Hotel California...Texas Style

You may not know that about a year and a half ago I agreed to help my mom buy a house. She has health problems and with me being here with her, she should be able to pay off the house before she retires. Before we moved in though, we made a solemn promise to each other that noone would live with us. No boyfriends, no friends, no homeless coworkers. We were buying this house with the absolute irrefutable understanding that there is no room at the inn.

Several times my mom has provided shelter to a wide variety of unfortunates. In fact, the deacon at our church has nicknamed her "Mother Homeless". Where did Dad stay after his IRS problems? He moved in with Mom. When a girl at my work was evicted with her 2 children, they stayed with Mom. When my sister's high school friends' parents moved to another city and they didn't want to go, they stayed with Mom. When a writer friend of Mom's wore out her welcome elsewhere, she stayed with Mom.

But in buying the house, we were making a clean start. Just me, Mom and my sister (when she isn't bunking with her boyfriend.) Absolutely noone else.

But July 4th weekend, my uncle called Mom and said he needed to move, and Mom said, "Well come on then."

WHAT? WHAT ABOUT OUR PROMISE? NOONE LIVES WITH US!!

My uncle, who is going through a nasty divorce, just had the engine in his truck seize so he had to buy a new car, owes money on taxes, can't pay his rent and has brought all his worldly posessions, his oldest son who is disabled due to a car accident (and that is a future blog, I promise), his dog and his bird to live in my house.

At first I felt bad, and my uncle said it would be only for a couple of months, so I moved out of my room, into the den attached to Mom's room, rolled out the air mattress and tried to make myself comfortable.

But the rent and grocery money we were told about hasn't happened yet. The dog is covered in fleas. The bird flings seeds everydamnwhere. And now my cousin is stealing money from our purses.

And they are probably staying until December.

I just want to be able to come home from work to my quiet house. I want to be able to walk across the floor and not trip on the dog. I want to watch tv and not have constant conversation. I want to be able to drive the car and not be poked and tickled. I want to sleep in my bed!

God help me, I'm living that Kirstie Alley/John Larroquette movie about the houseguests from hell that never leave.

So now I find myself pricing condos and thinking that it's time to check out of Hotel California. But like the song says, "You can check in but you can't ever leave."

Escape from Korea

Once upon a time, there was the Redheaded Stepchild of Fate, and when he grew up he joined the military and got shipped to Korea for 2 years. I met RHSCF before his stint in Korea, right when I was discovering the Diskworld novels of Terry Pratchett. RHSCF was my mental image of Capt. Carrot, tall (well taller than me), kind of silly and clumsy, but surprisingly smart and insightful.

RHSCF and I had been communicating by email and IM (God I love the internet!) and we'd made plans to renew our friendship when he returned home on his next leave, which is currently happening by the way, and is serving as a pitstop for him before his next assignment in the land of beer and schnitzel. Yep, RHSCF is going to Germany.

But first he had to get out of Korea.

The military, in it's infinite wisdom, took care of the travel arrangements for RHSCF and approximately 499 other servicemen and women who were looking forward to leaving Korea behind. Due to fly out on Friday, the outprocessing started on Wednesday, and on Thursday morning, RHSCF showered, put on his travelling clothes and started to prepare for the journey.

And here enters Murphy's Law.

Armed with a duffle bag of reading material, our hero settled in to wait for his plane, which was delayed repeatedly. After a few hours, the plane could be seen just a couple hundred feet away at the airport gate. (RHSCF had by this time begun and completed reading Dan Brown's Digital Fortress.) The anticipation and excitement had built so that the passengers had to be reminded that it is illegal to walk on the tarmac. They were eager to leave and were worrying about their connecting flights in Seattle. Hungry and cranky, they were ferried to the plane in small groups. It took an hour and a half for the crowd of 500 to finally board the plane.

Within 15 minutes all passengers were asked to depart the aircraft for some minor repairs. Groaning, all 500 returned to the airport. Of course, there were more delays, and then the eventual announcement that the plane could not take off since it had rained earlier in the day and the runway was still wet. To quote RHSCF, "We can send a man to the moon using 30 year old technology, but an airplane can't take off with a wet runway."

At 11:30 all military personnel were reminded that curfew was at midnight and that they were expected to be in their hotel rooms by that time. That left RHSCF 30 minutes to grab some food (he hadn't eaten since early Friday morning) and find a hotel. The mission was a success but only because he had the foresight not to follow the majority of his colleagues to the restaurant on the base.

Next morning, Saturday, he showered and prepared to be at the airport for his 7 a.m. flight, and found a message at the front desk that it was pushed back to 11. At the airport, a cautionary message was delivered; anyone getting belligerent would not be allowed on the plane, and by the way, the flight's been delayed until 4.

He hung out at the airport reading and trading books with his fellow travellers until once again, they were called to ferry across the tarmac and board the plane. He settled in, with the hot air of the A/C blowing on his face despite all attempts to muffle it with a pillow. Bringing his discomfort to the attention of the flight attendant who seemed to be ready to burst into flames himself, but for a completely different reason, RHSCF asked that the heat be turned down.

"Heat? We don't have heat..."answered the befuddled steward.

Airplane air conditioners run on much the same principal as the one in your automobile. When the engine is idle, you get hot air. Finally, with the assistance of the protests of several hot, sweaty, cranky passengers, some of whom hadn't showered in 48 hours, the steward was persuaded to turn off the A/C.

Then the pilot announced they were going to start the movies. For 5 hours, our fine soldiers sat captive on the plane, some watching movies and some sleeping until the announcement that they once again needed to evacuate the aircraft, which needed to be repaired with a part that was 4 hours away in Seoul. It was 11:30 and curfew was extended to 1 a.m. After a much needed alcoholic beverage, RHSCF checked back into the hotel.

Sunday, our weary travellers were told to quickly board the plane, the pilot was determined to get the bird off the ground, and he was racing a rainstorm. The preflight check began, passengers buckled up and found themselves airborne and headed for Seattle and what is arguably the worst airport ever.

But there was more rain ahead so our friends found themselves dumping fuel and on their diverted way to Anchoridge. Only by shedding excess weight (ie fuel) could the plane be made light enough to land safely and stop on a possibly wet runway. (Sounds to me like the airlines need all weather tires.)

Once in Alaska, RHSCF quickly cleared customs and made his way to the Delta counter, armed with a letter explaining the dilemma and need to trade in 3 day old tickets for current ones. After making it to the head of the line, he was told to go to the phone kiosk and call the 1-800 number for assistance, so he lined up behind 30 other guys trying to get home.

"Yes, hello, I missed my connecting flight and the US government is going to buy me a new ticket," he explained after finally getting to the phone. "My confirmation number is..."

"I'm sorry sir, but I can't find you in our system. Please go to the ticket counter for assistance."

At the ticket counter, a nice attendant, who had been watching RHSCF bounce back and forth like a tennis ball in a championship volley, told him to go to the first class line, where he could get immediate assistance.

"Are you flying first class?"asked the buffoon manning the first class counter.

"No, but that nice man over there told me to come and see you."

"I'm sorry. I can't help you. You need to get in that line over there."

Having arrived in Alaska at 10 a.m. RHSCF waited 5 hours in just as many lines, but he emerged victorious and with a valid ticket! The problem was that his original travel arrangements included a flight on Delta and a flight on American Airlines. So he had an AA ticket with the Delta lable.

When he landed in Houston, his dad was there to give him a big bear hug, "God you stink."

"Yes I do. I've been travelling nearly a week, haven't showered since Thursday morning and I've been wearing these clothes since Wednesday. Take me home!"

And what a marvelous place home has turned out to be for RHSCF. He's got steady meals, frequent showers, a vehicle, friends galore to reunite with and of course, a love interest. Hey, every adventure story's got to have a love interest.

I invite you all to leave a little message to help me welcome home my friend Matt, aka RHSCF.

Food funnies

A while back my sister and I drove over to our local Popeye's for some spicy cajun style fried chicken. As we pulled into the drive-thru, we noticed that the menu was all dark. So we pulled on up to the window to let someone know that the lights were out.

"Our menu was stolen," the worker informed us. What?

"Last night, some kids took our sign and our menu."

Sure enough, as we drove away, we noticed a definite lack of identifying signage. But the question that weighed heavily upon my mind...What does one do with a stolen Popeye's menu?

Another time, we decided to order pizza since noone was really in the mood to cook. I called our neighborhood Pizza Hut. "Yes, I'd like to place an order for delivery," I said and when I proceeded to order a large pepperoni with extra cheese I was interrupted.

"We ran out of crust."

WHAT? "You're Pizza Hut. How can you run out of crust?"

"They only make so many crusts each day."

"Well don't you think you should make some more?"

"The one's who make the crust have already gone home."

So I called Domino's instead.

And yet another time I called out for pizza, "Yes, I'd like to place an order for delivery."

"We can't do that; the driver didn't show up."

So you don't have a backup driver?

Once I even went to an upscale seafood place and ordered shrimp gumbo. When I sent it back, the waitress wanted to know what was wrong.

"Gumbo," I explained as I stirred the clear broth bringing one lone little shrimp to the surface, "gumbo is not hot water with a shrimp in it. Gumbo should have vegetables, onions, tomotoes, okra, spices....This is just hot shrimp water."

"The owner knows gumbo. And likes this gumbo. We've been complimented as one of the best gumbos in town."

"I grew up on the Louisiana border and was weaned on cajun food. And let me tell you, that aint gumbo."

"Would you like something else?" No, not really. I just want what I ordered.

A boy named Becky?

Remember the Johnny Cash song, "A Boy Named Sue"? My dating service maintains that Becky, with whom I was recently matched, is a guy.

So I've decided to get to the bottom of this myself. Today I sent off the first of four service approved communications. I will, of course, update you all once I receive a reply.

Soldier of fortune?

You may have figured out by now that I work at a school, at least for the time being I do, and being single I've noticed that I don't meet single guys at work. I meet parents and the male ones almost always have a significant other. So when GIJoe was really nice to me and offered to get me a discount on a washer/dryer set (he was working at everyone's favorite discount mega store at the time) I just thought he was a nice guy trying to do a nice thing for someone who took care of his kids.

But no. He had ulterior motives which became plain to me at a much later date.

A couple weeks after my breakup with the EX, I was talking to a friend and she mentioned that GIJoe had just separated from his wife. Since misery loves company, I was surrounding myself with people whose relationships had fallen into the shithouse right alongside mine. I said something about telling him I said hello, and the next thing I knew he was IM'ing me from Mississippi. We chatted a while and he called so we could talk some more.

After a few days and long distance phone calls, in which I mourned the loss of the Ex, Joe got frustrated and said, "Why is it you women want to dwell on the past? I mourned my marriage long ago. It's time to move on."

Stunned that he'd talk to me like that when he'd always been so nice, I did a very uncharacteristic thing. I shut up.

He had a plan for me, you see. I would move in with him in Mississippi and run a 24 hour child care service for military personnel.

I argued that I didn't want to work 24 hours a day and have no life and he told me I'd make enough money I could hire other people to do it. Yeah, but as owner, I'd ultimately be on call and responsible for everything that happened. 24 hours a day. No thank you.

Conversation moved on and we started reminiscing about when his kids were at my school. "I always liked you." Oh yeah? This was music to sooth my recently rejected soul.

"Why did you think I offered you my discount?" Music sounding a wee bit flat at times.

"I always wanted a woman like you." What do you mean 'a woman like me'?

"A big, freaky, white woman."

WHAT THE HELL?

Let me tell you guys, if you want to insult your woman and you don't mind the consequences, you will get a lady's attention when you call her "a big, freaky, white woman."

I can't deny the big and white part. All you have to do is see me and you probably say to yourself, Self that's a big white woman. But freaky? GIJoe only knew me from a few phone calls and from the school. In what way am I freaky?

"I always assumed you were bi."

WHAT THE HOLY HELL?

Why would you think that, I asked him as the orchestra that had been playing soothing music was hit by a mack truck. "Because I wanted you to be."

Seems Joe has a fetish for big, bi, white women. Joe is most definitely non of the above. However, wishing for a thing doesn't make it so. Shortly thereafter, he gave me an ultimatum; I could get on his train to paradise or not.

Guess which one I chose.

So now he's been sent to Iraq and has a fiancee...well, she has a ring anyway. But he's got this girl keeping the home fires burning.

Last week I got an IM from him telling me all about how Iraq sucks, the desert sucks and GIJoe is headed home in a few days.

Really? That's great. Are you coming to town? Are you bringing your lady love with you?

"How do you know about her?"

Our friend mentioned her and that you might be getting married and I thought if you brought her to town, we could all meet.

"I'll be coming alone."

Actually, when he comes to Houston, he won't be "coming" at all. At least not on this train.