"When we remember we are all mad, the mysteries disappear and life stands explained."---Mark Twain

Tuesday, December 31, 2013


Hands down, New Years' Eve is my favorite night!

It gets completely crazy in my little town and most locals rock it hard.

You couldn't blast us out of this trailer.     It ain't safe on the roads, John Law is EVERYWHERE, and I want to see if my neighborhood breaks the record for gunfire this year.

A few years ago we had gunfire for 22 minutes, sustained, when the clock struck midnight.      You cannot stand outside for fear of being hit with lead.   And the gun smoke gets so thick it looks like fog.

Top that off with an illegal fireworks show, compliments of some cagey neighbors, a little booze and rock-n-roll, and you are all set!

Stay safe, My Darlin's, and may 2014 bring you all that you desire!

As for 2013.............A. M. F.!         It was Real.    It was Fun.      It just wasn't REAL FUN!

Tuesday, December 24, 2013

A Hard Candy Christmas

This Christmas has been a huge bummer for me and T-Bird.

Our truck gave us The Big Kiss-Off the day after Thanksgiving.    Almost $300.00 worth of repairs.
    This was followed by THREE hospital bills and one radiology bill that hit the mailbox before we could get the truck fixed.
     TWO auto insurance payments were also due.    Plus taxes on my "fishcamp" trailer.

After adding all of THAT to the regular monthly bills, there is no HA-HA-HA (MONEY) in my HO-HO-HO this year.

Yep.     A Hard Candy Christmas.       When Bosslady told me I would be working during The Holidays while she went out of town to party, it licked all the red off of my candy.

Caught up in the disappointment, The Reason For The Season passed me by, and that's MY fault.     As a Southern Baptist---yes, I'm one of  THOSE!!!--- I'm supposed to know better.

In an effort to post SOMETHING for Christmas,  I searched YouTube for inspiration and actually found it.

This story,  99 years old and almost forgotten by History, should give a spark of Hope and Joy to anyone.

Have a MERRY CHRISTMAS, y'all!       


Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Sirens And Howls

When you hear sirens, you start lookin'.   Somethin's comin' and you need to get out of the way.

I can't tell one siren from another.    Sound-wise, they all sound the same to me.    I'm not tone deaf;   I don't pay attention.     I just start lookin' for a place to pull over and try to figger out where the squad car/firetruck/ambulance IS.   

I hate those sounds because they always mean somebody somewhere has a BAAAAAD problem of some kind. 

I went to the grocery store one day with my mother.       We were in the checkout line when we heard the sirens, and looked up to see a firetruck whizz by.     Ever The Smartass, I said to Mama:    "Looks like they're headed to YOUR house!"

My mother pointed out that I was NOT funny.

When we came to Mama's block......uh huh.     The downstairs bathroom was in flames, thanks to the water heater.    Had my sister not been home they would have lost it all.     I stopped making those kinds of jokes.

After following a screaming ambulance with my son in it once, I have a real loathing for sirens.    Didn't pay attention to the sound because I was busy praying.

Yesterday, on my way back to work, I ended up behind two ambulances headed out of town and I was relieved to find myself out of their way.

If one is bad, two has GOT to be worse.

I had been back on the job site for about thirty minutes when I heard howls.    Every dog in the boss's neighborhood..............howling.  

Sad, sad sounds.    Like they were crying.....sort of.

It's another one of those sounds that I hate to hear.    It makes my hair stand on end.

About 30 years ago Ex and I lived on the edge of town.    Just beyond our block was farmland, woods and pastures, and almost nothing else.

One evening, at dusk, I heard a dog howl.      It sounded different to me.    I had heard dogs howl before of course, but not like this.

It was........mournful.    Heartbroken.     Long, deep, painful sounds that I cannot describe here.

A few minutes later an ambulance tore past the house.    I remember running outside to see if I could catch a glimpse of whatever it was.

The following day I heard that a farmer, just down the road from us, turned his tractor over, killing him, just before dark.

I always think of that farmer when I hear dogs howl, and I thought about him again yesterday when I heard those hurt-sounding howls.    It gave me a bad feeling that stuck with me for most of the afternoon.

I just found out a little while ago that a man I knew in school died from injuries he sustained in a bad two-vehicle wreck.     That's where the two ambulances were going.

John Donne:  "Ask not for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee."

Never mind "the bell";  I've never heard Death Bells.

I'm more worried about for whom the dogs howl.    

THAT I've heard.

Wednesday, November 27, 2013

Thanksgiving 2013


S'posed to take time to be Thankful for what ya got, and Thank 'bout all the Thangs y'all is Thankful fo.     I Think......

We will welcome our eighth----oh yeah, we have SEVEN----grandchild into the world in the summer.     I'm Thankful for the little ones they Gladden MY Heart, and fill me with Joy.     Watching their parents, our now-supposedly-grown children, pull their hair out and weep in frustration is pure gravy, My Friends.     Pass me a biscuit.

My Musician Hubby has been in his Musician Cave, working on a new song, and calling me to come listen.    Every.     Thirty.      Minutes.       You don't know how Thankful I am for today's technology when it comes to music equipment.    He uses headphones and has it set up to where I can't hear him usually if he's not doing vocals.    Unless he asks me to come in and put on the headphones.     Every.    Thirty.     Minutes.     I'm Thankful he's home with me, and that he wants to be here.     Nothing worse than sharing space with someone who would rather be elsewhere, and with someone else.     Trust me on this one.

The washroom at the office flooded several days ago, and you know who makes the call, drags everything out of the room for the repairman, lugs the carpet runner out to dry in the barn (in the rain, no less), and mops up the quarter inch of H2O on the floor?     The same slob that's gonna make two trips a day across town for the entire Thanksgiving Holiday----four days----caring for a geriatric retriever.     In freezing weather.     More if it rains.     I ain't gonna bitch too much because I'm Thankful to have a job, and the Brownie Points I'll get for this will come in handy.

Had to plunk down $75.00 for a load of firewood and that had to be hauled to the back yard and stacked.     I'm Thankful they started putting fireplaces in trailers, a Trailer Trash Dream Come True if there ever was one!

I had to go to three different stores to get the ingredients for Slick's Famous Chicken And Dressing for Thanksgiving dinner.      I will be swamped with kids and grandkids, in-laws, and out-laws.    I won't just go to bed Thursday night, I'll fall into it.    This year, my daughter is throwing this gig at HER house, and all I have to cook is one dish?     HER house will be trashed, not MINE?     Thankful?    OH YEAH!!!!

I hope you have a wonderful Thanksgiving.     Laugh too much.     Eat too much.    Love too much,  if you can.   

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

Hands In Pockets, Mouths CLOSED

A few years ago I heard this on our scanner:

Dispatcher:   "We need a couple of units to go out to the cemetery.    A fight started up at a service at the funeral home and the family is afraid it's gonna start back up at graveside."

Tsk, tsk, tsk.    The one time you'd think a family would pull together......it takes the police department to keep 'em apart.    

That's a lack of Home Trainin' right there.

In my very best Redneck let me say:   "You don't be belongin' to fight at no graveside!"

Translation:    Don't fight at the damned funeral.

Fighting at a funeral is just ignorant.    That's what the viewing is for.   

When my mother passed away, my ex-brother-in-law used the viewing to beg my sister to let him move back into the house.        Had he not been drunk---the very reason for the divorce--- and swaying back and forth on his pins when he made his pitch (beside Mama's coffin) with beer on his breath he might have fared better than he did.     He wouldn't have gotten her back, but he wouldn't have been cussed out quite as badly.
     When she saw him carrying Mama to the hole as pallbearer the following morning it pissed her off to The Highest Point of  Pissitivity and I thought it would come to blows after the last "Amen".     I felt a disturbance in The Force.
     She nailed Daddy at the earliest available moment.....right after the last "Amen".    Daddy explained that he himself had asked the man to be a pallbearer, and that's the only reason he lived to drink another day.
The funeral for Sonny's girlfriend's mother was last week, and I knew from the viewing it could go badly.

My son's girlfriend is the mother of my youngest daughter's husband.    Son and Youngest are not particularly well thought of by the family of The Deceased.   Sonny is disliked entirely and Youngest is almost level with her brother in that regard. 

And both of them were going to be at the funeral.

While I was reasonably sure that I had covered all of the basic Thou-Shall-Nots during THEIR Home Trainin', well, you just never know.     

"Please, Lord, keep their hands in their pockets and their mouths closed" was my mantra for the day.    

I posted the following video because sometimes, ya just gotta lighten up.      Even for funerals.

Thursday, October 31, 2013

A Story For Halloween

 It happened about forty years ago.

Two young brothers had walked a couple of miles into town to go to the show. That's what we called going to the theater to watch movies back then.

Nobody was coming in the family car to drive them home, so when the movie was over they started the long trek back home. But they were young, and what's a couple of miles when you're a kid?

They didn't fear the dark---they were too old for THAT, only babies were scared of the dark---and they were walking down a road they had walked many, many times before.

The night was clear and crisp. They had left the lights of town behind and were talkin' about the movie they had seen.

During a lull in the conversation, they heard a sound. A kind of swishy sound.

They stopped.



They started walking again. The sound started again.


They looked behind them but couldn't see anything but the road. It was dark and they couldn't see anything in the woods on either side of the road.

Now, when you are way out in the country where there are no city or farm lights, the night is as dark as the inside of a felt hat. It can be black as pitch. The only light is moonlight. If the moon is out.

Was it an animal? Being country boys, they knew what was in the woods around their house. They had hunted and fished there all their young lives.

Deer don't follow you around as a rule. Most other animals would either remain still or run away from man.

Coyotes? Well, maybe, but you can hear a pack of those when you're standing dead still, listening for them.

Could a panther be stalking them?

The only sound was the sound of their own breathing.

They were beginning to feel the fear. Just a little bit.

They began to walk again, a little faster.

The strange sound started again.

A ghost??? Ghosts aren't real...........are they??

Home is still a long ways off. It's still dark, and whatever it is is keeping up with them. Unseen.

The faster they walk, the faster IT walked. If they stopped, IT stopped.

When the last of the bravado failed, they RAN for it. Bravery be damned!

IT, whatever it was, was keeping pace, and IT chased them all the way down the road. They ran faster and faster.

Finally, they saw the lights of their house! But IT was STILL there, chasing them across the yard, and IT was still coming when they ran across the porch and burst through their front door.

They collapsed in the living room floor, gasping for breath and scared to death. Crying.

Their parents had heard them pounding across the porch and it sounded as if they tore the door off of the hinges. They tried to calm them down enough to find out what had happened.

Were they hurt?? Was there an accident of some sort??? An emergency of some kind, maybe? Were they in some sort of trouble?? Was someone after them??

When they finally caught their breath and saw that they were safe, they got up, still shaking.



Of course it was in the house. It had been with them all day.

It was the brand-new corduroy pants that they had just gotten. Caught up in the excitement of new clothes and going to see a movie---rare treats indeed--- they never noticed the sound that the new, stiff material made when they walked. The sound material makes when your thighs rub together as you walk.

I got that story years ago from one of those two brothers. He said that if the front door had been locked he would have died on the front porch from fear.

Always remember that the worst fright of your life may be the one you create for yourself!

Sunday, October 27, 2013

This And That

I could probably get six different posts out of the last several days.    I certainly tried.     But couldn't quiiiiiiite get there.     I shit-canned several attempts, in fact.

Here's the Condensed Week:

I had started a Dead relatives Collection.    Gonna climb the Ol' Family Tree.     I took copious notes on everything I could grab at the time.     I have family names written on a piece of foil-backed paper that was in a cigarette pack.    You can pen an awful lot of garbled info on a used envelope.    Maybe you can decipher it later.    Maybe not.
     It took three afternoons to straighten that out and if I actually find a solid branch on my family tree, I may hang myself from it.

We got smacked when a service truck, driven by a buddy and former biker Brother, backed into our truck at a diner.    You don't realize just how big some of those things are until it's shoving you backwards.    Red lights the size of dinner plates.
     He never knew he hit us and just drove off.     Just a small gash in the thin rubber strip that runs the length of the bumper.    If you have to get hit, that's the place for it.    No real damage to our truck or me.    It isn't worth costing a man his job---and it probably would---and we know he didn't do it on purpose. 

Lots of fun with wildlife since I posted last.    Got to see a King snake try his luck with an Indigo twice his size.    I spotted this little piece of The Circle Of Life in a drainage ditch and we stopped to watch.     He wrapped around the tail of the snake and everything else he could use for leverage, but the Indigo just drug him, debris and all, up the bank of the ditch.
     When the Indigo finally slithered out of the King snakes coils, we went back to the truck and surprised a water moccasin.    That was all of Mother Nature that we needed for the day.

Praying Mantis's took over the plant where T-Bird works.    They were everywhere and I cannot stand the things.    I'll take snakes any day over a Praying Mantis.
     Grandma said that they chew tobacco and if they spit it in your eye YOU'LL GO BLIIIIIND!!!!    A bald-face lie that kept me from killing her mantises (because I didn't know how far one could spit and wouldn't get close), and since the horrible creatures were in her flower bed, I was not.    Two points for Grandma, and a phobia for me.

Hubs had a mouse that insisted on climbing up his pants leg at work.    He felt something on his leg and looked down to see a mouse climbing up to his lap.
    The resulting swearing and stomping fit had the old man that shares the office with my husband almost falling out of his chair laughing.     The mouse got away.
    A couple of days later the mouse goes for it again.    More swearing and stomping.    Score two for Speedy Gonzales and now the older man is crying with laughter.    His wife passed away recently and this has been the most fun he's had in three years.
    When T-Bird caught him in the trash can he thought he was gonna put an end to this trespassing vermin.    Nope.    Mousie: 3....T-Bird: Zip.
    T-Bird scrounged a trap from somewhere and baited it with cheese and peanut butter crackers.    He can bait me up with 'em, why not a rodent?
    He got robbed TWICE.    Vermin: FIVE.    Human: Big fat NOTHIN'.
    He baited it the third time and placed it in the trash can, shut off the lights and went home.
     GAME OVER.    Darn shame too.    Me and the old man were having a ball with this mini war.

Taking Daddy to Warner Robins for an eye surgery was a regular hoot.    To say that I am not the person for this job is a massive understatement.    While I love my father, I hate driving, and I really hate driving anywhere but this One Horse Town.    In all Honesty, there are intersections HERE that scare the starch outta me.
     I did it, but it wasn't pretty, and my apologies to the City Of Warner Robins.....

I accidentally figured out how to cook my stew meat for beef stew.     I have never managed to cook it as tender as I would prefer.    Here's how I finally did it:
      Thursday was a regular Bitch of a day, and after work I bought everything I needed for a big pot of stew.    It's getting cold so it's time for soup, stew and chili.    Break out the big pots.
    I ran home to get it started, but realized that I had forgotten the roast.    It's not beef stew without the beef, so I went BACK to town, and I was not happy with myself. 
    An hour later I had my stew meat bubbling away in the pot, awaiting spices and veggies, but had to pick my husband up at 5:00.    So I turned off the stove and split for town.
    I caught every single stop light on green, and watched the train clear the tracks well before I reached them.     Didn't have to stop the first time, and let me say that THAT NEVER HAPPENS TO ME.
     Hubby was ready to go and when we stopped at the store I was in and out.
     When we got back home I went to turn the stew meat back on and discovered that I had NOT turned the burner OFF.    I had jacked it UP to HIGH!    Snatching off the lid I saw that I still had water in the pot and it wasn't even scorched.     I could have burned my house down.     I ALMOST burned my house down.    This is the third time I've left the stove or oven on and almost lost my home.
    I suggest boiling tough stew meat on high for about a half-hour before you add the rest of the ingredients.     I don't suggest that you drive across town while you do it.    

Today I am in the grasp of allergies due to ragweed, golden rod, and cotton defoliant.     I will spare you the details, but this is the worst bout of this that I have ever had to endure.

I'll surrender my keys and my stove because I cannot handle either of those and have proven it.     I'll ask Mama to release me from my promise to take care of Daddy because my care-taking skills suck and he may not survive.    

As for The Family Tree?    I'm looking for a piece of rope.........

Sunday, October 13, 2013

Character Flaws

I seem to have a few potentially fatal character flaws.     Much like mixing prescription meds, a mixture of character flaws can be life-threatening.

Character flaws do not come with a sheet of paper with fine print explainin' the side effects, contraindications, and interactions with other flaws.

It's "Learn As You Go".

I can be terribly sarcastic---that's how I got the nickname "Slick"--- and even worse, I have never known when to just...........shut up.

Those two flaws, working hand in hand, will get me killed yet.

Last night, in an effort to ramp up some romance, my husband was "setting the mood".

I don't have one ounce of romance in my soul so it takes a little work.    Character Flaw #3 maybe?    Valentine's day and our anniversary are two dates I don't look forward to because I can't grasp the whole Romance Thing and find it awkward.  

Well, he's flittin' around the livin' room adjusting the lights, checking the door, and doin' whatever.    He disappeared to the kitchen for a drink, and then disappeared down the hall.
    He came back, checked the door again, and kinda waffled in the living room like he was trying to think of something else.

I was just sitting on the couch watching him go back and forth, wondering when he would land.

I swear, I simply could NOT keep my fat mouth closed, and I tried to bite my tongue, but was overcome.

"Is this some sort of mating dance????     Are you gonna drop your wings and drag 'em on the ground???    Maybe hop back and forth on a limb??"

Needless to say, I thought I might have to fly South for the Winter because the temperature in my trailer dropped DRASTICALLY.

I had recently seen a piece on t.v. about bird's and their mating dances and before I could get a grip on my beak tragedy ensued.    The following is a video of the little bird that nearly got me plucked and deep-fat fried:

Wednesday, October 9, 2013

Foggy Backroads And Bad Nerves

I was awakened at 3:30 a.m. by an Epiphany that could bring about World Pea...........

Pfffft!   As if I were capable of an epiphany.

Having pondered The Mysteries Of The Universe into the small hou.........

That's a lie.

I had been taking care of a sick friend until 3:30 a.m. Sunday mo........

That's a lie, too.

*shrugs*     Okay......    

At 3:30 a.m., Sunday morning, I was scarfing T-Bird's Hershey's Miniatures at the kitchen sink, staring at the stars through the kitchen window.      I can find chocolate in the dark and hadn't turned on any lights.     The blinds were open and I noticed the stars twinkling.       They were stunning!   

Moving quickly and very low, in long, wispy, eerie fingers, the fog was moving in.     Absolutely beautiful!     Kinda spooky lookin', but beautiful all the same.

I love fog when I don't have to be in it.    Driving in it sets my teeth on edge.

T-Bird and I went to a local club that I nicknamed The Opalescent Ass.    I won't put the actual name on this because I still have to live here.    Names will always be changed on this blog to protect.....well.....ME.

We had had a Grand Ol' Time, and somewhere around 1:00 in the A.M., decided to call it quits and go home.     Home was a good twenty miles away.

We realized we had screwed up.     Hubs had been drinking, and was going to be D.U.I. if he drove.
 I was sober as a judge because I was under Spousal Supervision for a rather unfortunate Drunken Incident With White Trash Intent (2nd degree), and hadn't had anything alcoholic to funne....drink.    At that time, I was still on Spousal Probation and a damned short leash.

I should have been a Designated Driver, but, no.       You have to let the Designated Driver KNOW that she has been "designated" to drive BEFORE she leaves the house!    I did not get that memo!

Unfortunately, I had left all of my Papers at the house.    No license, no insurance card, no I.D., no nothin'.     Had I worn jeans to the club I would have had all of that in my pocket.
     What I wore was more like a black condom and heels and there was no place for me to carry anything. 

I pointed THAT out.

"If I get pulled over, I go to jail.    If YOU get pulled over, we sit on the side of the road until they find you in the system, and you'll only be charged with a fine for not havin' your license."

The mere fact that he even entertained the thought of letting me drive him ANYWHERE showed that he was, dammit, serious.    I scared the crap out of him when we were in our teens and he has neither forgiven nor forgotten it.    

When we got out of the parking lot it was slightly foggy but the visibility was good.     All I had to do was behave myself behind the wheel and make one turn and we'd get home with no problems.

Less than a mile from the Ass, we had problems.    BIG problems.     The worst fog I had ever seen had rolled in and it sucked to be me.
The further I drove, the worse it got.     It was like driving inside a huge, 20 mile long gray tube sock.

I can see the center line.     I can see the line on the right side edge of the road, and three feet ahead of the truck.    To Hell with behind me.    I have to creep along to keep from over-driving my lights.

I asked about our chances of being run over by a big rig, and T. pointed out that if there was one on this road he was creeping along too.   He kept watch behind for any lights that might appear behind our truck.      This is a very rural area and you seldom see much traffic at 1:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning, but there were  TWO fools on the road so there could've been more.

T-Bird is talking me thru it in soothing tones to keep me from freaking.

I couldn't tell where I was after a few miles because all of my landmarks have disappeared.   

There is a very small town---it has two redlights---between me and home, but I'll be damned if I know where IT is because I don't know where WE is.

All this time, I've been worried about hitting deer or livestock that might be standing in the road.     That idea alone kept me at a crawl.

I finally saw a few markings on the asphalt that led me to believe I was at least close to town.
    I found the red glow of the only stoplight I had to deal with.   You could see the glow from street lights and store lights, but the fog was too thick to see what was supposed to be lit up.

   I had to stop for for the light, and took a deep breath.         When the light changed we went on, and lost the town within another block.     I am again in that gray tube sock with MILES yet to go.     More fields, farms, and woods.    Full of deer and wild cows.

Did you know there are still places where bovine roam free??    Hit one with a vehicle and try to find out who owns it.     If reparations are due, that's a wild cow, My Friend.

I only have to make one right turn, and if I can make that turn all I have to worry about after that is getting around a hairpin curve, crossing a bridge without going into the guard rail or missing the thing entirely and going into the creek, and finding gray gates in gray fog.

Easy peasy, right?

T-Bird found the turn and I breathed a sigh of relief.    Just a few more miles.     Took the hairpin with no difficulty, missed the guard rail AND the creek, and I promise you this:

The only gates that have ever been more beautiful than my gates were---when I finally located them that awful morning---are The Pearly Gates.
I was really trying to avoid those.

Monday, September 30, 2013

Loving Me Is Now Optional

If you read my last post you know that I am about to become un-hinged.

A whole week of my husband's health concerns without any clear answers has stretched my string.

I had to clean Daddy's place Saturday and actually looked forward to the ride out there, and marking Daddy off  of  The Chore List.
    I made sure that T-Bird had everything he needed, loaded my cleaning stuff in the truck and took off..........

I didn't make it halfway before my truck DIED.

I couldn't crank it, and try as I might I couldn't get it pushed off of the road.    Do men still stop for a Lady In Distress?    NO.    They DON'T.

I hated to do it, but I called T-Bird.

After checking it all out, we went for a fuel filter, and swung by the house for a chain, just in case.

The fuel filter was a good guess, but it was the wrong guess.    Time to break out the chain.

I steered the deceased while he pulled me back to the house, and that always makes me nervous.   All I have to do is collide with the back of  T.'s truck and the nightmare will be complete.

We made it---no thanks to ME---and he pronounced Ol' Yaller a lost cause.

"Take my truck to your Daddy's house and be careful."

I hadn't driven that thing in months, so I was out of practice with a standard shift.     I white-knuckled it all the way to Daddy's house.

I was almost finished when T-Bird called.

"You might need to come home.    I'm having another spell."

I asked if he had taken his medication for that.

"After the last bad reaction, I don't want to take it without you here."

I understand that.    He's had TWO bad reactions to meds in the past and both of those were REALLY bad.   He had never taken this particular drug, and was a little leary of it. 

I said goodbye to Daddy, threw my stuff in the truck, and violated a good many driving laws in an effort to get home.

I AM HALFWAY HOME when the phone rings.

"You don't need to get in no big hurry.    I feel better now, and I think I'll be alright."

He's wrong about that.   He will not be "alright", 'cause I'm gonna kill him when I walk through the door.    For scaring me to death for nothing.

Bless his heart, he had been cleaning house and washing clothes to help me out when he had his "spell".    He had even folded the laundry!

I let him live.   He took the pill, and he was much better after it took effect.

I have no real recollection of Sunday, other than checking on the boss's dog.    Just too damned tired to keep up with it all.

I dropped Hubs off at his office this morning, checked on the dog again, and went to the dentist office to clean that.

I grabbed the back of a chair to move it and managed to pinch the side of one finger so badly that I now have a blood blister sitting in the middle of a badly bruised finger.

In that last post I wrote "if you ever loved me".

Never mind.     You don't want to get that close to me right now.    It may rub off on you.   

You'll need pills and a chain if it does.

Saturday, September 28, 2013

"If You Ever Loved Me"

"If You Ever Loved Me........"

These words always preface a plea, and more than likely......you won't like what follows.

Hands down, the best If-you-ever-loved-me has to be a friend's buddy from The Way Back Days.

Someone talked him into going into the service.    I don't remember which branch, but it really doesn't matter for this post.

He says that you don't really understand what Desperate is until you open an envelope to find a letter written in ink on tear and snot-stained toilet tissue begging you to get the sender of this missive OUT of the clutches of The Military.  

"If You Ever Loved Me" were the very first words committed to the damp tissue.

Consider this a  tear-soaked wad of rectal ribbon.


Just drop me off--right by myself--early in the morning, and get me just before dark.

Yeah. I'm gonna need all day.

I usually have a lengthy list of supplies for this Sandbar Fantasy (sandbars are a type of Paradise for us Rednecks) but all I need right now is a place to sit and scream or cry.....or both.

I just want to sit and watch the Ocmulgee roll by between crying jags.   

Take me a good ways up the river.     I want to hear the birds and the animals moving in the woods.    I want to hear cicadas, and fish striking.

I don't want to hear a human voice.   Leaving the cell phone at home.

I get sick and tired of being on the go all the time and at everybody else's beck and call.   The shape of my backside is beginning to resemble my truck seat, creases and all and I'm not sure that anybody is able to wipe their own backside anymore.   

I want to sit on MY ass and dig my toes in the sand.    And stay that way.

And since it's MY Fantasy and I'll dream if I want to, I want to spark up a Fat Boy and let it all unravel, before I do.    It's almost worth the ticket for trespassing and the misdemeanor weed charges, courtesy the Department of Game And Fish.

There are a few snags in My Sandbar Fantasy:

1.)    It will be a Cold Day In Hades before T-Bird would allow that.   I don't need to be told about alligators, snakes, two-legged fools, and bein' stupid enough to accidentally drown/shoot myself.  

2.)    It is now against the law to get out of your boat on the river.    Period.     It is now considered trespassing.     We took an entire family ( four adults and seven kids) for a weekend campout on a sandbar MILES away from everything.    We had a blast!

Those days are gone, I guess.

And I have had just about all that I can stand.

It has been weeks since I have had any kind of a break.   Between my job, finances, father, kids, and wiping the noses AND tears of everyone that I know, I was very tired and looking forward to some rest.    Sunday was gonna be the day for some down-time!

I am so, so very stupid.

That day started off with a trip to the clinic, the quick diagnosis of a possible heart attack for Hubs, and a day spent in the E.R..    It went down the crapper after that, and it's been five days of doctor visits, medications, tests, a bad drug reaction, and yet ANOTHER trip to the E.R..    We still have no clue what is wrong but have it narrowed down to Diabetes, gall bladder, sleep apnea, or severe anxiety.    After proving that he does have a bad case of Assholeitis---for which he apologized to the E.R. staff---I have concluded that when he goes it will be Blunt Force Trauma or Lead Poisoning.     I just haven't decided yet.

*As a side note, may I respectfully ask the janitorial staff of hospitals to keep blood spatter wiped off of the E.R. walls?

If I was tired before, I am now completely wiped out.

To get just a couple of hours of Peace and Quiet, I hid out in the cemetery with my mother.     Instead of Ocmulgee River sand, I parked my ass on Daddy's slab.    He ain't under it yet so it's okay.

Nobody will bother me there..............


The co-worker who has been the biggest P. I. A. I have ever had to deal with called my cell to tell me a joke.     And a corny one at that.    Why?    Because Life just doesn't suck enough for me.

All I can think to do now is go sit in the middle of a cotton field somewhere WITHOUT THE CELL PHONE.

Since it's time for the farmers to spray defoliant this is probably a bad idea too.     I've been sprayed with cotton defoliant once, and once is too much, if T-Bird's rant was any indicator.

I was watching a fantastic crop duster in a very small, state-of-the-art plane, and I had field-side seats.    He was awesome!   

I got misted a few times but when he came down the middle of the road about five feet off the ground I was simply amazed and had to watch.

Rest this weekend?    Nope.   I have to clean Hell Hill today for Daddy, I have to run checks on Bosslady's dog, and T-Bird is still sick.     Monday, the office has to be cleaned so we can fire it up Tuesday, bright and early.

Should I go missing next week, I'll be hiding under the bed sucking my thumb.

"If You Ever Loved Me", you won't tell anybody.

Thursday, September 19, 2013

Nightmares And The Upshot

Little Miss Muffet
Got off of her tuffet
And went to the barn
For a chart.

What she found there
Gave her quite a scare
And dang near
Stopped her heart.

One of my co-workers says she has nightmares involving snakes after finding a shed skin in the barn.

The snake came out of his skin so I let the cat out of the bag, and informed her that there was ALWAYS a snake or two in the barn.

Of course, the upshot is that now, if ANYONE needs anything out of the barn, either me or the boss will have to go in The Scary Place for charts and supplies.   

To prove the point they left three large boxes of supplies in the middle of the floor for me to lug out.........by myself.

I removed The Horror Of Horrors when I hauled the boxes to the barn.    I am posting a picture of this Nightmare-Inducing Fright below.

Try not to scream..................

I looked around for the rest but could not find it, and yeppers, it was a good-sized snake judging from what I found.

My co-worker recently married a big Doo-Dah in our county and spends a lot of her evenings with our county commissioners.

If I was truly afraid of snakes, I'd steer clear of that bunch.    They've been giving the rest of us nightmares for years.

Friday, September 13, 2013

When Your Drums Are Hocked.........

T-Bird's band is coming along.

With one teeny-weenie hiccup.

No drummer.

He has two guitar players, one bass player, and his best-est bud on keyboards.    Three of them do vocals.

But..........no drummer.  

Okay, technically, he DOES have a drummer, but the drummer has no drums to drum.   But he should have them out of the pawn shop soon or so I've been led to believe.

It's an old story often repeated.    Drummers are a dime a dozen around here, but they usually don't possess a kit due to one personal disaster or another.

In the meantime, we may have found a substitute:

Tuesday, September 10, 2013


I thought I was looking at a ghost at first because I would have bet my paycheck that the man was long gone from here.

But, there he was, crouched in the frozen foods aisle diggin' through the bottom of a freezer for frozen biscuits.

How would you greet an old friend that you never expected to see again?   Hug him?    A kiss on the cheek?     Ask about his family?    There was a time when I genuinely loved the man.

That was then, this is NOW.  

I thought about kicking the freezer door shut on his neck and holding it shut until his head froze solid or some Good Samaritan pulled me away from the frozen foods department kickin' and screamin'.

He holds the record for The Biggest Meth Bust in this county, and given the chance, would have sold it to my kids with a smile on his face and Joy in his heart.    He was bringing in thousands of dollars worth of meth so he sold it to someone's kids.

Forgive and forget?    According to my beliefs I have to forgive him, but I've lost too many friends to meth to forget it.    I've "forgiven" him three times now.

When another old "buddy" invited me over to her house to "hoot one", this is actually what I heard:   

 "Come over to my house and we'll smoke a joint on my front porch in the middle of town IN FRONT OF THE WORLD and across the street from the woman who set me up for my recent drug bust in the first place." 

I pointed out that this was a damned bad idea when you considered that she hadn't gone up in front of the judge yet, and if they tested her she'd be positive AGAIN.

She replied that at least they would have to feed her three meals a day, and she'd be away from the grown kids that were running her up the wall.    Two of them are female, and they spend a good deal of time in jail, too.    With her luck she'd end up sharing a cell with one of 'em.

She wants to do a stint on the Buddy System, or set ME up to lessen her sentence.    I'm gonna take a pass.

The band and biker group we hung out with started doin' seriously stupid stuff involving alcohol and firearms and the leader of the group is unstable on his very best day.      Please, whenever possible, mix alcohol, guns, and stoooopid.    
     After a particularly bad fight at the clubhouse my husband told 'em where they could stick it and resigned his post as second in command.    We filed it under "Shit We Don't Need".

Our Rogues Gallery includes dopers, drunks, skanks, cheaters, thieves, at least TWO psychos, hopeless neurotics, those who are stuck on stupid, and one male prostitute/snitch.

Sooner or later, you have GOT to do the freakin' math, and I strongly suggest SOONER. 

I did, and have the answer.

Almost every single person that we hung out with in The Real World is a fuckin' idiot.

"Fidiot" for short.

And we were fidiots for bein' with 'em in the first place.   

"Recluse" sounds better than "fidiot" and I do believe it's safer.

Saturday, September 7, 2013

Operation Hairball

I'll admit to possessing a certain amount of Vanity.     I always wore my brown-to-auburn hair relatively long and it was always thick.    I hated to cut it because it took FOR-EV-EEEEER to grow.    It was always wavy but would not hold a curl for Love or Money.    I had my hair burned badly by a perm ONCE.   And just once.

That's how it was through my teens but after a few years of Marriage and  Child Herding I was just happy if I could keep it clean.

After thirty five years of Marriage and Child Herding I no longer give a damn if I have hair or not.

Ladies, if you ever get a chance, go to your stylist and when she asks you what you want, tell her to "shave it and give it a good Turtle Wax."

I rendered my stylist speechless with that one.

I started wearing it super short about five years ago and knew my long hair days were GONE.    I just didn't want to fight it anymore.
     As a back-handed bonus, when my hair is cut really short, it  now curls.    Where was THAT in my early years?????  I don't need gel or styling mousse, just fingers and a bit of water.

I loved it, and everyone said it looked good.    I didn't question the veracity of the comments, just took 'em as compliments and let it go.

Then, there was a very hurtful argument about my appearance.    I vowed to grow it out so long I'd have to part it to sit on the toilet.

I was half-way there after two years.

While lots of women begin to see thinning hair later in life, the fact that mine has gotten thicker just ain't fair.    I could barely get a brush through it in the morning, and my hair was breaking because of the constant use of hairbands.

Prolonged use of bandanas was causing the hair at the front of my head to break, KINK, and stand straight up.    Like I needed THAT.

In two years it's been singed repeatedly, caught in the truck window, pulled by purse straps and seatbelts.    I've trapped a bug or two IN it, and I've shampooed who-knows-what OUT of it.    It was like wearing a knitted wool cap all summer and stayed wet with sweat 24/7.    And if your hair is wet with sweat, your head smells.

When my headphones (not ear buds, HEADPHONES) got hopelessly tangled up in my hair AT WORK, well, it was the last straw.
     The removal process was painful but I couldn't very well go to the bank and the utility company with my headphones sticking out of the back of my head and the cord dangling down my back, could I??

I threw in the hairbrush, so to speak.   

I was determined to make a point and I did.    I am one very stubborn ass.    That's the only point I made and the only thing I have proven here with Operation Hairball.

But I ain't no hater, and this is for those who have kept up the fight for Hair Peace:

Old Dog, New Trick

Tryin' to figure out this video posting thing.    WITHOUT HELP FROM A KID.    The equivalent of working without a net.

Thursday, August 29, 2013

My Own Personal Fall

When I went to the office Monday morning there was a nip in the air, and it was 64 degrees.

Downright chilly.

Is Fall around the corner?


It's been FALL for me for the last TWO YEARS!

I am Vertically Challenged these days.    No problem with my horizontal, but my vertical is completely out of whack.

(If you didn't catch what that meant, you don't remember t.v.'s with vertical and horizontal hold.     I remember when t.v.'s had knobs and "rabbit ears".)

It started with a fall in the bathroom.   I didn't slip and fall IN the garden tub, I tripped and fell OUT of it.    How?   I dunno........

The second time, the boss's back steps rose up to smite me in the kisser for no good reason.     I threw out my right arm to fend off the attack and my shoulder took the brunt of it.  

 I had tripped on the first step.  

Third time:   score TWO for the garden tub.    I am getting tired of rolling, wet and naked, across the bathroom carpet and T-Bird is probably tired of picking me up.

Fourth:   Tripped over my own feet and fell down in the bedroom.    Missed hitting the bedside table with my head by one inch.

If you're asking yourself the obvious "is she drinking/drugging???" question I cannot blame you.    I can't blame this on drugs or alcohol;   I have a serious lack of grace and coordination.   Always have.

Fifth:    I had just gotten into my truck at the Dollar Store.     I was on my way home after several errands.
      The cell phone rang.    My husband reminding me to get ibuprophen on my way home.

NUTS!    I had just left the store!      Now I gotta go BACK!    I got out of the truck, and in my usual hurry, stepped behind the truck on my way across the parking lot.......and cracked my left knee on the trailer hitch.

The collision with the hitch hurt so bad I lost my breath, and my freakin' balance.    I made a couple of odd steps, and fell face first to the pavement.

I threw my hands out and hit with so much forward momentum that the back of my right hand touched the backs of the knuckles, and the pain and force of the rolling fall flipped me over onto my back.   

A man came up and asked if I needed help.   

Oh yeah, you could say so!    I tried to get up and couldn't.    He had to pick me up and stand me on my feet.

Now I really needed ibuprophen.     My knee hurt like Hell, and was bruised.    I left skin on the asphalt, my hand was bloody and swelling, and it was turning colors.

I did limp back into the store for the ibuprophen.     My right hand hurt so bad I could barely get my money out of my pocket, and I tried to keep my mangled hand out of sight of the cashier.

I drove myself home.

The hand swelled to the point we couldn't get my rings off, and the palm turned black.   The fingers would not move, and I couldn't flatten my hand.    Cold water hurt like the dickens.

Not only do I no longer bounce when I hit the ground, I no longer bounce back from injury.

I had to have help washing my hair and getting dressed in the morning.    Anything with a screw-on top was handed off to someone else.  

 I never missed a day of work but I had to get creative to get the job done.

It took months for my hand to return to service.    My right hand is now just a hair wider than it was, and one knuckle sticks up at an odd angle.     I know when the weather will change 48 hours in advance.

Sixth fall:     You didn't think I was finished, did you?    This one was weird but painless.     I got out of the bed, walked to the end of it, and fell over across the foot of the mattress.     Didn't get my feet tangled up, wasn't dizzy,........just keeled over.

The leaves are just beginning to fall here but I have a head start on 'em..

Saturday, August 24, 2013

Trouble In The Trailerhood

This popped up at the end of my street about two weeks ago:
This crops up from time to time.     A few years ago they painted gang signs on my next-door neighbor's fence.       Had she caught the kid with the Krylon, she would have stomped his tail all over this street, and nobody would have said one word.

Please, if you want the signs to be threatening, you must have passable spelling skills.    If I can't decipher the word, or squiggle, I cannot feel properly intimidated.

If I read the boards correctly, and it's written rather bluntly, this group of wannabe's has crossed some sort of line somewhere.

The leader has been named and accused of "false claiming", and he's been told he has "tagged one too many things" and put his hands on too many women.
     Not sure what they mean by "put his hands on too many women".    He may fancy himself quite the lover and he has gone after someone's lady, or he has beaten or roughed women up.    
   If he beats women, what he gets is fine by me.    Maybe a beating will explain it in a way that a few days in jail stretched out on a bunk won't.

The writer of this promise states that he has been after the guy for months, and when he finally runs him to ground, anyone with him will pay as well.

The last time we had a gang problem in this neighborhood, they shot a man's trailer full of holes.

We had seen teen boys, all dressed in the same colors, walking together all day.

We heard gunshots all day too.    Sheriff's deputies would drive down one street, and we'd see kids turn and walk in another direction.  

Come dark-thirty, all Hell broke loose.    The call came over the scanner and we heard the Sheriff's Department when they flipped on the sirens clear across town.

This is the Get Gone Signal.....and people Got Gone.

T-Bird went out and was standing in the shadows by the barn, when a teenaged boy ran past him like The Devil was hot on his trail.     My husband could have reached out and grabbed him, but let him go on by.    It's hard to tell who has a gun and who doesn't in the dark.

He never saw T. and I'm thinkin' that's a good thing.

We watched the show for about thirty minutes.     Deputies runnin' and jumpin' fences, kids dodgin' and runnin' everywhere, blue lights flashin' in the background for effect.

Our garden, where T-Bird was standing when the boy flew by, had an awful lot of brass in it the next day.

Having met a few bikers, and by that I mean FOR REAL BIKERS, and learning a few things about gangs in general, making false claims and starting a gang without permission from the other local gangs is a big time no-no.

The group my husband was with was a group of Lone Wolf bikers.    They would have to ask permission from about 6 clubs in order to take the group to that level.

But the little wannabe's in the neighborhood have claimed ground that "belongs" to someone else, and you just don't do that.

Personally, I hope the warning from the other gang is sufficient and the peace, or rather, whatever is passing for "peace" in the trailerhood these days, holds.

I'll have to check and see if our insurance covers bullet holes............

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

Zombies, Aliens, Explosions, And Tinfoil

I check our local message forum every single day.    

Mostly to see if I'M on it.   

I'm not up to anything scandalous, but you don't have to be to wind up on Topix with your undies flying in a venomous cyber wind.

I never comment on a thread.    No need for me to help stir the sh......stink.

When some Dipwad posted a question last Summer about The Zombie Attack that is surely looming ahead I just rolled my eyes and went on down the list.

Toward the end of the year, someone reported weird goin's-on out by the airport.    UFO's to start with----go ahead and laugh, that's what I did----then military helicopters doin' God-Knows-What at all hours of the night.

I queried the airport manager as he is Hubby's Best Friend In The Whole Wide World and Bosslady's husband.     

Who knew absolutely nothing about anything.   

When he got a text from another buddy asking him if he had his tinfoil hat ready, he checked the boards himself.  Multiple posts about aliens and martial law.    

At first it was funny as Hell, but after a couple of phone calls from some very irate people who were awakened in the wee hours of a workday it was losing it's "Ha-Ha" Effect.

The fact that nobody with our local law enforcement had any inkling of The Approaching Zombie Apocolypse/United Nations Take-Over/Martial Law Crackdown did not help.    

The Zombies will get us for sure with this level of incompetence....................

By the way.......aliens are not NEARLY as noisy and inconsiderate in the wee-hours-of-the-morning-of-a-workday as military helicopter pilots.   

"I'm gonna post on there that it was E.T., Bigfoot, and Chupacabra holding a meeting at the end of the runway!" says the Airport Manager, who has just about lost all patience with sleep-deprived people.

He didn't do it, and things quieted down to a degree.    We even made it through the End Of The Mayan Calender with no muss, no fuss.

Now, according to a post on the boards, there are multiple unexplained explosions out by the airport.


I work out by the airport.    I can watch the planes take off and land from the back steps.    Explosions close to my workplace do not give me The Warm Fuzzies.

I'd put it in the same file as the aliens and zombies if it weren't for one little thing:

T-Bird and I have heard some odd explosive sounds and we live clear 'cross town from the airport.    On New Year's Eve we heard the usual gunfire----ten minutes worth----and some neighbor put on a very nice fireworks show.    But there were some explosions that we couldn't quite put down to guns or fireworks.

I've heard them during the night, and during the day.     I felt the floor of my trailer shake ever so slightly one afternoon when one went off somewhere.

I read several comments and then read about an idiot who had found the recipe to a by-golly explosive that I won't name here, and then..............read the name of the road my father lives on.     If you ever wondered, this is an Oh-Hell-No Moment, and yeah, I called the old man.

Getting out of the shower one night last week, sans hearing aids, he heard an explosion so loud he went outside looking for.........something.    He didn't see or hear anything else that night, but he says he's heard them before.

He lives almost ten full miles further away from the airport than I do.

Damn damn damn.    We talked to several more people and almost all of them have heard the same thing.    Some have felt their homes shake like mine did and heard the windows rattle.

ATTENTION:   I have no intention of monkeyin' around with this stuff, and neither does my husband.    Guitar players are damned fond of their digits, and I can't handle a can of biscuits exploding much less anything else.

Sooner or later one of the Explosive Idiots will blow off a few fingers---either his own or a friend's---and I am sure the local law reads the message boards and will nab this twit.

Hopefully that will happen BEFORE some shithead blows my father off of Hell Hill and I'm tellin' ya, I'll take that badly.

Then someone started a thread warning us not to be fooled by the bad aliens because the good aliens were our friends and they were blowing up the bad ones.

Today, a new post about UFO's hovering over a nearby highway.   Oh please, let these  be The Good Ones.

In the Spirit Of The Mayans I predict a shortage of Reynold's Wrap.    That Dollar Store stuff is too flimsy and you'll have to use a lot of it for protection.

Monday, August 19, 2013

The Singer And The Hummer

One particular male hummingbird (now known as Jellybean) has staked out the feeder.    He perches on the clothesline or in the trees next door and ambushes any hummingbird with the audacity to try it.

It was time to wash and fill the feeder, and while I was busy doing that, T-Bird was watching the male.    He looks ratty right now, I swear he's missing feathers, and he's easy to spot.   

I had made a wire hook of sorts to lower the feeder for easy handling and it was still hanging from the clothesline post.

Jellybean was hovering beside the wire hook, moving up and down looking at the hook, and then he landed on the clothesline close to the window.

And stared at T..

Then he flew back, studied the hook for a few seconds, and flew back to the clothesline.

And fixed another stare on T-Bird.

"Yo, Bud!  What up with the feeder?!?"

This continued until the feeder was washed and ready to go.    Back and forth, back and forth.    They figure it out fast.  

No Food = Stupid Human.

Jellybean put it in the wind when T-Bird walked out the door.    He walked the last few feet very slowly and stood just like he is in the pic, and drew up this pretty little female:
It's the closest he's ever gotten to a hummingbird, and holding the feeder while she fed made his day.

We keep it pretty simple these days.

Sunday, August 18, 2013

Blue Sky For A Change

The neighbor's pampas grass is so pretty today, against a little bit of blue sky.    Haven't seen any blue for a  week now, and after about six inches of rain my yard is now saturated.    It's like walking on a soaked sponge.


Saturday, August 17, 2013

Playin' Beat The Train

Last week, on my way to the post office for the boss, I heard an ominous sound..................a train horn.

While that means nothing to most people, it means that I have to play Beat The Train.

One of the joys of living in this town is the fact that the tracks run through it.    They cut it slap in half.

Everything I Love And Hold Dear is on one side.    Kids, grandkids, my father, all on the same side of CSX that I live on.   

Everything else, food, medical, JOB, law, dollar store, Wal Mart (ick), bank, bakery and damn near everybody I owe money to, is on the OTHER side.

When I first moved here in 1976 if you got caught by the train it was an acceptable excuse.     "I got stopped by the train" was a Get-Out-Of-Trouble-Free Card.     Accepted everywhere.

Then, they put in an underpass.   Just one.    And permanently shut down several crossings.    It shut down the old reliable "train" excuse as well.

Now, if you have to be On The Other Side for some reason when you hear the horn blow, you are open to three choices:

a)  Resign yourself to the fact that you will be late.    Pull up and wait it out.    I've had meaningful discussions with fellow drivers at these crossings.    If the train stops, you might not get home 'til dark.    Make yourself comfortable.

b)  Head for the singular underpass and duel at the four-way stop for a chance to get in the line of cars now sitting UNDER the train.   They are sitting there because this street crosses a very busy street and the guys who got to the underpass before you are now somewhat stuck themselves.

c)  Hit the gas and haul ass.    My personal favorite.    It is possible, given your proximity to a crossing and traffic flow, to run like a rabbit and actually get across the tracks safely if you hear the horn in time.   

It doesn't matter if it's the crossing you prefer, you can always get back on your route if you can.   Just.   Cross.   The tracks. 

When I heard the horn blow, I was too far away to get across the closest crossing.  

The crossing I needed was right at the post office, and me and CSX got there almost at the same time.

Wait it out, or try the underpass?     I opted for the underpass.    It's moving slow, and I don't have time to sit.    It is headed toward the train yard and that means it could stop for a while.

I drove four blocks, made it through the four-way stop with no real wait, ran under the train, up to the next intersection.    I didn't have to wait but a minute, crossed the road, made a hard left, and drove up three blocks in order to hit the alley behind the post office.   

This alley was blocked by two trucks waiting at the crossing.   DAMN.   I still can't see the end of the train so I am under the impression that I had made a wise choice in using the underpass.

I made a hard right into another alley behind the utility company   (I always feel like I have been violated somehow when I drive by it), followed by another hard left turn in front of the glass place turned gym turned church building, a hard turn to the right which put me on the alley blocked by the two trucks.  

This alley runs right beside the tracks.   I made a stop at the stop sign just in case there was a cop somewhere and whipped into my favorite parking spot in the post office parking lot ( it's my favorite because I can drive over the sidewalk there), and grabbed my camera for this shot:
Had I just stopped and waited,  I would have been just yards away from the same parking place when the train was gone.

 CSX for the win.

Friday, August 16, 2013

The Dodge And Duck

I swear, I must be slippin'.

I used to be The Queen of The Dodge And Duck.

When somebody would say "See ya later", you would say, under your breath, "Not if I see you first".

I didn't see him first.    I should have, but wasn't payin' attention, and there he was, right in front of me.

An old boyfriend, who wanted to huuuuug.    Oh yes, I want someone to catch me in a clench with one of the town drunks.    I can really pick 'em.

He's harmless but I have ZERO desire to walk down Memory Lane.    It wasn't that much fun the first time.   He was on his beer run for the weekend, and I got the Hell out of the store when he turned his back.   

I wasn't fast.    I was SUDDEN.

When I told T-Bird about it at lunch he told me to go bathe.

Standing in the grocery store checkout line one afternoon, I spotted two old biddies that I didn't want to talk to.    I knew the spiel, and just didn't want to hear it because they were gonna piss me off.
     When the cashier turned to give me my total, I wasn't there.    I had squatted down in the line so I wouldn't be spotted.    The cashier and everyone in line behind me thought that was funny as all-get-out.    The laughter almost gave me away.

While I was going thru my divorce, I ran into my soon-to-be-ex-sister-in-law.    They had come from out of town for a visit, and my daddy had lied to this chick for me once already.
     I was at Wally World riffling thru the shirts on one of those round clothes racks.    I had my head down, checking sizes and prices when another woman walked up to the opposite side of the rack.
     I lifted my eyes just enough to see who it was and my blood ran cold.    We were three feet apart.     If I cut and run, I'm caught.   If I have to talk to her it will end badly.
     I just continued to browse with my head down, and gradually drifted off across the department.

Then, deciding that I didn't need anything that bad, I left the store.    She never knew I was there.

Stealth!     Ninja-style stuff!    Now you see me, now you don't!    The Incredible Vanishing Woman!

I have walked right past co-workers and blood family, and they never knew I was around.

I got caught in front of the video store once by a guy I knew thirty years ago.
     I was wrapping the last few feet of log chain around a grandchild in her car seat----she could give Houdini a run for the money----when I heard a man ask if he knew me.

The answer is ALWAYS "NO".

But when he names your parents and sisters the jig is up.   

I couldn't deny that I knew him, and it took some doing to convince him that we were NOT going on a damned dinner date because my husband would have objections.    I do give him credit for a good try.

I also took mental notes about the truck he was driving.

"See ya later!"

Sure you will, Sport, sure you will...........

Tuesday, August 13, 2013

Bulls And Beethoven

To keep the voices in my head at bay, I employ an Inner-Cranial Avoidance Device.

An mp3 player and headphones.

This has become a dandy little must-have.    Fire it up, and put the aggravations on hold while I clean the office.    

When I have to drive to Hell Hill I have something to listen to that I actually like.     It's waaaay out in the country and I can blast it if I want to.    And I want to!

I was Blessed with an ability to enjoy any kind of music.    I always had music playing in the house from the time my children were newborns and they grew up with Pink Floyd,  Johnny Cash, Vivaldi, and everything in between.

They danced before they could walk.   They'd pull up to a standing position and stomp their feet and shake their Pamper-clad backsides.

Back when I had actual RECORDS and a record player with my stereo set-up, we had the awesome experience (sarc./OFF) of living on a bull farm.

Big red Limousine bulls.   Breeding stock.      Money bulls.   

We lived in an old farmhouse on top of a hill, and there was always a breeze blowing.    I'd open all of the windows, turn the stereo up, and do some serious housework.

Classical is GREAT for cleaning house, and I had Hooked On The Classics, cranked, with all the windows up.

I walked by one window and looked.............well DAMN!   

There were about eight or nine bulls in a sectioned-off piece of pasture that bordered my back yard, and every single one of them was staring at the house with those big red ears cocked toward the music.   

They were all bunched up in a close group and practically standing on each other.   

That's a loooooot of hamburger, Friend.

They'd stand there as long as the Classical played.

They ignored virtually every other kind of music I had.    I can understand their disdain for Country songs...."Get Along Little Dogies" and all that.

T-Bird says my mp3 player is proof of insanity.    I have Tom T. Hall and Kid Rock.    Koko Taylor and Aretha.    Skynyrd, Motley Crue, Dylan, and Jimmy Buffet.    The Rat Pack, and David Allen Coe.    Gospel, and Mountain Metal (Bluegrass).    Lots of Blues.

If the country music wasn't enough to keep my husband from borrowing it, I also have a song by Kermit The Frog.   

That's the one that may get me committed.    I promise not to throw feces if I can keep my mp3 player.

Sunday, August 11, 2013

The Only Good Wasp..............

Guinea wasps.

I had seen wasps floating by the kitchen window; sometimes, I'd see two at a time.

Didn't know what kind they were....didn't need to.

A wasp is a wasp is a wasp.

I've seen red wasp nests as big as dinner plates hanging from cypress trees.    I learned to look before making a cast around any trees or bushes while fishing.

Any old shed or barn is a haven for these things and I avoid those.

One local man kicked an old bucket out of a deer stand after being told not to.    The wasps had made their home in the abandoned bucket while nobody was using the stand.   

They moved right in by crawling between the boards.    The plastic bucket held off the rain and held in the heat.    That made it prime real estate as far as the wasps were concerned.

Wasps take high offense to having their home kicked.    And damned near everything else.

Just like a Saturday morning cartoon, he took off running until he ran out of deer stand, about four feet, and fell about eight feet to the ground.    His buddies (T-Bird included), the ones who told him NOT to kick the bucket, had already left.

I snatched off a shirt in my front yard in broad daylight to get wasps off of me after I accidentally found a nest behind my shutters.     I would have gotten away entirely if I hadn't slipped in wet grass that I had just wet with a water hose.    Got stung twice AND got caught in my brassiere.

The first time I got caught like that was on purpose, but that was a Bike Week thing.    Yes, it IS different!

Yesterday T-Bird sprayed a nest by my back door.    Affixed to a post, only The Love Of God kept us from getting stung because that's the post my rain guage is nailed to.    I had been emptying the guage and shaking the post.

We could not find a second nest but we were STILL seeing wasps.

We went to town, and T. found it when he was unlocking the front door on our return.

Right over our heads.

Friday, August 9, 2013

Snow In August........PLEASE!

Southern women do not sweat.

We glow, and I have "glowed" like a racehorse the entire week. 

Today has been a balmy 93 degrees, and with just a touch of humidity it feels like 102 degrees.    You can't beg a breath to save your life.

I was glad it didn't rain, as crazy as that sounds.       The mixture of human sweat and rain give me a peculiar scent that I like to refer to as Eau De Blaque Lab.

Slap a duck in my mouth and call me "Princess".

That's okay if you're in the field but it's definitely not okay in the grocery store checkout line.

I was reminded today that it's just the beginning of August by a sadist at the insurance company.    It will be at least two months before a cold snap.

I find myself looking forward to Fall and then Winter, whereupon I will do a post about aching joints, and the damnable cold.

Here's a delightful surprise we got in 2010:
I could roll around nekkid in that right about now.

Thursday, August 8, 2013

Blue Lights Before Breakfast

"Hang him by the neck with birthday streamers from the pecan tree".

I said that about my Ex in my post about being vindicated after years of accusal.

The next morning, at 6:15 a.m., T-Birds phone went off.

One of our neighbors was calling to tell us that a friend of ours, who lives two houses down the street from us, had hung himself in the front yard from a mimosa tree.

Oh Dear God, NO!    I pulled back the curtain and couldn't see anything but blue lights.

T-Bird grabbed shorts and I grabbed a housecoat and we took off for the door.    My husband shoved me back inside and told me I didn't need to see it.    He was dead serious and I stayed put.

All I could see was blue lights from squad cars, red flashing lights from the ambulance, and people everywhere.    It was still kinda dark so I couldn't make out too much.

When T. came back he said that it was not Zach, it was the man in the next house over.       They had cut him down and were getting ready to load him in the ambulance.   

When I dropped off the mail at the office after lunch the story had morphed into this:

Zach went next door to his neighbor's house, and ACCIDENTALLY (????) hung himself from the mimosa tree in the front yard in the middle of the night.

I tried to put THAT fire out with a few facts.

1.)    Zach ain't got no tree.    He'd have to borrow a neighbor's tree.   

If you find someone on your doorstep with a long rope and they ask if they can borrow a limb, say "NO".

2.)    If Zach hung himself in the neighbor's yard, why wasn't his truck in HIS yard?   His wife never goes outside, and she cannot drive.     Zach goes out of town once a week and stays overnight.    His car was spotted there later that afternoon.

3.)    A semi-reclusive damn-near-sixty yr. old white man probably would not have twenty young Hispanics appear on the scene of his demise at 6:30 in the morning.    From what I could see, they all had on the same kind of work shirt so they must have been co-workers on their way to work before the 7:00 a.m. shift.   They all looked so shocked and sad......stunned.........

The poor soul who left was a supervisor at a local trailer plant.   Zach is a pizza delivery man.   Always has been.

4.)    The emergency vehicles were NOT in Zach's yard.    Kinda stupid to pull the ambulance into your next door neighbor's driveway if you are having your heart attack in YOUR house.

News travels fast in a small town, and it's much faster when it's bad news.   Put some misinformation or downright lies in it and it streaks thru, leaving tongues flappin' in it's wake. 

Such is the way.

I found a thread about it on the Topix website, and there are so many stories about this man, and of course none of them are good.  Lots of speculation, and the only verifiable fact is his first name.   We got that from a retired officer who had been told about it.

Here's another fact, the one nobody is talkin' around:    he left a wife and small children behind, who are going through the most horrible time imaginable, for reasons they may never understand.    Their entire world has just turned upside-down.    The wife cut him down herself.

But THAT wouldn't be as much fun to talk about, would it?

Monday, August 5, 2013


Finally, something to give me just a smidgen of Hope.

My name has been cleared, and it only took 33 years.      Justice Is Blind, and she's slow as fog off of shit.

Some time after I moved out on my own my father discovered one of the ornate posts that held up the upstairs porch had been damaged.  

It was a metal post that had a lot of flimsy decorative flowers worked into it, and one of the flowers was bent.

My father got "bent out of shape" over that, and I was accused, tried, and convicted.

I wasn't accused of climbing up the post.

I was accused of having a boyfriend climb up the post.    Guess what for?

First, I was a lot of things, but I was never so stupid as to try a stunt like that ACROSS THE HALL FROM DADDY.    Please, give me a little credit for some smarts.

Not much, just a little.

Secondly, there was another sister that could have had an interested, albeit suicidal, boyfriend.    But it wasn't her fault either.

I know EXACTLY how that happened.    My mother and I had managed to lock ourselves out of Mama's house.

She cannot climb up to the upstairs porch.

I was pregnant and I couldn't do it either.

We fetched my then-husband, and he went up the post---bending the damned metalwork---and we were inside in a flash.

I have told my father the truth repeatedly, but oh-Hell-no, he wasn't gonna have it.

We never did get along well together.    When my mother passed away I got some keepsakes, some nice jewelry, a city lot (complete with a trailer suitable for ANY fishcamp ANYWHERE),............and Daddy.   

For whatever reason, he decided to go over this crock one more time yesterday.    At my grand daughter's birthday party in front of people that I can barely stomach in passing.

I revoked his Senior Citizen Get Away With Bullshit Card on the spot.

"Wait just one damned minute old man!"    

I had to yell it because for some reason his hearing aides don't seem to pick up my voice.    I repeat everything I say to him all the time.    He has zero problem-o hearing the t.v..

I begged my Ex husband, in front of people, to PLEASE tell the old goat why come his damned post was bent.

I could wallow him in the dirt, hang him by the neck with birthday streamers from the pecan tree, drown him in the HUGE water slide that they had rented, or smother him facedown in pink birthday cake, but I was just hoping he'd back me up and tell Daddy the truth.

He did, and as if by magic, $5000.00 worth of hearing aides picked up his every word.

He will have my loyalty until the day he's laid out and candle lit.    He got Daddy off of my back and he has earned it.

Daddy turned to the dude sitting next to him and said:

"Don't you hate it when you've got a good one on somebody and somebody else blows it out of the water?"

Yeah.    I bet that sucks.

Sunday, August 4, 2013

Cat Food And Loaf Bread

My son needed two things from the store:   cat food and loaf bread.

So he struck a trot and went to a little convenience store right behind his home.

He grabbed the loaf bread and a can of cat food, paid, and left.     On the walk back home it dawned on him how that must have looked to the store owner.

The store owner has known my son for a few years now; they are kinda-sorta friends.    When we lost power here due to tornados, he called some of his family who own a motel, and got Son and Girlfriend a very cheap rate for a few days until the power was restored. 

When he went back to the store a few days later, he told the man that the cat food and loaf bread worked out very well, and thanked the man.    Said he really liked the "tuna with the cat on the label".

The store owner was speechless.

I was not.

I flipped out when he told me about it, and asked him why in the world would he let that poor man think he was eating cat food sandwiches????

I have a what-in-the-Hell-is-wrong-with-you-boy tone that is pretty darned good, and I have made grown men cringe with it.     I've had lots of practice thanks to this boy.

I stop in there from time to time, they KNOW I am his mother, and it's a piss-poor reflection on ME.

What kind of mother would let her child live on cat food and loaf bread??????   

Other than my mother-in-law?? 

My Boy explained it this way:     "I run out of cat food and bread all the time.    I don't want to drive all the way to the grocery store for two little items.    If he thinks I'm eating cat food with loaf bread, he'll keep those two items in stock."

Brilliant!   A little bit disturbing, but brilliant!

When he borrowed a mixing bowl from me, I nagged until he brought it back.      I opened my front door to see him wearing it like a helmet.    One of my son-in-laws was with him grinnin' like a loon.
Yes, he HAD worn it all the way to my house and I snatched him through the door before my neighbors could see it.

He went with me to the grocery store and we had a decent enough time.    For a trip to the grocery store, that is.
Going back to the truck, he starts swatting at something I cannot see.   I thought it was gnats, The Bane Of The South.

He starts spinnin' around in circles, swatting the air, screaming "MAKE THE BAD BATS STOP!!".

Have you ever had strangers give you that sad look?   The one that says they understand that your grown child has problems.   So much sympathy for the poor soul who is his caretaker.    I could see the pity on their faces.    I can also see the grin on HIS face and that makes it worse.

I can't kick or cuss or hit at him because then twenty old folks are going to call 911 on me for abusing this poor young man.    Yes indeed, the parking lot was FULL of spectators.    It wouldn't have been fun in an empty parking lot---you need an audience for this.

He kept it up all the way to the truck.     And laughed about it all the way home.

If you have small children and think you will be as crazy as an outhouse rat before they finally mature, just hang on.    It gets worse the older they get.

Green Mambas In Georgia

My husband went through a period of Pure Hell several years ago.    To combat nervous jitters, he started gardening.

This is something I would have never believed.      I could see him losing his mind and growing weed, but taking over the fenced-in privacy area and planting all sorts of stuff that you can't smoke simply wasn't HIM.

When he put in the water fountain I was sure the cheese had slipped off of his cracker.    We gathered and trucked rocks for two days to get this thing like he wanted it.  

Whatever it took to keep him occupied and off of the news channels.   "Today, a man in Georgia went on a rampage, taking an entire county with him.    More at eleven."

Before it was finished, we had a huge rocked-in fountain, banana trees, all sorts of plants planted here and there, and several hanging baskets that he tended religiously.     He did a wonderful job and I was impressed.    It was very nice.     We spent a lot of our time together in his garden while he decompressed.

Then The Fateful Day arrived...........

While my Basket Case is watering his hanging baskets, he was struck by a green mamba.

Did you know that we have these things in Georgia?

Just as the cold water hit one of the baskets, a green blur shot out, and hit him right smack in the middle of the forehead.  

And it stuck there. 

He is going to die and he knows it.    Very few people survive a mamba strike.    He grabbed for the snake, and flung it. 

I found one at the office last week in a garbage can and got this pic of The Deadliest Viper in the state:

Oh yeah.   He freely admits that he screamed and ran like a little girl.    He threw the hose, threw the frog, and LEFT.   He told me it took him a minute to get his stuff back together and if he had thought about his anal sphincter just once he would have pooped in his shorts.

Yes.   I laughed until I cried.   This is a character flaw and I'm workin' on it.    Really.

The hanging baskets are now gone, the fountain was given to one of the kids, the rocks (all three tons) were pressed into service to bolster the dirt by the ditch pipe so the driveway would stay put, and the only thing green in the privacy area is grass, cut painfully short once a week.    Whether it's needed or not.

Keeps the mamba population down, you understand.