MScott1851
<font color=font color=royalblue>Got a link for th
- Joined
- Jun 7, 2002
- Messages
- 3,198
The last day of our trip dawns bright and sunny outside, wet and stormy inside. I wake to find Clint staring at the ceiling, lip pooched out, huffing and puffing. He looks over at me and says "I HATE Memphis. That was the worst mistake we ever made. If we were going back home to Huntsville, I would be okay, but I don't want to go back to that stupid job and that apartment and all that mess about the house," and with that, bursts out crying. I have only seen him cry three times in eight years, and each time, a death in the family, or a dog named "Old Yeller" was involved. I am at a total loss, with my big strong man boo-hooing in my arms. I knew he was unhappy, but had no clue that it would manifest itself in this way. And "There's no crying at Disneyworld" just doesn't seem appropriate at this time...
A little background here...When you have troubles, you tell a friend, right? And since there are 55,000 friends at the Dis, surely we can tell you. We just moved to Memphis last February after spending all our lives in Alabama. In Alabama, we were an hour from our families, had lots of couples we were friends with, had jobs we liked, a nice apartment, and for some reason, thought the grass was greener on the other side. So, when the company Clint worked for asked if he wanted to go to Memphis because they had a photographer position open, and he had experience, we agreed. Here was our chance to stretch our wings...I could take a position with a travel nurse company and make good money, blah, blah, blah. To make a long story short, after eleven years with the same company, being employee of the month several times, all around go-to guy, Clint quit his new job within the first three months, realizing that the reason that they kept having that position come open was that NO ONE could stand to work at that television station. He had no trouble finding another gig at a station across town, in fact, his chief at the station he came to work for helped him get the job. Plus, the new television station is owned by a company that owns a station back in Huntsville, where we moved from, so there's the possibility of transferring back one day. But in the television business, seniority means nothing when you take a new job. My beautiful husband, after working for 11 years, winning Edward R. Murrow awards for his storytelling abilities, is now working daybreak. What this means is that he gets up at 2am to go to work, and doesn't get home until 2pm or so. It is breaking my heart, and I'm begging him to quit. I tell him everyday that I will work three jobs to keep us afloat til he finds something else. But he is too good a man to let me do that, and refuses. Not to mention that we live in "nice apartments" that are apparently insulated with sound conducting foam, because we hear phone conversations, intimate moments, and bodily functions of all our neighbors, including the large dog next door, the family of six downstairs, and the obviously 500 pound man upstairs who washes clothes and vacuums at 2am. We contracted to build a house in JULY, and the builder is so behind that we haven't even broken ground yet, and generally, a lot of the people we have met here in Memphis are downright mean and nasty. I work as a nurse, and all my patients tell me how much they love me and appreciate how sweet I am to their child. I was a properly brought up Southern girl. "Please, thank you, I appreciate it, excuse me," are all part of my vocabulary, I let people cut in front of me at the grocery store if they have one item, I strike up conversations with total strangers, and for some reason, children flock to me like I am wearing pants made out of candy. But here, most people we've met are rude, and "out to get theirs." If you make eye contact with someone in Walmart and smile, you get a "what the heck are you looking at?" The same people who bring their children to me to get well will start a fight over the last parking spot at the mall. Not to mention that Memphis is the most racially divided city on the face of the earth, and tensions are incredible. It reminds me of when my brother and I would draw a line on the backseat during car trips. People who don't live here could never understand what I'm talking about, and all of you who do are nodding your heads right now because you know how ridiculous this city is. It has so much potential and so much to offer, but ignorant people are giving it a bad name. Oh, well.. enough on my soapbox, back to my bawling husband.
Clint manages to compose himself after a few minutes, I think that my rubbing his belly helped immensely. But this casts a shadow over the rest of the day, and I spend most of it trying to cheer him up. I take him over to ride the Hulk one last time, and guess what? It's closed. Some woman was found unconscious in her seat yesterday after the ride, and it's shut down til further notice. News choppers are circling over head, and this only adds to Clint's distress because it reminds him of work. So I promise to ride Fire and Ice with him, and we'll sit in the front. We do so, and he decides to ride again. It's boiling, so I will wait on him in the Alchemy Bar in Oak Tree Tavern. I'm sitting there, and I notice that a coke is $3.00, and a strawberry daiquiri is only $5.00. I only like fruity things with umbrellas and whipped cream, and since I have been having to abstain all weekend in order to cart Dumb and Dumber around, I decide it's high time I had a little libation. The nice lady mixes it up for me, I take a first sip, and immediately go into shock from alcohol poisoning. I would like a little strawberry with my rum, please! The nice lady pours half of it into another cup, and adds more mix. Still way too strong, but better. We finally dilute it down to my taste, and I end up with two cups full of half-strength daiquiri. Not thinking, I walk back outside, double-fisting and the guy guessing weights immediately spots me and shouts, "WOO-HOO! SHE'S GETTING THE PARTY STARTED EARLY!" Families with small children tsk-tsk me, and it's useless for me to try and explain that I hardly ever drink and they were too strong, so I just bow my head and duck into a corner. When Clint gets off, I offer him one, he refuses, so here I am, carting around two drinks. I suck one down as fast as possible, get blinding brain freeze, but I no longer look like Otis from the Andy Griffith Show. We are just in time for Poseidon's Adventure, so I polish off my drink and we head in. That's when it hits me. A full blown giggle attack. Everything is funny, I can't feel my ears, and I'm strangely warm. Clint looks at me in horror and hisses, "You're DRUNK!" No, I'm not. You just have a funny looking head. I'm trying to suppress my laughter, snorting, rubbing my nose, and he's interrogating me about how many drinks I had. Well, duh. You can only buy one. I didn't ask her to make it a triple. But, pulling an Eric, I realize I haven't eaten anything, either. So, yes. For about ten to fifteen minutes, I was totally schnookered. Thankfully we were in the dark at the Poseidon Adventure, and when we finally emerged, I felt a little better. However, this experience has stayed with me, and I will never again drink anything red and fruity if I have to do anything in the ensuing fifteen minutes. We had checked out before we left, and headed back to get the car. Bad idea. Clint starts sniffling again, and since I'm still a little off kilter, I start crying too. I apologize to the nice family on the water taxi with us. I'm sure they thought we had a death in the family, we were sobbing so much. We cry all the way out of the parking lot of the Hard Rock, all the way down International Drive, and into the Chic-Fil-A parking lot. I guess I thought waffle fries would make it better. We go in, order, and I'm still trying to cheer Clint up. I grab Polynesian sauce and scream, "Cannibals! How could you eat our friends from the Pacific Islands!" He fails to see the humor in this, so I try another tactic, running around behind the corner and pretending first I'm Superman, by bending over and acting like I'm flying, then that I'm a Charlie's Angel, with my "gun" up, striking various poses. I don't think that he enjoyed it as much as me and the older couple behind him did.
We still have about three hours to kill, so we go to the Premium Outlets before we head to the airport. Clint nearly chokes when he spies the price tags on most of the clothes, and drags me away from the Armani, Versace, Burberry, Coach and Max Azria outlets and points me towards the Banana Republic and Timberland stores. Well, where's the fun in that? I can get that stuff at home! Thankfully, his cooler head prevails. He keeps whispering "hardwood floors, stainless steel appliances" in my ear, to remind me that I could be saving money for the house instead of blowing it on a $400 pair of Jimmy Choo shoes. This has become his mantra. Whenever I want anything, he says "hardwood floors, stainless steel appliances." For example,
"OOOHHH! Look! How cute! A pink sweater to match those new pants!"
"Hardwood floors, stainless steel appliances."
"It's Clinique bonus time! I have to buy something!!!"
"Hardwood floors, stainless steel appliances."
"Look! A purse with my initial on it! And it's pink!"
"Hardwood floors, stainless steel appliances."
"Will you run to Walmart? I need tampons, we're out of milk, and my prescription is there."
"Hardwood floors, stainless steel appliances."
It's getting a little ridiculous....
Only minor drama at the airport. When we packed last night, I had the bright idea of putting all the clean clothes in one bag, and all the dirty ones in another. As a result, my suitcase weighed 87 pounds. They wanted $50, so I had to get out of line, spread my bags open, and pull out dirty underwear in front of complete strangers. Definitely the highlight of my trip. The worst thing was that a woman in line to check in kept asking me, "Where did you get those pants? They are fabulous! And that shirt is so cute! Excuse me, my suitcase is NOT a rummage sale where you can paw through my piles! On the upside, I breezed through security this time, no chopstick on steroids poking through my stuff. We did have a little scare, they had seriously overbooked our flight, and were begging people to give up our seats. I was secretly hoping that Clint would chuck it all and stay in Orlando. I'd send for our things later...my boss would understand. But he made me get on the plane, and started sniffling as soon as we started taxiing. We had an uneventful flight, made it to Memphis ahead of schedule, in fact. Like we were in a hurry to get THERE. While we were waiting in the baggage claim, I noticed that the older gentleman standing next to me looked very familiar. I smiled at him, he smiled and nodded. Clint whispered, "Who is that?" I couldn't place him, but thought he might be a doctor I work with at the hospital, or a patient that I'd had before. I get that all the time. People walk up to me and say, "Do you remember me? Mom got to go home today...she's doing great!" And sometimes I remember, sometimes I don't. But god knows, I have to ask. So I look at the man, and say, "I'm sorry...but you look so familiar. Do you work at St. Francis, or have I had you as a patient recently?" He laughs and says no, so I apologize and tell him that I must be soft in the head after being on vacation all week, and turn around. That's when I notice the stunning brunette walking up next to him, and I immediately freeze, eyes bulging. I have just made a complete fool of myself in front of one of my personal girlhood idols, the epitome of Southern style, grace and charm, that every woman in America would do well to emulate, and her husband. It is Dixie Carter and Hal Holbrooks. And I have just asked him if he was my patient. I look around and notice that the rest of the crowd is mostly businessmen with cell phones, no one besides me recognizes them. I feel like shouting, "What is wrong with you people? We have a cultural icon here!" but don't want to do so, for fear that I will receive a Julia Sugarbaker tongue lashing on how unladylike it is to shout and draw attention to myself. So I quietly turn and say, "I don't want to make a scene and embarrass you, but I want you to know that you inspire me and have set an example of what a true lady should look like and act like, and I grew up wanting to be like you." She was every bit as sweet and charming in person, and signed an autograph for me. I was dying a thousand deaths for not having a camera, but I will cherish that boarding pass forever. The amazing thing was they picked up their own luggage, and carried it themselves outside where they headed toward the parking garage. Totally unpretentious. I was more impressed than ever, and spent the next hour on the cell phone calling all my college girlfriends that used to watch "Designing Women" on Lifetime every afternoon with me and telling them about it.
Back to reality, and back to Memphis traffic...We make it home about 7:00pm, and when we get to the apartments, my neighbors children Kiara, Ke'Shon, Kameron, and my favorite, "Keef with no teef" Keith are playing out front and immediately rush the car asking a million questions about where we had been and what we had been doing and what did Mickey look like, etc. I showed them a postcard of the castle, and Kiara piped up, "OOOH!!! LOOK AT DAT FAIRY HOUSE! I BET DAT'S WHERE DAT MOUSE STAY!"
They have much to learn...their Disney education starts today...
A little background here...When you have troubles, you tell a friend, right? And since there are 55,000 friends at the Dis, surely we can tell you. We just moved to Memphis last February after spending all our lives in Alabama. In Alabama, we were an hour from our families, had lots of couples we were friends with, had jobs we liked, a nice apartment, and for some reason, thought the grass was greener on the other side. So, when the company Clint worked for asked if he wanted to go to Memphis because they had a photographer position open, and he had experience, we agreed. Here was our chance to stretch our wings...I could take a position with a travel nurse company and make good money, blah, blah, blah. To make a long story short, after eleven years with the same company, being employee of the month several times, all around go-to guy, Clint quit his new job within the first three months, realizing that the reason that they kept having that position come open was that NO ONE could stand to work at that television station. He had no trouble finding another gig at a station across town, in fact, his chief at the station he came to work for helped him get the job. Plus, the new television station is owned by a company that owns a station back in Huntsville, where we moved from, so there's the possibility of transferring back one day. But in the television business, seniority means nothing when you take a new job. My beautiful husband, after working for 11 years, winning Edward R. Murrow awards for his storytelling abilities, is now working daybreak. What this means is that he gets up at 2am to go to work, and doesn't get home until 2pm or so. It is breaking my heart, and I'm begging him to quit. I tell him everyday that I will work three jobs to keep us afloat til he finds something else. But he is too good a man to let me do that, and refuses. Not to mention that we live in "nice apartments" that are apparently insulated with sound conducting foam, because we hear phone conversations, intimate moments, and bodily functions of all our neighbors, including the large dog next door, the family of six downstairs, and the obviously 500 pound man upstairs who washes clothes and vacuums at 2am. We contracted to build a house in JULY, and the builder is so behind that we haven't even broken ground yet, and generally, a lot of the people we have met here in Memphis are downright mean and nasty. I work as a nurse, and all my patients tell me how much they love me and appreciate how sweet I am to their child. I was a properly brought up Southern girl. "Please, thank you, I appreciate it, excuse me," are all part of my vocabulary, I let people cut in front of me at the grocery store if they have one item, I strike up conversations with total strangers, and for some reason, children flock to me like I am wearing pants made out of candy. But here, most people we've met are rude, and "out to get theirs." If you make eye contact with someone in Walmart and smile, you get a "what the heck are you looking at?" The same people who bring their children to me to get well will start a fight over the last parking spot at the mall. Not to mention that Memphis is the most racially divided city on the face of the earth, and tensions are incredible. It reminds me of when my brother and I would draw a line on the backseat during car trips. People who don't live here could never understand what I'm talking about, and all of you who do are nodding your heads right now because you know how ridiculous this city is. It has so much potential and so much to offer, but ignorant people are giving it a bad name. Oh, well.. enough on my soapbox, back to my bawling husband.
Clint manages to compose himself after a few minutes, I think that my rubbing his belly helped immensely. But this casts a shadow over the rest of the day, and I spend most of it trying to cheer him up. I take him over to ride the Hulk one last time, and guess what? It's closed. Some woman was found unconscious in her seat yesterday after the ride, and it's shut down til further notice. News choppers are circling over head, and this only adds to Clint's distress because it reminds him of work. So I promise to ride Fire and Ice with him, and we'll sit in the front. We do so, and he decides to ride again. It's boiling, so I will wait on him in the Alchemy Bar in Oak Tree Tavern. I'm sitting there, and I notice that a coke is $3.00, and a strawberry daiquiri is only $5.00. I only like fruity things with umbrellas and whipped cream, and since I have been having to abstain all weekend in order to cart Dumb and Dumber around, I decide it's high time I had a little libation. The nice lady mixes it up for me, I take a first sip, and immediately go into shock from alcohol poisoning. I would like a little strawberry with my rum, please! The nice lady pours half of it into another cup, and adds more mix. Still way too strong, but better. We finally dilute it down to my taste, and I end up with two cups full of half-strength daiquiri. Not thinking, I walk back outside, double-fisting and the guy guessing weights immediately spots me and shouts, "WOO-HOO! SHE'S GETTING THE PARTY STARTED EARLY!" Families with small children tsk-tsk me, and it's useless for me to try and explain that I hardly ever drink and they were too strong, so I just bow my head and duck into a corner. When Clint gets off, I offer him one, he refuses, so here I am, carting around two drinks. I suck one down as fast as possible, get blinding brain freeze, but I no longer look like Otis from the Andy Griffith Show. We are just in time for Poseidon's Adventure, so I polish off my drink and we head in. That's when it hits me. A full blown giggle attack. Everything is funny, I can't feel my ears, and I'm strangely warm. Clint looks at me in horror and hisses, "You're DRUNK!" No, I'm not. You just have a funny looking head. I'm trying to suppress my laughter, snorting, rubbing my nose, and he's interrogating me about how many drinks I had. Well, duh. You can only buy one. I didn't ask her to make it a triple. But, pulling an Eric, I realize I haven't eaten anything, either. So, yes. For about ten to fifteen minutes, I was totally schnookered. Thankfully we were in the dark at the Poseidon Adventure, and when we finally emerged, I felt a little better. However, this experience has stayed with me, and I will never again drink anything red and fruity if I have to do anything in the ensuing fifteen minutes. We had checked out before we left, and headed back to get the car. Bad idea. Clint starts sniffling again, and since I'm still a little off kilter, I start crying too. I apologize to the nice family on the water taxi with us. I'm sure they thought we had a death in the family, we were sobbing so much. We cry all the way out of the parking lot of the Hard Rock, all the way down International Drive, and into the Chic-Fil-A parking lot. I guess I thought waffle fries would make it better. We go in, order, and I'm still trying to cheer Clint up. I grab Polynesian sauce and scream, "Cannibals! How could you eat our friends from the Pacific Islands!" He fails to see the humor in this, so I try another tactic, running around behind the corner and pretending first I'm Superman, by bending over and acting like I'm flying, then that I'm a Charlie's Angel, with my "gun" up, striking various poses. I don't think that he enjoyed it as much as me and the older couple behind him did.
We still have about three hours to kill, so we go to the Premium Outlets before we head to the airport. Clint nearly chokes when he spies the price tags on most of the clothes, and drags me away from the Armani, Versace, Burberry, Coach and Max Azria outlets and points me towards the Banana Republic and Timberland stores. Well, where's the fun in that? I can get that stuff at home! Thankfully, his cooler head prevails. He keeps whispering "hardwood floors, stainless steel appliances" in my ear, to remind me that I could be saving money for the house instead of blowing it on a $400 pair of Jimmy Choo shoes. This has become his mantra. Whenever I want anything, he says "hardwood floors, stainless steel appliances." For example,
"OOOHHH! Look! How cute! A pink sweater to match those new pants!"
"Hardwood floors, stainless steel appliances."
"It's Clinique bonus time! I have to buy something!!!"
"Hardwood floors, stainless steel appliances."
"Look! A purse with my initial on it! And it's pink!"
"Hardwood floors, stainless steel appliances."
"Will you run to Walmart? I need tampons, we're out of milk, and my prescription is there."
"Hardwood floors, stainless steel appliances."
It's getting a little ridiculous....
Only minor drama at the airport. When we packed last night, I had the bright idea of putting all the clean clothes in one bag, and all the dirty ones in another. As a result, my suitcase weighed 87 pounds. They wanted $50, so I had to get out of line, spread my bags open, and pull out dirty underwear in front of complete strangers. Definitely the highlight of my trip. The worst thing was that a woman in line to check in kept asking me, "Where did you get those pants? They are fabulous! And that shirt is so cute! Excuse me, my suitcase is NOT a rummage sale where you can paw through my piles! On the upside, I breezed through security this time, no chopstick on steroids poking through my stuff. We did have a little scare, they had seriously overbooked our flight, and were begging people to give up our seats. I was secretly hoping that Clint would chuck it all and stay in Orlando. I'd send for our things later...my boss would understand. But he made me get on the plane, and started sniffling as soon as we started taxiing. We had an uneventful flight, made it to Memphis ahead of schedule, in fact. Like we were in a hurry to get THERE. While we were waiting in the baggage claim, I noticed that the older gentleman standing next to me looked very familiar. I smiled at him, he smiled and nodded. Clint whispered, "Who is that?" I couldn't place him, but thought he might be a doctor I work with at the hospital, or a patient that I'd had before. I get that all the time. People walk up to me and say, "Do you remember me? Mom got to go home today...she's doing great!" And sometimes I remember, sometimes I don't. But god knows, I have to ask. So I look at the man, and say, "I'm sorry...but you look so familiar. Do you work at St. Francis, or have I had you as a patient recently?" He laughs and says no, so I apologize and tell him that I must be soft in the head after being on vacation all week, and turn around. That's when I notice the stunning brunette walking up next to him, and I immediately freeze, eyes bulging. I have just made a complete fool of myself in front of one of my personal girlhood idols, the epitome of Southern style, grace and charm, that every woman in America would do well to emulate, and her husband. It is Dixie Carter and Hal Holbrooks. And I have just asked him if he was my patient. I look around and notice that the rest of the crowd is mostly businessmen with cell phones, no one besides me recognizes them. I feel like shouting, "What is wrong with you people? We have a cultural icon here!" but don't want to do so, for fear that I will receive a Julia Sugarbaker tongue lashing on how unladylike it is to shout and draw attention to myself. So I quietly turn and say, "I don't want to make a scene and embarrass you, but I want you to know that you inspire me and have set an example of what a true lady should look like and act like, and I grew up wanting to be like you." She was every bit as sweet and charming in person, and signed an autograph for me. I was dying a thousand deaths for not having a camera, but I will cherish that boarding pass forever. The amazing thing was they picked up their own luggage, and carried it themselves outside where they headed toward the parking garage. Totally unpretentious. I was more impressed than ever, and spent the next hour on the cell phone calling all my college girlfriends that used to watch "Designing Women" on Lifetime every afternoon with me and telling them about it.
Back to reality, and back to Memphis traffic...We make it home about 7:00pm, and when we get to the apartments, my neighbors children Kiara, Ke'Shon, Kameron, and my favorite, "Keef with no teef" Keith are playing out front and immediately rush the car asking a million questions about where we had been and what we had been doing and what did Mickey look like, etc. I showed them a postcard of the castle, and Kiara piped up, "OOOH!!! LOOK AT DAT FAIRY HOUSE! I BET DAT'S WHERE DAT MOUSE STAY!"
They have much to learn...their Disney education starts today...
Hardwood floors and stainless steel applicances my absolute musts when we move.
Kristen
