“Freeze, Dirtbag!”


The hat would just mess up my hair anyways...

Picture it–It’s August of 1995 and I’m sitting in the kitchen talking to my mother about college.

Mommy: “So what are you going to do? What’s your major gonna be, I mean,” she asks and says to me.
Me:  “Well, I’m really into all of those crime shows and how they figure everything out and go after the bad guys…I think Criminal Justice sounds good.”
Mommy: “Oh, no you’re not! That’s not feminine at all. You’re not gonna do some man’s job. You can forget about that, Cherie. Forget it!!!”
Me: “Okay, mommy. I’ll be a teacher instead.”
Mommy: (murmuring under her breath, but loud enough for me to hear and she knows it) “What is she thinking!? Trying to do some man’s job. Ugh! Who does she think she is? I wish she would try to do some criminal justice!! I should’ve had a boy. Pleeeease.  And she’s soooo clumsy. Not graceful at all–how’s she gonna be a cop?”

Okay, so if my mommy hadn’t have been cremated, and were instead lying in a grave, she’d roll over now. And then again, and again to make it more dramatic and get her point across. She was hell bent on me not doing anything that was “men’s only.” I even had to play the flute instead of the drums in 5th grade because she deemed the drums too masculine.  So when it was time to select a major in college, there was no way and no how any daughter of hers was going to be working in the criminal justice field. So what did I just do two weeks ago? That’s right my friends, I applied and got accepted to the Criminal Justice Technology program at my local community college.

A few people in my life were a bit taken aback by this decision, similar to how my mother would have reacted. And some who really know me thought nothing could be a more perfect fit. It wasn’t coming out of left field; I should have picked this field fourteen years ago–I could have saved myself years spent first as an education major, then an English major, then in and out of retail jobs because there was nothing to do with my major. I didn’t want to be an English teacher then and I most certainly didn’t want to become a grocery store manager now. But what else was I going to do? My doctor told me no more grocery store work (thanks to my back injury this summer), so that left looking for work as an office manager at best or an administrative assistant in some Acme Widgets company staring straight at a dead end again.  After searching online for jobs a few weeks ago, and trying to feign excitement at the prospect of working as a receptionist at a tire company in my town, the 17-year-old Cherie inside me said, “Enough is enough!! You wanted to do it then but you played the good little daughter instead. Look where it got you! Now is the time. Do it. Go back to school, get your degree in CJ and stay the hell away from retail and tires, would you??!!!”  

So I listened to my old self. I start school in January. Can I be a cop? I don’t know–yet.  The recruits from Police Academy come to mind…lol. I don’t want to be like that! But I think I could do it….. :-)

do people still even know who mama cass is?


this is NOT my ass, thank you. i like dramatics.

this is NOT my ass, thank you. i just like dramatics.

i just went to say hello to an old friend i haven’t seen in about 2 months. well…i don’t know if we were really friends. he’s takes my breath away, i’ll give you that. i actually start to sweat when i’m anywhere around him. but for the most part, he’s pretty mean to mean to me.  if i give him what he wants, he ends up giving me what i want. it’s a love-hate relationship. his name is treddy. he’s my treadmill but i’m his bitch.
      thanks to the wonderful back injury i’ve been dealing with for the past few weeks, treddy and i haven’t spent a lot of time together. he’s not pleased about this. other than my sorority sisters, he’s the most expensive friend i’ve ever had. so i’m sure my husband can’t be too happy either since he paid for treddy to befriend me.
    i am going to try to walk today. just a slow, no incline walk. i’ll aim for 5 minutes. if i can do more i will, if not, well…shit. i’ll just continue looking like a contestant on More To Love.  i know i look like contestant because my husband, who is figuratively my biggest fan, did not disagree with me! i was shocked! there i was lying in the bed talking about how i have extra “pudge” (my innocent sounding term for fat rolls which makes it seem less demeaning somehow and cutesy. kinda like fudge ), which he didn’t deny. i said, “my goodness, i could go on that new bachelor for fat people, more to love.”  instead of saying, nooooooo, you couldn’t go on that show! he did at least say, “you’d be the smallest one on there and all the other girls would be jealous of you!” ooookkkkay…i guess that’s not that bad. but if i were on the regular bachelor i’d then be like mama cass or something! arrgh. he meant well, bless his heart. and he didn’t lie to me which is a good thing–to have a truthful man. but i as a woman i heard, “you fatass!! look at you!! my, my, my what a fat bastard you’ve become! you need to get on that $400 treadmill i paid for and starting working it off $1 at a time!”  yes, yes, that’s what I heard.
        okay, treddy, here i come.

those bells you’ve been hearing? yeah, i’ve been ringing them.

     i’m finally getting around to blogging about it (hey, i’ve been busy writing my ehow.com articles in case you couldn’t tell!) even though i received the news on monday.  i know what is the source of the knife in my back!! and no, for you literal people out there, it’s not a real knife, though after all the things that have been happening, i was beginning to wonder…
          quasimodo after talking to my fabulous physician, dr. meyers, who called me while she was on vacation no less (c’mon what doctor does that?!), i found out that i am the new owner of a herniated lumbar disc that is pressing on a nerve. oh joy! i’m only partially being facetious. i’m reeeealy happy to finally know what’s been causing me to walk like quasimodo. and now i can shout it from my jazzy to the onlookers at walmart. “i’m not a monster–i have a herniated lumbar disc, so back off!” 
             the doc said the next step is to see a specialist, so i made an appointment. unfortunately, the soonest appointment date i could schedule  is two weeks away. at that point, we shall discuss my options–physical therapy, surgery, or whatever else there is. meanwhile back at the ranch (not just a saying–i do live in a ranch), i still can’t return to work, so until then, i’m just going to keep doing what i’ve been doing.  except for doing things that end up with me aggravating the disc. the disc has made me her bitch and i’m very careful not to piss her off.

while on medication, i need constant supervision.

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    jazzy: marked by unrestraint, animation, or flashiness.  oh, my. where do i even begin? yes, the jazzy scooter does offer its users the freedom to roam about. animated, eh– but yes indeedy, it is most certainly, above all else, flashy.

      never have i ever done anything that has screamed “look at me!” more than riding on the jazzy.  for anyone out there that is feeling like he needs to be the center of attention or for any “baby’s that have been put in the corner”, ride on the jazzy just one time, in a crowded walmart and you’ll be cured of that right away.

      it was going to be a simple outing, i thought. mark was busy on the riding lawnmower cutting the green acres and i hadn’t been out of the house in days. i’ll go to walmart, pick up a few things for dinner and feel like i’m somewhat useful. the doting hubby that he is, he asked, “are you sure you’re going to be okay? can you make the drive all right?” i assured him that i’d be just fine. the store was only 8 miles down the road and i was going to use one of those motorized wheelchairs they have available in the lobby to get around. “i can do things, too!” i said like a big girl. “how much trouble can i get into a wheelchair?”

          i walked into wally world and there were two chairs waiting. one was plugged in, but marked as “CHARGING/1pm”. it was 3pm so i thought two hours would be long enough. i hobbled toward it but the greeter shook her head at me. i motioned toward the sign and again, she shook her head.  ooookay…apparently two hours isn’t enough, so i took the chair on the left. the only other one left. it wasn’t plugged in, so i figured it wouldn’t have much juice left. right i was! these attention-getters-on-wheels don’t tend to go too fast at full speed; when not fully charged turtles on roller skates could pass you by.

      i rode along collecting my goods and discovered a few things. 1.) if you stand up to reach something on a shelf and the chair doesn’t sense your body weight on it, an alarm will go off. a very loud, annoying, embarassing alarm. and when you reverse, an equally annoying alarm will go off that sounds like a dumptruck backing up.  2.) if you wear a baggy hippie sundress, and you have gained a little bit of weight from being sedentary with a back injury for the past month and being depressed because your mother also died in the same  past month, you will look like you’re one of those overweight people that need the chair because they can’t walk. 3.) people are more than happy to help elderly people that are riding in the jazzies, but if you are a 30-something girl that has been making a lot of annoying alarms go off and they are disgusted with you using the chair and  not trying to walk the weight off, they will not help you. 4.) elderly people that are using the jazzies because they are elderly will give you the evil death stare because they think you’re faking and abusing the chair privileges.

     i had pretty much had enough with my outing to walmart. dejected, i just wanted to go home. my chair was running on empty and about to leave me stranded any moment. quickly,  i saw a line that had no people in it, so me and the jazzy pressed on. out of no where comes a man and his child to swoop in and line jump. that is total cause for removal from the park!! i had just about had enough of this craptastic trip and couldn’t take it anymore. i shouted to him, “i know you saw me going for this line.” he did nothing, so I shouted even louder, “i KNOW you hear me talking to you!” he turned and looked at me and then just turned back around. so i just burst out with, “ASSHOLE!!” which was totally deserved. how are you going to cut in line in front of a girl in a wheelchair?? the man in the line next to me, clutching his baby for dear life and shaking his head, just looked at me pitifully like i was some crazy jazzy girl. 

   how much trouble could you get into in a wheelchair? well, if you’re me, one never knows…walmart