(I wrote this many years ago when my blog was on Yahoo360 back before they did away with it.)
STOP! Go get a cup of coffee or a drink. This is long. REAL long. You have been warned! If you get bored easily, now is the time to move to something else. Run. No, don't stop and think about, run!
My story started in an itty bitty town called Apple Valley in Southern California. My father was my mothers second marriage. Her first ended badly and left her with my older brother and sister. My mother has been disabled most of her life with spina bifida and had been some where in the middle of 18 major operations when I was born. A doctor once told her at the age of 16 that she would never again walk with out crutches - she threw them in his trash can and walked out, and kept walking for the next 30 years.
My family was shocked when I was born - I was supposed to be a girl! It's not that they THOUGHT I was a girl, they were SURE.
Well, somewhere in the middle of all of these major operations on my mother (most of which I was too young to remember) my father found out that alcohol numbed the fear that his wife wasn't going to make it through one. He apparently needed a lot of numbing because he drank like a fish. To this day I can't stand to see the old yellow Coors cans - they literally make me sick to my stomach. Eventually this marriage too ended, to be followed by several more, ultimately teaching me at a young age that men are unreliable, come and go, and can not be depended on. (Yes, I'm well aware now that this is not true of all, but I didn't know it way back then).
A few snap shots:
Snap shot. A short period living with my Dad and his new family when I was around 4 or 5 because my mother was in the hospital. He had two daughters in this marriage and two sons that were from a marriage before my mother. I can remember feeling so sad and crying because it was so unfair that they got to wear the pretty dresses, and ribbons, and I got worn out hand me downs from my half brothers. I tried to spend my time playing with the girls, and of course my father didn't care for this and kept shoving me at the boys. Not comfortable with the boys, and not one of the girls . . . pretty much don't fit in any where. Regardless of the reasons my father STARTED drinking, he is at this point a full fledged alcoholic and life sucks. Eventually my mother is out of the hospital and recovered enough to try and get me back. I remember my father sitting me down and explaining that my mother wanted me, and it was up to me where I wanted to live. I was five or six at this point and hardly remembered my mother, but I just KNEW it couldn't be as bad as the life I was living - I chose my mother.
Now I am living with my mother and the two children she had from a marriage previous to my father (yes, I know there are a lot of marriages going on here. We're talking red necks here - keep up!) This is my older Brother and Sister that I eventually grew up with. A few catches here - they are all living with my grandmother and my brother and sister have been with them all along. Up to this point we have gown up apart and I am the outsider. Mind you, my brother and sister were in no way responsible for my feeling like an outsider - this was my own head trip because they grew up together and had the same father. They were, and are, wonderful parts of my life, and in every way the best sister and brother you could ask for.
Snap Shot. My mother is in and out of the hospital, in and out of marriages, and we are all in and out of my grand mothers home where we always seem to wind up when things go to hell. Funny thing that children can pick up on stuff you don't think they know about. I always knew my grandmother didn't like me. This was later confirmed by my mother a couple of years ago when she explained that she threw my grandmother out of our house when she looked at me and said "I can't stand that little bastard!" Seems my grandmother hated my father and that carried over to me by proxy. So my mother has now been married and divorced four times with a number of boy friends scattered here and there (She was an attractive woman). My grandmother obviously has a low opinion of my mother and of men. The whole time I am growing up around her, all I hear over and over is "no G.D. good for nothing men", "Men are no G.D. good", "If either of you boys EVER hurts a girl I'll kill you". You know it took me years to learn that "hurt" in this context meant "get her pregnant".
My sister, playfully teasing and with not a bit of malice, telling me "You were supposed to be a girl", "How come you got the pretty eye lashes", "Your the only boy I've ever seen with a waist", "you would have been such a pretty girl". One day at around 6 years old I think, I get home from school and have the house to myself for an hour or so. I find a bag of clothes someone has given my mother for hand me downs for us, and in it I find a number of dresses just my size. This is the early 70's and I know my mother has a number of wigs in her closet. I remember my heart pounding so hard I thought my chest would explode, but I just had to know, what WOULD I have looked like if I HAD been born a girl??!! Off I went, running through the house with the hand me down dress to my mothers room, where I threw the dress on, and VERY carefully got one of mothers wigs down and tried it on. Of course the wig didn't fit right, but I was stunned when I looked in the mirror! That pretty girl was me! Plain, ugly, yucky, no G.D. good for nothing Matthew was really a pretty girl! I'm sure it wasn't as clear as I seem to recall, but all of a sudden I knew what was wrong with me, and had ALWAYS been wrong with me - I was supposed to be a girl! I spend the next few years sneaking every chance I can get to wear dresses, coming SOOO close to being caught SOOO many times that I start to develop a bit of a nervous condition. Every time I know I'm going to be alone in the house and have the chance to "be pretty", I get sick to my stomach and end up sneaking to the bathroom and getting sick. For those of you that are in your 20's you may not understand the depth of the fear we would have had at that age and back then at being discovered. There was no internet, we were alone, and the only other men in the world we knew of that liked to wear dresses were perverts and weirdos. Certainly not normal kids like me. LOL
Snap Shot. Latest divorce has left my mother with far too little income to stay in the house we have been living in for years so she moves us 80 miles away. Now we live 20 miles outside another small town called Yucca Valley. I didn't have many friends when we left, and now I had none at all. Not easy to make friends when you live 20 miles away from everything, have nothing in common in with the boys, and the girls have no idea you think your supposed to be one of them! Get this - we have moved into a one room cabin with no bathroom, and no bathtub. We bathed by heating water in a microwave and on the wood burning stove, putting the water in a great big tub in the back yard. (I swear this is the truth, I'm not making it up). My mother had to just about force me kicking and screaming to take a bath this way. I don't care if the nearest neighbor is two miles away, I am NOT going to bath naked in the back yard!
Snap Shot. My mother buys a small travel trailer that becomes the bed room for my brother and I. Good news - it has a shower. My brother moves out when he was around 17 and it is MY bedroom. I am ashamed to admit it, but I started swiping odds and ends until I had a complete outfit hidden under one of the bunks in the trailer. Come home from school one day to find my aunt and uncle have come to visit. My uncle wanted a shower and so had gone to light the hot water heater - you know, the one that is under the bunk . . . along with my out fit. It is now scattered across the dining room table with my mother, aunt, and uncle all looking at me and asking what I knew of it. I went with the tried and proven - I played stupid. "Damned if I know, I haven't got a clue!"
Would you believe they bought it?! Every one started joking that my brother must have been doing the dirty with some girl when mom drove up, and every one had this delightful picture of this young lady running across the desert naked. We all laughed for a while, then I went into the trailer (my room) and threw up. I could never believe that they bought this and so I asked my mother about this a few years ago - she confirmed that they really did NOT suspect I was cross dressing! It's funny how far people will go to delude themselves when they don't WANT to see something.
Snap Shot. Open campus at high school for lunch. I'm walking down the street and see a number of pretty girls walking up the street towards me. Suddenly I feel so embarrassed that I am such a freak and I just couldn't bear the thought that they would see me or talk to me. I actually crossed 4 lanes of traffic to avoid them. I spend the rest of my teenage years intensely shy and nervous around girls. I thought girls were proud, beautiful, decent and I was so ashamed that I wasn't one.
Snap Shot. 17 and hating my life when a recruiter comes to school. Suddenly I realize this may be an option! Maybe they can make me normal. Maybe this will get me out of the desert. They will take me after I complete 11th grade IF I will promise to get a GED. I go to the MEP station with three other boys where they give you all the tests that they use to decide what jobs you qualify for. After the tests, we are all in the recruiters car. He looks at the other guys "I'm Sorry, but your scores were not high enough, we can't take you. You can do some studying and try again - I'm sure we can help you pass next time". Then he looks at me and shakes his head "Yours were the highest scores I've seen - you can take your pick of jobs". Imagine that - when you live as far out in the sticks as I did, the only past time was reading and I read a LOT!
I plead with my mother but she will not sign the paper work until I explain that even if she doesn't, I WILL go the day I turn 18 regardless of my situation at high school. She argues but eventually signs and I am on a bus the day after I turn 18 and two days before I should have started my senior year.
Snap Shot. Made it through basic and am now a soldier. I now have friends, you just can't avoid that going through basic and advanced training, and I am now up to my neck in macho and guy related stuff for the first time in my life. Also for the first time in my life, I am trying REALLY hard to fit in with the guys. Despite my knowing better, despite the example of my father, I am now hanging out with the guys, going to strip clubs, and drinking like a fish. The guys find out I am a virgin and have a field day with it. In this day and age, outside an Army post, there is no shortage of girls that are willing to solve the whole "virgin" problem - for a price. I probably shouldn't share this, but the guys attempt to "help me out" twice, and both times I am unable to do what comes naturally. There is no compassion, no romance, no tenderness, just "go ahead and take your clothes off and get in the bed". Add to this that I keep hearing my grandmother saying "If you ever hurt a girl . . ". I was SOO messed up in the head over this for years! Bad news, I tired to solve it the same way my father did - with alcohol.
I'm hiding stuff inside the molding of my car and renting hotel rooms every so often so that I can dress. This is dangerous as I have a top secret clearance and work on nuclear weapons so cars are inspected often, though I'd never heard of them removing molding. Can't hide stuff in the barracks room because this is the Army and rooms are inspected OFTEN for appearance and drugs.
Snap Shot. Been in the army for over three years now and have serious drinking problem. All off hours are spent getting trashed. The guys look at me with a mixture of awe and pity - I can easily drink most of them under the table, but some have seen me make a complete A$$ out of myself. I am now just short of suicidal. Hate life, wish it would end, but not quite ready to actively participate in its closure. I'm up in my room, falling down drunk, playing guitar when in walks Jerry - one of my friends. "You HAVE to see the girl downstairs who is on CQ". CQ is Charge of Quarters - the one responsible for making sure every one behaves in the barracks at night. It's a duty we all share and take turns at. So I grab my guitar and head down the steps, and here is this cute little blonde girl who is sitting there writing something. Jerry knows her and introduces us. It turns out she is writing poetry! She shares some of her poetry, and I sing her some of my songs. Cut to the chase, we wind up dating for several months. We get closer, things get intimate, and I am no longer a virgin! WEEEEE. I spend every moment i can with her and suddenly have no desire to drink. Then BAM! She comes down on orders for Europe and she is going to have to leave. I sat on the floor looking at her, and all I could think of was "oh my God, she's going to leave! She can't leave! I finally feel like a human being because of her - I CAN'T LIVE WITH OUT HER!" This is screaming inside my head and I look up at her and blurt "Will you please marry me?" No fore thought. No planning. No ring. No Romance. No getting on one knee after having delighted her with a romantic meal. Just tears in my eyse and "Will you please marry me?" blurted out from the floor of a inexpensive hotel. Would you believe she said yes and that was 20 years ago?
(Almost done - hang in there!)
Snap shot. We're married, and the Army has agreed to keep us together, so now we are BOTH on the way to Europe. Decide to take a train from Ft Lewis WA where we are currently stationed, down to Southern California to meet my family, and then on to Louisiana where HER folks are living. Don't know if you have ever taken a long trip on a passenger train, but it is intimate for a long time. My guilt is killing me, I shouldn't hide this from her. I swore to share it all with her and I'm hiding this. I swore to trust her with my soul and I'm hiding this from her. My legs are shaking so hard under the table that I can barley talk, but I managed to tell her. She wanted to know if I was gay and if I wanted an operation. I was almost in tears as I told her no and no. She took my hands across the table and told me it wasn't a problem! For the first time in my life I have someone I can talk to about it and I proceed to drive her absolutely nuts for about the next year by talking about just about nothing else. When we meet my family, for the first time in my life I feel like a real person, a complete person, and my family is surprised and even shocked - imagine that - Matt has a sense of humor. It goes with out saying that they adore my wife. My sister: "Matthew, she's NORMAL! I thought you would bring home some girlie girl prissy thing". I'm not sure they know she has literally saved my life
Snap Shot. We had a son in Germany. My wife completes her obligation and gets out. The army does away with my career and sends us to the states for retraining. Eventually I end up in Korea where I can't take them for a year! We can't stand being alone so I get out of the Army. Settled in Austin where I was fortunate to get a job with a company based on the experience I had in the military - measurement and calibrations. Found the internet and found others like me! Made good friends with a few and eventually my wife and I met two of them at a local club. My first time outside the house dressed and it was SOO cool!
My wife went out with me quite a few times, but eventually decided she wasn't interested. It's OK if I go out, but she doesn't care to be part of it. Any of you that are part of the community know that you have some people you are proud to say belong to your little group, and there are some . . .
Well, let's just say my wife doesn't want to hang with me anymore! lol
Snap Shot. After about 6 years with my company I move to Field Service where I start traveling the country, and sometimes the world! After another 4 or 5 years (About 8 or 9 months ago) it occurs to me that I should start taking advantage of the free hotels, and being so far from home, and start having fun! Though we have not used birth control since my son was born, we had not had any more children. Of course right after I take a position that has me traveling 80 - 90% of the time, we have two more children! Now I have a 21 year old son, a 6 year old daughter, and a 1 year old son. Funny, in all of the years that I was growing up, I often considered the thought of marriage and a wife, but children had never crossed my mind! Well, it crosses my mind quite a lot these days with three of 'em underfoot!
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Starting Over!
Years ago I started writing a blog on Yahoo360. After investing years there and getting a decent amount of interest, yahoo360 came to an end.
Next, I moved my blog to Myspace thinking that it was a reasonably mature application that was not likely to go away or anything along those lines. Well, Myspace has just changed their format and now their blogs can hardly be read. The are confined to a small portion of a window that is otherwise covered by adds. I understand that this is how Myspace offers free web pages, but still, what's the point of going through the effort of maintaining a blog if it can't be read?
So, here I am trying out Blogspot. What do ya think - will IT last?
Next, I moved my blog to Myspace thinking that it was a reasonably mature application that was not likely to go away or anything along those lines. Well, Myspace has just changed their format and now their blogs can hardly be read. The are confined to a small portion of a window that is otherwise covered by adds. I understand that this is how Myspace offers free web pages, but still, what's the point of going through the effort of maintaining a blog if it can't be read?
So, here I am trying out Blogspot. What do ya think - will IT last?
Friday, November 12, 2010
Sheridan Wyoming
This week I went someplace that I haven’t been to in years – Sheridan Wyoming. I once visited Sheridan on a fairly regular basis as this is where my mother-in-law used to live. At the time, she was married to the Air Force recruiter there, and since I was going to a school in the Denver area, it was reasonably feasible to visit from time to time.
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It seems that it has amused the folks at the Delta Airlines counter in Austin to memorize my name, because just like the last time I checked in, this time they all greeted me by name before I checked in or provided ID. It must have been amusing and maybe a bit confusing for some of the other folks checking in when three people behind the counter all called out some variety of “Hey Matt, welcome back” to the tall blond “woman” dragging two large bags behind her. Of course this means that now I’ve gotta try and learn and remember their names! Lol
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Normally when I travel, I note a variety of attitudes directed toward me, usually amusement, sometimes even delight, and very rarely disdain. On this trip though, I’d swear that it was mostly disdain. The flight attendants on both legs of the trip were somewhat stand offish, and I’d swear that the flight attendant between Salt Lake City and Billings Montana was almost hostile. Nothing you could place your finger on or point to and say “See, she was rude”, but she left the distinct impression that she didn’t like me. Very curt and formal, never a smile, and never a “your welcome” to the many times I said “Thank you” to her for odds and ends.
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I’ve recently learned that Delta will allow you to use your frequent flier points to buy membership in their airport club – the Sky Miles Club. This is kind of like a country club at most airports, where you can go in to a nice, comfortable, and quiet environment and get snacks, coffee, and even cocktails at no charge. I would never have considered forking over the $800 annual fee for membership, but since they let me use my miles, it was essentially free, and so I joined a few days ago.
When I entered the Sky miles club in Salt Lake, the woman at the reception desk was absolutely frigid. If I’d had to spend more than a few seconds with her I probably would have caught a cold! Moving past the ice queen at the front desk, I started to explore the place, trying to learn what Delta thought was worth almost a thousand dollars a year. When I entered the main club area, I found a large room full of people, a bar and bartender, a table set up with a toaster and bagels, and another table loaded with snacks. I was more than a little impressed with how big the place was and by how many people were in it. I’d say that there were easily over a hundred people scattered about in lounge chairs and at tables. It was too early in the morning for a drink, so I skipped the bar and continued exploring the joint. As I was walking past the conference and meeting rooms, a young man dressed in the staff uniform walked by me and gave me a huge smile.
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“Well hello!” he said to me. Given that most of the feedback I’d had on this trip had been less than positive, I literally could have hugged the guy for the genuine smile on his face.
“Good Morning!” I replied to him, returning his smile.
“And how are you this morning?” he asked. From his tone and mannerism, I’d guess that he was either gay or TG himself. I know, I know, you can’t claim that “gay” has a special sound or vocabulary, but let’s throw political correctness to the wind and just be honest with each other here. The vast majority of the time, you can tell if a man is gay or not pretty quickly after starting a conversation, especially if he wants you to know.
“Oh, I couldn’t be much gooder, thanks for asking! How are you?” I replied.
“I’m doing just great thanks!”
“I’m exploring!” I told him with a wink and with about the same attitude that Elmer Fudd says “I’m hunting wabbit!”� He just let out a laugh.
“Well good for you! Please let me know if there is anything at all that I can do for you.”
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Feeling a little better about the trip after the friendly interaction, I then made my way to the very small plane that took me from Salt Lake to Billings Montana. When we landed at the airport I walked the entire length of the place looking for the Avis counter and didn’t find it. Most other rental car companies I found, but no avis. At last I walked up to the Enterprise counter where there was a bored woman standing behind the counter.
“Excuse me, but do you know where to find the Avis counter?” I asked her politely, well aware that I was asking her to help me find her competition. She just looked at me for a second, no smile, no nothing.
“They don’t have a counter at the airport.” She said with supremely bored tone. She didn’t bother expanding or offering advice, she just returned to her paper work and totally ignored me. I found a seat, sat down, and pulled out my laptop and checked my reservations. Sure enough, it said that they were located down town, not at the airport, and so I gave ‘em a call.
“Hi, I have a reservation with you and I am at the airport. Do y’all have a shuttle or something?” I asked.
“We sure do. As a matter of fact, he is right outside of door number four right now.” She said with a cheerful voice. I looked around me to see that I was only a hundred feet or so from that door.
“Awesome! Thanks!” I told her and then stuffed my laptop back in to its case. I grabbed my things and headed out the door where I found the Avis van parked not ten feet away. As I approached it, two gentlemen I’d guess to be in their early sixties both rushed forward to take my bags for me.
“Climb on in miss, we’ll take care of these for you.” I was told. As I entered the van, I found four male passengers already seated and one of them moved over to make room for me. As the driver got in, he turned to me.
“Can I have your last name please?” he asked with a smile, holding a clipboard and pen in his hand. I gave him my last name and watched him skim the list with his pen, and then look up at me again.
“I’m sorry, what was it again?” he asked and I once again told him. I saw him skim the list with his pen again and this time I saw the light go off in his eyes when he figured out that yes, he had the right name, and yes, my first name was “Matt”. That was where all of the smiles ended. . .��
It was all I could do to keep from chuckling as I watched him peeking at me over and over through his rear view mirror the entire drive to the Avis lot. I’d give fifty bucks to hear what he was thinking . . .
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
A busy month . . .
Wow there have been so many things happen since I last visited the world as Kim that it’s hard to decide what to add. A lot has happened but not much of it related to cross dressing. Does that mean that no one who typically reads my blog or posts will be interested? I honestly don’t know. What I do know, is that most TG’s I have spoken with or met have been very proud of their countries, and I think most have also served in their own armed forces, so I will go ahead and write and leave it up to you what you skip over and what you read.
So lets see – the last time I was out and about as Kim was in early October 2010 in the Denver area I think. The following week and a half was spent in a mad dash half way across the United States, in a mini van, with two infants and a seven year old, to go see my son graduate from Basic Training with the United States Navy. I spent over a decade active duty Army and of course told my son that if he had any sense at all, he would go in the Air Force or Navy, and this appears to be one of the few times he actually followed my advice. As any parent could guess, spending four days round trip cooped up in a mini van with three adults, two infants, and a seven year old girl, was utterly exhausting. Still, we did eventually make it all the way from the Austin Texas area to Great Lakes Illinois to attend my sons graduation from Basic training.
The night we arrived, I took a short trip from the hotel to scout out the route we would be taking in the morning just to be sure that there would be no surprises. As I pulled in to the parking area just outside the closed and sealed gate to the base, I had a bad moment. I looked at the cold and gray sky, and at the equally cold and gray buildings on the other side of the fence, and I realized that this was where my son had been for the last two months. Someplace cold. Someplace gray. Someplace alone. Someplace a long way from everything that he had ever known and everyone that he knew and loved. I had spent so much time telling him of the exciting things that lay ahead of him, of the places he would go, things he would see, people he would meet, and somehow I had forgotten just how terribly lonely he was going to be at first. With a fairly heavy heart, I backed the van away from the closed gate and returned to my hotel room.
The following morning started off in madness, as you might expect when you have the parents and families of something close to a thousand young men and women all trying to get to the same place at the same time. The first people we ran in to were in our very own hotel, but that was no big surprise given that the hotel was so close to the base. As our entire group of six left the elevator and headed for the dining room, we stumbled across a family with an infant girl in a sailor suite. It was pretty clear they were off to the same place we were, so we chatted for a bit, and let our little ones meet each other.
The next couple we met was there to see their daughter graduate. The father was very quick to point out that he was also ex-Army, and had in fact been Airborne (semi-elite forces). We had a good laugh at the Navy’s expense talking about how quick we were to make damn sure everyone knew we were Army and not Navy, and then laughing again when we both admitted that we had made it a point to steer our children away from the Army that we ourselves took so much pride in.
The ceremony itself was a fairly typical military affair. Lots of fanfare, patriotic music, and speeches by the high mucky mucks. We sat in the stands, desperately trying and failing to pick my sons face out of the hundreds of young men and women arrayed before us. During the first half of the ceremony, I held my youngest son, who is just a bit over one year old, while he was sound asleep in my arms and on my shoulder. I was more than a bit amused at the contrast between my oldest and youngest sons. It seemed like it had only been a few months ago when I had held my oldest son this way, and yet here he was, standing out there amidst a thousand of his “shipmates” and about to receive the most formal declaration he would ever have to prove that he was now an adult man.
At some point, my youngest woke up and decided to complain to the world about his being cooped up in a car for two days and then dragged off to some ceremony where no one would let him down to walk, play, and run. In other words, he started yelling just as loud as he could, and a good deal of the yelling took place while high ranking officers were speechifying. This of course led to mixed emotions on my part. Embarrassment that he was disrupting such a solemn occasion, and just a touch of amusement as I considered how many times I had wanted yell during long drawn out speeches given by officers when I had to stand in formation.
At long last, the speeches came to an end and the young men and women arrayed in front of us were released. My wife and future daughter-in-law started to make their way off of the stands and into the crowd in an attempt to find our young sailor, and I called them back to me.
“Y’all are gonna play holy hell trying to find him in that crowd. Let’s just wait here a moment. I’d be shocked if he didn’t hear his baby brother raising hell earlier and I’ll bet that he knows exactly where to find us by now!” I told them, and sure enough, a moment later my son walked up to us. To say that I was stunned would be an understatement.
When he had left home, his nick name had been “The Troll” because he spent all of his time in his room playing video games and would only come out to eat. Reconciling that with the clean and crisp young sailor with the short hair cut standing in front of me was boggling my mind. After a lot of hugs and excited talking, we made our way outside, and eventually to the car. That entire day was kind of a blur, but eventually it was over, and we had to take him back to the base for the night.
The following day was also a bit blurry, a busy day of walking a mall, seeing a movie, and going out to dinner. It seems that these were pretty much the things that he had been missing through basic and that he had wanted to do. Far too soon, it once again came time to take him back to the base for the night. This time my daughter-in-law and wife had to stay at the hotel to take care of the babies and get them off to bed, and so I took him back to base by myself. You are only allowed to carry them so far into the base – only to the church parking lot. From there you must drop them off and they will then walk the rest of the way to their barracks . . .err . . ship. We talked for a few minutes about this and that. About how proud I was of him. About how he should never feel alone because we were always thinking of him. About how it didn’t matter where I was or what I was doing, if he ever needed me I would come. Of course the military doesn’t tolerate being late, not even being close to the deadline, and so eventually we hugged, said our goodbyes, and I watched my first born child walk off into the cold night in his long dark over coat, walking alone toward the bleak and gray buildings off in the distance. I sat there in the car and watched him walk off until I couldn’t see him anymore due to the dark, and then I reached for the transmission shifter. I pulled it down into “drive”, sat there a moment, and then slowely pushed it back up into “park”. So much for my being Army tough and Army strong, because I sat there for more than twenty minutes sobbing like a baby with my face buried on my hands. All of my life I had been the one walking off into the distance. I was the one getting on the bus or the airplane. I was the one leaving everything and everyone behind and going it alone. Not this night though. This night it was my son, my child, my little boy, that was walking off in to the lonely night all by himself. All those years I had told him of the grand adventure that the military was, of the excitement and pride that it brought, and I had totally forgotten how terrible and awful the loneliness had been in the beginning. This is what I had encouraged my son to do and to be and I wonder if he will ever forgive me . . .
After a while, I thought I had my act together well enough to drive, and so I made my way back to the hotel where I made my way to the elevator and then to our room. As I entered the room, my wife looked at me with surprise and concern.
“Are you OK?” she asked quietly, trying not to wake up the sleeping children.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I lied to her as I hugged her.
“You look like you have been crying.”
“Nah . . . “
“Just allergies then?” she asked with a knowing smile.
“Yeah, just allergies . . . “ I lied, but the lie didn’t last long as I came apart and started crying again while I held her.
The next day was our last with him and we all went to drop him off that night. He and I had a couple of moments alone outside of the van to say our good byes and it was all I could do to keep it together when he started crying while we hugged. I reminded him again that he was never alone, never more than a phone call away, and that I would always be there if he needed or wanted me. Much faster than I myself had recovered the night before, he pulled himself together and once again started off into the night. I watched him for a moment, and then I got in to the van and started to pull away.
“Hey! I can still see him! I want to watch him go!” my daughter-in-law pleaded with me as we pulled away.
“Uh uh. Trust me - that makes it a lot harder. “ I told her as I drove off. She probably thinks I’m a huge asshole for not waiting. Of course she has no idea how bad I had lost it the night before, or how hard I was clenching my teeth and managing my breathing just trying not to break down right there in front of her and the children.
We got back to Austin just in time for the weekend, and then on Monday I had to report for Jury duty. Several hundred people showed up and were crowded into a large room where they weeded out the first batch of people with a good excuse to not be there. Some were genuine excuses from folks that truly would have been under some hardship to serve. Some though, were just people that couldn’t be bothered to do their small part for our countries justice system.. Soon enough, they had the rest of us broke down in to separate groups and each group was sent off to a court room to be interviewed by the lawyers for the respective trials. In my courtroom, there were 60 people, and the lawyers asked a number of leading questions to the crowd in general, and sometimes to specific people. I kept quiet the entire time and just watched the madness. Some people were clearly still working the angles to get out of the jury duty. There were at least six people that kept popping up and responding to questions in a way that was obviously intended to make it clear that they were not suitable. I’ve got to be honest, at more than one point it took an effort for me to keep quiet, because I had to keep fighting the urge to stand up and shout at them “shut up and sit down you worthless piece of shit. Your country asked so damned little of you and you just can’t be bothered.”
At one point I realized that the defense attorney that was leading the question and answer session was not the one really evaluating people. While the one was in front of the crowd and talking to them, the other was sitting off in the distance intently looking at people. Clearly he was the one truly doing the evaluating while the other led us on and distracted us. I sort of started as I realized that while I was figuring this out and thinking about it, he was staring directly at me even though I was in the back of the room. 60 people in the room, at least 20 of them have been actively participating in the interview process while I sat quietly in the back of the room, and I’ll be damned if they didn’t choose me. . .
The trial was about a 41 year old man that had molested a 4 year old girl, and I’d have to say that serving on that jury was one of the most uncomfortable things I’ve ever had to do.
While it was obviously an awful thing, there was no “violence” involved. The little girl, who is now five, took the stand and she was so bright and cheerful. I think that she will be “all right” as long as her family has the sense to not keep referring to it, bringing it up, and reminding her. She seems fine, but of course the scars are most likely on the inside (in her mind and soul) and will become more evident as she grows older.
The little girls mother is of course a basket case. The one and only time that she was forced by her work schedule to leave her daughter with her fiancé of two years, he molested her. Can you just imagine the guilt and anguish that this woman will have for the rest of her life? It's only human - as irrational as it is, she will always think that she should have magically known, that her ESP should have some how warned her. There will always be a voice in that mothers mind that whispers to her late at night "It was my fault".
The children of the man who did it are model students, well on their way to scholarships. When his 16 or 17 year old son entered to testify, more or less as a character witness, the man broke down in tears and I damn near did too. Could you imagine having to look your son in the eyes after having just been found guilty of molesting a four year old? Can you imagine being the young man, walking past your father to testify on his behalf, knowing that he had done this? Still, the young man did take the stand, did say that his father was a good man who had always been a kind and loving father.
His 14 year old daughter entering the courtroom carrying a stuffed animal and giggling for a solid five minutes from the shear nerves and mental anguish of it all. . .
His invalid mother sobbing that she had brought her son to the United States when he was ten to give him a better life. "He had always been such a good and decent man, how can this happen?"
Several life long friends of his came to testify as to his character, and even after learning what he had done, they were willing to stand with him and call him a good man that should not spend his entire life in prison for one horrendous act.
All of those people who's lives are shattered.
All of those families destroyed.
He had never done a single illegal thing in his entire life, and then he does THIS and totally destroys the lives of everyone who loved him.
One thing I am SO thankful for - while he tried to recant it when the lawyers got involved, the man confessed on video and gave details making it clear it was a true and honest confession. At least I don't have to live with the fear and terror that I may have made a mistake and helped to send an innocent man to prison.
Oh, the next time I’m called in for Jury duty, I may well be one of those low lifes trying to weasel my way out of it. I don’t think I can do that again . . .
After three weeks away from work, and one week spent at the office, I at last found myself back on the road again for my job. I would have to admit that it was with a good deal of relief, because I needed some quiet time alone after the last month. I couldn’t make the flight to Detroit as Kim though, because my flights got in early enough to go directly to the customer when I arrived. Still, the next day I was done fairly early and for the first time in a month, I was looking in the mirror to apply makeup. I was mildly surprised to find that in only a month I was already getting rusty on my skills, and so it took me a bit longer than usual to get ready. What really came as a surprise though was when I reached for the door knob to my room and had a small moment of panic at the thought of leaving the room. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt that particular trepidation, and I’ve got to tell you, I haven’t missed it at all. Getting more than a little irritated with myself for being silly, I took the plunge, pulled the door open, and headed out!
I did a couple of things that day! I went and saw the movie “Hereafter” directed by Clint Eastwood. I would have to admit that I found it a little disappointing. They were trying to tell the stories of several people but they never really tied them all together coherently and I thought the end was unsatisfying. I love Clint Eastwood, but even so, I’m gonna have to recommend ya skip this one.
After I saw the movie, I went looking for a female coat. I have a huge and heavy coat but its size and weight make it undesirable when it comes to traveling. It takes half my suite case and that’s not acceptable! Lol So anyway, I made my way through a Marshalls and a JC Penny’s checking out what they had available. As far as I could tell, no one gave me the slightest bit of attention, and that is of course just the way I like it. I found a couple of coats that I thought were pretty neat, but still hadn’t made up my mind. I found a royal blue coat at JC Penny that was on sale from $250 down to $130 that I really liked, but I still wasn’t positive, so I made my way to a near by mall to see what they had. After walking the mall I decided that I hadn’t liked anything I saw there anywhere near as much as I’d liked the blue coat at JC Pennys, so I made my way to the JC Penny in the mall instead of driving back to the one I’d actually found the coat at. I figured that they would probably have the same coat and I was right, but they were still showing the price as $250. Even though its tag said $250, when I ran it under the price check scanner, it came up as $130! YAY!
The following morning I was headed to from Detroit to Lexington Kentucky. I’ve been there once or twice before, but not often enough to really get to know the place. I was going to wear a white knit top with a long and very floaty and fluffy multicolored skirt, but when I got dressed they just didn’t look right together. In the end, I discarded the skirt and pulled out the same one I’d worn last night, and I thought the outfit looked pretty good if I may say so myself.
This time I had to go through one of those full body scanners at the airport. They really stress that you have to remove everything from your pockets, to include paper and the like, so I was a bit nervous knowing that I was wearing breast forms and hip pads. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, so in I went.
“OK ma’am, please place your feet in the painted foot steps, stand with your hands above your head, and make a diamond shape with your thumbs and fingers.” The woman said to me as I entered the small enclosure. As soon as I was situated, the sensor very quickly rotated all of the way around me.
“OK, you can exit it now. Please step forward and wait.” She told me with a smile. I stepped out of the machine and moved forward about half a dozen steps to wait in front of her. About 15 seconds later she puts her hand up to her ear piece.
“Roger that. The breast area.” She softly says into her microphone.
“Ok miss, I’m going to have to pat down your breast area OK? It’s what we call a ‘sensitive’ area and so I will be using the back of my hand. All set?”
“Sure, I guess.” I replied, and the woman did indeed proceed to rub the back of her hands all over my upper chest area for a moment before telling me that I could proceed.
“So, am I going to get a personal inspection every time I go through one of those machines then?” I asked her.
“I have no idea. I doubt it though. It was probably just your under wire bra or something.” She said with a smile. I was pretty sure that it had nothing to do with the under wire bra, and everything to do with the fact that I was wearing breast forms. I grabbed all of my stuff and stepped over to a bench where I could sit down and put my laptop away and put my shoes back on.
“Aren’t those shoes SO cute?!” I hear a woman saying. I looked up to see three flight attendants walking by me and one of them is talking to another and pointing at my shoes. They were moving along pretty quickly and already moving away, so I just gave her a big smile.
The young man I sat next to was an aspiring movie camera man and he apparently liked to talk, because I knew everything about him shortly after the flight took off. It turns out that he is on his way back to Boston to work on a film, so we chatted about the making of movies. I’ve never been part of a professional movie, but I did once help to make a fan film for Star Trek, and that was enough to show me that while it was hard work, it was a great deal of fun. At one point he confided that he hated flying and had taken something to keep him calm. THAT turned out to be the right choice on his part, because as the plane was approaching for a landing in Lexington things started to go wrong. First we started to descend, and then we leveled off started to circle the airport.
“Well ladies and gentlemen, from the cockpit, we just thought we should let you know what is going on. During landing, we set our flaps to 40 to give us a bit more lift. The problem is, we are getting an indication up here that they are only extending to 20. Now this is nothing to worry about, but just to be on the safe side, I have declared an emergency and we will probably have a few fire trucks greeting us when we land. I want to repeat that this is nothing to get excited about - I have done this a couple of times.”
The first thought that crossed my mind was to wonder if he had “done this” in a simulator or a real aircraft, but I wasn’t gonna voice that one out loud. Then I remembered that the guy next to me had told me early on that he was afraid of flying so I looked his way and found him white as a sheet.
“I wouldn’t worry about it much. It just means that we are gonna land a little faster than normal.” I told him with a smile. I acted like I had a clue, but of course everything I know about flight is theoretical and flight simulator based. Still, I put my money where my mouth is and just returned to reading my book to prove that I wasn’t concerned. As I’d expected, it seemed to me that we just landed going a bit faster than normal. Even at the higher speed, we hit the ground pretty soft and then hit the brakes a bit hard. I gave my seat mate another smile.
“Well, at least the brakes work!” I told him with a grin.
When I got to my hotel I realized that I had stayed here before and had quite enjoyed the place – The Campbell House. They have a live band on Friday nights that plays old rock and roll, and since I was going to have to be there Friday night, that was going to be pretty cool!
On both Thursday and Friday nights, the installation and training I was there to provide wasn’t going so well, so I didn’t get off until late both nights – too late to bother going out dressed anywhere. Thursday night though, I found myself walking down one of the very long hall ways of the hotel, and there before me, in a secluded area I found a white grand piano and decided to give it a whirl!
On Friday night I went to Bogarts, the pub in the hotel, and watched the band and the crowd. Unlike my last visit here, I was drab this time and garnered no attention what so ever.
Saturday I had late flights back home. I didn’t have a thing to do all day but get home, and yet they booked me on flights that didn’t even leave until almost 5PM. I guess it saved them a couple of bucks on the flight or something. I did go ahead and fly home dressed, thinking that I wasn’t going to arrive until well after my children had gone to bed so what the heck.
As the plane was closing up to take off the pilot came on the intercom and assured us that he had 20 something years of experience as a US Navy pilot, and that the co-pilot also had over 20 years experience but as a Marine pilot.
“. . . so between the two of us, we have over 40 years of experience up here.”
To my surprise the gentleman sitting next to me started to laugh, so I looked his way with a raised eyebrow.
“I just hope he wasn’t an aircraft carrier pilot. . . “ he told me with a wink.
You will be glad to know that we landed safe and sound, no arresting cables, no fire trucks . . .
As long as it was Saturday, late in the evening, and I was dressed, I figured I’d just go ahead and go out in Austin for the evening. My daughter in law has often expressed a desire to hang out with me (morbid curiosity maybe?) and so I invited her to go. As I was parking the car and going to pay for the parking, a very drunk man walked up to her and I.
“You don’t have to worry about the machine, I’ll take your payment for you.” He told us, slurring his words so badly it was hard to understand him. My daughter in law and I just laughed and told him “No thanks”, and continued working with the kiosk. Our drunken friend took one real hard look at me.
“You have too much bass in your voice!” he told with a confused look on his face.
“Yeah, I’ve been told that before. Thanks for letting me know.” I replied. As we were walking away my daughter in law told me to ignore him, he was just an asshole.
We ended up at Pete’s dueling Piano bar on sixth street and really had a good time. Not a whole lot of music in the joint, but a LOT of humor. It was a great place to hang out and I definitely recommend it!
Did I mention that I’ve had a really busy month?
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Jury Duty Sucks . . .
Monday I went in for jury duty, thinking that if I were selected to serve, it would be a few hours of my time over something like traffic tickets. Instead, I found myself doing something that I sincerely hope that none of you or I will EVER have to do again - serve on a jury in the trial of a 41 year old man that molested a 4 year old girl.
In five minutes, Jose Arturo Alvarado destroyed so many lives, including his own.
The little girl is now five, cute as a button, and was so very brave, bold, and cheerful when she testified. She seems fine, but of course the scars are most likely on the inside (in her mind and soul) and will become more evident as she grows older.
The little girls mother is of course a basket case. The one and only time that she was forced by her work schedule to leave her daughter with her fiancé of two years, he molested her. Can you just imagine the guilt and anguish that this woman will have for the rest of her life? It's only human - as irrational as it is, she will always think that she should have magically known, that her ESP should have some how warned her. There will always be a voice in that mothers mind that whispers to her late at night "It was my fault".
Jose's children are model students, well on their way to scholarships. When his 16 or 17 year old son entered to testify, more or less as a character witness, the man broke down in tears and I damn near did too. Could you imagine having to look your son in the eyes after having just been found guilty of molesting a four year old? Can you imagine walking past your father to testify on his behalf, knowing that he had done this? Still, the young man did take the stand, did say that his father was a good man who had always been a kind and loving father.
His 14 year old daughter entering the courtroom carrying a stuffed animal and giggling for a solid five minutes from the shear nerves and mental anguish of it all. . .
His invalid mother sobbing that she had brought her son to the United States when he was ten to give him a better life. "He had always been such a good and decent man, how can this happen?"
Several life long friends of his came to testify as to his character, and even after learning what he had done, they were willing to stand with him and call him a good man that should not spend his entire life in prison for one horrendous act.
All of those people who's lives are shattered.
All of those families destroyed.
One thing I am SO thankful for - while he tried to recant it when the lawyers got involved, the man confessed on video and gave details making it clear it was a true and honest confession. At least I don't have to live with the fear and terror that I may have made a mistake and helped to send an innocent man to prison.
Sorry, time to go! I need to go hug my daughter . . .
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Karaoke in Denver
I went to Colorado Springs via Salt Lake City and Denver. I would have liked to have gone “pretty” but my wife has been unhappy about things like this, and I have been kind of bummed for a host of reasons, and so I spent yet another 14 hour day traveling ugly and bored out of my mind, in airports, airplanes, and then rental cars.
The following day I worked with my customer on a system that I don’t work with often. My confidence and competence when working on equipment is in direct proportion to how often and how recently I have worked with it. Since I only see this type of system once every three years or so, I was a bit nervous starting out but was soon up to my elbows in the thing and got the job done.
I made one serious mistake while swapping out a component – I trusted my customer. The system I was working on creates Ozone and then mixes it with water. Since ozone attacks organics, this highly ozonated water is then used to clean semiconductor wafers. Well, the process of purging the system and depressurizing it is automated and several hours long, and so to save time I would be billing them for, we agreed that the customer would complete this process before I arrived. When I arrived, the customer assured me that they had performed the purge and drain, and I accepted his word for it – that was DUMB! I pulled a hose off of the component I was to replace and almost had a heart attack when ozonated water started to jet out of it! Fortunately I am the paranoid type and had a tub there to catch the water with, but that didn’t do anything at all for all of the ozone that I was letting loose into their factory. I sat there with my eyes bouncing back and forth between the water jetting in to the tub while being damn sure I didn’t get it on me or my customer, and reading the ozone safety monitor of the system that would evacuate their entire factory if the ozone levels went too high. After about two minutes, the water pressure started to drop and then fell off to a trickle, so now I was just staring at the safety monitor and watching it continue to climb toward the “Kim just evacuated the factory” alarm level. I was literally holding my breath to keep from burning my lungs with the ozone, and so it was with great relief that I started to breath again when the ozone level started to drop before it reached the alarm level.
“Umm, you told me that you purged and drained the system. What happened?” I asked the customer, trying to remain polite despite being deeply angry.
“Oh we did! We let it purge for at least twenty minutes before we shut it down.” He said with a smile, having no idea why I was upset.
The problem with that is that the automated process takes well over an hour and then shuts itself down after it drains the system. Ugh . . .
To avoid having to make a two hour drive to the airport at 3AM, I drove up to the Denver area and stayed the night there. After I arrived, I sat there in my hotel looking around at the walls, listening to the window air conditioner cycling off and on with a loud “clunk” every cycle, and decided I was going to go nuts if I stayed there. A short look on the internet and I found that there was a place called “BJ’s” in Denver that was doing karaoke tonight and so I started getting cleaned up, dressed up, and out the door.
It was still a bit early for karaoke when I was ready and so I decided to raid the mall. You see my wife and daughter-in-law both took a look at a retro dark blue with white polka dot dress I bought recently and both told me that I needed a red belt and red shoes to go with it. The more I thought about it, the more I thought they were right. The problem is, I don’t have any red shoes. I started off in Macy’s raiding their sales rack where I have often found killer shoes in the past. I didn’t find any red shoes on the sales rack that I liked, but I did find a red pair of Mary Janes that I really liked on the display floor and took them up to the counter. As I stood there waiting for the clerk to come back, I noticed a woman standing behind me and she keeps glancing up at me. With my heels on, I am a good foot or more taller than her and I felt like Big Foot by comparison. Finally the clerk returns.
“Do you have these in size nine and a half and size tens?” I asked her.
“Sure, hold on a moment and I’ll go take a look.” She gave me a smile and then looked at the woman behind me who was also holding a pair of shoes in her hands. “What size were you looking for?”
“Size eight and a half please.” The lady replied, handing the clerk the shoes. We waited and waited after the clerk left us, and given the rather long wait, I finally decided to start a conversation.
“You are SO lucky! I’d kill to be able to wear eight and a halfs.” I told her with a grin.
“Actually, I normally wear size eights, this brand just runs small.” She said with a smile of her own.
“Well then I’m even more jealous! Quite often shoes that are adorable in size 5 and 6 aren’t so cute when they get up to the size 9 and 10 areas.” I told her with a laugh.
“I know what you mean! I envy those who wear size 5 and 6 too!” she said.
“Well, at least you have the satisfaction of knowing that some of us envy you!” I told her and we both laughed.
Right about then the clerk returned and handed the other lady her shoes first. Then she informed me that her computer was wrong! They were supposed to have these shoes in the sizes I asked for, but she couldn’t find them anywhere.
“You know, I can look to see if one of other stores has them if you like?” she offered.
Long story short, she found another Macys not more than six miles away that had them, and so I made my way there and am now the owner of a cute pair of red mary janes. Bad news though, while they are red, they are suede and have multiple shades – they are not going to work with the dress I wanted them for.
At “BJ’s” I got settled in and was going through the song book when I noticed a couple of guys sitting at the bar and they keep glancing at me. After a couple of minutes I started a conversation up with them.
“Girl, we were just checking out your shoes!” the tall blond one tells me with an attitude and demeanor making it fairly clear that he is probably a cross dresser too. “They look great! Where did you get them?”
“Awe thanks! Would you believe I got them at JC Penny on the close out rack for about $10?!”
“No way!” he said, and then after a pause. “That IS your real hair isn’t it?”
“I’m afraid not. I have less hair than the gentleman at the end of the bar there.” I told him with a wave after I stopped laughing.
“Oh my God, that hair looks flawless. We were talking about you when you came in and we were just sure you were a woman.”
They had generously decided that I was female, but I was still trying to figure one of them out. The tall blond doing all of the talking had made it clear that he was a cross dresser, but the shorter Hispanic one he was sitting with was not as clear. He had the beginnings of a beard, but some fairly female features including the hint of breasts. Thinking that this was probably also a cross dresser that just wasn’t dressed at the moment, I settled on using the female pronouns to be safe – and was wrong. It turns out that he was a female to male cross dresser! I felt terrible that I had blown it and probably offended him, but my intentions had been the best if that counts for anything. . .
Oh, and the karaoke? It was freaking awesome! Most of the people that got up and sang were really, really good, and not one of them was bad. Way cool . . .
Here are a few video clips I made with my phone. Terribly sorry about the sound quality but I think it’s good enough that you can tell some of these folks were VERY good. The gentleman in this first video deeply impressed me. The quality of the recording doesn’t do him justice, because he literally left me speechless:
Thursday, September 23, 2010
What a snob!
I got a bit of a reality check and a slap upside the head this morning. Someone had made a comment that I had blown them off and looked down my nose at them when they introduced themselves to me last year at the Southern Comfort Conference. Since I’ve never looked down my nose at anyone in my life, I had thought that they were kidding and just teasing, and so I had replied with something flippant and sarcastic. Well this morning I received a message from them making it quite clear that they were not kidding or teasing, and quite honestly felt that I had acted like a snob. What a concept! Me, the dirt poor, trailer park trash, desert rat being a snob. I sat there in the airport gate area reading this message and my heart kind of sank at the thought that I had actually hurt someone. That was their first time out, they had tried to talk to me, and I had apparently blown them off and in some way implied that they were not worthy of my time.
I had literally had a hundred or more people stop me to talk to me and so would have to be honest that I don’t recall this meeting. Actually that would be my one and only excuse for my behavior – I was fairly overwhelmed while I was there. As a result of my forum posts about traveling, my blog, and the hundreds of people that I have met in my travels, I literally had dozens of people stopping me every few feet.
“Hey, I know you . . .”
“I read your blog . . . “
“Aren’t you Kim from Texas?”
“We are on the same forum . . . “
“Don’t you recognize me? I’m one of your facebook friends . . . “
Anyone that knows me will tell you that I have an exceptionally bad memory, but I’m pretty sure that even those with the best of memories can’t recall close to a thousand facebook and Myspace friends, and several thousand active forum members. I guess that I did reach the point where I just smiled and said “Hi, glad to meet you”, and then returned to what ever I was doing or who ever I was talking to. Looking back on it, I would have to agree that I was probably thoughtless and inconsiderate, perhaps even to the point of being unintentionally rude. If YOU were one of the people that I apparently snubbed when I grew overwhelmed, I really am so sorry, and I’m not trying to be sarcastic this time. Having said that, and if it’s all the same to you, if you wanna slam me, would you mind calling me a thoughtless and rude bitch rather than a snob? I HATE snobs . . .
Now watch, the next time I go to SCC, everyone will avoid me like the plague. After all, we wouldn’t want to overwhelm the arrogant and snobby bitch, would we?!
I thought I was going to have at least a week in my office, but at around lunch time yesterday I got a call from a good customer of ours in Detroit. They have a lot of our Infrared Mass Specs, and a few months ago they put three of them in an environment that was much too hot for them, and the thermal expansion shifted the alignment of some of the optics. These things can be very temperamental when the alignment is not perfect and they are now running in to problems. I’ve made it clear that they really need to be returned to the factory where they can be aligned properly, but they are desperate to get at least one of them running in a hurry, and so off I go!
It’s funny the way that different people react to people like me. On the flight from Austin to Chicago, the two flight attendants were pushing the beverage cart down the isle. The tall blonde took one look at me and frowned like she had just sucked on a lemon. The other flight attendant grinned from ear to ear and chatted with me off and on through out the flight. The flight was half empty so she had time on her hands. She told me how much she liked my new butterfly bracelet and so I told her I got it at the Austin airport for only $15. Then she showed me a crochet key chain she was making. It seems that crocheting is her diet plan, as she said it was either that or eating. Then in the Chicago airport I stopped for a peanut smoothie and the guy behind the counter was falling all over himself, grinning from ear to ear, and offering me samples. Clearly he was tickled to death for some reason.
Arrrrrggghhhh . . . I can’t stop dwelling on the fact that someone thinks that I am a snob! Now I have to wonder if I am and just don’t know it? After all, it seems likely that a snob would be the last person to know that they’re a snob, now doesn’t it?
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