Coin Toss: Not Quite What I Was Expecting

A few snips before the main post:

On some women, stretch pants have no choice.

The other day, my husband said I should try getting in better shape and suggested taking up running. He retracted his comment when he learned that I can run pretty damn fast when he's scared and I'm pissed.

What's the difference between Santa Claus and Tiger Woods? Santa stops after his third ho.

Hooters has a new review process for prospective waitresses. Each applicant is handed a bra and told "Here, fill this out."

What do a tornado, a hurricane, and a redneck divorce have in common? Each one costs somebody a trailer.

One of the most expensive things in the world is a woman who is free for the evening.

In California there is a six-month waiting period to file for divorce, but only a 15-day waiting period to buy a handgun. It's nice to know the government is giving us advice on how to work out our problems.

*********

On my dresser, I have a silver catch-all tray for change and Chinese fortunes and whatever else happens to be in my pockets at the end of the day. The coin pile eventually takes over, and every six months or so I cash it in. Usually I get about $40 and use the money for something fun for my husband and I, like going to the local carnival or buying dinner at someplace besides Super Ho-Tang Mega Chinese Buffet ("Now Have Frog Leg!"). Yesterday I wanted to take a drive to the city for reasons I won't divulge, because you'd laugh and/or roll your eyes, but since it was the day before payday I was a little short on gas money.

I'd noticed that the coin pile was getting out of hand. My husband has started using it to dump his own change, and the silver tray was invisible under the coins that were threatening to slide off the dresser. A few forward-thinking dimes and pennies were already making the leap, on occasion, into my shoes on the floor below. I got my coin bucket (a plastic frozen margarita tub) and dumped in half the pile, planning on visiting a coin-for-cash machine on the way out of town. I love those things... I'll gladly pay 9.8 cents on the dollar to avoid the three hours it usually takes me to sort and stuff coins into paper rollers.

Anyway. I got my stuff together; with my hands full of cell phone, shopping list, cooler bag, water bottle, and bucket, I left the house and started down the stairs.

Some advice: Margarita bucket handles will not support the weight of a bunch of coins.

The handle came off on the third of sixteen steps. The bucket did not just turn upside down and stop, nooooo.... it bounced off every. single. remaining. step. My stairs were now covered with a coin avalanche all the way to the downstairs door. I issued a loudly appropriate four-letter word and went about scraping them all up. Coins don't slide too well on carpet, by the way.

Thankfully this was the worst thing that happened all day, unless you count hitting a turtle on the road. I felt horrible, but it was the turtle or oncoming traffic and I chose the least likely to inflict personal injury. Sorry, turtle. Squirrels are quick but stupid, so I only feel a momentary twinge should one happen to commit suicide under my tires, but turtles can't help being slow. I usually pull over and move them off the road but this one was in a 55-MPH zone in traffic. I still felt bad though.

The tally at the coin machine surprised me. I got tired of dumping change about three-quarters of the way through the bucket and cashed out... almost 90 bucks! Whoa! After the fees, a tank of gas, and a breakfast burrito I had plenty left over for my city run. And still more in the bucket, and the rest at home on the dresser... next month's local Fireman's Carnival is covered. (How many bingo games and corn dogs does one need, anyway? It all goes to a good cause so whatever I can spend is guilt-free, but still.)

Despite nearly getting broadsided by some twit from New York driving a PT Cruiser, the rest of the trip went smoothly. On the way home I had a banana Slurpee, retro radio playing the good stuff, and cruise control set on a mostly-clear highway. Got my shopping done and still made it home in time to have supper ready when Hubby came in. w00t!

Banana Slurpees > any other flavor, and they rock forever. That is all.

Snaps and Snarls

Someone I know has been driving me bonkers on Facebook, because she Capitalizes Every Word Of Every Sentence All The Time. She just announced she's about to get her Masters in Information Technology... this chick holds 3 college degrees And Still Writes Like This? *headsmack*

Every time I see someone on Facebook leave a comment that says "your stupid" I want to reply "Yes, you're right. You ARE their stupid." I don't, but AAARRRGGHHHHH

"Here's a sneak peak!" Whoa, how did that mountain get in here? It must have gotten by without me noticing! Sneaky mountain!

"We have lot's of item's to chose from." Okay, how about a grammar textbook? No? Surprise, surprise.

"You just type it and click and viola! There it is!" Hmm, I got this instead. Too bad I can't play.

I have another friend,,, who uses commas,,, instead of ellipses,,, and usually in places ellipses wouldn't even be appropriate,,, do I even need to say,,, why this is annoying,,,

"omg ur nt gona bleve ths, ashlyn is ttly on team edwrd" So much wrong in such a short space, worsened by any reference to sparkly vampires.

And yet...

GIMMEH MOAR NAO! just strikes me as hilarious. Probably because it's both phonetic and deliberate. I jumped on the cat-caption/LOLspeak bandwagon when that meme first hit. Why? Because, again, it's deliberate, and it's like converting your Facebook language to Pirate... a whole new world of simple amusement. And come on, it's cats. With funny captions. Captions that can apply anywhere, anytime, to almost any situation, and most people will LOL or ROFL or +100 rep because they get it, even if the comment or reply is posted sarcastically. ESPECIALLY if it's sarcastic, for that matter. Hey, all you "this meme is so dead" people: bite me. It's not going away. LOLspeak is as much a part of the internet lexicon now as www-dot-[whatever]-dot-com.

OMGWTFBBQ! rocks. That is all.

Reverse Polarity, now playing at my house!

Today was the Monday I didn't have yesterday.

I was off on Monday. That was nice, after five days of dealing with a new employee who was more prone to wandering off, swatting at birds and randomly singing snippets of Mariah Carey songs for no discernible reason whatsoever than actually working. My tolerance meter dove steadily southward until, by Sunday, I was ready to shove a bird up his kiester so he'd have a reason to sing falsetto. Monday, therefore, was a good day.

Today, Tuesday, I was dreading going back to work; however it turned out to be one of the better days I've had there in a while. I was sent to Hell Section, our most primitive greenhouse. It's muddy and the gnats were out in force, but I was alone and nobody bothered me all day. I even got away with listening to my iPod instead of whatever crap radio station the other crews usually have on. And, most importantly, Falsetto Boy was a quarter mile away- well out of annoyance range.

I came home feeling great, despite PMS cramps. I'm usually too burned out to even LOOK at a plant outside of work, but today I brought some herb pots home for the kitchen and set them on the windowsill, planning to find a bigger container to make into an herb garden. The chives and parsley must have been in a funk because, as soon as my back was turned, they threw themselves off the sill and landed upside-down on top of the air conditioner's vents. Husband brought me the vacuum to suck the dirt out of the A/C. I used the hose with an attachment, but there was still enough suction for the main vacuum head to eat the rug fringe and throw the belt. Last time I put the belt back on I broke a nail and gouged two knuckles so I didn't even bother this time, I just handed it to Hubby. (I'm not the "OMG I broke a NAIL!!!! My day is RUINED!!!" kind of person, but I'd just gotten my first manicure in 6 months, to the tune of $30, so yeah, I was pissed. And I was not going to repeat the bleeding knuckle part, manicure or not.)

So, okay, that sucked but I had stuff to do. Moving on...

I started supper and all was going great. Delicious cheese ravioli and Italian sausage, mmm. The ravioli came with a pack of cheese-and-bread-crumb topping. I opened the junk drawer for the scissors, leaned the opened pack against the microwave on the counter, and then somehow gravity reversed itself just long enough for the pack to flip over and empty its contents into the drawer. Now I'm sifting batteries and other stuff out of a pile of cheese crumbs. I'm not emptying the drawer (it's a JUNK drawer, you know what that's like... 40 lb. of miscellaneous accumulated gadgets that don't have a home anywhere else) so I scraped it out with a cardboard battery package and a sponge.

I chatted with a friend online while supper finished cooking, telling him about my mini-disasters. I ended with "I'm going to try to get the food in my mouth, but the way things are going, I'll probably dump it in my shoes or something." I didn't. But a ravioli did make a break for it, leaping from my bowl, bypassing the (easily wipeable) placemats, and plopping down on my clean linen tablecloth. Husband just looked at me, raised his eyebrows, and said "Go to bed."

Since that was the third bad thing that happened since I'd been home, I figured I was safe for the rest of the evening. I said I was going to stay up a while since I go in late tomorrow. Hubby took that opportunity to inform me that the hard drive died in my not-yet-paid-for laptop. And it's out of warranty. Of course it is, why would I expect anything else at this point? Oh, and he dropped the cooling-fan pad and some part broke, but he was sure he could fix that. The $15 laptop pad is now functioning, but the vacuum is still beltless and the hard drive is going to set us back quite a bit. And I'm pretty sure the next time I turn the A/C on I'm going to get a faceful of peat dust.

On the bright side, my nails are still intact.


Ice cream sammiches rock. That is all.

Food Ramblings

Kids, for the most part, are picky eaters. They haven't developed their palates yet, or expanded their food interests beyond Happy Meals and macaroni & cheese. Some parents work around it, some cater to it, and some instill lifelong hatred for brussels sprouts in their kids by forcing them to sit at the table until the sprouts are eaten. (This was my parents' attempted approach; fortunately, my inner foodie took over once I got older and I suffer very little dislike for things I was forced to eat.)

Some kids do retain their pickiness, for a variety of reasons. I know a guy close to my age who, for years, would only eat peanut butter sandwiches. He has a "texture" issue, I think, which I can understand since I have it as well, but on a much less drastic scale. (Tapioca is high on my "oh HELL no" list. And don't put crunchy stuff like pickle relish in my tuna salad please.) Some have allergies (which seem to be more and more widespread these days) and some are diabetic, and some are just reluctant to try anything new for whatever reason.

I was thinking about this earlier as I made myself a bologna sammich. I've held on to a lot of my childhood food favorites in addition to everything else I've tried since then. White bread, mayo, and one slice of bologna was my favorite lunch; I never was a PB&J person and still don't care for it much, despite loving the individual ingredients. Oscar Mayer cheese hotdogs are another one. As disgusting as the general consensus (and nutritional label) says they are, I still have to have one now and then. And just like it had to be when I was young- no bun, no condiments, just stick a fork in it and eat from both ends till it's gone. Cap'n Crunch peanut butter cereal makes the list despite roof-of-mouth damage every time a bowl of the stuff is consumed. Raw radishes are up there, along with dill pickles. As a young adult on my own, I ate Ramen noodles out of necessity, but I still buy them simply because I like them.

There are a few foods I've either never developed a taste for, or completely lost any desire to eat. My grandmother used to make us peanut butter and honey sandwiches, which I loved then, but now? No thanks. I never did like Cheerios in any flavor. I still haven't convinced myself to like raw tomatoes on sandwiches or burgers, but cooked ones I'll eat in anything else. (I read somewhere that it takes a person ten tries before they "learn to like" a given food. Those tomatoes are being stubborn and defying that statistic. I WANT to like them... it just ain't happening.) Miracle Whip is also on the "oh HELL no" list, as are bread-and-butter pickles (the semi-sweet ones). Oh, and ketchup does not go anywhere near a hotdog, thankyouverymuch. That was the only way I'd eat one as a kid, but now the very idea turns my stomach.

Things I enjoy now that I hated as a kid include the aforementioned brussels sprouts, asparagus (a relatively recent development; my sister said they tasted just like boiled peanuts, and danged if they don't!), grits, baked ham with pineapple (Mom used Spam slices, hence the hatred), and spinach. That last one came from my husband the northerner. I grew up with "greens"... turnip, collard, mustard... good greens. He grew up with canned spinach, which to me is an abomination when the fresh stuff can be found. He doesn't like my greens and I just don't get that... they're so much better! But in order to compromise, I make his spinach sometimes, and compensate another time with a big ol' pot of collards. And I've learned to like canned spinach, so that's a small victory, I suppose.

We've really had to adapt to each other's preferences, the hubby and I. He's not too terribly picky though. He likes boiled potatoes with green beans and hot bacon dressing (a sweet-and-sour glaze that I never would have put on a potato, but it's a local thing I guess) and pickled beef tongue (which he makes when I'm not home because the smell alone would drive me outside anyway) and head cheese (just, ew) but he isn't fond of white rice, anything lemon, or teriyaki sauce. He thinks I'm weird for eating pickle sammiches, but he can root around in deer innards, emerge with a slimy kidney or two, and think "supper!" Who's weird here? The guy who watches Andrew Zimmern on Bizarre Foods and says "That looks good, I'd try it" to almost every episode, yet won't eat a pierogie? Or me, who will happily nosh on eel sushi rolls but can't stand salmon in any form? It's been interesting, to say the least.

We've come a long way from our childhood tastes, yet some things just never change. In my house you'd probably find a box of Fruity Pebbles next to the shredded wheat, Hershey's syrup in the cabinet with the liquor, and Spaghettios stashed in between the kidney beans and bags of jasmine rice. We may not always eat right, but we eat fun, and wasn't that the great thing about being a kid?


Banana popsicles rock till the end of time. That is all.

Big Brother Gets in Your Car

I just read an article about a school in Belfast, Ireland- St Matthews Primary- whose principal has asked parents not to wear pajamas ("pyjamas" over there) when dropping off their children. I saw this article in a few places and read through a hundred or so comments. Rather than dive into the cesspool of internet comment trolls, I thought I'd post my thoughts here.

I can sort of see his point. If parents are bringing the kids into the school, or checking them in, anything that involves getting out of the vehicle, then by all means appropriate attire should be worn. But if Mother-Of-Five is just pulling the car to the curb and offloading the little anklebiters, who the hell cares what she's wearing? And why would that be ANYBODY's business but hers?

Some common sense must be used. Obviously Mom would be embarrassed if she were in a fender-bender and had to leave the car or speak to police in her nightie, and same for Dad if he had to fix a flat tire in his boxers, but whose decision is that to make? Not the principal of the school. The kids attending have a dress code; their parents do not. (It can be argued that there should be one, considering the clothing some people choose to wear on inappropriate occasions, but that's a whole 'nother rant.)

Speaking of dress codes: this ball started rolling when Tesco in Cardiff banned shoppers from wearing sleepwear in their store. Over here in the United States, pajamas are de rigeur among the teen and college set. I was a bit put off by it myself, considering most of the so-called jammie bottoms were tight, folded down to expose more skin, and had words like TOO HOT and SEXY emblazoned across the butt. Wonderful clothes for the twelve-year-olds I usually saw wearing them. The older teens and college kids, not so bad, but I still wondered when it became socially acceptable to wear jammies anywhere outside the house. (Side note: I occasionally wore the funkiest jammies I could find to go grocery-shopping when I was younger, but back then it was a statement, not a trend!) Now some schools have a regular "PJ Day" that encourages this trend. Don't even get me started on the male butt-hanging-out thing. Why is this okay? No really, it's obscenity, not fashion. If I want to see asscrack I'll buy a magazine. I do NOT want to have a random stranger's intimate crevices forced upon my eyeballs.

Another, more recent trend is Public Snuggies. You know what a Snuggie is. Basically a fleece blanket with sleeves. People are now wearing them to bars, parties, etc. Sporting events I get, but bars? Really? The next cheesy pick-up line is "Hey baby, I really love that pink floral Snuggie, is there room in there for two?" (Yes they DO make double Snuggies, by the way.)

Back to the Pajama Mamas. And Daddies, so we don't stereotype. I realize there are many variables that influence someone wearing pajamas out in public. Some are ill and going to the doctor, some have just finished the night shift and changed clothes before dropping the kids off and then going home to bed, some have hectic mornings getting the children ready and plan to come back home to gussy up for the day, and a few people are- to be honest- just lazy/slobby/slutty, depending on the nature of the sleepwear. Any woman (or man!) who wears lingerie to drive the kids around is looking for attention of the sexual sort. Sweatpants and top? Meh, whatever. I've done that on rare occasions. Not my best look, but it's not a big deal. Nightgown with no shoes and no bra and nothing over it? Either she's having a really bad morning or she just doesn't give a damn. Regardless, if the kids are dressed and clean and at school on time, and the "offending" parent isn't waltzing around the building in a sheer teddy and garters, I say let 'em wear what they want.

This brings me (at last) to something I've mentioned to the husband on several occasions: Men With Hats. Back in the days of our grandparents and beyond, a man was never seen in public without a head covering, and ladies always wore hats to church and social functions. A man ALWAYS took his hat off indoors. It seems the only segment of the population still following this bygone trend is the military, who have strictly-enforced hat and uniform regulations. And maybe cowboys still do it.

I want to bring it back. There's something nostalgic and a bit romantic about a man tipping his cap to a woman, and a feeling of pride when everyone removes their hats for the display of our Flag (an event most commonly seen these days at NASCAR races.) I can take or leave the Carmen Miranda-bird's nest-Kentucky Derby extravagant ladies' hats of days past, but I do wish more women would wear great hats. I've semi-trained Hubby to take his hat off inside, although sometimes if there are a bunch of others wearing ball caps and we're at a gun raffle or something, I don't bother asking. But at my grandmother's house, in nicer restaurants, etc... hat off please.

And I'd like to see the days of the better-dressed gentlemen return, when belts and hats and shoes (not flip-flops) were considered the standard instead of exposed boxer shorts and undershirts worn as outershirts, or not at all. That's another thing I don't want to see, especially while I'm eating... armpit hair. Have the decency to cover that nasty mess when you're inside a restaurant. (Following the PJs in Cars logic, drive-through is fine.) Am I old-fashioned? Maybe a little bit. I'm also a bit hypocritical as well. If I'm going anywhere other than work, I will not leave the house without makeup and at least an attempt at getting my hair under control. My belly will not be hanging over my jeans and exposed from pubic bone to ribcage, nor will my asscrack be begging for someone to stick a quarter in it. At work, it's scrungy clothes and no makeup and hair under a hat. (If I had a job that wasn't so dirty ((as in DIRT, you pervs)) that would be different though.)

So, yeah. Society as a whole has slacked off, but I don't believe anyone has the right to tell anyone else what to wear in their cars, or the privacy of their homes for that matter. I'm not holding my breath waiting for Wal-Mart to adopt a no-pajamas policy either. They'd lose too much business. If the principal of that school in Belfast ever visited a Wal-Mart, he'd probably faint.

Union suits rock. That is all.

A Case of Taco Belly

I wrote this a few weeks ago, right after the passing of Taco Bell founder Glen Bell. I meant to post it here, but had the forum where it was being discussed open and posted it there instead and just forgot to copy it over. Anyway...

I may be on the other side of the fence, but I love Taco Bell. I've been eating there regularly (i.e. once or twice a month at minimum) for... umm... almost 30 years. Do I get a medal for that? "The Cast-Iron Stomach Award" maybe?
At one point, when I was homeless and near-broke, their cheap food was all I ate for weeks on end.

Some memories from a diehard Taco Bell lover:

Taco Lights, that were discontinued because that awesome flaky shell shattered in a zillion pieces before the prepper finished making one.

3 generations of cinnamon crispas (AKA churros and cinnamon twists)

Chilito, now known as the chili-cheese burrito, which is unfortunately only at select locations, none of them within 100 miles of me.

My former local Taco Bell used to be open 24/7 and had a breakfast menu. I have fond memories of the steak breakfast burritos.

I almost choked to death on a Mexican Pizza once, when a piece of the shell lodged in my throat. I Heimliched myself on the table corner, but undeterred, I still went back. It was 10 years before I ate another pizza though.

I'm not obese; in fact, I was skinnier when I was eating there weekly (or more often) than I am now. (diuretic joke goes here)

Once I inadvertently caused the front-counter registers to lock up; the manager had no way to fix it, and the closest one who could was unavailable until the next morning. They had to run all orders through the drive-thru register until then. (Note to any Taco Bell employees: if someone says they want one of everything to go, they're obviously being a smarta$$. Don't try to out-smarta$$ them by ringing it up.)

After the closest TB to me burned down, I would drive 45 miles to another one to get my fix once a month. Note: Taco Bell food does not reheat well at all.

I don't care what they say... guacamole does not come from a squeeze tube. I love guac, but I'm certain that stuff they have has never been in any proximity to an avocado.

After extensive testing by rats in an independent franchise in Manhattan, it has been determined that Taco Bell does not cause cancer. It does, however, cause store closings, YouTube hits, and a whole bunch of hungry rats plotting to take over the Chick-Fil-A across the street.

Hybrid-corn taco shells are not the worst thing you could be eating.

D'ya think Mr. Bell's coffin had to have the blankets folded burrito-style so nothing would fall out? And were the good bits all squished on one end because the undertaker was new on the job?

Good Gravy!

I love gravy. I'm certain it will be one of the staples on the buffet in Heaven because, hey, it's GRAVY. And gravy = ambrosia. Did you see that episode of King of the Hill, where the sushi restaurant in Arlen served sushi rolls with gravy liberally poured on top? I have no doubt that someone has done that in real life. Rice and gravy goes together like... well, rice and gravy. And that's a hard habit to break for some of us.

Against the demands of the Southern half of my blood, I have tried not to make gravy too often. It's grease, flour, and salt, basically, none of which are healthy- which is why it's sooo gooood. However, I do indulge from time to time. It's harder than you'd think to turn out a perfect pan of the stuff. It took quite a while for me to get the knack and I still don't have 100% success. My mom makes the best ever, but when asked for her secret, she just says "Stirring" and kind of smiles to herself. I think she adds a pinch of crack cocaine. It's that addictive.

After many nights watching her do her magic, I finally figured out the secret to making the absolute best gravy in the world, and even though she's probably going to disown me for this, I'm going to share the recipe right here on the blog. Yes, you are about to learn how to have the most delicious food topping imaginable... put it on biscuits, pour it over rice, mix it up with your taters... I guarantee you won't find better anywhere.

To begin:
Open all your cabinets, cupboards, pantry. Find all of those little envelopes of gravy mix, the kind you make with water. Also pull out any jars of pre-made gravy you have, doesn't matter what flavor- it's all going to get mixed together anyway. If you have any in cans, even better... add 'em to the pile.

Now get a huge mixing bowl, the biggest you have, or a stockpot, or any container large enough to hold all that stuff. A five-gallon bucket works well. Put your container next to the counter and sweep the entire mess of that garbage labeled "gravy" into it and carry it outside to the trash bin or dumpster. Dispose of it without another thought. Then go to my mom's house and wait for her to feed you. (She will... southern women are born and bred that way.) If you're extremely lucky, you'll get shrimp gravy; otherwise expect chicken gravy, unless it's between paydays, in which case hamburger n' onion gravy will be served. And that's okay, because it doesn't matter what kind it is, Mom's will be better than any other you've had.

That's my own family recipe right there. I'm hopeful that in another ten or twenty years, I'll have it down myself, but until then... Mom rocks. That is all.

If It Ain't Broke, It Will Be

The moment I walked into this apartment, I wanted it. We'd been searching for a while, but the ones we found were either too run-down, too ghetto (what passes for that here) or too short. Yes, too short... low ceilings and doorframes are common in older buildings and houses in some areas around here, and my 6'4" husband refused to live anywhere that required ducking constantly. In the last place we looked at before this one, the ceiling fan blades were at his neck level, right next to the bed. So when we found this one, with high ceilings and doorways, crown molding and century-old charm (not to mention a large bay window) I signed the lease before I even saw the rest of the place.

Ten years later, it's time to get out. Aside from previously-mentioned issues with the landlord, or rather, the landlord doing stupid things... he is a decent guy, just not sure of his reasoning... the minor annoyances have become major ones. Reminding myself "it's an old house, that's to be expected" no longer works.

For example, our water rusts everything faster than you can say corrosion. I mentioned to the landlord a few months back that the sink stopper and attached hardware were eaten through (for the second time) and we'd had to take out what was left. He said it needed a new one (obviously) but we haven't seen one yet. The toilet is getting harder and harder to flush. From day one, we've had to feather the water taps in the bathtub because they slip inside; sometimes a quarter-turn will freeze us out, others it takes a full turn to get any cold water at all. When we first moved in, the overflow drain wasn't even hooked up. It just poured water directly on the top of the downstairs neighbor's bedroom ceiling. And of course, the hot water doesn't ever last as long as anyone would like.

This brings me to yesterday's event. I was home early from work, with a sick stomach and horrible backache, and a hot bath was on my to-do list. Now, I love me some bathtime. Epsom salts or bubbles or bath oils or just hot water, doesn't matter to me. A couple times a month I forgo a shower to soak instead. I have an inflatable bath pillow and a stack of reading material ready whenever I am.

And I was ready. I got the hot water going, dumped in a happy amount of therapeutic bubblebath and settled in, planning on soaking till my toes pruned. I knew by then I'd have enough hot water built back up to rinse off. Two minutes later, my happiness turned to confusion. My precious hot water was going down the drain! Sticking my toe over the drain cover, I could feel suction. I sat up and worked the plug lever a few times, and then it stopped moving... while halfway open. I hollered for the hubby and thought fast. I did not want to be covered with soapy bubbles with no hot water to rinse off, and a cold rinse after being chilled all day sounded like the other side of hell at the time. I quickly used my thumbnail to unscrew the single screw holding the screen in the drainhole, yanked it out and jammed my heel in the hole to save what was left of the water. I'd already apprised hubby of the situation, and after he determined that he couldn't move the lever either, he ran to get a screwdriver to take it apart.

Picture, if you will, a woman with an already unstable tummy, lately prone to barfing at any given moment without warning, naked and covered with suds in a tub, wedged at one end with one foot braced against the wall and the opposite foot jammed in the drain. Add to this a man leaning in with his elbows in her lap, wielding a screwdriver, frantically taking apart the stopper mechanism, jerking the entire rusty mess out and doing... something to it, I don't know what, I was preoccupied with not barfing, but he got it moving again... and cramming it all back together without injury to either party.

We saved three inches of semi-hot water, but I still had to rinse cold. NOT happy.

Let The Stupid begin!

I really shouldn't be surprised at the stupidemic going around, but when it afflicts certain people it becomes cannon fodder. Today's example is courtesy of a business that has been around for over 30 years, and the stupidity has followed it through several owners. I think it's in the water.

Yesterday was my first day back at work since mid-December. I should not have expected anything to be different, but one can always hope... even though over the ten years I've worked there, the lack of common sense among certain elders of the tribe has become legendary among the lesser villagers.

We have three plants, each with their own loading docks. Yesterday a truck delivered 14 pallets, which were supposed to go to Plant A, Dock X. The pallets were stacked about 10 feet high with flowerpots. Instead of sending the truck to Plant A, Dock X, someone in management had the driver go to Plant B, Dock Y for offloading. This required an in-house forklift driver to move each pallet from Plant B to Plant A. Just a minor inconvenience in a normal workplace, but we aren't normal. Nope.

The forklift driver has to go through three garage doors to get from B to A. At each one, she has to stop, unhook safety belt, climb down, open the door, get back on forklift, rehook safety belt, drive forward 6 feet, then repeat the process to close the door behind her. 3 times, in each direction, for 14 separate trips. (We have to keep the doors closed due to it being 37 degrees outside and heat on inside.)

This in itself would be enough to make a half-hour offloading job take half a day instead, but it doesn't stop there. The first and second doors are all high enough for her to drive through with a 10-foot-high pallet, but the third door is only 8 feet high. Now she has to drop every one of the 14 pallets before the third door, get a ladder, unwrap the shipping plastic, take off the top 2 feet of flowerpots and re-stack them on additional pallets before she can once again get on the forklift and do the door thing to move each one to the planned destination.... which is right NEXT to the dock where they should have been offloaded in the first place. She was still working on it this morning, along with two other employees brought over to help.

Why didn't they offload at the first dock instead of creating so much extra work? "Having that dock door open for 30 minutes would create a breeze and somebody might be bothered by it." Never mind that the driver had to repeatedly open and close the other doors where there are actual flower seedlings and oil heat running... someone might get a bit of a draft in the conveyor area, where NO ONE WAS WORKING for most of the day.

I told the forklift driver that this kind of stupidity is job security for us. Didn't make her any happier about it though. And that kind of thing happens all the time. Gotta love it.

Time to focus on... oooh shiny!

Today is my last day of freedom. Tomorrow I go back to work after a month and a half off, and although I'm dreading it more than ever, I have to think positive. In order to think positive I have to get the negative out of the way so it won't keep resurfacing. Blog therapy FTW.

Cons:

• My internal body clock reverts to Night Owl when I'm off. No more staying up till 3 AM and sleeping till 11. Mornings are going to suck. I haven't seen a sunrise since mid-December.
  
• Despite all the extra time I had to sit on my butt in front of the computer, I didn't get a lot of writing done like I'd planned (and plan every time I'm off.)
  
• When I know I have a long stretch with no deadlines, I procrastinate, thinking "I have a whole 'nother month to get to that." It's down to a matter of hours now and I still haven't done half of what I planned.
• I'll have to be on my feet for nine hours a day, but I haven't had the money for new work shoes. Okay, I did have the money, briefly, but I opted to spend it on a friend's kids instead. My priorities take a hard left when it comes to long-term needs vs. making someone else happy for an evening. Gotta work on that. Or not. :-)
  
• I'll have to plan out my crops on Farmville so they won't wilt. *eyeroll* There's another con... waaaaay too much time spent on that internet crackbag called Facebook.
• Back to heat -n- eat for supper most of the week. I'm pretty good at throwing a meal together on short notice, but I've been spoiled by having entire days to plan and cook. I'll have to make the days off really count now.
• I have to clean out my lunchbag, which has been sitting, forgotten, in a corner since my last day at work. I'm hoping I didn't leave a sandwich in there. Ew.
• I'll have to interact with other humans again. Which would be fine, except these particular humans, for the most part, are ones I'd prefer to avoid. Stress levels will be through the roof. I already know that a coworker has turned in her schedule for the entire year, and every day she has requested off will be a holiday or one I need off myself, but she's effectively blocked anyone else from those days by being "first" to request them. I also know that I am not scheduled off for almost any of the car shows my husband and I attend.
  

Pros:

• Steady paychecks again.
• More exercise, more fresh air, more sun
• I strongly suspect my muse will come back to me, and I'll find myself writing songs and sketching in the margins of my job lists. Not having the time to do something greatly increases the odds that one will be inspired to do it. Why is that, anyway?
• I'll be singing again. I have to sing at work; it keeps me from going completely over the edge. I dance too and I don't give a damn who sees me. You have your coffee or Xanax, I'll take music and an impromptu waltz to keep myself awake and semi-sane, thankyouverymuch.
• I do happen to be scheduled off for Valentine's Day (meh), Easter (meaning I'll be expected to attend a family function, meh), my anniversary (which coincides with 4th of July weekend, w00t!) and ONE car show out of six (Ford Nationals, my second-favorite, so that's not too bad.)
• I've learned just how much I love cooking. I didn't do a lot of baking, a previous love, but focused instead on getting better at cooking meat. This was formerly the Man's Job, as I've never been a big meat-eater at home. Now it will take an act of Congress to get him to cook for me since I've proven I'm better at it. :-P
• Of the things I planned to do, I'm pleased with the ones I accomplished. Still more projects left on the table, but knowing they're not insurmountable helps. "I'll never get this done!" has become "I can do a little of this every day, and eventually it will be finished."

I'm sure the wit I'm known for will return soon. I just have to get back into the swing of things and let the muse find her way back through the sludge. *cue Jefferson Airplane*

Meanwhile, hubby just came home and miracle of miracles, is making cheesesteaks. Hubby's cheesesteak > everyone else's. They still rock. That is all.

2010: A Make-Space Odyssey

By this time of year, just about everyone has either made New Year's resolutions or broken them already. I've done neither because I procrastinate like that. This year I'll try to stop putting things off. OK, that one goes on the "will be broken almost immediately" list, because one thing I don't procrastinate about is procrastinating.

Yeah, so. Resolutions. Let's start with the realistic ones...

1. Buy a house (this has been a goal for a few years now.)
2. Stop helping people so much. No really... I always wind up overextending myself, my bank account, and my peace of mind (such as it is) worrying about other people. I'll continue to help, but without involving myself quite so much.
3. Be mouthier. How is this possible, you wonder? I'm pretty balls-out straightforward most of the time. But I'm talking about something different... poor service, low quality products, things I've paid good money for that fall drastically short of the ads. I'm one of those that will get something, find it's stale or spoiled or doesn't work, and think "Oh well, it's too much trouble to take it back and I really don't want to offend anyone." Or customer service will be so horrible that I'm still upset about it a week later. TaHellWitDat. Next time some insolent, condescending twit deliberately insults me while they're working, their manager is going to hear about it. I don't care if they get in trouble; people like that need to either learn some manners/people skills or get a quick-and-dirty reality check. And STOP THROWING MY APPLES AROUND. I didn't spend my own time hand-selecting non-bruised (and overpriced) apples just so some nitwit can go grocery-bowling down the conveyor to the bagging area. Then Nitwit II slam-dunks them on top of the canned goods. While I'm on the subject... if I make a salad on your salad bar, and I very carefully put it down right-side-up at the register, do NOT turn it sideways to fit it in the damn bag. Get another bag. Idiot.
4. Stop going off on tangents so much. See #3.
5. Eat more avocados and fish.
6. Learn some new recipes, and actually use some of the cookbooks I have. Learn to make good biscuits. And make more from scratch instead of conveniently prepackaged ingredients. Ooh that's gonna be a hard one!
7. Take more photos.
8. Bail out my closets and office area.
9. Start seeing a chiropractor.
10. Start going on Sunday drives with the hubby again. We slacked off on those due to gas prices, but every time we do decide to "take the long way home" we see something new or interesting and have a good time. It's OUR time, something we love to do together, and the few extra bucks a month in gas is worth it.

Made to be broken:
1. Avoid TastyClair pies.
2. Stop wasting quarters in bubblegum machines with toys in them.
3. Learn to like raw tomatoes.
4. Cut back on the amount of pasta we eat.
5. Stop being so annoying.
6. Act and dress my age.
7. Quit my job. (Meaning, actually go look for another job.) Or better yet, become financially independent enough to quit working and go back to school.
8. Go out shopping, visiting, or whatever just once without lipstick. Yeah right! Every purse, bag, coat pocket, car console and lunchbox I own has at least one lipstick or gloss in it.
9. Get a short, cute hairstyle.
10. Don't spend so much time on the internet. (Stop laughing. No really, I mean it. OK... ok, yeah, that is funny, go ahead and laugh. We'll see who's laughing when you ask me to find something online for you and BAM I have it in 30 seconds even though you spent three hours looking because you're frickin' clueless. So there.)

In other news, Punxsutawney Phil's life was spared for another year when he predicted six more weeks of winter this morning, punctuated by the snow that started falling a short while ago. Yay! I hate spring even more than I hate that damn groundhog.

My hibernation ends Thursday, when I am dragged back into the working world. Bleh.

TastyClair pies still rock. That is all. nomnomnom

I Want Vodka, Too!

Aunt Becky over at Mommy Wants Vodka posted a contest for her readers. It's more like one of our Blogger Challenges, which is great because I like those even if I always forget to actually DO the challenge.

Anyway, one of the three ways she posted to enter the contest (which I am doing for fun, even though the prize is an Amazon gift card, and I JUST last night used mine to buy my husband a Wii game even though I dropped a buttload of money on the Wii itself and was hoping to use the gift card to buy- get this- books, but hey I'm generous) is to answer her interview questions. So, vodka martini in hand, here goes...

1) Dave and I have a long-standing feud over cheese in a can. He thinks it’s food of The Gods while I think it’s probably Of The Devil. Your take?

I mentioned Easy Cheese in a recent post. I've never bought a can of the stuff, ever. I ate it once on a cracker at someone's party, but there were also barbecued Spam hors d'oeuvres, so I'm thinking it was someone's extremely low-budget wedding reception. Which, of course, are always fun. Food of the Devil? No, just one of his minions who invented the term "Processed American Cheese Food."

2) Is there any way you can think of to make the elder Gosselins go away? I AM ALL EARS.

Change the channel? I have no idea who they are, but I don't watch TV too often, and I stopped reading Hollywood blogs a couple years ago when I realized Britney Spears was the punch line of WAY too many of my jokes. Sure, she's an easy target, but why give her any more publicity? I'm hoping she'll go away. And take the Gosselins with her, to appease Aunt Becky.

3) Who is your ridiculous “I can’t admit this to anyone in polite company lest I be banned from life” crush?

Patrick Stewart. Hmm, no, a lot of people love him. Brent Spiner, AKA Data from the same show... in full android costume... saying "Of course, I AM fully functional." Oh, and Milla Jovovich in The 5th Element. I'd totally hit that. Or all 3 at once.

4) If you could fuck it all and pursue your dream (assuming, of course, you were going to be GOOD at it), what would that dream be?

I would be a stormchaser! My dream is to become financially independent, quit work, and go back to school. I'd take meteorology and auto body shop. No, really. My stormchasing vehicle would have some wicked ghost flames on a flip-flop paint job. (My other dream was to have a book endorsed by Oprah, but she killed that one.)

5) They say “living well is the best revenge.” I think they are wrong. Do you?

I think it's true to an extent, but only for those who always wanted to not only keep up with the Joneses, but run over them in their overpriced SUVs while yapping on their iPhones and sporting designer stiletto heels and perfectly-coiffed hair. For me, the best revenge would be having enough money to bribe everyone at work to quit on the same day in the middle of our busiest season. Take that, asshole owner who took our breaks and overtime pay away!

6) What is the most humiliation you’ve experienced in public that you’d be willing to admit to The Internet?

Oh dear. Some of my family read this. There are things I'd admit on someone else's internet, under a pseudonym, with a proxy IP address that couldn't easily be traced back to me...

OK, there's one. I got into a fight with a girl at a bowling alley once, and was wearing a zip-front denim skirt (hey, it was the 80s). Naturally we had an audience because people just gravitate to catfights. When I kicked her, the skirt unzipped completely, exposing my red and green Christmas underwear. It was June. I was called the Ho-Ho Ho until someone else did something stupid and everyone forgot about me.

I also once set my butt on fire in front of a group of older guys I was hoping to impress. Dancing too close to a bonfire + holes in jeans + those ripped strings hanging down = an entirely different meaning to "hey, she's got a hot ass!"

7) Are you honest with The Internet? Like, if I came over to your house tonight (heh)(I’m coming over, yo)(heh) would I be surprised at who I found?

Only if I'd ever shown you photos of myself. I admit that photo editing programs are my friends, and I am very selective about which ones get seen by people I've never met. Otherwise, it's Just Me As Always. You'd find a short, vivacious (read: loud) redhead who would fix you a drink, cook supper, and apologize for the current state of the house. Then we'd find a bunch of stuff to bitch about, praise what was praiseworthy, and make tasteless jokes and puns. The husband would wander in from time to time, give us the hairy eyebrow, then disappear back into the Man Room shaking his head.

8 ) If you could have one talent that you don’t currently possess, what would it be?

Good question. From a personal standpoint, I'd love to be able to draw and paint extremely well. From a this-will-make-me-money standpoint, either singing, or being 100% motivated to finish one of the half-dozen books I've started and get them published. Okay, motivation would be the one talent I'd like either way. Also I want to know how the hell to use an eyelash curler without personal injury.

9) There’s not always room for Jello. Is there?

Ew. Only one person I know makes Jello that I will go out of my way to eat, and that's a friend's mother. She makes this layered thing every Christmas with four colors of Jello, and one of them is coconut or marshmallow or something, and to me it's not Jello but Manna From Heaven. I rank it up there with pudding pies and Godiva, but not quite as high as cake.

10) What’s your guiltiest of the guilty pleasures?

Cake frosting.

Afterburn

Christmas was good this year, despite the fact that we're about to be crushed under an avalanche of chocolate. After-holiday candy sales rock, except I tend to go overboard, thinking "well, I can freeze it for later" or "they're peppermints, they last forreeever!"

Yeah right.

No chocolate that enters my house has ever seen the inside of my freezer, except in the form of ice cream. Now, it WILL sit on the table or desk for a while, because I go through craving phases, but then the ol' hormones will kick in and an entire box of Russel Stover turtles or Gertrude Hawk Smidgens will magically disappear overnight. (Coconut Custard Smidgens do not stand a chance. I have to ask the husband to hide them from me.)

I also baked this year, and thought I was doing good by giving away all but the few broken cookies. Then family and friends returned the favor with more piles of baked goods. I am a cookie monster like my dad... they're second only to cake... so those are cool. But someone sent over an entire pumpkin roll, cheesecake, and other delectables. Now, I'm not typically overweight, but who can resist anything with cream cheese in it? I gained 4 lbs in 2 weeks and I truly don't care. I'm off work for a month and I'm hibernating, so there.

Yesterday, I realized I was tired of sweets. Yes, really. I was having a serious jones for cheese, meat, pasta, anything without a buttload of sugar in it. (Indirect pun intended. That's where all the sugar goes, after all.) When I stopped at the grocery for milk I was giving the eye to a can of spray cheese... one item that has never been in my house, mainly because I can't stand the stuff... but there I was, at the beginning stages of drool, contemplating E-Z Cheez. I had to get a real-food fix and fast. Had to stave it off with a tuna sammich till dinnertime.

I also realized that I got a beautiful, shiny, full-sized bottle of top shelf vodka for Christmas and I haven't even cracked it open yet. It's been chilling in the freezer because... well, pumpkin roll and vodka are a horrible combination. Trust me on this. I prefer to enjoy my vodka without any accompaniment other than a couple olives or a pepperoncini. On New Years Eve I'll be staying in, away from the crazies on the road, getting happily buzzed and surfing Teh Innernetz. I'll have the scanner on in the hope that someone, somewhere, will top the Burger-King-Hat-Wearing Drunk Goat* police call from a few years ago.

Ghirardelli Eggnog chocolate squares rock. That is all.

*Funniest thing I have EVER heard over the scanner.

No, This Is Normal... Really

When married to a redneck, one of the things one has to get used to is the variety of things said person will bring home. And by variety, I don't mean just beer, dirt, and his strange cousin with the eye twitch, but also homemade explosives, stinkbait, weapons, and dead animals, or just parts of animals.

Take tonight, for example. I was sitting here, happily typing away, when B came in the door toting a deer leg. I just stopped what I was doing and waited. I know rifle season is over, and all edible parts of the deer he shot are present and accounted for in my freezer, so an extra entire back leg required some explanation. I also knew the story behind it probably, at this point in our marriage, would not surprise me. He dumped the skinned and still bloody leg on the counter and said, matter-of-factly, "It still has some hair on it. I'll have to clean it up." I waited. And stared at Blitzen's left haunch dripping on my freshly-cleaned countertop. Once he got out his knives, he explained.

It seems that on his way to work, B saw a man and his boy along the road with a deer. Assuming they'd hit it, he stopped to see if they needed help. They did, but not in a car-related way. The man's neighbor had hit the deer, then called the guy, who proceeded to go collect it sans any type of knife or gun. The buck had a broken leg or two and was still alive, and most folks hereabouts won't let a deer suffer if they can help it. Also, that's good meat if it wasn't a body hit.

B let the man borrow his hunting knife, the buck was dispatched, and then came the issue of how the man was going to get it home, as he didn't have his truck with him. (Not the best planning on his part, but it was a sudden thing, so whatever.) Since he lived on B's route to work, they loaded it in the bed and B dropped it off at the guy's barn. On his way home this afternoon, the same guy was standing out by the road, flagged him down, and presented him with the deer leg as thanks for the help. That's country for you.

That is why, just a short while ago, my husband was in my kitchen with a hacksaw, cutting Blitzen-butt into steaks and such and I was bagging the extra chunks to grind later. A redneck wife just does that kind of thing, you know? I also don't complain about "roadkill" as long as I know where, when, and how it was hit, and I'm fine with it because the deer didn't suffer too long. Also, it's a lot better than some of the other things he's dragged home.

Shut up. I'm exempt from that statement.

Random Roundup

~I have one of those postcard-sized ad inserts in front of me, and like an 8-year-old who thinks armpit farts are hilarious, I can't stop giggling. It's an ad for mail-order discount cigarettes from one of those Indian reservations.
Actual wording on ad:
"All Of Our Butts sells a wide variety of discount cigarettes..."
"You must be 18 years or older to purchase products from All Of Our Butts..."
www.AllOfOurButts.com does not sound like a tobacco website. It sounds more like one that would stick the user in an endless loop of pop-up porn sites for gay sex. (Not that *I* would know about such things... I was searching for beef recipes, I swear.)

Am I juvenile to think this is funny? I have to admit, it's marketing that definitely gets my attention. *makes armpit fart*

~Speaking of juvenile... Facebook applications have some strange viral-marketing to get people to play their games. When someone does something in a game, they get a pre-written message to post on their wall. Some samples:

Friendguy is #1 after finishing a round in Wild Ones!
Wild Ones is a game where you conquer the animal kingdom with grenades, missile launchers and goo guns! (Does PETA know about this yet?)

Friendguy wants more friends to battle in Wild Ones, so they can enjoy blowing up adorable animals! (oh, sign me up, I just have to toast some bunnies today.)

Friendchick just tapped on the glass of her aquarium in Fish World! (How mundane. Why do I and everyone on your friends list need to know this five times a day?)

Otherchick just brushed her noble steed in FarmVile! (Yes, their script does say "Vile" and not "Ville" on that one. I think it's more accurate, myself.)

Thatdude's Holiday Tree just grew and became more festive and merry! (I had a zillion comments to add here, most involving Viagra and hanging balls, or men becoming merry when their tree grew, but... feel free to write your own.)(And again, do I really need to know this drivel?)

~Want to be a 12-year-old girl's new bestest friend ever? Buy her a cell phone for her birthday. I have bruises from being tackled. She squealed "I LOOOOVE YOU!" I said yeah, but it's only because I spoil you. She was honest... "Yeah. But you're cool anyway." Dang kids.

Speaking of what 12-year-olds think is cool... she wanted music for her birthday, so I spent a couple hours checking out her song list and listening to clips. (i.e. was reminded that I'm frickin' old.) Who are these people, and why are they popular again? Admittedly, I discovered I like Lady Gaga, and I also had to give the kid props for having a few 80s tunes on there. But I flat-out refused to buy Kanye or Mariah Carey. One's an ass and the other gives me (and every small animal within miles) instant headaches. Kid thought I was so awesome because I asked her to play some Black Eyed Peas for me. I heard 'em on an Oprah youtube clip... kills the awesome factor, eh?

~Yesterday was our first "real" snow here. There is no prettier winter day than a first-snow day, when everything looks like it's covered in frosting and the air is cold and crisp and a cup of coffee tastes better than anything. The world stand out with stark contrasts of black trees, red barns and pure white fluff. There is no mud or slush yet, no black exhaust stains on the snow along the roads, and no giant dirty snowplow piles every hundred yards. Yesterday was a picture postcard of gorgeousness. One of the kids, who was skeptical about living in a place where it gets below 40 degrees, came inside covered with snow from head to toe and announced "I LOVE Pennsylvania!!!" Yeah, me too, kiddo. (Just wait till you learn to drive, though.) I suspect it was because he has a new form of ammo to throw at his sisters. Never enough of that for a 7-year-old.

~Layoffs at work are imminent. Despite the loss of income, I'm looking forward to it. Maybe I'll have normal dreams again, instead of ones involving scoping out whiteflies on poinsettias with a jeweler's loupe. Seasonal layoffs happen at this time every year. Sometimes I'm not on the list, but usually I am for at least a couple weeks... this year I'm kind of hoping for the full layoff until mid-February or beyond. Sounds odd, especially with the crazy economy and unemployment rate... I should be happy to have a job, I suppose... but after 10 1/2 years I'm just so burned out that I don't care. There is not one part of my body that doesn't hurt on a daily basis. My hips are out of whack, my hands look like road maps of Los Angeles (they dry out and crack from water exposure) and my feet are plotting mutiny. I need some recovery time. A chiropractor, a manicure, and an acupressure massage are on my Christmas wishlist. Boob job too, but that's waited so long already that by the time I can afford one, I won't care anymore.

Anyone want to sponsor me for an extreme makeover? :-D

~Nah, really, I have nice boobs. I just want MORE of the nice. One cup size larger, to look good in low-cut shirts and sweaters. (Also to balance out my butt, which is also nice, but it gets too much attention.) A friend summed it up best when she told me her boobs had never been introduced to each other. I want mine to meet, fall in love, and give birth to cleavage.

~Sweet-tea vodka still rocks. That is all.

Black and Blue Friday and then some

I was off work for Black Friday this year. I have no idea what came over me... maybe it was the potential for free gift cards at my favorite store... or temporary insanity... but I decided to take part in the madness.

I got up at 6:45 AM on Thanksgiving day and went to work. Came home at 4:30, jumped online to check out the BF sales, made my plans and my list. Hubby got home from his brother's about 9:00 and was greeted with "We're going to be in line at Boscov's for the opening, you might want to grab a nap!" Surprisingly, he did not protest AT ALL, which is very unlike him (like most males, he hates shopping, and in the past has flat-out refused to leave the house on BF) and proceeded to fall asleep almost immediately. I was still awake at 1:00 AM when I woke him up to get ready to leave. We arrived at the mall about 2 AM, scoped the place out, and planned our strategy. He was to take the rear mall door and I'd cover the front. They opened the doors at 3:15 and the crowd of people ran like mad to Boscov's to line up for the gift cards. (They were giving away, aside from $ store cards, a TV, jewelry, electronics, appliances, and things like Snuggies and so forth.)

When the horde reached the line, my hubby was standing at the front, alone, and a bit shocked at the wall of people descending on him. They'd opened the rear door first (which was much closer) and being the only one there, he'd had time to saunter over, wait around, and even call me 4 times before anyone else arrived. I was too busy moving my butt at a high rate of speed from the other end of the mall to answer the phone. We scored a $ gift card and a throw blanket. Store opened at 5 AM, we did our shopping, noshed on a few snacks the Boscov's crew* had thoughtfully set out, then cruised over to a few other places to check their sales. Hubby was getting into the spirit, so we looked at tools at Sears and hunting stuff at Dick's.

Two places we avoided: Target and Wal-Mart. Both were having seriously mad doorbuster sales but I was in no mood to get killed over $3 appliances or $5 DVDs. On Thursday I had thought, briefly, about lining up for the $198 laptops, but convinced myself that 3 computers in a two-person household was enough already. Instead, we went for breakfast around 7 AM then headed to K-Mart. That place was bananas! Couldn't get out of there fast enough. There should be a "People of K-Mart" website... it might make the Wal-Mart one seem tame in comparison. They didn't have what I wanted anyway. Hubby, being in some sort of sleep-deprived fit of generosity, then agreed to go all the way to the city, 45 minutes away, to another K-Mart and Best Buy. Picked up a not-on-sale bicycle at KM for 20% off after asking a passing manager about it. I suspect she was willing to do anything to get people to buy stuff and get the heck out and leave her alone. Best Buy's checkout line went to the back of the store, where a helpful employee held up a sign so people could find the end. Took me 5 minutes to find what I wanted (half-price cellphone, woot!) and another 25 minutes to check out.

By the time we got home that afternoon, my eyes were crossed, I'd sprained my knee, and my adrenaline + caffeine buzz was gone. I had been awake for 34 hours straight, with 9 of it spent working, at least 3 standing in lines, and 12 on my feet shopping. I crashed hard, then got up Saturday morning to go back to work. Was it worth it? Moneywise, I saved about $200 on things I'd planned to buy anyway. So that was decent. But I plan to do it again just for the RUSH. Damn that was fun!

*A very special thank you to the extremely organized and prepared Boscov's crew... that's how a BF sale should be done.

Journey, Misheard

One of the funniest websites to peruse when the internet seems to be asleep, and nobody but spambots hawking discount Cialis or degrees-at-home are emailing you, and your Facebook friends have stopped posting lost animals for the night, is Misheard Lyrics.

I just read through the Journey ones. Some are so lame that I wonder if the listener had their hearing aid in backwards, or possibly just posted the lyrics to be funny, but others are very appropriate in retrospect. That is, if you know (and oft make fun of) the history of the band.

"Don't Stop Believin'"

Misheard Lyrics:

Working hard to get my meal
Everybody wants a grill

Original Lyrics:

Working hard to get my fill
Everybody wants a thrill

"Anytime"

Misheard Lyrics:

Moo anytime that you want meat
Moo anytime that you need meat.

Original Lyrics:

Ooh, anytime that you want me
Ooh, anytime that you need me.

Steve Perry was a vegetarian for a long time after getting food poisoning from hamburgers. Twice. I'm sure all the ground beef recalls have sent him back into the garden.

"Escape"

Misheard Lyrics:

They're making laws, but they don't understand
What turns a boy into a farting man

Original Lyrics:

They're making laws, but they don't understand
Turns a boy into a fighting man

It's all the beans from going veggie. Obviously.

"Ask The Lonely"

Misheard Lyrics:

When your feeling loads of hair

Original Lyrics:

When you're feeling love's unfair

Perry was also known for his hair, which has fluctuated between long, mullet, even longer, spiked, and most recently, haphazard defiance-of-age-via-Miss Clairol. After cutting it once, he was quoted as saying he was "saving a fortune on cream rinse." Meanwhile, thousands of Perryloons wept over the loss of their Samsonesque idol.

"Don't Stop Believin'"

Misheard Lyrics:

Some will win, some will lose, some are going to drink some booze

Original Lyrics:

Some will win, some will lose, some were born to sing the blues

"Don't Stop Believin'"

Misheard Lyrics:

Brain damage, wasted
Comin' down the boulevard.

Original Lyrics:

Strangers, waitin'
Up and down the boulevard.

"I'll Be Alright Without You"

Misheard Lyrics:

I'll need a ride without you.
There'll be someone else,
I keep telling myself

Original Lyrics:

I'll be alright without you.
They'll be someone else,
I keep telling myself

On-tour band stereotypes aside, Perry also had a little love affair with the bottle. Or maybe it was drugs. Either way, the Raised on Radio tour was a hot mess of hairspray, torn jeans, and an occasional vague and confusing interview with Perry, leaving his fans to say WTF? and decipher meanings on their own using their Secret Perry Decoder Rings (free with 5 proofs of purchase from McCormick Ground Cumin.) Most insisted he was just profound. Uh-huh. There's a reason you don't see RoR live concerts on video. Perry doesn't remember doing them. (We can only hope that someday, when he cleans out his closet, he'll find a box containing a can of Aquanet and a bunch of concert reels and say WHOA! Barry Manilow live! This is GOLD! and release them, but don't hold your breath.)

"Open Arms"

Misheard Lyrics:

Hoping to hide the mean words I said.

Original Lyrics:

Nothing to hide, I mean what I say.

"I never really felt like part of the band." I don't think there's any way that could be taken out of context, despite his insistence. Maybe Neal didn't share his Cheetos during a late-night munchies attack. Or, the other band members were just jealous that Perry never felt the need to stuff his pants like they did. (I suspect he was ostracized due to all the bean farts, myself.)

Misheard Lyrics:

It's kissing the derrière.

Original Lyrics:

It's kissing the day.

There's a lot of that going on in the music biz. And no amount of it will get Perry to rejoin the group (again).

Bonus:

"Oh Sherrie"

Misheard Lyrics:

But you filled me with the fever
For the flavor of Pringles in nose elves.

Original Lyrics:

But you know that there's a fever
Oh that you'll never find nowhere else.

I have no words.

WTHell-Mart

Today, I had to make a trip to Wal-Mart to pick up a prescription. I also did a bit of shopping in the grocery section. Our hometown markets seem to love huge price markups, but they complain about the big box stores putting them out of business... well... there is no reason local apples should cost 2 bucks a pound at one store and a buck-twenty-nine at another. LOCAL. Not imported from Guatemala or wherever. Not like a fuel-consuming cargo ship or airplane was involved. I buy local whenever possible, often direct from the farmers, but I'm not paying extortion prices at certain stores. Even so, I don't often shop at Wal-Mart and usually drive farther to a smaller store, but today was a matter of convenience and time-crunch.

Anyway, Wal-Mart. That giant melting-pot of humanity, that sociology lesson, that place to go when you really need an ego boost or affirmation that your life just ain't so bad after all. As soon as I walked in, I was met with the shrieking of a small child; loud, shrill, and nonstop. The kid wailed for a good ten minutes straight. It's a Wal-Mart fact that there will be at least one screaming kid present at any time, day or night, and that kid will have one of those voices that carries throughout the entire store. Tip: earplugs are on the aisle next to the pharmacy pick-up counter.

Next to the 17 kinds of earplugs will be the OcuSoft Eyelid Wipes. These are not mascara removers or cucumber pads; this is a product touted specifically and solely for wiping your itchy eyelids. Nothing else. Below that will be a variety of earwax removal products, some of them with scary names like Earrigate 9000 and Scrape N' Scoop. I did not realize wax removal technology had advanced so far. (For the record, one product actually said, on the box, to "use the spoon end to scoop out ear wax and ear debris." Ewwwwww.) Then, of course, are fifty million different kinds of saline solution for contact-lens wearers. It's salt water, people, not rocket science. I would not pay fifteen dollars for a bottle of saline when right next to it is the exact same thing for three.

Oh... the pharmacy line was insanely long, which is why I was noticing the above products. People in line were sending Death Glares of Doom to anyone who even paused nearby, indicating that if someone dared to cut in line, they'd need to pay a visit to the First Aid aisle after being steamrollered by half a dozen buggies. (I'm from the South, they're buggies, NOT carts, the end.) The woman behind the counter said there was no good time to visit the pharmacy, as they'd been slammed for the past two weeks straight. Flu season and all. Great... I really want to be standing in close proximity to flu-stricken folks who haven't gotten their meds yet.

I saw yet another person hit a post outside. (Also a rule of Wal-Mart. If you watch long enough, someone will hit something.) He looked like a young Kevin Bacon, less 100 IQ points, and came speedwalking from the parking lot like Wal-Mart had a two-for-one sale on Skoal that ended in the next two minutes. He bumped into one of the six-foot-tall yellow HIGHLY VISIBLE concrete posts near the door, bounced off, tried to keep walking like it hadn't happened, and proceeded to slam into the very next post. Human Pinball right there. Wish I had a video camera sometimes.

Another rule of Wal-Mart is that, apparently, some people cannot see the giant directional arrows painted on the ground and will invariably drive their Ford Megalith XLT the wrong way down a parking lane. And it will usually be me facing them, going the RIGHT way, with no place to move. About half the time, that other person is pulling out of a prime parking space that I have been sitting and waiting for, but since they pull out the wrong way, some twit in a Hyundai will zoom in from the other side and steal it. Meanwhile I'm holding my breath and hoping the SUV doesn't take my side mirror off as he creeps by. Naturally, he's giving ME dirty looks as if I'm to blame for getting in HIS way.

I noticed, while in the store, that the 80s are definitely coming back around. There was a girl with a side ponytail, leggings, legwarmers, a track jacket, and high heels walking around. She was also wearing blue eyeshadow, if further proof is needed. I also saw a man who looked like Drew Carey wearing obscenely tight bleached jeans. Speaking of, does anyone know if Wal-Mart sells eye bleach? I'm guessing it's near the Snorp anti-snore aid and the ButtFlush Maxx Xtreme Enemas. (Snorp = actual product. BFMXE = probably, but I'm not going to attempt confirmation.)

Mini Reese's cups rock. That is all.

NostARGHia

Oh, the silly things we worried about as teenagers! I've just spent an hour going through old school notebooks and such, and if my biggest source of angst today was whether Joe Schmoe liked my new Members Only jacket, I'd be in good shape. Selective ignorance only goes so far anymore.

As amusing as those notebooks are, they're all getting tossed, along with anything I've saved for reasons I've forgotten, toys too beat-up to put in the yard sale, birthday cards from people I don't remember, and love notes from anyone prior to my husband. Hubby claimed all my NASCAR memorabilia so I suppose we have to haul that home with us. I can't gripe; I have half a dozen moving boxes full of horses- plastic, ceramic, glass, you name it- that will be making the trip as well. A box of bones and fossils, a pile of photos, several gumball machine toys from the days when they had cool stuff in them, and two sketchbooks (of many) are in the "Keep" pile. I've started an "eBay" pile too... fortunately for my already crowded apartment, the "Dump" pile is the biggest so far.

Why do I keep the things I do? Some of it, I can look at and know, but most are WTF items that must have meant something at some point but I'll be damned if I remember why. Several promo coasters and gizmos from St. Patricks Day at bars that went out of business years ago... pictures cut from magazines... oh let's not even start on the magazines themselves, unless someone wants eight years' worth of Entertainment Weekly and Art News and Beckett trading-card price guides... Panini stickers... I still hate to throw out unused stickers, but the pro wrestling ones? Yeah those need to go... a dried-up corsage from Junior Prom, which I attended with a guy I didn't like then and like even less now... a box full of graduation invitations... photos of people I met once and promptly forgot... one Japanese Marlboro in the pack, saved because it had a charcoal filter and foreign writing... Mardi Gras masks, even though I haven't made it to Mardi Gras yet... a box of Pepsi bottlecaps, back when they had glass bottles and pry-off caps... all that crap is going to fill a dumpster tonight.

Oh, and then there's the baseball cards. *Sigh* My mom never threw mine out (she collected them too), but faced with the task of sorting and cataloguing and eBaying them, I almost wish she'd hauled 'em to Goodwill. The potential for one card among ten thousand being worth a couple hundred bucks is all that keeps them where they are, carefully stored in archival boxes, divided by brand and labeled by year. OCD does not run in this family, why do you ask? Packratting on a marginally organized scale is what we do, meaning we save stuff and almost always know where it is when we want it.

I told my husband the other day that what I'd love to do is have a mini-museum or nostalgia room in our future house to display the things we've decided to keep. Pop's bottles, my horses, his racing stuff, all those things that may or may not be valuable monetarily but meant enough to us to hang on to. I might briefly regret tossing certain things, but the older I get the more valuable storage space becomes and the more often I pass on things I'd formerly HAVE to have for this collection or that one.

For now, though, I'm limited to whatever amount will safely fit in the bed of the truck. And the redneck's idea of "safely" means it can be secured under a cargo net and two ratchet-straps and the truck will still fit the height restrictions of most underpasses. Whee... back to packin!

Grape Nehi still rocks. That is all.

The Redneck Express Has Arrived

Jeff Foxworthy (whom I still swear spied on my family for his material) once said "Rednecks... there are ways to tell if you are one, and I are one!"

You might be a redneck if you have a deer head on the wall... that you personally didn't shoot.

You might be one if said deer head has been passed down 3 generations.

You definitely are one if the deer head was passed down on the WIFE's side of the family.

On our trip home, there will be a 10-point buck wearing sunglasses riding in the backseat of the pickup. Blow the Dixie horn if y'all see us now, y'hear? We'll be drinkin' YooHoo and eatin' pork rinds. Yeehaw!