
L: Is Shaley hungry? Her better go tell her mama she's hungry. Yes, she better! Oh yes she better!
J (acting as Shaley's voice): Yes I am hungry! Tell Laurie she needs to give me a little piece of her chicken.
L (also acting as Shaley's voice): But your chicken looks so much better, mama. Shaley wants your piece of chicken, instead.
LeeAnn (speaking as herself): Why don't both of you give her your chicken if your finished with it.
J and L (speaking as themselves): Oh LeeAnn, stop being so selfish and give her your chicken.
LeeAnn: No. I'm still eating. Y'all are the ones offering up each other's dinner to the dog when I've already given her a perfectly good Gainesburger.
In short, as far as Laurie and Jane was concerned the sun rose and set on Rochelle. And as far as Bill (and Bill Jr, for that matter) that dog was a nemisis and a general pain in the rear.
One summer evening, shortly after Bill got his motorcycle everyone in the neighborhood it seemed was out in their yard. Lawns were being mowed, people were exchanging home grown garden vegetables with each other, kids were playing, dads were working on cars or reading papers, etc. Everyone was out and about.
So, Bill took this as the prime opportunity to get his motorcycle out and remind everyone that he had one. He made a big production of sitting on it, putting on his helmet, starting it up and revving it up to attract an audience.
He began rolling it off of the carport and slowly went down the driveway. Rochelle was out in the yard minding her own business (and doing her business).
Bill decided since he had this huge audience, he was going to do something he had wanted to do every since he laid eyes on Rochelle. He turned the bike towards her and began chasing her through the yard.
Laurie began screaming and everyone stopped to see what was going on.
And that's when it happened.
Rochelle took a sharp turn to run away and Bill followed....but the motorcycle didn't. Bill fell off the bike and the bike slid across the yard.
The entire neighborhood witnessed the event and everyone laughed. To add insult to injury, Bill landed squarely in Rochelle's freshmade "business", which made it all the more funnier.
He picked up the bike, rolled it back on the carport, went back in the house and slammed the door behind him.
And (because some people in our neighborhood like to keep that pot stirred up) for a long time afterwards, anytime they saw Bill, they'd ask him when he was going to put on another show for everyone just to watch his face get beet red.
When she first started talking about this guy (let's just call him Bill), you'd have thought he had Elvis' looks and Rockerfellers' money. She went on and on about how good looking he was and when they got married she wasn't going to have to worry about anything.
When we finally met this specimen, we were somewhat let down. In retrospect, she may have been telling the truth. He did look a little like Elvis; the 1977 version of Elvis.....except the 1977 Elvis looked much better.
As for Rockerfeller's money, it was Rockerfeller's ne'er do well cousin's money. Oh, he had money all right because he did work. He had his own painting business. Since he had no employees and he insisted on being paid in cash, it seemed like he had tons of money, but since he spent everything as soon as he got it he was no wealthier than anyone else in our neighborhood.
He was also EXTREMELY arrogant. There was absolutely NOTHING that you could tell this man that he did not already know or already done. He was an expert on anything and everything. In short, he was an a**hole.
He also had a son who was about 13 and a miniaturized version of Bill. He was even MORE of an a**hole than his dad.
And so....it came to pass that the one day when the lady (Jane) met this fellow (Bill), they knew that it was much more than a hunch that this group must somehow form a family and that's the way they all became the Stewart bunch. (sorry, I couldn't resist).
Bill's son...let's just call him Little Bill was the exact same age as Laurie. She hated him and he hated her. Jane hated him, too. He just didn't fit into her plans and if nothing else was just a constant source of irritation for both her and Laurie. LeeAnn didn't care because she stayed in enough trouble herself.
The conflicts that arose between Laurie, Jane, Bill and Bill Jr were not pretty and funny at all. Let's just say that it's the typical stuff you read about with blended families not getting along, taking sides, and kids doing everything possible to get each other in trouble and get their parents to hate each other.
The best thing Jane and Bill could have done was to hold off on getting married until their kids got of age and out of the house. You can pretty much fill in the blanks on what ultimately happened to the marriage.
Anyway, for whatever reason, Bill got a wild hair one day and decided to buy a motorcycle. Not one of those cheap-a** Japanese pieces of crap (his words), but a REAL motorcycle. He bought a Harley Davidson.
It was white, loaded with chrome, had a big windshield and looked similar to one's the cops rode. It was big. And it was loud.
He took it upon himself to take it door to door to show all of the dads in the neighborhood. He had to since none of them made it a point to come down to his house to say "I heard you bought a bike, where'd you get it, how much did you pay", etc....all of the typical nosey neighbor questions.
No one really cared, but to be polite they acted interested.
One thing I've forgotten to mention in ANY of these stories is Laurie and LeeAnn's dog. They had a dog that was a combination chihuahua and Pekingnese. She was black and white, chihuahua temperament with a Pekingnese face. Her name was Rochelle.
Jane and Laurie treated this dog like a princess. LeeAnn treated her like a dog. Laurie and Jane would "talk" to this dog in this high pitched, extremely irritating whine and actually carry on a conversation with each other via "Shaley" (this was what they called Rochelle during these "conversations".
Here's a typical conversation:
L: Is Shaley hungry? Her better go tell her mama she's hungry. Yes, she better! Oh yes she better!
J (acting as Shaley's voice): Yes I am hungry! Tell Laurie she needs to give me a little piece of her chicken.
L (also acting as Shaley's voice): But your chicken looks so much better, mama. Shaley wants your piece of chicken, instead.
LeeAnn (speaking as herself): Why don't both of you give her your chicken if your finished with it.
J and L (speaking as themselves): Oh LeeAnn, stop being so selfish and give her your chicken.
LeeAnn: No. I'm still eating. Y'all are the ones offering up each other's dinner to the dog when I've already given her a perfectly good Gainesburger.
In short, as far as Laurie and Jane was concerned the sun rose and set on Rochelle. And as far as Bill (and Bill Jr, for that matter) that dog was a nemisis and a general pain in the rear.
One summer evening, shortly after Bill got his motorcycle everyone in the neighborhood it seemed was out in their yard. Lawns were being mowed, people were exchanging home grown garden vegetables with each other, kids were playing, dads were working on cars or reading papers, etc. Everyone was out and about.
So, Bill took this as the prime opportunity to get his motorcycle out and remind everyone that he had one. He made a big production of sitting on it, putting on his helmet, starting it up and revving it up to attract an audience.
He began rolling it off of the carport and slowly went down the driveway. Rochelle was out in the yard minding her own business (and doing her business).
Bill decided since he had this huge audience, he was going to do something he had wanted to do every since he laid eyes on Rochelle. He turned the bike towards her and began chasing her through the yard.
Laurie began screaming and everyone stopped to see what was going on.
And that's when it happened.
Rochelle took a sharp turn to run away and Bill followed....but the motorcycle didn't. Bill fell off the bike and the bike slid across the yard.
The entire neighborhood witnessed the event and everyone laughed. To add insult to injury, Bill landed squarely in Rochelle's freshmade "business", which made it all the more funnier.
He picked up the bike, rolled it back on the carport, went back in the house and slammed the door behind him.
And (because some people in our neighborhood like to keep that pot stirred up) for a long time afterwards, anytime they saw Bill, they'd ask him when he was going to put on another show for everyone just to watch his face get beet red.
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