I have never been so aggravated in my entire LIFE.
Computers may not kill me, but they have just about driven me INSANE. I was pretty darned close to THAT anyway, and this 8.1....program thingy....could be the tipping point.
Hubs bought me a new computer and it has been a pure nightmare ever since, culminating in a fight between me and the aforementioned husband that I'm pretty sure half of the trailerhood heard.
Yep, white folks be crazy.
Somehow or another, I managed to scramble up and/or lose every single e-mail addy and password that I. Ever. Had.
I had to call one of my brood to give me my e-mail address, and I had to take a few guesses to get the password right.
Having FINALLY broken into my e-mail, I wrote the info down the old-fashioned way. ON PAPER.
The next time I tried to check my e-mail, the damned thing said my "session has expired Log in again". This results in it telling me that my info is incorrect. I type it all back in to be told yet again that my session has expired. SESSION? WHAT SESSION???? I NEVER HAD A FLIPPIN' "SESSION" BEFORE!
*Sorry..........taking deep, calming breaths...in...out....in....out*
T-Bird fixed me up another e-mail account. Yippee. Doesn't help me with the other e-mail. The e-mail that is going to fill up with Facebook notifications to the point that it shuts down HIS e-mail account.
When THAT happens, HIS e-mail will be shut down until MY e-mail is cleaned out.
If I cannot get in it I cannot clean it out, and this fight will move into Round 2.
I called one of my kids for help. Fearing for my sanity, and afraid I'll have to move in with HER if me and the old man tie up one more time, she broke into my original e-mail, cleaned it out, and then broke into Facebook, and changed the addy to my new e-mail. Now all the Facebook stuff goes to the address that has nothing to do with T-Bird's e-mail. Catastrophe averted. I'll get Youngest to break into the old e-mail again, and shut it down.
T-Bird insisted that I have a folder in My Documents with all of my addresses and passwords in it. I pointed out that if I had been doing that all along, that info would be on the old hard drive. I did it anyway to shut him up.
Considering my previous record with these things I'm going to commit them to paper and glue it to the wall next to the computer. It's gonna be hard to lose the wall, but I'm sure I'll manage somehow.
Friday, May 16, 2014
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
Sunday, February 23, 2014
My White Trash Valentine
Ever'body-and-his-dog knows that I don't do Valentine's Day. Romance continues to baffle me, and T-Bird says I take a lot of the "fun" out of it. He uses the term "Buzz Kill".
I decided to give The Romance Thing a solid try anyway and shoot for a nice evening with my old man. Contrary to popular belief, I really do love the S.O.B..
We opted for take-out pizza from Pizza Hut because nothing says "I Love You" quite like pepperoni and cheese.
We cruised to Pizza Hut, and parked on the side of the lot. It was just gonna be a couple of minutes and we'd be on our way back to the house, so I stayed in the truck. I'd make a good bird dog. I sit in the truck an awful lot, but given the options of staring at auto parts and other Boy Toys or People Watching, I opt for the truck every time.
I have a great view of the bar next door, and that could be entertaining as Hell. I've staggered thru that door a time or two myself (sorry, Mama).
I kicked back in the seat and was thinking that, although there have been so many times I wanted to strangle him with my bare hands, or cheerfully shoot him in the back, there isn't anyone I would rather be with than T-Bird.
Sorry.......that's as Romantic as I get.
Two women exit the bar and shuffle across the bar parking lot to the dumpster. An older woman and short, chubby, much younger chick who I completely and utterly despise.
I could do an entire post about WHY, but it's the stuff of Springer-type shows. This is the kind of woman they used to run out of town, and for good reason.
Suffice to say: There's an ass-whippin' comin'.
A man steps out from behind the dumpster and joins the two women, and they stroll off together.
Several minutes later I was beginning to wonder what happened to my husband and my supper, when I saw the two women cross the lots and go inside Pizza Hut.
When they come out a couple of minutes later, the guy joins them in the Pizza Hut parking lot and words are exchanged. Judging from the motions they are making, the words are rather.....heated.
I can't hear it all clearly but I hear my husband's first name. His name simply does not belong in her mouth and I would very much like to slap it out.
The man is obviously pissed off, stompin' his feet, and The Trick (sorry, can't help it) is now saying: "you met him here last week" and "it's cool".
Hmmmmmmmm.......oh please, do tell.
The two women are trying to drag Neanderthal Man back to the bar and calm him down when they come to a stop behind my truck.
RIGHT behind my truck. It's dark in the parking lot and even darker in the truck. I'm slouched down in the seat.
They have no idea that I am on the place.
I hear, very clearly, "WELL MAYBE I OUGHT TO GO INTRODUCE MYSELF TO THE BOY".
He's wrong about that.
(1.) T-Bird has had more than his share of fights and he has one philosophy: There Is No Such Thing As A Fair Fight. Get the bastard down and work him over until he doesn't want any more of you......EVER.
(2.) He isn't alone. If he makes a move I'm gonna come out of the truck like a Bitch-In-The-Box, and Jack ain't got shit on me.
I can back-jump him in three strides.
He's mad as Hell and acting like he wants to go inside the Hut, the chicks are holding him back, and I'm hoping that they have screwed up our order and T-Bird does NOT come out of that door.
He's gonna step out into the parking lot with his hands full and he's not going to be expecting a fight with a Squatch. I can't just sit there and let that happen.
I have no cell phone to call him and warn him. My gun is in my dresser drawer. Grandma's blackjack is packed away in my keepsakes. My Rapala and baseball bat are in my car. My pocket knife and Xact-o blade are in my purse.....and my purse is at the house.
I'm not wearing my shit-kickers and my belt is virtually useless. Fashion, not function.
There isn't one single thing in the cab of the truck that I can use, and nothing in the truck bed to grab because Hubs is a bit of a Neat Freak. Unarmed Rednecks. Un-freakin'-believable.
I do have The Element Of Surprise however. They don't know that I am just five feet away.
This is getting more ridiculous by the minute and I desperately want these clowns to go back inside the bar.
I just sit quietly and hold my breath while the older woman is pleading "no no no" and tugging on his arm.
They finally drag The White Trash Hero back into the bar and I breathe a HUGE sigh of relief. About three minutes later my oblivious Old Man and pizza are out the door and crossing the lot. I'm too old for this shit and was happy to be gone from there.
I relay the events to Hubs and tell him to watch his back. He says he doesn't worry about that because the creep just wanted to put on a show to impress the girls.
Come to find out, he had spoken to the two women when they came inside The Hut and all he said was "hey" because he was trying to get to the crowded counter.
He DID meet The Neanderthal last week because he ran into all three at Pizza Hut the week before. I knew he hadn't been to the bar but had forgotten about the pizza we snagged the previous Friday. Oh, the Tantalizing Lure Of Pepperoni Lover's Pizza with extra cheese.
I'm guessing that she told the guy that my husband said something to her when she went inside or he's been bothering her somehow and she's playing some sort of head game here. Dangerous stuff, that.
Let me post a warning to The Neanderthal and The Trick on a piddly-ass little blog that nobody reads:
What? It's not FAIR to issue a warning that the the recipient of said warning will never see?
My bad.
I decided to give The Romance Thing a solid try anyway and shoot for a nice evening with my old man. Contrary to popular belief, I really do love the S.O.B..
We opted for take-out pizza from Pizza Hut because nothing says "I Love You" quite like pepperoni and cheese.
We cruised to Pizza Hut, and parked on the side of the lot. It was just gonna be a couple of minutes and we'd be on our way back to the house, so I stayed in the truck. I'd make a good bird dog. I sit in the truck an awful lot, but given the options of staring at auto parts and other Boy Toys or People Watching, I opt for the truck every time.
I have a great view of the bar next door, and that could be entertaining as Hell. I've staggered thru that door a time or two myself (sorry, Mama).
I kicked back in the seat and was thinking that, although there have been so many times I wanted to strangle him with my bare hands, or cheerfully shoot him in the back, there isn't anyone I would rather be with than T-Bird.
Sorry.......that's as Romantic as I get.
Two women exit the bar and shuffle across the bar parking lot to the dumpster. An older woman and short, chubby, much younger chick who I completely and utterly despise.
I could do an entire post about WHY, but it's the stuff of Springer-type shows. This is the kind of woman they used to run out of town, and for good reason.
Suffice to say: There's an ass-whippin' comin'.
A man steps out from behind the dumpster and joins the two women, and they stroll off together.
Several minutes later I was beginning to wonder what happened to my husband and my supper, when I saw the two women cross the lots and go inside Pizza Hut.
When they come out a couple of minutes later, the guy joins them in the Pizza Hut parking lot and words are exchanged. Judging from the motions they are making, the words are rather.....heated.
I can't hear it all clearly but I hear my husband's first name. His name simply does not belong in her mouth and I would very much like to slap it out.
The man is obviously pissed off, stompin' his feet, and The Trick (sorry, can't help it) is now saying: "you met him here last week" and "it's cool".
Hmmmmmmmm.......oh please, do tell.
The two women are trying to drag Neanderthal Man back to the bar and calm him down when they come to a stop behind my truck.
RIGHT behind my truck. It's dark in the parking lot and even darker in the truck. I'm slouched down in the seat.
They have no idea that I am on the place.
I hear, very clearly, "WELL MAYBE I OUGHT TO GO INTRODUCE MYSELF TO THE BOY".
He's wrong about that.
(1.) T-Bird has had more than his share of fights and he has one philosophy: There Is No Such Thing As A Fair Fight. Get the bastard down and work him over until he doesn't want any more of you......EVER.
(2.) He isn't alone. If he makes a move I'm gonna come out of the truck like a Bitch-In-The-Box, and Jack ain't got shit on me.
I can back-jump him in three strides.
He's mad as Hell and acting like he wants to go inside the Hut, the chicks are holding him back, and I'm hoping that they have screwed up our order and T-Bird does NOT come out of that door.
He's gonna step out into the parking lot with his hands full and he's not going to be expecting a fight with a Squatch. I can't just sit there and let that happen.
I have no cell phone to call him and warn him. My gun is in my dresser drawer. Grandma's blackjack is packed away in my keepsakes. My Rapala and baseball bat are in my car. My pocket knife and Xact-o blade are in my purse.....and my purse is at the house.
I'm not wearing my shit-kickers and my belt is virtually useless. Fashion, not function.
There isn't one single thing in the cab of the truck that I can use, and nothing in the truck bed to grab because Hubs is a bit of a Neat Freak. Unarmed Rednecks. Un-freakin'-believable.
I do have The Element Of Surprise however. They don't know that I am just five feet away.
This is getting more ridiculous by the minute and I desperately want these clowns to go back inside the bar.
I just sit quietly and hold my breath while the older woman is pleading "no no no" and tugging on his arm.
They finally drag The White Trash Hero back into the bar and I breathe a HUGE sigh of relief. About three minutes later my oblivious Old Man and pizza are out the door and crossing the lot. I'm too old for this shit and was happy to be gone from there.
I relay the events to Hubs and tell him to watch his back. He says he doesn't worry about that because the creep just wanted to put on a show to impress the girls.
Come to find out, he had spoken to the two women when they came inside The Hut and all he said was "hey" because he was trying to get to the crowded counter.
He DID meet The Neanderthal last week because he ran into all three at Pizza Hut the week before. I knew he hadn't been to the bar but had forgotten about the pizza we snagged the previous Friday. Oh, the Tantalizing Lure Of Pepperoni Lover's Pizza with extra cheese.
I'm guessing that she told the guy that my husband said something to her when she went inside or he's been bothering her somehow and she's playing some sort of head game here. Dangerous stuff, that.
Let me post a warning to The Neanderthal and The Trick on a piddly-ass little blog that nobody reads:
What? It's not FAIR to issue a warning that the the recipient of said warning will never see?
My bad.
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
The Tease
"Go ahead......lick it......you know you want to. No biting."
Those were my words to The Boss's husband Thursday morning after he stuck his nose in my Personal Space.
He was leanin' over My Personal Joy and inhaling. I don't believe in teasing chained animals, particularly chained men, but he makes it too, too easy.
I had wiggled The Goods in his face the day before and got this response:
"Oh yeah! Why don't you just bend over, drop your drawers, AND SHOW ME SOMETHIN' ELSE I CAN'T HAVE??!??" He actually yelled at me!
Poor thing. Chained to the wall.....with Heaven just out of reach.
Sucks to be him...........
He wasn't bent over sniffin' any of my, uhhhhh, Physical Atributes.
He's chained to a diet.
He was lustin' after my breakfast biscuit.
People, you can snoop thru my purse. Rifle thru my panty drawer if it blows your skirt up. Read my text messages if you don't have a life.
Cop a cheap feel if you just feel lucky and we'll sort it out after the fact.
Touch that biscuit and you will bleed.
It's the best part of my day and I will not share.
The Dear Lady at the diner splits a homemade buttermilk biscuit in half, spreads a little mayo and mustard on the halves, and crams pan sausage, scrambled eggs, and a slice of cheese in it with a little salt and pepper.
The biscuit is exactly like my grandmother's biscuits and they are made from scratch fresh every morning.
This concoction has so much grease in it that it soaks thru the wax paper it's wrapped in, soaks the paper bag they put it in, and I have to clean the grease off of the counter when I've finished it!
IT'S WONDERFUL! It'll make your tongue slap your brains out!
I wolf mine down at The Big House and it was sittin' in a puddle of sausage grease on the kitchen counter when Bosslady's hubby found it.
It'll blow his diet all to Hell and all he can do is smell the thing.....and wish.
He's stuck with a bowl of instant grits for breakfast and my biscuit smells better than Chanel No. 5!
He left the kitchen.
I may never buy cologne again. Sausage grease dabbed behind the ears is the way to go.
Those were my words to The Boss's husband Thursday morning after he stuck his nose in my Personal Space.
He was leanin' over My Personal Joy and inhaling. I don't believe in teasing chained animals, particularly chained men, but he makes it too, too easy.
I had wiggled The Goods in his face the day before and got this response:
"Oh yeah! Why don't you just bend over, drop your drawers, AND SHOW ME SOMETHIN' ELSE I CAN'T HAVE??!??" He actually yelled at me!
Poor thing. Chained to the wall.....with Heaven just out of reach.
Sucks to be him...........
He wasn't bent over sniffin' any of my, uhhhhh, Physical Atributes.
He's chained to a diet.
He was lustin' after my breakfast biscuit.
People, you can snoop thru my purse. Rifle thru my panty drawer if it blows your skirt up. Read my text messages if you don't have a life.
Cop a cheap feel if you just feel lucky and we'll sort it out after the fact.
Touch that biscuit and you will bleed.
It's the best part of my day and I will not share.
The Dear Lady at the diner splits a homemade buttermilk biscuit in half, spreads a little mayo and mustard on the halves, and crams pan sausage, scrambled eggs, and a slice of cheese in it with a little salt and pepper.
This concoction has so much grease in it that it soaks thru the wax paper it's wrapped in, soaks the paper bag they put it in, and I have to clean the grease off of the counter when I've finished it!
IT'S WONDERFUL! It'll make your tongue slap your brains out!
I wolf mine down at The Big House and it was sittin' in a puddle of sausage grease on the kitchen counter when Bosslady's hubby found it.
It'll blow his diet all to Hell and all he can do is smell the thing.....and wish.
He's stuck with a bowl of instant grits for breakfast and my biscuit smells better than Chanel No. 5!
He left the kitchen.
I may never buy cologne again. Sausage grease dabbed behind the ears is the way to go.
Monday, January 27, 2014
But.......IT AIN'T A TRUCK!
I'm a Truck Chick. I love pickup trucks. I don't know diddly about 'em, I just like 'em!
I like to sit on a tailgate and talk to friends. Tailgates make great seats, dining tables, counters, and work benches.
I LOVE bouncin' down dirt roads and firebreaks. Daylight or dark, it doesn't matter. Taking the truck thru the river swamp was some of the best fun I've had.
When I had the Ranger I could actually drive over railroad tracks, sidewalks, and that silly "barricade" (pfffttt!!!) at the post office without a second thought.
Puddles or debris? No real problem. I could skate over roadkill and never touch it.
I used my truck to haul everything from trash to band equipment. Sometimes those two things are one and the same.....depending on how long you've been married to a musician.
If it's scratched and dented, well, I'm good with it because when I put another scratch or dent in it, and I will, who gives a damn?
So, the GMC gave it up, and T-Bird gave up riding his motorcycle in freezing weather. Too Old For The Cold.
That meant we needed to come up with another ride. I, of course, put in for another truck. With great enthusiasm, I might add.........
I wanted THIS:
I would have settled for THIS:
THIS is what I ended up with:
Dear Heart, do you see the problem here?
IT AIN'T NO PICKUP TRUUUUUUCK! I HAVE BEEN DEMOTED! THE SHAME OF IT ALL! IT'S A COOKIE-CUUUUUTTERRRRRRRR!
*whine/off*
When we went to our buddy Hammer's house to get the thing T-Bird said: "I told you it was rough."
He wasn't Whistlin' Dixie. Damn....what a P.O.S..
My least favorite color combo---white and rust. Dented from one end to the other. Scratched. Scuffed. The interior sucks. Really, kids, if you smoke weed, take the seeds out before you roll or you burn the upholstry in a way that is obvious as Hell when the seed pops. It's PotHead 101.
The glass was all there, the tires were round, the brakes and starter were new. Stop and Start. That's all I really need.
I had to ask if the antennae was standard on that particular model and was gruffly informed that no, it was not.
"Some sumbitch broke off the antennae in a parking lot in Atlanta and I just stuck that on there; that's a piece off of my old t.v. antennae."
In all fairness I must say that the radio plays just fine through the one remaining speaker, and it's welcome to munch on the practice c.d. that T-Bird stuck in there just to find out that the c.d. player does NOT work.
I asked what in the world happened to the trunk lid?!?
"Tree limb fell on it, but you can still open it."
I hoped I could, because Hammer wasn't having any luck opening Pandora's Box with the key and of course, the button-thingy inside the car no longer works. When it finally popped open it revealed a set of jumper cables, homemade lug wrench, spare tire, and trash. And almost an entire case of water.
"I used to have to pour water in it all the damn time but I fixed that shit."
"It runs great! Fire that bitch up!" T-Bird turned the key, the motor turned over, and filled the yard with smoke. Lots and lots and lots of smoke.
Hubs cocks an eye at Hammer, and the explanation began.
"The thing was on empty and there wasn't enough gas to get to the gas station, so I thought, DAMN, I better put some in it since y'all was comin' out. That's some year-old chainsaw gas I had in the barn!"
Chain saw gas: Car gas with two-cycle oil added. It's for, get this..........CHAIN SAWS.
He handed us nine keys, engine keys and trunk keys, and the paperwork was signed.
"It'll haul ass when you get it on the road but it hitches to the right when it changes gears."
Got it. If Hammer owned it, it has two speeds: Dead Cold in the yard, or Full Throttle All You Can Stand Balls To The Wall YEEEE-HAAAAAAAH. Those are the only two speeds Hammer has so it would seem to follow that that's all the car ever knew.
I turned out of the driveway and put my foot on the pedal.
It was like kicking a jackrabbit in the ass! GONE! OUTTA HERE!
It sits so low that I could almost feel the asphalt scrubbin' my backside and when I ran over a stick in the road I thought it had lodged there.
"Hitches to the right" my Aunt Fannie! It LEAPS to the right.
I damn near died when the engine light came on. But I gotta tell ya, it figures. I was royally pissed off at Hubs and Hammer when it shut off at the gas pump, right by it's self. IT DIED.
We put gas in it and the thing cranked right up, check engine light and all. T-Bird told me to drive it to the house and I did.
I lost him twice and he couldn't keep up. I got cussed at when he pulled into the driveway.
The engine light went out after I ran by-golly gas through it, and thankfully, it's decent on gas. I'd be scared to hit anything bigger than a pinecone, and puddles are out of the question.
While it still ain't a truck it did outrun T-Bird's Ranger, and I like that!
I think I'll start puttin' in for a camo paint job and seat covers.
I like to sit on a tailgate and talk to friends. Tailgates make great seats, dining tables, counters, and work benches.
I LOVE bouncin' down dirt roads and firebreaks. Daylight or dark, it doesn't matter. Taking the truck thru the river swamp was some of the best fun I've had.
When I had the Ranger I could actually drive over railroad tracks, sidewalks, and that silly "barricade" (pfffttt!!!) at the post office without a second thought.
Puddles or debris? No real problem. I could skate over roadkill and never touch it.
I used my truck to haul everything from trash to band equipment. Sometimes those two things are one and the same.....depending on how long you've been married to a musician.
If it's scratched and dented, well, I'm good with it because when I put another scratch or dent in it, and I will, who gives a damn?
So, the GMC gave it up, and T-Bird gave up riding his motorcycle in freezing weather. Too Old For The Cold.
That meant we needed to come up with another ride. I, of course, put in for another truck. With great enthusiasm, I might add.........
I wanted THIS:
I would have settled for THIS:
Dear Heart, do you see the problem here?
IT AIN'T NO PICKUP TRUUUUUUCK! I HAVE BEEN DEMOTED! THE SHAME OF IT ALL! IT'S A COOKIE-CUUUUUTTERRRRRRRR!
*whine/off*
When we went to our buddy Hammer's house to get the thing T-Bird said: "I told you it was rough."
He wasn't Whistlin' Dixie. Damn....what a P.O.S..
My least favorite color combo---white and rust. Dented from one end to the other. Scratched. Scuffed. The interior sucks. Really, kids, if you smoke weed, take the seeds out before you roll or you burn the upholstry in a way that is obvious as Hell when the seed pops. It's PotHead 101.
The glass was all there, the tires were round, the brakes and starter were new. Stop and Start. That's all I really need.
I had to ask if the antennae was standard on that particular model and was gruffly informed that no, it was not.
"Some sumbitch broke off the antennae in a parking lot in Atlanta and I just stuck that on there; that's a piece off of my old t.v. antennae."
In all fairness I must say that the radio plays just fine through the one remaining speaker, and it's welcome to munch on the practice c.d. that T-Bird stuck in there just to find out that the c.d. player does NOT work.
I asked what in the world happened to the trunk lid?!?
"Tree limb fell on it, but you can still open it."
I hoped I could, because Hammer wasn't having any luck opening Pandora's Box with the key and of course, the button-thingy inside the car no longer works. When it finally popped open it revealed a set of jumper cables, homemade lug wrench, spare tire, and trash. And almost an entire case of water.
"I used to have to pour water in it all the damn time but I fixed that shit."
"It runs great! Fire that bitch up!" T-Bird turned the key, the motor turned over, and filled the yard with smoke. Lots and lots and lots of smoke.
Hubs cocks an eye at Hammer, and the explanation began.
"The thing was on empty and there wasn't enough gas to get to the gas station, so I thought, DAMN, I better put some in it since y'all was comin' out. That's some year-old chainsaw gas I had in the barn!"
Chain saw gas: Car gas with two-cycle oil added. It's for, get this..........CHAIN SAWS.
He handed us nine keys, engine keys and trunk keys, and the paperwork was signed.
"It'll haul ass when you get it on the road but it hitches to the right when it changes gears."
Got it. If Hammer owned it, it has two speeds: Dead Cold in the yard, or Full Throttle All You Can Stand Balls To The Wall YEEEE-HAAAAAAAH. Those are the only two speeds Hammer has so it would seem to follow that that's all the car ever knew.
I turned out of the driveway and put my foot on the pedal.
It was like kicking a jackrabbit in the ass! GONE! OUTTA HERE!
It sits so low that I could almost feel the asphalt scrubbin' my backside and when I ran over a stick in the road I thought it had lodged there.
"Hitches to the right" my Aunt Fannie! It LEAPS to the right.
I damn near died when the engine light came on. But I gotta tell ya, it figures. I was royally pissed off at Hubs and Hammer when it shut off at the gas pump, right by it's self. IT DIED.
We put gas in it and the thing cranked right up, check engine light and all. T-Bird told me to drive it to the house and I did.
I lost him twice and he couldn't keep up. I got cussed at when he pulled into the driveway.
The engine light went out after I ran by-golly gas through it, and thankfully, it's decent on gas. I'd be scared to hit anything bigger than a pinecone, and puddles are out of the question.
While it still ain't a truck it did outrun T-Bird's Ranger, and I like that!
I think I'll start puttin' in for a camo paint job and seat covers.
Friday, January 17, 2014
Grandma Goofed Up
I'll cop to the fact that I am NOT the greatest Grandmother there ever was.
I goof up around the grand kids from time to time but so far, nothing really, really horrible.
Mostly, they just have to un-teach a bad word now and then.
Youngest and my grand daughter, Tater, went with me to Wally World. While we were there I decided to buy a cat toy for Mullet The Minion.
I found a Nervous Tick. There is a pull ring in the rear of the toy and you pull the string, set it on the floor, turn loose of the ring, and the tick scurries across the floor for about a foot and a half. It vibrates and hums like crazy.
I thought Mullet might like it but little Tater thought that was The Greatest Toy In The World. She pulled the string so much and played with it to the point that I believed I would be paying for a cat toy my grandbaby WORE OUT before I could get the thing to the checkout.
And yeah, if we break it, we buy it.
She wasn't real happy that Grandma bought Mullet a toy, and not her, because Mullet is the meanest cat in this world and she terrifies ALL of the grandkids.
Two weeks before, I popped for a play castle for Tater, complete with prince, princess, and a horse-drawn coach for her birthday. I gave her a fantasy toy, and gave the cat a parasite.
Four year olds just don't understand.
When I got home I took the tick off the card and pulled the string. It scittered across the floor.
The cat backed away from it.
She watched it "run" a time or two, but all she'd do was pop it with her paw and back away. It's clear this toy will sit untouched in Mullets' toy box.
It wasn't expensive; it costs just a couple of bucks. I could still give it to Tater because it was still clean and the kid LOVED it.
Later that night Mullet was stretched out on the bed with me and Hubs. I had an idea............
I pulled the ring, held the string close to the body of the tick, laid it on the cats' side, and turned the string loose. It vibrated across her ribs and ran up her body like A Thing Possessed.
Mullet The Minion evaporated. *POOF* It scared the Beejeegers out of her.
I gave it to Tater---she wanted it so the three or four bucks wasn't wasted--- and this is where I accidentally messed up.
Tater has just turned four years old and has a small problem with speech. She mixes her "D" sounds up with her "T" sounds.
She has told EVERYBODY about her new "dick" (insert speech problem here). Told her mama she LOVED her new "little dick". Told her daddy too. And anybody within earshot, including a next-door neighbor.
Yes indeed............my cell phone blew up with "Do you know what YOUR grand daughter did????" I get that a lot.
I lost several cell phone minutes apologizing between bursts of laughter. If you laugh during your apology, the apology no longer counts as much.
Mullet got over the Tick Attack, but little Tater is going thru diction lessons because she starts school next term and her mother KNOWS she's gonna get called.
If they ever have a "GRANDMOTHER OF THE YEAR" award you can bet your boots that Slick won't come close to winning.
I goof up around the grand kids from time to time but so far, nothing really, really horrible.
Mostly, they just have to un-teach a bad word now and then.
Youngest and my grand daughter, Tater, went with me to Wally World. While we were there I decided to buy a cat toy for Mullet The Minion.
I found a Nervous Tick. There is a pull ring in the rear of the toy and you pull the string, set it on the floor, turn loose of the ring, and the tick scurries across the floor for about a foot and a half. It vibrates and hums like crazy.
And yeah, if we break it, we buy it.
She wasn't real happy that Grandma bought Mullet a toy, and not her, because Mullet is the meanest cat in this world and she terrifies ALL of the grandkids.
Two weeks before, I popped for a play castle for Tater, complete with prince, princess, and a horse-drawn coach for her birthday. I gave her a fantasy toy, and gave the cat a parasite.
Four year olds just don't understand.
When I got home I took the tick off the card and pulled the string. It scittered across the floor.
The cat backed away from it.
She watched it "run" a time or two, but all she'd do was pop it with her paw and back away. It's clear this toy will sit untouched in Mullets' toy box.
It wasn't expensive; it costs just a couple of bucks. I could still give it to Tater because it was still clean and the kid LOVED it.
Later that night Mullet was stretched out on the bed with me and Hubs. I had an idea............
I pulled the ring, held the string close to the body of the tick, laid it on the cats' side, and turned the string loose. It vibrated across her ribs and ran up her body like A Thing Possessed.
Mullet The Minion evaporated. *POOF* It scared the Beejeegers out of her.
I gave it to Tater---she wanted it so the three or four bucks wasn't wasted--- and this is where I accidentally messed up.
Tater has just turned four years old and has a small problem with speech. She mixes her "D" sounds up with her "T" sounds.
She has told EVERYBODY about her new "dick" (insert speech problem here). Told her mama she LOVED her new "little dick". Told her daddy too. And anybody within earshot, including a next-door neighbor.
Yes indeed............my cell phone blew up with "Do you know what YOUR grand daughter did????" I get that a lot.
I lost several cell phone minutes apologizing between bursts of laughter. If you laugh during your apology, the apology no longer counts as much.
Mullet got over the Tick Attack, but little Tater is going thru diction lessons because she starts school next term and her mother KNOWS she's gonna get called.
If they ever have a "GRANDMOTHER OF THE YEAR" award you can bet your boots that Slick won't come close to winning.
Saturday, January 4, 2014
One From My Day
I was listening to The Steve Miller Band when a teenager asked me if that was a new country band.
I weep for this nation.
But, it's Saturday night and time to rock it out!
A Glitter Hater
Yesterday, on January the third, I found gold glitter on an envelope I was stamping.
Glitter. Gold glitter.
I hate glitter. And by that, I mean I really, really, reallyreallyreally HATE glitter.
Glitter starts coming thru the office door a week or so before Christmas. It is stuck to about half of the cards and gifts and goody bags that we are blessed with from patients and other offices that we work with.
It just doesn't STAY stuck on the gift/card/whatever.
Glitter travels. And it will travel from one end of the office to the other, and it will be EVERYWHERE.
Stuck in the carpet. Stuck on lab jackets. Clinging to paperwork and charts. Countertops. Patient chairs and BOTH restrooms. And all of us who work there.
If you hold your head at just the right angle and the light is right, the hallway looks like Dorothys' Yellow Brick Road.
Guess who cleans THAT up.
When the receptionist showed me Bossladys' Christmas card---encrusted with a fine, gold glitter---I had to admit that it was a beautiful card........with my hands clasped behind my back so that I didn't bitch-slap her out of her chair.
I tell ya, I can't catch a break.
We have a big table where we keep goodies and such and it was covered with presents and baked delights and candy from just after Thanksgiving until we closed for the holiday.
I cleaned the office On December 23rd when we shut down.
All the good stuff had been cleaned out and the table was covered in crumbs, sprinkles, candy bits, chopped nuts,................and glitter.
That stuff was all over the place.
It looked like someone had beat the livin' crap out of Tinkerbell.
I swear I cleaned that building and every surface in it, but after a thorough vaccuming, there it was.....winking at me from the just-vacc'd carpet. I threw up my hands and left.
Did I mention that I hate glitter?
I cleaned up more on December 29th. I had hoped that it was all gone.
It wasn't gone. My nemesis, the receptionist, was gathering the Christmas cards on JANUARY THE SECOND and yes, there was more of the hated substance floating around her desk.
She is hereby found GUILTY of aiding and abetting.
I have cleaned that place TWICE but it's still there.
And it's mocking me.
Glitter. Gold glitter.
I hate glitter. And by that, I mean I really, really, reallyreallyreally HATE glitter.
Glitter starts coming thru the office door a week or so before Christmas. It is stuck to about half of the cards and gifts and goody bags that we are blessed with from patients and other offices that we work with.
It just doesn't STAY stuck on the gift/card/whatever.
Glitter travels. And it will travel from one end of the office to the other, and it will be EVERYWHERE.
Stuck in the carpet. Stuck on lab jackets. Clinging to paperwork and charts. Countertops. Patient chairs and BOTH restrooms. And all of us who work there.
If you hold your head at just the right angle and the light is right, the hallway looks like Dorothys' Yellow Brick Road.
Guess who cleans THAT up.
When the receptionist showed me Bossladys' Christmas card---encrusted with a fine, gold glitter---I had to admit that it was a beautiful card........with my hands clasped behind my back so that I didn't bitch-slap her out of her chair.
I tell ya, I can't catch a break.
We have a big table where we keep goodies and such and it was covered with presents and baked delights and candy from just after Thanksgiving until we closed for the holiday.
I cleaned the office On December 23rd when we shut down.
All the good stuff had been cleaned out and the table was covered in crumbs, sprinkles, candy bits, chopped nuts,................and glitter.
That stuff was all over the place.
It looked like someone had beat the livin' crap out of Tinkerbell.
I swear I cleaned that building and every surface in it, but after a thorough vaccuming, there it was.....winking at me from the just-vacc'd carpet. I threw up my hands and left.
Did I mention that I hate glitter?
I cleaned up more on December 29th. I had hoped that it was all gone.
It wasn't gone. My nemesis, the receptionist, was gathering the Christmas cards on JANUARY THE SECOND and yes, there was more of the hated substance floating around her desk.
She is hereby found GUILTY of aiding and abetting.
I have cleaned that place TWICE but it's still there.
And it's mocking me.
Thursday, January 2, 2014
There Went The Neighborhood
Well, The Big Party is over.
The record for continual gunfire is still 22 minutes. People just don't seem to be wasting ammo these days.
There was still quite a bit of gunfire and some of that was impressive.
We cannot sit in the yard on N.Y.E. because what goes up......will most assuredly COME DOWN. My niece had a very close call three or four years ago. She had been sitting on the hood of her car with friends in downtown Tifton. She got off the hood and walked around for a minute. Then she took a seat back on the hood about a foot from where she had been sitting before.
*THUNK*
They found a .22 bullet stuck between the hood and the body of the car in the groove. Right where she had been before. It missed her and her friends by a scant few inches.
It's why we don't shoot anything up in the air. You could kill someone blocks away and never know it. We don't fire a round into the ground for fear of a ricocheting bullet. Most people just don't think.
The fireworks show was somewhat funny. They shot up three or four nice ones, and waited for a couple of minutes.
The next time, they shot up a few, and waited. I had the scanner on and knew why........
In the glow of Christmas lights turned on for The New Years' Eve Festivities, I could make out the lights on top of the squad car. He turned at the corner and hauled ass down the street to the other side of The Hood.
BOOM-BOOM.....BOOM-BOOM-BOOM.
Then silence.
Here comes the deputy back. More silence. He turns back down my street and he's off again.
He made it three blocks and the sky lit UP. He circles around for another pass but it's as quiet as Church.
They gave him five minutes to clear The Hood and set off The Grand Finale and I must say, The Powers That Be in this town could take lessons from my neighbor, whoever he is. They need him for the next Fourth Of July throwdown.
Now, a while back I did a post about explosions that had been occuring here and there. What New Years' Eve lacked in gunfire, it made up for in explosions. Several of them were close to my house, and the sound would roll, almost like thunder rolls. My boss had the same thing happening close to her neighborhood across town.
KNOCK IT OFF WITH THE DAMNED I.E.D.'S PEOPLE!!!!!
Ya know, on second thought.........my husband has just come into possession of an electronic drum kit. I have a guitar player who is gonna be learning how to play drums. We will now become The Scourge Of The Neighborhood, and I get to listen to a beginner on a drum kit, up close and personal.
Save me an I.E.D..
The record for continual gunfire is still 22 minutes. People just don't seem to be wasting ammo these days.
There was still quite a bit of gunfire and some of that was impressive.
We cannot sit in the yard on N.Y.E. because what goes up......will most assuredly COME DOWN. My niece had a very close call three or four years ago. She had been sitting on the hood of her car with friends in downtown Tifton. She got off the hood and walked around for a minute. Then she took a seat back on the hood about a foot from where she had been sitting before.
*THUNK*
They found a .22 bullet stuck between the hood and the body of the car in the groove. Right where she had been before. It missed her and her friends by a scant few inches.
It's why we don't shoot anything up in the air. You could kill someone blocks away and never know it. We don't fire a round into the ground for fear of a ricocheting bullet. Most people just don't think.
The fireworks show was somewhat funny. They shot up three or four nice ones, and waited for a couple of minutes.
The next time, they shot up a few, and waited. I had the scanner on and knew why........
In the glow of Christmas lights turned on for The New Years' Eve Festivities, I could make out the lights on top of the squad car. He turned at the corner and hauled ass down the street to the other side of The Hood.
BOOM-BOOM.....BOOM-BOOM-BOOM.
Then silence.
Here comes the deputy back. More silence. He turns back down my street and he's off again.
He made it three blocks and the sky lit UP. He circles around for another pass but it's as quiet as Church.
They gave him five minutes to clear The Hood and set off The Grand Finale and I must say, The Powers That Be in this town could take lessons from my neighbor, whoever he is. They need him for the next Fourth Of July throwdown.
Now, a while back I did a post about explosions that had been occuring here and there. What New Years' Eve lacked in gunfire, it made up for in explosions. Several of them were close to my house, and the sound would roll, almost like thunder rolls. My boss had the same thing happening close to her neighborhood across town.
KNOCK IT OFF WITH THE DAMNED I.E.D.'S PEOPLE!!!!!
Ya know, on second thought.........my husband has just come into possession of an electronic drum kit. I have a guitar player who is gonna be learning how to play drums. We will now become The Scourge Of The Neighborhood, and I get to listen to a beginner on a drum kit, up close and personal.
Save me an I.E.D..
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