Wednesday, January 31, 2007


How can you miss me when I won't go away?

It's my birthday! And for my birthday, all I want is for everyone who found their way here to find your way over here, to visit the new blog. Because this? This is the old blog and I won't be writing here any more.

Not that you could call what I do writing, per se. More like regurgitating onto the keyboard, but still, it takes it out of me.

So please click just one more time and come see me. If you do, I will say nice things about you. To your face, anyway. Ha!

Monday, January 29, 2007


That isn't the only prehistoric thing around here

This morning I realized that my birthday is in 2 days. I mean, I knew it was coming up and I've made no secret of what I would like for a gift, but somehow it still snuck up on me. Until this morning I would have thought my birthday was a good solid 2 weeks away.

Y'all, I think this means I'm maturing.

Which sucketh the big one.

Ok, I'm not too mature.


So, anyway, Lynnster did me a solid and moved all my blog crap over to Wordpress in case I decided I didn't want to continue on with Blogger once everyone was forced to go with the Beta version. I have not heard one good thing about Beta and in fact have heard lots of bad things and am going to move.

My inaugural post over there will be on Wednesday, otherwise known as the day I turn officially older than dirt. There will be lots of talk about the effects of Metamucil and how to keep the tennis balls on the feet of my walker yellow and bright. Great fun for everyone!

If you want to go see how it looks, please do. Let me know what you think. If you like it, it's all Lynnster's doing. If you don't like it, it's my fault for liking the color orange so much.

Now, on to other things. Pookie sent me this link a few days ago. After staring in awe at this creature (what creature? Click the link!) for several minutes, I decided to see if I could find anything on YouTube.

Wednesday, January 24, 2007


Her and her puny little thumbs. It is to laugh, yes?

Me (upon hearing that BabyGirl's Friday night plans had been cancelled): Well, maybe you and I could go see a movie. Ooh! Or we could go bowling. I've been wanting to go bowling!

BabyGirl: (gives me the Look) (Parents of teenagers, you know the look to which I refer)

Me: Hey, I bet I could beat you.

BG: Um. Yeah, you probably could.

Me: You were supposed to say something like, 'Oh, yeah!? Well, you just bring it, then!'.

BG (in a little tiny fraidy cat voice): Please don't bring it.

I would totally bring it, y'all. It would be broughten. I would bring it and then when I was done, I would bring it back, put it in a little box and keep it safe for the next time I had to bring it.

Consider it brung, is what I'm saying here.

Thanks everyone for the kind words about Patsy. I can't wait to see her this weekend. We're gonna take a buttload of crawfish out to her house Saturday and gorge ourselves. A buttload is between 20 and 30 pounds, depending on much they cost.

What are y'all gonna do this weekend?

Tuesday, January 23, 2007


Pop Pop Fizz Fizz.....

There have been some things going on that I haven't been able to talk about. Work has been a major issue for awhile now. Which is all I'm going too say about that. Ahem.

One of the other issues is Patsy. I've mentioned Patsy here quite a bit. If you'll recall, she feels it's my fault that she once said the word 'fuck'. Something about me and the bad fucking example I'm setting. Hee!

Anyway, Patsy is more than a friend to me. She's also my surrogate mother. I met Patsy when I was in my early/mid twenties and my own mother had passed away several years earlier. She has been a mother to me and a devoted spoiling grandma to my kids, despite having plenty of her own children and grandchildren.

She is one of Pooter's top 3 favorite people at all times (and I, myself, only make it to that list every once in a while) and she adores him right back.

When I was single, Patsy and I made a list of qualities that any man I dated had to have. It was a long, well thought out, reasoned list. Too bad I don't remember much of it. It was a damn good list.

There's lots more I could tell you about Patsy, but I guess the most important thing I can tell you about her is that she's going to be ok. She'll be fine.

She has been diagnosed with cancer. It's made her life a living hell for the past year because of a tumor pressing on her sciatic nerve, while she assumed that it simply a pinched nerve (as did her doctor, to be fair) (but she wouldn't go back for the recommended MRI, for fear of the results, to be equally fair).

Up until yesterday, when the biopsy results came back, it looked really bad. She has cancer running through many of her bones (causing one femur to shatter, resulting in her finally getting her ass back to the doctor). She has dark spots between her skull and brain. I tell you all this so that you can understand how bad it was looking.

Then, yesterday, those results came back and the type of cancer she has is easily treated with hormones and some radiation and she has lots of years ahead of her. And I am absolutely overjoyed.

Now Pooter won't forget her, except as a person in some pictures with him when he was just a little kid.

Now I still have my friend.

Now I still have my Mom.

Now I can kick her ass for not getting to the doctor sooner.

Now I have time to talk her into moving to New Hampshire so I don't have to do without her.

Now she has time for, well, anything.

We're going back down to see her Saturday. She should be home by then and we'll get to spend some serious quaility time together. I can't wait.

Sunday, January 21, 2007


The panties weren't very cooperative either

I've had an exciting last few days. If by exciting I mean painful and exhausting.

I woke up Thursday morning feeling like someone had kicked in my ribcage. Since Pookie has promised to stop assaulting me in my sleep, I assumed that I had simply slept too long in one position and was just stiff. Yes, I have reached the age where a simple good night's sleep will render me stiff and sore and kinda bitchy.

However, as the day wore on (and on and on), the soreness didn't go away. In fact, it got progressively worse. By the end of the day, it was difficult to breathe deeply, move freely, or sneeze without screaming 'fuck' right afterwards.

I got up the next morning, got dressed (fuck you socks, you sadistic bastards**) and went to work. Where I was promptly told to go home. As an aside, they could have fired me on the spot and I would have only felt relief that I could go home. That's how much I hurt.

So I came home, hopped in the shower ( Ha. 'Hopped'. Good one), and then woke Pookie and asked him to take me to the doctor. ( I told him the hilarious, yet fraught with peril story of me shaving my legs in the shower. He expressed disbelief that I was able to. I told him that only complete unconsciousness would justify taking hairy legs to the doctor, even if there's no chance the Doc will see your legs. Back me up on this, fellow girl type people!)

The waiting room at the local ER was a funfest. I think the lady who kept telling her little girl that the policeman (actually a security guard) was going to spank her if she didn't act right was my favorite. The young couple who were playfully wrestling and threatening to whip each other's ass while jarring my chair ran a close second.

After a miserable 45 minutes of waiting to be triaged (so that I could tell SOMEONE that I was dying and to please make it stop now), Pookie went and got a pop from the machine. I took the smallest sip that has ever been taken of a beverage since the beginning of time and a nurse (?) popped up at my elbow to tell me to please not eat or drink anything in case my distress stemmed from my tummy.

Which made me cry. Apparently, I can take most anything, but if you tell me that I can't have a sip of Diet Dr. Pepper while I am dying, I get a little upset about it.

I was called to triage not 2 minutes later, where another nurse apologized to me and explained that she had noticed my physical distress and without knowing what was wrong with me, wanted to make sure that I could be assessed and treated as quickly as possible, so she had sent the other nurse out to talk to me.

I then felt compelled to explain (in a very sexy 'lungs can't expand without killing me' kind of way) that it wasn't really being told not to have a drink that made me cry. She said, 'I know. Broken camel. It's ok.'. Which was exactly right and why I now love her.

Anyway, I had many x-rays, during which I was repeatedly asked to take a deep breath and hold it, which would have made me laugh if I wasn't too busy DYING.

Turns out that Pookie did not, in fact, give me a good elbow shot to the ribs while I was sleeping.

I have Pleurisy. Which sounds like that nastiest little old disease in the world, but it's actually pretty benign, unless, you know, it turns into pneumonia.

So I got a big shot of something very thick and painful in my hip (read: ass) and a prescription for some Naproxen.

I'm doing much better now (as evidenced by the fact that I'm on the computer. When your lungs are caved in there is simply no comfortable way to sit up straight and type.) and I go back to work tomorrow. Where I will be essentially useless since bending over still makes me see stars and prolonged time on my feet makes me really breathless and kind of faint. But I will Be There, by God. Unless they send me home again.

** At least the socks and panties only kicked my ass long enough for me to get them on. The bra kidnapped me, transported me across state lines, ravaged me and then left me at a rest stop after telling me it knew where I lived and would burn my house down if I didn't keep my piehole shut.

Tuesday, January 16, 2007


$ 415.60

By way of The Lynnster, I found this meme, which is both cool and kind of embarrassing all at the same time. Which makes it perfect for me!

How it works is, you look at the list below, make a note of the 'fines' for each 'infraction' and tally up how much you would have to pay if it was real. You don't count per incident, which is fortunate, because I'd have carpal tunnel from counting on my fingers by now.

*** Edited*** Because y'all have to hear this shit. Pookie just called me from work (where he usually reads my posts) and said, 'You just scared the shit out of me! I thought this was a list of shit you'd actually done and all I could think was, 'Had sex in church? Had sex for money?!' Myspace?? Myspace hasn't even been around that long!."

Then, after I finished snickering like Mr. Magoo, he asked if I had had sex in a pool and I had to tell him that I wasn't going to go through the entire list with him. Because there has to be some mystery in a relationship.

So before you read furthur the list below is most assuredly not a list of shit I have done. ***Edit over ***

Here's the list of infractions and fines:

Smoked pot -- $10
Did acid -- $5
Ever had sex at church -- $25
Woke up in the morning and did not know the person who was next to you -- $40
Had sex with someone on MySpace -- $25
Had sex for money -- $100
Vandalized something -- $20
Had sex on your parents' bed -- $10
Beat up someone -- $20
Been jumped -- $10
Crossed dressed -- $10
Given money to stripper -- $25
Been in love with a stripper -- $20
Kissed some one who's name you didn't know -- $0.10
Hit on some one of the same sex while at work -- $15
Ever drive drunk -- $20
Ever got drunk at work, or went to work while still drunk -- $50
Used toys while having sex -- $30
Got drunk, passed out and don't remember the night before -- $20
Went skinny dipping -- $5
Had sex in a pool -- $20
Kissed someone of the same sex -- $10
Had sex with someone of the same sex -- $20
Cheated on your significant other -- $10
Masturbated -- $10
Cheated on your significant other with their relative or close friend -- $20
Done oral -- $5
Got oral -- $5
Done / got oral in a car while it was moving -- $25
Stole something -- $10
Had sex with someone in jail -- $25
Made a nasty home video -- $15
Had a threesome -- $50
Had sex in the wild -- $20
Been in the same room while someone was having sex -- $25
Stole something worth over more than a hundred dollars -- $20
Had sex with someone 10 years older -- $20
Had sex with someone under 21 and you are over 27 -- $25
Been in love with two people or more at the same time -- $50
Said you love someone but didn't mean it -- $25
Went streaking -- $5
Went streaking in broad daylight -- $15
Been arrested -- $5
Spent time in jail -- $15
Peed in the pool -- $0.50
Played spin the bottle -- $5
Done something you regret -- $20
Had sex with your best friend -- $20
Had sex with someone you work with at work -- $25
Had anal sex -- $80
Lied to your mate -- $5
Lied to your mate about the sex being good -- $25

My total fine is $415.60. From that amount, if you've been paying attention, you can at least infer that I have kissed a stranger AND peed in a pool. I'm not telling you fuckers any more specifics. I have my pride, you know. (except, if you could see my list, you'd know the pride thing is bullshit)

If you're so inclined, I'd love to see some amounts in the comments. Just think, it's just like confessing, only not as bad because no one will really know the shit you pulled.

Unless, you know, you kissed a stranger or peed in the pool.

Monday, January 15, 2007


Together again at last

I suppose it makes sense that there are almost no pictures of Dr. and Mrs. King together available for the public to view. After all, he was the famous one.

At least until she had to take over his work after someone murdered him in cold blood.

I hope their kids have more pictures of their parents together.

Rest in Peace, Dr. and Mrs. King.

The 'I Have a Dream' speech in it's entirety. It's quite long, over 17 minutes. But what's 17 minutes in the 24 hours we set aside in a year to honor this man and his work?

Wednesday, January 10, 2007


I still prefer Spike

BabyGirl and I were watching another stellar Buffy the Vampire Slayer rerun this evening. Yes, I watch Buffy. Yes, I am still kind of upset and maybe a little bitter that it was cancelled. That's right, I'm a grown ass woman and I loves me some Buffy.

So, anyway, it was the episode with Dracula in it. Not one of those namby pamby regular vamps, but the real honest to goodness(or evil, bwahahaha) Dracula. My favorite line in the episode comes from our reliably goofy friend Xander. He says (and I'm totally paraphrasing here because I already deleted the episode and even if I hadn't, chances are my laziness would overcome my need for accuracy and I would decline to fast forward), "Where'd you pick up that accent? Sesame Street? 'One, two, three. Three victims, bwhahaha!' "

So, anyway, for some reason, I started thinking about what kind of underwear Dracula might wear. I know. That's weird, right? I'll just add it to the list.

So I tried picturing Dracula in tighty-whiteys, boxers, boxer briefs, and those icky little Speedo type drawers, and I couldn't picture him in any of them.

Neither could I picture Dracula going commando.

I mean, really. Vlad the Impaler and his dangly bits. I think not. Although, that would be a good name for a rock band. Vlad and His Bits, for short. Coming soon to an auditorium near you.

Sunday, January 07, 2007


Shit Dear Abby won't tell you

I have decided to start an advice column. It's going to be a little different than your usual advice column. Instead of readers sending me questions and me answering them, I'm going to accidently do really stupid shit and then tell y'all not to do it. That way, I'm learning and educating all at the same time. Great idea, right? Ok, then, let's get to it.


Dear Contrary,

Should I apply toxic hair color to the old noggin and then take a nice long walk on the treadmill. thus risking a light sweat since my idea of exercise is to take a bath instead of a shower, making me have to heave my ass up out of the tub when I'm done? Not that I'm opposed to a light sweat, but I'm afraid the sweat might mix with the hair color and make it run down my face in stripes, making me look like Tammy Faye before she got Jose Eber to hook her up.

Thanks in advance! (Only not, because I already did it)

Your bestest friend,


Dear Contrary,

Yeah. Um. Don't do that again. Seriously. Also, not for nothing, but I heard milk will get that out of your skin. You dumb bitch.

Love, Contrary

I think I could probably manage at least one column a week if I get picked up for syndication. I mean, one stupid thing a week is really aiming low for me.

Thursday, January 04, 2007


I also went grocery shopping

I'm finally going to attempt to do the 6 weird things about me meme that Fauve laid on my ass. I think I did this one before, but I think I can probably come up with 6 more original weird things. I'm complex, with weirdness on many levels.

1) There are a few words I can never think of when I need to. Q-tip (in my defense, not actually a word), and hemostats being two very good examples. I call Q-tips "ear cleaner outers" and I call hemostats "ear hair puller outers" (because I use them to pull the hair of a dog's ear when I'm grooming it). Sometimes I can't even think of those, so I simply mimic how I would use each one. These are only examples, there are others. Thank goodness the people who love me (and my co-workers) are a patient lot and are willing to play Name That Object on a regular basis.

2) I'm a little weird about leftover food. I will eat cold spaghetti till the cows come home (and probably even after that if they get home particularly early) but most anything else is dead to me once it hits the fridge.

3) I put away all my laundry yesterday, which is not particularly weird, but is definitely worth a mention. For instance, Pookie mentioned it quite a bit before I put it up. Of course, he was the one tripping in the middle of the night over the baskets holding only my clothes.

4) I am absolutely powerless against a good back scratching. More than once (and by that, I mean ALL THE FUCKING TIME), I have been rendered effectively mute during a really good rant by Pookie or Baby Girl simply scratching my back. Well, mute except for the gutteral moans and whimpers.

5) When I clean out my right ear, it makes me cough. I have no idea why.

6) I can go all day without visiting the little girl's room (and frequently do, at work) but if you put me in a car, I will need to pee as soon as we're out of the driveway, even if I JUST went before we left. And at 30 minute intervals thereafter.

Okay, people. I shared with you. Now you share with me. Share one weird little thing about you. I mean, you don't have to, but if you don't, I'm just gonna make something up.

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