National Chili Dog Day

In honor of National Chili Dog Day I give you the perfect plate!

Another Mother, Daughter Conversation

I haven't written about any conversations with my mom lately but this one really takes the cake. The following is a conversation that took place a few evenings ago: I called mom. Mom: "Hello?" Me: "Hey?" Silence... "Mom?" Mom: "Yep?" Me: "What are you doing?" Mom: "It's 7:15 p.m. What'cha think I'm doing?" Me: "Watching Wheel of Fortune?" Mom: "Yep. Eating too! HIT ME WITH YOUR BEST SHOT?" Me: "Huh?" Mom: "Hit Me With Your Best Shot." Me: "Are you listening to Pat Benetar? I didn't know you were a fan. I just got through eating too." Mom: "No, I answered the puzzle on TV. What did you eat for dinner? No, don't tell me; let me guess. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, mac & cheese, biscuits, sweet tea and chocolate cake, am I close?" Me: "Uh, not really." Mom: "Okay. Pizza, hot wings and real Coke, I know that's one of your favorites." Me: "Nope. I made Asian stir fry. It had boneless, skinless chicken, sugar snap peas, red peppers, soy sauce and I topped it off with an egg. I also had slices of fresh tomatoes from my garden and sauteed asparagus. It was incredible!" Silence. Me: "Hello?" More silence. Me: "Mom?" Mom: "Since when have you started eating like that? I don't think you've ever eaten a pepper or a pea pod?" Me: "I told you I was trying to eat better. I'm eating all sorts of new things." Mom: "Good for you. Does that mean we can't go to Dairy Queen when you come up tomorrow?" Me: "We can go, but I'm gonna watch you eat. I'm serious this time." Mom: "I guess you must be serious. CHANGING YOUR WAYS? You never turn down ice cream." Me: "What?" Mom: "Changing your ways--that was the last puzzle on the show. I guess it must be a sign. Well, I'm rootin' for ya. Gotta go! Click!" A sign? Maybe? Check back in a few months. I'll let you know how it's going...

Press Two For English

Over the last few decades the United States has seen a large increase in the Hispanic population. So much so that certain cities and municipalities have put forth legislation that establishes their governed area as an "English Only" locale. All official forms and documents will be in English only. Just because you come here doesn't mean that we're going to talk to you. If you want to talk to us, then by golly you had better speak the damn language. Comprender? Some companies have already made the switch to include the Hispanic population. Every time I have to call an 800-number I am always asked the same question: Press one for English or press two for Spanish. I always press one. Sometimes I get annoyed that I can't press two. I am an English only speaking person. (I did have two years of French in high school but French is never an option.) All of which got me to thinking: In other countries, where English is learned as a second language, when they call an 800-number, do they have to press one for their language and press two for English? If so, do they get annoyed that they have to press one?

Meet Big Red

Doesn't this look just scream, "Why are you taking my picture?" Oh, and that's mom wearing her titty pink shirt!

Happy Birthday! To My Niece

Happy Birthday to my niece who turns 18 today! I hope you have a great day!

Hanging With The Big Dogs...Part II

***Author's note: You can read Part I of this story by clicking here.*** ...It wasn't quite the 1909 Wagner card, but any Mickey Mantle card would be a great addition to my collection. When I scanned the crowd at the memorabilia auction I knew I might be out of my league. This wasn't the usual "Let's go to the auction because there isn't anything else to do in this town on a Saturday night" crowd. I noticed most of them (older men and their grandsons) were wearing Rolexes, Polo shirts, Duckhead shorts and Top-sider shoes. One kid wanted a soda and his grandpa pulled out a wad of bills and shook his head because he didn't have anything smaller than a hundred. Another guy, upon further inspection, was wearing sunglasses that had dollar signs as logos and so many rings and gold chains that Mr T would have been envious. Another guy kept walking around looking at everything while talking on his cell phone. Maybe, I was out of my league. The auction continued throughout the morning and into the afternoon. I had purchased a few Civil War relics at what I thought were very reasonable prices. The auctioneer would divide his time between the ball cards, war relics, vintage train parts and other signed pieces; this auction had a bit of everything. I heard a voice beside me say, "Are you gonna bid on anything here?" It was one of the guys that worked at the other auction that I normally attend. "These prices are way to high!" "I'm about to bid on something right now," I said. It was time for the Mantle card to be auctioned and I was ready. I had my set price in my head and my bid card in hand. The opening bid was $400, I was out of contention before I even got to bid. The card ended up going for $1200. The man and I smiled at each other, shrugged our shoulders in a resigned fashion and watched the auction continue on. After a few moments, he turned and said, "I'll see you next Saturday night." You might think the story ends here, but it doesn't. Another fellow I know who owns a pawn shop was at the auction too. He purchased a few signed pieces and some of the Civil War artifacts. He is also an expert on military items. One of the items purchased by me was a Bowie knife reportedly used during the Civil War. It had all of the markings to make it seem like I had found another Holy Grail and would be one of those people on Antiques Roadshow that goes, "How much?" However, the auctioneer had tested the knife and it was of that era but not the one that would make me a millionaire. I took the knife to the pawn shop the next week just to show it to the man; he had arrived after I had purchased it. His eyes lit up when I showed him the knife and I related everything I knew about it. "Let me have a friend look at it," he said. "Come back in a few days." I returned to the pawn shop and noticed several of the pieces that I had seen at the auction a few days before. "Looks like you have a good collection started, "I said. "Yeah. I bought a couple just to put here in the store. I'm glad I didn't buy anything else; those signatures are all fake. Another guy came in here wanting to pawn a Mickey Mantle signed card that he purchased at the auction and I told him it was a fake. He reminded me of Mr T for some reason." "Wow! I bet he wasn't very happy." "Nope. Anyway, you've got a good piece here. It's not the Holy Grail, but you should get a couple hundred for it. How much you give for it" "Only $35," I said. "You got a good deal. Good thing you're into knives and not baseball cards. That fella told me he paid $1200 for that Mantle card." I guess I wasn't out of my league after all.

Hanging With The Big Dogs...Part I

Long before the latest craze in Reality TV I was a lover of yard sales, auctions and flea markets. I like to collect things. I also like to have an idea of what something is worth; no sense paying $50 for something when $5 will do. Antiques Roadshow, Storage Wars, American Pickers and Pawn Stars are the shows I like the best. I keep hoping that one day while I am out looking for new junk to add to my old junk that I will stumble across the Holy Grail of what I collect; a 1909 Honus Wagner baseball card. Yes. I'm a girl. Yes. I collect baseball cards. And yes. I'm very serious about it. Baseball card collecting has taken a real nose dive over the last few years due to over production. Many hobby shops have closed down and collectors have watched the book value of their top cards go from the Stratosphere to Middle Earth in about a ten-year span. Luckily, I hadn't invested too much money in the newer cards. I've always had an appreciation for the older cards; ones that you could put in the spokes of your bicycle tires, packs that were torn open to reveal a stick of chalk-like bubble gum or to flip over and see that Hank Aaron hit 39 HR in 1967. Call it nostalgia, call it being stuck in the past, but the newer game-worn, holographic and whatever else you can think of to put on a baseball card just doesn't do it for me. Recently, a baseball memorabilia auction was being held in my small town in North Georgia. I usually go to another auction that is held a few times a month to see if I can pick up something for myself, my family or possibly to resell on eBay. The prices at this auction are relatively cheap and it's a fun way to spend a Saturday night. While browsing the catalog for the memorabilia auction I was soon to discover that there wasn't going to be anything cheap there; no card listed for sale was produced after 1980. It was card after card of HOF greats with names like Gehrig, Cobb, Dimaggio, Koufax and many others. And then I found it: It was the closest thing to the Holy Grail that I was ever going to find. And I had to have it...

Holiday Parades...Again

I missed the Fourth of July parade again this year, but just barely. I wanted to go, but I have this thing about parades. They scare me a little and usually make me cry. I was in the marching band in high school so I got to march in several parades a year. I don't think they bothered me then because I was in the parade and didn't have to watch. From the tenth grade on I marched in the very front row on the left-hand side. I played a large brass instrument and it was a lot of fun. Maybe, it was from watching all of those Thanksgiving parades on TV that made me nervous around parades. All of those large inflated creatures that if there was just one wrong misstep could send their handlers floating off somewhere over the rainbow. As I drove into town yesterday, tractor pulled floats with balloons flapping in the breeze, pickup trucks with 'Vote-for-so-and-so' and gleaming red firetrucks passed me coming the other way. When I reached the center of town it looked like someone had set a bomb off (wonder if they had a permit?). Trash everywhere. Families were still milling around town clinging to their children's hands to keep them from running into the street to salvage any leftover thrown candy. I saw one child dart out into traffic, hit a pile of manure(EEWWW) left by a horse in the parade, pick up a piece of candy and slide across the road into the waiting arms of a very shocked parent. One parade judge was receiving medical attention because one of the parade participants had thrown an exceptionally large piece of hard candy at him and boinked him on the head.(I think they got last place.) I heard a little girl sobbing inconsolably because she hadn't gotten any of the candy thrown in her direction.(See a pattern here?) As I was waiting to make a left-hand turn in the center of town, I was startled when I heard something beside me go bleep, bleep. I looked at all of my mirrors and couldn't see a thing. Bleep, Bleep, BBBLLLLEEEEEEPP!! All of a sudden, six very large clowns(I'm scared of clowns too!) jumped up out of the smallest motorized vehicle that I have ever seen and yelled, "Chinese Fire Drill". The light turned green but I stayed put. Clowns were running beside me, around me, one even tried to open my door(good thing I had it locked) all jumping up and waving, one tripped over his feet, one pulled a flower from his sleeve, one honked his nose at me and one handed me a balloon in the shape of a wiener dog. As the light turned back to red, they hopped back into that car, made a right-turn and sped off. I waited for the light to turn green and was shocked to hear a bleep, bleep once again. I looked up and saw that little car heading my way again and thought, "I don't think so." I didn't care what color the light was, I slammed that Mustang down into first gear, hit that pile of manure, hit the emergency brake, squalled the tires, and laid down a piece of rubber that would've made Old Number 3 right proud. I left those clowns choking and gasping in my dust. I needed to stop and get gas before I left town and was alittle uneasy when a guy in a clown suit pulled up at the next pump. He smiled at me and I just kind of looked away. I heard his cell phone ring and he began to talk to someone. I had finished pumping my gas and looked backed over at the clown.(He wasn't there.) As I did so, I heard a 'honk', I jumped out of my skin, turned back around and there stood the clown. "My friends just called and said you really made their day with that manuever back at the light", he said. "They want to know if you want to go to the next town and be in the parade with them?"(Sign me up!)

Happy 4th Of July

The scene--Any small town in a state that doesn't allow fireworks, namely Georgia. A guy walks into his local courthouse and asks where he can get a permit. The guard sends him down to the permit office. There is a really long line and only one window open. He admits to himself that this permit thing must be a pretty good idea, 'cause everyone here seems to be getting one. After all, on July 4th, he always hears fireworks going off all over town, so, they must have a permit, right? The man finally reaches the counter after one lunch break, and two smoke breaks and asks the lady about applying for a permit. She pulls out the forms and said that the fee was going to be $500.00. He scratches his head and thought that that sounded like a lot of money. "Ma'am, why does it cost so much to get a permit to let off fireworks," he asked? "Let off fireworks," she said. "Don't you know that is illegal in this state?" The man scratched his head once again and then asked, "What are all of these people here for?" "Sir, this is the tag office," she said. The man, quite confused by this time, looks up and asks, "Where does the city get its permit to let off fireworks for the community each year?" The lady, quite at a loss for words looks up and says, "Wait right here, I'm gonna go get my supervisor." Enjoy your 4th of July wherever you are and remember this: Let the professionals shoot off the fireworks, because they have a permit. Just don't ask to see it.

Saying Goodbye To An Old Friend

I was saddened to hear of the passing of Andy Griffith. His television show was and is still one of my favorites. Click play to hear Andy sing, not whistle, the iconic theme song "The Fishin' Hole". You will be missed...