For those who do not know yet, yesterday, I logged into my Gmail account, and was given a message informing me, that my account had been disabled, due to "suspicious activity". Suspicious activity? What in the world does that mean? It gave me a page full of optons, so I pondered them. At first I wondered, had I violated some obscur term of agrement, and offended the delicate sensibilities of the Google hierarchy? Then I thought, no........nothing on my blog coud even come close to some of the risqué stuff I have seen on countless other blogs. Not on any of your blogs of course......dear sweet innocent sisters! *wink*
I was given instructions to give them my wireless phone number, and they would text me a verification code, that I could reactivate my account with. Now like most internet troubleshooting problems, the instructions given to resolve issues were minimal and quite vague, leaving me to guess exactly what they meant. I have a Verizon wireless USB modem that I connect to the internet with. It has a designated phone number, and according to its on screen display, is capable of receiving text messages. So I submitted the phone number of my USB modem, thinking I would get a text message displayed in the modem's window, but no! I got nothing. I tried again, with the same result, and again, and again, and again, but to no avail. Soon frustration began to set in. I was upset! Through no fault of my own, I was totally disconnected from the outside world, and I deeply resented who or whatever caused it. I decided to take a break, and have some lunch. While eating my cup of chicken gumbo, and ham and cheese sandwich, I thought........let's try my regular cell phone number after lunch, maybe that will work. So after lunch, I typed in my cell phone number, and within 30 seconds, my phone buzzed! I flipped it open (Yes......dinosaur that I am, I still have a flip phone!) and lo and behold, there was a text message with my verification code! Suddenly my spirits were lifted!
I typed the verification code into my laptop, and hit the send button, and voilà! There I was! Just like Dorothy clicking her heels two times and saying,"There's no place like home!", I was home again! Immediately I ran to say hello to Auntie Em........er.......well.........not really! After all I was in Virginia, and Auntie Em was four states away in Kansas, but it was still good to be home, and in touch again!
I've been watching the Virginia State Highschool basketball championships.......both boys and girls......on the TV, with the sound turned off, and simultaneously listening to the grand works of Mahler. Oddly, the heroics on the court, blended remarkably well with the 4th movement of Mahler's Symphony #2; In Tempo des Scherzos. Then again, maybe the wine was just that good, and horrors of horrors, even P-Diddy, or God forbid, Usher would have sounded as good while watching the kids play! I hope not! If that's the case, then please rush me into re-hab!
I've enjoyed what I've seen. I used to play B-ball in both high school, and in the Army, and for a time after the Army, in pickup games on public courts. It really is a great game, that keeps you fit, but it's no game for old timers. Too much wear and tear on the feet and joints, plus you lose speed as you age, and you can't keep up with the more athletic youngsters. And for those who think that B-ball is just for men, it's not. I've played in pickup games, where I was being guarded by an athletic young woman, who had no qualms whatsoever of laying her shoulder into me, to drive to the hoop, or leaning her back into me while I was playing in the post post position. I have nothing but admiration for such young athletic females.
In Jenny's blog today, She talked about walking past a group of seemingly harmless teenagers, and even though she describes the image that she often presents to the world, as that of a scruffy bloke, she still felt vulnerable to the possibility of their hurtful adolescent jabs, proving that this rough exterior that many of us non-transitioners carry, is but a thin veil, that we wear to bluff our way through this world of hurt. Jenny sweetie, I know where you are coming from! You have my heart, dear. As I said on your blog, The girl inside, is a lot more vulnerable, than the scruffy male exterior would suggest.