Old Decathlon Olympics Journal

Sunday, Oct. 17 late entry:Sat. Morning at Jessie's

Sunday, October 17th, 2004

The above date is when this journal entry is supposed to have been made. Today is Wednesday October 20th – and although I have regrettably gotten behind in my Olympic Decathlon journal and events – I don’t care. People are more important than contests. In my humble opinion, to write well and have something interesting for readers to read, a writer must experience life. This weekend was my opportunity to meet a very good friend and important person in my life.

I would probably never found my way to Writing.Com if not for Jessiebelle. I met her on another fledgling writer’s site, and due to my eternal curiosity and her including the link to her portfolio in one of her articles, I found my way here. Up until I met Jessiebelle the majority of my Internet time was spend doing research and reading news. I did not know that sites like Writing.Com even existed. Amazing isn’t it! And I have to say that the friendships that I have made since arriving at Writing.Com are very important to me. This virtual world of Writing.Com is made up of very real people, just as the real world.

Saturday morning at Jessiebelle’s in Houston:

Jessiebelle and I agreed to meet at her house by no later than 8:15 am. She had to pick her husband up at the airport. Well, I was wide-awake by six o’clock Saturday morning. I was parked at the corner convenience store by 6:45 am. I got me a plain old, regular cup of coffee, but it could have quickly turned into a serious problem since the store had about ten different flavors to choose from. In Houma, we have coffee, and decaffeinated coffee, either or, not a real choice for a real coffee drinker, but in Houston it is a whole other situation.

At seven o’clock I called Jessiebelle. She graciously lied about being up, but when I mentioned that I was just around the corner – she was totally busted. I asked if I could bring donuts, because donut shops are very plentiful in Jessiebelle’s neck of the woods. She advised which donut shop to go to, and off I went. Well, in addition to really good Mexican food, Houston has at least one really good donut shop that I am now very familiar with. Oh my God, this tiny hole-in-the-wall donut shop was a gourmet delight. The prices were so reasonable that I thought they were WRONG. I am a diabetic, and the trip to this delightful pastry shop was the equivalent to a diabetic suicide mission. Who knew?

Donuts proved a big hit with Jessiebelle’s son, and earned me a reprieve of sorts with her daughter. Jessiebelle’s daughter is sixteen, tall, slender and beautiful. It is my belief that when young teenage girls are as pretty as Jessiebelle’s the only fashion choice should be burlap feed sacks or those long black robes like the women are forced to wear in Afghanistan – I know they’re called a Burka, but I am not sure about the spelling.

Needless to say, me being me, I did not keep my thoughts to myself, so I had been at Jessiebelle’s house for less than six hours on Friday and her daughter already decided that I was certainly going to be an evil influence on her mom.

I really don’t think the woman/child realizes how pretty she is, and she certainly didn’t know that as far as I am concerned all men are dogs. Jessiebelle’s daughter did not appreciate my over protective, grandmotherly comments.