*Pic* "I've fallen and I can't...oh wait...yeah, I can get up. Never mind."
Friday, October 08, 2004
Did you hear that?
This tale requires some family background. I come from a large close Cajun family with lots of aunts and uncles and cousins. We still see each other many times throughout the year but when we were kids we spent most weekends and most vacations together.
One memorable experience was the Ransonette/Chapman cousins' appearance on the "Cowboy John Show." This was a children's show based in Port Arthur, Texas in the early 1960's. The stars of the show were "Cowboy John" and "Black Bart." Part of the program involved "Cowboy John" interviewing the kids in the audience. At the time of our television debut my cousin Dawn and I were about 8, my sister Terry 7, my cousin Susan 6, my brother Stuart 5 and my sister Bonnie and cousin Derek would have been about 2. Bonnie and Derek did not join us for our moment of fame as, alas, they were too young.
I was nervous as "Cowboy John" approached the bleachers to begin chatting with the kids. His usual opening question was "What do you want to be when you grow up?" Not very creative but guaranteed to get a response. I don't recall what Dawn and I said we wanted to be. I'm sure it was either a nurse or a teacher, the popular choices of the day. My sister, Terry, said she wanted to be a cowgirl. Even at that age, Terry was sucking up to the host. While I was still trying to recover from the humiliation of my sister's alleged lifelong ambition to poke dogies, "Cowboy John" approached Susan.
"And what is your name little girl?", he asked innocently.
"Susan, " she said.
"And what would you like to be when you grow up?"
Susan's response?
"A seahorse."
Yes, that's right. Susan wanted to be a seahorse. To this day, she doesn't know why she said it.
The "Cowboy John Show" had a dubious claim to fame in Port Arthur. The story is told that on one program, when "Cowboy John" approached a group of snickering boys and asked them what was so funny (on live television of course) one of the boys responded, "Michael farted." That's foreshadowing.
Well, Susan is all grown up now with two amazing daughters, Christy and Dannielle. Dannielle is in the Army and is training to be a paratrooper. A couple of summers ago, Dannielle was stationed in El Paso, Texas. My sister Bonnie and I accompanied Susan to El Paso to visit Dannielle and tour New Mexico. We had a wonderful time. We visited the White Sands National Monument, saw "aliens" in Roswell and went to Carlsbad Caverns. Susan tumbled down a huge hill at the White Sands National Monument (not on purpose). It was all elbows and assholes and one of the funniest damn things I've ever seen in my life. (Did I mention that she once fell into the jello when we were in the food line at Luby's?) Susan also cavorted with "aliens" in Roswell and left her mark in Carlsbad Caverns.
When you tour Carlsbad Caverns, you have a choice of taking the elevator down into the caverns or walking down. Being the fine physical specimans we are, we decided to walk down. It's about 1.5 miles of narrow, winding, steep downhill walking. You walk down single file feeling much like an adventurous Hobbit. There are many people (strangers) walking in front of and behind you and your little spelunking party. We began our trek with Bonnie in front, followed by me, then Dannielle, then Susan.
Everything was going well and we were enjoying ourselves and the magical wonders of the caverns immensely. Suddenly, the church-like silence was broken by an unmistakably familiar sound. Bonnie stopped dead in her tracks and turned to me with wide eyes and said, "Did you hear that?" Me, not wanting to be rude and assuming the offending rumble came from someone not of our party whispered back, "Yeah. I wonder who..." As I turned to ask Dannielle if she heard it, she had already spun around and, I can only assume because of her shock and amazement, was loudly asking her mother, "MOM, was that YOU?!"
Now, Susan, from the shock of being confronted so boldly is bent over laughing hysterically. Farting in Carlsbad Caverns (can you say echo?) has become secondary to trying not to pee on herself. This, of course, starts a chain reaction of bent-over-trying-not-to-pee laughter from all four of us. Strangers in front of and behind us politely pretend they heard nothing and move on (rather quickly I might add) and we eventually regained our composure.
Yep, we're one classy family.
One memorable experience was the Ransonette/Chapman cousins' appearance on the "Cowboy John Show." This was a children's show based in Port Arthur, Texas in the early 1960's. The stars of the show were "Cowboy John" and "Black Bart." Part of the program involved "Cowboy John" interviewing the kids in the audience. At the time of our television debut my cousin Dawn and I were about 8, my sister Terry 7, my cousin Susan 6, my brother Stuart 5 and my sister Bonnie and cousin Derek would have been about 2. Bonnie and Derek did not join us for our moment of fame as, alas, they were too young.
I was nervous as "Cowboy John" approached the bleachers to begin chatting with the kids. His usual opening question was "What do you want to be when you grow up?" Not very creative but guaranteed to get a response. I don't recall what Dawn and I said we wanted to be. I'm sure it was either a nurse or a teacher, the popular choices of the day. My sister, Terry, said she wanted to be a cowgirl. Even at that age, Terry was sucking up to the host. While I was still trying to recover from the humiliation of my sister's alleged lifelong ambition to poke dogies, "Cowboy John" approached Susan.
"And what is your name little girl?", he asked innocently.
"Susan, " she said.
"And what would you like to be when you grow up?"
Susan's response?
"A seahorse."
Yes, that's right. Susan wanted to be a seahorse. To this day, she doesn't know why she said it.
The "Cowboy John Show" had a dubious claim to fame in Port Arthur. The story is told that on one program, when "Cowboy John" approached a group of snickering boys and asked them what was so funny (on live television of course) one of the boys responded, "Michael farted." That's foreshadowing.
Well, Susan is all grown up now with two amazing daughters, Christy and Dannielle. Dannielle is in the Army and is training to be a paratrooper. A couple of summers ago, Dannielle was stationed in El Paso, Texas. My sister Bonnie and I accompanied Susan to El Paso to visit Dannielle and tour New Mexico. We had a wonderful time. We visited the White Sands National Monument, saw "aliens" in Roswell and went to Carlsbad Caverns. Susan tumbled down a huge hill at the White Sands National Monument (not on purpose). It was all elbows and assholes and one of the funniest damn things I've ever seen in my life. (Did I mention that she once fell into the jello when we were in the food line at Luby's?) Susan also cavorted with "aliens" in Roswell and left her mark in Carlsbad Caverns.
When you tour Carlsbad Caverns, you have a choice of taking the elevator down into the caverns or walking down. Being the fine physical specimans we are, we decided to walk down. It's about 1.5 miles of narrow, winding, steep downhill walking. You walk down single file feeling much like an adventurous Hobbit. There are many people (strangers) walking in front of and behind you and your little spelunking party. We began our trek with Bonnie in front, followed by me, then Dannielle, then Susan.
Everything was going well and we were enjoying ourselves and the magical wonders of the caverns immensely. Suddenly, the church-like silence was broken by an unmistakably familiar sound. Bonnie stopped dead in her tracks and turned to me with wide eyes and said, "Did you hear that?" Me, not wanting to be rude and assuming the offending rumble came from someone not of our party whispered back, "Yeah. I wonder who..." As I turned to ask Dannielle if she heard it, she had already spun around and, I can only assume because of her shock and amazement, was loudly asking her mother, "MOM, was that YOU?!"
Now, Susan, from the shock of being confronted so boldly is bent over laughing hysterically. Farting in Carlsbad Caverns (can you say echo?) has become secondary to trying not to pee on herself. This, of course, starts a chain reaction of bent-over-trying-not-to-pee laughter from all four of us. Strangers in front of and behind us politely pretend they heard nothing and move on (rather quickly I might add) and we eventually regained our composure.
Yep, we're one classy family.
Thursday, October 07, 2004
Friday Isolationism
Tomorrow is Friday again. I hate Friday. Not in general, only at work. I am a paralegal whose chief responsibility is the firm docket (calendar) for an eleven attorney toxic tort law firm. I'm also responsible for processing and routing anything that comes into the firm of an urgent nature. For some reason, law firms decide to jack with each other on Friday afternoons, preferably after 3:30 p.m. This turns me into a running, typing, e-mailing, raving maniac. My entire motivation for Friday is to work my ass off so I don't have to go in on Saturday. Horrors!
What I don't understand is, WHY ARE THESE PEOPLE WORKING ON FRIDAY AFTERNOON? Shouldn't they be playing golf or drinking margaritas or cheating on their spouses? Where is their non-work ethic?
Here is my proposal. All law firms (and this may work for other businesses as well) should practice "Friday Isolationism." This would involve no bosses, no sending or receiving outside e-mails, no outside phone calls, no deliveries and, most importantly, no sending or receiving faxes on Friday afternoons. I realize that this will have a negative impact on Monday but Monday sucks anyway so, what the hell? Plus, you have the whole week to recover and regroup from a bad Monday.
I'm sure all the bosses out there are thinking that while they're away, these cats will play. That's not (entirely) true. Can you imagine how much work could get done with no outside interruptions that one afternoon of the week?
So, bosses, on Friday afternoon give yourself a break. Go home. Go to Hooters. Go anywhere. Just go. And, if your staff can't keep their fingers off the fax button, take them with you.
What I don't understand is, WHY ARE THESE PEOPLE WORKING ON FRIDAY AFTERNOON? Shouldn't they be playing golf or drinking margaritas or cheating on their spouses? Where is their non-work ethic?
Here is my proposal. All law firms (and this may work for other businesses as well) should practice "Friday Isolationism." This would involve no bosses, no sending or receiving outside e-mails, no outside phone calls, no deliveries and, most importantly, no sending or receiving faxes on Friday afternoons. I realize that this will have a negative impact on Monday but Monday sucks anyway so, what the hell? Plus, you have the whole week to recover and regroup from a bad Monday.
I'm sure all the bosses out there are thinking that while they're away, these cats will play. That's not (entirely) true. Can you imagine how much work could get done with no outside interruptions that one afternoon of the week?
So, bosses, on Friday afternoon give yourself a break. Go home. Go to Hooters. Go anywhere. Just go. And, if your staff can't keep their fingers off the fax button, take them with you.
Laurie Graduation Picture - Thomas Jefferson Port Arthur, Texas - 1974
*Pic* Me Graduation 1974 Thomas Jefferson High Port Arthur Texas
Sayings off of my calendar at work...
Can atheists get insurance for acts of God?
It may be that your sole purpose in life is simply to serve as a warning to others.
It may be that your sole purpose in life is simply to serve as a warning to others.
Wednesday, October 06, 2004
What Women Really Discuss Before Going Out
Several months ago, two of my friends from work and I were planning a night out. All details had been decided except the "when." Brunehilda (not her real name) and I could not get a straight answer out of Shagundala (also not her real name) as to when she would meet us. Try as we might, all we could get out of her was, "I'll be there later." After much tormenting, threatening and generally making her life miserable for the rest of the day, Brunehilda finally admitted that she had to go to the mall to buy a new bra.
"Ah, hoping to get lucky?", I asked.
"No," she said, "Just optimistic."
So, ladies, we now have a much more appropriate name for our Wonderbras and Victoria's Secret and all the other gorgeous, uncomfortable, sexy and sometimes downright painful things we wear beneath our clothes -- "Optimistic Underwear."
"Ah, hoping to get lucky?", I asked.
"No," she said, "Just optimistic."
So, ladies, we now have a much more appropriate name for our Wonderbras and Victoria's Secret and all the other gorgeous, uncomfortable, sexy and sometimes downright painful things we wear beneath our clothes -- "Optimistic Underwear."
Going to New Orleans! 1995
*Pic* New Orleans 1995 trip. From right to left (front row): Stuart ("Tim"), Jim, Christi, Terry, Susan, Laurie, Kim; (back row, right to left) Dan, Keren, Melissa, Phil, Gerald
I'll Start with a New Orleans Story
Twenty or thirty of my closest friends and family and I take a trip to New Orleans once or twice a year. We've been doing this for ten years now so, as you can imagine, we have many stories. One of the best parts of these trips is that you never know what combination of people you'll end up drinking with and dancing with and doing bad karaoke with at any given moment. A person you hardly know on Friday morning is the funniest damn person you ever met by Friday night and you've told them things you swore you would take to your grave. Of course, Saturday morning, everyone is a little more subdued (hung over). But, never fear, here comes Saturday night.
The first story I'll share with you involves Jim and Tim and, peripherally, Jim's wife Christi. Okay, try to keep up now. Christi is my sister's husband's sister. Still with me? Jim is Christi's husband. Tim (a/k/a Stuart) is my brother. My brother's name is Stuart and his name has always been Stuart. He has been called Stu, Stu-bee, Stu-bob, Dingles (a story for another time), "water buffalo" and sundry other things. However, he has never been called Tim. He is married to Kim which might explain Jim's later confusion.
In 1995, When Jimmy and Christi made their first trip to New Orleans with the group, we hadn't known Jim very long. My sister, Terry, had been married to Christi's brother, Dan, for twelve years at that point so we knew Christi quite well. She was about twelve years old when Terry and Dan started dating.
On the first day of the trip, Jimmy was trying his best to be the wonderful, sweet, charming man he always is and putting forth his best efforts to get to know everyone. Try as he might, though, he just couldn't seem to make a connection with my brother. While walking through the French Quarter, Jim turned to Christi and whispered, "I don't think Terry's brother likes me." Christi said, "What?! Are you kidding? Stuart likes everybody. What are you talking about?" Jimmy said, "Well, I keep calling him and he won't turn around. I've been trying to talk to him all day. I'm going 'Tim, Tim...' and he just ignores me." Christi said, "Jimmy, his name is STUART."
Needless to say, by the end of the night, Jim and "Tim" were inseparable and Jim had so much fun that night that Christi made him apologize to everyone the next morning. We still don't know why.
The first story I'll share with you involves Jim and Tim and, peripherally, Jim's wife Christi. Okay, try to keep up now. Christi is my sister's husband's sister. Still with me? Jim is Christi's husband. Tim (a/k/a Stuart) is my brother. My brother's name is Stuart and his name has always been Stuart. He has been called Stu, Stu-bee, Stu-bob, Dingles (a story for another time), "water buffalo" and sundry other things. However, he has never been called Tim. He is married to Kim which might explain Jim's later confusion.
In 1995, When Jimmy and Christi made their first trip to New Orleans with the group, we hadn't known Jim very long. My sister, Terry, had been married to Christi's brother, Dan, for twelve years at that point so we knew Christi quite well. She was about twelve years old when Terry and Dan started dating.
On the first day of the trip, Jimmy was trying his best to be the wonderful, sweet, charming man he always is and putting forth his best efforts to get to know everyone. Try as he might, though, he just couldn't seem to make a connection with my brother. While walking through the French Quarter, Jim turned to Christi and whispered, "I don't think Terry's brother likes me." Christi said, "What?! Are you kidding? Stuart likes everybody. What are you talking about?" Jimmy said, "Well, I keep calling him and he won't turn around. I've been trying to talk to him all day. I'm going 'Tim, Tim...' and he just ignores me." Christi said, "Jimmy, his name is STUART."
Needless to say, by the end of the night, Jim and "Tim" were inseparable and Jim had so much fun that night that Christi made him apologize to everyone the next morning. We still don't know why.
Tuesday, October 05, 2004
Sunday, October 03, 2004
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