Sunday, January 24, 2010

Colts Game Gives Me a Heart Attack

Yes, my heart was racing at the Colts-Jets division championship game today. And it had nothing to do with the play on the field.

I've worked for the event management team at Lucas Oil Stadium this season, so I considered the chance to continue my role as a greeter/ticket checker at the upper suites during the playoffs as a reward, not a job. We have a great time up there, welcoming folks, helping them find their destination and cheering our team.

And I was in the right spot to greet Tony Dungy and his family, and the Mannings, Archie and Eli. We were told that New Jersey governor Chris Christie would be escorted by VIP dignitaries to visit the Jets suite at some point, so when the elevators opened and a group of suits walked off, I assumed I was about to meet one of the new darlings of the Republican party. (Yah, I'm a political geek. I recognize these names.)


Holy mother of ......

A man strolled up to me, holding out his ticket, and I found myself nearly eyeball-to-eyeball with Challenger ... a big, frickin' bald eagle.

Now what makes this hilarious is that I have worked a majority of my adult life to overcome a fear of birds. I've made great progress. I can walk through a bird sanctuary if I take the time to mentally gear up for the gauntlet. I can be in the same room with your pet parrot, if he's in his cage and the cage is locked. (Are you reading this, Perry Meridian grad who once strolled into my house to pay me for a class reunion with a PARROT on your shoulder?) I don't lose my mind when sea gulls fly around the beach where I'm sitting, although I still would prefer they not poop on me.

Challenger, however, was a surprise, and he wasn't caged. I felt myself trying to control three things at once: a scream, my colon and my ability to stay conscious. That was just the first split second. The second one included not using blasphemy at the top of my lungs — because I'm an official representative of the stadium, my supervisor frowns on that kind of thing.

But I managed to breathe through the fear, and not run for my life down the hallway during the photo shoots. Actually, no one in the room figured out how close I was to soiling myself, as one of the escorts had the nerve to ask if I'd like my photo with Challenger. I nearly shook my brains out rejecting that offer.

I will always wonder if my response would have been different if Tony Dungy had made the invitation. Yes, I think I would have taken Tony's photo with the bird.

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

I Don't Want to Blog Every Day

OK, so the social media experts say I'm supposed to post something every day. If not then, at least three times a week.

I guess they haven't figured out the theme of my blog, have they? Good grief, I don't think I could survive a get outta here moment Especially in January when cabin fever has me on edge anyhow.

So just hang loose and I promise the next silly, stupid, incredulous, dumb, klutzy, weird thing that happens to me, you'll be the second person to know.

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

Loving Those Fat Cats!

This is another one of those posts without relevant pictures. It's too dark under my house for starters, and for a real show-stopper, it's near 0 degrees outside in Indiana and I'm not crawling around with a camera in there to make it work.

But the guy who came to fix our Direct TV wires today didn't have that luxury. He was being paid to wear clothes to protect you in Antarctica and dig around in that tight, dark space to run new cabling. And he emerged with what he said was bad news: We have a fat cat living under the floorboards.

Well, keep talkin', dude.

You see, a few weeks ago, I heard a horrendous noise in my walls and blamed it on mice. We've subsequently heard it several more times, and my dog, Dribbler, has spent a lot of time sniffing vents and pointing at the walls. I've lived in terror one of those rodents would suddenly shoot across the carpet, and my dog wouldn't be there to protect me.

Do I look like I'm in the mood to catch mice today? That's why we're harboring a cat, you ninny.

Now I have to form a new theory: either I heard this cat all along, or there were mice and he moved in for the easy feasting. I like both scenarios much better.

So the actual bad news is that Mr. Kitty has to go. We found how he's been entering and exiting the premises, and if he can do it, so can a opossum. Or a squirrel. Or (shudder) a raccoon. I double-checked with some cat-owning friends, who confirmed these critters are too big for a cat to kill, so it's not like Mr. Tom can protect his cozy territory under my feet. The last time raccoons invaded our space, we had a $6,000 homeowners claim for the damage.

Sigh. Maybe I can convince State Farm it's worth it to keep the possibility of mice at bay. Because my dog is a poor bet in an emergency.