A passionate conversation.

I was on my way to the grocery store this evening when the weather started to take a turn for the worse. The sky looked awful and we were already starting to get thunder and lightening - I really started to wonder if we might be under some sort of tornado watch. I was near my mom's house and, since she doesn't like to be home alone during storms, I decided to swing by her house and watch some television with her until the storm blew through.

As I was driving to her house, I stopped at a corner gas station to get some treats for her. You see, one long-standing tradition in our family is making a "crap run" when a storm is coming. What is a "crap run," you ask? Well, we go to the store and load up on all the junk food (i.e. "crap") we want and then we get to eat whatever we want during the storm. It's one of the many healthy habits we have in our family. So I thought it would be fun if I surprised my mom with a mini crap run for our little storm. I know - I'm pretty amazing.

ANYWAY . . . as I walked into the store, the cashier was standing outside talking to some of her friends. That was fine with me because I had some looking around to do - a proper crap run cannot be rushed, my friends. So I browsed the ice cream cooler and then walked over to the register to set my stuff down so that I could go look at the Hostess section, too. The cashier walked in and over to the register at that point. And then we had this conversation as I looked around and she rang up my stuff:

Cashier: How are you doing tonight?
Me: I'm good! How are you doing?
Cashier: Oh - I'm just getting adjusted to a new role as a hostess.
Me: [Oh boy. This is not the quick exchange of pleasantries I was hoping for . . .] Oh, really? [She's fishing, Catherine. Don't bite. Don't . . .] What kind of hostess? [Dangit, Catherine.]
Cashier: For Passion Parties.
Me: [Ah sh--] Oh, really?
Cashier: Yeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaah. I'm trying to get people to buy raffle tickets.
Me: Oh, really?
Cashier: Yeah - you can really win some good prizes.
Me: [At the risk of sounding repetitive . . .] Oh, really?
Cashier: Yeah. Have you been to a Passion Party?
Me: No, I sure haven't.
[Awkward pause. Resist filling the space with a question, Catherine. Resist. I know you can do it. I know you can . . .]
Me: It's like . . . ummmmm . . . toys . . . right? [DANGIT, CATHERINE!!!! YOU STUPID . . .]
Cashier: Yeah. Sex toys, lotions, and oils.
Me: Oh . . . [CRAP.]
Cashier: I've got some catalogs in the back if you'd like--
Me: NO NO. [Easy, Catherine. Be cool. Be cool.] No, thank you. That's okay.
Cashier: It's not all sex toys . . .
Me: [Wow. Never thought I'd hear THAT sentence in a conversation . . .] Mmmmm hmmmm . . .
Cashier: We also have pheromones that you put on like behind your ear.
Me: [Just ring up my ice cream sandwiches before I drop down into the fetal position, please.] Mmmmmm hmmmmm . . .
Cashier: And if you work with guys, they just can't hardly resist it.
Me: [Please, God - please let someone come in to rob this store right now . . .] Mmmmmm hmmmmm . . .
Cashier: And if you work with women, it works on them, too. It makes them more nicer to you even if they was in a bad mood.
Me: [My passion is grammar, lady. And you're obviously not selling that . . .] Oh, really?
Cashier: Yeah. And [drops her voice and looks around like she's about to tell me something VERY private . . .] they've got this shaving gel . . .
Me: [Oh, Lord, no . . . please. Please. I'm not ready to hear this.]
Cashier: And I shaved my legs with it and [drops her voice even lower] and a week later . . . I still didn't have to shave again.
Me: [Whoa - hold up. Did she just say no shaving for a week? What is this miracle product??]

Somehow I got out of there without booking a party or taking a catalog. But I honestly don't remember how I managed that. I really don't even remember much of the rest of our conversation because I was too busy picturing myself at a Passion Party, standing there with my bottle of miracle shaving gel and staring at it happily, oblivious to all the people examining various sex toys on display. How can I live without that shaving gel now that I know it exists??

Well, better get to bed. I have to get up an extra 10 minutes early in the morning so that I can shave my legs before I leave.

[Sigh . . .]

Confessions of an 11 year old girl.

Most of you know by now that I was a HUGE New Kids on the Block fan back in the day - oh, who am I kidding? I'm STILL a huge fan. In fact, the New Kids are still in my top 5 favorite things to talk about . . . along with Gustavo and all things Little Debbie. ANYWAY, what many of you don't know is that, before I gave my heart to Joe McIntyre of NKOTB, my heart belonged to one man and one man only . . .

Kirk Cameron.

Ahhhhhhhh . . . Kirk. The first love of my life. He was the picture of perfection and he was hanging ALL OVER my bedroom walls. With his curly hair and his pleated pants - how could a girl resist him? Mike Seaver was the cutest airheady guy on TV and I loved him. I was glued - if I didn't feel so strongly about flagrant misuse of the word, I'd say "literally" glued - to the television once a week when Growing Pains came on. And when I wasn't watching his show, I was sitting in class doodling "I love Kirk Cameron" all over my book covers and writing notes to my friends, signing off as "Catherine Cameron." I was so in love with him.

Which makes it all the more strange that I ditched him so quickly when Joe McIntyre came on the scene. What a little TeenBeat tramp I was.

ANYWAY . . .

This weekend I cleaned out my garage. I had several boxes of "keepsakes" that had been up in the attic at my parents' house for years so I decided to go through them and throw out anything that wasn't really worthy of "keepsake" status. You know, like the Snickers wrapper I kept from a random Astros game. Seemed like a big deal to me then . . . not so much now. Anyway, as I was going through one of the boxes, I ran across a letter that I had written to Kirk Cameron that I never mailed. I pulled it out of the envelope and began reading it. I immediately became so embarrassed for myself that I didn't even want my dog to see it. So I thought I'd do what any normal person would do with something that embarrasses her so much that she curls up in the fetal position by herself in her garage . . . post it for all of y'all to see.

So here it is, complete with the inner thoughts going through my head as I read this in my garage on Sunday afternoon:

Dear Kirk:

I hope you don't mind me calling you by your first name, I don't really know what else to call you so I'm really sorry if you don't like it. [Oh good God . . . I can't take this] Anyway I've always tried to write you but I never mailed them. [Thank you, Lord, that I was never good at following through . . .] I'm only 11 yrs old but I'm trying to get into acting. [Oh crap.] I've always dreamed of acting but I've never done anything about it. I guess I was thinking that a director would come up to me and ask me to be in a movie. [Why am itching? Are those hives on my arms?] I read about your new movie. I'm gonna ask my mom if I can see it when it comes out. [Way to show him you're an independent young woman . . .] I wish every day that in the first movie I'm in you're in it too. [I'm hyperventilating. I'm ACTUALLY hyperventilating.] I wish you would come to Houston for something so that I could meet you once but I would probably faint. [Oh, geez. What I'd give to pass out right now . . .] I've got a few questions for you: Do you enjoy watching yourself on television? What's your favorite song? Who are your favorite actors and actresses? Do you like it now that your so popular? [Seriously, 11-year-old-me? "Your" instead of "you're"? Unacceptable!] And do you enjoy posing for your posters and pictures?

Well if you don't want to give me my answers, that's ok. If you do send me back a letter could I please have an autographed picture of you if its not too much trouble. Hope to see you on the screens if I get that far [Oh, I need to burn this NOW.] and hope to see you a lot in the future.

Your #1 fan and friend,
Catherine.

[And my favorite part, which must be read in the style of a gushing girl who is blurting out a profession of love . . .]

P.S. I have a major crush on you and I've only got posters of YOU up in my room!

[Good thing I clarified that for him because I'm sure he would NEVER have picked up on my true feelings otherwise . . .]

Oh, geez. So embarrassing.

One thing that was so funny to me when I read that letter was how much I talked about wanting to be an actress. I mean, I guess most kids want to be famous at some point in their lives but I don't really remember wanting to be an actress so much that it warranted a letter to Kirk Cameron. It's funny how a dream that was apparently so important to me back then is hardly memorable to me now.

I have no current dreams of being an actress. But it's not because I've realized that it's not all it's cracked up to be or because it's an unrealistic goal. No - it's because of the whole "pausing live TV" phenomenon. The last thing I want is for someone to pause their TV to take a phone call like I do and leave me looking like THIS for 45 minutes while they gab with their friends:

No thank you.

But thanks, Kirk, for the fun memories and the stress-induced rash I got on Sunday afternoon. And for reminding me of my childhood. I kind of wish that I HAD mailed the letter so that I could have gotten that autographed picture from you. I guess I could write you a new letter but I don't know what I'd say to you now, Kirk.

Seriously . . . you don't mind if I call you by your first name, do you?

How could I forget THAT??

I took my nieces and my nephew to see Taylor Swift tonight down at the Toyota Center. I had given them the tickets for Christmas so it was fun to FINALLY get to go. And Taylor did NOT disappoint - she sang lots of good songs and flipped her hair around lots for us. Maybe a little too much . . . but who am I to criticize?

Before the concert, we took them to dinner at the Hard Rock Cafe where we enjoyed some inedible food . . . I had forgotten how much their food stinks! While we were at dinner, I was trying to remember a story about something that had happened to me recently when I was with the kids. All I could remember about the story was that it involved me forgetting something (ironic, right?) so I was asking the kids if they remembered what had happened and if they could help me remember what it was that I had forgotten on that particular day:

Me: It was just recently. I forgot something and was trying to tell the kids but they didn't believe me - they thought I was just joking with them. Do you all remember that?
Savannah: You forgot something? Was it ice cream for our milkshakes at the slumber party?
Me: No.
Avery: Was it Oreos?
Me: No. [silly Avery - I'd NEVER forget Oreos . . .]
Emma: Was it the chocolate sauce for our sundaes for our slumber party?
Me: No. I don't think it was anything for one of the slumber parties. I think it was something that I was supposed to have with me when I met up with y'all somewhere.
Ben: And you forgot it?
Me: Yeah - do you remember what it was?
Ben: Yeah . . . a husband?

Man. I KNEW I'd left something off my grocery list!!

An eye-opening bottle-opener experience.

So I had my friend Stephanie and her husband George over for dinner tonight to thank Stephanie for designing my beautiful backyard for me. My mom and sisters joined us, as well, and it was a great evening of fun and lots of laughing. I made Italian sausage lasagna and asparagus using all the herbs that Stephanie had planted for me in my yard. She loves red wine so I had bought a couple of bottles of one of her favorite kinds for her to enjoy with dinner. But unfortunately, and much to my dismay, I couldn't find my wine bottle opener when it came time to serve the wine. I searched every drawer in my kitchen and there was no sign of it. I was so frustrated.

So I decided to go borrow one from my neighbor but when I knocked on their door, there was no answer. Again . . . frustrated.

Then I walked over to my OTHER neighbor's house to see if they had one I could borrow. Again, there was no answer when I knocked on the door. My frustration was growing.

As I was standing at my 2nd neighbor's door, I saw yet a third neighbor who lives a few houses down and who I have only recently met. So I yelled down to her, asking if she had a wine bottle opener that I could borrow. She said she wasn't sure but she thought she might so I walked over to her and followed her into her kitchen. We stood in her kitchen for a few minutes while she practically emptied her drawers trying to help me out. While I was standing there, her husband yelled from another room: "What are you looking for?" She yelled back "Catherine from down the street is here and she's looking for a cork screw opener." There was a slight pause and then he yelled again: "What are you looking for?" She repeated her answer and then there was a short pause again. I guess he wasn't able to hear her because, the next thing I knew, he was coming around the corner and into the kitchen . . . completely naked.

HO . . . LY . . . CRAP.

I really didn't know what to do. So, inexplicably, my reaction was to stand up completely straight - you know, in that "I'm totally awkward and I don't know what to do so I'm just going to stand here with perfect posture" posture. I kept my eyes UP and AWAY and tried to not yell "That's NOT a cork screw, buddy!!" He certainly didn't react as quickly as one would expect a naked man to do when he realizes that some innocent bystander he barely knows is in his kitchen. He was carrying some plastic orange kitchen utensils with him (mental note - do not EVER eat dinner over there . . .) and he handed them to his wife. Then he moved back behind the wall he had come around and I tried to act like it was the most normal thing in the world to walk around naked with orange kitchen utensils. Meanwhile, his wife continued to look for a bottle opener while I resisted the temptation to shout "GOOD GOD IN HEAVEN, WOMAN - I DON'T CARE ABOUT THE FREAKING BOTTLE OPENER!! I WANT TO GET THE HECK OUT OF HERE SO I CAN PUT MY HOUSE ON THE MARKET AND MOVE AWAY AND NEVER LOOK YOU PEOPLE IN THE EYE AGAIN!!!!"

I was able to eventually get out of there and get back to my house. I spent a few seconds in my front yard looking for a good stick with which to GOUGE MY FREAKING EYEBALLS OUT. But all I found was an image burned into my mind of a naked man carrying an orange spatula. This is what I have to live with now. Forever.

Freakin' wine bottle opener.

Customer service at its best.

A few weeks ago, I was having some problems with my cable so a technician came out to see what was wrong. He determined that the actual cable that connects my house to the Comcast box behind my house was bad. So he replaced it for me and got the picture on my television back in shape. The only problem was that he wasn't able to bury the new cable so he had to leave it just running through my back yard. But he told me that he'd put a work order in to have someone come out and bury it for me so it was no big deal.

Unfortunately, no one ever came.

I recently had my backyard landscaped and when I met with Gustavo (bestill my beating heart) to get a quote on the landscaping, I noticed that the cable was still there. So I called Comcast to see if they could send someone out to bury it before we started with the yard work. And by "we" I mean Gustavo and his muscles . . .

ANYWAY, the phone call to Comcast was such an experience that I just had to share it with y'all:

[Ring ring . . .]

Automated system: Thank you for calling Comcast. Para espanol, marque numero dos.

[long pause while I don't marque numero dos]

Automated system: Please enter your telephone number.

Me: [Why do they make me do this? They're just gonna ask me for it again when they answer the phone. So pointless. But okay - I'll play along . . . (entered number)]

Automated system: Thank you. Our next available customer service representative will be with you shortly.

Customer Service Lady: Thank you for calling Comcast. My name is Teresa. Can you please verify the phone number on your account?

Me: [Aaaaaaand there it is.] Sure. It's . . . [gave phone number again]

CSL: Thank you. And how can I help you today?

Me: Well, one of your guys came out to fix my cable and he had to replace the actual cable line that runs from your main cable box to my house. He wasn't able to bury it so he left it laying in my backyard and said that he was going to send someone else out to bury it. But no one has come back out so I just have this cable running through the grass. And the problem is that I'm getting my yard landscaped so I'd like for it be buried before they start working in my yard.

CSL: Okaaaaaay . . . [click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click] . . . okaaaaaay . . . [click click click click click click click click click click] . . . okay. For security purposes, can you verify the last 4 digits of your social security number?

Me: [Seriously? Is someone really going to pose as me and ask the cable company to come bury my cable? Is this really a security threat?] Sure. It's . . . [last 4 digits].

CSL: Okaaaaay. Thank you. [click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click] . . . okay . . . [click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click] . . .

Me: [Wow. She's reeeeeeeeeally typing there, isn't she? She must be typing down what I just told her . . .]

CSL: Okay. [click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click] . . . Okay, now tell me again what happened?

Me: [Wait - seriously? Then what was she just typing?] I need my cable buried. One of your technicians had to fix my cable and he left the new cable line unburied in my backyard. So I just need you to send someone out to fix it.

CSL: Okaaaaaaay . . . [click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click] . . . okaaaaaay . . . [click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click] . . . okaaaaay. Soooooo . . . I guess what you're saying iiiiiiiiiiis . . . [click click click click click click click click click click] . . . that you need someone to come bury the cable?

Me: [I wonder how it would feel to jab this pencil in my eye?] Yes, ma'am.

CSL: Okaaaaay . . . [click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click] . . . okay . . . [click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click] . . . okay. And how did the cable get exposed?

Me: [Is it too late for me to marque numero dos?] One of your technicians had to replace the cable line because the old one was bad. And he said he was going to send someone out to bury it but it's been a couple of weeks and no one has come out. So I just need someone to come bury it for me.

CSL: Okay. [click click click click click click click click click click] . . . okay . . . [click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click] . . . okay. [pause] Okay . . . [click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click] . . . so you need someone to replace the cable?

Me: [OH . . . MY . . . G-] No, ma'am. It's been replaced. I just need someone to bury it.

CSL: Okay. [click click click click click click click click click click] . . . okay . . . okay . . . [mouse click mouse click]. I'm just gonna put you on hold for a second.

Me: Okay.

[whereupon commenced a small eternity sitting on hold]

CSL: Okay. [click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click]. Please hold again.

[another small eternity passed, allowing me to contemplate sticking my head in my oven and turning on the gas]

CSL: Okay . . . ma'am?

Me: Yes?

CSL: Ma'am?

Me: Yes? Can you hear me?

CSL: Ma'am . . .?

Me: [Oh dear God. No. NO! Please don't do this to me. Please!!] [with clear panic in my voice . . .] Yes? Can you . . . can you hear me? Can you hear me?

CSL: Oh - now I can. I thought I was talking to myself for a second there.

Me: [courtesy laugh] Oh . . . I know what THAT'S like.

CSL: Okay . . . [click click click click click click click click click click]. Okay, I've put in a work order for one our technicians to come out and bury your cable. That's what you wanted, right?

Me: [I don't . . . it's . . . I just . . . why me, God?] Yes, ma'am.

CSL: Okay. Well, one of our technicians will call you to schedule a time when he can come out and bury it for you.

Me: Great. Thank you so much.

CSL: Is there anything else I can help you with today?

Me: [Good LORD no.] No, ma'am.

CSL: Thank you for calling Comcast.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaand then two weeks passed before anyone came out to bury the cable. So, in the meantime, Gustavo buried it for me while he was landscaping. Because he's hot like that.

And I didn't even have to verify my social security number for him.

Don't take it out on the gas pump.

I was filling up at a gas station in Huntsville this afternoon when I noticed this sign:


Looks like someone's Anger Management classes are paying off . . .

Now THAT would be a cool car . . .

This weekend I went to my niece Emma's piano recital at the Marriott here in town. When it was over (or, to be more precise, when Emma was finished and we were able to sneak out . . .) we decided to over to a local Cold Stone Creamery to get some ice cream. My niece Savannah had her friend Kaylee with her (the same Kaylee from the butterfly exhibit) and, when we started to head to our cars to go to Cold Stone, they asked if they could ride with me. I, being the best aunt in the world, said "fo sho" (or something equally hip-and-with-it) and we began walking to my car. That's when I heard them having this conversation behind me:

Savannah: Catchy's car is so cool. Know why?
Kaylee: Why?
Savannah: Because the top comes off.
Kaylee: [slight gasp at this news] It comes OFF?
Savannah: Yeah. It's red and it has a black part and that part just like . . . just like . . . comes off.
Kaylee: [silence while she marvels at the thought] Reeeeeeeally?
Savannah: Yeah - it's a convertible.
Kaylee: [big gasp, then in a whisper . . .] You mean you can't SEE it???
Savannah: What? [confused silence] Oh . . . no - it's not INVISIBLE, it's a CONVERTIBLE.

Understandably, the car was a big let down for Kaylee after that . . .