The Road Goes on Forever

WEIRDNESS - Friday night, my sister Terry texted me and asked who sang the song "The Road Goes on Forever."  It's a 1989 song from Robert Earl Keen.  I texted her back saying it was Robert Earl Keen.

Saturday night, as I was leaving my son Cory's house, I still had my radio on NPR from listening to "World Cafe" that afternoon and "THE ROAD GOES ON FOREVER" WAS PLAYING ON THE RADIO!

What are the odds that I would get in my car at that exact moment with my radio on that particular station?  I never hear this song on the radio...ever.  I don't think I have ever heard it on the radio, actually.  Plus, I wasn't listening to a Texas music station or anything like that.  It was KVLU, the local public radio station.

Does anybody else have a connection to this song or have an idea what this weird coincidence/moment of synchronicity might mean.  Spiritually, I do believe that "the road goes on forever" so maybe it's a message from our loved ones who have moved on that the road does indeed go on forever.

House on Skull Mountain

Back in the '70s growing up in Port Arthur, Texas, there was a movie theater that had about five screens and all movies cost $1 to see.  The screens weren't much bigger than today's home television sets with the largest being about one third the size of a normal movie theater screen.

Right now, I'm sitting on my couch in my very own living room watching the fabulously awful 1974 "House on Skull Mountain."  I'm watching it on a television set not much smaller than the smallest screen at the Golden Tri Cinema.  Weird.  These are exactly the kinds of movies we used to see there:  lots of Burt Reynolds, Bruce Lee and B-horror movies.

They also ran some mainstream movies there about a month after they left the real theaters.  There were always technical problems, bad film stock issues (the copies shown at the Golden Tri had already been viewed hundreds and hundreds of times by the time they made it there) and out of sync or non-existent sound.  Of course, with no cable television or VCRs back then, it was the only way to see a movie, if you didn't want to (or couldn't afford to) pay full price.

Hey, look!  It's Lionel Jefferson!

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Heaven Looks Like Lafayette?

Last night, I dreamed about my dad who passed away in 2009.  It wasn't one of those dreams where it feels like a visitation.  It was just a crazy dream.  However, my mouse did stop working when I began to type this post, so who knows?

I was in the kitchen of a house I had never been in before when Tim Romero (an old classmate who wasn't even a very close friend of mine, so I don't know why he was in the dream) came in and said, "Hey, Laurie.  Your dad is in the living room."

I said, "That's weird!  I didn't think I'd be able to talk to him again so soon!"

Dad came into the kitchen and he had a small black mustache.  I asked, "Dad, what are you doing here?"

"I got tired of working all those double shifts," he said. "So, I'm living in Lafayette and have another family."

"Hmmmm," I said.  "Does mom know?"

"Sure, she knows.  She was in on it," dad said.

So, I guess heaven looks a lot like Lafayette?  With another family?  Good luck with that, dad, because I'm sure they won't be nearly as fun as we were.  Tell them your first oldest daughter says, "Hey."

My Morning

• 7:30 a.m. Power went out as I sat down to my makeup mirror
• 7:30 a.m. Large stuffed animal fell out of a chair in my office beside my bathroom at the exact same time the lights went out 
• 7:32 a.m. Packed up things to finish getting ready at work
• 7:33 a.m. Continued to flip light switches even though I knew the power was out
• 7:36 a.m. Left for work with wet hair and no makeup
• 7:37 a.m. Tried to close garage door with garage door opener like an idiot
• 7:37 a.m. Got out of car to close garage door manually and smelled smoke
• 7:37 a.m. Freaked out
• 7:38 a.m.  No smoke pouring out of my townhouse or any others around me
• 7:38 a.m.  Stopped freaking out
• 7:39 a.m.  Drove to work
• 7:40 a.m. Tuned radio to local station to try to find out why there was a power outage and smoke in the air and heard disc jockeys talking about "alternate paths" and "we'll be out there later"
• 7:41 a.m. Freaked out 
• 7:42 a.m. I realized the disc jockeys were talking about the path for a procession for a local soldier who died in Afghanistan  (RIP)
• 7:46 a.m  Tried to pull into the parking lot at work, but there was a man walking two huge black Great Danes and a lady was blocking my path into the parking lot, I assume, out of fear of the dogs.  She wouldn't move left or right, forward or backward.  She just stood there.  MOVE dammit!
• 7:50 a.m.  Walked into my office to find two co-workers already there who never get to work before me.  Never.

Weird ass morning.

Is that normal?

Yesterday when I was walking the neighborhood, I saw a white cat sitting in a yard being dive-bombed by dragonflies.  It was strange, because there were no dragonflies anywhere else.  Yet, there were about fifty of them torturing that poor cat.

Today, I saw possibly the same white cat leaning into a storm drain across the street from the dragonfly yard.  As I got closer, the cat leaned further and further into the drain and then jumped down into god knows where.  I went to the house of the dragonfly yard and rang the bell to see if the cat belonged to them, but nobody answered.

Do cats do this?  Will it be able to get out?  If it jumps up to get out, I don't see how it would be able to get out without hitting its head and falling back into the storm drain.

WTF?


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Cicada shedding it's shell

My daughter-in-law took this picture this morning of a cicada shedding it's shell. Look at the part that was covering its eyes.  Freaky!  Now, I can't get "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" out of my head.

Thanks a lot, Charlie Sheen

Last night, I dreamed Charlie Sheen was trying to get me to help him steal drugs and hide money.  For some reason, the money was in the form of a $10,000 check.  I successfully hid the check in a super secret place...my wallet..., but I forgot where I hid the drugs. Luckily, the drug guys and the police who were chasing us didn’t care about me, they were only after Charlie.  


When I got bored with Charlie’s bullshit, my dream changed to me hanging out with the boy next door who I grew up with.  We got married, but I kept forgetting to tell people I was married.  Probably not a good way to start a marriage. 


With all the running around with Charlie Sheen and the stress from my secret marriage, I woke up feeling like I had been...well...running from the cops with Charlie Sheen and hiding a secret marriage all night.  


Thanks a lot for ruining my sleepy time, Charlie Sheen, and sorry about the whole secret marriage thing, Steve.

40,000 Dead Crabs Wash Ashore in England

I can live without birds, because birds are nasty and creepy and are always staring at me with their little beady eyes.

I can live without fish, because fish are nasty and creepy and are always staring at me with their little beady eyes.

However!  I cannot live without crabs.  Somebody better figure out what has god so pissed off and fix it.  Fix it right gotdammit now.

Year of the huh?

I went to my neighborhood fast food Chinese restaurant/take-out joint.  I wasn't sure what I wanted, so instead of going through the drive-thru like I usually do, I went inside.  While I was waiting for my food, I noticed the wall calendar to the left of where people stand to order their food.

As I read the calendar, I noticed it was for the "Year of the Rat."  Agghh!!  Why would you put a calendar up in a RESTAURANT drawing unnecessary attention to vermin?

Then, I thought, "Shut up, dummy.  It's a cultural difference and you should embrace it instead of criticizing it." 

Then, I noticed the year on the calendar:  2008.  2008.  Nah, that's not a cultural difference, that's just dumb.  Let's leave up a two year old calendar with a big picture of a rat on it where people are ordering their food and in direct view of where people sit to eat.

No. 

Wrong. 

Just wrong.



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Aunts and Uncles of Walmart

Sunday afternoon (after the roast beast and before the joy ride to Port Arthur) I introduced my aunts and uncle to the People of Walmart.com.  My mom had received some of the Walmartians by e-mail and had shown the e-mail to them the night before.

I said, "You ain't seen nothin', yet.  There's a whole website full of those folks."

This particular set of relatives (Aunt Gladys - 63, Aunt Hazel - 65, Mom - 75,  Aunt Bernice - 77 and Uncle Henry - 80) are ultra-hip for their respective ages due to the fact that their children (my siblings and cousins) are uber-cool. 

We try to keep them up on the latest trends.  We give them e-mail accounts.  We get them addicted to Facebook.  For all their worldly pop-culture coolness, however, they weren't prepared for the glory that is the People of Walmart.

"Oh, my God!"

"What the hell?!"

"Doesn't she have a mirror?  Who let her leave the house like that?"

"His ass is sticking out.  His entire ass!"

"I'd like to pour spackle into his crack.  Idiot."  (That was Uncle Henry.)

"Can't she feel the breeze?  She has to feel the...she's not wearing underwear!  AAGGHHH!!!"

"Good lord!"

"Is that a man or a woman?"

"It's a woman.  Look at her boobs.  Are those boobs?  I don't know anymore.  I think they're boobs."

My uber-cool work for the day?  Done.

A Little More Dad Weirdness

As mentioned below, today's my dad's birthday.  This morning, I had a piece of junk mail from the e-mail address "rolex @ clownlicense . com".  Thanks for the "hello" this morning, dad.

WTF?

Today, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket.

However, my phone wasn't in my pocket.

It was sitting on my desk...not vibrating

WTF?

Another Strange Nudge From Our Dad

My brother called me last night with an unbelievable story.  I told him to write it down and e-mail it to me.  This is my brother's story of his father's day message from dad...

"Back in the '70s, my Dad did a bit of traveling as Ronald McDonald. Thirty-five or so years ago, he came home from a trip and had an autograph he wanted to give me. The autograph was from Jethro Pugh. At that time, Jethro Pugh was a star defensive lineman for the Dallas Cowboys, "America’s Team" and my favorite team, still is. I took that autograph and proudly tacked it on the bulletin board in my bedroom. That autograph hung on my bedroom wall for 15 years or so.

A few weeks ago I had to plan a trip to New Orleans. I booked the trip myself. I normally use the corporate travel agency, but was given the chance to choose my own seat. I like sitting near the wing and by the window. However, on this flight the only seat I could choose in the area of the wing was a center seat, row 16 seat D.

After boarding the flight I saw a tall gentleman coming toward my row. He fell into the seat and said, “It's hell gettin’ old.” My reply? “Amen, brother.” We started having the usual airplane conversations. “Are you from New Orleans?” He said, “Nope, Dallas.” I asked, “Why were you in New Orleans?” He replied, “Airport retailing conference.” He continued, “I own a few shops in the Dallas airport.” Being cordial I asked which ones. He listed about four or five shops. The first he mentioned was Jethro Pugh’s.

My first thought was, no flippin’ way am I sitting on an airplane next to the same guy my dad sat next to nearly 40 years ago. So, I questioned him a bit more. I asked him how he got involved with Jethro Pugh. He told me that some friends convinced him that owning shops in the Dallas airport would be a good business investment. I then asked the big question: “What’s your name?” He, of course, replied, “Jethro Pugh.”

I shared my story with him about my dad and the autograph he had given him thirty or so years ago and he thought it was funny. “Small world,” he said. We talked about the Cowboys back in the “America’s Team” days and he told me that when the Cowboys traveled to New Orleans for two Super Bowls, coach Tom Landry would tell the players, “The French Quarter is off limits.”  Jethro Pugh seems to be a great guy and it was a joy meeting him.

Mr. Pugh also shared with me that he wasn't even supposed to be on my flight, but that he had left the conference early.  And, ended up on this particular flight...sitting next to me...next to my seat...a seat that I had personally picked weeks ago.

My thoughts, of course, are that dad set all this up. How else do you explain it? How could I end up sitting on a plane next to one of the greatest Dallas Cowboys that ever played the game and who my dad had also sat by forty years ago? Did I mention that it was two days after Fathers Day? Coincidence? Not in a million years.

God is great and thanks, Dad. You never cease to amaze us.

If you read this blog, you know about the photo that showed up in the Beaumont paper the day before Fathers Day.  It wasn't actually dad, but it sure looked like him. Can’t wait to see what’s next."

Stu also had this to add about some restaurants he ate at while in New Orleans...

"Coops Bar - on Decatur next to Margaritaville - Cajun/Creole - Some of the best I have ever had. And, I have had a lot. Allegedly, they are famous for their fried chicken.  However, I just don’t have the heart to pass up the Jambalaya Deluxe: tasso, shrimp, crawfish, chicken and sausage.

Stanley Café – northeast corner of Jackson Square across from St. Louis Cathedral. “Breaux Bridge Benedict” - you will never look at breakfast the same way again. French bread, boudin, poached egg and Hollandaise sauce…add a little Cajun Chef hot sauce….OMG. Can’t wait to get back."

You may or may not think this is weird...

I receive the Beaumont Enterprise online.  Today, Father's Day, I read Saturday's edition.  This is the picture that was on the front page of the Saturday Beaumont Enterprise.  To me, the guy hydrating in the top half of the article looks just like my dad...

This is a picture of my dad taken after he cut the grass one day shortly after it rained, because dad always had to do things right away and patience was not one of his virtues...

You might not see the resemblence, but I sure do.  Happy Father's day, dad, and thanks for the weird.  You know how much I love the weird.

Of course, there's some weird...

My cousin Lisa passed away yesterday and, of course, we had some strange experiences.

Lisa's mom, my Aunt Delores, "saw" her mother (our Grandma Elise who passed away when my mom was 16 years old) and she told Aunt Delores that she would be there to meet Lisa.  Grandma Elise had also told Aunt Delores shortly before my dad passed that she would be there to meet him.  She also told Aunt Delores that even though she had never met dad in life (my mom met dad after her mom had passed away), she knew him. 

My smoke alarm downstairs kept beeping Monday night, but I assumed it just needed the battery changed, which I did. Now, I have to wonder if it was spirit related since my smoke alarms always go off within a week or a few days before someone in the family passes.  I don't like it when my smoke alarms beep and I'm not burning toast.

Mom's internet wasn't working Tuesday (or maybe Wednesday), so she was sitting at her desk messing with other stuff. When she picked up her old "planner" to try to decide whether or not to throw it away, a piece of paper fell out with the words "Artie Zinck" on it. Artie is Lisa's dad who passed away several years ago.  Mom can't remember why or when she put the paper in her planner.

Last night, I was checking my DVR queue and found that my machine had recorded a movie yesterday morning called, "In God's Hands."  I have no recollection of setting my DVR to record that movie and have no idea why I would have wanted it.  Do DVRs sometimes randomly record things?  It's never happened to me before.

"I Smell Gas"

A friend of mine called me the other day and said, "The weirdest thing happened to me yesterday."  He was right.  Weird barely describes it.

The day before he called me, he noticed the smell of gasoline as he was getting into his car to leave for work.  He didn't give it much thought and drove on to the office.  As he was leaving his car when he got to work, he could still smell gasoline.  He looked under his car and saw gasoline pouring in a steady stream from somewhere under his car.  It's a new car, so he called the car dealership and they told him they would send someone to get the car.  He told them he would drive the car to them.

"You DROVE a car that was leaking gasoline?  That was POURING gasoline?"  I asked.  "You weren't afraid someone would throw a cigarette out of their window and blow you up?!"

"Yeah,"  he said.  "I didn't think about that until later."

"What about the gas in the parking lot?  Did you call somebody to clean it up?  Did you tell anybody?"

Did I mention that we work in the same building?  Which we also share with the FBI?

He said, "I didn't think about that until later, too.  Somebody could have dropped a cigarette ten feet away and blown up the whole parking lot, if not the whole building.  It could have been an international incident!  My family would have been left to prove I wasn't some sort of crazed FBI hating suicide bomber."

"Holy shit!"  I said.

"Then, as I was driving to the dealership, it suddenly occured to me that I was trailing gasoline down 11th Street and somebody with a lit match or dragging a muffler could be in for a big surprise."

"But, you made it, obviously."

"Yeah, I made it.  When I got to the dealership, they told me the leak was coming from ABOVE my fuel tank and that they thought they knew what it was and wanted me to stay to see it myself, because this had happened before and people don't usually believe them when they tell them why their car is leaking gas."

"And...?"

"So, they start taking my car apart.  Did you know the fuel tank is in under the seat in the middle of your back seat?"

"Uh, NO!"

"Uh.  YEAH."

"That doesn't seem safe," I said.

"When they took the seat out, they showed me the fuel line...chewed through."

"What the fuck?"

"A rodent.  Either a mouse or a rat or a squirrel.  Who knows.  A rodent.  They said it happens all the time."

"I never heard of such a thing," I told him.

"Me neither."

"Well,"  I said, "I'm glad you didn't get blown up.  Or blow me up.  Or blow up the FBI."

"Rats.  Squirrels.  Mice.  Crazy."

"Crazy."

Want to Hear Something Weird?

I've recently found lots of Facebook friends from the old neighborhood. I've also found many friends from high school. Yesterday all of those worlds collided...with my dad.

As most of you know, my dad passed away this past September. Yesterday, one of my friends from the old neighborhood posted the above picture of my mom and dad that she had taken at a birthday party the year before my dad passed.

Last night, I was having dinner with some former classmates and in conversation with one of them I found out she was cousin to the ex-wife of the brother of the classmate who posted the picture. I know that's confusing, but don't put too much thought into it. That's not the weird part.

I called my mom this morning to tell her to check my Facebook page and look at the picture, because it's a great picture. She called me back almost immediately and said, "You know that picture your friend posted? Yesterday, when I was going through some papers I came across the invitation to that very birthday party."

She explained how she read the invitation and almost threw it away, then decided to keep it and put it in her box where she's keeping some dad stuff. Then, I call her the very next morning and send her to my Facebook page to look at a picture taken at the exact same party posted by a girl I haven't had contact with in over thirty years.

Isn't that weird? I think it's weird...and wonderful.

I hate this f*cking commercial...and I've seen it at least 25 times tonight.

Dodge Ram commercial: "I am full..." Seriously. WTF?

Tutu to you

I bought a hot pink tutu to wear with my Halloween costume this year and I love it. It's so girly and fluffy and pretty and fun that I wish I could wear it every day all day long.

Yesterday, my friend Jennifer asked, "Don't you have a tutu?"

"Yes, I do," I said.

"May I borrow it?" she asked.

"Of course," I said.

As I carried my lovely pink tutu into work this morning, I wondered which of the following is more strange:

• that someone needs to borrow a hot pink tutu,
• that a 54 year old woman has her very own hot pink tutu, or
• that someone who needs to borrow a hot pink tutu actually works with someone who owns her very own hot pink tutu?
  

I Can't Believe He Finally Called!

When I got home tonight, my caller ID showed a missed call from Julio Iglesias.

Dammit.