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?
WHICH FALL ARE WE TALKIN' HERE?????
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..
Thursday, August 29, 2013
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............
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.
THEY HAVE MY UNDIVIDED ATTENTION.
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.
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.
THEY HAVE MY UNDIVIDED ATTENTION.
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.
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:
We keep it pretty simple these days.
Sunday, August 18, 2013
Blue Sky For A Change
*SQUISH*SQUISH*SQUISH*
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.
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:
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...........
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.
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.
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.
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:
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?
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
VINDICATED!
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.
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.
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.
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:
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.
Friday, August 2, 2013
"Sext Me"
No, don't. Really. Those words are in quotes for a reason: they ain't MY words.
Those are the words plastered across the kick drum head, along with the ex-drummers' cell phone digits. He's young and good-lookin' and it's likely he gets "sexted" frequently.
That's the thing these days.
When my son got a picture message at work he didn't even think about it before he opened the file. He thought it might be something from his girlfriend or family, and he didn't check the number it came from.
Weeeeellllll, it was certainly female. No face was showing, but, yep.......female.
It wasn't HIS female.
Not exactly sure how to deal with this, he sent her a reply. Chivalry calls for a man to respond to a lady.
"Thank you! Very nice. Nice pic. I don't believe I know you."
In just a minute or two.........
Lots of OMG and "I'm so sorry" and obvious embarrassment lit up on the cell phone.
She has taken a picture of her, uhhhhh, Happy Place, typed in the wrong number, and hit send hoping to thrill her Baby, and "thrilled" MY baby by mistake.
Back in my day..............
Makes ya think of old folks, don't it? You know, the ones who talked about all that old crap from Yester-year and talked it all the time?
*shudder*
I've reached the age where I can say I had a "Day".
Meaning a "way back when".
Well Hell.....
Back In My Day if you could get your hands on the physical proof of your stupidity, you could dispose of it, praying that there were no copies or negatives.
Move out of state if you couldn't...........
I was always scared that something I did that was stupid would get back to my parents. I still did my fair share of Stupid, but The Fear Factor stopped me for the most part.
Today you can do Stupid digitally before you have time to think it out, and fling it to the masses.
Good luck getting that back.
The lady in the story could take comfort in the fact that she got big points for photography and subject matter from a factory full of men who all swear they Ain't Gettin' Any, and appreciated her efforts.
If Chivalry isn't dead, it's bleeding badly.
Ladies, if you take that pic please double check that number!
I reserve the right to critique any and all sexts accidentally or intentionally sent to me, so guys, you might wanna check the number before you hit send, too!
Those are the words plastered across the kick drum head, along with the ex-drummers' cell phone digits. He's young and good-lookin' and it's likely he gets "sexted" frequently.
That's the thing these days.
When my son got a picture message at work he didn't even think about it before he opened the file. He thought it might be something from his girlfriend or family, and he didn't check the number it came from.
Weeeeellllll, it was certainly female. No face was showing, but, yep.......female.
It wasn't HIS female.
Not exactly sure how to deal with this, he sent her a reply. Chivalry calls for a man to respond to a lady.
"Thank you! Very nice. Nice pic. I don't believe I know you."
In just a minute or two.........
Lots of OMG and "I'm so sorry" and obvious embarrassment lit up on the cell phone.
She has taken a picture of her, uhhhhh, Happy Place, typed in the wrong number, and hit send hoping to thrill her Baby, and "thrilled" MY baby by mistake.
Back in my day..............
Makes ya think of old folks, don't it? You know, the ones who talked about all that old crap from Yester-year and talked it all the time?
*shudder*
I've reached the age where I can say I had a "Day".
Meaning a "way back when".
Well Hell.....
Back In My Day if you could get your hands on the physical proof of your stupidity, you could dispose of it, praying that there were no copies or negatives.
Move out of state if you couldn't...........
I was always scared that something I did that was stupid would get back to my parents. I still did my fair share of Stupid, but The Fear Factor stopped me for the most part.
Today you can do Stupid digitally before you have time to think it out, and fling it to the masses.
Good luck getting that back.
The lady in the story could take comfort in the fact that she got big points for photography and subject matter from a factory full of men who all swear they Ain't Gettin' Any, and appreciated her efforts.
If Chivalry isn't dead, it's bleeding badly.
Ladies, if you take that pic please double check that number!
I reserve the right to critique any and all sexts accidentally or intentionally sent to me, so guys, you might wanna check the number before you hit send, too!
Thursday, August 1, 2013
I Brake For Geese
I can't be sure, but I thought I got a "Flock you" when I pulled up close to get a shot.
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