In the news…
Not that much going on at home this week that I can talk about here in the paper, so I turned to the internet for column ideas.
The first story I read was about people saying how the Weather Channel and politicians overrated Hurricane Irene. Critics said that the storm wasn’t close to being as bad as everyone predicted, and there should not have been so many evacuations. My reaction to the story was “Um, what?”
Thirty eight people died from this storm so far, and it was overrated? Just how many people have to die for these idiots to constitute a bad storm?
Now listen, the first thing you have to do is take the Weather Channel with a grain of salt. They will over-hype any storm, because they fight for ratings just like every other television channel. That’s totally understandable.
And politicians? Well, they have to scream “Run!”- especially after Hurricane Katrina. You remember Katrina, right? When politicians, weathermen, scientists and everyone else spent a week begging, pleading and doing everything they could to get the people of New Orleans and the surrounding areas to evacuate. We all know that a lot of people didn’t evacuate, and the government came out looking like the bad guy in the end. So yes, Hurricane Irene might have been a little overrated by those in charge. Do you blame them?
As I was writing the paragraphs above, I had my television on CNN listening to the news. A religious nut came on, saying that Hurricane Irene was some kind of payback from God for the way we live and act in this country. Or maybe it was a lesson of some kind. A divine occurrence, I think he called it. I stopped typing long enough to wonder 1) Holy cow, it’s 2011 and people still think like that? And 2) Why is there a religious nut on my news channel? I’m not watching Fox News, I’m watching CNN. I shake my head at the thought of some CNN producer thinking this was a good idea.
I turn my attention back to the internet and see that Florida has recently passed a law that requires those that sign up for welfare to pass a drug test. If they pass the drug test, they can receive help. If not, they get no help until they pass the drug test next year. Several other states are thinking about passing this law- sadly, Texas is not one of them.
Critics of the law say that it is an invasion of privacy, and it doesn’t save much money in the long run because less welfare recipients than you think take illegal drugs. I say of course they should be drug tested. Every job I’ve ever had required me to pass a drug test. If an accident happens at work, I have to take a drug test. Most of the time when you sign up for insurance, you take a drug test. Not one time have I been offended, or considered it an invasion of my privacy. Stop trying to live off of someone else, and you can get high all you want. Drugs don’t bother me one bit, mooching off of my tax dollars does.
And finally, I read that Dancing With The Stars has announced their new lineup of B-level entertainers that will dance this season. Now, except for Erin Andrews and Kim Kardashian dances, I’ve not watched ten minutes of this show in all the years it’s been on. It doesn’t interest me in the least. But then I see that Nancy Grace is on the roster, and I start daydreaming about her embarrassing herself so bad that she would quit her show and never come back to t.v. again…
Hmm, divine occurrence?
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Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Disaster Class
I’ve taken a few weeks off lately. Actually I thought I was done writing, period. I didn’t know if anyone even read the column anymore, and frankly, I had run out of things to talk about. And then? Well, then I attended HAZMAT class.
Firemen, volunteer firemen, and everyone else who works around chemicals, at some point, has to take this class. It teaches you how to deal with hazardous chemical spills, what level of protective gear to wear, how to read placards on vehicles that ship chemicals, etc.
You also don those hot, sweaty chemical suits in 105 degree heat and practice dealing with leaks, spills, and injuries. I must have lost 10 pounds worth of sweat with all the water pouring out of me.
If I had to sum it up in just a few words, it would be “40 hours of Hell”. That’s nothing against the teacher of the class, he did a great job. And the mock disasters that they have set up at this fire school were pretty neat. It’s just that that kind of stuff doesn’t interest me at all. But then again, what does interest me?
One of the things that made this class Hell on me was the people I took the class with. Every one of them seemed like great guys, but they were just different people that I would ever hang out with. From what I gathered, it was a bunch of firemen, volunteer firemen, and safety gurus from huge plants and oil rigs. And all of them took themselves way, way, way too seriously.
For instance, if you asked a yes/no question in the class, the answer would never just be yes or no. To a man, the guys I went to class with answered a yes/no question by saying “affirmative” or “negative”. Every. Single. Time.
Everyone knows a guy that still has a keychain hanging from his belt loop, one of those real tall wallets hanging out of his back pocket, and uses fireman talk everywhere he goes. Well, imagine spending eight hours a day for five straight days with 25 of those guys.
Like I said- all great guys, just different people from what I would normally hang out with.
And then the kicker- One day we were going over a quiz, which was multiple choice. The first question was an easy one, with the answer being “B”. From the back of the room I heard someone say “Beta”. Before I knew it, instead of “A, B, C, or D” every answer I heard was either “Alpha”, “Beta”, “Charlie” or “Delta”. I’m 100% serious.
After about the third question I started laughing out loud and said “Wow, really?” Nobody even understood that I was questioning their lingo. To them it was as natural as me saying “A, B, C or D”.
Needless to say, by the middle of the third day I was ready to pull my hair out. “Fireman guy taking himself too seriously” is the one disaster that they didn’t teach me how to deal with.
I’ve taken a few weeks off lately. Actually I thought I was done writing, period. I didn’t know if anyone even read the column anymore, and frankly, I had run out of things to talk about. And then? Well, then I attended HAZMAT class.
Firemen, volunteer firemen, and everyone else who works around chemicals, at some point, has to take this class. It teaches you how to deal with hazardous chemical spills, what level of protective gear to wear, how to read placards on vehicles that ship chemicals, etc.
You also don those hot, sweaty chemical suits in 105 degree heat and practice dealing with leaks, spills, and injuries. I must have lost 10 pounds worth of sweat with all the water pouring out of me.
If I had to sum it up in just a few words, it would be “40 hours of Hell”. That’s nothing against the teacher of the class, he did a great job. And the mock disasters that they have set up at this fire school were pretty neat. It’s just that that kind of stuff doesn’t interest me at all. But then again, what does interest me?
One of the things that made this class Hell on me was the people I took the class with. Every one of them seemed like great guys, but they were just different people that I would ever hang out with. From what I gathered, it was a bunch of firemen, volunteer firemen, and safety gurus from huge plants and oil rigs. And all of them took themselves way, way, way too seriously.
For instance, if you asked a yes/no question in the class, the answer would never just be yes or no. To a man, the guys I went to class with answered a yes/no question by saying “affirmative” or “negative”. Every. Single. Time.
Everyone knows a guy that still has a keychain hanging from his belt loop, one of those real tall wallets hanging out of his back pocket, and uses fireman talk everywhere he goes. Well, imagine spending eight hours a day for five straight days with 25 of those guys.
Like I said- all great guys, just different people from what I would normally hang out with.
And then the kicker- One day we were going over a quiz, which was multiple choice. The first question was an easy one, with the answer being “B”. From the back of the room I heard someone say “Beta”. Before I knew it, instead of “A, B, C, or D” every answer I heard was either “Alpha”, “Beta”, “Charlie” or “Delta”. I’m 100% serious.
After about the third question I started laughing out loud and said “Wow, really?” Nobody even understood that I was questioning their lingo. To them it was as natural as me saying “A, B, C or D”.
Needless to say, by the middle of the third day I was ready to pull my hair out. “Fireman guy taking himself too seriously” is the one disaster that they didn’t teach me how to deal with.
Advice Column
Know what we haven’t done in a while? I haven’t answered any of your questions about life, love and lunatics. Let’s get to some of those.
“Booger” in Gause wants to know “Shannon, what do you think of the debt ceiling debate? And should I listen to the right or left?”
Booger, I’ll tell you what I think. I think it’s pretty funny to listen to these highly educated puppets argue, bicker and fight over something that my wife or countless other bill-paying spouses could take care of within a week. The first seven or eight years of our marriage she had to find ways every payday of paying huge bills with small paychecks, deciding which bills to pay, who to put off until next time, and exactly how much we could spend on what. And trust me, she got paid a whole lot less for her trouble than these politicians do.
Booger, try this from now on. Starting today, every time you see a politician on t.v.- republican or democrat- go to YouTube and download about thirty minutes of a comedian named George Carlin. It’ll put politics in perspective for you. It also works for the crazy Jesus nuts that get to you from time to time.
“Jealous Much?” wrote me from the northern part of the county. She says “Dear Shannon, my best friend loves to sing and she is really good. I’m afraid that when we grow up, she’ll be really famous and won’t remember me. Any advice?”
The way I see it “Jealous”, you’ve got two options here. You can either crush her voice box and make it look like an accident, or you can pay attention in school, get good at math, and try to be her manager. Get it in writing now, while she’s still poor.
“Taken Advantage Of” told me that he lent $1,000 to two relatives a while ago, and still hasn’t been paid back yet. He said he’s dropped a few hints, but nothing came out of them yet. What should he do?
First of all, “Taken”, why would you mix family with money in the first place? That’s a huge no-no, everyone knows that. Now, about getting the money back…
Try blasting it on Facebook first. That might shame them into paying you back. If that doesn’t work, go to the nearest biker bar, pay two guys $100 to take a ride with you, and scare your family members to death. You’ll still come out $900 ahead.
If you’d like some great advice, simply write to Shannon Says by going to news@robconews.com or shannonscasta.blogspot.com and leave a comment.
Waving the ban-ner
I was having one of those days. You know the kind of day I’m talking about- you work your butt off, do everything right, try to make smart decisions with your money, and still nothing goes right. You can’t seem to keep up, much less get ahead.
A plumber had just given me an estimate on replacing some pipes, I was having expensive lawn mower trouble, and my kids were whining about something we couldn’t go do or something they couldn’t have.
Then I turned on my computer and the clouds parted and the sky got a little brighter. One of the headlines read “Restaurant bans kids”. I swear I heard angels singing Hallelujah.
Earlier that day I had been eating lunch at a restaurant in Bryan, and a lady with a kid picked the table next to me. Within seconds of watching this little monster, I knew I had seen this movie before. I was about to either stuff down my food as fast as possible, or spend the next forty-five minutes listening to this lady shshshing her kid over and over and over. So I got up and switched tables. I didn’t make a big deal out of it, I didn’t give the kids a dirty look or anything, in fact I avoided eye contact all together and tried to not even let on what I was doing.
But somehow the lady caught on to my plan, and stared at me like I was Casey Anthony with the plague.
Look, nobody is saying that I don’t like kids. Kids are fine, most of them. And had I been at a McDonald’s or Chuck E Cheese, it would have been different. You have to expect unruly kids at those places. That’s why I avoid those establishments like the flu.
The restaurant in the internet story banned children from the ages of six and under. What a great, great idea. Only I say take it a step further. I say until a kid is eight years old, keep them at home. Or at least limit the public places in which you take them. There are tons of places that cater to kids. Most towns have some sort of children’s museum, a park, a jail cell… There is no reason to take a small kid to a nice restaurant that serves drinks. Chances are, grown-ups are there to get away from their own children.
That’s the one thing Hollywood couples do right. Madonna, Brad and Angelina, Tom Cruise and his wife, all these famous stars all do the same thing. They have kids one day (or, go to some third world country and adopt one) and you don’t see their kids again until they are drug-addicted teenagers on the cover of magazines.
I wish all places would ban kids, but I know it won’t happen. For some silly reason, the whole damn world loves kids. Anything with the word “kids” attached to it is a huge business and makes huge money. Don’t even get me started on kids sports… That’s a whole other column.
Can we at least agree to do this? Let’s pass a law that says if you take your kid to a restaurant that serves beer, and your kid disturbs even one customer, you have to buy the house a round of drinks right there on the spot.
That way, we can get tipsy enough to put up with your kid.
Love the column? Hate the column? Have an idea for a new column? Go to http://robconews.com/ or http://shannonscasta.blogspot.com/ and leave a comment or suggestion
I was having one of those days. You know the kind of day I’m talking about- you work your butt off, do everything right, try to make smart decisions with your money, and still nothing goes right. You can’t seem to keep up, much less get ahead.
A plumber had just given me an estimate on replacing some pipes, I was having expensive lawn mower trouble, and my kids were whining about something we couldn’t go do or something they couldn’t have.
Then I turned on my computer and the clouds parted and the sky got a little brighter. One of the headlines read “Restaurant bans kids”. I swear I heard angels singing Hallelujah.
Earlier that day I had been eating lunch at a restaurant in Bryan, and a lady with a kid picked the table next to me. Within seconds of watching this little monster, I knew I had seen this movie before. I was about to either stuff down my food as fast as possible, or spend the next forty-five minutes listening to this lady shshshing her kid over and over and over. So I got up and switched tables. I didn’t make a big deal out of it, I didn’t give the kids a dirty look or anything, in fact I avoided eye contact all together and tried to not even let on what I was doing.
But somehow the lady caught on to my plan, and stared at me like I was Casey Anthony with the plague.
Look, nobody is saying that I don’t like kids. Kids are fine, most of them. And had I been at a McDonald’s or Chuck E Cheese, it would have been different. You have to expect unruly kids at those places. That’s why I avoid those establishments like the flu.
The restaurant in the internet story banned children from the ages of six and under. What a great, great idea. Only I say take it a step further. I say until a kid is eight years old, keep them at home. Or at least limit the public places in which you take them. There are tons of places that cater to kids. Most towns have some sort of children’s museum, a park, a jail cell… There is no reason to take a small kid to a nice restaurant that serves drinks. Chances are, grown-ups are there to get away from their own children.
That’s the one thing Hollywood couples do right. Madonna, Brad and Angelina, Tom Cruise and his wife, all these famous stars all do the same thing. They have kids one day (or, go to some third world country and adopt one) and you don’t see their kids again until they are drug-addicted teenagers on the cover of magazines.
I wish all places would ban kids, but I know it won’t happen. For some silly reason, the whole damn world loves kids. Anything with the word “kids” attached to it is a huge business and makes huge money. Don’t even get me started on kids sports… That’s a whole other column.
Can we at least agree to do this? Let’s pass a law that says if you take your kid to a restaurant that serves beer, and your kid disturbs even one customer, you have to buy the house a round of drinks right there on the spot.
That way, we can get tipsy enough to put up with your kid.
Love the column? Hate the column? Have an idea for a new column? Go to http://robconews.com/ or http://shannonscasta.blogspot.com/ and leave a comment or suggestion
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Welcome back, kids
My two youngest children were gone this past week, visiting relatives in Killeen . The house felt way too quiet. It’s funny, I fuss about how much noise they make when they are here (especially when I’m working nights and trying to sleep during the day), but the truth is I slept better once they got back home.
Now, I missed both of them the same, and neither one more than the other. However, it never occurred to me how much my son helped out around the house until he was on “relative leave”.
He usually takes out the trash in the evenings. In fact, it turns out that he must take the trash out a couple of times a day. When he was gone I couldn’t believe how much trash we go through as a family- and that was with two of us gone. The average American creates 1600 pounds of garbage per year. I think we had half of our numbers in one week.
He usually cleans the pool, too. I mean, all three have “clean the pool” on their list of chores once a week, but he by far does it the most and the best. Two days without him being there, the pool was like swimming in a pasture tank. I swear I felt a catfish nibbling on my toes at one point.
My son is in charge of feeding the dog every morning also. And I think somewhere around Wednesday I caught my dog on the corner up the street holding a “will bark for food” sign.
Speaking of the dog, he looked lost the whole week as much as I did. He’s used to playing and running around the house with the kids for a little while every day. That is, until he’s had enough and starts growling and snapping at them to leave him alone.
Of course, I had to mow the lawn by myself this week, too. It turns out that the push mower is a little heavier than I remember it being. I’m so used to riding on my mower and watching him push his. I started off speed walking behind that thing, and by the time I made it to the front yard I was using it more for a walker than a lawn mower.
The morning papers? It’s my son’s job to grab those every morning, too. Do you understand the effort I had to put out, walking all the way outside every morning just to grab a couple of newspapers? I should’ve had people lined up along the sidewalk there and back holding out water cups, like they do in the marathons.
And as I said before, it wasn’t just my son that I missed. Jenna, my youngest daughter, also gives a great shoulder massage while we’re watching t.v. in the evenings. I had to pay some lady in the mall $20 to do what Jenna does a couple of times a week for a simple trip to the piggy bank.
And most of all, I depend on those kids to provide their mom with plenty of hugs and kisses every day. She has to reach a certain quota every day, or the next day she’s going to need even more. Without them here, guess who had to feel in all week?
Hey, now that I think about it… Anybody out there need a couple of kids for a week or so?
My two youngest children were gone this past week, visiting relatives in Killeen . The house felt way too quiet. It’s funny, I fuss about how much noise they make when they are here (especially when I’m working nights and trying to sleep during the day), but the truth is I slept better once they got back home.
Now, I missed both of them the same, and neither one more than the other. However, it never occurred to me how much my son helped out around the house until he was on “relative leave”.
He usually takes out the trash in the evenings. In fact, it turns out that he must take the trash out a couple of times a day. When he was gone I couldn’t believe how much trash we go through as a family- and that was with two of us gone. The average American creates 1600 pounds of garbage per year. I think we had half of our numbers in one week.
He usually cleans the pool, too. I mean, all three have “clean the pool” on their list of chores once a week, but he by far does it the most and the best. Two days without him being there, the pool was like swimming in a pasture tank. I swear I felt a catfish nibbling on my toes at one point.
My son is in charge of feeding the dog every morning also. And I think somewhere around Wednesday I caught my dog on the corner up the street holding a “will bark for food” sign.
Speaking of the dog, he looked lost the whole week as much as I did. He’s used to playing and running around the house with the kids for a little while every day. That is, until he’s had enough and starts growling and snapping at them to leave him alone.
Of course, I had to mow the lawn by myself this week, too. It turns out that the push mower is a little heavier than I remember it being. I’m so used to riding on my mower and watching him push his. I started off speed walking behind that thing, and by the time I made it to the front yard I was using it more for a walker than a lawn mower.
The morning papers? It’s my son’s job to grab those every morning, too. Do you understand the effort I had to put out, walking all the way outside every morning just to grab a couple of newspapers? I should’ve had people lined up along the sidewalk there and back holding out water cups, like they do in the marathons.
And as I said before, it wasn’t just my son that I missed. Jenna, my youngest daughter, also gives a great shoulder massage while we’re watching t.v. in the evenings. I had to pay some lady in the mall $20 to do what Jenna does a couple of times a week for a simple trip to the piggy bank.
And most of all, I depend on those kids to provide their mom with plenty of hugs and kisses every day. She has to reach a certain quota every day, or the next day she’s going to need even more. Without them here, guess who had to feel in all week?
Hey, now that I think about it… Anybody out there need a couple of kids for a week or so?
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Our night out
I’ve had better parenting moments.
My wife and I made plans to go out this past Friday night. My two daughters wanted to go with us, and started pouting when I told them no. You would have thought that we told them they were never leaving the house again.
Now, every kid pouts every now and then so that isn’t what made me mad. What set me off was the “we never get to do anything” comments. Oh, please.
“Let me tell you something,” I told my oldest daughter, who was pouting the most. “You’ve gotten to do more in your twelve years than I got to do in my first twenty-five. You’ve got friends coming over all the time, you have your own cell phone, you can go swimming anytime you want to, day or night. We are a month away from taking you to the beach- for the sixth straight year. Hell, I was almost thirty before I ever even saw the beach. So little girl, don’t whine to me about you never get to do anything.”
Then I really lost it, and couldn’t stop myself.
“For the past eight months, it’s been all about you kids. Kids this, kids that. Kids, kids, kids. Every single night, one of you little parasites has had baseball practice or softball practice or volleyball practice. If you didn’t have practice, then you had a game. If you didn’t have practice or a game, you had five hours of homework that we had to help you with.
“So no, you can’t go tonight. If you don’t mind, I’d like to take your mother- who by the way is still my wife- out on a nice, romantic date.”
Evidently, the word “romantic” is the magic word that makes little girls say “eeww!” like I just swallowed a bug in front of them.
“We’d like to go eat at a nice restaurant for once. One that doesn’t have a drive-thru window, styrofoam cups, or crayons with their menus. I want to pay the check at the table with one of those fancy black notebooks instead of standing at the register. And speaking of menus, there won’t be any chicken strips, chicken wheels or chicken sandwiches at the restaurant where we are going. Nothing chicken.
“There will be a candle on the table, a couple of glasses of wine or other adult beverages, and we’ll be playing footsies the whole time. I might even kiss your mother square on the mouth at some point.”
Again there was a loud “eeww!” Sadly, this time it was from my wife.
Because this is a family newspaper, I left a couple of choice words that I said to them out of this column. As we left, I wasn’t sure who was more upset- the girls because they couldn’t go or my wife because she thought I might try to kiss her.
So I guess I lost the Father of the Year Award again this year. Due to the new chore lists, I’m not sure I was in the running for the award anyway.
Well I guess there is always next year…
Love the column? Hate the column? Have an idea for a new column? Go to http://robconews.com/ or http://shannonscasta.blogspot.com/ and leave a comment or suggestion.
I’ve had better parenting moments.
My wife and I made plans to go out this past Friday night. My two daughters wanted to go with us, and started pouting when I told them no. You would have thought that we told them they were never leaving the house again.
Now, every kid pouts every now and then so that isn’t what made me mad. What set me off was the “we never get to do anything” comments. Oh, please.
“Let me tell you something,” I told my oldest daughter, who was pouting the most. “You’ve gotten to do more in your twelve years than I got to do in my first twenty-five. You’ve got friends coming over all the time, you have your own cell phone, you can go swimming anytime you want to, day or night. We are a month away from taking you to the beach- for the sixth straight year. Hell, I was almost thirty before I ever even saw the beach. So little girl, don’t whine to me about you never get to do anything.”
Then I really lost it, and couldn’t stop myself.
“For the past eight months, it’s been all about you kids. Kids this, kids that. Kids, kids, kids. Every single night, one of you little parasites has had baseball practice or softball practice or volleyball practice. If you didn’t have practice, then you had a game. If you didn’t have practice or a game, you had five hours of homework that we had to help you with.
“So no, you can’t go tonight. If you don’t mind, I’d like to take your mother- who by the way is still my wife- out on a nice, romantic date.”
Evidently, the word “romantic” is the magic word that makes little girls say “eeww!” like I just swallowed a bug in front of them.
“We’d like to go eat at a nice restaurant for once. One that doesn’t have a drive-thru window, styrofoam cups, or crayons with their menus. I want to pay the check at the table with one of those fancy black notebooks instead of standing at the register. And speaking of menus, there won’t be any chicken strips, chicken wheels or chicken sandwiches at the restaurant where we are going. Nothing chicken.
“There will be a candle on the table, a couple of glasses of wine or other adult beverages, and we’ll be playing footsies the whole time. I might even kiss your mother square on the mouth at some point.”
Again there was a loud “eeww!” Sadly, this time it was from my wife.
Because this is a family newspaper, I left a couple of choice words that I said to them out of this column. As we left, I wasn’t sure who was more upset- the girls because they couldn’t go or my wife because she thought I might try to kiss her.
So I guess I lost the Father of the Year Award again this year. Due to the new chore lists, I’m not sure I was in the running for the award anyway.
Well I guess there is always next year…
Love the column? Hate the column? Have an idea for a new column? Go to http://robconews.com/ or http://shannonscasta.blogspot.com/ and leave a comment or suggestion.
Can’t go wrong with tiger print
Well we made it back from the lake, with everyone and everything still intact. Actually, it turned out to be a little easier to drive, maneuver, and set up the travel trailer than I thought. In fact, I’d have to say it was quicker and easier than putting up a tent. Of course, it’d be great if I didn’t have to drop light-bill-type money on gas whenever we took it out.
The only problem I had with taking the travel trailer out was this- I’ve now moved into the age bracket that enjoys RVing. I paid attention all weekend long, and everyone I saw was either under the age of 16 or over the age of 45. There were no cool twenty-somethings there. The sting of that realization was up there with the pain of a pretty girl calling you “sir” and your son blowing by you on the basketball court.
The funniest part of the weekend came when an old man two campsights down came outside in a Speedo. A very, very small Speedo. And he felt very comfortable wearing it all weekend long, much to my kids’ horror. They shrieked and ewwed every time he came outside. And that was just the green one. You should have heard them scream when he broke out the tiger-print Speedo on Sunday.
Anyway, I’ve decided to embrace my aging process. Instead of eating fast food Monday, I stopped and had lunch at Luby’s with all the other old people. I love the food there, and there are so many options to choose from. My only problem is I feel like I’m holding up the line while I’m deciding.
In fact, one old lady let me know I was waisting her time. She kept elbowing me and hitting my tray with her tray, like I was keeping her from watching an episode of “Murder, She Wrote” or something. I wanted to point out to her that nobody nudged her while she drove the last 17 miles with her dang blinker on at 40 mph. But instead I just let it slide. Call it part of getting older and more mellow.
Back to the RVing. We really enjoyed it and plan to take it out more, when we can. We’ve decided to keep to the state parks as much as possible, because they are a little more strict on the drinking and things like that. Folks will always drink, of course, but it seems a little more subdued at the state parks. And a little more quieter.
We’ve revamped our list of things we need to take with us, also. For instance, this last time we forgot to take bicycles for the kids. They were bored a good bit of the time. We need to put a fan or two in there, some books or something, and for God’s sake, a coffee pot. If I’m going to wake up with three kids and a wife bouncing around all happy and chirpy like, then I’m going to need a pretty big cup of strong coffee. Or three.
And finally, we can’t forget to pack the jewel of every fun-filled RVing weekend from here on out… my own tiger-print Speedo.
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Well we made it back from the lake, with everyone and everything still intact. Actually, it turned out to be a little easier to drive, maneuver, and set up the travel trailer than I thought. In fact, I’d have to say it was quicker and easier than putting up a tent. Of course, it’d be great if I didn’t have to drop light-bill-type money on gas whenever we took it out.
The only problem I had with taking the travel trailer out was this- I’ve now moved into the age bracket that enjoys RVing. I paid attention all weekend long, and everyone I saw was either under the age of 16 or over the age of 45. There were no cool twenty-somethings there. The sting of that realization was up there with the pain of a pretty girl calling you “sir” and your son blowing by you on the basketball court.
The funniest part of the weekend came when an old man two campsights down came outside in a Speedo. A very, very small Speedo. And he felt very comfortable wearing it all weekend long, much to my kids’ horror. They shrieked and ewwed every time he came outside. And that was just the green one. You should have heard them scream when he broke out the tiger-print Speedo on Sunday.
Anyway, I’ve decided to embrace my aging process. Instead of eating fast food Monday, I stopped and had lunch at Luby’s with all the other old people. I love the food there, and there are so many options to choose from. My only problem is I feel like I’m holding up the line while I’m deciding.
In fact, one old lady let me know I was waisting her time. She kept elbowing me and hitting my tray with her tray, like I was keeping her from watching an episode of “Murder, She Wrote” or something. I wanted to point out to her that nobody nudged her while she drove the last 17 miles with her dang blinker on at 40 mph. But instead I just let it slide. Call it part of getting older and more mellow.
Back to the RVing. We really enjoyed it and plan to take it out more, when we can. We’ve decided to keep to the state parks as much as possible, because they are a little more strict on the drinking and things like that. Folks will always drink, of course, but it seems a little more subdued at the state parks. And a little more quieter.
We’ve revamped our list of things we need to take with us, also. For instance, this last time we forgot to take bicycles for the kids. They were bored a good bit of the time. We need to put a fan or two in there, some books or something, and for God’s sake, a coffee pot. If I’m going to wake up with three kids and a wife bouncing around all happy and chirpy like, then I’m going to need a pretty big cup of strong coffee. Or three.
And finally, we can’t forget to pack the jewel of every fun-filled RVing weekend from here on out… my own tiger-print Speedo.
Love the column? Hate the column? Have an idea for a new column? Go to http://robconews.com/ or http://shannonscasta.blogspot.com/ and leave a comment or suggestion.
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