Thursday, March 25, 2010
Doing the Ditty
This isn't really blog-post material persay, but I just wanted to confess to you Dod that I oftentimes find myself in the gym bored of my ipod mix and I think, hmm, why not see what is on Pandora. Since you have a blueberry, I will explain: You can stream Pandora directly to your iphone and listen to whatever station you like. So I am looking through my recently searched stations and what do I see...90% rap artists of the 90's-2000's. Example of my station selections: "JaRule Radio," "Jay-Z Radio," "Beyonce Radio," and most embarrassing "Southern Rap." Sure I have a few acceptable choices (Kings of Leon, Jack Johnson...well those are my only 2 non-rap stations). When will this 102 Jamz selection in my head end? I realize it is odd to still dream of blasting these tunes from the Volvo with the sunroof down cruising, but that is some good music Dod! Little Burl just reminded me of Paperboy's "The Ditty" and I am now off to download it to my ipod before heading to the gym. Although Seth has a 20 page CD album of hits from this same time period, including Snoop Dog's nasty CD with that girl cartoon on it, he does not share my love of old rap. Even that does not stop me. If I have kids one day, I am going to buy those kid-friendly rap mixes and secretly blast it in my minivan when Seth isn't with me. I bet my little big-headed future children will love to nod their heads to Country Grammar by Nelly...
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Appealing a Misdemeanor
Well, well, well Burl, I do accept your blog challenge and boy, have I got a story for you...
You probably well remember that I loathe traffic. You probably also well remember the many times I have pulled over by Coppers... in Eden, in Greensboro, in Raleigh, in Virginia... I suppose having a Pink Tracker attracts pervy policeman like honey attracts bees. Thirdly, I am sure you remember the many times I have talked my way out of tickets at the alleged crime scene and inside various courthouses.
You should know that old habits die hard.
As good a gal as I have become, and as much as I long to walk in sheer perfection, my history with police still threatens to ruin me. Now, all I was doing was driving home from a dressy event at our church (of course, it was at church - that adds an ironic element of humor to this fascinating account). The route I elected to take home was a strange one, up an unusual street called Wilcox, which is parallel to two of the busiest streets in Hollywood: Highland and Cahuenga. I brilliantly chose this street, because I know from eight years of experience, that it allows me to successfully arrive at the 101 freeway without bumper to bumper traffic on a Saturday night.
How was I supposed to know that LAPD also likes to avoid bumper to bumper? Shouldn't they keep themselves busy on the streets where people dress up like Superman and Chewbaca, where people are murdered, drunk, and rollin' on E? Naturally not, since Ashley Nicole Dodson is en route to her home for sleep at 10 pm. She's probably a real threat to society.
Sure enough, as I crossed over Hollywood Blvd., flashing blue lights (and this is not the kind of Blue Light Special you, LaTrayl and I used to sing about) and siren sounds infiltrated my peaceful Passat, disrupting my speakers blasting an Israel Houghton CD. Curs-ed Rats, I thought, as I was forced to pull over. I am only sweating a little, since I am used to this sort of situation (See list at bottom of blog).
Woman Cop: "Ma'm, do you know why we've pulled you over?"
Ash: "Yep, my new registration is not on my license plate. It's because I can't pass my Smog test, but if you look it up, you will see that the registration is current." I hand her my license, registration and insurance card.
Banging on my tinted back window, she says a little too loudly, "Roll down your back window please!" Well, I think to myself, this is just irritating. What does she think I have back there? As I roll down my window, I say, slightly smart, "There's nothing back there but laundry." She nods her head up once, like an ex-gang banger, when she spots a huge wheat colored linen bag full of clean laundry, that has written in cursive on the outside, and now for her convenience, Laundry.
So, I wait, thinking this ridiculous issue will be taken care of in a matter of moments. I wait a little too long, in fact. Now my irritation has gone up several notches and as I look around at the drug dealers outside of their apartments on Wilcox and Yucca (a block North of Hollywood Blvd.), I begin to wonder exactly what in the world the cops are doing bothering me.
Bang, bang on my window (which I had rolled up to avoid the one day of freezing cold LA had in December). "Ma'm, can you step out of the vehicle please?!" Again, a little too loudly for a non-criminal, but yes, of course I stepped out of the vehicle... which is when I spot Cop #2, who looks like Michael Chicklis from the Shield. Sh$%, I think to myself. What is going on?! What the heck have I done? I begin racking my brain and the last time I got pulled was in 2007! And I paid for that ticket. I went to court at the West LA courthouse, sat in judgement, and paid an obscene amount of money that went to God only knows where. I've been so good-what in the world is happening?!
Fake Michael Chicklis says to me, "Ma'm you've been driving with a suspended license..." I cut him off, "I'm sorry, I've been what? How is that even possible?" FMC responds, also too loudly and firmly as though he is about to bust Tony Soprano, "I have no idea ma'm, but we are going to have to impound your vehicle."
"WHAT?! Are you serious? Wait a minute, there has to be another solution-this is ridiculous-can't I call a few friends and have them come and drive the car to my home?"
FMC says, "No ma'm, you were driving the car with a suspended liscense and we are going to impound your vehicle."
"So what the heck am I supposed to do now?" FMC answers, "Ma'm that's really not my problem, but I think you better call someone to come and get you." "Wait, I don't understand - you are going to impound my car and then leave me, a WOMAN, on WILCOX AND YUCCA, on a SATURDAY NIGHT, with her laundry basket, purse and laptop, by HERSELF?"
"Well ma'm, we'll wait here for a few minutes for the tow truck, but we're leaving after that. The best I can do is drop you off at the local Police Station where you can wait." (So much for LAPD's promise to serve and protect.) Here's where he really gets loud and weird and speaks to me like I am a Cuban Drug Lord; he narrows his eyes and says "Ma'm, do you have anything illegal in your car? Got any dope? Got any guns?"
Ok, now I am just pissed - is he joking?! "Why in the world would I have that in my car?! NO!" "Ma'm, its not personal, I just have to ask." Of course its personal! What is wrong with LAPD? What is the deal with Michael Chicklis and his sidekick trainee? Is this how movies like Training Day get written? Am I on an episode of Punked?
So, I go wait in my car. It's absolutely freezing outside and I can't feel my fingers and toes, so I turn on Polly the Passat to get a little butt warmer action going. Bang, bang, bang!!! Startled, I turn to the right where this awful noise is coming from and see FMC staring me down. I roll down the window and he practically yells, "Dontchu even THINK about going anywhere!" To which I seethe back through clenched jaw and teeth, "WHY would I do that? That would be so DUMB." And I roll up my window.
So, while I clean out my about-to-be-impounded-Volkswagen, I make the embarrassing call to Cody to come and rescue me from Dr. Evil FMC and his partner. Only, his roomate answers the phone, so I have to tell the story twice. After he says he's on his way, I of course, call my Mama.
Accustomed to calls of this nature since I was 16, she is not rattled; but she is, however upset that I didn't know I didn't have a license for Lord only knows how long. And since her hubby has served faithfully on the LAFD for 30 years or so, knows he is going to kill me... or at least think about killing me. But of course, as we move past the fact that I purportedly don't have a license for unknown reason X, her mommy instinct kicks in as I am recounting the entire scene for her tonight. And she is pissed. "I want to speak to the policeman." "Mom, that is ridiculous! No! I can't just give them my blackberry and say, 'My mom wants to talk to you.' But she says in that voice you and I know so well (the one that's kinda through gritted teeth and was used to terrify all our ex-boyfriends from Eden and make us do whatever she said at the pool), "Ashley, you better put that cop on the phone."
So, I want you to picture this: Busy apartment street in Hollywood... What appears to be drug dealers and gang members lined up alongside the dark street. In order from South to North, LAPD Cop Car, lights still flashing with a laundry basket, laptop, and extra purse of stuff leaning against the hood, Charcoal Grey VW Passat with silver piece on driver's door side panel starting to come off, and the fresh arrival of LAPD impound tow truck backing up with beep, beep, beep sounds shrieking in the night. FMC standing arms crossed like a Tito Ortiz about to fight Shamrock. Woman Cop standing next to him, slightly nervous, as this is clearly her first time impounding a vehicle or dealing with a "criminal." Ashley standing in a short grey skirt, black tights, merlot suede shoes, black t-shirt, jewelry, hair and nails done, on my blackberry with, of course, my mom.
"Excuse me," I say to both cops, "my mom would like to speak to you." Oh my God, this is hilariously embarrassing, and even FMC threatens to crack a smile at this one. Woman Cop takes my phone and begins to talk... scratch that... listen to Mom. Now, I didn't discover until later that my Mom was letting her know that if they even thought about leaving her daughter on the side of the street, that the entire team from Fire Station 43 would be arriving on the scene to protect her daughter and well, that wouldn't look too good for them, would it?
After 10 minutes on the phone with mom, I am annoyed with the cops, like really, really borderline angry (mostly because FMC had been showing me the ticket he was writing me while she was on the phone with Mom, which included giving me a MISDEMEANOR for driving with a suspended license) and the last thing I want LAPD on, is my blackberry. So, I tell Woman Cop to get off of my phone, which I then take from her and tell Mom, I will call her back later, as we watch my Passat roll away. Cody arrives a minute or two after that, so we load up my laundry, laptop, and two purses. He was so wonderfully light hearted (as opposed to screaming - what the heck is wrong with you woman!?) and loving that I was stunned, not to mention extremely grateful for the grace he had for me. Shocked Burl, shocked, because you know the kind of boneheads we have seen. So, since its Saturday night, and I can do nothing until Monday morning, I just went to sleep.
When Monday rolled around, I was quite sore from all the walking I had to do on Sunday to get anywhere (as I was a potential criminal, unable to drive, and without car and license - did I mention the cops kept my license?). But I still got up early, and with Mom, made it to the DMV, to the West LA Courthouse (where I discovered the reason for my license suspension: Although I had spent hundreds of dollars on the ticket in 2007, I had to also complete Community Service... which makes this story even more ironic, since my ENTIRE LIFE is devoted to SERVICE), then back to the DMV, to Robbie Mac's for lunch, to Hollywood Tow, to the Hollywood Police Station, then to the Hollywood Impound, and at last, back to the DMV one final time. $1200 later, all was reinstated and I can now drive legally again. Thank God, Dave Ramsey has taught me all about Emergency Savings - although, can I just say for the record, that even though its for emergencies, that its still PAINFUL to spend on said "emergency"?! And thank God for Mom, who generously covered the final bill for towing, so I could eat during the month of December.
I still have to appear in court on or before January 21st, and I promise you, I will not be receiving a "Failure to Appear" notice this time. I also have to appeal a Misdemeanor, so if you or Seth have any information on how to do this, or if you know a good lawyer who specializes in hilarious-crime-scenes-that-should-have-been-an-episode-of-Punked type of cases, please feel free to share.
I love you Burl Womble,
Dod
PS Merry Christmas
PPS I know I said (See List Below), but I actually just wrote out the list and had to delete it. WOW, do I have a rap sheet. I didn't even get past 2001 and it was too long for me to keep going. So just know that I have gotten out of too many tickets, had a lot of court cases dropped, been pulled more times than I should have been and served no jail time because I have forked over thousands of dollars to court systems in NC, CA and VA. And thank God the past is just that, PAST.
You probably well remember that I loathe traffic. You probably also well remember the many times I have pulled over by Coppers... in Eden, in Greensboro, in Raleigh, in Virginia... I suppose having a Pink Tracker attracts pervy policeman like honey attracts bees. Thirdly, I am sure you remember the many times I have talked my way out of tickets at the alleged crime scene and inside various courthouses.
You should know that old habits die hard.
As good a gal as I have become, and as much as I long to walk in sheer perfection, my history with police still threatens to ruin me. Now, all I was doing was driving home from a dressy event at our church (of course, it was at church - that adds an ironic element of humor to this fascinating account). The route I elected to take home was a strange one, up an unusual street called Wilcox, which is parallel to two of the busiest streets in Hollywood: Highland and Cahuenga. I brilliantly chose this street, because I know from eight years of experience, that it allows me to successfully arrive at the 101 freeway without bumper to bumper traffic on a Saturday night.
How was I supposed to know that LAPD also likes to avoid bumper to bumper? Shouldn't they keep themselves busy on the streets where people dress up like Superman and Chewbaca, where people are murdered, drunk, and rollin' on E? Naturally not, since Ashley Nicole Dodson is en route to her home for sleep at 10 pm. She's probably a real threat to society.
Sure enough, as I crossed over Hollywood Blvd., flashing blue lights (and this is not the kind of Blue Light Special you, LaTrayl and I used to sing about) and siren sounds infiltrated my peaceful Passat, disrupting my speakers blasting an Israel Houghton CD. Curs-ed Rats, I thought, as I was forced to pull over. I am only sweating a little, since I am used to this sort of situation (See list at bottom of blog).
Woman Cop: "Ma'm, do you know why we've pulled you over?"
Ash: "Yep, my new registration is not on my license plate. It's because I can't pass my Smog test, but if you look it up, you will see that the registration is current." I hand her my license, registration and insurance card.
Banging on my tinted back window, she says a little too loudly, "Roll down your back window please!" Well, I think to myself, this is just irritating. What does she think I have back there? As I roll down my window, I say, slightly smart, "There's nothing back there but laundry." She nods her head up once, like an ex-gang banger, when she spots a huge wheat colored linen bag full of clean laundry, that has written in cursive on the outside, and now for her convenience, Laundry.
So, I wait, thinking this ridiculous issue will be taken care of in a matter of moments. I wait a little too long, in fact. Now my irritation has gone up several notches and as I look around at the drug dealers outside of their apartments on Wilcox and Yucca (a block North of Hollywood Blvd.), I begin to wonder exactly what in the world the cops are doing bothering me.
Bang, bang on my window (which I had rolled up to avoid the one day of freezing cold LA had in December). "Ma'm, can you step out of the vehicle please?!" Again, a little too loudly for a non-criminal, but yes, of course I stepped out of the vehicle... which is when I spot Cop #2, who looks like Michael Chicklis from the Shield. Sh$%, I think to myself. What is going on?! What the heck have I done? I begin racking my brain and the last time I got pulled was in 2007! And I paid for that ticket. I went to court at the West LA courthouse, sat in judgement, and paid an obscene amount of money that went to God only knows where. I've been so good-what in the world is happening?!
Fake Michael Chicklis says to me, "Ma'm you've been driving with a suspended license..." I cut him off, "I'm sorry, I've been what? How is that even possible?" FMC responds, also too loudly and firmly as though he is about to bust Tony Soprano, "I have no idea ma'm, but we are going to have to impound your vehicle."
"WHAT?! Are you serious? Wait a minute, there has to be another solution-this is ridiculous-can't I call a few friends and have them come and drive the car to my home?"
FMC says, "No ma'm, you were driving the car with a suspended liscense and we are going to impound your vehicle."
"So what the heck am I supposed to do now?" FMC answers, "Ma'm that's really not my problem, but I think you better call someone to come and get you." "Wait, I don't understand - you are going to impound my car and then leave me, a WOMAN, on WILCOX AND YUCCA, on a SATURDAY NIGHT, with her laundry basket, purse and laptop, by HERSELF?"
"Well ma'm, we'll wait here for a few minutes for the tow truck, but we're leaving after that. The best I can do is drop you off at the local Police Station where you can wait." (So much for LAPD's promise to serve and protect.) Here's where he really gets loud and weird and speaks to me like I am a Cuban Drug Lord; he narrows his eyes and says "Ma'm, do you have anything illegal in your car? Got any dope? Got any guns?"
Ok, now I am just pissed - is he joking?! "Why in the world would I have that in my car?! NO!" "Ma'm, its not personal, I just have to ask." Of course its personal! What is wrong with LAPD? What is the deal with Michael Chicklis and his sidekick trainee? Is this how movies like Training Day get written? Am I on an episode of Punked?
So, I go wait in my car. It's absolutely freezing outside and I can't feel my fingers and toes, so I turn on Polly the Passat to get a little butt warmer action going. Bang, bang, bang!!! Startled, I turn to the right where this awful noise is coming from and see FMC staring me down. I roll down the window and he practically yells, "Dontchu even THINK about going anywhere!" To which I seethe back through clenched jaw and teeth, "WHY would I do that? That would be so DUMB." And I roll up my window.
So, while I clean out my about-to-be-impounded-Volkswagen, I make the embarrassing call to Cody to come and rescue me from Dr. Evil FMC and his partner. Only, his roomate answers the phone, so I have to tell the story twice. After he says he's on his way, I of course, call my Mama.
Accustomed to calls of this nature since I was 16, she is not rattled; but she is, however upset that I didn't know I didn't have a license for Lord only knows how long. And since her hubby has served faithfully on the LAFD for 30 years or so, knows he is going to kill me... or at least think about killing me. But of course, as we move past the fact that I purportedly don't have a license for unknown reason X, her mommy instinct kicks in as I am recounting the entire scene for her tonight. And she is pissed. "I want to speak to the policeman." "Mom, that is ridiculous! No! I can't just give them my blackberry and say, 'My mom wants to talk to you.' But she says in that voice you and I know so well (the one that's kinda through gritted teeth and was used to terrify all our ex-boyfriends from Eden and make us do whatever she said at the pool), "Ashley, you better put that cop on the phone."
So, I want you to picture this: Busy apartment street in Hollywood... What appears to be drug dealers and gang members lined up alongside the dark street. In order from South to North, LAPD Cop Car, lights still flashing with a laundry basket, laptop, and extra purse of stuff leaning against the hood, Charcoal Grey VW Passat with silver piece on driver's door side panel starting to come off, and the fresh arrival of LAPD impound tow truck backing up with beep, beep, beep sounds shrieking in the night. FMC standing arms crossed like a Tito Ortiz about to fight Shamrock. Woman Cop standing next to him, slightly nervous, as this is clearly her first time impounding a vehicle or dealing with a "criminal." Ashley standing in a short grey skirt, black tights, merlot suede shoes, black t-shirt, jewelry, hair and nails done, on my blackberry with, of course, my mom.
"Excuse me," I say to both cops, "my mom would like to speak to you." Oh my God, this is hilariously embarrassing, and even FMC threatens to crack a smile at this one. Woman Cop takes my phone and begins to talk... scratch that... listen to Mom. Now, I didn't discover until later that my Mom was letting her know that if they even thought about leaving her daughter on the side of the street, that the entire team from Fire Station 43 would be arriving on the scene to protect her daughter and well, that wouldn't look too good for them, would it?
After 10 minutes on the phone with mom, I am annoyed with the cops, like really, really borderline angry (mostly because FMC had been showing me the ticket he was writing me while she was on the phone with Mom, which included giving me a MISDEMEANOR for driving with a suspended license) and the last thing I want LAPD on, is my blackberry. So, I tell Woman Cop to get off of my phone, which I then take from her and tell Mom, I will call her back later, as we watch my Passat roll away. Cody arrives a minute or two after that, so we load up my laundry, laptop, and two purses. He was so wonderfully light hearted (as opposed to screaming - what the heck is wrong with you woman!?) and loving that I was stunned, not to mention extremely grateful for the grace he had for me. Shocked Burl, shocked, because you know the kind of boneheads we have seen. So, since its Saturday night, and I can do nothing until Monday morning, I just went to sleep.
When Monday rolled around, I was quite sore from all the walking I had to do on Sunday to get anywhere (as I was a potential criminal, unable to drive, and without car and license - did I mention the cops kept my license?). But I still got up early, and with Mom, made it to the DMV, to the West LA Courthouse (where I discovered the reason for my license suspension: Although I had spent hundreds of dollars on the ticket in 2007, I had to also complete Community Service... which makes this story even more ironic, since my ENTIRE LIFE is devoted to SERVICE), then back to the DMV, to Robbie Mac's for lunch, to Hollywood Tow, to the Hollywood Police Station, then to the Hollywood Impound, and at last, back to the DMV one final time. $1200 later, all was reinstated and I can now drive legally again. Thank God, Dave Ramsey has taught me all about Emergency Savings - although, can I just say for the record, that even though its for emergencies, that its still PAINFUL to spend on said "emergency"?! And thank God for Mom, who generously covered the final bill for towing, so I could eat during the month of December.
I still have to appear in court on or before January 21st, and I promise you, I will not be receiving a "Failure to Appear" notice this time. I also have to appeal a Misdemeanor, so if you or Seth have any information on how to do this, or if you know a good lawyer who specializes in hilarious-crime-scenes-that-should-have-been-an-episode-of-Punked type of cases, please feel free to share.
I love you Burl Womble,
Dod
PS Merry Christmas
PPS I know I said (See List Below), but I actually just wrote out the list and had to delete it. WOW, do I have a rap sheet. I didn't even get past 2001 and it was too long for me to keep going. So just know that I have gotten out of too many tickets, had a lot of court cases dropped, been pulled more times than I should have been and served no jail time because I have forked over thousands of dollars to court systems in NC, CA and VA. And thank God the past is just that, PAST.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Merry Christmas
Well, I am still in wait for your fantastically promised Christmas gift/blog, so Dod, GET ON IT!
While I wait, I will put a bit of filler on our blog since our followers have probably given up on us. We are the epitome of the people who are so excited to start a blog, and then within 6 months have neglected it like an old pair of tapered jeans from 1994 (which I would love to have back since they would tuck nicely into my target boots serving as surrogate skinny jeans). So I challenge us to improve our blogging, although we are both so busy this more a hopeful dream.
I had a great Christmas day as my family and my in-laws all gathered at my townhome (or "the box" as my mom calls it) to surprise me after I got off of a 12 hour shift at the hospital-how amazing! Definitely my best gift! Among other fantastic gifts, my family and I participated in a dirty Santa as-seen-on-tv/regift gift exchange. Needless to say, I was excited. I made a trip to Bed Bath and Beyond to secure my purchases. I gifted others with Billy May's slider station (makes perfect slider burgers, also on clearance for $9.99-a sign of it's uselessness) and some other random things. The slider station was the hit and resulted in many "owners" trying to give it away to others. The best gift was not seen on TV, but it was a set of thumb wrestling character covers for your thumbs. One was named "El Diablo." I think it goes without saying that I HAD TO HAVE this thumb wrestling kit. Unfortunately my Grandma stole them from me and left me with a cats-in-clothes stationary set. Two (naked) thumbs down.
Well this will do it for my short blog update, but I hope you had a wonderful Christmas too. I love you Dodster, always have, always will. Oh yeah, I forget to tell you that my mom revealed to me that my Aunt has blocked both me and you from her facebook updates because she says we communicate too much on Facebook and clog up her updates. AHHAHAHAHAHAHA! Gotta love her honesty. Hope she isn't reading this and is offended by it, but I consider that so funny.
P.S. Tell Cody that I noticed he is participating in an online pillow fight via Fb. Now you know I don't participate in these games due to my hypochondriac online computer virus fear, but I just saw that he was "hit" with a memory pillow and Dod I just can't help but think that is a terrible pillow fight choice of weapons because if anyone was really hit with a memory pillow in real life, they would be unconscious. Sure, a big noggin like ours could sustain a blow like this, but Seth's smaller head would be bashed in by such a weapon. Play it safe Cody, wear a helmet, I don't know how large his head is, but better to be safe than sorry (motto of my life).
Love you,
Burl (please enjoy fake small head photo attached courtesy of photobooth!)
While I wait, I will put a bit of filler on our blog since our followers have probably given up on us. We are the epitome of the people who are so excited to start a blog, and then within 6 months have neglected it like an old pair of tapered jeans from 1994 (which I would love to have back since they would tuck nicely into my target boots serving as surrogate skinny jeans). So I challenge us to improve our blogging, although we are both so busy this more a hopeful dream.
I had a great Christmas day as my family and my in-laws all gathered at my townhome (or "the box" as my mom calls it) to surprise me after I got off of a 12 hour shift at the hospital-how amazing! Definitely my best gift! Among other fantastic gifts, my family and I participated in a dirty Santa as-seen-on-tv/regift gift exchange. Needless to say, I was excited. I made a trip to Bed Bath and Beyond to secure my purchases. I gifted others with Billy May's slider station (makes perfect slider burgers, also on clearance for $9.99-a sign of it's uselessness) and some other random things. The slider station was the hit and resulted in many "owners" trying to give it away to others. The best gift was not seen on TV, but it was a set of thumb wrestling character covers for your thumbs. One was named "El Diablo." I think it goes without saying that I HAD TO HAVE this thumb wrestling kit. Unfortunately my Grandma stole them from me and left me with a cats-in-clothes stationary set. Two (naked) thumbs down.
Well this will do it for my short blog update, but I hope you had a wonderful Christmas too. I love you Dodster, always have, always will. Oh yeah, I forget to tell you that my mom revealed to me that my Aunt has blocked both me and you from her facebook updates because she says we communicate too much on Facebook and clog up her updates. AHHAHAHAHAHAHA! Gotta love her honesty. Hope she isn't reading this and is offended by it, but I consider that so funny.
P.S. Tell Cody that I noticed he is participating in an online pillow fight via Fb. Now you know I don't participate in these games due to my hypochondriac online computer virus fear, but I just saw that he was "hit" with a memory pillow and Dod I just can't help but think that is a terrible pillow fight choice of weapons because if anyone was really hit with a memory pillow in real life, they would be unconscious. Sure, a big noggin like ours could sustain a blow like this, but Seth's smaller head would be bashed in by such a weapon. Play it safe Cody, wear a helmet, I don't know how large his head is, but better to be safe than sorry (motto of my life).
Love you,
Burl (please enjoy fake small head photo attached courtesy of photobooth!)
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Dear Dod,
You are not gonna believe what I found in Cary, NC...a childhood prodigy. His name is Reese and he is a balloon art salesman. He makes balloon animals and takes tips (he strongly encourages you to leave a tip--a little pushy for my taste, but hey I don't know the going rate is for balloons these days). There I was: at The Loop, waiting for my takeout because Seth and I are just lazy enough to go all the way to the restaurant, order takeout, wait for 15 minutes, and go home to eat it on our couch like ill-mannered slobs. So back to The Loop. I saw a little gentleman, about 4 feet tall, give or take half a foot, he was clad in a tuxedo minus the jacket. I have to say at this point I observed him from a distance because I was intrigued by what on earth a little man in a tuxedo would be doing in The Loop (grill and pizza). Apparently, he was drumming up business. I begged Seth for a dollar since I never have cash (sshhh, don't tell Dave Ramsey, but I still use my debit card) and I walked over with a big grin and asked the little penguin-suited boy for a balloon animal. Well, turns out he is a confident little sucker and he nonchalantly held his hand out (with a half-smile, half-eye-roll) to guide me to his workstation (AKA: a booth) for assembly of the balloon art. I could tell that he was thinking in his smug little business boy head, "man this woman is sad, asking a kid for a balloon animal, get a life." He was all of 8 years old and I could tell he thought he was 32. Once we got to his business booth, he asked me what type of animal I wanted. I requested a dog and pointed to my sweet baby Wilbur who was in the parking lot hanging out of the car window waiting on us. Well, Mr. Entreprenuer said, "OK, I can do a dog, what colors to want?" He pulled out a plastic box with 100 balloons of varying colors, and I picked a few. All of the sudden, 2 little girls, who must have been family friends or relatives, came over and started picking up his gear (balloon pump, balloons, business cards, etc.). He sternly looks at them and says, "please do not touch ANYTHING that is PLASTIC on this table!!" So then, they (and I) thought it was funny to touch his tip jar, which admittedly was not plastic. So then he looks up from structuring my balloon art to glare are them and state, "PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH ANYTHING ON MY TABLE!" I was holding back a giggle. I could tell he was peeved that I had laughter in my eyes, so I tried to make him feel better by talking business with him. I asked him how long he had been doing this (since age 6), where did he usually "perform" (all types of functions, he had a 100 person birthday party booked in Wake Forest next weekend, he charges extra for an event that far out, since gas is so expensive...). Uhhh-yeah, I and everyone else OVER 16 who drives know that, but how do you know that kid?? Well the dog was eventually finished and not to be mean to a kid/adult in a child body, but that was a sorry looking balloon dog. He even threw in some sharpie-drawn eyes, but it looked like crap. I thanked him and stuck my dollar bill halfway in the opening to his tip jar, it didn't fall down, so he takes his little hand and pops the dollar on top right into the tip jar in front of me. I almost peed my pants laughing at this whole spectacle. It was fantastic. I wish the dog-balloon had not shriveled up in one day or I would have a picture for you to see. However, there is hope, I was at The Loop again this week and that little business rascal has put up a set of his cards by the register. He apparently appears there every Thursday night. I might just go back and talk business with him.
You are welcome for all of the southern phrases/words I used in this post. I hope your Cali friends don't think I am 100% redneck.
Love you always,
Burl-Womble
You are not gonna believe what I found in Cary, NC...a childhood prodigy. His name is Reese and he is a balloon art salesman. He makes balloon animals and takes tips (he strongly encourages you to leave a tip--a little pushy for my taste, but hey I don't know the going rate is for balloons these days). There I was: at The Loop, waiting for my takeout because Seth and I are just lazy enough to go all the way to the restaurant, order takeout, wait for 15 minutes, and go home to eat it on our couch like ill-mannered slobs. So back to The Loop. I saw a little gentleman, about 4 feet tall, give or take half a foot, he was clad in a tuxedo minus the jacket. I have to say at this point I observed him from a distance because I was intrigued by what on earth a little man in a tuxedo would be doing in The Loop (grill and pizza). Apparently, he was drumming up business. I begged Seth for a dollar since I never have cash (sshhh, don't tell Dave Ramsey, but I still use my debit card) and I walked over with a big grin and asked the little penguin-suited boy for a balloon animal. Well, turns out he is a confident little sucker and he nonchalantly held his hand out (with a half-smile, half-eye-roll) to guide me to his workstation (AKA: a booth) for assembly of the balloon art. I could tell that he was thinking in his smug little business boy head, "man this woman is sad, asking a kid for a balloon animal, get a life." He was all of 8 years old and I could tell he thought he was 32. Once we got to his business booth, he asked me what type of animal I wanted. I requested a dog and pointed to my sweet baby Wilbur who was in the parking lot hanging out of the car window waiting on us. Well, Mr. Entreprenuer said, "OK, I can do a dog, what colors to want?" He pulled out a plastic box with 100 balloons of varying colors, and I picked a few. All of the sudden, 2 little girls, who must have been family friends or relatives, came over and started picking up his gear (balloon pump, balloons, business cards, etc.). He sternly looks at them and says, "please do not touch ANYTHING that is PLASTIC on this table!!" So then, they (and I) thought it was funny to touch his tip jar, which admittedly was not plastic. So then he looks up from structuring my balloon art to glare are them and state, "PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH ANYTHING ON MY TABLE!" I was holding back a giggle. I could tell he was peeved that I had laughter in my eyes, so I tried to make him feel better by talking business with him. I asked him how long he had been doing this (since age 6), where did he usually "perform" (all types of functions, he had a 100 person birthday party booked in Wake Forest next weekend, he charges extra for an event that far out, since gas is so expensive...). Uhhh-yeah, I and everyone else OVER 16 who drives know that, but how do you know that kid?? Well the dog was eventually finished and not to be mean to a kid/adult in a child body, but that was a sorry looking balloon dog. He even threw in some sharpie-drawn eyes, but it looked like crap. I thanked him and stuck my dollar bill halfway in the opening to his tip jar, it didn't fall down, so he takes his little hand and pops the dollar on top right into the tip jar in front of me. I almost peed my pants laughing at this whole spectacle. It was fantastic. I wish the dog-balloon had not shriveled up in one day or I would have a picture for you to see. However, there is hope, I was at The Loop again this week and that little business rascal has put up a set of his cards by the register. He apparently appears there every Thursday night. I might just go back and talk business with him.
You are welcome for all of the southern phrases/words I used in this post. I hope your Cali friends don't think I am 100% redneck.
Love you always,
Burl-Womble
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Family Van Ride
Dear Yogarapstar...I mean Dod,
Well let's just start things out right...there we go, no TNR for me Dodster! I loved that very true observation and I will try to buck the TNR trend whenever possible. This past week when I submitted a grad school paper and had to grudgingly change the font to TNR, I felt to guilty letting you down--but a grade is a grade and these professors have no humor for reading a paper in gigi.
I apologize for my absence, I have been super busy with Burleson girl graduations, PASSING MY BOARDS (!), and light traveling. So with that in mind, today I want to recognize a man whose birthday was this week and who has provided endless amounts of humor throughout my life (both with and at him)...my dad. A man who made fanny packs fashionable, demanded my high school boyfriends take their hats off to view their eyes and also told them to turn their music down when entering "his neighborhood." A man who once painted my finger nails from the front tips inward leaving horrific polish streaks, and who has proudly driven a mini-van from the time they manufactured them to the time when both children have now been out of the house for close to 10 years-aka NOW. The reason I bring him up is that it is amazing that I am alive to post this as I saw my life flash before my eyes 10-20 times on the trip to and from Savannah for lil' burl's graduation. And so the trip began, we all loaded into the merlot/orange minivan (mom, dad, seth, and me) for the start of a family vacation.
I would just like to note that the day we arrived before the big trip was coincidentally my birthday, unfortunately, my mom forgot to pick up a birthday cake (which I didn't mind) but the best part was that she made one in 10 minutes out of items from her freezer: frozen angel food cake, defrosted cool whip for icing, and then (this is the best part) she cut a straw into candle sized pieces for mock candles...hilarious! I loved it of course.
Now, as you know my dad is an early riser and I have determined he is on a continuous race with life. I mean this is a man who I once observed plant a full container vegetable garden in 1.5 hours. He literally did two chucks of the shovel and threw the poor abused plant into the shallow holes and just threw a little pine straw over them. Amazingly they survived and did produce vegetables. Although he says each tomato is worth about $20 according to his spending for the garden.
So early riser insists that we leave no later than 7:30 am. I informed him I would leave at 9am in my own car if this were the case. We negotiated 8am--I think I lost the negotiating. So we pile up into the van and off we go. I think what my dad likes about my mom is that she has cut down on any unnecessary travel stops by keeping the van stocked like a mini-mart. You need a tissue, wet wipe, eyeglass cleaner, chocolate meringue puffs, cooler of water and diet orange drinks, small metal baby spoon (??), or grapefruit...just flash your lights at us and we can distribute it to you from the electronic van doors. Now, Dod, we rode about 2-3 feet from any given bumper at ALL times. Tractor-trailer included. Seth and I gave each other looks and at one point he held up his crossed fingers and just closed his eyes. Early riser was in a race with life on the highway. I mean what would the benefit be to arriving in Savannah pre-hotel-check-in?? Well, to say we had done it and brag to others about our ability to beat anyone's travel time. I think he senses that others don't respect him driving a mini-van, so he raises his ego by bragging about all he has done faster than anyone or traveled to in his van the past 24 hours--noting the amazing number of passengers his van held. At one point I remarked that the children riding in the jeep with the unzipped window, whose tail we were currently riding, might be run over were they to fall out. Seth informed me that they would just bounce off of our front hood.
Now I love my father and he is a great person, but he is also not allowed in most Wal-Marts.
One time "someone I know and love" kept going down an aisle where a person was on one of those mobile riders and they were overweight so he couldn't get by, so he goes to the next aisle and encounters another "Wal-Mart easy rider" at this point he remarks loudly that he will be heading to the gun section and will be right back--don't panic readers I'm sure he was just going to get a bb gun--that "person" who I am referring to that is. The funny thing is that his co-customer banished him to the van and the Wal-Mart easy riders were completely unfazed. I guess they are used to fellow customer commentary and don't appear to be bothered by it.
Another trip, this same person waited in a ridiculously long line to pay for an item at the Wal-mart only to have the crazy lady in front of him begin to pull $1 bills from her shoe to pay! He tells me (and basically her since we are 2 feet away) that some people should not be allowed in public. I just sent him to the van.
Best part of my whole trip was seeing a beautiful big head on a billboard reminding to "I can afford to get my annual appointment." Check this beauty out:
Well let's just start things out right...there we go, no TNR for me Dodster! I loved that very true observation and I will try to buck the TNR trend whenever possible. This past week when I submitted a grad school paper and had to grudgingly change the font to TNR, I felt to guilty letting you down--but a grade is a grade and these professors have no humor for reading a paper in gigi.
I apologize for my absence, I have been super busy with Burleson girl graduations, PASSING MY BOARDS (!), and light traveling. So with that in mind, today I want to recognize a man whose birthday was this week and who has provided endless amounts of humor throughout my life (both with and at him)...my dad. A man who made fanny packs fashionable, demanded my high school boyfriends take their hats off to view their eyes and also told them to turn their music down when entering "his neighborhood." A man who once painted my finger nails from the front tips inward leaving horrific polish streaks, and who has proudly driven a mini-van from the time they manufactured them to the time when both children have now been out of the house for close to 10 years-aka NOW. The reason I bring him up is that it is amazing that I am alive to post this as I saw my life flash before my eyes 10-20 times on the trip to and from Savannah for lil' burl's graduation. And so the trip began, we all loaded into the merlot/orange minivan (mom, dad, seth, and me) for the start of a family vacation.
I would just like to note that the day we arrived before the big trip was coincidentally my birthday, unfortunately, my mom forgot to pick up a birthday cake (which I didn't mind) but the best part was that she made one in 10 minutes out of items from her freezer: frozen angel food cake, defrosted cool whip for icing, and then (this is the best part) she cut a straw into candle sized pieces for mock candles...hilarious! I loved it of course.
Now, as you know my dad is an early riser and I have determined he is on a continuous race with life. I mean this is a man who I once observed plant a full container vegetable garden in 1.5 hours. He literally did two chucks of the shovel and threw the poor abused plant into the shallow holes and just threw a little pine straw over them. Amazingly they survived and did produce vegetables. Although he says each tomato is worth about $20 according to his spending for the garden.
So early riser insists that we leave no later than 7:30 am. I informed him I would leave at 9am in my own car if this were the case. We negotiated 8am--I think I lost the negotiating. So we pile up into the van and off we go. I think what my dad likes about my mom is that she has cut down on any unnecessary travel stops by keeping the van stocked like a mini-mart. You need a tissue, wet wipe, eyeglass cleaner, chocolate meringue puffs, cooler of water and diet orange drinks, small metal baby spoon (??), or grapefruit...just flash your lights at us and we can distribute it to you from the electronic van doors. Now, Dod, we rode about 2-3 feet from any given bumper at ALL times. Tractor-trailer included. Seth and I gave each other looks and at one point he held up his crossed fingers and just closed his eyes. Early riser was in a race with life on the highway. I mean what would the benefit be to arriving in Savannah pre-hotel-check-in?? Well, to say we had done it and brag to others about our ability to beat anyone's travel time. I think he senses that others don't respect him driving a mini-van, so he raises his ego by bragging about all he has done faster than anyone or traveled to in his van the past 24 hours--noting the amazing number of passengers his van held. At one point I remarked that the children riding in the jeep with the unzipped window, whose tail we were currently riding, might be run over were they to fall out. Seth informed me that they would just bounce off of our front hood.
Now I love my father and he is a great person, but he is also not allowed in most Wal-Marts.
One time "someone I know and love" kept going down an aisle where a person was on one of those mobile riders and they were overweight so he couldn't get by, so he goes to the next aisle and encounters another "Wal-Mart easy rider" at this point he remarks loudly that he will be heading to the gun section and will be right back--don't panic readers I'm sure he was just going to get a bb gun--that "person" who I am referring to that is. The funny thing is that his co-customer banished him to the van and the Wal-Mart easy riders were completely unfazed. I guess they are used to fellow customer commentary and don't appear to be bothered by it.
Another trip, this same person waited in a ridiculously long line to pay for an item at the Wal-mart only to have the crazy lady in front of him begin to pull $1 bills from her shoe to pay! He tells me (and basically her since we are 2 feet away) that some people should not be allowed in public. I just sent him to the van.
Best part of my whole trip was seeing a beautiful big head on a billboard reminding to "I can afford to get my annual appointment." Check this beauty out:
Sorry I am too computer challenged to make it bigger. Also in other news, have you ever seen this terribly disturbing show called "toddlers and tiaras"??? Crazytime times 10. They dress these poor spoiled brats up in slightly streetwalker-looking clothes, fake teeth, and wigs, pay $500 for them to parade around on stage to win a $5 rhinestone crown for the most adult looking 3 year old. Shameful. The moms are always lacking in looks too...hmmm. With that in mind, time to get my big booty to the gym-I mean garage-I am trying Seth's p90X--I feel kind of like a whitetrash qvc tv shopper that we even own this workout video system, but I don't feel like driving a lengthy 10 minutes to the gym since they cancelled the workout class I was going to last night and I am kindof boycotting them for 24 more hours. OK, so I will let you know how it goes GILAD!
Love you miss you,
Burl-Womble
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Stranger than Yoga, is being Geena Davis' Daughter
Dear Burl-Womble,
I wonder why the universal font is Times New Roman? Being the kind of women who can hand write letters in more fonts than Word even bothers to offer, this decision to use TNR made by Bill Gates or whoever it is at Microsoft making such huge decisions, is border line offensive. Why not Curlz? Sure, it hurts your eyes after one paragraph, but at least it has some personality. Why not Lucida Sans Unicode? The straight lines that end in pentagon like edges are soft enough for a woman's use and militant enough not to make a man feel like a pansy using it (unlike aforementioned Curlz). I suppose some things we will only know in the after life, but if you see Bill or Melinda in the Piedmont area, please take the time to make the big ask: Why TNR, why?
Moving forward, last night I took a yoga class (not yogalates, so tell Bray to put her hysterics on hold, there will be no saying yogalates out loud today). Now, mind you, I have been clocking in at the gym once or twice a week. Long gone are the days of kickboxing, weight lifting, and toe touching, but since I noticed my buttocks starting to hang low, September is my renewed attempt at dedication.
I enter the room, 5 minutes late of course, from the nap I just woke up from (not to mention in LA, we have to park in a ridiculous structure on Level 3 and walk 5 minutes through a restaurant row, up an escalator, into the gym, where there is a long line of willing torture participants, across the top floor of the gym, through a meat market where a woman has to wear tight pants at her own risk, down another set of stairs, beyond the trainer corner and into the 12 x 12 yoga room that is so packed with people you can practically smell your neighbor). I park it next to the door between a bald man with an adorable pot belly and a grandma who seemed to be reliably "zen". We started the class pretty normal-you know, lights low, poor choice in music meant to relax you, down dogs, plank poses, Warrior 1, 2 and 3, teacher who half sings, half speaks in low monotone voice saying things like, "You're not here to kill yourself...take your time...listen to your body".
Side note: Actually Miss Yoga Teacher Never Gets Pissed Off in Traffic Person, I AM here to kill myself-that's why I came to the gym-because my butt is going South at the ripe old age of 28 years and 7 months and the only way to up the ante, if you know what I'm saying, is to kill myself in this stupid hot box yoga class set in the middle of the grossest meat market in LA County. Second, no, I am not going to take my time, I am going to push myself to the limit in as little as time as possible and if a tendon snaps, then by God, it will have snapped while whipping my butt back into shape. Finally, I will not be listening to my body, which thanks to the time of the month and the tension I feel from trying to fit 30 hours into each 24 hour day, desires only salty things like cucumbers with tamari and sesame seeds, sea salt and black pepper potato chips, spicy sweet potato fries, sweetened carob raisens... and let's be honest, anything else in the house. Your advice is bad. Tonight, I shall not take it.
Anywho, we were in the middle of the Warrior Vinyasas, but I was craving a little triangle pose. She would get so close...and then let me down by putting an elbow on the knee, arm over my head pose. When we finished a few, she said, as she walked over to the stereo system, in her monotone, soothing, half-singing voice, "Now, my students, you are on your own." Great, I think to myself, just great. I came to this lady's class to repeat these dang warrior poses and teach myself-what kind of cl... wait a minute, is that DMX?
Yes, Burl, it was DMX and I went right back to freshman year, when 1) we used to see him party hard around the NCSU campus and 2) started bouncing to "Ya'll gon' make me lose my mind, up in here, up in here". Monotone Teacher voice began to giggle softly in her headset microphone, "I hope there's not cursing."
Well, well, well, maybe she does have a temper on the 405 freeway (10,000 times worse than the Raleigh Beltline). As we all know, DMX does nothing but curse, so after a few f-bombs, she scurried like a wild dog to the stereo system to change the song to TuPac's "California", as if that would be better or have less cursing.
Bursting with joy because this is the kind of music gym rats all over America kick their own butts too, I got busy with my Reverse Warrior into Triangle Poses into plank into that hurt your tricep as you hover above the ground pose, into up dog into down dog, walk or softly jump your feet towards your hands, long leg stretch into hands over head stretch, then REPEATEN POR FAVOR on left side.
It doesn't end there. She busted out some moves I have never seen in my young yoga life, but apparently needed a little Neo-Soul to do so, and cranked up Floetry's "All ya gotta do is say yes... all ya gotta do is say yes..." I can't even type the rest of the song without blushing-what kind of yoga class is this anyways? She went on to prep us for splits...which you know I haven't done since Senior Year Cheerleading when I had to do my version of a cartwheel (looks more like a 5 year old kid doing upside down karate kicks two different ways) into splits, so you can imagine, this exercise along with my forcing myself to excel in every posture, was quite frustrating. Then she did this and suggested we join her:
Kathryn Michael Burleson Womble!!! (do you see how the font changed back to TNR when I inserted this picture! Dangit Bill and Melinda! I am going to change it back) Post her rap/neo-soul movement, I realized she had completely lost her mind and I began to laugh hysterically as I attempted to put my elbow underneath my leg that refused to engage in the sideways split pose. It wasn't too long before my pot bellied bald friend began to do the same, soon followed by Grandma "Zen". So now that half the front row had fallen over sideways in pain and hysteria, she singed songed, "Yessss, that's right, yoga is fun."
Yessss, Strangest Yoga Teacher on Earth, Yoga IS fun... because you are crazy. But I'll be back next Tuesday, giggling with the others in the class who work out because we have to and not because we enjoy this kind of sick medieval buddhist torture.
These are the moments I miss you most Burl Womble. When you visit, we'll take her class together.
Love you forever,
Dod
I wonder why the universal font is Times New Roman? Being the kind of women who can hand write letters in more fonts than Word even bothers to offer, this decision to use TNR made by Bill Gates or whoever it is at Microsoft making such huge decisions, is border line offensive. Why not Curlz? Sure, it hurts your eyes after one paragraph, but at least it has some personality. Why not Lucida Sans Unicode? The straight lines that end in pentagon like edges are soft enough for a woman's use and militant enough not to make a man feel like a pansy using it (unlike aforementioned Curlz). I suppose some things we will only know in the after life, but if you see Bill or Melinda in the Piedmont area, please take the time to make the big ask: Why TNR, why?
Moving forward, last night I took a yoga class (not yogalates, so tell Bray to put her hysterics on hold, there will be no saying yogalates out loud today). Now, mind you, I have been clocking in at the gym once or twice a week. Long gone are the days of kickboxing, weight lifting, and toe touching, but since I noticed my buttocks starting to hang low, September is my renewed attempt at dedication.
I enter the room, 5 minutes late of course, from the nap I just woke up from (not to mention in LA, we have to park in a ridiculous structure on Level 3 and walk 5 minutes through a restaurant row, up an escalator, into the gym, where there is a long line of willing torture participants, across the top floor of the gym, through a meat market where a woman has to wear tight pants at her own risk, down another set of stairs, beyond the trainer corner and into the 12 x 12 yoga room that is so packed with people you can practically smell your neighbor). I park it next to the door between a bald man with an adorable pot belly and a grandma who seemed to be reliably "zen". We started the class pretty normal-you know, lights low, poor choice in music meant to relax you, down dogs, plank poses, Warrior 1, 2 and 3, teacher who half sings, half speaks in low monotone voice saying things like, "You're not here to kill yourself...take your time...listen to your body".
Side note: Actually Miss Yoga Teacher Never Gets Pissed Off in Traffic Person, I AM here to kill myself-that's why I came to the gym-because my butt is going South at the ripe old age of 28 years and 7 months and the only way to up the ante, if you know what I'm saying, is to kill myself in this stupid hot box yoga class set in the middle of the grossest meat market in LA County. Second, no, I am not going to take my time, I am going to push myself to the limit in as little as time as possible and if a tendon snaps, then by God, it will have snapped while whipping my butt back into shape. Finally, I will not be listening to my body, which thanks to the time of the month and the tension I feel from trying to fit 30 hours into each 24 hour day, desires only salty things like cucumbers with tamari and sesame seeds, sea salt and black pepper potato chips, spicy sweet potato fries, sweetened carob raisens... and let's be honest, anything else in the house. Your advice is bad. Tonight, I shall not take it.
Anywho, we were in the middle of the Warrior Vinyasas, but I was craving a little triangle pose. She would get so close...and then let me down by putting an elbow on the knee, arm over my head pose. When we finished a few, she said, as she walked over to the stereo system, in her monotone, soothing, half-singing voice, "Now, my students, you are on your own." Great, I think to myself, just great. I came to this lady's class to repeat these dang warrior poses and teach myself-what kind of cl... wait a minute, is that DMX?
Yes, Burl, it was DMX and I went right back to freshman year, when 1) we used to see him party hard around the NCSU campus and 2) started bouncing to "Ya'll gon' make me lose my mind, up in here, up in here". Monotone Teacher voice began to giggle softly in her headset microphone, "I hope there's not cursing."
Well, well, well, maybe she does have a temper on the 405 freeway (10,000 times worse than the Raleigh Beltline). As we all know, DMX does nothing but curse, so after a few f-bombs, she scurried like a wild dog to the stereo system to change the song to TuPac's "California", as if that would be better or have less cursing.
Bursting with joy because this is the kind of music gym rats all over America kick their own butts too, I got busy with my Reverse Warrior into Triangle Poses into plank into that hurt your tricep as you hover above the ground pose, into up dog into down dog, walk or softly jump your feet towards your hands, long leg stretch into hands over head stretch, then REPEATEN POR FAVOR on left side.
It doesn't end there. She busted out some moves I have never seen in my young yoga life, but apparently needed a little Neo-Soul to do so, and cranked up Floetry's "All ya gotta do is say yes... all ya gotta do is say yes..." I can't even type the rest of the song without blushing-what kind of yoga class is this anyways? She went on to prep us for splits...which you know I haven't done since Senior Year Cheerleading when I had to do my version of a cartwheel (looks more like a 5 year old kid doing upside down karate kicks two different ways) into splits, so you can imagine, this exercise along with my forcing myself to excel in every posture, was quite frustrating. Then she did this and suggested we join her:
Yessss, Strangest Yoga Teacher on Earth, Yoga IS fun... because you are crazy. But I'll be back next Tuesday, giggling with the others in the class who work out because we have to and not because we enjoy this kind of sick medieval buddhist torture.
These are the moments I miss you most Burl Womble. When you visit, we'll take her class together.
Love you forever,
Dod
PS I have no idea why you are fretting over Charlene. She has some of the most gorgeous stems I have ever seen on a woman (so do you). She dressed so well and she certainly had the best (sweetest and warmest) personality (her only competition was Annie, whose sarcasm was a fan favorite). Plus, she was beautiful to boot (so are you). FYI, Lately, I have been compared to Geena Davis (they keep saying in our work meetings whenever she comes up, that she could be my mother... Unfortunately, this is the picture that reminds them of me...And yes, they certainly do put it up on a huge screen for all the men to enjoy). I also do not find this photo very complementary when it is in direct relation to me.
PPS Well, I ended up taking the 3rd part of Yoga Teacher's advice late last night. Carob raisens, tamari almonds and sea salt and black pepper chips were my late night snack. Dangit, she won Burl, she won.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Unfortunate Celebrity Look-Alike
Dearest Dod,
I was doing my clinical rotations in eastern NC this week and the most unfortunate thing happened.
A patient's wife tried to compliment me by telling me I looked like someone famous. Hold on, she said, let me think of her name...then it came to her. Brace yourself Dod, an insult was hurled like no other I had received (including when Mr. Perry told an entire class I was cruel to a fellow student on HTN). She smiled at me all proud and told me I reminded her of Charlene from Designing Women. Really. Really??? Being full of southern manners on the outside, I graciously smiled and thanked her after confirming with "the big tall one with blonde hair right?" Yep, that was the one. I of course had a mini meltdown with my fellow adult roommates that evening at our shared apartment in Greenville (my vacation home for the year during the week for school). They had to spend several hours telling me no, I didn't look like Charlene, but they also found the entire incident full of humor. Since you know I am ridiculously vain, I stared at myself in the cheap wal-mart vacation home/cheap apartment mirror trying to tell myself that my excessively dyed blonde hair must have been why she said that. Yeah, and my ridiculous height, and probably my twangy accent, which Seth calls "redneck valley-girl". I guess I am pretty much a shoe-in for Charlene. I do not say this with pride or excitement at the prospect of playing her in a resurrection of Designing Women (even though my secret dream is to be a soap opera actress!!).
Well, I guess Charlene is better than Barbara Jean from the Reba McIntire show. I have always been concerned that someone would tell me I looked like her. I ask you Dod, have you ever had an unfortunate comparison to a celeb? This may have happened to you since you live in California...Oh I hope so (for my sake to laugh at) but hopefully for you this has not happened. I guarantee no one compared you with Charlene. I am going to color my hair back to my original mousy brown to avoid future "incidents."
Love you from NC,
Burl
I was doing my clinical rotations in eastern NC this week and the most unfortunate thing happened.
A patient's wife tried to compliment me by telling me I looked like someone famous. Hold on, she said, let me think of her name...then it came to her. Brace yourself Dod, an insult was hurled like no other I had received (including when Mr. Perry told an entire class I was cruel to a fellow student on HTN). She smiled at me all proud and told me I reminded her of Charlene from Designing Women. Really. Really??? Being full of southern manners on the outside, I graciously smiled and thanked her after confirming with "the big tall one with blonde hair right?" Yep, that was the one. I of course had a mini meltdown with my fellow adult roommates that evening at our shared apartment in Greenville (my vacation home for the year during the week for school). They had to spend several hours telling me no, I didn't look like Charlene, but they also found the entire incident full of humor. Since you know I am ridiculously vain, I stared at myself in the cheap wal-mart vacation home/cheap apartment mirror trying to tell myself that my excessively dyed blonde hair must have been why she said that. Yeah, and my ridiculous height, and probably my twangy accent, which Seth calls "redneck valley-girl". I guess I am pretty much a shoe-in for Charlene. I do not say this with pride or excitement at the prospect of playing her in a resurrection of Designing Women (even though my secret dream is to be a soap opera actress!!).
Well, I guess Charlene is better than Barbara Jean from the Reba McIntire show. I have always been concerned that someone would tell me I looked like her. I ask you Dod, have you ever had an unfortunate comparison to a celeb? This may have happened to you since you live in California...Oh I hope so (for my sake to laugh at) but hopefully for you this has not happened. I guarantee no one compared you with Charlene. I am going to color my hair back to my original mousy brown to avoid future "incidents."
Love you from NC,
Burl
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