Had a bad day, which wasn't helped by some rude scum-of-the-earth type man who told my friend and me to shut up at the ball game. Can you even imagine??

Our friends take us to the ball games a couple times a season. They have very good seats. Well, my friend enjoys talking and I enjoy listening to her. I say a few things now and again. The game went into extra innings and we were talking in normal tones about her daughter's apartment, which is part of a house. She shares a bathroom with some of the roommates in the house. At this point I said, I wouldn't like to have to share a bathroom.

At that point this dreadful human being sitting in front of us, who had a jersey with the letters B-E-E-R printed on the back (doesn't that tell you everything you need to know?), turned around and put up his hand and said, I don't like one bathroom either. Now I, being completely out of touch with the world at large, slapped his hand as in a high-five. Yeah, I was thinking he had joined our conversation amiably. So, what do you expect from the girl who didn't know what a turd was?

HA! I couldn't have been more wrong. He was mocking us and telling us the game was at an important spot and yelling at us to be quiet and he didn't want to hear about bathrooms. Yeah, well, of all the nerve. My friend whispered to me, He needs another beer. What does the man think a ball game is for, to sit there for over three hours in silence. Well, like my friend said, the man was mad about the game. And, I might add, extremely immature.

Our husbands told him we could talk about anything we wanted to. The best part of this whole story is that I high-fived the jerk. That must have taken him by surprise. The dork. And we lost the game. Almost made me glad, that this excuse of a man didn't have the satisfaction of winning.

Now, if we were disturbing His Royal Highness, then he could have NICELY turned around and mentioned we were annoying him and he'd appreciate it if we talked softer or something. Geez, like it's so hard to concentrate at a ball game, with the announcer blaring everything through the loud speakers. Well, whatever. If a person can be happy being that rude, then he has his reward. I was too stunned at the whole scene (which other people were now observing) or I should have said, Turn around, you turd, or I'll call the cops. Thankfully, I am not that quick on my feet, or seat, or whatever.

Furthermore, it made me realize how MANY, MANY rude, extra rude and miserable people there are in the world. I have some I have to deal with directly and it ain't fun. But fortunately most people I know have consideration and thoughtfulness. Unfortunately, I am not good at dismissing rude people. They bother me a lot. A LOT. I just don't have a grip on it. How do you all deal? I need to adopt a sense of humor for situations such as these.

Rude Awakenings,
KEM

You gotta love Facebook.

Currently, there is a discussion amongst my old school days people. One guy (we are Facebook friends and I have no idea who he is, maybe my sister knew him?, but he is funny and that's good enough for me) asked, Is it, "You are a real turd!" or "You are a real terd!"? I get confused.

Others weighed in with various comments, such as, It's "i" before "e" except after "c", LOL. A girl named Harvin decided to focus on contractions, All right, you ready for this?, says she. You're a real turd or terd. She said, Interesting post sir. He responded referring to her as Miss Hansen (Miss Harvin/Hansen, take your pick, relays it's a good thing she's going to be a school teacher someday). But no one concluded whether it was terd or turd.

Until. Until Betty DuRant, a middle school teacher to be reckoned with, weighed in with the shortest possible reply. u.

Somehow, I can just hear her saying that in English class right this second.

So, another guy writes in that it's been 30 years since he sat in Mrs. DuRant's classroom and that this was the highlight of day, no, make that the best thing that's happened all week, and that Mrs. D was the greatest yet and he was laughing hysterically just like when he was 13 and she wasn't retired, it didn't matter. And she was the coolest teacher ever. She was. She "had" it.

Meanwhile, a guy gives his two cents, Does it matter?

Original guy says, It does to someone!!

Mrs. D posts, me!

Well, this reminded me of my own turd story. When I was a fair young maiden, my family, including yours truly, was sitting on the porch watching TV. I called my brother a turd. He surely provoked me and "turd" seemed the appropriate classification of him for the moment. Of course, I didn't even know what a turd was. But Michael started yelping, She called me a rabbit poo-poo!, she called me a rabbit poo-poo!

OOPS! Now I knew I was in Trouble. You mean a turd was a rabbit poo-poo?!?!? My parents were scandalized, totally. I defended my poor hapless self, I didn't know what a turd was, HONEST! You know, it was one of those stray words that somehow took up residence in a back room of my brain labeled, Words-you've-heard-and-don't-know-what-they-mean-but-might-come-in-handy-one-day.

No one believed my story. They figured if I called someone a turd, I knew what I was talking about and meant it.

Once my brother flung a booger in the hot pink, pale pink and white shag rug in my sister's and my bedroom. He was told to find it (not by my sister or me). I think I all ready told you that story.

Well, I just thought I would give the most edifying blog I've ever written a little more pizazz, with the booger story.

BTW, I kind of jumbled up the terd/turd story and omitted less discreet parts, hehe. I ask myself, Does it matter that I got the story out of order and declined to convey the vulgar parts? The answer is, no, not to anyone, especially not me. Especially not me because I am currently sick to my stomach after eating chocolate chip gelato, lemon cake with rich frosting and white chocolate shavings and zucihhini (you know, that long green vegetable that looks like a cucumber) bread smeared with butter. Also, seafood bisque, salad and sandwich for lunch and Williams-Sonoma white bean soup and red pepper tapenade on grilled toast for dinner. And half a banana for breakfast. I think I'm pushing for 500 pounds by the time I'm 50. At this rate, no problema.

JUMBLE KEM

Hate is the worst kind of prison.

Who said that? I'm pretty sure I didn't just make that up :)

Bleary eyes need to go beddy-byes.

The Rays are still rolling, and Mystery Monkey is still jazzing it up. St. Pete is the place to be. and to think I just read in the paper today that our sports writer thinks our city has no identity. Honestly, that is just so absurd. This guy writes the dumbest stuff. (And like I don't, LOL.)

We buy lots of goodies for mother-in-law because she needs fattening up. The only problema is KEM gets fattened up right along with her. Lemon cake, Butternut cookies, Zucchini bread. Baked ziti, Bar-b-q pot roast and Lunches out (so she can meet people). Yikes, something must be done.

Think I'll go have half a turkey sandwich, heavy on the mayo,
KEM

News Flash --

Entertaining company and blogging do not mix well together.

The blogging bottle doesn't have a drop of juice left in it by the end of the day. This is the first time my MIL has visited since I started blogging. I mean, I started blogging during her last visit, toward the end of it. So, I need an adjustment period, I have to figure this out. Ha, my whole life is an "adjustment period".

But I received very sad news from a dear friend today, so I'm kinda out of it anyway. Say a prayer for my friend. Thank you.

Tomorrow is a new fresh start, so see ya then.

And always remember, Today is the day of salvation.

KEM of the Morrow

Google or YouTube "Gin the Dancing Dog" and wear a grin for a while.

KEM

A couple of weeks ago I made pie crust dough and put the extra half in the freezer. You know what they say, Spaghetti sauce in the freezer is like money in the bank. Pie crust, too. My dough was a thick, flat round, ready to thaw and roll out.

Tonight I was eating ice cream, lots of it, and noticed that the Ziploc bag of pie crust had all but disappeared . . . the pie crust, that is, not the Ziploc. I've been robbed! There was one little crummy crooked piece left, about one inch by two inches. The shape reminded me of a piece from a puzzle I had as a kid, The United States of America. Not sure which state exactly, something like a rough-looking Illinois.

Such a mystery. Not exactly, my first thought was, DTD'S handiwork.

A little while later, DTD herself appears. She breezes in and I offer, Umm, I have a strange question for you. Her face instantly colored with "Not So Sure About This". I continue, Do you per slim haps know what happened to the pie crust that was in the freezer?

Giggle, giggle. Well, why did you stop with just the state of Illinois left?, here, take it. She says, It's GOOD (giggle, giggle). Illinois is still in the freezer, one last fattening yummy morsel for her next Facebook binge over here. Happy to oblige. Just glad I discovered this before I was in the middle of making chicken pot pie and ready to roll. Every time I buy chocolate chips to make cookies, she beats me to 'em, too.

Today was great. Jinny just received a book written by a man who was raised pretty much right on her property. He lived on a boat as a boy, right in her little bayou. But he lived there before the area was settled into Driftwood. The land was all Florida vegetation, undisturbed, along with the wildlife -- Razorback hogs, alligators, snakes and panthers (meanwhile, today, the Florida panther is in dire trouble, it's in the newspaper). The water was full of sharks and stingrays. There was phosphorus in the water and when the sharks bit at mullet or whatever, you saw dazzling light displays, some kind of electrical charge. Some folk ran boat tours to watch this phenomenon. But you didn't swim in the bayou at night, oh, no. Sandspurs were the rage, too.

We read Chapter One and I'm so afraid she's going to get her other helper to read Chapter Two, when I want to be the sole reader-out-loud of this fascinating story of my home town. Well, it's true.

Then I went with my friend and relatives to see the movie costumes display at the Florida International Museum. These displays highlighted period movies filmed in England from the last decade or so. I was floored by the intricacy and detail, labors of love, no doubt. A film we watched from a costumes' archives museum revealed the painstaking, time-consuming skills involved at repairing authentic clothing and creating new costumes. Looked down at my own plain T-shirt and thought, This completely disproves evolution, and at least I'm comfortable and not suffocating in a corset made of whale bones. Of course, if they tied me up in such a straight jacket (corset), I would die on the spot from claustrophobia. Good thing I'm not a period actress. We all agreed our favorite dress was a pinky peach gauzy number worn by Emma Rossum in Phantom of the Opera. It was exquisite. Had sparkles and rosebuds as decorations.

Boy, the modern day actresses are tall and thin. And the men are tall and broad-shouldered, etc. In the movie, on my TV screen, it's not life-size, so I was very impressed to see the true heights and sizes. I would feel like a squirty plump shrimp next to these glamor girls. One lady in our group is nice and slim and tall. SHE would fit in just fine. The elegant one.

Tip: Two big bowls of mint chocolate chip ice cream take away your two day headache and put the pep right back in your step. Presto.

Even plumper KEM

Jazzi and I got caught in a torrential downpour, a Florida evening spring thunderstorm. It started raining at the farthest point from home. Two blocks later (we were now hurrying home) all downpour let loose. We walked and ran several blocks in this cool pelting rain, it was a gift and made me laugh. I'm hoping the rain water clears up Jazzi's bad skin on her belly. I had to carry her some, belly up, in the rain. Thunder is not her thing. A few years ago Jazz and I got caught in a horrible thunderstorm. Tons of lightening, and I was actually a little worried. This time, not so bad. I have a story of getting caught in the worst storm ever with DTD and her best friend at Weeki Wachi. For another time . . .

Five cars went by me and not one offered a ride. Hmph!

Okay, another cleaning frenzy today and there is more to do, always, but I'm ready for bed, a headache descended, unfortunately. This is what 6 weeks of housework crammed into two days will do for you. Still need to go finish cleaning the bathroom exhaust fan. You take the glass globe down because it's a bug grave yard, then you see all the accumulated dust in the fixture. Something must be done. Not to mention both lightbulbs were done. This is the downstair's bathroom, the one MIL uses.

KEM is done