Daily Diatribes

This past weekend found me in Huntsville with MA at a soccer tournament. I love to go to soccer tournaments. It’s usually just the two of us, so we get a hotel room to ourselves. She runs around with her friends and I get to do what I want. Plus, we eat out at restaurants, which is one of my very most favorite things to do. On Saturday night, after winning one game and tying the other, we went to eat at Rosie’s Cantina. 

I was at the bar, paying for my beer, so I was the last one to be seated. Naturally, I ended up at the children’s end of the table. That was fine with me, but given my level of maturity (or lack thereof) it spelled disaster for all concerned.

It started out innocently enough. One of the girls came up and gave me a big hug, while surreptitiously placing tortilla chips in my hair. I’m not stupid; I knew what the little witch was doing. I waited until she sat down and then I flicked a few grains of rice at her. She scooped up a big forkful and fired at me. Naturally, I ducked and they hit the lady next to me, who, fortunately enough, is a very good sport.

The girl next to me, getting into the spirit of things, picked up her tomato slice and flung it at the rice thrower. The tomato splatted right in the middle of her chest. I started howling; it was so spontaneous and the rice thrower was taken completely by surprise.

Suddenly, everyone was armed. And it spelled disaster. At any moment, the largest public food fight in the history of Huntsville was about to take place, and it was all my fault. I had visions of the entire team marched off to jail, the coach glowering at me as I tried to apologize for throwing food. Why do these things happen to me? None of the other mothers were throwing food at the children. I seem to be lacking an essential parenting gene, possibly the one that is responsible for causing mothers to act like their 38 year old selves instead of 12 year olds.

You’ll be glad to know I put a stop to it. “Girls, put the food down,” I said. “Enough is enough.” They lowered their forks grudgingly, giving me limpid looks, begging me to change my mind. But I was NOT going to be responsible for the imprisonment of the team. I felt very smug and mature.

A few minutes later, the rice thrower came up to me and started waving her knife in my face. There was a blob of sour cream on the end of it and she was threatening to throw it at me. So I casually grabbed her wrist and flicked the sour cream into her hair. It was so surreal, like another being was directing my movements. I was powerless to stop it. The immaturity is so very deeply ingrained.

Fortunately, that subdued her and the food fight was over before it really began. But I am going to have to work on my role modelness. Right now, I don’t think I’m a fit chaperone for a group of earthworms, let alone a group of twelve and thirteen year old girls!!

Once again, I have destroyed an electronic device. It’s an amazing gift, ranking right up there with my ability to kill vacuum cleaners and to fall on my face. I can’t understand why I am not a multi-millionaire. I have so many talents to share with the world.

Anyway, my phone has not been working right for quite awhile. When I call someone, I can hear him or her just fine. My reception is clear as a bell. Unfortunately, the person on the other end cannot hear me at all. This has led to some frustrating one sided conversations.

“Hello,” says Nancy.
“Hey Nancy,” says I.
“HELLO????” Nancy says loudly.
“Hey Nancy,” I say. “Can you hear me?”
“HELLOOOOOO,” Nancy says. “JENNIFER….ARE YOU THERE?????”
“Nancy,” I say, “I can’t hear you. Can you hear me?”
“JENNIFER, I CAN’T HEAR YOU!!! ARE YOU THERE???? I’M GOING TO HANG UP..CALL ME BACK!!!”

I have had many of these conversations over the last couple of months, conversations where I yell futilely into the phone and the other person futilely yells back and no contact is made whatsoever. I have tried turning the phone off and then on again. I have stuck all manner of sharp objects into the little hole where the microphone resides. I was going to try sprinkling it with the blood of a rooster, but I couldn’t find one, so I finally admitted defeat today and went to the AT&T repair store. As I walked in (inadvertently running into the door before I could wrench it open) I was greeted cheerfully by an attendant named Yoni.

Who names a child Yoni?? It sounds like the name of a character from Star Wars. Maybe Yoda’s twin sister…Yoda and Yoni? But I digress. Yoni asked me to sign in, even though I was the only person there. I played along. I signed in and sat down in a chair. Then she looked at my name on the clipboard and called me up to the counter. I got up and walked back up to the counter. Ultimately, stupidity will be the downfall of humankind.

I explained the problem to her and she listened intently. Then she asked to see my phone. I handed it to her and she popped off the back.

“Hmmmm,” she murmured. She looked up at me and said “This phone has water damage. See this?” She pointed to a red square. “It should be white. That means this phone has been exposed to moisture.

“No it hasn’t,” I protested. “I admit, I’m hard on phones. I dropped the last one in a diet coke and the one before that fell in the toilet. But this one,” I tapped it, “has NOT come into contact with any body of water whatsoever.”

She looked at me skeptically. “Do you take your phone in the shower with you?”
I swear to God she asked me that; I wouldn’t make that up, even for effect. Who takes their phone in the shower? Maybe purveyors of fine phone sex of the aquatic variety, but when I enter the shower, it’s just to get my hair clean and maybe shave my legs. I don’t converse with anyone; usually I’m trying to get AWAY from everyone.

I told her “NO” and insisted my phone had been kept in a clean, dry environment. I did not share with her that I had gotten the phone to work yesterday by banging it against the steering wheel repeatedly. I didn’t think the information was really relevant to the conversation.

“Well,” said Yoni, “Because the square is red, the warranty is invalid.” She typed a bit and then said “However, you do have insurance coverage, so you can make a claim and they’ll send you a new phone.”

I looked at the hubby and he gave me the thumbs up. Really, what other choice did we have, given the extensive water damage the phone had suffered when I left it in my pocket while swimming laps to qualify for the Olympics. Yoni emerged from her cubicle and walked me over to a bank of phones along one wall. “Just tell customer service you want to file a claim and they’ll help you out,” she said. I thanked her humbly, refraining from adding ‘may the force be with you’.

After entering a million different numbers, including my age, astrological sign in binary code and the sum of my birthdate times my height plus my dog’s age, squared, I got connected with a real person. I explained the situation to her and she said “I am so sorry to hear your phone has sustained liquid damage.”

By now, I was deeply offended over the repeated assertions that I had somehow immersed my phone in liquid thereby causing it to malfunction. Stung, I retorted “It did NOT sustain liquid damage!”
She ignored me and breezed into her spiel about the procedure for replacing my phone. “Because your phone has suffered liquid damage, you can get a new phone for a fee of $50, which is non-refundable. We will then mail you a new phone and you will send us the liquid damaged phone in the pre-paid mailer. Any questions?”

“No,” I sighed. After all, they were giving me a new phone even though I had immersed the old one in a margarita when I dropped it while dancing on the bar at Hooters. My new phone will be here tomorrow and the first thing I am going to do is apply some sort of protective, waterproof sealant over the red square. Just in case I get the urge to call up Nancy during my next shower!!

It’s really bad to laugh at another’s misfortune. It’s practically one of the commandments: Thou Shalt Not Laugh at Someone Else’s Fuck-uppery. Unfortunately, humanity being what it is, it’s really hard not to laugh. Really, really hard. Difficult, really.

But when the top story on AOL involves a missing priest who floated away on a bunch of balloons, I don’t see how anyone with working brain cells can keep a straight face. Because that is FUNNY!! If you’ve missed out, let me elucidate: a Brazilian priest was attempting to break the world record of 19 hours in the air supported by helium balloons. He was doing this in an effort to raise money for….try and keep a straight face…..just try……A SPIRITUAL REST STOP FOR TRUCKERS!!!

He was not floating away to feed the hungry. Not floating for the homeless or the unborn either. No, in his infinite goodness, he was concerned about the immortal souls of those brave men who transport goods up and down Brazil’s highways. It’s beautiful when you think about it. I promise it is, you just have to think hard.

 So, in his quest to nurture the souls of those big rig drivers, Father Carli took to the skies wearing a thermal suit, a helmet and a parachute. Things started out ok, but then was blown off course and subsequently disappeared. They are hopeful he will be found alive because he was an accomplished skydiver and was equipped with a GPS tracking device. I wish him no harm. I truly hope he is found alive. But what a DUMBASS!!

I know when Curious George gets lifted up in the sky by balloons, it turns out ok in the end. The Man With the Yellow Hat is always there to save the day. But it’s a CARTOON!! Everyone knows, and certainly a priest SHOULD know, that God did not intend for human beings to fly around on helium balloons. That’s what Delta is for! Save the helium balloons for the monkeys and hop a 747!!

I am going to try not to laugh at others anymore. Every time I laugh at someone else, a black mark gets added next to my name in the Big Book. But it’s going to be so hard, because there are so many weirdos in the world. Just last week in the Wal-Mart, I encountered a group of idiots on the chip aisle. They were obviously on social security disability since it was the middle of the morning on Wednesday and they apparently had nothing better to do than stand around and argue about what flavor of Doritos they were going to buy. I am not making this up; two women, a man and a SCREAMING child were standing there debating the merits of different flavors of Doritos.

“Well, I think we should get this flavor,” the man said.
“No, we got that kind last week,” said one of the women.
“Well, what about this kind?” asked the dude.”I don’t like that kind,” said the other woman.It went on like that for five minutes. I was trying to get around them to get tortilla chips and M&M’s. As I left the aisle, they were still arguing and one of the women threw up her hands in disgust and said “Next week, I’m coming by myself!” Smart girl!! I think the really scary part is that 2/3 of the trio had evidently reproduced. And who thinks Eugenics is a bad thing???? I told you I’m a horrible person!!!

I hope they find Father Carli. I hope he is nothing more than wet from a dunking in the ocean. And I hope he’s learned his lesson. Man is not meant to fly with helium party balloons. No matter how much tequila you drink, it is NEVER going to be a good idea! 

It’s one of the oldest questions posed by humankind: If a woman falls out of her truck in the parking lot and no one sees her, is she still a dumbass?? Yes tonight, I fell out of my truck. I was actually driving my husband’s truck which I hate because it’s big and I am a short woman.  We’re not a good fit. <P />I had just parked in the lot by the soccer field.  The goddess was in full whine mode, carrying on about God only knows what.  I was screaming at her to shut up her damn whining or I’d give her something to whine about, when God smote me down.  I opened my door and swung my leg out, feeling with my foot for the running board.  The rest of my body followed my foot, which missed the running board, and all of me collapsed in a heap in the parking lot. <P />I lay there for a few seconds, trying to catch my breath and looking around to see if anyone had seen me fall.  Thank goodness the parking lot was empty.  The goddess was still carrying on in the backseat no doubt wondering just why in the hell I had disappeared.  <P />I sat up and took stock of my injuries.  Leg scraped all up the side.  Arm lacerated in two places.  And my finger was hemorrhaging.  I don’t know how I managed to injure the tip of my index finger.  I guess it’s just a gift I have.  I stood up slowly, blood seeping down the side of my finger and stepped away from the truck.”Mommy,” the goddess called, “I can’t carry my cup and my backpack.  I need heeelllllpppp.”I ignored her, intent on finding someone with a band-aid.  ”MOOOOOMMMMMYYYYYY,” she wailed, “HEEEELLLLLLPPPPP MEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!”<P />I turned around and glared at her.  ”I’m hurt and I need a band-aid,” I snarled.  ”So you can just wait.”I staggered toward a friend’s vehicle and she supplied me with the needed bandage.  But what about my wounded pride?  There was no bandage large enough to cover the bruised ego of one who has just fallen out of a pickup truck. So I sucked it up, grabbed the goddess and headed toward the field.  On the bright side, however, our team won 1 to zip.  So at least my injuries were not in vain!!! 

I know more than my doctor does. I know she went to medical school, and all that jazz, but that doesn’t necessarily mean she’s smarter than me. After all, I read WebMD on an almost daily basis. I read all the medical articles in the Ladies Home Journal, which is second only to New England Journal of Medicine in terms of up to the minute medical breakthroughs. I feel very qualified to make medical decisions on behalf of myself and my family members.

 Along those lines, I decided last week it was time to increase the dosage on my anti-depressant. I am a nervous person, always have been, but having children exacerbated my condition. Every time one of them gets a bruise, I immediately diagnose them with leukemia and start planning the funeral. After a particularly bad run of health a few years ago, my doctor and I decided it was time to take an anti-anxiety medication. It takes the edge off the panic. I still know the children are going to die, but I can cope with it a little better. I stopped reading funeral home brochures obsessively and I quit buying up all the black outfits I could find on sale. However, life has been a bit overwhelming of late, what with all the soccer games and the evil referees and all that, so I decided my current dosage wasn’t getting the job done. I reasoned that if I took 20 mg instead of 10, I would be downright mellow. So I started taking two pills a day.

 After four days, I noticed my mental acumen was not what it used to be. I would call my husband at work, and while I was on hold, I would forget why I called him. Or I would sit down at the computer to compose an email only to forget who I was emailing in the first place. And I was feeling physically exhausted all the time. I couldn’t keep my eyes open even after a full night’s sleep. So being me, I started to worry.

 ”Early onset Alzheimer’s,” my inner worrywart whispered gleefully. “Pretty soon you’ll be sitting in the bathroom making long distance phone calls to Mars because you think it’s an intergalactic phone booth. Or maybe,” the voice continued, “maybe you have MAD COW DISEASE. That’s right,” it chortled, “mad cow disease is eating tiny holes into your brain and pretty soon you’ll be more of a gibbering idiot than you ever were.”

 I tried to ignore the voice, but it was making a lot of sense. We eat a lot of beef and surely mad cow disease was a viable possibility. I could actually feel holes popping open all over my brain. And my grandmother had Parkinson’s disease and I get this tremor in my pinky occasionally. Was dementia about to set in??

 Last night, I fell asleep at 8:30. I could not keep my eyes open for ANOTHER second. As I was fighting the waves of drowsiness, it hit me that I was not suffering from Mad Cow Disease or sleep apnea or even a good old fashioned case of leukemia. My problem was the increased dosage of medication. My brain tried to become alert at that revelation, but it was too full of Lexapro to comprehend anything. Or maybe it was the brain holes that were messing me up, I’m not sure. 

Regardless, I have learned my lesson. I solemnly swear here in these pages that I will never tamper with my medication again. I promise to leave medication tampering to the highly trained medical professionals who graduated from bona fide institutions of medical learning. Although I do reserve the right to question their diagnoses based on my extensive reading in Ladies Home Journal! 

Surprisingly, there’s not a lot to say about my trip to Mississippi other than it’s very far away. It took five hours by car, five long hours with three teenage girls in the backseat. Luckily, we had plenty of snacks.

Unfortunately, the team lost all three of its games. Which is not surprising since apparently, the team sucks. It’s not entirely their fault. Because of political machinations, a left wing conspiracy, and global warming, they have been thrown into a more competitive bracket. They have not been playing together as a team long enough to compete at the higher level. And they are basically playing Junior Olympians who eat soccer balls for breakfast. So the experience is very demoralizing, not only for the girls who are losing, but for us parents who are paying!

If this were a movie, it would be time for the lovable, grizzled, alcoholic former soccer star to step in and take over the team. After several inappropriate actions, including taking the team to a topless bar and teaching them how to funnel Natural Light, he would sober up and take them all the way to the state championship. Where they would miraculously win after making several physically impossible plays. Along the way, he would meet the love of his life and they would end up getting married with all the girls serving as bridesmaids. Anyone know someone fitting this description?? Because he is missing his cue!!

Seriously, this is not about wanting to win at all costs. This is about wanting the girls to win at least ONE GAME so they can feel a little better about themselves. They are all very good players but the team has not gelled. Not sure what the problem is, but it sure is frustrating.

During the last game, as we lost to the number one team in Louisiana, I asked the sideline judge what he thought the problem was. He agreed it was hard to compete against a team that had been together for six seasons, as this team had. They also had SEVEN subs on the bench; we had three. Lots of fresh legs makes for a better team. Plus, they just played harder. As he watched, MA took someone out with her hip as she went for the ball, a perfectly legal move. “That’s how they NEED to be playing,” he said. I was so proud.

We have another game tonight. It wasn’t enough to have two on Saturday and one on Sunday. We want to play MORE soccer. It’s supposed to be 35 degrees outside and we don’t play until 7 p.m. A win would make the frostbite totally worth it! But on the way home, the girls clamored to stop at a rest area so they could kick the ball around. As I watched them running and laughing I figured as long as she loves it that much, it’s worth every penny I pay!

It’s always nice to be recognized for your hard work. Allison, over at Picking Along at Life, has given me an award. Some day, perhaps I will figure out how to post it on my site like all the other cool bloggers do. Anyway, here is the meme:

The rules are:

1. The rules of the game get posted at the beginning.

2. Each player answers the questions about themselves.

3. At the end of the post, the player then tags people and posts their names, then goes to their blogs and leaves them a comment, letting them know they’ve been tagged and asking them to read your blog.

What I was doing 10 years ago:
Ten years ago I was working my ASS off at my ungrateful husband’s vet clinic. Napoleon was in kindergarten and I was wondering if he would be heading to reform school. MA was still sweet and never told me she hated me. Little did I know it was the end of the innocence….

Five things on my To Do List today:

1. Wash clothes
2. Take Nancy M to lunch for her birthday
3. Buy groceries because the family is eyeballing the dogs and salivating
4. Finish reading a stupid book for my book group.
5. Go to yet ANOTHER soccer game because two on Saturday and one on Sunday just didn’t get it done.

Snacks I enjoy: I enjoy all snacks. It takes a lot of effort to maintain a physique like mine. You skinny ass bitches just WISH you had my curves. This look is MUCH harder to achieve.

Things I would do if I were a billionaire:

I would probably eat lunch out more….if it’s humanly possible to eat lunch out more than I do already!! Oh, and world peace and all that jazz….

Three of my bad habits:

1. I bite my nails (but not my toenails)
2. I stick things in my ears
3. I swear like a sailor…what the f**k?? Is that bad??

Five places I have lived:

1. Honolulu Hawaii; I was born there, but they moved when I was 18 months old, so I don’t remember it!
2. Fort Leavenworth Kansas
3. Washington DC
4. Appleton Wisconsin
5. Auburn Alabama

Five jobs I’ve had:

1. Washing clothes in a laundromat….you haven’t lived until you’ve washed the dirty underwear of someone not related to you!
2. Waitressing
3. Registrar in a hospital ER…..ask me about the girl with the tapeworm!!!
4. Customer Service for an insurance company
5. Stay at home Mom

Now I have to tag someone else. Blue Momma!! Birmingham Blues!! Go!!

Yesterday, Napoleon invited me to view his Facebook page.  Specifically, he wanted me to read an exchange between he and a friend (a friend and him??  him and his friend??)  It was quite an honor to be invited.  I usually log on and read it every day when he’s not home, but still, it’s nice to be asked.I sat down at the computer and typed in the address since I type faster than he does.

  Alas, I transposed two letters.  I type extremely fast, so it’s not unusual for me to transpose letters.  However, on the internet transposing two letters can yield interesting results.  Napoleon tried to tell me I had typed it wrong, but I ignored him.  Great time for the Fifteen Year Old Knower of All Things to finally be right.   The website connected and….a bunch of nekkid people popped up on the screen!  My face heated up to extreme temperatures as I fumbled to close the website.

 Napoleon started chortling.  ”Oh man,” he said, “that is HILARIOUS!!!”

“shut up,” I muttered as I fumbled to close the screen.

“Hey, I tried to tell you you typed it wrong, but you wouldn’t listen,” he snickered.  ”I can’t wait to tell everyone at school!!”

That should be a good conversation over the school lunch table.  ”My Mom is so awesome,” he’ll tell his friends.  ”We surf the internet for PORN!!”  Great, let’s go ahead and call DHR RIGHT NOW!  Talk about an Oedipal Complex!!

I got the site closed and started typing the correct address into the browser bar when a Pop Up appeared.  There were naked women gyrating all over the place and large letters proclaimed “TITS, P*SSY, F***ING!!!” and other assorted pornographic words.

 Napoleon was beside himself with glee.  ”Oh man,” he howled, staggering backward.  Once again, my face heated to boiling and once again, I fumbled around the keyboard, trying to close the “TITS, P*SSY, F***ING” before my son was corrupted for eternity.

 ”Just shut up and don’t tell anyone,” I snarled as I managed to close the pop up window.

“Oh wait till Dad sees THAT in the browser history,” he said, still laughing.  I had a vision of my husband encountering the evidence of my internet porn surfing and wondering why I didn’t surf it with him!!  Sick men!!

I FINALLY typed Facebook into the browser bar correctly and his page appeared.  But he continued to snicker and snort behind me and I had vivid fantasies of whacking him about the head with the mouse until he subsided.  Add physical abuse to the list of things to report to DHR!!  

I sat down to blog today and found I had no less than NINE posts I had started and not finished, including one fetchingly titled “I’m a Lunch Whore”.  Probably should have finished that one!  There’s no particular reason I haven’t been blogging, other than lack of things to say.  Which is an awfully good reason not to blog!!  However, MA and I will be heading to Mississippi this Friday for a soccer tournament, so that should yield plenty of good stories!As I write this, there is a bee buzzing above me.  We have a two story foyer, with a window at the top.  There is a large bee buzzing around the window.  I don’t know how it got in here or why it’s up there.  All I know is it’s about to send me over the edge.  There’s no way to kill it.  It’s up too high; I guess it will buzz there till it dies.  I’m starting to sound like Dr. Seuss now.  Napoleon goes in to school late on Wednesdays.  This is nothing short of torture for me.  Right now, he is stomping around the house complaining bitterly because I won’t drop everything to drive him to Wal-Green’s so he can buy a birthday card for a friend.  I have given him the number for DHR and told him to file a complaint.  Maybe if he’s really lucky, he can get placed with a nice foster family who will beat him with electrical cords and feed him rat droppings.  Anything would be better than his current situation.  On Sunday, I took the girls to see a school production of Annie.  We sat with some friends who have a three year old little boy.  He was extremely fidgety, and rocketing around all over the place.  The goddess was trying to watch the play.  At one point, he stood up in my lap and said “I wonder why those policeman (up on the stage) are here?”  Without missing a beat, the goddess said “They’re here for you.”  Hmmm, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree!!I am a lunch whore you know.  If you call me and ask me to lunch, I will drop everything I am doing and meet you.  Especially if it’s Mexican food.  I can have a negative balance in my checking account and I will still meet you.  I will roll pennies or do whatever is necessary to make it happen.   Probably I could be in traction in the hospital and I would still find a way to get to the restaurant to meet you.  Lunch whore, that’s me!I have a problem with the word “NO”.  I can say it to my husband when the issue is marital relations; it just slides right on out of my mouth with great ease.  According to him, we never have marital relations.  Now I beg to differ; we have three biological children, so it’s happened a few times.  Apparently, however, I am supposed to dress up with tassels and stiletto heels and provide services whenever asked, which would be three to five times per day.  But when would I get the ironing done?  It’s just easier to say no.But when other people ask me to do things, I can’t say it.  Need a rubber band drive for the homeless organized?? I’m your girl!  Church function complete with linen tablecloths and string quartet?  Yeah, I can work that in!  I went to a girl scout leader meeting Monday night and volunteered to coordinate two major events and start the training to become service area manager.  It’s obvious I need to take my husband with me to these meetings, so he can remind me how to say “NO”!!!Napoleon is STILL stomping around.  You would think I was denying him a kidney instead of a trip to Wal-Greens.  He is about to show me though.  He just sat down behind me with his French Horn.  He has the mouthpiece off and is buzzing into it.  Between the bee and the mouthpiece, I may seriously end it all.  If this is the last blog entry, you’ll know why!   

I apologize for the strange layout.  My tech support is still trying to figure out how to remedy the problem.  I love my Mac, but I didn’t realize it was going to interfere with my blogging!!Yesterday we had a “WEATHER EVENT” in Alabama.  This means a bad ass storm was heading into the state.  Coverage of the storm begins approximately three hours before it crosses the state line and continues until the storm has moved out of the state.  The weather forecasters live for “WEATHER EVENTS” because it allows them to strip down to their shirt sleeves and make dire predictions about the end of civilization.  Plus they get to play with the really cool weather computer gadgets all day long.We have satellite TV, so naturally, as soon as the wind picked up, I lost signal.  It was right about the time the WEATHER EVENT was entering our area.  I got on the computer so I could determine whether I needed to take cover or not.  This is the millennium and  looking out the window just isn’t enough these days.  I need more guidance.I checked the Fox site first, and their doppler radar was not working.  So I switched over to CBS.  I am boycotting Fox anyway since my favorite weatherman, David Neal, has disappeared mysteriously.  The station will not comment on his whereabouts.  I am highly disturbed because he was the best looking weatherman in the metro area and he was actually reasonably sane.  He never wrung his hands or carried on like the world was about to end.  He simply presented the situation calmly and competently, without a lot of fuss.  David, we miss you!!!I logged on to CBS next and was about to click the weather tab when a headline caught my eye.  I don’t know what it is about our CBS station, but for as long as I’ve lived here, their  journalism has been less than desirable.  I quit watching their newscasts because they misspell words constantly.  I don’t know why I thought the website was any better, but I am trying to be more receptive to CBS since I am boycotting FOX.The headline that caught my eye read: NICK SABAN EXPERIMENTS WITH POSITIONS.  I nearly fell off my chair.  Nick Saban is the head football coach at the University of Alabama.  They pay him about a bazillion dollars a year, hoping to revitalize their football program.  Anything he does is of great interest to his faithful.But I thought this was pushing it a bit.  I am sure his smallest bowel movement is of paramount importance to Alabama fans, but do we really need to know which positions he favors?  Does his wife know this information is being publicized??  So what, is the new playbook the KAMA SUTRA???  Is there NO integrity in journalism anymore???  And exactly WHICH positions DOES he favor?  Fixing of the Nail or the Lotus Like Position?  If you’re gonna run the headline, follow up with the down and dirty details!!I couldn’t let it go.  I had to email the station and let them know.  Unfortunately, I just logged on and they STILL haven’t fixed it.  Is it just me?  I mean, I know I have a dirty mind and all, but isn’t that the first thing you thought?  Positions??  I was thinking tight end, but maybe not the same way the reporter was!! Saban Experiments with Positions Associated PressOk, fine, I have a dirty mind and I need therapy.  But I contend the CBS station needs to pay more attention to sentence structure.  Although Nick does look ready for action in this picture….