My Honey and I started off our Labor Day weekend with a trip to the final weekend of the The Tucson Toros, our local AAA baseball team.  There had been a massive monsoon storm around 3pm that lasted for about an hour and brought major amounts of rain and even hail.  And all of that after being informed repeatedly by the weather people that we had a dry, hot weekend in store of us with a 10% chance of rain.  I will not get started on another tirade of weather people.  I promise.  That’s not where this post is going.

I did think the rain would cancel the game, but we took a chance, grabbed both kids and my father and headed to the ball park.  Fortunately, the grounds crew had the chance to cover the field with a tarp so the game was on.  And the weather couldn’t have been more beautiful.  The first inning was 84 degrees and breezy and by the time of they set off the fireworks it was 84 and breezy.  I consider that a perfect evening.

The game was by no means a good one, but it was fun if you’re a Toros fan.  The final score was 12-4 with seven of those runs scored by the Toros in the seventh inning. 

In a moment of inspired Americana, a barbership group consisting of about 20 gentlemen, considerably more than a quartet, sang both the National Anthem and Take Me Out To The Ball Game.  They were delightful.

Sassy and The Bandit each had baseballs autographed by the ball players.  Absolutely none of them is legible, but then again, have you ever tried to write legibly on a sphere?  Sassy even got a photo take with the mascot, Tuffy.

We don’t have a picture with The Bandit and Tuffy.  That’s because this is what he was doing by the 6th inning.  Thank goodness it wasn’t hot out or I’d have been miserable.  That’s me he’s lounging on.

The fireworks were outstanding, but the booming and popping is really, really loud.  It’s right next to the zoo.  I sincerely wonder what the animals think.  I can only imagine the lions are bald and the peacocks featherless.

Last night was Kelli’s 40th birthday.  I took copious notes about her party – all of which I will share with you tomorrow.  Every dirty detail.  Don’t get too excited – it was a 40th birthday not her 25th – which was a lot more interesting – I assure you.  However, I did take good notes and there are embarrassing moments to share – and not all of them are about me for once.

Kelli called me today while I was at work.  She wanted it to be very clear that her cell phone was dead and, should I need her FOR ANY REASON, she could be reached on her home phone. 

I paused.  “OK,” I said.  “Is there anything in particular you were thinking of?”

“Just in case you’re coming to pick me up on your way to Greece, I wanted you to know where I could be found.”

She must have been having a trying morning.  The Sisters do this often: day

This could be us except I'm never flying in a plane with a propeller again

 dream about running away.  Greece is almost always the destination.  We still feel quite proprietary about the place even though our plan to buy it was thwarted.  The economy is still quite rough, and we haven’t given up just yet.  One of us is bound to win the lottery eventually.

Ava is convinced that if we did run away, our husbands wouldn’t blame us.  She thinks they would understand.  I think she is horribly mislead.  I know for certain My Honey would be pissed and there is no way Mr. Ava is letting her escape without him.

Some housekeeping items and random musings today.

It occurs to me that high metabolisms are wasted on the young. 

You may notice that on the top of the right hand column, I have added something new entitled, What We’re Reading Now.  I have a lot of people asking me what I’m reading or to suggest an author or a new series.  So I figured I’d just keep you posted with what I’m reading right now.  I’ll keep it updated as I move through my mountain of books.  I may add the book blurb from the back as well.  I’ll mess around with it and see what I think.  Should I only list the romances that I’m reading or should I include the other genre’s as well?   We’ll see how it evolves.

It is completely and utterly unfair that the restaurant next to my work should smell like bacon and grilling steak every single night when I get off work.  There must be some sort of city ordinance about that.  I’m gonna check on it.

I had the boy at the doctor today.  The poor little dude has the worst allergies I’ve ever seen.  Usually seasonal allergies are manifested in runny noses and eyes, sore throats, congestion, etc.  That I’m used to.  But The Bandit, God bless his little soul, is a wreck.  After about 15 minutes playing outside, he’ll come in and his eyes will be damn near swollen shut.  They are puffy and miserable looking and colored sort of like a reddish bruise.  He literally looks like the losing boxer in a prize fight.  We went to the grocery store tonight with his left eye swollen and bruised.  I felt compelled to tell everyone it was allergies so they didn’t think he’d been beaten.

One more little thought.  I do not have time to teach people how to drive on the way to work.  People – you really need to just wait until 9:30 or 10:00 to leave your houses so that those of us who have places to go don’t have to drive around you like we’re on an obstacle course.

I’ve said my piece.

I’m not a morning person.  It’s ingrained in my DNA and it’s never going to change.  If it didn’t happen the entire time I was growing up, it’s not going to change now that I’m 40.  But it wasn’t from my father’s lack of trying.  He is the worst of his kind – a morning person that feels it’s his duty to spread morning cheer throughout the land.  It was horrible.  He would tease and tickle and poke me until I escaped to go to school.  No amount of gnashing of my teeth would change his mind that just maybe one more joke and I’d join the “light side”.  The “light side” is the exact opposite of the “dark side” of course.  I suspect Darth Vadar didn’t want to get up in the morning either.

So now that I’m an adult and I don’t have someone standing over my bed with a bucket of ice water to ensure I’m up on time, I must rely on an alarm clock.  It’s not always successful.  Especially since My Honey is up for work and gone long before the kids and I have to get up.  I’m dreadfully irresponsible when it comes to gettin up on time.

There is a negotiation that goes on with the alarm clock.  I set it for 6:20 – an over abundance of time to arise and get everyone off to on their days.  Then I hit snooze every nine minutes until I open my eyes and freak out because it’s 7:10.  The negotiation goes like this: If I sleep 9 more minutes then I won’t do my hair.  If I sleep 9 more minutes then I won’t wear makeup.  If I sleep 9 more minutes then I won’t eat breakfast.  Honestly, you should see me some days.  Terrifying – bedraggled and hungry.

Something went awry with the universe this morning.  The alarm went off and I got out of bed.  I went to wake up The Bandit and brush my teeth.  Somewhere along the way back from the bathroom, I caught sight of a clock.  It read 6:23.  6:23!  What!  I thought for approximately seven seconds about getting in a workout before work.  I considered making an actual breakfast with eggs and bacon. 

And then my sanity returned.

I shut everyone’s lights back off and crawled back in bed.   This is a super power of mine – I can go to sleep anywhere, anytime.  My brother and I share it.  It was very useful when we both worked for my father.

I figured I could take all the 9 minutes available to me – especially since I already brushed my teeth.  WaHOOOO – 9 more minutes.

Birdboxstudios again.  I’ve really come to look forward to these.

My brain took Sunday night off.  It was very, very tired and a lot sore.  I haven’t written any measurable amount of words in days.  I’ve had a migraine since Thursday.  What a miserable damn thing.

Anyway, I need to write a bio for my agent.  I have one on my other web site, www.amylynnbright.com, and with my e-publisher at www.wickedinkpress.com, but it’s pretty silly (follow the link to read it).  But then so am I. 

I just can’t decide.  Ava says we need to write another one and she volunteered to do so.  She promised to include my arrest record and such.  On second thought, perhaps she’s not the best one to write fiction about me.  But the idea of coming up with something new and witty is very, very daunting.

I think what is comes down to is that I’m very tired, my head hurts, and I desperately need a vacation from my regular life.  I can always tell when the stress is too much when I cry during commercials.  Yeah – that’s a sure fire litmus test.  Buick commercials shouldn’t push you over the edge.

But, you don’t come here for a downer, so I’ll leave you with this.  The Bandit began his after school program today.  He’s chosen karate.  I’m not really sure it was the smartest move on his parent’s part, but he seems quite excited with kicking things while yelling “eYah!”  If you’d like to contribute to the Bright Family Emergency Room Co-Pay fund, I’ll get you all the information you need.

I couldn’t think of a topic for tonight’s blog post.  I’m not in a particularly good mood again – I blame it on my nine-five job.  It’s slowly sucking out my will to live. 

I have a few very minor things to do to the manuscript per my agent’s request – things that should take me one evening if I had enough brain power left after the end of my work day to do it. 

So I can’t think of a blog post and I’m stalling on working on the manuscript so instead I start flipping through channels on television.  Ostensibly I’m looking for the typical action movie for my back ground music.  Now I’m pissing and moaning because there’s nothing on television.  How come we pay for expanded cable and HBO and there’s nothing on?  I cycle through again.  Still nothing.  Now I’m seething. 

I pause at the local news station.  I don’t know why I do this.  I know, as hostile as I already am, I have no business watching local news.  I linger there for a few minutes – there’s a “live and up to the minute” story on a shooting followed by a story on bad mannered bicyclists.  Between the horrible and tasteless puns and the moronic banter between the talking heads – I just can’t stand it.  There’s nothing stupider than a reporter standing in a dark street with a lone police car in the back ground.  Why do they do this?  It’s totally asinine.  Yesterday, they were standing outside the dark, closed voting polls.  What exactly were we supposed to glean from that?  I’m giving myself chest pains.

My Honey has run off to bed.  I’m sure he just doesn’t want to sit here and listen to me yelling at the television anymore.  Apparently, it’s annoying.

I finally settle on Lethal Weapon on CMTV for a movie.  It’s unsatisfying with all the swearing edited out.  But it’s a far site better than local news.  I’m certain anyone with any intelligence could be effectively tortured into giving up any amount of information if bodily forced to watch extended versions of local news.

The longer I rant – the more I realize I desperately need a vacation.  On an island.  Shhhhhhh – was that Greece I hear calling?

This is so cute.  From Birdbox Studios.

I’m on a diet.  It’s making me mean.

That’s all.  Good night.

Just kidding.  But I am feeling a little more surly than usual.  One of the reasons can be found in the vicinity of a black 18×18 inch square in my bathroom.  It’s a dirty, filthy liar and I hate it. 

I finally had to go buy a scale.  I haven’t owned one in years.  I make it a point not to keep things around me that make me want to cry, I’m sure you understand.

So I stood in the Target a couple of weekends ago staring at an end cap with six or eight models of scales.  I bought the old fashion one – read the cheap, non-digital one.  It lasted for about 12 hours. 

I do not want you to think that I murdered this scale.  I did not.  If I want something ruined beyond belief, I call a professional “ruiner”.  His name is Bandit and he weighs a wee little 37 pounds, but he packs a big punch in his pipsqueak frame. 

I placed the scale on the bathroom floor, stood on it, cursed it out and then left it tucked between the bathtub & the toilet to rot in hell.  I walked by some hours later and found piles and heaps of stuff in the bathroom and the scale buried underneath.  Apparently Bandit weighed every single thing he could carry into the bathroom: piles of towels, rolls and rolls of toilet paper, toys, couch pillows, books, and more toys.  I do find it funny that he carted everything in there instead of bringing the scale to the various items.

I had to buy a new one.  This time I went a little more higher-end and splurged on the 24.99 model, the 7.99 having proved itself a weakling.  Really I don’t know what I was expecting of the little 7.99 version.  Things need to be heavy duty with the Bandit in residence.

I was reading the paper when I got home from work on Friday.  An innocent enough hobby.  I must share with you the caption under a photo that, at first, had me whooping with laughter and then contemplating logistics and then flabbergasted with the answer.

Here is the picture that started the whole thing:

And this is the abreviated caption:

Ladies and gents, we give you: Orbital Evolution, Tucson’s most famous Hula-Hoop troupe.

The italics and colored font are my own doing.

The most famous?  The MOST famous?  Exactly how many less famous hula hooping troupes are out there?  In Tucson?  One of the things that Tucsonans say all the time is, “Tucson is very small” and it’s true.  Even though we finally have a million people in our town (if you count aaaallll the area – not just city limits), Tucson has never become very sophisticated.  It has retained its small town mentality.  One might even say, if they were to play the Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon game, that in Tucson, it’s really more like 3 – at the most. 

So by my exposition, the town is very small.  If that is to be believed then how is it possible that I have never heard of THE MOST FAMOUS OF TUCSON’S HULA HOOPING TROUPE?  In fact, I have never heard of any hula hooping troupe? 

When I looked it up on the Internet, apparently there are a whole bunch of them.  An entire sub-culture of hoopers. 

Now that I know they’re out there, they’re going to start showing up everywhere – like zombies.