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The BOMB

Welcome to the BOMB.



The Blog Of the "Mother" of Bandit.
Bandit is my Hairless Chinese Crested--he's the "normal" one. I, on the other hand, am unrepentantly "pet-crazy." You know the type--the spinster who lives in the haunted house three blocks over with 72 cats...okay, so I don't have 72 cats, and my house isn't haunted--but my dogs wardrobe is better than mine! Need I say more? :~)
I've never been consistant at journaling, so the timing of my blogs will be sporadic at best. I just hope they are as entertaining to you as they are to me; however, be forewarned: Most of my blogs will be about The BaldOne. In spite of his Don King "do," I think he's just as cute as any of the Brothers B!
Now, if I can just remember not to get him wet--or feed him after midnight...

About Me

My photo
My bags are packed and I'm always ready to seek out an adventure with Bandit and Moggy in tow. Bandit is my ten year old Chinese Crested, who I frequently call The Bald One or The BaldOne Boy (like he was one of the Baldwin Brothers). Moggy’s full name is Pip-Moggy. He’s my gansta-resuce kitty. I couldn’t decide between Pip (which are the spots on die and domino tiles) and Moggy (or Moggie when I mistakenly thought he was a she), so I combined the two. Moggy refers to the British term for "cat of unknown parentage .” So in essence, I have an almost bald dog, and I’ve named my cat “Spot.”

Fun Stuff (I'm doing now or have done)

  • Artistic Attempts weekly (alternating between Painting With A Twist, That Art Place, and Peniot's Palette).
  • Bunko with the Belton Bunko Babes monthly.
  • Participating in the A to Z Blogging Challenge.
  • Spades and Liverpool Rummy with the Spadetts weekly.
  • The Mighty Texas Dog Walk, Austin (fund raiser for Service Dogs, Inc--they train shelter dogs to be Service Dogs, then give them free of charge to people with disabilities.)

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

It Would Have Been Perfect...Had it Been Different

During a recent driving trip, I was mentally reviewing a conversation  in which I had earnestly said something to the effect of:  "It would have been perfect, had it been different."  I became so tickled  I started giggling at the absurdity of the statement--until I realized it would make a great title for a song or a blog entry, etc. I can't remember too much of it, because I was driving and had no way of safely recording my thoughts, but the next line was, "It's an action-docu-comedrama, with a little Mr. Ree."  I of course giggled even more, because of the misdirection that "Mr. Ree" lent to the "mystery" genre.  I was practically blinded by the tears streaming down my face  as I giggled even harder at the realization that an even better "Miss" direction would be to turn "Mr" Ree into "Miss Taree." (Yes, I'm easily amused.)

Unfortunately, about that time my phone beeped at me, bringing me back to the sad realization that the car charger was not functioning.  I had let my cell phone become dangerously red earlier whist talking with my Sister. There was no way I wanted to drive from NOLA to central Texas without the safety net of a phone. While formulating re-charge plans (e.g. jiggling the cord, and if charging connection remained unsuccessful,  making a pit-stop to plug in my laptop and use it to recharge the phone),  I realized the sky had suddenly become ominously dark, due to the increasingly hard downpour. Even more disturbing  was the realization that the lightening was much closer than when I first boarded the bridge. In a flash of insight quicker and more brilliant than the lightening strikes before me, I realized I was now stuck in slow moving traffic, in the middle of a long, low-built, steel and concrete bridge, over an escape-eliminating  body of water. Not exactly the safest place to be.

Literally within seconds of realizing  the precariousness of my situation (and wondering at my "wisdom" in placing myself in harms way), as I--and the rest of the traffic--crawled along at 10 mph, the lightening struck the little white truck in the left hand lane one car in front of my position (less than 50 feet away--we were at least appropriately spaced).  Orange sparks flew from the truck as I let loose with a scaredy-cat-blood-curtling-scream worthy of any teenage-slasher-movie-star (think Jamie Lee Curtis). All thoughts of songs and blogs flew out of my mind and I concentrated in earnest on safe driving.

The white truck passed in front of me and safely pulled over onto the narrow shoulder. As I passed, I noticed a shaken, but physically unharmed guy with a bewildered look on his face. Evidently, I was not the only one taken by surprise at the fierce intensity and quick approach of the storm. I did not see him whip out a cell phone (and he appeared to be of a generation that might not be in bondage to technology). Unfortunately,  Bandit and I were by ourselves, and the SUV was packed to the gills, so I was not in a position to stop and render aide (at least not in the form of a ride to dry-non-steel land), so I did the next best thing:  I noted his location, and once safely off the bridge I called the Louisiana State Patrol and asked them to check on him.  Lucky for him, I read and remember the cell phone emergency numbers posted at the state lines.  Unlucky for me, I no longer remember any more of the lyrics or the even the jazz tune of the song I was mentally composing.