Crunchy Thoughts

Oh, my goodness, can it be, is it is it is it???

Yes, it is Close to GameDay!!! The season starts anew! Saturday, the 4th of September, Auburn goes against Louisiana-Monroe for the season opener. Unlike last year there are not huge pressuring expectations for us, so we all can just sit back and watch the Tigers kick ass for the next four months. Do you have your ticket? I’ve got m– oh, wait, uhhhh, I will have mine, uhh, once I buy one . . .

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Last Friday I did something I never thought I would ever do . . . I was an ultimate Has-Been for the day and went to visit my old high school. I don’t think it’s as bad if you wait six years and some change before you go cavorting back. Only Ken and I were able to go; Steven and everyone else was working or schooling. Maybe we all can get to a high school game later this season.

We got there about thirty minutes before school let out, and as soon as I walked through those doors it was like a time-warp. The first thing I noticed was the smell. There was just that unmistakable high school smell. The second thing that struck me was the door . . . right on my ass, ow. No, I’m kidding, but it would have been funny.

We first checked out the band room; I was hoping the symphonic band would be practicing, but alas, Bubbett (ye olde band director) was just giving the band the ‘Uniform’ speech. The first football game of the season was that evening so the entire band area was pandemonium: Bubbett speeching, band parents runninng around, kids having second thoughts about this whole ‘marching’ nonsense and how could they get out of this . . . you know, normal stuff. God, I miss it sometimes.

Bubbett was still going on so Ken and I decided to hunt out Mme. Byram, our French teacher, before the bell rang. It took forever to find her room; it was in the new addition of the building that I remember as a parking lot. It’s part of the neverending fight against trailer classrooms.

Mme. Byram was one of the cooler teachers because she assigned us projects that you would usually get in art class. It was right up my alley. Ken’s alley, though, tends to gutterball art projects. He told me about his fleur-de-lis project that he did in the last five minutes before it was due; Mme. Byram kept it to show her later classes what not to do. Ken’s quite proud of this (his mom isn’t, though).

We peeked through Mme. Byram’s door window . . . lo and behold, she was assigning the fleur-de-lis project right then and there! “Ohh, man, I bet she shows my shitty one,” whispered Ken.

A few minutes later, she dug out Ken’s project from the stack of posters. That was Ken’s cue — he knocked on the door.

Mme. Byram looked over, saw him, and screamed, “Oh, my God!” and started laughing. She let us in and explained to her students through the laughter that this was the artist of the asymmetrical fleur-de-lis that she was holding. Our arrival could not have been any better.

After we visited with her for a good bit, we went by to see Mrs. Thompson, our English teacher. By then, the bell had rung so there were no students to interrupt. She still had one of my art projects in her room: a paper maché albatross I whipped up once for The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. We were supposed to do a poster but I didn’t have any posterboard. Paper maché, though, was in great supply at my house. It was leftover from an Ethan Frome project of a few years past . . . I had good project classes during high school, come to think of it. Ahh, I’m rambling.

Anyway, yes, the albatross I made is still there, so I felt special. We then ran back by the band room again to see if we could catch Bubbett. It was the oddest thing — he has shaved off his moustache. Crazy. The bandroom was a-bustling, but the kids are younger than I remember being. This year is the biggest year for the band so far — 170 kids are involved. (Incredible!) Before we left, I got to see my marimba that I helped birth from the shipping box when I was just a wee freshman. My baby.

After that we were back on 280 heading back to Auburn. Mom thought I was crazy to go that far just to do something I swore I’d never do. Maybe I am a bit nuts; four hours in a car for one hour of reminiscing is a bit strange, but it’s also part of the fun. It was also amusing to do stuff I once chastized others for doing — it keeps everyone on their toes.

Besdies, that was six whole years ago; I don’t claim to be that same person anymore. She is more like a distant relative (or a skeleton in the closet, if you will). Going back and remembering what it was like in high school, what I was like in high school, makes me glad to know that I’m on the other side of that river now.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not forswearing all of my high school self. I kept the music by being part of the Auburn University Band for three years. I kept the fun projects by becoming a designer and getting paid to do what I love. I kept the friends by marrying my best one. I didn’t completely change in those six years since high school, I just kept the best parts with me.

Why do I end up with the cats that have fiber issues? I’m sure we all remember Renton’s escapades with sweaters and afghans. Now it seems Hermione has some termite in her family tree.

It started with the unfinished cat condo Steven and I built. Hermione’s first-pick spot is at the very tip-top. Renton would like the tip-top if his mountain lion bulk didn’t rock the boat so much. Did I mention Steven and I built this from scratch? If you saw it, you’d know.

The tip-top had some sharp, exposed wooden corners once upon a time, but Hermione has successfully rounded those down with her little kitty molars. Maybe she was just tired of being poked in the butt by them? Whatever the case, we’ve made a few attempts at ceasing this crazy habit before we found ourselves up to our ears in sawdust.

We tried to distract her with some rawhide doggy chews and kitty grass, but she didn’t go for that (Renton is the designated kitty lawnmower right now). What she did go for was our wicker hamper and the corner of the entertainment center, even though it is just nasty old Wal-Mart plywood. I wonder if she would enjoy some hamster-type balsa wood blocks.

In another attempt, we sprayed some of that No Kitty Bitter Apple Spray all over the corners. It wasn’t a little spray, either: we soaked ‘em good. Apparently, though, Bitter Apple is Hermione’s favorite flavor. She snacked on those corners as soon as we were done hosing it down.

There is one more trick up our sleeve, however. I read somewhere that you can use tobasco sauce to keep cats from chewing on everything. I would imagine that this would stain sweaters and quilts, but who cares about an old piece of wood, right?

A quick search through the pantry revealed no tobasco sauce, but some rather potent mixture called 100% Pain that we picked up in Charleston. The title is absolutely correct, too: I barely touched my finger in it once to have a taste — immediately after I was having a taste of a humongous glass of milk. They ain’t kiddin’.

One might ask, are we really so evil that we’d apply that to something that Hermione is likely to chew on? Well, after last night’s romping escapades . . . you betcha!

She hasn’t had a gnaw yet; her preferred gnawing time is late afternoon and evening. If it is extremely amusing once she does, I’ll come back with an update. If it doesn’t work, we’ll outfit the entire apartment with Rubbermaid furniture.

Slowly, slowly things are starting to come together here in our new place. Boy, that sounds nice: ‘our’ new place. I think it’ll be a while before I’m used to seeing Steven on weekdays. It’s very enjoyable so far.

You know what’s more fun than moving from one place to another? Why, moving from two places to one other, of course! We got to experience this little gem over the last week. First, we moved Steven from his college apartment to our new one. Northcutt Realty is one of Satan’s own, so he had to be out the day before actual graduation. The stifling weather was more proof of Northcutt’s connections with Hades: 95-100 degrees with ~70% humidity. People were breaking out in a hard sweat at six in the morning. The deed was done on time (yay!) with many thanks to Ken and Willis, who helped move that huge entertainment center though it turns out we’re not gonna need it anyway.

Graduation day itself was the most relaxing day of the week — there was no moving involved. The only sucky part was my new pair of shoes. They fit oh so perfect in the store, of course, but once we were heading toward the coliseum for the ceremony it was like my feet were strapped to a burning, pinching string of broken glass. They’re getting donated.

Friday was the long-dreaded Fort Payne move, which actually went better than I had anticipated. Thank goodness for strong parents. Thank even more goodness for rare summer cold fronts that swoosh by on Thursday nights. With temperatures in the low 80′s and practically no humidity, we all thought we had died and gone to Alaska.

Saturday was the last day of the Moving Extravaganza. Now all of our stuff is in this apartment in Opelika . . . it’s just not all put away yet. In fact, I am sitting on the floor as I write this update. We put my desk in the dumpster in hopes of finding a more utilitarian concoctive for our computer room. With me working long distance and Steven being the software guy he is, we know we need our separate computers. I don’t like his miniscule screen resolution and he hates my nifty trackball mouse. You say tomato . . .

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I never thought it would be so hard to give away stuff. Now that Steven and I are in the same place, we don’t need that extra set of dishes and flatware or those ratty old towels. Between us, we had leftover kitchen stuff, extra sheets, a coffee pot, express machine, pillows . . . man, you name it, we’ve got an extra supply of it. We started off throwing it away as we’d come across it. Ken got great pleasure from busting up that coffee carafe.

The more we threw away, though, the more guilty we felt. People could use that stuff! We’d try to pawn it off to friends and family, but everyone’s answer was the same: “I’ve got no room.” Yeah, same with us, that’s why we’re trying to give it away; free, free, FREE!!! We finally made a pile that we’d try to donate somewhere once we figured out where that ‘somewhere’ is.

Yesterday, I found it. Right outside the Thrift Store are these donating bin areas. Yes, place to drop off the junk! I had Elliott full of the stuff, so I opened up the back tailgate and started dragging it out.

Not two seconds after I set down that box of towels, a lady comes over to me and says, “Wow, you’re just giving away all those towels?!”

“Yes,’ I reply, “you want them?”

“Absolutely!” the exclaims, then proceeds to haul off the box with the help of her son.

I set down another box of kitcheny stuff and immediately another woman comes up to me and asks, “Do you know if we’ve gotta pay for that stuff or can we just take it?”

“Uhh, I just dropped off those two boxes there, and you’re welcome to root through it,” I say.

By the time I left there was a swarm of people around that stuff. It wasn’t all mine, though. There was also a decent couch and some old college textbooks lying around. It was a weird feeling. I was happy to know people were gonna get some use out of that stuff, yet I felt guilty because I had no use for it myself; I felt even more guilty for the other stuff we had already busted up and thrown away. The crash of that coffee carafe will haunt me for years, I think.

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So now I’m here on the floor, slowly unpacking these masses of boxes while waiting for Steven to get back from his second day of work. So far, the new job is going well. It will be going better once he receives his first paycheck. Then maybe I won’t have to sit on the floor.

Oh, amusing side note: it was one year ago today I posted my first post on this weblog. Woohoo, one year of blogging and I’m just as amused as when I started. My spelling still sucks, though.