Putting out Fires

This used to be my carpet.  Until this got to it:

OK, for some reason I can’t get my posts to upload photos.  I’m trying something new thanks to a good friend.  Here we go…

AWE!  Karma D. Bear!  This is one of my favorite pictures of her. 

There are few things that get me as worked up as I do about snowbirds. I was sitting at a stoplight the other day, and I noticed that the cars all around me read like this:  North Dakota, Alberta, Minnesota, Nebraska…  Arizona has become the new Florida.

Not getting into the intersection when attempting to turn left (screwing everyone behind them), stopping in the middle of the road for no reason, driving on the wrong side of the road, cruising at 15 under the speed limit, waiting for the sound of honking horns (and not the actual green light) as a cue that its time to drive.  I could go on. 

You may be reading this and thinking how insensitive I’m being.  Well, my friends, you don’t live in the far East Valley.  You’ve never sat in the hospital ER bleeding for TWO HOURS because of the over-crowding.  You’ve never had your vehicle trashed because some snowbird chose to stop in the middle of Power Rd. just long enough to cause a chain reaction accident and then have them drive off.  You’ve never had to change grocery stores for 5 months out of the year due to the shear frustration of being stuck EVERY TIME behind someone who has all day to do their shopping, and they plan on using every second of that time HOLDING YOU UP. 

One thing I will say about the snowbirds though:  they’re the only people in this state who actually know how to drive in rain on the 10 days a year we get it.

I have a girlfriend who is the most giving person I’ve ever known.  She’s not one of those people who sits around and says, “Isn’t it sad about those poor children in the third world countries?”.  This girl actually does something about it!  She’s dedicated her life to helping people she’s never met. 

I’m ashamed to say that I don’t take advantage of nearly enough opportunities to help.  But, one cause I get behind more than any other is animals.  I’m the kind who sobs at Animal Planet.  If there’s an animal story on the news?  Waterworks.  A lost dog running scared through the neighborhood?  I stop and pick it up every time. 

So, here’s our opportunity to help the animals.  I checked the legitimacy of this site at snopes.com, so we know it has to be real.  :-) 

Go here: http://www.theanimalrescuesite.com/cgi-bin/WebObjects/CTDSites.woa  and with one click on the “Help an Animal in Need” button the sponsors on this site give money for food for needy animals.  You can do it every day, and you should.  Its completely free and it’ll make you feel good every time.  Oh, and if you’re thinking about getting a pet, try a rescue society, pound, or the Humane Society.  And as Bob Barker says….  Just kidding! 

OK, so here’s the deal.  Those who know me know that I would be the absolute last person on Earth to do anything to jeapordize my marriage.  I know how precious a good marriage is, and I am so blessed to have one. 

So the thing with the Italian man, I should clarify.  The man was like SEVENTY, and sitting in business class.  I’m new to this whole traveling w/ other business people thing, so I don’t know when it is that you’re supposed to actually make contacts and give out the business card.  I honestly thought I was doing the right thing by totally pretending to not have my cards on me (which I did), I misspelled my name on purpose, and I tried (through the wine haze) to give the wrong number. 

I hate when I start to feel guilty about something, especially when I didn’t have bad intentions.

So DH, if you ever figure out how to check my blog, I’m so sorry for being that stupid. 

I hesitate to even post this because it makes it a bigger deal than it is, but sometimes it just feels better to get it out there. 

This morning: 

Telephone:  RING!

Me:  (don’t get it.  don’t get it)  Hello?

Telephone:  Hello (ATpanda), its me, Alecco!

Me:  (SHIT!) Um, I think you have the wrong number.

Telephone:  Isn’t this 555-5555?  This is Alecco, from Italy.  I know you.  From the plane.

Me:  No, sorry wrong number.

Telephone:  Oh, they must have given me the wrong number.  Good bye.

Me:  (YAHOO!  Now, the new mantra:  no drinking in public, no drinking in public, no drinking in public…)

I drink.  I’m not an alcoholic, but my husband and I do enjoy have a drink or 4 on nights when we’re home together.  Last week I was drinking alone to calm my anxiety over flying halfway around the world.  I had a couple (maybe 3) glasses of wine on the plane to England.

About half an hour into my flight I noticed a man facing me (in business class you sort of end up facing the guy in the row in front of you).  He kept smiling at me, and as he was an elderly sort of guy, I smiled back. 

My video screen was not working on the flight so I was moved to the lower deck business class section.  About 5 minutes after I’d settled in the older gentleman was suddenly standing over me.  Very close.  Introducing himself.  Acting the businessman part.  “I’m a distributor for Gucci and Prada” (yeah, like I know anything about those people).  “I do humanitarian things around the world as my other job”.  Yeah right.  And him asking for my business card.  Me denying having any.  Him pressing, me writing down my number (but a fake one of course).  But wait, was it a fake number?  Too much wine… 

So today I get home from work and there is a message.  “(ATPanda), this is Alecco.  From Italy.  I tried the email you gave me.  It doesn’t work.  Please call me back.”  Then another message.  A pause and then hang up.  Dear lord, I need to not drink in public. 

Well-timed food poisoning can help you shed those unwanted Holiday Pounds you took with you into the New Year.

Yeah, yeah, so I’ve had a Guiness or two while I’ve been here.  Well, tonight I’ve been such a good girl!  One glass of wine, and I’m ready for SLEEP.  I have a serious case of jet lag.  Its gotten to the point where I’ve had such little sleep that I’m not tired anymore.

Tomorrow we finish up our meetings and travel to London.  We’re either going to Ronnie Scotts (one of the world’s most famous jazz clubs) or to see the Queen musical We Will Rock You.  Seriously, how did I end up living in a state which is totally devoid of culture?  If my system could handle all the beer, meat, and potatoes, I’d be all for moving to London. 

What I’ve learned this week:  I still don’t know how to do my job;  in some places it can rain without a single cloud in the sky;  English people speak a language almost completely foreign to most Americans; men really are impressed when you can drink as much as them;  and English food is sometimes awesome, as long as its at an Italian restaurant. 

Cheers chaps!

I am MORTIFIED.  I’m staying in this really great little hotel in Yeovil, England right now.  It used to be a 17th century farmhouse, but the rooms are big and cozy, and there is still a huge field in the back.  In fact, it is farm country for miles behind The Hollies.  When I got here yesterday, I threw open my sliding glass door and saw a typical-looking English farmer w/ a REAL Irish Wolfhound at his side.  I couldn’t get to my camera fast enough.

So yeah, I am mortified.  I went off to work today and left my room in a bit of a disaster.  Between getting here, stopping at Stonehenge, and leaving for work early, it was all I could do to get up in time to iron my clothes.  OK, there might have been a Guiness or 3 in there, but whatever.  Anyway, I got back from my meetings this evening, and my room was spotless.  That is, all my dirty clothes were MISSING.  Well, not exactly missing, but FOLDED in the drawers in my room.  Dirty underwear and all.  (get your mind out of the gutter Zane)  My nasty firefighter sleeping shirt?  Yeah, hung up as if it had just come back from the laundry.  My birth control pills?  Stacked neatly on the counter in the bathroom.  My dirty socks?  Folded perfectly and placed in my shoes.

That’ll treat me to leave my clothes on the floor.