VeryContrary

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

2007-01-31T04:19:00.000-08:00

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!

That isn't the only prehistoric thing around here

2007-01-29T07:12:00.000-08:00

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.

Heh.

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.

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

2007-01-24T18:18:00.000-08:00

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?

Pop Pop Fizz Fizz.....

2007-01-23T19:04:00.000-08:00

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.

The panties weren't very cooperative either

2007-01-21T10:18:00.000-08:00

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.

$ 415.60

2007-01-16T18:09:00.002-08:00

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.

Together again at last

2007-01-15T14:23:00.000-08:00

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?

I still prefer Spike

2007-01-10T18:09:00.000-08:00

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.

Shit Dear Abby won't tell you

2007-01-07T19:49:00.000-08:00

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.

#1:

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,

Contrary

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.

I also went grocery shopping

2007-01-04T19:37:00.000-08:00

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.

Notes.

2007-01-02T18:00:00.000-08:00

I just returned from Wal-Mart and need to dash off a few notes.

1) Dear People Who Work at the McDonald's inside Wal-Mart,

I started a diet today, and fooled myself into thinking it would be okay to have Quarter Pounder w/cheese at your establishment this evening since I hadn't eaten enough to keep a bird alive all day. You saved me from having to regret my dinner by making it truly the ickiest thing I have tried to consume in recent memory. Including Christmas fruitcake.

Thank you,

Love, Grumpy

2) Dear Wal-Mart Stocker Guy,

As my little one and I passed you this evening, you could be heard to say to your co-worker, " What if that motherfucker shows you his burner?". Now, most mothers would get all pissy about you cussing and referring to gunplay in front of their child, but I'm cut from a different cloth. I want to thank you for giving my child a bit of real world education. Why, just this evening, he told me he was gonna pop a cap in my ass if I didn't let him have some candy. I'm sure your mother is just as proud of you as I am.

Thank you,

Love, Too scared of your big gangsta ass to tell you off for that shit

3) Dear little girl who looked at Pooter like he was a mentally unbalanced alien,

You're very perceptive.

Love, The frazzled lady in the deli

4) Dear Pooter,

You have reached a milestone. You no longer wish to ride in the grocery cart because you are a big boy. I'm good with that. What I am most assuredly not good with is you acting like a crazy mo-fo, with the running and the yelling and the general bad behavior.

This is all the more frustrating because you have always been a perfect child in public.

So, I am sorry to say, you are no longer welcome to go to the store with me until you can figure out that while crazy people may be welcome at Wal-Mart, I do not wish to join their ranks.

Love, Mommy (AKA, the she-demon who is making you clean your room right now)

They don't fuck around in Iraq

2006-12-29T20:17:00.000-08:00

Saddam Hussein executed.

How do you feel about that?

(also, I hope everyone had/is having a wonderful holiday season)

Here comes Santa Clause

2006-12-21T18:52:00.000-08:00

In our little town, when it gets close to Christmas, Santa comes around on the firetruck to talk to the little ones and dispense some candy.

Now, Pooter ( my 4 year old's new internet nickname!), has had his share of Santa sightings this season, including one Santa who must have awful tendonitis from all the elbow bending he's been doing. In case you didn't catch that, Santa was a lush.

The firetruck Santa, though, you can't get any better than that. You have Santa and you have a firetruck. Add a train and a puppy and you have Pooter's every reason to live right there in one big unwieldy pile.

Before Santa came, I'd spent the better part of the evening trying to convince Pooter to clean his room. I wasn't expecting hospital corners on the bed or gleaming baseboards, but a path through the jungle of books and toys would be nice. I feel that if I've provided both bookcase and toybox, I've done my part.

I even called Pookie and had him talk to the boy, ending with Pooter happily tottering off to his room to clean, clean, clean. Unfortunately, the gravitational pull of the mess sucked him in, causing him to forget, forget, forget.

So, while Santa was here; after pleasantries had been exchanged and candy had been given to the deserving (and me!), I took advantage of Santa's presence and asked him to talk with Pooter about his room. Santa explained how he can't bring any more toys if there's no place to put them, which is the exact same logic I had used not an hour earlier, but I guess it sounds better coming from the Big Guy, because that room is getting cleaner by the minute.

Oh, and while Santa and I were chatting, he remarked on how we still had those big dogs and reminded me that he had been in our house before. See, Santa is a police officer and had helped us with a little breaking and entering issue we'd had a few years ago.

His fireman escorts didn't know why he'd been in our house, so I told them, 'It's not because I did anything wrong!', to which one of them replied, 'Oh, yeah, you're just a naughty girl.'

And then I squealed and giggled and hit him on the arm.

Ok, I didn't squeal or giggle or hit, but it was a close thing. Apparently I'm a lot closer to my inner 14 year old than I thought.

Defcon 1

2006-12-19T19:02:00.000-08:00

You can stand down, Internet. I heard from the boy. He's fine. He is very sorry he worried his mother and he will never do it again. Or, you know, else.

(I am totally attempting to use humor to mask my relief. It's what we in the business call a 'coping mechanism'. And to those who can't help but think to themselves, "what humor?", I say, yeah, no kidding, right?)

In his e-mail to me (before he called), he meant to type "(nothing) bad has happened" but he typed '...bad gas happened', which I think is the funniest typo I think I've ever seen.

That's the big news for the day, but I do have a few more tidbits to share with you.

1) Jack is back in the hospital with a DVT (deep vein thrombosis), but it is not expected to be a huge issue and they're gonna clear that bad boy right up and send him on his way. Now, all that shiny optimism aside, it still worries me so put your thinking about Jack caps back on and send good thoughts his way.

2) My daughter, who will be 17 on Christmas Day, and I were watching Inside the Actor's Studio with Eddie Murphy this evening. As a consequence, I had to explain the words 'queef' and 'cunnilingus' to her. Considering the fact that each of my chidren probably heard the word 'fuck' for the first time while in utero, I'm remarkably hesitant to discuss queefs and cunnilingus with the girl child. This is the kind of shit that happens when you tell you're children that you will answer each question they ask you honestly and to the best of your ability. They turn on you.

The fact that I have PMS isn't helping much either

2006-12-17T19:56:00.000-08:00

Let's just skate right past the part where I haven't blogged since God was a pup and get right on to the post. It's just better this way, really. I won't feel the need to defend myself and explain how busy I've been, and y'all won't have to think about how you're busy too, but you make the time to stop by here and visit and I don't even have the decency to throw up a
Youtube video and a 'Howdy do!'.

Ok then.

I try very hard to keep any angst I might be feeling out of this blog. Mostly because I have so few reasons to feel angsty. There are a few bloggers out there who are going through genuine bad stuff and they write about it and they write about it well. You end up caring about them and how their story will come out.

Then there are people like me. Most people are like me, I think. Basically happy, with very little angst factor. When the best I can come up with to complain about is how my kid kept waking up last night, or the cat's latest disgusting hairball, or how tired I am from working a job I love which pays reasonably well and has good bennies, I should really just keep my complaints to myself.

But I've been feeling quite angsty lately and well, now I'm gonna bitch about it. Everybody who knows me in real life has had to listen to me bitch about it, so I figure it's your turn.

I'm quite peeved with my oldest son. As most of you, I think, he's in the Army, stationed in California. Which isn't all that far from here, unless you consider 'across the country' to be far.

Anyway, the last time I had direct (telephone) contact with him was about 2 1/2 weeks ago. Since then, the only signs of life I've seen from him are a comment he left on this blog, on an old post, and that he approved me as a 'friend' on Yahoo.

That's it. No IMs, no e-mail, no phone calls. Now, I know he's a big boy and all, but it's the holidays and he was supposed to let me know what he wants for Christmas and he wanted to know what we wanted. Don't get me wrong, it's not at all about the gifts (but I do wish I knew what he wants, because its late enough now that I'll have to guess and chance it getting there late.).

I guess the deal is that we're normally in touch in some way 2 or so times a week and I'm a bit worried that all meaningful communication has been abruptly cut off. Basically, all I know right now is that he's alive and is able to type.

I know he's a grown man and doesn't need his Mommy worrying about him, but it doesn't work like that. You get worried about whether you like it or not, so do yourself a favor and go call your Mom.

Ok, bitch over. For now.

Now, the good news! Remember when I mentioned my friend Jack? Well, he went through some serious stuff healthwise and almost didn't make it, but he's home and he's getting better.

He left what has to be my favorite comment ever. He said "...Well I almost died, but at least I finally got mentioned in your fucking blog..." Ha! I bet Dooce never got a comment like that.

And now, to make up for my recent absence, I have a video for you! Be prepared to 'awww'.

Book 'Em, Dano

2006-12-11T18:05:00.000-08:00

From this story:

"A Rock Hill, S.C., woman called police and asked them to arrest her son who opened a Christmas present early after being told not to, the Rock Hill Herald reported. Police went to the house and arrested the boy and charged him with petty larceny."

Yep. The police arrested him. They helped the mother foster a very deserved distrust of authority in general and the police in specific. Good call, guys!

"The women said that the boy lied to them at first, saying he was unaware of where the video game system was. After threat of calling the police, the boy apparently gave the toy back to his mother, the paper reported. But the upset mother called police anyway."

So she manipulated him into telling her the truth and she lied to him. Somebody call those Mother of the Year people and tell them we have a winner!

"I'm trying to get him some kind of help," the 27-year-old mother told the paper. "He's the type of kid who doesn't believe anything until it happens."

She said he has shoplifted, stolen money from her, punched a police officer and is nearing expulsion from school. "

I'm not sure what made her wait until now to decide to 'help' her kid, but I think her timing is off. You have to admire her resolve, though. She'll put up with shoplifting and battery of a police officer, but she by-God will not stand for early gift opening. I wonder what the penalty for just shaking the gift box is. Maybe an Indian burn?

"The mother plans to have her son placed with the state Department of Juvenile Justice in Columbia at his court appearance, the Herald reported."

While I agree that he should be removed from his mother's 'care', I tend to think the wrong person is going to jail. She's going to put her kid in Juvie Hall over this, instead of seek out and provide therapy for him to help with his obvious issues. Nice. Whore.

Of course, all those years ago when my brothers would open their presents and then open mine and tell me what I got, I coulda used a cop.

Speaking of Christmas (how's that for a segue?), I have been doing some online shopping for Pookie's gift. His only request was for 'something to do with the World Champion St. Louis Cardinals'. Which is both specific yet really kind of vague all at the same time.

I've been trolling Amazon this evening and I came up with a few ideas. Tell me what you think.

No? Really? You don't think?

I've actually found a couple things I think he'll love, but I'm obviously not posting links to those here. Because if he were to click on those links and take a look, I'm pretty sure that would be illegal. Or maybe that's just South Carolina.

Anyway, if any of you happen to know Albert Pujols or David Eckstein, please ask them to send an autographed ball or jersey over this way. Just have them write; "To Pookie, that nutjob must really love you".

Ho Ho..oh.

2006-12-07T15:51:00.000-08:00

I started my day sitting at the kitchen table in my drawers, sewing up a mighty hole in the hind end of my work pants, during which a cat fight broke out under the table.

Honestly the coffee was just unnecessary after that.

And now in the interest of giving the holiday season a kick in the ass, I would like to present the following video. Make sure your volume is up, so that you don't miss any of the sweet, sweet holiday goodness.

What's black and white and read all over?

2006-12-06T04:35:00.000-08:00

Can a person really be judged by what newspaper they read? Let's have a look-see:

(I didn't write this. I don't know who did. I "borrowed" (read: flat out stole) this from someone who also doesn't know who wrote this. So if you know who wrote this, let me know so that I can give the proper credit.)

1. The Wall Street Journal is read by the people who run the country.

2. The Washington Post is read by people who think they run the country.

3. The New York Times is read by people who think they should run the country and who are very good at crossword puzzles.

4. USA Today is read by people who think they ought to run the country but don't really understand The New York Times. They do, however, like their statistics shown in pie charts.

5. The Los Angeles Times is read by people who wouldn't mind running the country - if they could find the time, and didn't have to leave Southern California to do it.

6. The Boston Globe is read by people whose parents used to run the country and did a far superior job of it, thank you very much.

7. The New York Daily News is read by people who aren't too sure who's running the country and don't really care as long as they can get a seat on the train.

8. The New York Post is read by people who don't care who's running the country as long as they do something really scandalous, preferably while intoxicated.

9. The Miami Herald is read by people who are running another country but need the baseball scores.

10. The San Francisco Chronicle is read by people who aren't sure there is a country, or that anyone is running it; but if so, they oppose all that they stand for. There are occasional exceptions: if the leaders are handicapped, minority, feminist, atheist,
dwarfs who also happen to be illegal aliens from any other country or galaxy, provided, of course, that they are not Republicans.

11. The National Enquirer is read by people trapped in line at the grocery store.

I don't read any newspapers. What does that say about me?

Itsy Bitsy was neither itsy nor bitsy...discuss

2006-12-04T04:29:00.000-08:00

Ok, the whole spider story, because apparently, Lynnster and Mrs. Chili feel like I left some important stuff out of the story. I hope this answers all the spider questions.

I was sitting outside work, having a smoke and chatting with a pal. We spotted the huge ass black widow spider crawling along the wall and I wanted a picture. As always, I had a book with me, and I leaned the book against the wall, under the spider so that I could show the relative ginormity of good old Charlotte, as compared to the book.

Well, she apparently liked the looks of the book and crawled onto it, so I picked the book up and carried it to the shade so I could get better pictures. The spider was moving very slowly (because it was cold outside) and was surprisingly cooperative about having her picture taken numerous times, including standing on her back legs so I could get a picture of the hourglass on her belly.

My pal and I then decided that we had to show this spider to everyone, so we walked in the building with the spider still being nice and quiet on the book.

After about 5 minutes in the building (and it's warmth), our old friend Charlotte started to wake up and feeling quite peppy. She kept leaping off the book into midair, trailing her webbing behind her and then I would reel her in by turning the book over and over, like a really primitive fishing reel.

I hollered for someone to bring me a critter keeper (a small plastic box with air holes) and we used it much like a fishing net to scoop her up right before she hit ground level right after another leap off the book.

I put a stick (so she could make a web) and a few munchies in there for her and she hung out with us for awhile.

The Orkin guy came by and I showed her to him. He asked if I was trying to sell her. My reply, (and I think this is a fairly accurate representation) was, "Who the fuck would want to buy a black widow spider?".

Anyway, at the end of the day, I took her outside and let go right next to the store, where she is, no doubt, trying to get an appointment with her therapist to tell how she was kidnapped by giant aliens and put on display for other, equally large, aliens.

And that is the whole story.

I should add that I nor anyone else ever touched this spider with our hands. I did accidently touch some of the spider's poison after she tried to kill my book, but I just stuck my finger in my mouth and sucked the poison off. That's good first aid right there. Hmm..I don't feel so good all of a sud.....AHHHHH! My eyes! My eyes!

P.S. Still working on that '6 weird things' meme. Do you think 'plays with spiders even though she's deathly afraid of them' counts as weird?

P.P.S. At least I didn't do like this dumbass:

Born Free

2006-12-03T05:22:00.000-08:00

Mrs. Chili has expressed some concern over what became of my little eight legged friend from yesterday's post (scroll down if you like..it's too early for much linkage).

I let the spider go. And that isn't a euphemism for 'I stomped the ever loving shit out of it', either.

I let her go near where I found her in the first place, so she is now free to run and play with all the other terrifying arachnids.

Now, as to that 6 weird things about me meme, well, I was too busy (getting busy!) last night to do that, so I'll try to do it later today.

Barry Manilow Rules!

Eeek.

2006-12-02T04:26:00.000-08:00

Today at work, I saw the biggest black widow spider I've ever seen. So, of course, I caught it, took pictures of it, looked at it up close a LOT, and then let it go.

Because I am a 10 year old boy.

I also took every opportunity to scare the crap out of other people with the spider.

Because I am a 10 year old mean boy.

(You can't see it in the pictures, because I took them with the camera phone, but there is a little puddle of spider poison on the surface of the book. There was a couple times while handling her that I almost made a puddle myself, if you know what I mean.)

So the subject of Charlotte's Web came up, with someone asserting that Charlotte was a black widow spider. Um, well, I guess that could explain the absence of a father figure for her eleventy billion kids.

So, what do you think folks? Was Charlotte a black widow? I haven't found anything that specificly points to what kind of spider she is, but maybe y'all will have more luck. If not, feel free to post random guesses.

Coming up tomorrow, Fauve has tagged me for a meme, so I'm gonna give that a go. It's the '6 weird things about me' meme, which I've already done once, but I loves me some Fauve, so I'm gonna dig deep and see if I can find six more weird things about me. My prediction is that it will not be too difficult.

I told y'all I was having too much fun

2006-12-01T05:54:00.000-08:00

Surprise! It's December 1st, NaBloPoMo is over and I'm posting anyway. Because I feel like it. Also, I got plenty of sleep last night, which feels rather wonderful.

Of course, nobody will be reading today, assuming that my inherent laziness will keep me from it, but I have discovered that posting is like sex. The more you do it, the more you want to do it and the better you are at it. Right, Pookie? Oh, for God's sake, turn off the Barry Manilow, I gotta go to work in a few minutes.

And now, a video which could only be titled "The foot, she is taunting me"

Have a happy Friday everyone!

Calling all rednecks

2006-11-30T06:46:00.000-08:00

Well, I did it. It's the very last day of NaBloPoMo. I'm pretty proud of myself, I have to say. And now, it's time for a break. I may be back, I may not. Who knows, in this crazy topsy-turvy world whether I'll have anything to say in the future. All I know for sure, is that for right now, NaBloPoMo has broken me.

Aw, I'm just fuckin' with y'all. I'm enjoying this more than ever and I have tons of crappy stories I haven't told yet. However, if y'all wanna leave a bunch of comments begging me not to quit, so that I, in turn, can post how grateful and touched I am by the outpouring of support, well, who am I to stop you?

But, seriously? You fuckers aren't getting rid of me that easily! Ha!

Now, given the popularity of yesterday's post, I've decided that I want to make an internet redneck quiz. So, if you all would be so kind as to leave your suggestions for questions in the comments, I'll put that bad boy together. Pookie says he's sure there are already some out there, but he's also sure that we can do it better. Let's do it for the Pookster!

Speaking of Pookie(s), I got an e-mail yesterday from someone here in blogland telling me that their nickname is Pookie. This person also threatened to hunt me down if I told who it was. So I'm not gonna tell y'all.

But I am going to have a lot more of this kind of thing in my posts: "OMG,Y'all, Pookie totally rocked my world last night. Pookie is the best lover evah. I just wish Pookie didn't have to have Barry Manilow playing to get off." Just to fuck with the other Pookie. Because, once again, and I don't think I can say this too often, I am immature.

Ok, on to more serious matters. I got a call from a friend last night that her husband, one of my best friends, and a true brother to both Pookie and I, is in ICU with an as yet undiagnosed illness. They live about an hour away and Pookie and I are leaving shortly to go see him.

His name is Jack and I've mentioned him sporadically here. The reason he hasn't had more airtime, if you will, is that he's always whining about not getting more airtime. So it's been my pleasure to screw with him by not writing about him. We are both terribly mature.

Jack's a good guy, and if you're the type to pray, please add him to your list today.

Finally, I have a video that I've been on the fence about posting because,well, it's kinda dirty. But I'm posting it today in honor of Jack, who would love it and would laugh until he fell over.

If you've ever heard of Rodney Carrington, you'll know what you're in for. If you haven't, get with it, you poor bastard!

The most accurate, yet really kind of offensive internet quiz I've ever taken

2006-11-29T04:27:00.000-08:00

Congratulations! You are 0% ghetto

It looks like you keep yourself out of the ghetto and are living ghetto free. Also, you may be white.

How Ghetto Are You
Create Your Own Quiz

Although, one of the questions was, and I quote: "3. Do you know anyone (including yourself) named Pookie, Nay Nay, Shaquita, Boo Boo or Tawanna?"

I answered yes, of course, but apparently the quiz sensed that Pookie is just the nickname I have for my equally non-ghetto husband. Damnit! I was hoping to be at least 10% ghetto, if only so that my kids will think I'm cool.

If one of the questions had been 'Have you ever been shot/stabbed in the face?', my score would have totally shot up. Also, I hang out with pit bulls a LOT. Surely that has to count for something.

Ok, I admit to a shortage of gold chains, but I have a lovely tennis bracelet that Pookie bought me for out last anniversary and, while I don't generally chug 40' s of an evening, I have been known to have a little Bailey's in my evening coffee.

Ooh! One of my neighbor's has a toilet in his front yard! Does that count? Although, he is renovating and therefore I expect the toilet to be gone posthaste and also, I believe the potty in the front yard is more redneck than ghetto.

Man, I just can't win.

He went after those three mice next, the sick bastard

2006-11-28T04:44:00.000-08:00

So, this one time, at band camp, my brother stabbed me in the face. Ok, so it wasn't band camp, it was our living room, but my brother did indeed stab me in the face.

About an 1/8 of an inch from my eyeball, to be exact. That's right, I was almost BLINDED whilst being stabbed in the FACE by my BROTHER (be honest, y'all. Do the caps make it all that much more dramatic or are they just a pain in the ass?)

Anyway, one day, way back in 1978, when I was about 9 years old and my brother Joel was about 15, we were play fighting. He was pretending to try to stab me and I was pretending to fight him off.

(Okay, one of the reasons I took so long to tell this story is that I cannot figure out how to tell it without my brother coming across as a vaguely retarded psychopath. I assure you, he is neither. However, I will concede that he was a huge dumbass who should have known better. In fact, he's still a dumbass, but he hasn't tried to stab anyone in years.)

So, anyway, we were playing and he was holding his old (rusty!) pocketknife over me. I, in turn, was holding his arm and hollering my head off (because that's what you do when someone is trying to stab you. I still have a finely tuned sense of drama)

Now, he wasn't exerting any pressure on my arm; he wasn't actually attempting to stab me, but he wasn't holding his arm's weight up either. So when I let go of his arm and went to get up, his arm fell and the knife landed very close to my left eye.

To be truthful, I didn't even know I was injured until my brother's face went white and he told me that I was bleeding.

We lived way out in the country then and had no phone. My mother was either at work or at school when this occurred and Joel was responsible for the rest of us. Which is rather hilarious, if you think about it.

Anyway, the closest phone available to us was at the little mom and pop store down the road from our house. So Joel slapped a paper towel or something over my eye, picked me up and started to run down the road, with my other brothers running alongside.

He ran until he couldn't carry me anymore (about 200 feet, the pussy), put me down and told me I was going to have to run. Which I did, because to be honest, the blood running down my face was really starting to freak me out.

We get to the little store and the sweet little old people there assure us that I am fine and then call my mother and assure her that I am fine and then hand out Hershey Bars and Cokes to all of us.

Now, I called Joel this evening to get his memories of it and he was hopped up on muscle relaxers because his back went out. Karma? Oh yes.

He said he didn't remember there being any blood. I asserted that this perception was due to his guilty conscience over having STABBED ME IN THE FACE, and if there hadn't been blood, why in fuck had we run down the road to get help. He conceded my point.

Anyway, I told him that he was lucky that Mom hadn't killed him. He replied that he was lucky he hadn't killed me. I told that wasn't likely but that I was very glad he hadn't poked my eye out as it would have totally lessened my attractiveness to the opposite sex. Then he said something vaguely dirty about my possible popularity as the one-eyed girl.

I think it's obvious that neither one of us learned a lesson from this, don't you?