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Dizzying Intellect » 2005» December

Pride and Worry

My oldest nephew is now a Marine.

I’m not sure exactly when he joined up, but I just got an email from my sister today with the news. I’ve always considered myself an Air Force girl, because his dad (me bruddah) was in that branch (and I was planning to join too, until I found out women couldn’t fly in combat). But I guess I’m a Marines girl now. So, ooh rah, or whatever. *shudder*

*sigh*

Yeah, so the city came and vacuumed up all my 542,875,941 leaves yesterday.

And they knocked down all my wires, on the way out. Electric, phone, cable, etc. They didn’t actually rip them off the pole, but they almost ripped them off the house. And now they’re in my bushes, and hanging four feet off the road, being guarded by a very cute young police officer so some dumbass kid doesn’t try to swing on them, until the electric company can get out to hoist them back up.

Asps. Very dangerous. You go first.

FOXNews.com - Lucas: ‘Indiana Jones 4′ at Last

And Harrison Ford will apparently be in it.

I am very hesitantly, excited.

Hope

I talked to my baby sister yesterday, and she told me that her sister (my former stepsister) is pregnant again. She’s due next month.

I’ve always loved Mel, even tho I understand her less than any other human on earth. Her first baby almost killed her. She had a grande mal seizure at home and doesn’t remember any of the birth. They removed my niece in a way that’s only a caesarian section in the broadest sense - they cut a big x across her whole belly - because they were so sure she was going to die. She survived the birth only to develop double pneumonia in the hospital, and then it took almost a year for the incision to heal, including infections and staples pulling out at random.

She remembers none of this, so it doesn’t scare her to do it again. Now, she was roughly 300 pounds (at 5′2″) at the time, so losing a lot of weight and planning for another c-section helped with her second daughter, who was born in 2003. But now she’s 36, and we’re getting into a whole ‘nother ballgame.

And she’s naming the kid after me. Not intentionally, I don’t think, but her name will be the nickname Mel called me when we were in high school. The name I had on my license plates. I don’t understand why she would do that, because we haven’t spoken in seven years, but it makes me doubly nervous.

It’s not that I wouldn’t want her to do this. She always wanted a houseful of kids, and she’s a fabulous mother. I’m so excited for her, I’m bouncing.

But I’m scared shitless.

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Duh.

So it’s Saturday morning, and I decided to go back to bed instead of walking the pooch at 6am, so now it’s 9:30am and we’re outside. 6am is much nicer because it’s dark and cold and there are, therefore, no annoying people to piss me off. But now it’s 9:30am and there are annoying people.

This old woman, who never has anything nice to say to anyone, and whom I like less and less, exponentially, sees us coming, and literally runs out into the four-lane road. When she’s halfway across, she slows to a mosey — which, sadly, didn’t get her run over, as there were no cars nearby, not even one — and turns back to yell, defiantly, “Ah ain’t sceered uh him!!” Mmm-hmm. I can tell.

Instead of replying “that’s ok. I’m the one you should be afraid of,” which was on the tip of my tongue, I say politely, “You aren’t supposed to be afraid of him. He’s just a dog.” Stupid of me to be nice. Stupid.

Cut to six hours later. I’ve been blowing and raking leaves all day, excluding the time when the leafblower died and I had to go buy a %$#@ing new one. I have 542,875,941 leaves piled outside the fence. I’m totally exhausted, freezing, irritable, and can barely move my arms. I had to take part of the fence apart, so I could get the leaves out of the yard, and now it’s getting dark, it’s 35°F, and it’s starting to rain. I have to get the rest of the leaves outside the fence, and put the fence back together — which is going to involve not only clamps and a wrench, but worse, taking my nice warm gloves off — before (a) it gets dark, or (b) I turn into an popsicle.

So, naturally, who shows up? That’s right, catty old bitch who can’t say anything nice and is physically incapable of minding her own business. I pointedly ignore her for easily five minutes, but she won’t go away. Finally I turn off the leafblower and just look at her. And she says, “You hafta git these out ta th’ streeeeet.”

Gee. You mean exactly like the last ten times I’ve done this, you annoying old cow?

God, I fucking hate people.