Shyne

Heaven. Oh, what is, heaven? I'll take Stupid Answers for $200.

Every weeknight at 7:30, we sit down for dinner and we watch Jeopardy.  Typically, my daughter gets mad because my boyfriend and I are fountains of useless knowledge and when she knows the answer, she can't get it out faster than we do.  If you know Jeopardy, you know that sometimes they have kids, or college kids, and sometimes, celebs.  We hate celebrity Jeopardy.  Sure it's great that they're playing for charity, but more often than not, the questions are outrageously simple.  I watch Jeopardy for the brain workout and that's the same reason I don't watch Wheel of Fortune.

Well, I don't remember what the category was, but the clue went a little something like this:

Andrew Jackson, when on his deathbed, said he would see his slaves in this place.

Right?  Simple?  Heaven.  Nice guy that AJ.  Not so nice two gals and one guy sitting in our living room because I shout out, "That great cotton field in the sky!"  I think at that point, my daughter swallowed a mouthful of pasta without chewing.  Being who we are, we can't let it go with just that.  Lovey chips in with, "See all those puffy clouds up there?  You'll still be picking!"  At this point, Kiddie is nearly in tears and we all have a great giggle.

It was funny!  Really!  We'll be there all week.

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Vox Hunt: This Album Is All Good

Audio: Share an album in your collection that's a classic from the first to the last cut (no need to use the skip button).  Submitted by Cortadito. 

I'm sure this won't ring true for everyone, but this isn't about everyone, it's about me.  In my sophmore year of high school is when I really started getting into, what was then, the rock scene.  I was never any good at being "black".   I couldn't dance or sing or any of the other stereotypical things black folks should be able to do.  Could've come from living in tiny, suburban, white-bread America.  Anywho, I loved me some rock and roll.  I give full credit to Brian Lemley, wherever he is, for intoducing me to one of my all time favorites:

GunsnRosesAppetiteforDestructionalbumcover
GunsnRosesAppetiteforDestructionalbumcover

Back then, all the boys could keep their drug issues in check and produce the hits.  The album is a great energy builder, although it could be the energy of all of your cells trying to escape your body.  Great for working out and actually pretty good for relieving stress if you just let yourself scream along with Axl and the guitars.  I find that these meds are best delivered to your body and mind if taken with a beer.

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QotD: [this is home]

Where do you consider home?  Is it the place you grew up; the place you're currently living?  Why is it home?
Submitted by uncagedbird. 

Funny that you should ask this QotD.  I've had this arguement with many people whilst living in different places.  When I lived in New York for two years, I never called it home.  Don't get me wrong, I loved NY (minus the reason I moved there), but it was never home.  I've now lived in Miami for going on three years and it is also not home.

Home is, was, and will always be at 245 Van Meter Road, Belle Vernon, PA, no matter who lives there now.  As long as that house stands, it will be home.  It's home because that's where I grew up.  It's home because I got to watch that house get built from the ground up.  It's home because that's where all my childhood memories are, the good and the bad.  It's home because that house, that yard, and that neighborhood are all a part of who I am today.  It's home because it's the only place where I've had my own space.  It's home because that's where my heart is.

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QotD: Past Five Working Years

How many jobs have you had in the past five years? Where and what did you do? 
Submitted by M.  

It's been a slow five years for me as I've only had four jobs.  Some overlapped.

Right now, and since January of 2006, I've been the queen of scissors and staples on Miami Beach.  I'll stick around here a while as I may soon have a new title.

Between December of 2004 and December of 2005, I was an administrative/personal assistant/website designer/house sitter/dog sitter for a rockin real estate broker here in south Florida.  Great gig.  I could wear whatever I wanted, ride my bike to work, shower there if I needed/wanted to, hop in the pool, play with the dog.  She's doing great still.  Hooray for her.  During the time I was working for her, I also ran the hostess stand at a local restaurant.  Who knew they'd pay $12 an hour just to put people in their seats.  Hell, that's more than some office jobs pay down here.  Meh, I'm good at that sorta thing.

Prior to that, I did the Club Med thing.  October of 2000 through November of 2004.  Search my tags for Club Med for wonderful stories from those years.

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CM Chronicles – II

After packing up everything I could fit into two duffel bags and a bit of panicked frustration when two days before my flight, I had yet to receive my plane tickets, I was off to the airport.  I am not, have never been, nor ever will be a fan of flying.  I do believe it's because I have control issues.  But, this new adventure was waiting on the other side of the flying tin can ride. 

I had researched this Club Med place and the place I was going in particular.  It looked so pretty on the website and there was so much to do.  I could learn to sail, waterski, rollerblade, play tennis, or fly on the trapeze.  The trapeze?!?!  The thrill-seeker in me couldn't wait to try that one out.

Club Med, Sandpiper is located in Port Saint Lucie, Florida, otherwise known as 'God's waiting room'.  The closest airport is West Palm Beach at a 45 minute drive, next is Fort Liquordale at about an hour and 15 minutes, and then Cuba Miami International at a smidge over 2 hours depending on traffic which means 3 hours.  In their infinite wisdom, where do they fly me into?  Of course, Miami.  So now after I've sat on a plane for what seems like forever, I now have to sit in a car for 3 hours while the driver feels that he must talk to me. (What a sign of things to come.)  At least, though, upon my arrival at the airport, my driver was right there to help with my bags and I had to do no looking around in a state of confusion.

My flight landed around 6pm, so that put me in CMS (henceforth known as "the village") at a bit after 9.  By the time I got my bags to my room and changed clothes, because there's nothing I hate more than having other people's dirt all over me, unless it involves sex, but that's another story, dinner was long over.  I ventured out of my room and over to the bar because that seemed to be where all of the action was.

In the new crew of bartenders, I was the last to arrive.  The others were already in the bar partying on down.  The chef du bar (bar manager), Stephan, came and introduced himself.  We chatted briefly, he asked if I had had dinner and on my no response, offered me the only thing there was: bar pizza.  Yep, it was gross, but when you're hungry, you're hungry.  Some of my fellow noobs came over and introduced themselves.  They appeared to be hammered.  Now, by no means am I an angel, and at home, I would've proceeded to join them in getting hammered, but I'm a little older, maybe a little wiser than my cohorts and so I decide to head back to my room.  Besides, our training starts bright and early tomorrow.

Next time: This is training?

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