The Day After

No, I didn’t take a pill in Ibiza. Or drink too much Abita.

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My shriveled soul after 2 pages of Audit Quality Literature Review. Only 73 more pages to go.

But the day ain’t over, yet. Not by a long shot.

So this didn’t happen while I waited in line for 30 minutes at the LSU bookstore to spend $300 on 2 used books,  but I totally tried to instigate one:

Football season opener next week. It may be the only game I get to watch in it’s entirety. Mostly because they hold these suckers outside. In Louisiana. Where it’s hotter than Satan’s steam room on the 4th of July.

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Its a wet kind of heat. And by wet I mean melted-fat slime puddling in your shoes. That kind of wet.

I really need to stop procrastinating and just get it over with. It’s the only way to get finished.  Yesterday, I basked in the accomplishment of achieving the halfway mark. Today, I face the brutal reality that there are 2 years left of uphill climbing.

Thank you to everybody who has been so supportive of me. I appreciate all the encouragement as I try to remember that it “ain’t about how fast I get there, ain’t about what’s waiting on the other side.”

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I do NOT endorse this theme park

I’d rather face a pack of rabid velociraptors then the endure the inefficiencies and indignities of modern air travel.

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Now I know that only George W. Bush has a weather machine, so it’s not anybody’s fault we got delayed, but….

if we didn’t have to arrive 2 hours early for our public strip search then it would have significantly shortened the length of time we spent enjoying the hospitality of the airlines.

The worst part of an unexpected overnight in the ATL is the complete lockdown Coca-Cola has on the vendors. No diet Mountain Dew in site.

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My summer paper is due today (by 5pm), Baby Lyle’s move in day is Tuesday, and I present this paper Friday.

I have tentatively scheduled a nervous breakfown for Friday afternoon. At a bar. Somewhere in Baton Rouge.

CREDIT: to Lyle for the title and the subsequent 12 second lecture and demonstration on how to save a google image WITHOUT taking a acreenshot.

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How One Letter to a Kid at Camp Cost Me $1,000

My favorite sister-in-law over 6’0″ sent a reasonable email request– send nephew correspondence my snail mail.

I was all set to comply, but when I went to my correspondence supply drawer, I found something even more frilly than this:

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My cards had triple the flowers and GLITTER!

He IS at NATURE CAMP. But that internal debate lasted about 3 milliseconds before I decided to send him something to counter-act that Wolfpack shirt he was wearing– an LSU card.

But the heat index is 112 (not even kidding), my knee is gimpy, and parking is non-existent, so I drove to a nearby shopping center.

And that’s when it started to snowball:

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The cost breakdown is as follows:

$38 for new stationery from store next the Trader Joe’s.

$4.11 for Trader Joe  cookie butter cookies (9 servings @ 180 calories = 2 days in the gym)

$100 for chiropractic therapy to relieve pain caused by said exercise.

$857.89 for new suit and shoes to wear to AAA conference because instead of losing 2 lbs, I gained 3 from cookies.

I hope he likes his card and has a good time at camp.

Not like this guy

 

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Life Skillz

To heck with reading, writing and arithmetic. What I want to know is why we don’t teach JUGGLING to our kids?

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Elvis impersonator/Jugglers make bank

 

Life is a constant trial of keeping multiple balls in the air. Surely some training in this area makes sense?

I think that with enough practice I could manage to work and play. So far my tally is Work: 247 million. Play:84,000.

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Even T-Rex doesn’t need Common Core to figure this math problem out. 

Balance. Equipoise. These are the challenges of the 1st World human.  Maslow figured it out last century, but we still aren’t preparing people for what it means.

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The boundaries are fluid. Fighting for your life on the freeway can be followed by attempting to finish a creative project 

We are all so blessed to live in this magical time of internet and air conditioning. 20, 30,40 years ago, the marvels we take for granted were mere dreams of kids sitting in the backseat playing the alphabet game on cross-country vacations.

I wither need a clone, time turner or the cat-like ability to bi-locate. Those are on my Christmas wish list.

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While time is theoretically fluid, our perception is one-way  probably easier to do a brsin transplant than have a working time machine  

Mark’s got 6 months to find another me!

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LA Freeway

“If I can just get off the LA Freeway without getting killed or caught….”

There’s a whole story in that one line.  A lifetime of tales in just one song.

Storytelling is magic. It’s art to craft a just-right set of words. It’s work to hone the talent. It’s brave to share, to set it free among strangers.

Speaking of bravery, Baby Lyle graduated high school under a full moon on Friday the 13th. I’m still looking for a 4-leaf clover, horseshoe, and white rabbit’s foot to balance out the portents.

Just a few more days until Sweet Leah’s out of school and we scoot over to Bama’s best beach for a girls only retreat. We have strict dietary requirements for our read-a-thon:

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And Books. And Ice Cream. And Books. And Kraft Mac and Cheese. And Books. 

YOLO! YOLO to you and you and you!

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Hide and Seek

Today I had a final exam in a master’s level auditing class. The last time I had auditing was nearly 30 years ago (if you round to the nearest decade.) A lot has changed since then, but the questions are as tricky as ever. Here’s an example:

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I don’t know if it was the sub-optimal combination of too little sleep and not enough studying, but my brain shorted out on the last question.

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Imagine there are formulas at the top in the blue stuff and that’s what I could remember. But how to use answers I calculated & what to add it to & when to stop– that’s the bits and pieces in the middle that got wiped out by a black magic eraser. (Image Credit: Me, Myself & I)

 

It was like playing hide and seek with a feral cat who’s food dish is empty. You ain’t got a chance. The more I demanded my brain recall the information, the further it sank into the deep, dark recesses of my synapses, until, Poof! It was gone like a nano-particle in a physics experiment.

What I wonder is how come I can’t forget about a half-empty package of Oreos?

 

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Public Privacy

I made a list of people that I want with me when I am using the potty:

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All-Inclusive List of People Invited to my Potty Party

I’m not a freaky exhibitionist, so I want to do all my private ablations in freaking PRIVATE. Which is why I try to take care of my business at home.

When a call of nature occurs otherwise, I am grateful that there are businesses who provide clean facilities for me to use FREE OF CHARGE. When I had smaller children, I was glad I didn’t have to change dirty diapers in my car. Or pull over on the side of the road and tell them to hang their naked booty out the door and try not to get snakebit, poison ivy or run-over.

Do you see where I’m going with this?

Nobody owes you a place to relieve yourself in private when you are in public.

After this shit-storm, we’ll be lucky if businesses don’t close all their public restrooms and put some of these in the parking lot. After all, they ensure your PRIVACY. Can’t nobody but you fit in one:

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The ultimate in public potty privacy

 

 

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