Rock, paper, scissors 

I have a new hatred for the paper gowns at a doctors office.  I sat in an exam room with an 8-year-old patient for 45 minutes.   My son was scheduled for a checkup.  It would have been a stress-free appointment had it not been for the constant rustling of the gown.    Like most children, he cannot sit still.   It’s no secret that I suffer from Misophonia.  A crisp apple can send me over the edge.   Being in a 10 x 10 room with a child in a paper gown is pure torture.  I was on the verge of ripping the damn thing off him when the doctor strolled in like she wasn’t nearly an hour behind schedule.   I wanted to scream,  “Where the hell have you been?”  I bit my tongue.

There are a lot of things I would change about a doctor’s office beginning with the music.   I don’t expect the pediatrician to play Wu-Tang Clan, but enough with the Soft Rock.   Even Phil Collins doesn’t want to hear A Groovy Kind of Love anymore.  It only makes the time drag and conjures up bad memories of middle school.  I was like countless teenage girls who sat in their rooms in the late 80s crying over a boy while listening to Phil Collins on a cassette player. You didn’t play a Phil Collins song to get pumped for the big game or when using your thigh master.  Phil helped you cry it out.

I could also do without the broken toys, books that are missing pages and magazines from 1998 in the waiting room.   Take my $35 co-pay and renew your subscription.  Furthermore, if you’re going to have a tv on the wall put some cartoons on it.   Watching a busty anchor read an infomercial on heartburn medicine isn’t a good distraction for a child who is about to get a flu shot.  She is almost as annoying as a paper gown.  Almost.

Instructions not included

The Oscars are a week away and I have seen four of the movies nominated, two of which were animated films.  That is a record for me.   I think the movie “Instructions Not Included” deserved a nomination.  It didn’t resonate with critics, but the common folk gave better reviews.  The Spanish-language film grossed over $40 million.  I saw it in the theater with a good friend of mine, but watched it again on TV over the weekend with my husband.  We tried to start the movie when the kids were still awake.  It was a bad idea.  My 6-year-old is learning to read and is very excited about it.   Do you remember the scene in Rain Man when Dustin Hoffman’s character reads every sign he sees a loud?  My son reads everything, too.  E-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g.    This is what it was like trying to watch a subtitled movie with him.



I remember when the story came into our newsroom.   A local girl had supposedly gone missing while on spring break in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.  I say supposedly because in the news industry a person isn’t missing until police say so.   Over the years we have received countless phone calls from frantic loved ones pleading with us to run a photo on the evening news.  They begged for help, but our hands were tied until it authorities confirmed it to be suspicious.  More often than not the missing person turned out to be a runaway.   Initially,  many people in our newsroom were skeptical about Brittanee Drexel’s supposed disappearance.  A troubled 17-year-old goes on vacation without telling her mother and goes missing.   Just about everyone was thinking it:  That girl got busted and ran away.  Then, days passed.  Something wasn’t right.  Security video surfaced showing her leaving a hotel in Myrtle Beach, where she visited a few friends.

Somewhere during the 1.4 mile walk  to her own hotel,  this young girl vanished.  A week later I interviewed her mother, Dawn Drexel.  “I seriously think someone took my daughter or she may not be alive,” said Dawn.  “Brittanee would have come home by now.”  She was calm, but her eyes told another story.  My heart raced trying to even imagine myself  in her shoes.  Brittanee was not a runaway.   Someone took her baby.   In the four years that followed there have been exhaustive searches, her parents made countless appearances on national television shows, but every lead came up empty.

Then, came a new development in the case.  Recently, another young woman  disappeared in the same county in South Carolina.  Police, while searching for 20-year-old Heather Elvis, came across human skeletal remains.  According to Lt. Peter Cestare of the Horry County Police Department the bones have been there for more than three years.   The remains are less than a mile from where Heather Elvis lived and less than 10 miles from where Brittanee Drexel was last seen.  The bones are being sent to a lab in Texas for DNA testing.  Police have long told Brittanee’s family they need to come to terms with the fact that their daughter may be dead.  There is a part of me that hopes her family and friends finally get some answers,  but that would mean Brittanee is gone and the monster who killed her managed to run away.



Things that make you go hmmmmmm

I actually received an email questioning, “Why haven’t you written anything in the past few days?” I love my fan.

I could barely get out of bed, let alone type. I exercise on a daily basis, but my muscles are spent. Raking a million leaves will do that to you. Well, it will do that to you at my age.We got a little behind schedule with our Fall cleanup. Minutes after my husband started clearing the yard today the belt busted on the lawn mower. He insisted he could fix it. This is coming from the same man who “fixed” the oven door with scotch tape. He grabbed his tools. I grabbed a rake. Why can’t men just admit they can’t do something? I can’t pole vault. I can’t carve a bear out of wood with a chain saw. So, I won’t.

I was sweating profusely and cursing under my breath for about an hour until he finally admitted defeat and helped. I miss the (alleged) crackhead that used to rake our leaves. My husband paid this guy $40 to rake our entire yard. He looked like Sebastian Bach, but rolled up to our house on a ten speed. Forty bucks was a steal. There are a lot of trees out there. He could make more working in a sweatshop sewing articles of clothing for the Kardashians. I must give him props. This fella was a hard worker. The problem was he liked to rake topless. He would tear off his shirt and hang it on his belt loop. It was November in upstate New York. His long curly locks were usually tied back in a low ponytail. His nipples were as hard as his beer belly. Oh, what the neighbors must have thought.

Anyway, I do have a few things to share with y’all. File these under the “what the hell were they thinking?”

My daughter opened a Halloween bag this morning with an unusual treat. Yes, this morning. You have to pick your battles.

I would love to know the thought process behind this grab bag. Should we give pre-schoolers lollipops? No. Hershey Bars? Too messy. Skittles? Nah, too colorful. Let’s throw in a piece of candy flavored with alcohol.


….and here is another

I scratch my head every time I drive by this road. The ‘road naming guy’ couldn’t come up with something else? Perhaps, he was drunk. I think his buddy suggested the name, they giggled and gave each other a high five. I would get a P.O. box if my house was on this street.