caughtintheXfire

*exhales through nose with the patented "Sam Elliot" sidelong look*

(Before I even start this... remember when I went to Bucks a week or two ago and I said then that I wasn't sure what had compelled me to do that, but, no doubt, it was gonna be something "not good" that I'd be glad I had the herbage to face?
Uh-huh, yeah. Well... here 'tis.)

Now I know why my little terrorist friend showed up early today.
So he'll be gone by Wednesday at 11:45am when I go back to the dentist for the EXTRACTION and "gross" cleaning, an appropriate dental term if I've ever heard one, to be done prior to the casting of the partial.

This guy is gooood and I canNOT believe what I just agreed to.

Jesus.

I go in there hoping he can just glue the damned tooth to the original three tooth partial or something simple like that.
I mighta known....

But, he's such a no bullshit guy and he's cutting me such a deal, I'd be worse than a lazy-assed, chickenshit moron not to do it.

For a thousand bucks, he's gonna pull one tooth (no charge), do this major "gross cleaning", then, a coupla days later, he's gonna make another impression of my bottom jaw (oh, fun) and make me a six tooth bridge.
The four in the front, the one he's yanking and one that's been gone for years.

I haven't chewed on the left side of my mouth in YEARS.
I'll be able to after this.
My three tooth partial sat weird. It wasn't straight across, like teeth are supposed to be.
It will be now.

All of this for a thousand bucks because, in his words, "It's the right thing to do, to hell with the money."

Just wow, ya know?

His name is Brian.
He's very nice.
Married, as evidenced by the wedding band and pictures of his two sons, one of whom bears a striking resemblence to Alfred E. Neuman, but still cute enough that I don't wanna bite him, barf on him or disappoint him.

He doesn't have nitrous, though.
S'okay.
I simply warned him of what happened the last time I got numbed without it.

As that doc stuck me, I raised my arm and clenched my fist... right around his right ass cheek.

Oops.

I told Brian as long as he's aware of the risks of stabbing me sans nitrous, we're cool.

He and the one dental hygenist chick both think I'm completely gonzo now, but... they get it, too.
They know I'm a good kid, just a little bent-headed.

In the 45 minutes I was in there, I made 'em both laugh... a lot.
And, I managed to tell the Doc that I wasn't too interested in sinking scads of money into my teeth as my mother died of a massive MI at the age of 43 and 11 months and I'm 43 and about 5 months, soooo....
And, I managed to make them both aware of my Cheech and Chong proclivities.

It happened with Doc when we're discussing the "no nitrous" situation.
He said he could 'script me for Valium, but, for as simple as this extraction will be, thanks to the advanced periodontal disease I have goin' on, it'd hardly be worth it.
I countered with "Well, I do have God's version of Valium at home. I can get myself calm, if that's all it's for... It's not a pill, but it is organic..."
He grinned and said, "That'll work. Whatever helps you..."

Have I mentioned that I actually LIKE this guy?

Then, with the hygenist, I was telling her what he'd come up with and that it's such a good deal, I'd be an idiot not to do it. I said, "I may be blonde. I may be a career stoner. But I'm not retarded, ya know?"
She almost fell down, laughing.

And, she was jammin' to my DefLep CD while she made my impressions.
(OhhellYES, I took the band with me... They were my testicular support, screw "moral support"...)

Not too bad for having picked the guy outta the yellow pages, huh?
The cool part is that the office is right across the street from my insurance agent's office.
The "not s'cool" part is that, evey time I hafta go to the insurance agent's office, I hafta call for directions because it's off the circular "square" in the center of G'burg and I always go to the wrong place.
Instead of Buford Ave., I wind up on Steinwehr Ave.
They look so similar, too. Both are just "bear off to the right"'s, as opposed to "stop and make a 45 degree angle turn", like at a crossroads.

But, after this, these multiple visits to the dentist, I don't s'pose I'll continue to need to call for directions each time for long.

Hell, I even came home a different way from the one I took to get there, almost as if I know where I'm going or something.

So.

*siiigh*

A stabbing is to take place.
Crap.
I hate when that happens.

But, at least I'll have what almost amounts to a brand new mouth.

Til my jaw falls off from the periodontal disease anyway.
God he'p me.

Peace

Further proof of God's special brand of bent-headed humor reserved just for me... *OR*... Me and my big mouth...

Often, when trying to describe just exactly how icky something I have to do is, like having anybody from Jersey except my Dad at my house, or me having to drive to Jersey, I'll say, "The only thing that could possibly be worse than this is if I had back-to-back gynecological and dental visits instead."

Well, today, at 1:30pm, I'll be in a dentist's chair, having a curved plastic thing fulla Play-Doh jammed onto my lower jaw.

And... guess what showed up just before I went to bed (this morning at 4am)?

Yeah.
THAT.

*rolls eyes and shakes head*

God is a funny, funny Little Man, is he not?
*golf-clapping at the sheer evil genius*

Okay, question....

Say you've seen a person around, or know his screen name, you've never spoken or written to the guy, but you've seen in him a place you consider your second home and, while you recognize the name, and he seems okay, you just don't know him that well.

Okay?

And, considering where it is you know him from, you kinda think he's at least got to have an idea who you are.

That he's seen you there, too.

And that, while you were there, you were often... vehement... about certain things.
You were known for it and some people even had the sense not to do stupid shit when you were there and others made a hobby out of fuckin' with ya for the way you were when you were there, but, it was for a real reason and it's still effective to this day at keeping people's shit in one sock for them when they don't seem to be able to do it otherwise.

Okay? Still with me?

You know of a guy and ya think he may know of you, too, but yer not sure what it is he knows, or thinks, or whatever.

Then, say yer cruisin' around the blogosphere and happen to stumble over the guy's blog.
Again.
You start reading and, much like Lay's potato chips, you can't consume just one (post).
So, you find yourself reading all kindsa good stuff and liking the guy.
A lot.
You blogroll him.
After you do, you read his front page, too.

About halfway down the page, you see something that you know is about as wrong as a word can get. He's used the word "offices" instead of "auspices".
Like, he said a celebrity is gonna rehab his recently wrecked reputation "through the good offices of [a well known rehab]..."

Now, ya KNOW he meant "auspices".

And, the guy's not a boob.
If his writing is any indication (and I believe it is), this guy is intelligent, funny, articulate, well-spoken, writes well and the more you read, the more you like him.
He reminds you of Danny Bonaduce in a way too, so add in that "intimidation factor" as well... (because Danny has always been your favorite "Partridge" and you still have a crush on him to this day and you just hate his wife because she's a whiny gold-diggin' cuntbag who treats him like shit and it just makes you wanna take care of him and cook for him and give him hugs and make him feel better and... oh, wait. Different post altogether... sorry. Anyway...)
(Plus, there's the whole "What if he already thinks I'm some kinda of a vigilante, ninja-wannabe nutjob?")

My question is this...

Do you write the guy and tell him of the goof? And, if ya do, how do you bring it up? Whaddaya say?

I mean, I like this guy.
It's killin' me that such a huge, noticable goof is right there, forever available to be seen in black on gray.
And, I just know that if he knew it was wrong in the first place, he'd have already fixed it.
What if he thinks "offices" is the right word?
The two words do sound awfully similar....

How do you teach a person you don't know a new vocabulary word then he still likes ya after that, especially if he might already think you're a fuckin' NUT?

This is awesome...

Want to really do something cool for a deployed, million-miles-from-home-for-the-holidays military-type person?

Well than, go here and see who these people are and what they're about and if you wanna help, go here and do it.

They've currently got requests for 60+ tickets and "only" 10 grand (wish I had "only" 10 grand, but anyway...) and, apparently, that's not enough.
Hell, it won't be enough even if they get alla those tickets paid for if there's even one guy left over there who wanted to be and coulda been home if he'd known soon enough about this, or these people could bought one more ticket, ya know? It'd be cool if they got so swamped with donations that they could get everybody home for Christmas.... especially those guy who YOU KNOW had the chance to come home and gave it someone else that they thought needed it more for whatever reason.

Now, if we could only come up with some sure-fire way to KEEP them home once they get here....
Maybe take the coil-wire off all the jets that're to take them back?
Sugar in the fuel tanks, maybe?
Steal the keys?
Superglue in the ignition keyhole?
Anybody with me here?

Hello, hello...

*crickets*

Well, fine then.
Leave the criminal mischief to me.
Y'all go do whatcha can to help these guys.

I'll be over here, thinking of ways to keep 'em here once y'all get 'em here.

"Essence Of NYC: A Play in One Act"

Bimbo tourist #1: Anyway, so when he pulled it out of me it made this farting noise, and I know it wasn't a fart because it didn't smell, and... It was just really embarrassing.
Bimbo tourist #2: Quip.
Bimbo tourist #1: What?
Bimbo tourist #2: A quip. The farting noise, it's called a 'quip.'
Bimbo tourist #1: Oh, they have a name for it? Wow.
Bimbo tourist #2: Oh, totally. It happens to a lot of people.
Stranger: Um, that's not right.
Bimbo tourist #2: Excuse me, sir?
Stranger: No, it's 'queef.'
Bimbo tourist #2: Wait, what?
Bimbo tourist #1: I think he's saying his name is 'Queef' or something.
Bimbo tourist #2: Oh, sorry. Excuse me, Queef?
Stranger: No... Oh, lord. The sound, it's 'queef.'
Bimbo tourist #2: Who's a 'queef?' What's going on?
Bimbo tourist #1: I think he's one of those crazy subway guys you hear about. I think he's telling us he's gay.
Stranger: I can hear you, and I'm not... What? That's 'queer,' you ingrate!
Bimbo tourist #1: Here's some money for you, sir. Buy your boyfriend a nice grocery cart or something.
Stranger: What?! Does it look like I'm homeless to you? I'm wearing fucking YSL over here... I ain't queer and I ain't homeless. You ignorant, you skinny, Paris Hilton-wannabe whores. All I was saying to you was that when your sleazy-ass friend over here pulled her boyfriend's dick out of her STD-ridden pussy, the word...
Bimbo tourist #1: I'm not following... Is he speaking Cockney or something?
Bimbo tourist #2: I don't know. Are you allowed to mace crazy hobos?
Stranger: ...I'm not fucking crazy!
Bimbo tourist #2: Of course you aren't, sir.
Passenger: Oh, shut your mouth, both of ya, or I'm gonna whoop both your scrawny asses, you hear?
Stranger: Thank you. All I was saying was...
Old lady: Ah, hell no! Can't you see this conversation has gone past anyone in this damn subway's comprehension? Know when to drop it, brother. Know when to drop it.
Bimbo tourist #2: [Mouthing] Oh my god.
Bimbo tourist #1: I know. That was intense.
Stranger, muttering to himself: ... Last time I ever take a subway... Unbelievable shit I put up with... Fucking Civics... Unreliable fuckers.

OiNY

I'mina have such snit-fit in a minnit...

Chapter 2,497 in the saga of the rotating Nextel phones...

Our story begins with the self-satisfied grin of our heroine, Stevie, as she finished putting all of Sr.'s contacts into his "new" i700+ yesterday afternoon....

.......so, I take it out to him and all is well.

For abooooout 6 hours.
Maybe.

Last night, after Sr. had had the phone for a half a day, he'd come in from work and set it on his endtable by his chair and I happened to be standing there at one point and I noticed his phone coming back on.
And, going off.
And, coming back on.
Etc.

I was like, "What the fuck, man?" (/whine) and started futzin' around with it to see if I could make it behave.

Charging it, switching batteries and even ratting it out to Nextal didn't work.
And, neither did that phone, all of a sudden.

Fucker worked FINE FOR ME, but now?
Now, ya can't turn it on at all without it being plugged in and, even then, it'd just shut off again for no known reason.

So, while I had Nextel on the phone anyway, I dug out two more of these motley fuckin' phones and had them checked out as to "availability" (when you've had as many of these damned things in yer life as I have and from as varied sources, you learn to check out where it came from and whose name it's in...) and one was free and clear and available to use... so we did.

Me and the Nextel chick switched Sr. YET AGAIN to yet another i700+.

Which brings me to the point in time a minnit before my snit-fit.
'Cause while it's all well and good that I do have alla these "spare" phones all over God's created Earth and even finer that, indeed, one is good to go and all, what it all boils down to is that I hafta sit here again, for another hour or so, and delete all the shit that's in the "new" phone from over a year ago and re-re-enter alla Sr.'s contacts into his "new" phone... again.

If this one also developes a mystery illness within 24 hours, it's gonna be the world's first walkie-talkie enabled SUPPOSITORY, I swear ta Gawd, it will.

(And, God no! What are you thinking? Let him enter his own contact info? Puh-leeze. The man can refurb/rebuild or service any kinda valve you care to name, he can drive a car, operate a microwave (sorta) and a VCR. But, if you think for one minute that he's got the patience, time or coordination to do data entry... fugedaboudit. Not even. Besides, this is how I'm makin' my point that can't/won't be proved til I'm dead... how cool a g/f I am by doin' alla this shit that he doesn't even think about (anymore) and won't til he hasta do it all for himself. THEN he'll see how cool I was/am... how worth putting up with 6700 cats I am... he'll see. Great plan, huh? *grin* Got'ny better ideas?)

Anyway... off to go enter about 15 direct-connect contacts and God-only-knows-how-many-'cause-I-quit-countin'-yesterday phone numbers.

If you're a prayerful person, please pray for this phone that it doesn't somehow die, blow up, drown, catch fire, get shit on by a cow, get trampled by a herd of cows, get lost or stolen and/or run through a washer and dryer.
Sr. too, all of the above, okay?
And, also for him that he doesn't end up with the world's only suppository that has a keypad and an antenna.
And walkie-talkie capabilities.

Thanks s'much.

Peace

Two quick things, then I swear, by all that is Holy, that I will clean this friggin' house...

I woulda already been cleaning the house, except for one thing...

this.

I forget how I found her.
But, if you look on the right side, under her picture, you'll see a block of numbers from 1 to 80.

Go click on #1.

But, before you do, go pee, grab your smokes and get a fresh cuppa coffee.

Because, I promise you, after you click #1 and read that post, you will click #2, then 3, then 4 and so on til it's a coupla hours later and you're in awe of this woman's life as well as her writing because you just sat there and read all eighty posts.

Like I just did...

Now, I have a question....

In Howard Stern's second book, he says something about people giving him shit for what he'd said about Filipino's in his first book and that if he gave anyone the impression that he hates Filipino's the most, he wanted to apologize because he hates the FRENCH the most.

Okay?
SO, Howard hates the French A LOT.

Now, in his first book (which I am re-reading for about the hundredth time) he has the following:

Now, knowing that Howard hates the French the most, is the way he expressed it here correct?

Somewhere between the word "ascending" (yes, I know what it means), the fact that the French are #3 and the fact that #3 is at the top of the list, yet he hates the French the most, I'm kinda confused.
Something seems wrong about it this way.
Almost like a double negative.... the way a double negative changes the meaning of what is said, if not the intent. (In other words, double negative or not, you know what the person means...)

Anyway, is that right up there?
It could just be me.
It does involve numbers and I do hate math.

And now, because I've sat here long enough, and to escape one of the few episodes of All in the Family that I don't really like, followed by another one that starts out a downer too (the ones about Beverly LaSalle getting killed), I'm outta here.

I'm gonna go try once again to COMPLETE cleaning the house.
Lately, I keep starting it and not finishing.
I've been going through that whole "look like Fat Elvis" thing again.
Feet, ankles and calves get all puffy, I feel too full all the time, my face looks fuller to me, I hate it.
I get tired really quick, too.
Used to be, I'd go lay down and the swelling would go down quite a bit.
It'll still do that if I lay down, but not as much.
And, my back... jeezus.
Hurts to stand, hurts to bend, hurts to breathe...
Right across the lower back, like where the waistband of jeans would be.

I wish I knew what this shit was... probably remnants of my missing terrorist buddy.
He doesn't come around, but he still makes himself known.
Prick.

That's what's been slowing me down, and stopping me, lately.

My legs and back get to feeling like I've been walking uphill in sand or something and I just say "fuckit".

BUT... it's better today.
Both ankles and my right foot are still a little swelled, but my left foot looks almost normal and my energy level isn't totally sapped by "herbage".

So, it's hair up into a ponytail on the top of my head, some "cool tunes" on the CD player and a clean house by the time I stop this time.
And, woe be unto he who gets in my way, discourages me or otherwise interferes with my forward motion.
(This shit is like getting a fully loaded tractor and trailer goin' up a hill from a full stop... I don't need no dinkweeds messin' with any momentum I manage to gain...)

Peace, y'all

Ya wanna know sum'thin'?

Nextel i265's are frickin' CURSED.

We got two of those cursed pieces of shit back in February.
Mine died of "natural causes", meaning it suddenly decided to stop reading the SIM card and/or not to receive the signal with any strength whasoever, about two or three months ago.
So, I switched to George's old i700+.
I did that because I could NOT find my own old i550+.
Whatever.
S'long as I have a phone, right?

Well.
Eric, "Mr. I can't keep track of nuttin'" a.k.a. "Mr. Not only do I not plug my phone in to charge at night, half the damned time I don't even know where I left it" left it in his coveralls pocket.
An i265 is a very small phone.
So small, in fact, that I also missed it in his pocket and washed the fuckin' thing.

**Little known fact about Nextel phones: You so much as show them water, let alone actually get 'em wet, and they will cease to function.**

Wanna guess what washin' 'em does to 'em?

I didn't bother drying it...

What I did was tried putting his SIM card in my old i265, just in case it'd healed itself or something.
It hadn't.
Not even Nextel Customer Service could make it work.

At this point, my options were pretty limited and they all had a certain amount of suckatude about them but, I had to choose between:
a.) Sr. not having a phone, period. Not do-able. Not with the danger inherant in his job.
b.) Waiting til tomorrow to call the "super techies" at Nextel and see if they could work some kinda magic.
c.) Fuck around, up in the attic YET AGAIN, and try YET AGAIN to find my old i550+.
*disgusted sigh*

I went with option "c".

ACTUALLY FOUND DA FUCKIN' THING THIS TIME!

Then, I decided that instead of me keeping George's old phone and Sr. getting mine to drown, drop in cow shit, run over or blow up, I'd give him George's old one and use my own again because I just like that phone THAT MUCH.
I've bounced that little fucker offa more walls for giving me shit than hell patch a mile. It survived all that, too.
Hell if I wanna see Sr. kill it, ya know?
Plus, it IS the one I wanted when my i265 died in the first place.

So, here I sit with FIVE PHONES.

My old i265 with Sr.'s SIM card in it so I can get his contact info off of it.
Sr.'s drowned i265 so I can give Nextel the info numbers off of it.
George's old 700+ that I'd been using to put Sr.'s shit into.
My i550+ to put my shit into and Jr.'s phone so I don't hafta be on any of the phones I want Nextel to switch around for me.

I call Nextel and had to repeat about 90 times what I wanted to do and, after about an hour, it happened.
Sr.'s phone is now the i700+ and mine is my own old i550+.

THEN, I hadda sit here and, BY HAND, delete alla the old shit outta i550+ and add about 20 names and numbers for myself and do the same with the i700 for Sr.

But, it's all done now, damn it.

Thank Gawd.

I've already told Jr. to expect his i265 to spontaneously burst into flames or to come up with some other way to not work within about the next six months... (she says dryly.)
And, this nutjob (Jr) just told me he'd be back "tomorrow".
I said, "Oookaay. Where ya gonna be til then?"

"In my tree stand."

"All night?"

"Yep."
*big grin*

First day of some kinda animal murdering season starts tomorrow.
Guns of some kind, I think.
All I know is that we've already got a coupla huge chunks of dead deer in the freezer.
Bow and arrows, maybe?
I dunno.
There's also a dead squirrel.
Now, it's time to once again kill critters with whatever they haven't used to kill 'em yet.
Whatever...

All night in a deer stand....

Can you say "hung like a thirty cent stack of dimes"?
That boy's gonna freeze his boys off.

I will never understand why hunters go through such machinations to kill a deer.
You don't need a deer stand and a hunting license and the orange clothes and alla that shit.
Or even a gun.
Or a bow and arrows.
All ya hafta do is be driving down the road, the more over 55 the better, and be minding your own business and sooner than later a deer is gonna commit suicide using your car.
It's so easy.

They're a lot like stupid women who start out playing hard to get, then it flip-flops on them and they can't you interested anymore at all.
The more you try to avoid them, the more they just HAVE to fling themselves into your path or life or onto the hood of your car, except deer aren't all crying and hysterical when they do it.
They just die.

Hmmm...
maybe we oughta see about getting that flip-flopped around....

Anyway...

I need to go FINISH cleaning the house now.
I've only "started" it about 12 times so far....

Peace, y'all...
(*whispers* and don't buy an i265!)

Now that it's after Thanksgiving...

thus, "officially" okay to start cramming Christmas down people's throats til they wanna puke coathangers, I bought this.

It is SO COOL.
It bounces and plays "Lowrider" and there's a green light that shines out from under it.
Santa and the two reindeer wiggle to the music as the car bounces.

Next, I want the Santa in the leather jacket on a Harley.
"Born to be Wild" plays along with engine gunning sounds on that one.

To some degree...

every single one of my animals is retarded.

I have a parrot, a red, yellow and orange Conure, whose greatest joy exists in a bag of popcorn... digging through it, slinging it everywhere, muttering to himself the entire time until all you can see of him is the tips of his tail feathers.
Then, if there's any kind of sudden noise, he comes flying out, backwards, and looks around, bitching, til he's satisfied that it was nothing, then, in he goes again.
When he has deemed a bag "finished", he will nag you unto death until you pop him another bag.
We use "Natural" popcorn. No butter, no salt.

Then, there's the blue, black and white parakeet who spends 90% of her time pecking her mirrors.

The black, longhaired hamster with the white front feet is halfway normal.

Tyler, the Jack Russell (mostly white with big black and small tan markings), is just plain goofy.
He loves his tennis balls.
Then, I finally broke out that soccer ball I got a long time ago.
(Had to do with that Pennsylvania Miner's story...)
Anyway...
Tyler gets pissed if you squeak that thing on or near him when he's eatin', or otherwise occupied.
It took him weeks to get to where he'd pick it up in his mouth.
Then, I really messed with his mind by buying him a bigger and furry soccerball.
He's still not too sure about it, yet.
Sometimes, when he's laying on his side in a chair, I start by, stop, put both hands on him and bounce him into the cushions for a while. He just lays there, watchin' me, then, when I stop, he jumps up wagging his tail and stretches.
And, for some weird reason that I am not privy to, he's scared shitless of... silverware.
Yes, spoons, forks and knives... silverware.
You could put an entire ham on a plate on the floor.
Stick a fork in it and it'll be safe forever.
From Ty, anyway.
The cats could give a damn about a fork.

They could, but they don't.

But, wait!
We're not done with "dogs" or "other large and/or miscellaneous critters".
Can't get into the cats yet...

The outside dogs...

Jessie, George's dog (large, golden, medium length hair) is terrified of brushes and towels.
Giving her a bath is a fuckin' trip... to hell!
You can just forget trying to dry her.
And, if you so much as touch her with a brush, she will run right through a wall to get away.
We have no idea why she's like this.
Except that, she too, is insane.

Then there's April... "our dog", who is smaller, dark, long- and thick-haired.
One of our dogs...
This twat... God love 'er... she can be outside for 99 years and the instant you bring her in, she shits on the floor.
Every. frickin'. time.
But, she'll play with a laser light all night long.

Then, there's Ziggy Pigdog.
He's got that name for a reason.
He's also big, looks a LOT like a police dog. Mostly black with a little tan on his face.
You bring his ass in and he WILL eat everything not nailed down or outta reach.
After he'd consumed an entire bag of Cheetos, an entire big baggie of Christmas cookies, whole boxes of cereal and a whole HUGE tub of "I can't Believe it's not Butter" among other things, he became an "outside dog".
To this day, if he'd stand still, you could serve an entire Thanksgiving dinner offa his back, it's so wide.
That dog is a horse.

Speaking of "horse"...
yeah.
They're both goofy, too.

Action, the chestnut Quarter Horse, is just retarded.
He jumps every time I flick my lighter.
He's scared of his own farts.
Catching him in the dark, you'd better bring a fuckin' lunch, 'cause yer gonna be a while.

And, Bo... the black blanket App...
Don't NOT bring his carrots.
If you don't bring his carrots, you WILL see a horse have a temper tantrum.
And, from what I hear, I don't recommend trying to ride him bareback.
Although, nowdays, his back is also broad enough that his withers are no longer a safety issue if ya do ride him bareback.
Being bucked off may not be an issue, either, as fat as his ass has gotten over the summer.
He looks like a mare ready to foal within the week.

Then, there's the roosters.
Cogburn, the red one, will throw himself, feet first, against the screen door when he's been outside long enough in his opinion.
I've never seen a rooster wanna get inside a house, let alone "knock" to do it.
And, Foghorn, the white one... he likes to be held and petted.
He even likes being held upside down, along your arm, like a baby... or most of my cats.

The duck, also white... swims in the bathtub, lays eggs and makes nests for 'em, picks on the roosters and also likes being held. Flat up against your chest, with her legs flat down the front of ya and her beak over your shoulder.
Cute... but weird.

Then, there are the cats...

Ozzy, dark gray tabby... thinks riding on your shoulder, no matter what you're doing, is the coolest thing in the world.
Nevermind the fact that he weighs half a ton and always hasta have at least four claws stickin' in ya.... he loves it.

Erica, light gray tabby with white patches... a total stoner.
Will not allow anything "fun" to be burned without her presence. She also insisits on sitting downwind from the source of the smoke.
You can tell by her eyes that it's working.
And, I swear... she grins.
Likes being patted rapidly on butt.

Lamar, mixture of tabby and large spot markings, mostly white... she literally rears up on her hind legs to meet your hand when you reach to pet her.
She doesn't really like being held, though.
She enjoys beating the shit out of a rug I have on the carpet in the livingroom.
Also likes having behind patted quickly.

RC... RedCat, orange tabby... she simply MUST have each faucet in the house set to dribble so she can get drinks.
You can put 1400 gallons of fresh water down for her and she'll walk right past it to jump up on the sink and beg for the water to be turned on.
She will also, without warning, run right up the front of ya to be held.
Eric found her under the carousel in the parlor.

Clemmy, gray calico... will fight to the DEATH the shop vac.
Hates that thing with a passion, but she won't run from it.
She stands there swattin' the fuck outta the nozzle.
Has only recently decided that being petted is actually a good thing.
Still undecided about being held.

Her son, Tommy, mostly white with gray tabby markings...
Pretty much stays in the kitchen.
Acts like being petted is being assaulted.
Has been known to totally lose his shit if picked up at the wrong minute and only he and maybe God have any idea what minute may be the wrong one at any given time.

Gonzo, white with gray tabby spots and tail... hint: his name says a LOT.
This cat is just nuts.
His favorite place in the whole universe to be is on the handrail at the landing of the stairs where it's wide enough for him to sit or lay there and swat you as you walk by.
He also finds it highly amusing to get on the top of the back of this chair and just freak out.
Drives me right up the fuckin' wall and he knows it.
He just doesn't care.
He thinks it's funny.
Like the butt-smackin' thing, plus being knocked/layed over onto his side.

Then, there are the two huge black guys.
They're brothers.
They both are so dumb, they think it's fine to come up, rear up on your leg, sink their claws in and stretch down.
That is so not cool.
They also fight sometimes and I have to physically impose myself upon them to make 'em stop.
And, one of them thinks it's wonderful to jump Bubba when he's asleep, scaring the shit outta him.
Just now, one of them was laying on the dryer, with his head on the washer which was spinning and bouncing his head about 100 beats a minute.
He seemed to be enjoying it. Kept stretching out one arm and flexing his claws, like he was kneading with one hand.

Bubba, large gray and white tabby... just wants to sleep on the dryer and be scratched between his shoulderblades.
Huge bastid, but a bit timid, all the same.
Also likes having hiney patted really fast.

Squirrelly Shirley, long-haired mostly gray cat with white chest.... now this cat IS brain damaged and I know why. She's the one Erica had that time that she freaked out, bit me and jumped out the window while there was a kitten coming out. Said kitten fell out while Erica was enroute to the countertop to jump out the window and slid under the cabinets and bounced off the bottom of 'em.
So, that explains why she simply MUST throw herself onto her back exactly in the spot she knows your foot is gonna land next and insists on walking down the steps with you BETWEEN YOUR FEET and has a vacant, slightly retarded look on her face most of the time.
She also enjoys racing around, starting shit with the other cats, smacking them on the ass and chasing them and she sounds like an elephant wearing boots when she's flying up and down the stairs.
The last time I went to pee, she was upstairs in the bathroom, laying on this cabinet I have up there. She had her tail under the cat in the window sill, her ass in a basket on top of the cabinet and her body arched like a woman's shoe with her chest on the cabinet top.
Fuckin' weirdo.

Olson, dark brown and gray tabby ... she doesn't like anybody, cat-wise.
Her job is to growl at any cats within a two foot radius.
They all just ignore her these days.
She has a cute, round monkey face.
She takes things way too personally and once, she lost all the hair on her butt.

Then, there are the three kittens...
The orange tabby one. A sweetheart, but can't take a hint for shit.
I keep putting him on the floor and he keeps jumping right back up here.
The gray tabby female... she has only recently decided that being petted is cool. Like in the last coupla days, recently. Now that she likes it, she wants it all the time and if you don't pet her, she grabs your hand with her paw and bites it... ouch.
And, the newest one... a longhaired, black and white furball... such a sweetie. This one hasn't been subject to whatever it is that fries alla my other animals brains (me?) long enough yet, so she's still pretty normal.
So far...

Missy and Spot... sisters, both mostly white, one with big gray spots, the other with big black spots, like a cow. Outside cats, mostly. Ozzy, Bubba, the two black ones and another one I haven't gotten to yet all used to be outside cats. But, since they've all been fixed and the boys don't seem to feel a need to drown the house anymore like they used to, I've let 'em all back in. These two, Missy and Spot, mostly wanna be outside.
They'll come in for a while, but ultimately, always go back out.

And, there's the absolutely gorgeous black and white boy whose name I forget... he had one, but damned if I remember it right now.
He feels it is necessary to growl louder than a downshifting truck at any cat in a five-foot radius.
Nobody is even looking at him, but he feels a need to growl anyway.
Other than that, he's a total lovebug.

The gray and white cat who is Shirley's usual victim... again, no name that I can recall, but a cool cat. Sweet, wants to be petted, is always being chased around by Shirley.

Chyna, light gray calico... has a Siamese meow. Meows a lot. Races me up the stairs every time I go up them. Will only eat and drink in the bathroom. Thanks to her, I now have two feeding stations to maintain.

Bret, mostly black with white on neck and paws... again, probably actually brain damaged. Had a huge cast iron and ceramic thing that you put hot pots on fall off a table onto her head. Her pupils were two different sizes for a while and I called the vet and asked him what to do.
Nothing.
She was fine.
He said that pupil thing was "normal" with a conk on the head.
So's her behavior these days, I s'pose.
That, and naming her after Bret Hart....

Ah, and Princess, the longhaired calico... this cat is gonesville, too.
Growls at everybody, wants to be held then growls at YOU for holding her "wrong" whatever the fuck that is, INSISTS on dumping water bowls if at all possible and takes every move that every other cat makes as a personal threat, worthy of hissing at.
Twit.

I think that's all the furry and feathered critters, which brings us to the "bi-ped" ones... the guys.

George... known him the longest and yes, he's a goof. Very cool person, but, sometimes, he melts my brain, he's so strange about shit.
Just refuses to believe that it does TOO work turning a map so it's laid out in the direction you're going.
Knows exactly just how fucked up I am and likes me anyway.
A nice guy... maybe too nice, because his motto seems to be, "Fuck me? No, fuck me harder" because he'll go to great lengths for the wrong people and never completely be done with 'em no matter how shitheaded they are which leaves him open to getting screwed again.
I've been asked by everybody from mutual bosses to Eric at least three times a month, "Why is he like that?" about whatever, like I have any idea.
I don't even think he does.
He just is.
Cleans up his own messes and feeds all the dogs around here.

Then, there's Sr.
Damaged by the BC in Jersey, yes.
Mostly over it, but not completely.
Spoil rotten for real.
Used to help out with house shit, but not anymore unless I specifically ask him to.
In fact, there are three bags of trash all but blocking the front door and they've been there since last night.
While I'm tempted to leave 'em there to see just how got-damned long it'd take him to take 'em out, I won't because I don't wanna hafta live with 'em there for the next week at the very least.
It's insane.
My hand to God, he messes this house up almost as fast as I clean it.
I no sooner get the dirty clothes all upstairs to be washed than he's got a new pair of socks on the floor next to his chair, looking like two withered up snakes.
He drapes his dirty coveralls across the saddles, 'cause that's what they're there for.
Leaves dirty clothes and coffee cups in the barn.
Shoes DIRECTLY in the door- or walkway.
Puts EVERYTHING back in the fridge by placing it on the front six inches of the shelves, thereby making it all but impossible to reach anything in the back.
Couldn't close a cabinet door if his life depended on it.
Cannot EVER remember to plug his radio in to charge before he goes to bed.
He is, as I type, asleep in my lounge chair, completely dressed, up to and including his denim jacket and sneakers.
And... ya wanna know what?
All of this is great to see.
After knowing what his life used to be like, I still see the coolness of this now about him, the fact that he's finally comfortable enough to just be himself, to just be, that he knows he's allowed to be human, to act like a guy, leaving his shit scattered hither and yon and that he can rest assured it'll be taken care of... I like that.
Yeah, sometimes, it makes me kinda crazy and I start to wonder if I don't need to start trying to swing the pendulum back the other way some, but... fuck it.
He had 14 years of that domineering bitch's shit to eat.
Let him have at least 14 years of it being the polar opposite.

Then, there's Jr.
Again, kinda messed around by the BC, but much more able and willing to tell her to go fuck herself than Dad ever was.
Still, a really cool guy.
Has a few strange hobbies, like putting bloody-boomerangs-that-used-to-be-squirrels in my freezer and spending a lot of time in the pursuit of the deaths of several species of wild animals, but, he's still easy to talk to, gets over being pissed pretty easily, can see a mistake when he's made one and he tries not to do it again, he's generous especially with his money and his Dad and I'm glad he's finally here.
I'm glad we all survived long enough for it to happen.
Wish Rob had.

All in all, I'm surrounded.
Surrounded by mostly pretty cool creatures, all with their own idiosyncrasies.

And, me?
I'm fine, considering.
And, I'll stay that way, God willing.

Oh, and about the wide-spread brain damage present in most of these creatures?
The common denominator that they ALL share is... me.
Living with me.

Now the question is, is it me making them like they are, or them being like they are that's making me like I am?
*raised eyebrow*

A question for the ages, innit?

Had everything ready by 9pm...

and, they were through it and I'd put everything away and was sitting down with a cuppa coffee and a smoke by 10 of 10.

Now all I hafta do is do the dishes (again) and a little "regular straightening" and a load or two of wash.

It'd be nice if I were to get to the cat boxes, too, I s'pose.

And, at some point, I'm takin' my achin' ass up into the bathroom with a coupla candles and a good book and soakin' in that tub for a while.
Wash my hair, shave my legs, have a clean house withh a fridge stuffed with food and, not only will I sleep like a worry-free child, I'll be able to just relax and hang out for a few days if I get alla this shit done tonight.

All I want right now is for Sr to get done talkin' his Mom so I can get him to squish my hurtin'-like-sonsabitches feets.

After that, my legs'll feel better again, enough for me to power through the other "tweaking" crap and carry my hurtin' self up to the tub.
Just laying in hot water will help a lot.
Then, having nice clean, good smellin' hair and hairless legs on freshly washed and dried with a dryer sheet flannel sheets will feel good, too.
So will sleeping for about 12 hours.

Then, waking up and coming down here to a clean house and that first cuppa coffee.... man, that'll rock.

All I hafta do is live long enough to get it all done.

And, Eric's finally gettin' offa da phone, so I'm outta here.

Peace

After how many years usage in a row does something become a "tradition"?

('Cause this makes the third or fourth year I've used this. I even remember who I got it from. AND, I also have a slightly more strongly worded version of it, if anyone needs it.)

(**update @ 5:15pm... In fact, I just posted it at Gut Rumbles... *grin*)**

Shoulda saved one of the three from last year, I guess. (Updated @ 4:50pm)

Last year, the bosses son who smokes various kinds of meat as kind of a side business gave us a smoked turkey for Thanksgiving.
Then, he gave us another one about two weeks later.
Then, he gave us another one two weeks after that.

We were told he does this every year.
Well, cool.

So, this year (meaning last night) I asked Eric about this and it seems there's been a change in plans.

The son who smokes alla this meat all the time apparently HAD a bear hunting cabin, "had" being the operative word in this sentence.

I was told it burned to the ground in the last day or so and he, the son, is there picking through the wreckage.

Now, I'm torn here... maybe if it hadn't been called a "bear hunting" cabin... but, I feel bad for the son... and for giggling at the thought of a pissed off, revenge-bent bear with a pack of matches.

"Fire at me will ya? I've gotcher "fire", fuckhead..." says the bear who is, coincidentally of course, wearing a "Bite me, Smokey" T-shirt as he pulls a match out of the pack, careful to close the cover securely before striking.

It might take him half the pack of matches, but, finally he gets it to catch... and grow... and now.... I've gotta cook a got-damned turkey.
Because needing to make more potato salad, macaroni salad, devilled eggs and alla the other shit-besides-turkey that any self-respecting Thanksgiving dinner will include just. isn't. ENOUGH.
Not for me, oh nooooo.
I need one more thing to do.
In addition to having to run to the fuckin' grocery store again, of course.

I was just there a few hours ago.
I get home and then discover that I need more eggs.
Like a good two dozen.
And, there was something else clear on the other side of the stupid store from where the eggs are that I could use, too, but fuck if I can remember what that was.
All I can remember is thinking of it being all the way across the store and ugh...

So, here it is, about quarter of two in the morning and I'm about to go get eggs and some other damned thing IF I remember what it is, then, when I get back, it's toll house with walnuts and the brownie mixes, one with and one without walnuts.

While they're baking, I need to be peeling and cutting up potatos.
Get them cooking and start the macaroni.

In between loads of cookies, I'll make the "dressings" for the potato and mac salads.
Get them mixed and put away, which reminds me, I'm gonna have to rearrange and clean out the fridge too.... *siiiigh*

Anyway... get the cookies and the "salads" outta the way and get the turkey in.

Maybe go lay down for a while.
Maybe.

Either way, sooner or later, I'll do the other sides.
Mac and cheese
Au gratin potatoes
Instant mashed
Stuffing
Corn
Sweet potatos
Green beans (maybe with cream of mushroom soup on 'em)
Cranberry sause
Whomp biscuits
Corn bread
Peas, too probably
And, Eric's gonna want his (icky) brussel sprouts
Devilled eggs
And, I've got two Sara Lee pies (apple and pumpkin) to bake, too.

And, I've got an irritating twitch right in the center of my right eyebrow now.
*rolls eyes*
Well great.
I can now be described as "that balding chick with the eye tic..." How quaint.

Now d'ya see why I'd rather do this "going to the store" shit in the middle of the night?

I'll be back...

Peace, y'all

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hello again.
After I got the cookies done, I had to go lay down for a while.

But...

Bird's in the oven, the potatos and macaroni are cooked and waitin'.
Brownies and all variety of cookies are done.
I'm making the last dozen boiled egss right now.

Birdzilla is due out around 7:30 or 8pm.
That'll give Goofball time to mess with the lights again.
He and George bought a coupla strings of colored bulbs and icicle lights.
Just enough to do three quarters of the lower roof.
Just enough so that I hadda go out and buy an assload more lights last night just so it could rain and they'd hafta stop after getting the string of colored bulbs halfway across the top roof and making all the lights go out, somehow.

Anyway, after a tiny organic smoke break, I'm gonna make the salad parts of the potato and macaroni salads.
Get them mixed.
Get the devilled eggs done.
Get alla that into the fridge.

Then, start cooking the veggies.
I have more veggies than pots and pans, so this is gonna be fun, to say the least.
Nothing I enjoy more than washing the same damned dishes 27 times a night.

After the veggies and other shit is done, which, by the way, I'll be coming back by here periodically to strike the shit I've gotten done, all that'll be left is the biscuits, cornbread and cutting up the cranberry sauce.

I think...

702-818-2458

I don't know who the FUCK these "people" are, but, I do declare, with GAWD!!! as my witness, that if ANY of their moronic minions EVER calls my cell number again, I will go to Las Vegas, Nevada, FIND THEM and KICK SOME ASS!!!

I swear to Sweet Jeezus....
Not only do I have no idea who these numbfucks are, I have no idea how they got my number and they are soooo stupid that they leave two or three voicemails a day that consist of nothing except them saying "hello, hello, hello" and sometimes even copping an attitude after the 15th or 20th "hello" because, apparently, they're too fuckin' BRAINLESS to understand the concept of voicemail as opposed to a live person..

This is fun.
*sam elliot look*
NOT.

Just to see who the hell it is, I called the number back yesterday.
The dumb bitch who (barely) answered the phone was not at all helpful with that.
She acted like me knowing who the fuck keeps calling me is privledged information.
She finally said something about grant searches.
I then explained how utterly uninterested I am in "grant searches" and told her to cut it out.
She seemed highly confused, so I repeated "Stop. Calling. Me. DAMN IT!"

So, I get up today and there's another two "hellohellohellohellohello" messages on my muthafuckin' voicemail....

*Donald Duck "pissed off and on crack"-type response to this repetitious retardation ensues for the next several minutes*

After I quit cussin' and had toweled the spittle off of everything in a two foot radius, I called them again.

This time, I asked to speak to a supervisor.
The little pissant who answered insisted that he might be able to help me before he'd connect me to a supervisor, so I thought to myself, "Okay, asshole... I tried to spare ya..." and, in my best Perry-Cox-reaming-an-intern manner (which is pretty damned impressive even if I do say so myself... I love that guy and getting his verbal mannerisms down is a labor of love... and fun to use), I told little Habeeb that I have no idea who they are, how they got my number or even got JOBS, because it seems that the people at his end of this phone number were all but criminally stupid because they keep leaving voice mails comprised of nothing but "hello" 2,974 times and I want it to STOP. I want them told to NEVER EVER CALL ME AGAIN. EVER!

I waited, not even breathing hard after alla that, for his response.

After several long seconds of silence, he said he'd go on and hook me up with a supervisor.

"Yeah. I thought ya might. Thanks."

So, this woman comes on and says that she's a supervisor and asks how she can help me.

So, I tell her, "Well, you can help me by taking my cell number off of whatever Master List From HELL it's on and making sure the people at your end of the phone are all aware that they are NEVER to call my number again upon pain of DEATH if they do and the reason I asked for a supervisor is that I not only have no interest WHATsoever in whatthehellever they're selling, I have even LESS interest in trying to work this out with any of the OBVIOUSLY moronic shitstains dumbasses who call out from the number I just called and that you're now talking from and I say "obviously moronic" because, so far, all their voicemails have consisted of NOTHING but them saying "hello" repeatedly to THEMSELVES because apparently they're all too stupid to be able to tell the difference between a recorded message and a PERSON. Make. it. STOP. NOW."

Now, during this... tirade, if ya wanna call a spade a spade, I kept hearing little snippets of words... "We...", "ok...", "You...", "ick...", "gick...", "gack...", "but...", "I..."

Give it up, bitch, I ain't stoppin' til I'm CERTAIN you've gotten my point.

Once I did finally get Perry vented enough to be satisfying, I again waited with bated breath for her response.

Once she got done towelling the spittle off the entire side of her head and draining her ear of it (and giggling, I swear, over my refusal to become engaged in a battle of wits with such obviously unarmed people as the ones manning her phone lines), she assured me six ways from Sunday that I'll never be bothered by them again.

Yeah.
Right.
Well, I HOPE I won't be.

'Caaaause, the next time I see that stupid number come up on my cell phone, I WILL answer it and I WILL NOT be held responsible for my actions.

And, this is the LAST time I'm being "nice" about this.

Fuckin' PINHEADS.

The best part of waking up is supposed to be Folger's in yer cup, not chucklefucks in yer voicemail, am I right?

Well, alrighty, then... God bless Perry Cox and my gift of mimicry.
And, g'head, ya fucksticks.
Call me again.
I dare ya's.

*deeeep breath*
Okay.
Off to go make the "toll house with walnuts" this time.
(I made the "regular" toll house first thing this morning. Then, I went back to sleep for a while. Then I woke up and came back down here and found those messages and just sat here and did alla this shit.)
*rolls eyes*

God, gim'me strength.
Ya know?

By the way...

Anybody know where Chablis is, how she is or anything?

I hope Meatloaf is right, that "two outta three ain't bad"...

'cause I only got two outta the three kinds of cookies done.
But... I did get the laundry finished...

All I have left to make are the tollhouse and I think when I get done here, I'm gonna stick "The Sound of Music" in the DVD player and make 'em.
By the time I get 'em all done, everybody'll be gone to work, so maybe after that, after I "do" GR, I'll soak in the tub... with candles... and a good book.
Yeah... I like that idea.
Make the cookies, tweak the house, take care of Rob, take care of me.

Sounds like a plan.
(And, lem'me say it here before I forget... part of "tweaking" the house needs to be moving that blanket from where it is to where it's going out in the mudroom. I've been meaning to move it for weeks and keep forgetting...)
(Also, so I won't forget next time... when you find yourself needing a pulley system to get out of the waterbed, adding water will help, dumbass. Da fuck do ya think the big 'ol airbubbles have been about lately? *rolls eyes at self*)

Anyway...

At the risk of sounding like (even more of) a retard, I have a question...

I looked up phosphoric acid and lycopodium, two things it has been said would stem hair loss.
I got Wikipedia articles both times and according to them, phosphoric acid is found in soda and shit like that, which is ironic because I never used to drink much soda, but since I've been back from Ga., I drink diet rootbeer a lot now and it's since then, too, that the hair shit's been going on.
And, they said lycopodium is, basically, ground pine.

Sooooo... what?

I'm supposed to eat ground pine and wash it down with soda?

I am soooo confused....

Hey, Surfie... lookit what I just found...

The Guitar Face

I was playing along on my Telecaster to a couple of CDs tonight and I was really tearing out some licks. I was cooking. Just sitting here all by myself in my living room and accompanying an invisible band, I got The Guitar Face.

I don't know what it is about playing guitar that causes it, but it damn sure happens. Your mouth hangs funny--kinda half-open and semi-frowning. Your tongue sticks out--just the tip, but it's tongue just the same. Your eyes squint almost-shut as if you just took a big bite of fresh lemon. You wanna throw your head back and expose the engorged veins in your neck. You rock back and forth as if you're dizzy.

It feels GOOD!!!

You wimmen have probably seen this expression before. That's the same kind of ridiculous face a guy makes when he's having an orgasm. That's a Guitar Face.

I made one tonight with no woman around. What a waste.

Wanna take a wild guess who wrote it?

Wanna also take a wild guess at how hard I'm trying to keep the "new" way of thinking about SRV, his facial expressions and hands and their collective effect on me exclusive to SRV now?

God help me.

*lmao*

So, I'm doing laundry and putting together the ingredients for oatmeal raisin cookies...

and I get to where I need the vanilla.
I found it, but there was hardly any left.
Maybe just exactly what the recipe calls for.
(I like to be liberal with that stuff, so I tend to use more than one teaspoon...)

Anyway... I have a little, yeah, but I can't get the fuckin' lid off of it.

*sigh*

So, I put shit kinda halfway back away, go get dressed and decide to see how far out from home George is and he's right out front, so I wait for him to get in, feed the dogs, take a leak, etc. etc. and then we go to the store and get vanilla, among other shit.
Like porkchops, which I made for dinner along with mac and cheese and garlic-n-butter lima beans.
Had whomp biscuits, too...

Now, I'm washin' the dishes and starting over with half of those ingredients I had waitin' for the vanilla.
The brown sugar seems to have melted and egg congealed, so... blech.

If I follow through to the bitter end with this cookie project, I'll have made oatmeal raisin, peanut butter and toll house before I go to sleep, whenever the hell that turns out to be.
Probably next Thursday, if I do bake all these freakin' cookies.

Plus, I have walnuts and two brownie mixes.
One walnut and one "special", maybe?
*weg*
Hmmm...
That could be fun...
*raised eyebrow and smirk*

Oh, and I started the Amish Friendship bread, too.

And, there's a cake mix or two out there, too.

If I can get alla this shit baked and eaten without me touching any of it, not only will I lose weight from the physical strain of holding myself back, I'll have the guys well on their way to "fat farmer-dom"... a goal of mine since the day I figured out that it'd be easier to pork them up than for me to lose weight without ephedra.
The flat-bellied bastards...

Anyway...
Back to the last of the dishes.
I just needed to sit down because the cats keep stealing my chairs out in the kitchen.
It always starts out with just one of the wooden dining room chairs in the kitchen.
I have it in front of both the stove and the TV.
There's also a little wooden fold-up tray/desk that I have the remotes, my ashtray, coffee cups and other shit sittin' on.

When I spend a lot of time in the kitchen, eventually most of the cats will stop by, some will fall asleep in various "crash positions" on the floor and always some hairy smartass hasta take my goddamned chair and fall alseep, all cute and undisturbable.

So, I go drag another one of the wooden chairs out there.
I get to use that for about 15 minutes, maybe, then I get up for some reason and can't sit back down because another got-damned cat claimed my chair.

So, off I go again to drag yet another of the chairs out there.

Seeing a pattern here?

Eventually, I wind up with all four chairs out there and me havin' to sit in here because all four chairs are occupied by passed out puddy tats.

They especially appreciate the new, super-puffy and comfortable seat cushions I just got, too...
*sarcastic grin*

Man, I need another one of those seat cushions for this chair....
*shifts uncomfortably*
This one's seat has no "cushion" of it's own left.
I always get up from here and my first few steps make me hear the Sanford & Son theme song in my head because I'm walkin' like Fred, all bent over and bow-legged.
I've usually got it together by the time I get to the doorway between this room and the front room, but I still think a cushy seat on this chair might help some.

*coupla minutes later*

Okay then... back to the laundry... and dishes... and cookies.

I'll be back later.

Peace

Ach... grow the fuck up already.

Censorship is censorship, I don't give a rat's ass what "reasons" you use to do it.
Censorship is wrong.

I'm glad I don't live in an area where the "affiliates" would be juvenile, threatened by information, and pussified enough to pull this shit.

"Big Brother" wannabe, much?

Makes me imagine the assnugget who decided this jerks off each night to George Orwell's "1984" instead of Hustler.

How are people supposed to think for themselves and make informed decisions about shit, if fuckin' broadcasters get to decide that they wanna have such ham-fisted control over what people get to see and what they don't and are allowed to get away with it?

It's only OJ, fer Christ's sake.

And, like it or not, he is a fuckin' American and he was acquitted of this bullshit, so wtf?

Why is it okay for Fred Goldman and that idiot-spawn daughter of his (who, by the way, makes me think, every time I see her, that there had to have been a little "something extra" going on in her "relationship" with her brother, frankly), not to EVEN mention that whiny, annoying HYPOCRITE Denise Brown, to be all over the TV making threats, being annoying and just generally making some people (like ME, for instance) think that it's even more of a shame that Ron got killed when there are at least two other members of that family who coulda croaked and not even been missed much, they're so goddamned smarmy?

And, Nicole's sister?
What a lying, using, opportunistic piece of trash cunt she is.
I mean, seriously... if it's a part of God's Grand Plan that one of those sisters in that family had to die like that, I'd have chosen Denise to have her empty head nearly cut off over Nicole, but... whatever.

Ya know... I don't give a fuck one way or the other about OJ's guilt or innocence.
I really don't.
But, I do have my doubts that he did it, thanks to the LAPD and the those utterly incompetant prosecutors and that horrible charade, that PARODY of proper prosecution, that they put on.

I just don't see it.
I can't fathom one arthitic old football player knife murdering two dipshits by himself.
His young, strong, son maybe, but not him himself.

That's number one.
Add to that that bullshit trial and Marcia Clark and Chris Darden and ya get not only my "number two", but my increasing annoyance with the whole subject.

Then, add to that the fact that it's just so. much. FUN. pissin' off assholes like the Goldmans and the Denise Brown, Professional Peripheral Victims-types and seeing the scandalized looks on their faces about it all and you get to my "number three" reason why I enjoy going around saying "I think OJ's innocent", or "I don't think OJ did it" and ending any thought I speak along those lines with ".... and I don't care if he IS guilty, anyway. I'm still glad he's free."

Hell, I like the guy, myself.

He's funny when he gets going, he's kinda nice-lookin', especially for as old as he is, and I just don't have a problem with him.

In fact, when all this shit went down, I made a little sign and stuck it in the back window of my pickup.
It was a headshot of OJ with the legend "Turn Loose the Juice" under it.

I thought that was clever.
(Starburst Fruit Chews didn't. They changed their slogan within a week of that usage of the "old" one by the media... wusses that they are. They who would deny a child his favorite flavors like they did... Yes, Maeve. I remember what they did to your kid... bastards.)

That sign got me pulled over by a State cop once, too.

I had all my shit ready for him when he walked up to my window and he saw it and waved it off.

"I don't want that", he said. "I just had to stop you and ask you... do you really think he's innocent?"

"Yep", I said.
"I'm just not convinced."

The trooper looked at me with a thoughtful expression, nodded his head and simply said, "Okay. Just wanted to ask..." and wandered on back to his car and we both went on our way.

And, when I saw the verdict, I was one of the probably less than 10 white people to cheer it.
I came up offa that couch in a leap to the ceiling, with my fist up, screaming "Yessss!!.
I'll never forget that poleaxed look on Kardashian's face.
Made me laugh, it did.

Maybe that response of mine has something to do with the many people I know who've been wrongfully accused and even convicted of shit.
Like ME.
(Among myriad others...)

Fuck justice, just like in our cases, ya know?

Ya win some, ya lose some and if EVER a case deserved to be lost by the lying, manipulating sacks of monkey shit in charge of the prosecution, it was this one.

It may not have been "justice", but it was karma.

And, I found it to be amusing.
Still do.

And, for whatever it's worth, I'd rather have OJ here for dinner than that dickhead Fred Goldman.
At least with OJ, whatcha see is whatcha get.
Unlike Dickhead Fred who is more parasitic in his feeding on his son's corpse than even that idiotic Cindy Sheehan.
Goldman is hiding his money grubbin', fame-seeking ways behind a "My poor son" bullshit shield.
All that asshole cares about is staying in the limelight and making money from this any way he has to.

I hope he ends up homeless, living in a cardboard box, if the only alternative is that he get one damned DIME from OJ.

God, he makes me SICK.

And, how is it that that looney-toon maggot piece of shit Fred Phelps gets to go around to soldiers funerals with his sheeple, holding up those signs that they do and saying the shit they say?

Why is THAT "okay", but OJ should be dragged off and shot for this?

Give my ACHIN' ASS a break, wouldja?
Jeesuz.

Nicole knew exactly what she was getting into when she got involved with a guy who cheated on his wife to be with her.
But, like most other STUPID BITCHES, she thought she was "special", that she could "change him", that he wasn't a gonna be a douchebag to HER, after seeing what he did to his first wife.

She didn't give a shit.
She decided the money was worth the risk.
Which is why I don't care about what happened to her.

Ya play with fire, and especially "you know how fire is gonna react, yet you continually dump gas on it" and yer gonna get burnt.
End of story.
So...
fuck her, too.

Whatever happened that night, happened.
And, since NOT ONE of us was there and SAW what happened and KNOW he did it and since he was tried and acquitted, it's about time to get the fuck over it, already.

Let him speak his piece.
Who gives a shit?
He HAS THAT RIGHT, ya know.

And, tell ya's the truth... I was only thinking about buying his book til I saw this article.
Now, I'm definitely gonna buy it.
So, good goin' there, Big Brother and Dickhead Fred.
The more you and your ilk try to pull this kinda shit, the more compelled I am to try to do whatever I can to counteract it.

And, now, before one more minute passes, I'm heading on over to Amazon and ordering OJ's book if for no other reason than to bump up the number of copies "pre-ordered" before it even comes out.

Of course, there is another reason or two that I'm gonna do this...

I LIKE THE GUY and I do wanna see what he has to say about this.
It oughta be interesting, to say the least.
And, maybe MY purchase of OJ's book willl flip the numbers to that magic one that'll cause Dickhead Fred's head to explode.

And, everybody oughta have something to hope for, don'tcha think?
*wink*

Peace, out...

I'm supposed to be cooking....

But, noooooo.

I had to check my email.
(Truth? Okay, truth. The first thing I hafta do to start the whole cooking machine in motion this time is peel a buncha got-damned potatos, so sitting here instead, doing a post about nail tips among other things, is really understandable, no?)

Anyway...
I got some really cool pictures of the SRV statue from Surfie.
One in particular has got me going in both a good way, and a way that is completely new to me as far as Stevie Ray

I mean, he's evoked similar feelings in certain ways before... like when I watch him play and see his facial expressions and watch his hands which are just so powerful and masterful and sexy that they can increase my heart rate just talkin' about it.
But, to think of him, himself, in that context...

Woo, baby.
(Is it hot in here? *looks around*)

Wanna see what I'm talkin' about?
Wanna see how far astray this shit has led me now?
Instead of doing the June Cleaver "potato salad and cookies from scratch" shit that I've been meaning to do for days now, I'm sittin' here looking up this kinda stuff.

Pay particular attention to the memorial's shadow there.

Impressive, ain't he it?
*giggles*

The email I got had a similar, even better, picture like that, but it is soooo big, I hafta figure out how to make it smaller so I can upload it in less than 9 straight days.
(I hate this goddamned dialup...)
(No, DSL is not available in my area. Now do ya see why I was so surprised by the road stripe?)

Anyway...
I got my nails done, so now I can't type two words without misspelling three because I hafta get used to 'em all over again.
But, it is nice to have 'em back.

Between them and the POW bracelet, I feel so much better.

I know that sounds nuts and believe me, I am, but it 's true.

If ya think about it, the average person's perspective of themselves is pretty much limited to their arms and hands and down the front of 'em unless when they look down, all they see is boobs.
*grin*
In that case, your legs and feet become like yer face in that you hafta be lookin' to see them to see them.
(Yes, I know what I just said... )
Like your face in a mirror.
That's the only way you get to see it, right?
And, if you can't see past your boobs, you hafta want to see your legs, too.
So, by default, arms and hands kinda win out.
(Win what, exactly, I don't know, but you can see wy they'd be important to a bent-headed person such as myself, don'tcha?)
(Okay then.)

So, I feel more like the "myself" I actually like a little.

Which is good, except there's a possibility that this hair issue is related to grief.
If this is the case, I can understand it, but... I'm also gonna be completely bald before I ever even believe this... this "thing" about Rob dying, let alone get past it.

"This thing".
Indeed.
"This reality (that I cannot accept yet)".

*coupla minutes later spent staring at the blinking cursor*

See?
Bald.

Meanwhile, I've gotta go find my SRV CD's and get cooking.
(And, make potato salad and cookies and shit... *snerk*)

Peace, y'all...

I made it, again...

Only five people knew where I was going, so I know nobody here (at Xfire) knew I was going anywhere in the first place.
But, still... I'm back.

From Bucks.

For a reason.

*grin*

I know why I went to Bucks (as you probably do, too), but I don't know why I went to Bucks.
Make sense?
Does to me.
'Low me to a'splain.

I know what I went to Bucks to do.
I'm just not sure what it was that compelled me to do that.

Yet.
*rolls eyes*

All I know is that if you'da asked me yesterday if I was going there, I'd have looked atcha like you were goofy and said "No".
Had not ONE plan to do this.

But...

While I was cleaning the house... or, actually, sittin' here, smokin' a cigarette while taking a break from cleaning the house, I happened to see Tommy Chong on VH-1 in "The Drug Years".
It was the episode about... that.

And, yes, he did make me wanna, but I see Tommy every night, just about, on "That 70's Show" and the sight of him doesn't compell me to do this then.

Besides, as soon as Mr. Jones(-in') spoke up in my head, I changed the frickin' channel.

Then, the thought/feeling just wouldn't leave me be to call my friend back there.

So, I did.
Got his v-mail.
Decided it was on God at that point.
If he called back in time, fine.
If not... there's always Tuesday (when he's working again).

He called.

I cleaned almost at the speed of light (at least as compared to my normal "speed" at getting this shit done sometimes).
Got a shower.
Left at 7pm.
Got back at 2am.

Safely.
In one piece and without any problems at all.
For which I thank God Himself.

And now, I'm sitting here in my flannel jammies with alla my fingernail crap laid out, soooo... I think I might be getting ready to do that little chore, finally.

Ooo, and on the way home, I heard Jimmy Buffet.
MarijuanaMargaritaville.

As I sang along with Mr. Buffett, I pictured Rob, of course.

On his back patio, with the hottub in view, him in shorts, tanned, no shirt, silver-haired, twinkling eyes, adorable moustache and grin under it, sittin' in a comfortable chair, playing his guitar, with those French doors open enough that he can smell his Low Country Boil cooking.

And, I'm pretty sure he's playing along with the same song.

In my minds eye, I see him looking peaceful and contented... even happy, if only for that little while...

It helps.

Most times.

Anyway...

I made it.

And now, when I watch "That 70's Show", I won't hafta watch "the circle" and keep repeating, "Lucky fuckers...", with an increasing accent on the first half of the second word, the more times they go 'round with all that beautiful smoke just haaaanging in clouds around them.

*deep sigh*
*and dopey grin*

Now, I can quit trying to inhale my TV and just shotgun the little shits.

And, ya know... at first, I was wondering what awful thing is gonna happen that this trip happened at all, let alone came together so smoothly.
But, now that I've mentioned that I'm wondering, hence ready, for whatever evil is to befall my ass, it probably won't.

Anything I'm actually prepared for doesn't happen, usually.

So, maybe I should buy a wig....
Cause, if I was ready for my hair to be coming out at an alarming rate, but mostly in the shower when I wring it after washing it, then... maybe it would QUIT. IT.

Any idears, anybody, what da hail's up widdat?

Could it be *duhn, duhn, duuuhnnn* hormones?
Caaause they could be being a little screwy lately.

My lil' terrorist buddy hasn't been by in a while.
(And, no, I'm not pregnant. I have cystic ovaries (praise Jesus 'cause they kept me from even getting pregnant in the first place) and... Eric is... "neutered". And, that wasn't my doin', in either of the ways that particular idea can be taken. He did that before I met him, thanks.)

Anyway, he (my terrorist buddy, not Eric) seems to have flaked off and "for good" would be just that... GOOD.

But, could the two be related and is there anything I can do to make it stop?
(My hair, I'm back to now. Do up your seatbelt, man...)

In spite of the fact that I kiss my hair's ass because it's one of the very few things I like about myself, there is probably lotsa room for improvement of this situation.

Like... I don't take vitamins, for instance.
And, I'm completely clueless about what vitamins, or herbal supplements (OTC kind, not "my" kind), are good for what thing.

And, all I do to it is wash it with Pantene, use the same conditioner and slide the wet ponytail through my fist when I wring it out.
Then, I wrap it in a towel, use a large toothed comb to comb it out wet, dry it (not fry it) and I don't even use anything in or on it.
No mousse, gel, hairspray, nuttin'.
I brush it when it's dry, with a big, round medium bristled brush. Not one of those stupid and painful "spike" brushes, either.
Regular bristles.

It's been mostly when I pull the wet ponytail through my fist that I end up with more strands than I care to count.
And, honestly, I have noticed lately that I'm "shedding" more than I used to, too (damn it).
Hair on my pillow, my shirt, stuck uder my boob, stuck across my eyelid... it's just loverly.
Not.

So, any opinions, here?
Please?
(Don't think I won't leave this post up here for a week, if I have to, waitin' for answers, okay? *lol*)

*coupla seconds later*
There was another thing, but, hell if I can remember it now.
I think it may be something that's buggin' me, but what, I don't know.
Can't be too bad then, can it?

*several minutes later*

Whew-ee, Jethro.

I've sat here so long, now I'm hungry.

And, no, it's not just munchies.
I haven't eaten anything since.... probably yesterday afternoon and my coffee cups been empty for pert near an hour, so I'm gonna find something to eat and, hopefully, do these damned fingernails, finally.
(If finally eating doesn't make me fall asleep... *giggle*

Peace, y'all...

Hello...

I'm fine.
Just haven't updated here because I wanted that last post to have plenty of exposure time.
I do like that Nam Vet story and those checks... *grin*

It's if Gut Rumbles isn't updated that there's a problem.
Otherwise, it's just me being weird or somethin'.

Much like you can tell how close to death I am when I'm sick by my not wanting coffee or Mickey D's, if something was wrong, Gut Rumbles will not have been updated for a coupla days.
If I have to choose, if I have only a thimble full of energy left in any given day, I will give it to Rob, or take care of Gut Rumbles first.

ANYway...
I've got two or three (if not more) random things to letcha's know.

First off, I'm nearly traumatized here after what happened in the road outside my house today.

THEY PAINTED A "LANES" LINE ON IT!!!!
Ick, man.
All this time, there's not been any lines on our road.
It was just a two-car wide stretch of asphalt.
But, they had to go and paint lines on it.
What's next?
Street lights?
God forbid...
What really needs to be next is a "HEY, ASSHOLE! Yer drivin' through the middle of a farm heah. Wanna slow the fuck DOWN?" sign.

Hell, I'll paint that for 'em my own self.
All they'd hafta do is LET ME.

And, actually, I'd patrol the road, too, if I could.
I have the car for it.
All's I need is a ticket book.
Or a hundred...

Next up is another "find" I discovered, thanks to Rob.
He's the one who got me hooked on Gunsmoke.
Gunsmoke kinda leads to Bonanza.
And, on Bonanza today, there's this guy who is GORGEOUS.
His name was Cal Boulder.
He played a character today named Arnie Guthrie and that led me to lookin' him up on IMDb.
He was 6'4", 240 pounds, with a 52" chest and a 32" waist, blonde hair and arm muscles to kill a bitch to get to for.
(To for? Aw, ya'll know what I mean.)
(Which, by the way, oughta scare ya.)

Anyway, unfortunately, Cal died last January.
But, good gol-DAMN, he was nice lookin'.
(He was also a Marine and then a cop when he was "discovered".)
(By Hollywood, not me.)

This little info-mining expedition led me to this site, the most comprehensive, well-written Bonanza site I've ever seen.

Did y'all know that Lorne Greene and James Arness rode the same horse?
Yep.
That Buckskin they each rode was the same one.
And, didja know that the first Paint horse Michael Landon used in Bonanaza was stabbed to death by some nutjob in his stall at the ranch he was rented from?
I didn't either...
Michael Landon put up a reward for the asshole who did that, but they never caught him.

While I was finding all this out, I got a phone call, which requires a bit of background information.

Back on September 29th, the day before that tractor battery blew up on the two Erics, we had gone to the Tractor Supply store in Hanover and gotten those two some winter/outer work clothes.
Jr.'s jacket saved his ASS when that stupid battery blew up, too, lem'me tell ya.

Anyhoo, part of what we got for Sr. was a pair of CE Schmidt insulated biballs.
He prefers the biballs and a jacket, as opposed to the big one-piece deals because he can take off the coat if he gets too warm and he can move around better in the bibs and coat than he can in the one-piece suits.

Well, about three weeks after we got those bibs, I had washed them (again) for him and when he went to put 'em on the next morning, there was a problem.
(Here's where we hafta go into (excruciating) detail for a minute...)

On a pair of bibs, there are shoulder straps that have bent metal things on them that you slip the button on the front of the bibs into and slide it down to secure them.

Okay.
Ya see that metal clip-thing hangin' in midair, there?
Look closely at it.
Ya notice how it's all one solid piece, not two "ends" coming together (that would need to be held together by some stupid clippy-thing)?
That there's nothing in the bottom of it, where the button on the bib rests when you have it clipped (holding said "ends" together)?

Well, the ones we got Sr. have this little thing in there, at the bottom, that holds the two ends of the big metal clip-thing together.
It doesn't interfere with the button on the bib-front, it's just there to keep the whole clip together.

This was the problem when he went to put the coveralls on that morning.
That clip that holds the whole metal thing together had fallen off, thereby pretty much rendering the coveralls themselves halfway useless because, without the stupid little clippy-thing to hold the ends together, the bib button pulled right through the clip and the strap snapped back over his shoulder.

He wrapped about a yard of tape around the two ends and then, that night, I got involved and fixed them somewhat better with a piece of coathanger.

Three weeks or so go by...

Night before last, I washed those coveralls again.
When I pulled 'em out of the dryer, I noticed that the second clip-thing on the other strap had also fallen off.

*exhales hard enough through nose to nearly blow boogers down the front of my shirt*

I fixed it again with another piece of coathanger and fired off an angry email to the company that makes 'em.

The email was sent through a form at their website, so I don't have a copy of it, but, basically, I told them...

"Hi,
I bought a pair of your coveralls on September 29, 2006 and I have no idea where the receipt is so I don't expect much to be done about this, but..."

Then, I told them the whole story I just told you and I added that, due to the stupid little clippy-thing and the fact that they had pretty much fallen apart in about six weeks, I was going to go get Sr. another pair of coveralls, probably CARHARTTS this time, and that, if asked about it by any other farmers or workers around here, I was gonna tell them the truth about what had happened with theirs and steer those people to the Carhartt section.

I really didn't think anything would come of it.
I just wanted to vent because I was pissed when that second clip broke.

Which brings us back to me perusing the Bonanza site when my phone rings with it's "you've got voicemail" ring.
(I'd turned it on while reading the Bonanza page to beep Sr. and tell him about that "Lorne and James rode the same horse" thing...)

I get the v-mails and it's two different people, one the buyer for Tractor Supply and the other a guy from the company that actually manufactures the CE Schmidt brand of work clothes and each guy wanted to rectify the situation for me.

*jaw drops and bounces offa desktop*

Way too late to make a long story short BUT, in the interest of time as I do hafta get to the bank before 3pm, I'm gonna skip the details of the 45 minute conversation I had with the guy who works for the manufacturer and just, FINALLY, get to the (friggin') POINT (already, fer Chris'sakes, woman).
(Yeah, I hear ya's talkin' at me... *giggle*)

Instead of having us return the coathanger-wire rigged bibs to the store, the guy is sending Sr. a new, more heavily insulated, pair of bibs AND, if the same thing happens again, he's gonna send us a check for what they cost.

The cool part about that is that Sr. gets to keep the pair he has now and still get a new pair.
And, between the two of us, me and the guy on the phone, we pretty much figured out what was wrong with the pair he has now and the chances of the clips breaking again seem pretty slim.
Apparently, the little clippy-thing that holds the big metal thing together wasn't crimped correctly when they were made.

It's unbelievable how far this guy went and is still gonna be going over this.
I'd mentioned in my email to them that, while at Wally-world, I went to show George that little clippy-thing on a pair of coveralls in there and that those coveralls didn't have that, leading me to the conclusion that they were better-made coveralls than the CE Schmidt's because the bottom of the metal clip was one solid piece.

The guy I talked to had just gotten back from his local Wal-Mart, checkin' this out, when I called him.

Can you believe that shit?

My saying the ones in Wal-Mart are better got him so curious that he WENT THERE to see for himself.
*lmao*

Then, when I told him how the clip thing broke, where it had failed, what area of it had snapped, he asked me for the "cut number" off the tag and is now gonna go audit the rest of the ones made at the same time as these to check the clippy-thing and MAKE SURE it got crimped correctly.
And, he's also gonna contact the designer/engineer/whatever people who make those big metal clip things and see about having the necessary break in the metal moved to the top of the metal thing, inside the shoulder strap, as opposed to the way they're made now.
It would be harder to pull that metal thing apart up there.
The stress would be more widely distributed and less likely to cause it to fail that way.
And, it wouldn't even need a stupid little clippy-thing that way.

So, I guess this makes me two-fer-two in the Officially Saying "Hey, wait a got-damned minute here. Do WHAT?" Speech to the *HHWBIC's Responsible For Dumb Shit That Don't Need to be Happenin' in the First Place".
Liiiike... Giant discontinuing my frickin' cat litter and coveralls fallin' apart in less than two months.
*big grin*
(*Head Honchos What Be In Charge)

I have never in my life officially bitched about stuff like this before.
All I ever did was rant-n-rave verbally and bitch my fingers off here, at Xfire.
And, while that did do me, personally, some good, it didn't produce these kinda results.

I'm rather amazed by all this.
And no, I don't plan to make a career outta "officially bitchin' about shit" just because it works, either.
But... you kin betcher sweet bippy I will when it's for a good reason.

And, on that note, I'm outta here.
I have got to git my ass to the bank.
Then, when I get back, there's a house that needs cleanin' and got-damned cookies still waiting to be baked and more potato and macaroni salad needin' to be made again and on and on and on.
*biiiiig breath*

Meanwhile, y'all take care and I'll be back later.

Peace

Update @ 2:52pm
I made it.
In fact, not only did I make it to the bank before 3pm (no thanks WHATsoever to the fuckin' FOSSIL drving the stupid got-damned Subaru), I made it HOME before three.
God bless a Police Intercepter engine.

This wasn't exactly what I was looking for, but I'm still glad I found it...

Nam Vets by Bob Scheyer

When the Lord was creating Vietnam veterans, he was into His 6th day of overtime when an angel appeared. "You're certainly doing a lot of fiddling around on this one."

And God said, "Have you seen the specs on this order? A Nam vet has to be able to run 5 miles through the bush with a full pack on, endure with barely any sleep for days, enter tunnels his higher ups wouldn't consider doing, and keep his weapons clean and operable. He has to be able to sit in his hole all night during an attack, hold his buddies as they die, walk point in unfamiliar territory known to be VC infested, and somehow keep his senses alert for danger. He has to be in top physical condition, existing on c-rats and very little rest. And he has to have 6 pairs of hands."

The angel shook his head slowly and said, "6 pair of hands .... no way."

"It's not the hands that are causing me problems ... it's the 3 pair of eyes a Nam vet has to have."

"That's on the standard model?" asked the angel.

The Lord nodded. "One pair that sees through elephant grass, another pair here in the side of his head for his buddies, another pair here in front that can look reassuringly at his bleeding, fellow soldier and say, 'You'll make it...' when he knows he won't."

"Lord, rest, and work on this tomorrow."

"I can't," said the Lord. "I already have a model that can carry a wounded soldier 1,000 yards during a firefight, calm the fears of the latest FNG, and feed a family of 4 on a grunt's paycheck."

The angel walked around the model and said, "Can it think?"

"You bet," said the Lord. "It can quote much of the UCMJ, recite all his general orders, and engage in a search and destroy mission in less time than it takes for his fellow Americans back home to discuss the morality of the War, and still keep his sense of humor. This Nam vet also has a phenomenal personal control. He can deal with ambushes from hell, comfort a fallen soldier's family, and then read in his hometown paper how Nam vets are baby killers, psychos, addicts, killers of innocent civilians."

The Lord gazed into the future and said, "He will also endure being villified and spit on when he returns home; rejected and crucified by the very ones he fought for."

Finally, the angel slowly ran his finger across the vet's cheek, and said, "There's a leak... I told you that you were trying to put too much into this model."

"That's not a leak," said the Lord. "That's a tear."

"What's the tear for?" asked the angel.

"It's for bottled up emotions, for holding fallen soldiers as they die, for commitment to that funny piece of cloth called the American flag, for the terror of living with PTSD for decades after the war, alone with it's demons, with no one to care or help."

"You're a genius," said the angel, casting a gaze at the tear.

The Lord looked very somber, as if seeing down eternity's distant shores... "I didn't put it there," He said.

I've seen this before.
In an Erma Bombeck book, about mothers.
Seeing as how my mother didn't even come close to this, it didn't mean much to me.
But, seeing it in this context...
It makes allll the sense in the world now.

Found it while I was searching (and searching and searching) online for a replacement Nam bracelet.

The one I've had and worn for years is about an inch wide, black with silver letters and it wasn't for any one man, it's for them ALL.

It says on it:

Then, on one end it has "The price of freedom is written on The Wall" and, on the other end, it has the POW symbol (the center of the flag) and says "2300 Americans are still missing in Southeast Asia".

I had to stop wearing it because it's about to snap in half.
Broke my heart to take it off, too...

I've been looking ever since for another one like it.
Can't find one.
Not even close.

I got that one at the Farmer's Market in Delaware over 10 years ago, easily.
The guy who sold the POW/MIA stuff hasn't been there for a while.
I don't know who he was or where he went, but I kinda wish I did so I could find out where he got those bracelets.
His "store" was called "Tom's Mostly Musical T's", or something like that.
Sometimes, he'd wear a rainbow-colored clown wig.
I think he told me a Nam Vet in Florida somewhere made those bracelets.

Hell, it was easier to find my Dad's old friend Lonnie Johnson today (only took me about an hour or so) than it has been to find that bracelet.

Meanwhile, just to have something around my wrist for those unsung, unappreciated and all-but-forgotten heros, I ordered (and just got today) a different kinda bracelet.
It's as wide and it's for more than one guy again, but... *rolls eyes*... it has "NEW JERSEY" in big, bold letters across it.
Under that, are the names of all the guys from Jersey who are on The Wall.
And, I got one for Eric, too.
Early Christmas present...
(The Jersey one was the only one the place had two of and the only other choice was the same thing, but with Massachusettes on it...)

This one has the POW flag on one end and, on the other end, says "American soldiers are still held captive in Southeast Asia... BRING THEM HOME NOW!!!" and has an eagle trying to fly away, but chained by one leg to THE spot on a map of Nam.

I like it but, I'd still buy an exact copy of the one I had.
I'd wear it, too.
On my other arm.
Ain't no such thing as "too much support" or "advertising" for these guys.

Know what I'm sayin'?

In other news...
that potato salad came out pretty good.
If I've ever made it before, I don't remember it.
But, I will again, now that I know I can.
The macaroni salad came out good too, but ya can't hardly mess that up, it's so easy.
Now for all that (damned) baking I've been saying I'm gonna do for the last three days...

I might get around to doing my nails by next year sometime...
(IF I ever stop looking for that bracelet, that is...)

Peace, y'all...

*about 5 minutes later*
I'm back...
If anybody still uses paper checks for anything and wants the best ones ever made, try these.
I've ordered these very checks from this very place before and they're secure and trustworthy and it's said that every time you write a check, by the time it comes back to you 12 people have seen it.
I do most of my banking shit with a card or online these days, but I think I'm gonna order these again in case I ever do need to use paper for something.

I have a question...

A crockpot question.

I just had to go get a larger crockpot.
The one I had was good for cooking for a coupla people, but, for cooking for four... it warn't big 'nuff.
Plus, we did just get a whole buncha chunksa beef from Da Bossman.
So, a bigger crockpot became necessary.

I got a nice one.
Six and a half quart-sized.
It's a GE, too.
($25 from the local Wally-world...)

Anyway, this one came with two cooking inserts.
A ceramic one, which is what I'm used to and have always known them to have AND an enamel one.
And, nowhere in the lengthy instructions (wherein they tell you not to submerse it, pop popcorn in it, cook in your sleep or insert it into any orafice) do they bother to mention what the enamel one is for.

So...
what's it for?
Is it special?
Are ya s'posed to cook only certain things in it?
Is it interchangable, pretty much, with the ceramic one and it's just a matter of which one ya feel like cooking any given thing in?
What?

I called my Dad, even, and asked him.
What he doesn't know about cooking isn't worth knowing and he had no idea.
*exhales thru nose*
Neither did my brother (yes, I FINALLY got to hear his voice for the first time since he got back from Iraq in AUGUST).
He used to watch damned near every cooking show there was on TV and he didn't know, either.

So, I leave it y'all to enlighten me.

What I'm doing today is... all the baking I was gonna do yesterday, PLUS a pot roast in said crockpot (I went with the ceramic insert for this) and I'm also about to go make macaroni salad, potato salad and egg salad.

I don't know what cookin' bug jumped up my ass, but apparently one did, 'cause I'm just a cookin' FOOL today.

I'm gonna do all this "real food" shit first, then, later, all the baking shit.

I didn't do it yesterday because everybody was off and around and it was just... I don't know... too crowded or something to get into it.
I know (all too well) I'm weird, but, for some reason, I don't like doing stuff like this, or cleaning, with a buncha people around.
I prefer to do this stuff alone...
(When I'm cleanin' alone, I prefer to be by myse-elf...)
(What? I'm the only one who heard George Thoroughgood in that? Please.)
Cleaning, especially.
The guys'll all go to bed and the house looks like a tornado blew through.
I stay up and clean and then, when they get up, it's like they're waking up in a different house.
And, to a certain extent, I'm the same way with cooking.
I'll do it with people awake and in the livingroom, but I don't necessarily need anybody watchin' me while I do it.
And, I have no more of an idea why I'm like that than I do what an enamel crockpot insert is for.

Anyhoo... I only have a coupla more hours til people start coming home/in the house, so I supposed I best in gear.

I'll beee bach.
(That's supposed to sound like Schwartz.. Schwartzen... Governor Ah-nold...)

Meanwhile...
Peace, y'all.

Sunday morning in the (other) Animal House...

I think I'mina do some baking today.
Maybe "grow" some instant fingernails later, too.

The house is clean.
I 'bout killed myself doing that Friday afternoon, into Saturday (late) morning.
'Course, if I hadn't had to BALE the kitchen and front room, thanks to the cats spreading around about a half a trash bag fulla hay, it mighta been easier....
When I finally went to bed, all that was left was a small load of white socks that severely needed bleaching. *shudder*
I got 'em as far as the washer, then decided "fuck 'em" and dried 'em when I got up.

I only slept about 4 hours yesterday.
Went to bed around 11am, got up before 3pm.

Staggered on down here (after throwng said socks in the dryer) and gotta cuppa coffee, then cruised around on here with Def Leppard on the CD player/Walkman because Sr. was watching that somehow-unGodly-annoying "Crossroads" movie again.
(Sr. is off this weekend because he wrenched his neck a coupla days ago (like Thursday, I think it was) yanking open a telescoping gate in one of the cow barns. He couldn't turn his head for shit at first, but, after wearing those sticky pain patches that heat up when ya put 'em on, then just being OFF this weekend, it's getting better.)

ANYway, he was watching that movie again and it was distracting me.
All that whiny, sounds-like-a-dying-animal harmonica shit and the "so NOT SRV" guitar playing was just tooooo much.
So, it was "Gim'me my DefLep and go 'way."

Then, I finally broke out the George Jones CD I got a while back.
Almost made it through "He Stopped Loving Her Today".

George got to the "We wondered if she'd show up" part, I happened to glance at the DVD Elisson made and saw Rob and there I went.
*sigh*
Not as badly as I have before, but enough.
I still just canNOT believe it.
Ya know?
I can say it, write it, explain it and know it but I still just can't believe it.

Last night, Jr. asked me about Elvis. About whether he's really dead or just run off somewhere.
In explaining the Elvis phenomenon to him, I said that when he died, it was just so hard for people to accept, that some people chose to believe he'd faked his death and ran off someplace, like some people do with Jim Morrison, and the way lots of us would like to believe about Rob.
It's just easier, somewhow, to believe some convoluted theory like that than it is to believe they're really gone.
Hurts less.

And, the majority of my heart wishes I could go with "Rob's really in Costa Rica."

I think about it a lot, but...
I know better.
(Damn it...)

Anyway, after "He Stopped Loving Her Today", I let the CD go on and ya know what?
George Jones has an incredible voice.
I just "discovered" that yesterday.
*rolls eyes at self*
All the years I've known who he is and all, I never really knew just how rich and soulful his voice was til I heard it on those headphones.

I don't know about his taste in wimmen... that Tammy Wynette just was NOT a pretty woman and she more whines than sings, but... his voice is awesome.
And, I laugh out loud every time I think about ol' George taking his riding mower to the liquor store after Tammy took all his car keys.

After George, I broke out Ronnie Milsap.
I haven't sung with Ronnie for at least ten years but, once I heard the opening notes of each song, all the words were right there.
I missed him and didn't even know it.

Somewhere in the beginning of Ronnie's CD, Sr. decided to quit trying to torture me with that (Godawful) movie and changed it to NatLamp's "Family Vacation", so I turned Ronnie down a little and went over and sat on the floor in front of Sr., between his feet, and got kinda snuggley and close and that was cool.
We were laughing at Chevy Chase and could still faintly hear Ronnie singin' and it was just... really nice.

After that movie, we decided to run to Giant and get some stuff and that lovely sixty-five cents a gallon gas.
Came home, I made dinner and actually went to bed by 11pm, for a change.

Just got up about two hours ago, took care of Gut Rumbles, and here I am.
In my nice, clean house, wearing my nice, soft flannel jammies, about to start baking.

Gonna make Oatmeal raisin cookies for my wrenched-necked patient, a cake for whomever and (Mike, you need to catch this shit) I'm also gonna start Amish Friendship Bread.

Starting Amish Friendship Bread is easy.
It's ending it that's the problem.

Even if you know enough people to not end up with more new "starters" than there were kittens around here before PAWS of Pa. showed up, after the first time you "gift" somebody with one of these starters, they hide like you're a Jehovah's Witness when they see you coming if they think there's even a chance you've got another starter for 'em.
And... I don't blame 'em a damned bit....

To start it, you just throw a cup of flour, a cup of sugar and a cup of milk into a BIG Ziplock baggie and mush it around til it's thoroughly mixed.
Then, just do what it says at linked site above.

I also add apple slices and spinkle the top of the loaves with cinnamon sugar before I bake 'em.

The most important thing to remember is to NOT EVER USE ANYTHING METAL with this stuff.
And, to make sure you have it well hidden if you're gonna try to give anybody this shit more than one time.
Oh, and don't forget to write out the directions for them.
"squeezedabagsqueezedabagsqueezedabag..."
(Just don't fuck up and get it confused with his "bag"... *giggle, giggle, snort*)

And, on that note, I'm outta here.

Peace, y'all....

Today was the last day...

to redeem gas points at Giant.

Wanna guess what I just got done paying per gallon of gas?

65 cents.

I got not one, but TWO receipts.
And, you just know one of them is gettin' framed and hung on the fuckin' wall, don'tcha?

And... I saw with my own two eyes the Cedarific back on the shelf.

Viva la Giant.

Hmmm...

I don't know much about those guys but... this is good, idinit? I mean, Rob would like that, wouldn't he?
(9th item down...)

I was just glad it wasn't trackback spam.

(And, what an odd coinkey-dink that I'm sittin' here in my flannel jammies as I find and ask about this...
*snort*)

On this day and every other day as well...

God Bless you all.

With a special "Thank You" and lotsa love to my personal heros.

Thirty-one years ago today...

S.S. Edmund Fitzgerald Online

Well, gol-damn...

After many phone calls and much futzin' around, the Cedarific cat litter is now back in my local Giant.

Not only that, but Mike-the-manager just called to let me know that personally, AND that they're holding a bag for me for FREE for "all the inconvenience".

Just wow.

He'd called me Wednesday, too, to let me know why it was taking so long to get it back. Something about a changed product code...
Anyway, when he called me Wednesday, he said they'd have it back by today, Friday.
This, I already knew.
Wanna know how I knew that with such certainty?
'Cause, when he called, I was on my way home from AGWAY with a 50 pound bag of the stuff.
So, naturally, since I'd already gotten it, they'd have it back for sure.
*rolls eyes*

And, ya wanna know something else (and I almost feel bad about this, but only "almost"...)?

At the Gaint, it's $3.95 per 7.5 pound bag.
So, let's change those numbers to $4 for a 7 lb. bag, just to make the math easier, okay?

Now, what I paid at the Agway for a 50 lb. bag was $14 and change, so let's say $15.

So, if I were to get 7 bags (49 lbs) of Cedarific at the Giant, it'd cost $28.
(7X7=49 and 7X4=28)

So, basically, I can get it at Agway for half of what I'd pay at the Giant AND, I'd not have figured alla this out if Giant hadn'ta been dumb enough to try to discontinue it and make me go through alla this shit to begin with.

BUT, the same 7.5 lb. bag at Agway is $6-something, so...

I think what I'm gonna do is get the 50 lb. bags at Agway when I buy my horse feed.
Then, if I need a bag or two between times, I'll go on and get it at the Giant.
Giant is, like I said before, a 24 hours a day deal and Agway isn't.

But, ain't that some shit?

Half as much at Agway for a BIG bag, and I do mean b-i-g.
But, the Giant's gonna GIVE me a bag for being a pain in my left ass cheek.
AND, it IS back for sale at the Giant for good now.
Yay that.

And, anybody else in the Gettysburg area who uses the stuff, y'all can send your "thanks" and/or cash prizes to me for that.
*bows*
(Unless, of course, y'all too have figured out how much cheaper it is at Agway, in which case Agway can give me a discount on my horse feed for telling everybody for a week that they had it when Giant didn't.)

I'll bet I could make Mike-the-manager cry if I told him about how much cheaper it is at Agway.
And how it is I came to know that...
*lmao*

Again...

This is NOT NEWS to me.

(I found an article on FARK about it, but that link is borked, so, what I did was searched it myself and whatcha got there (if you click my link) is the Yahoo search results page with a whole assload of links about it.)

I swear ta Gawd, I fully expect, any time now, to see a headline that says something like "Rain will get ya wet" or "The sky is UP", or "Eating handfuls of dirt is stupid and it tastes bad".

WTF, ya know?

I did, however, see another headline on the MSNBC page that gave me pause.
Seems there's a 5,000-mile wide "huge penis" storm on Saturn.
"One-eyed monster"...
Indeed.

Time for another cuppa coffee, I think.
Before my brain a'splodes.

No shit. Really?!!?

How in the name of all that is good and Holy does this shit qualify as "news"?

According to my handy dandy American Oxford dictionary, "news" is, and I quote:

"information about recent events"

Jesus FUCK, I've known for DECADES that Nam Vets were poisoned by Agent Orange.
And, shit that's been known for decades is not by any stretch of the imagination "recent".
Nor should this information be "news" to anybody with fuckin' BRAIN FUNCTION.

What da fuck's next?

A "news" report bearing the headline:

VIET NAM VETS FUCKED BY GOVERNMENT IN EVERY WAY HUMANLY POSSIBLE SINCE THEY CAME HOME, NOT TO MENTION WHILE THEY WERE "IN COUNTRY"?

My achin' ASS.

The only people this could possibly be "news" to are fuckwits who a.) are stupid, b.) don't give a good goddamn about those guys anyway, and c.) never will.

Sounds like the guv'mint to me.

Dickheads.

(And, you'll notice how, in the article, there is NOTHING said about helping them or compensation or even anybody giving a hairy rat's ass about it, goddamn it.)
(And and, I suppose it's just a fuckin' COINCIDENCE that this shit gets trotted out two days before Veteran's Day, right?)
*chewing back teeth in a developing rage*

Y'okay.
Need to go find something to do now that doesn't involve putting my fist through a wall.

Wanna know what's cool?

It's still warm enough here, in spite of the fact that it's raining, and it's rural enough around here that I can, and just did, run out to the barn in my flannel jammies to get a few trash bags fulla "scrap hay" to re-bed the critter cages.

Wanna know what's not so cool?

Having four trash bags of "scrap hay" starting to be scattered around the kitchen floor by a bunch shit-headed CATS, like I also have had done.
*sigh*

Men and cats.
Gotta love 'em 'cause if ya didn't, you'd kick their furry asses.

Damn it...

Dixie Carter (as Julia Sugarbaker) just made me cry again.
It's not unheard of for this show, Designing Women, to make me do that, but this time... man.
She got me good.

The episode was about Charlene's minister, Rev. Nunn, being of the opinion that women can't be preachers, mostly.
A sub-plot was about Julia singing "How Great Thou Art" and being scared she'd flub the high note at the end, which, of course, she does not.

And, it's that song... hearing that song and even trying to write about it now... that just rips my heart out and shows it to me.

It reminds me sooo much of my Pop-pop.

After he died, years after he died, I was cleaning out the house he died in (after Mom-mom had to be moved into a nursing home) and I found an old reel-to-reel tape.
When I was finally able to hear it, it nearly killed me because it was Pop-pop singing that song a capella.

He may not have had the range or operatic voice of Julia, but it was powerful and sweet and it was him.
And, now... I can't hear that song without dissolving into a puddle of tears and missing him so intensely that it may as well have been yesterday that I lost him.

Makes me miss my Dad and all the time I've lost with him all over again, too.

*a snort of laughter through the tears*
Isn't it just insane that a hymn makes me wanna die?
God...

Only me, huh?

Well, I've said it more'n once in my twisted version of a "life"... God has got one bentheaded sense of humor....

*12 seconds later*
Oh yeah... that's just what the fuck I need now... that goddamned stupid commercial with that bitch whining that "I hope you never lose your sense of wonder" country western SHIT SONG.
I don't know who that is, nor do I care, but I do hope she contracts a severe and PERMANANT case of laryngitis and I don't know what the hell product the damned commercial is for because I refuse to listen to OR watch it, but, I hope whatever it is I don't use it and never will because of the fer-shit way it's advertised.

Even more than I hate rap being crammed down my throat by the seemingly deaf "motorists" who seem to favor it, I hate having country slipped in on me, especially when it's purely to evoke strong emotions or "get to you".

Don't fuckin' play with me like that.

If you have some shit to sell, sell it and leave my bruised up, fucked over and more than halfway broken heart out of it, damn you advertisers.

And, it's not that I hate all country.
Just... most of it, I guess.

I mean, I love George Jones, Larry Gatlin, Charlie Rich and even Dwight "Chromedome who's too good to speak to his fans" Yoakam.

But, to the core of my being, I fuckin' HATE being manipulated.

Jesus, man... I happened to stumble across the Judd's movie the other night, "Love Can Build a Bridge" (and I even have Naomi's book) and even those two bitches made me cry, doing that song "Grandpa (Tell me 'Bout the Good Old Days").
I choked-sang it right along with 'em, just like I always do.
Most times, if a song starts making me think of death as a sweet release from the intense pain that is life, I turn it the hell OFF.
But, I can't do that with that one.
It's too much like turning my back on a visit from Pop-pop.
So, I'm trapped.
Can't stand it, can't bear to make it stop.
I just have to sit or stand there and let it have it's way with me.

I hate that.

I don't want to feel that raw, painful shit anymore.
I've lived enough of my life feeling nothing but that.
I've smoked enough pot in my life trying to MUTE that.
And, it's worked, for the most part.

At least I haven't followed all the way through with killing myself.
Yet.
*rolls eyes*

Thank GOD for Def Leppard, which I think I shall now go find and shove into that CD player/Walkman and BLAST AT TOP VOLUME to nuke-strike this maudlin BULLSHIT outta my head before it fucks up my whole day.

Be right back...

Well, that was quick.
The CD player was in the drawer right next to me and the Def Lep CD was already in it, so.... ahhhhh.

I'll pour sugar on anything ya want, guys.
Y'all, the floor, my car, my cats... I'll coat the entire WORLD with sugar like a goddamned doughnut.
God knows I owe it to ya's for SAVING ME!!!!
(Sorry to yell, but this is LOUD. I can feel my whole head vibrating.)

Pardon me for about 3 minutes whilst I close my eyes, pump my fists and rock OUT to this...
Be right back again....

Gim'me another few.
I've gotta "do" Photograph, too...
("Do", meaning do that head-banger, yank-yer-head-back-and-forth shit...)

*I've now got head-to-toe goosebumps goin' on*

*and, my ears are ringing*

*but, I do feel EVER so much better*

"All I've got is a photograph.
I wanna touch you..."

*lookin' at Pop-pop and Rob while I write that and NOT CRYING. See how awesome this band is?*

*coupla minutes later*

*big 'ol deep breath*

Man.
I now have the headphones around my neck and I can still hear it very much loudly, thank you.
And, for the record, there might be, probably IS, a small but significant difference between the way these guys mean that "I wanna touch you" part and the way I'm sayin' it about Rob and Pop-pop.

Rob and Pop-pop, I want to hug, to bury my face in their chests and just feel them hug me while I breathe in their very essences and hear their hearts beat.

Def Lep... yeah. I think they're wantin' to get "jiggy widdit".

They ain't wantin' to touch the same places I am.

Not that there's necessarily anything wrong with that, it's just that, with Pop-pop that'd be very much twisted and Rob... I've always loved him more than that.

Do I wanna get rocked?
OH HELL YEAH!!!!

"Love Bites" just finished and now it's "Let's Get Rocked".
Be right back again...

This most definitely requires the headphones to be put back on my head....

*coupla minutes later*

Uh-oh.
Here comes my "Rob" Def Lep song...

(Think I may need to skip "Animal" and "Foolin'" and go right to "Rocket", after having listened to this one four times in a row... jesus.)

Yep.
That helped.
*another few deep breaths*

Rick Allen's drumming on this is the best got-damned drumming I've ever been moved by.
Even better than that drum solo in the middle of "Radar Love".

And, I loooove the drum solo in the middle of "Radar Love", lem'me tell ya.

Okay.
Eric blew through here a while ago, enroute to "out there to work" and now George is down here and I'm not freakin' or leakin' about the face right this second, sooooo....

I think I'm gonna go find something to do.

Hmmm.... I do need to go to the Giant at some point and that is a "take-Def-Lep-in-the-Walkman-so-I-don't-hafta-be-subjected-to-that
crap-they-call-"music"-in-there" kinda thing...
And, if I were to look closely enough around here, I'm sure I can find something that needs to be cleaned.

Or, maybe I'll just go back to bed and try this whole "waking up" thing again.
And, NOT watch "Designing Women" this time, lest it be Julia doing this shit to me all over again.

Women.
Friggin' drive me NUTS.

Peace
or Def Leppard
whichever it is ya need.

Guess what y'all?

I got an email back from Giant today.

Dear Stevie (they used my real name, but y'all know how that is, right? *grin*,

Thank you for taking the time to contact us. Our customers' comments and feedback are very important to us, and we do appreciate the opportunity to respond.

Thank You for sharing your thoughts with us. I have forwarded your information to our Merchandiser and I have some news for you... We are going to keep this product in our stores!!!!

Again, thank you for contacting us. We value your business and look forward to continuing to serve your shopping needs.

Sincerely,
Consumer Affairs Representative
GIANT Food Stores/MARTIN'S Food Markets

How 'bout THAT shit?

*huge, toothy grin*

All that's left now....

to do is one more load of wash and one more pot of iced tea.

Kitchen is done, front room is done, duck got to go swimmin' and come back to a clean cage, kitty potties are all done, vacuuming is done, floor is mopped.

Hell, I even cleaned the coffee pot with vinegar and ran all the "clean up" shit on this computer.

I'm kinda tired now.
Tired, but watching Gunsmoke...

Once I get this second gallon of tea made and the last load of laundry at least into the washer, if not the dryer, I'm gonna go lay down for a while.

This afternoon, I hafta run the two Erics to two different places to begin the process of getting their ID's/DLs and Jr. his hunting license.

Oh hell.
I need to clean out the mudroom, too.
I forgot that.
Need room for the freezer.
Guess I'll do that tonight, before I do my nails.

And, a tiny proof that God at least likes me...

I happened to see and tape the episode of Designing Women that Lewis Grizzard was on a little while ago.
Twice, even.
They ran it twice, I taped it twice.

That makes three times I got it on tape, though I'd be hard-pressed to tell ya which tape the first copy is on right about now.

And, a bit of trivia for ya...

For the first time in the six years I've been "online" (I first started putzin' around with computers in 2000), I wrote on my monitor casing.

What I wrote was "W-530, H-370".
That way, I don't hafta keep going back to the "last picture I posted" to get the right size when I wanna post another one at Gut Rumbles.
So far, I've done 'em all that size.
They fit his page really nicely and the focus/resolution/sharpness seems to be coming out well, so I wanna remember that size.
If I have to adjust it from there, fine.
At least I have the correct, maximum size to fit his page to work from.

But, it's another Rob-induced first for me... writing on my monitor... *lol*

Whatever it takes, man.
Whatever it takes.

And now, I'm gonna go check on that iced tea and the laundry.

My brain is starting to turn to mush and my eyes are feelin' like dustballs.

Y'all take care, have a good day and, of course...

Peace

*update 15 minutes later*
Somebody STOP ME, please...
I just went to put the first gallon of iced tea in the fridge, noticed how gross the bottom of the fridge looked from various "dribbled liquids" and cleaned it, too.
First I can't get started, now I can't STOP.
(And, after this gallon of tea, I've decided to make another one for the two Erics and then, after that, another pot of coffee to put in the Harley thing for when I wake up. I'm frickin' POSSESSED.)

Gittin' 'ere....

Whew.

I'm almost worn out.
And, I'm also almost done.

Living room is finished, up to and including vacuuming.

Bathroom is 90% done, pending the completion of the laundry.
And, the duck having a swim in the bathtub.
(Ol' Donnie loves the HELL outta that... *grin*)

Besides that, all that's left is "details" in the kitchen, such as "mopping the floor and putting shit away, etc." and as for the front room... need to re-do the kitty potties, straighten up a little more and vacuum.

I think that's it.

After that, if I'm not passed out in a corner somewhere, I wanna do my nails.
I took the nailtips off over a month ago with every intention of re-doing them right away like always and just never have... yet.

Other than that... *another "whew"-type breath*

So, before I stiffen up like a winkie fulla Viagra from sitting here too long, back to it.

Peace, y'all....

Well, if "ashes to ashes, dust to dust" is true...

then there was about two cemetaries worth of people either comin' or goin' up under my dryer.

Jeezus.

George got home and went up there with a coupla hand tools and my shop vac and took the back off, then pulled about a half a (small) shop vac cannister fulla shit outta there.

Musta worked, too, 'cause when he was done, we started a load drying and it's still going.

*applause, applause*
You go, George.

Now, about the rest of this mess....
(Got a leaf blower or flame thrower?)

An email I just sent to Giant Foods, LLC...

Hello,

I am again contacting Giant about the discontinuation of Cedarific brand cat litter.
This is the fourth time I'm making contact with you about this.
I've spoken to the call center in Georgia twice and just got off the phone with the corporate headquarters in Carlisle.
I'm emailing you to make good and sure someone hears me about this.

I started shopping in Giant grocery stores about two years ago.

I happened to go into one once with a friend of mine and, while in there, I noticed the Cedarific brand of cat litter.
Having many cats (I live on a farm), I decided to give it a try.

I loved it.
Absolutely LOVED the stuff.
I've never used a brand of cat litter that works as well.

For a while, I'd go into Giant specifically just for Cedarific.
Then, I finally wised up, got a Bonus Card and gave up all other grocery stores in favor of shopping at Giant.
I even stopped buying any pet products at Wal-Mart and gave all my business to Giant.

Just to let you know... I own four dogs, too many cats to count, various birds, horses, a hamster... the list goes on.
I spend a considerable amount of money on my pets each week, let alone month.
(I tend to try not to really think too much about it,lest I realize how excessive it really is...)

Anyway...

I went into the Gettysburg Giant Tuesday night, I think it was, again SPECIFICALLY to get the usual three or four bags of Cedarific, like I always do.

I was beyond angered to find out that Giant is planning on discontinuing to stock and sell Cedarific.

I was given a few comment cards by the night manager so that I could communicate my displeasure about this with "corporate".
(As you can probably tell by now, I decided to take a more direct and immediate route.)

There was also an 800 number on them, which I called right away.

I came home (with a bag of clay-based, dusty, and doesn't-work-very-well Tidy Cat cat litter) and decided to find out what gives with this whole situation.
So, I called the two Giant stores in Hanover to see if they, too, were going to stop stocking and selling Cedarific.

The answer is "yes".

I was also told by the manager of one of those stores that there are only two reasons why Giant would do this.

1.) The company had stopped production of said product, or...
2.) Giant didn't sell enough of it to make to worth it.

So, I then looked up Nepco, the company that makes Cedarific, online and they're not stopping production, so I'm left to believe that the reason for the discontinuation is that Giant isn't selling enough to make it worth it.

That made me even more angry.

The reason for that is because in the Gettysburg store, they have YARDS of shelf space for the clay-based litter products from the floor to mid-chest level, yet the Cedarific was relegated to a shelf ABOVE MY EYE LEVEL (and I'm 5'8"), with only enough shelf space for two stacks with only three bags in each stack for a total of SIX bags being available to be sold at any given time.

I don't know how they do it in the Hanover stores, but my experience with how much was available was much the same as it was back in the Bucks County Giant where I found Cedarific in the first place before I moved to Gettysburg.

So, that makes dropping it for lack of sales completely unfair.

Maybe if there was room made for more of it to be on the shelves, and at a more reasonable level like the other brands, more WOULD be sold.

I called Nepco today, too, to see if Cedarific is sold anywhere else in my area. When I told the lady who answered what I wanted, she said, "Oh my. You're about the fifth or sixth person who has called about this today."

I asked if they were all from the Gettysburg area or what and she said they were.

Then, I told her what is going on and told her to go ahead and give anyone else from this area who calls my email address so that we can organize, if necessary, to try to put a stop to this.

I found out that, yes, Cedarific IS sold at the same Agway where I buy my horse feed, so I am relived about that.
BUT...
I'm still highly annoyed about this turn of events at Giant.

I don't feel like the product was given any kind of fair chance in the first place.
Plus, Giant is open 24 hours and Agway isn't.
Besides which, when I was able to buy Cedarific (as well as all my other pet needs) at Giant, there was the Bonus Card discount, which really helped me out a LOT.

In fact, I am SO angry about this, that if it does happen, if Giant DOES discontinue Cedarific, if Giant forces me to go elsewhere for this brand of cat litter, I plan on going elsewhere for all my other pet product needs as well.

I'm not completely stupid, however, and I do plan to keep GROCERY shopping at Giant, but I also feel like if Giant wants to do this, I want to do do something "not nice or fair" in return, frankly.

I mean, it WAS because of Cedarific that I became a Giant shopper in the first place and if I have to go somewhere else for that, I may as well go on back to the Wal-Mart across the street for everything else "pet" that I need.

Not to mention the fact that I've been telling other cat owners, shelters, kennels that board cats and PAWS (pawsofpa.org) about Cedarific since I started using it. I've also spoken of it on my website and I have no problem with expending the same amount of energy, or more, telling everybody I come across about the tragic mistake Giant is making with this wonderful product AND where it is still available.
Yes, I am THAT upset by this.

I also recommend Giant to anyone who asks me where to go to get good prices and quality on groceries and while I'd never bad mouth you about anything except this Cedarific situation, and even then, it wouldn't be bad mouthing you as much as simply telling the COMPLETE and unvarnished truth which is that the product wasn't given a fair chance and you didn't care when people complained about it, I will stop recommending Giant as THE grocery store to patronize.

I feed a family of three adults and one teenager with a HUGE appetite and I do get asked often how I manage to do so and not go broke.
I've always answered by saying "I go to Giant and you should too and here's why", then I tell them all the reasons why I like Giant so much (til now).
And, there IS a Weiss market right down the road....

Now, on one hand, I'm sorry I sound so pissed off, but, on the other hand, I AM "so pissed off" about this.

I don't know how else, except BEGGING you to reconsider this horrible decision (which I'm not above doing, by the way), to get you (as in "Giant, the corporation", not "you" specifically who is reading this) to reconsider.

Please, don't do this.
Don't make me have to go somewhere else.
Don't deny this product a fair chance, and by that I mean better placement, more available stock and a little time with the new circumstances.

It's a really, really good cat litter.
It doesn't weigh as much as the clay-based stuff for the same sized bags, it smells wonderful and lasts longer than ANY other brand.
And, yes, if I HAVE to, I will go to Agway for it, as opposed to switching to a brand Giant does offer.
It's THAT good.

Please reconsider this decision and thank you for your time in reading this.

Respectfully, yet really still annoyed,

my contact info

So.
What do y'all think?
I wasn't too pissy, was I?

Let me know.

Back to cleaning...

Peace

Update less than an hour later...

The manager of the Gettysburg store just called me.
Poor guy.
I already knew it wasn't HIM who decided to do this, but he did decide to call me.
He said they're looking into getting it back and had tried contacting the person responsible at corporate, but hadn't heard back yet from them.
THEN, I got an email from that twit (at corporate), saying she'd (ugh) be out of the office til Monday.
So, the score is 1 for the G'burg store and 1 against "corporate", so far.
The manager of the G'burg store said he WILL contact me again when he has more info.
The lil sweetie....
*cheeky grin*
(Y'all watch. I'mina be solely responsible for getting that shit back... and loving it when I do, too.)

Good news, bad news and maybe more good news (if I don't handle the last thing myself, that is)...

The first good news is that I just got off the phone with Nepco, the people who make Cedarific brand cat litter.

I told them about Giant dropping their product and asked where else it's sold around here.

The lady said she'd been hearing about this.
She said she's gotten several phone calls today from other people around here about it.
She then gave me the 800 number to their distributor to find out where else it's sold.

Then, I told her that Nepco officially has my permission to give the other people from around here my email address, WHICH they'll find on the email I sent them the other night about this, so we can DO SOMETHING about Giant's stupid decision.

Then, I called the distributor and, joy of joys... it's sold right at the same Agway where I get my horse feed!!!!!

VIVA LA AGWAY!!!!!!
(And, God bless 'em, too...)

So, I called Agway to make sure they do sell it (yep) and I told the lady at Agway that when I go to the Giant later because my bank is Sovereign and they have an office there, that I'm gonna put up one of those little yellow cards they have available for people to advertise shit they have for sale and whatnot and just have on it that Cedarific is sold at Agway (so, basically, Giant can go to hell).

I think I may still call Giant again and give them another ration of shit about it, though...

Thanks to that goddamned stupid piece of shit dryer of mine, I'm getting in the mood to rip somebody a new asshole.

Which brings us to the bad news....

I took the tube thingy off the back of it a week or more ago so it could stay "not so hot it shuts itself off all the goddamned time" and... it's STILL DOING IT, DAMN IT.

I put a load of jeans in it a little while ago.
It was DEAD COLD when I did that.

I go about my business, cleaning, and go upstairs to do those two cat boxes and empty the trash cans and the fucker was stopped AGAIN.
It hadn't even run a freakin' HOUR.

Man!
I got so pissed, I YANKED that useless fucker outta the niche it's in, into the middle of the friggin' floor and looked into the place where the tube thingy connects to it with a spotlight to see if it was clogged.

It's not.

I cussed it up one side and down the other, did the shit I went up there to do in the first place, threatened it's life, tried it again and... it came on.

My hand to GAWD, if I go up there again and find it's stopped itself before that, or any other, load of clothes is dry, I will kill it.

Or... I would have IF I hadn't radioed George and made him a deal, and I quote:
(which, by the way, brings us to the possible "other good news, if I don't handle it myself"...)

*beep, beep*
(That's me, radioing him...)

Him: "Yeeessss?"

Me: "Ummm, gotta question... If I promise not to beat the dryer into component parts with my Pusser club, will you look at it when you get home and MAKE IT WORK RIGHT?"

Him: "What's it doin'?"

Me: *rolls eyes at such a dumb question* "Shuttin' off before shit's dry.
(Thought, but not said... what's he THINK it's doing? Vacuuming? Jeezus.) I took that stupid tube thing off of it and it's still not WORKING. Is there any place else lint could be building up besides the lint trap or the hole where the tube thing connects to it to make it do this? I did notice some fuzz-shit hanging out the bottom front of it... you know, at the bottom, underneath the door, at the very bottom where it's about four inches from the floor and it goes in and under a coupla inches, where that stupid kitten was that time."

Him: "I dunno. Vents, maybe? Yeah, I'll look at it. Don't beat it to death."

Me: "Okay. Thank you. Meanwhile, I'll just dry clothes with my got-damned lighter or something... You KNOW how much I hate shit that can't do the one thing it was put on this earth to do."

Him: "Yeah, I do. TV remotes, coffee pots, screen doors, VRCs, cell phones... yeah, I know..."

Me: *giggle* "Well, do ya blame me? Jesus Christmas. If you have only one purpose in life, fulfill it or get the fuck outta my life, ya know?"

Him: "Yep. I know."

Me: "Goes hand in hand with that whole "If ya don't work and I can't figure out why, I'll KNOW why ya don't work, 'cause I"LL KILL YOU." That's my motto."

Him: "Yep. I know that, too."

Me: "Okay, then. I won't feel compelled to kill it. Yet. I'll wait til after you look at it and if it still wants to fuck with me after that..."

Him: "Uh-huh."

Me: "Cool. Thanks for that and making me laugh. Back to the stupid dishes, now, I guess."

Him: "Okay. See ya later."

Me: "See ya."

Stupid (spittle-flecked expletives deleted) dryer.
It's not like I don't have a hard enough time, sometimes, gettin' my ass in gear with this endless cleaning shit.
Oh, noooooooo.
I need IT'S shit, too.
*disgusted sigh*

Anyway...

I found my cat litter again!

Yippe-ki-freakin'-aaaay to that, at least.

And, to end on an "up" note, I'm outta heah.

Back to bustin' suds.
And the other 49,000 things that need to be done.

Peace

Okay...

I'm doin' it.
Started at 10am.

Threw in a load of clothes, put the dishes in a sinkful of water to drown and have started to pick up the living room.

Of course, it is now about 20 after 10 and here I am, doing this now, so I can see how this shit's gonna go....

*heaves a sigh*

Back to it, then....

Ya know what?

If I had a half the amount of help cleaning this place up as "I" do fuckin' it up, it would be reeeeally nice.

I'm just sayin'...

("I" is in quotes 'cause y'all just KNOW it's me, ram-assin' around here, tearing it up, right?)
*eye roll and a giggle, culminating in a sigh*

God (or someone with keys and access to heavy equipment) he'p me.

Damn it...

Giant Corporation, owner of the grocery store I go to, has lost it's mind.

They are no longer going to stock/sell Cedarific brand cat litter.

Those boneheads....

I mean, Jeezus, it's only the best cat litter I've ever used.
It's less expensive than clay litter, isn't as heavy to carry in the same sized bags as the clay shit, it lasts longer, my cats like it... I was HOT when I came outta there without any, and after finding this shit out, I'll tell ya.

Yeah.
Not only is Giant discontinuing it, they didn't even HAVE any and it's not supposed to be "pulled" for good til got-damned December.

I even got the night manager person to go check in the stock room to see if they had any back there, or coming off the truck that was being unloaded right then.

Nope.

"Well, who's doing this? Giant or the Cedarific people?"

"Hmmm. I don't know. Here, have a few comment cards. You can write to "corporate" with these."

"Y'okay. Thanks."
*sam elliot look*

Well.
There was an 800 number on those cards and yes, I did call it immediately.
That nice lady took my info and made a report for me and said they'd get back to me.

Meanwhile, I had to buy a 40 got-damned pound bag of Tidy Cat clay crap and I am NOT a happy camper about this.

I got home and looked up the URL on the bag of Cedarific I still have and it didn't say on their website that they're not making it anymore, soooooo, I decided to email them.

Here 'tis...

Hi,

I've been using your Cedarific cat litter for about two years, so far, and I LOVE it.

However...
the only place I know of, have ever seen it sold, is Giant grocery stores.

And, last night (Tuesday, October 31, 2006), when I went to my local Giant here in Gettysburg SPECIFICALLY to get Cedarific, I discovered that they are discontinuing it. (Plus, they didn't have any at all for sale...)

I spoke to someone in Customer Service and she wasn't sure if the discontinuation was on your end, or theirs.
She gave me several "comment cards" with which to express my displeasure to Giant corporation.

These cards had an "800" number on them for the corporate offices of Giant in Georgia.
I called it IMMEDIATELY and the lady I spoke to on the phone took my information and made a report for me, with the promise that they'd get back to me.

I then came home (with Tidy Cat CLAY litter- ew) and called two other nearby Giant stores. They, too, are discontinuing stocking Cedarific.

Then, I looked up your website from the URL on the bag of Cedarific I already have.
That's where I got your email address...
And, I didn't see where it said you aren't making it anymore, so it must just be Giant deciding not to sell it anymore.
When/If they do actually get back to me about this, I'll forward their response to my query on to you, especially if it seems like they're trying to "pass the buck" by blaming low sales figures.

My question is this:

Are there any other grocery store chains, or any other stores PERIOD, in the south/central Pa. area (near Gettysburg, Hanover or thereabouts) that sell Cedarific?

If not, I've already found several ways to purchase it online and have it shipped here.

I am completely blown away by the (what I consider to be) STUPID decision made by Giant to stop carrying Cedarific.

It truly is the best cat litter I've ever used.

It smells good, my cats like it, it lasts a long time... I can't believe they're discontinuing it.

One manager on duty at one of the Hanover Giants said that there are only two ways, basically, that they'd stop carrying it.
Either the company (you) has stopped producing it or they (Giant) don't sell enough of it to make it worth keeping.

I've gotta tell ya... they might sell more of it IF they'd have more than six 7lb. bags available to be purchased at one time.
I don't know about the other Giant stores, but the one in Gettysburg had it up high, on a shelf, where there was only enough room for two stacks, comprised of three bags each.
Six total, available to purchase at once. Ever.
And, they give other icky, dusty, nasty CLAY brands all the room in the world.

I did look on your website to see if you listed places that sell it, but if you do, I can't find it, hence this email.

Please let me know if there are any places I can get it locally.
I'll buy it online if I have to, but, I'd prefer to just be able to drive somewhere close and get it as I need it, like I always have.
Ya know?

And, I'll tell ya another thing... there is no other brand of cat litter that I've ever used that I would go to such extremes as ordering and purchasing it online, like I will Cedarific.

(Also, just to let you know... I live on a dairy farm and have MANY, MANY cats around here, quite a few of whom live inside my house and therefore require several cat boxes. When I was able to get it at Giant, I'd usually buy at least three bags at a time...)

Thank you for making such a good smelling, long-lasting, multiple-cat-friendly product.

If there is anything I can do to help get Giant to reconsider, please let me know.

Hell, if there's some way I can become a "local distributor" for you around this area, I'd do it, I believe that stongly in your product.
(I've been telling other "cat people", PAWS (pawsofpa.org) and cat-boarding places about it since I started using it. I recommend it to everybody who'll listen... *grin*)

Thanks again for all your help and please don't forget to let me know if there is anywhere else around here that sells it.

myname
contactinfo
contactinfo
contactinfo

cellnumber

emailaddress

In other news...

Cat!!!
Guess what I went and did?
I bought my own DVD copy of "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil"!!!

I am currently running it for the second time in a row since I got it home.
It. is. excellent!

Tell ya what, though... I'm glad I read the book first.
I'd be so freakin' confused by the movie if I hadn't....

Cat... do Joe Odom and The Lady Chablis still live in Savannah?
If they do, when I come back down there, I wanna meet them.
Jerry Spence, too.
I bet HE'D cut my hair right, like I want it, in that "feathered, 70's style" that no hair dresser has gotten right in the last 10 years.

Next time, I wanna walk around those squares and see Forrest Gump's bench, too.

Ya know, it'd also be kinda cool to meet Luther Driggers, now that I think about it...
Not to mention Uga the 5th... *grin*

Anybody who is interested in "Midnight"... read the book first and then, definitely, get the movie.
Both are excellent, but the movie changes some things and there are things that happen, like the cloud of dust seen when the prosecutor stands up in the courtroom during Jim's trial, that'll seem strange, if you haven't read the book first to know what they mean.

Besides, John Cusack is in it.
*wipes drool off chin*
And, he and Lady Chablis, the REAL Lady Chablis who plays him/herself, is worth the price of the DVD.
(Which was less than $9 at my local Sam Goody store...)

And now, I'm really gonna go clean something.
(Been threatening to for a day or two now. I s'pose I oughta really get it done...)

Just as soon as "Midnight" is over....

Peace, ya'll