I'm a rockin' baller...

What a week! You'd think I would have blogged throughout the week with some of the things that have happened, but I've come to realize that this blogging stuff takes some serious time. Here's a brief recap of this past week:

1. Jim's car did not need a new transmission. Some thingamabob had to be replaced and was, thankfully, under warranty.

2. We survived The Great IL Earthquake of 2008. I woke to what I thought was my dog shaking the bed due to a very serious itch behind the ear, only to realize that the entire house was shaking. We scored a 5.2 on the Richter scale and later in the day a 4.5 aftershock. It was all very cool.

3. I learned that the MO Air National Guard is offering a bonus for new military members. For those of you who didn't know (though I doubt random strangers are reading my blog) I was laid off of active duty almost 2 years ago due to overages in my career field. I thought I was completely done with the military stuff but now I'm beginning to wonder. More on that later...

4. I learned that I can kick some major behind at demolition ball . For those of you inexperienced demolition ballers...it involves bumper cars, a lacrosse type thrower/catcher, and a basketball hoop. Since my fore mentioned glasses have created in me a lack of hand-eye coordination, I played defense. I rocked. I got rocked. I got bruised. I was bad-@$#!


Disclaimer: Please ignore the chubby thigh...concentrate your eyes on the battle wounds caused by my very aggressive DEFENSIVE Playing Skills.

Forgettful Jones

I have a strange memory. I can remember the names of Madonna, Gwyneth Paltrow, and Gwen Steffani’s children. I can remember the appropriate gift for someone’s 1 year anniversary. I can remember that the guy in the office next door drives a red Chevy, likes Diet Cokes, and his daughter is expecting her first child in June.

I can’t remember when Columbus sailed the ocean blue (1492?). I can’t remember how to compute algebraic equations (don’t even get me started on geometric equations). I can’t remember the name of prominent Generals during the Civil War, or (ashamedly) the years of the Civil War. I can’t remember the name of the guy in the office next door.

I know people say that the mind will forget things that you don’t want to remember, but really, is it so harmful to my subconscious chi that I remember when the free world was discovered?!

Here are a few of my still retrievable memories:

First Memory:
I think my mom, sister and I had gone to the pool while we were stationed in ND. I had fallen asleep on the drive home, and I had sweet tarts in my hand. I had SO wanted sweet tarts but was a little disappointed to find out that I didn’t like them that much. Anywho, when we got home my mom left me in the car to sleep a little longer. I woke up in the warm car with my package of sweet tarts in hand and no one around. (Note: Please do not call a child protection agency; the windows were down and we lived on a military installation. Also, my mother vehemently denies this ever happening…but her memory is about as good as mine.)

Favorite Memory:
This one’s hard to pick. I have so many fond memories of my childhood with my family in Europe, tomfoolery with my H.S. friends, camping trips with the Guenins and underwater pool routines with my cousins. Right now, my favorite memory is my wedding day. Not only because of the symbolism of that day, but I really had a blast!

Most Moving Memory:
I have two that still move me when I think about them.
1. My father coming home from Desert Storm after 9 months. We met him on the airfield and I remember balling. Well, everyone was balling.
2. Visiting the Dachau concentration camp. I was only a child (1st or 2nd grade), but I distinctly remember feeling like I shouldn’t talk and that it was a very sad place.
(*Erleeece, you got me going when you mentioned Dachau in your blog.)

Saddest Memory:
My Grandfather’s death and funeral.

Scariest Memory:
Realizing I was lost in the Munich railway station during Oktoberfest. ‘Nuff said.
(Really, before you call a child protection agency you should know that I have a wonderful mother and it was not her fault that the lady leading our tour did not know which train to go to. I was also a Curious George growing up and did a lot of people watching under those thick glasses. It sometimes got me in trouble…or lost in Munich.)

Well, I think I was going to write something else but I can’t remember what it was.
By the way: did you know that the average human head weighs 8 lbs?

I don't *car* where the thingamabob goes!

Jim and I have had some serious car maintenance issues lately. My beloved Honda recently reached the 100,000 mile club, and she was due some maintenance for her milestone birthday. We spent approximately $700 two weeks ago (hoses and stuff like that I think...). Last week we sent the MANLY car in for some extremely overdue tires. Another $700 in the car bucket. Today, we dropped off my car for new tires and brakes. Thank you very much Marriott rewards visa -- we can now officially stay in the Taj Mahal with the points we've racked up.

All of this to return home and notice on our garage floor: the MANLY car is leaky transmission fluid. Ta-da!

There are girls out there who appreciate how their cars run, who know what thingamabob is what, and where the windshield wiper fluid goes. I do not subscribe to their club. I've always despised car maintenance and being "involved" in it. Just ask my parents. They've received many a panicked/sobbing call from a younger George in her college days when car problems struck. I just PANIC!

I'd like to think of myself as an independent woman. I know that I can take care of these things on my own. I can mow the lawn, I can use power tools, I can do home repairs, I know how to change a tire. I just don't WANT to think about that stuff.

Jim was deployed a few years ago. I was fairly new to the city and got a flat on a major interstate during morning traffic. I did not attempt to change the tire. I promptly turned off the car (to conserve gas), turned on my flashers (because that's the safe thing to do), and left my radio on (because there was a really good morning radio show on). I called my sister-in-law and her boyfriend to come and help me. In the meantime, a MO DOT road-side assistance man pulled over to assist. Who knew these guys existed?! Awesome! While he was getting all of his gear to do the tire change thingy, I started to get a little cold. So I attempted to turn on the car...yeah, it was dead. I killed the battery with the flashers and the radio. "Ahem...Mister, do you happen to have jumper cables too?"

The moral of the story: goodness, I don't really know. I just hate car maintenance. I really just want to get in my car, spend a small fortune on gas, drive away and be merry. Thank God for patient parents, accommodating husbands, and my state taxes that provide for Mo DOT workers. I would still be struggling with the whatchamacallit trying to change that tire.

A George by any other name would not be the same...

My first BLOG! I highly doubt that life as I know it today will produce enough material to maintain a constant blog, but seeing as I've recently become a.d.d.i.c.t.e.d. to reading blogs, I figure it's about time for me to join in. I must admit, I'm becoming pretty handy at this computer stuff. I even have a Myspace page...I know, I am so incredibly uncool.

I guess the best place to start is explaining the title of my blog. My birth name is not George and I am not a tranny. As a two year old child I was prescribed glasses. Said glasses were cute tortoise rimmed glasses that just so happened to resemble those of one George Burns. My father, upon seeing his sweet child in glasses, was quick to point out this resemblance. The name stuck. While some young girls might resent their fathers purposely trying to embarrass them at school, around friends, when they receive an ever-so-important phone call in their teen years by calling out "Hey GEORGE", I embraced it. I loved that my father and I had (and still have) that special connection. My glasses made me.

(And okay, I wasn't going to admit this but it helps explain who I am today. I had a lazy eye. OKAY -- I technically still do, but you can only see it if I turn a certain way. I had to have surgery; I had to wear a patch; I had to wear glasses that made me look like the little Asian lady from The Incredibles. Kids stared at me. They pointed at me and said to their parents, "MOM, LOOK AT HER EYES". And, I realize EVERY kid is made fun of and ridiculed by their peers, but I'm not necessarily complaining about it. I think it made me a more compassionate person. But I digress.)

I wear contacts now, and I'm still George. I hope to use this blog as a place to remember who I was as a child and young adult, to reflect on where I am now, and to dream about where I'm heading.

Thanks for reading! (And okay, you'll be quick to learn that I'm still a geek in glasses, somewhat lacking confidence, and I'm constantly going to be simultaneously worrying that 1. you are reading and gagging at my grammar and content, and 2. you are not reading. Such is the dichotomy of my life - in and out of glasses.)