A dark and Stormy Night

It was show time at our house last night. The performance began right after midnight. A storm blew in and with it came thunder and lighting. It was amazing as I had not witnessed thunder and lightning happen exactly in the same instant since I moved from Texas.  The typical lighting storm has a flash of lighting, then you can count the seconds until the thunder is heard.  Last night was immediate and super loud, meaning the storm was right on top of us, happening right outside the bedroom window.

The old statement about tornados being attracted to trailer parks and lightening being attracted to golf courses must be true. Although, since moving into a home next to a golf course I have haven’t seen lighting strike the course, or any of the endless idiots that like to continue to golf and afternoon storms drift in, I believe it a matter of time. Last night the lightening tried its best.

The loud booming prompted the dog to have flashbacks to his time in Texas as well, as he quickly army crawled from the foot of the bed to under our pillows and, if his plan would of succeeded spent the remains of the night under my head. The cat however, took the thunder booms to be some sort of a starting pistol and the crazy was on.  This culminated in her running in place as she used a stack of paperwork, neatly sorted and stacked upon the dresser, as a treadmill. A flurry of papers quickly covered the floor. The next act was for kitty to salsa dance on the scattered paper. Getting out of bed this morning, I was treated with all of Kitties playtime handiwork.

Today I’ll find out whether they have invented dog and cat ear plugs.

I need a Beret

I once again find myself in that seemingly unending process. Attempting to find college classes that sync up. Sync up with each other (as in two on a Monday / Wednesday schedule) and match my work schedule.

In case you haven’t enrolled in university classes in a bit, there is a website that attempts help you make informed choices. For say…. Philosophy.  Entering the course title lists 145,393 differing choices of classes. The built in metrics engineering knows what time of day you need to take for your degree, then only gives you dates and times that could not possible be more inconvenient.  I need an evening class entitled Ancient Philosophy that starts at 8am, or after 3:45pm on either Monday/Wednesday or Tuesday/Thursday. This means that all Ancient Philosophy classes are held sharply at 11am or 1pm. These class times are designed to bring about the most irritation to my work schedule. Well, and to jive with the professors schedule.

Okay, yes. Philosophy professors need to sleep late. We all know they spend the late-night hours inside coffee shops debating whether “the greatest minds are capable of the greatest vices as well as of the greatest virtues”… or not.  Their worn out berets covered in lint from the sagging headliner of their 1980 Toyota Cressidas. So I understand that mornings would be out, but no classes after 1pm? Do Serving shifts at The Olive Garden start that early?

I feel like I am attempting to pull a Da Vinci Code as I match coded messages from beyond the mists of time. Will I actually find a couple of classes that are available together and doesn’t have be leaving work from 11:30am until 1252pm twice a week? Probably not. This is why people drop out of college and become Servers at Olive Garden…. Or if they’re Professors.

 

Pride

Pride Fest came and went. There comes a time where you can fall into a feeling where you just believe that pride festivals are for the youngins.  Yes, I remember my first pride. I can tell you all the pride events after that, and how much sun block and alcohol was consumed. But, after your twenty-eighth pride you can lose the since of triumph that comes along with being able to stand in the sun and declare your true self to the world. Just so you know, you should not do that. Forget that it is a luxury.

The most fun about watching the pride parade is whom you watch it with. The BFs friends are in their twenties and early thirties. Some had just discovered the joy of pride day. Seeing a gay parade through these eyes helps to reconnect. A young lesbian kept turning to me during the procession of floats and asking questions… “What is a… Imperial Court of the Rocky Mountain Empire?” I raised an eyebrow to think that one through. What is court? Even though it’s been around long before my time, and even had attended events back in the 1990s. “It’s… like a Shriners group… a social club for drag queens. Before they were allowed in public and into the bars. Drag queens had a social club to meet, where they would be safe.” Whoo. I thought I explained that one pretty well. “Safe from what?” She asked. This twenty-something lesbian lives in a world were Denver is a safe, embracing city.

This realization of time passing was of course countered by me sharing a story of how one pride I was tripping my balls on ecstasy so hard I just wandered the full parade route in just my Calvin’s and was met by side-eye and questions if X was a thing so far back and if Calvin Klein was alive back then.

Do not; I repeat, do not forget why we as a tribe have pride events. And, do not think that it is no big deal. It is a huge deal. To be able to stand in the sun and declare yourself to the world.

Degree

I changed my college major. Again.

I know I have changed my major roughly nine-hundred times since George H. W. Bush was in the Whitehouse and I started my path of higher education.  This time I’m going to stick to it. I can state this declaration mostly because I am old, and tired of going to school.

With all of my classes and tallied up credits I only have 35 more credits until I they give me a degree in Philosophy. A degree of which, I said to the chair of the Philosophy Department and my assigned guidance counselor, will not gainfully employee me one tiny bit.  This is the type of degree that people pursue purely for the love subject; not to look good on a resume. Unless you’re attempting to appear deep. Or… if you are attempting succeeding at being a pompous ass during a dinner party. “Well I am a philosopher, and I wrote a thesis on feminism and the third wave feminist philosophers, so I can say…”  

What a twat degree.

But, it is what I like, so off I go. I do promise that I will not bring third wave feminism up into any conversions I may have over dinner table topics. Unless asked. I am more of an ancient philosopher kinda dude anyway. Seeing as my minor is ancient history.  

Potter

It started on our trip to California. The BF and I went to Universal Studios to visit Harry Potter world.

Now I have written extensively on the subject of my crippling fear of roller coasters. On this particular trip I was feeling down, mostly because it was only the two of us, and I felt I hindered the BF’s joy of getting to ride some California coasters. So I was excited to find out that the Harry Potter ride was a 3-D ride. These style of rides I totally enjoy.

We entered the park a couple of hours earlier than most visitors and were able to jump on the Harry Potter ride without a long wait. We rode it several times that day. It was amazing. After our rollercoaster-fix and as we waited in line to purchase a wand at Ollivander’s Wand Shop somehow the nerdy kid inside of me clicked on, and I was in love with the world of Harry Potter. Don’t get me wrong, I read all the books when they first came out. But, it wasn’t anything more than fun books to read.  As I gave my card to anyone with a fake British accent I began to really feel the passion. We bought wands. We bought robes. We made ourselves sick on Butterbeer. A twelve year old nerd, with a credit card with a massive limit. I remember thinking as we stood in line to buy a one-hundred dollar Hufflepuff robe, that I had not been that happy in ages. Like really, down to my very soul happy. No worries about my work, or paying bills. Just happy.  

Since our trip to Hogsmeade Village, I have re-read all the books in the series.  And like the rest of the nerds, I anxiously waited for the newest creation of J.K. Rowling, The Cursed Child. Then it did. And my truly happy feeling came back.

 

Run Stevie Run

Hi there. How’ve you been? Good I hope.

Summer has started today. For me this means the non-stop yearning for the air-conditioner to get colder. I have started that horrid and very unattractive sweaty sleep cycle. It was so bad last night that even the dog complained of the river of sweat coming to his part of the bed. Which in directly in the middle between me and the boyfriend.

I completed the 5K I was training for so desperately. I wasn’t very fast, but in the age bracket of 45-50 I kicked some geezer ass. I was amazed at how much fun it actually was. The training program I had put in place was based upon not doubling over in pain as all my friends left me behind for dead. With this amount of fear placed around public humiliation in front of your friends; you can really accomplish fantastic feats. I have found this week that I am missing the training. Last Monday I went to the gym with a great sense of relief that I didn’t have to run the tread mill for 45 minutes. I left the gym in record time and was happy I didn’t run, but come Tuesday I missed the habit I formed since January 1^st. Today I am actually looking forward to seeing my old friend. Mister Treadmill. I guess it’s true. Habits, even painful ones, are formed through repetition, but maintained though the decided effort of improvement.

I honestly didn’t think passed June 17 when planning out my 2017. So I kind of feel like I have time on my hands. What next? Hike anyone.