September 07, 2003
Might you be a redneck if....
you have VHS tapes with 'labels' made of duct tape? Written on with a Sharpie?
Posted by: Stevie at 06:47 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Man, I wish I'd a thought a that....
Is it just me, or is insurance the biggest scam ever to be perpetrated upon humankind?
We give some jerk our money just in case something bad happens. Then, if something bad does happen to happen, not only does this fuckknob not want to give us back some of the money we've given him to fix shit, this shit stain then demands more of our money because something bad happened to happen. Okaaaay.
Seems to me, if we just kept our money in the first place, we could just grab some to fix whatever bad thing happened on our own.
Or, if these asshole insurance companies want to play it this way, we should be garaunteed to not have bad shit happen by paying for insurance. Then if something bad does happen, it's the insurance companies fault and they'd have no case to not pay up...like we have to do.
Damn, I wish I could deal with insurance the way I do God and religion.....ya know?
Posted by: Stevie at 06:46 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
What's so good about it?
Reading Mr. Carlin made me think of a few things. One of which is 'Good Friday'. Now, I'm not a Catholic or anything...but...
Before I go on, let me state for the record that I think organized religion is crap. I believe in God, I think of Jesus as a really gorgeous, older brother/mentor-type and I'm not scared to admit it. I don't look down at people who do go to church, it's just not for me. However.....
What da hell is with this 'Good Friday' stuff? Yeah, yeah...I know the story. I got that. What I don't get is why it's called good. According to the story, Friday is the day Jesus was nailed to the cross and crucified. What in the name of all that is holy is good about that? Good for who? Us? Oh, please. Put yourself in his position and then explain to me what's so good about it. It stirkes me as shamefully selfish to call it "good" Friday. I, myself, would never ask anyone to go through something like that for me, let alone call it "good" if they did it anyway. If ya wanna call any part of that 'good', how about "Good Sunday"? That's the day he rose, after all. We could even go so far as to call it "Great Sunday". It would make a hell of a lot more sense...don't ya think?
If you still insist on calling it 'Good Friday', at least be honest about it. Call it what it is...'Good for me, bad for Jesus Friday'.
Because, it really was.
Ya know-this is exactly the sort of thing that keeps me from joining an organized religion. Hypocrisy, well-meaning, yet horrific conundrums like this and no reasonable or logical explanations.
And I call myself bent-headed....
Posted by: Stevie at 06:35 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Thank you, Lord...
I have no idea what happened, but I've got everything back now. I can finally see the Xfire page again. There must be Ford parts in this computer. It seems to have the same mystifying ability my Ford pickups have had to heal itself. I would explain what happened, but I can't really remember exactly what happened, in what order or what I or Eric did about it. Suffice it to say that it worked. If one of you guys fixed it, God bless you. And, Tig, don't worry about 'echo' comments....for me, five comments is a raging discussion. And, as long as it's not me talkin' to myself all alone, I'm happy.
Anyway....
George Carlin is fried and I love him. I read 'Brain Droppings' the other day, then started in on 'Napalm and Silly putty' again. He had me literally crying from laughing so hard. What should scare the HELL outta him is how alike we think. The similarity is reassuring to me, but I bet it would make him nervous....
Posted by: Stevie at 06:10 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
September 06, 2003
Sigh....
Unbelieveable. The last post published and I still can't get to the Xfire page. That status page about Blogger said they were having trouble but it's all fixed now. Right. How can I get this far and not be able to get the rest of the way there?
I thought maybe it would go, if it published. Nope. It published and the 'page -still- cannot be displayed'.
Not just damn.
Damn and hell, shit, piss, bitch, the rest of the "seven forbiddens" and any other foul, filthy words you can come up with.
Again-feel free to email me at srv200361 at Yahoo dot com. (If this keeps up, y'all may have to start sending emails to the State Mental Hospital.)
Posted by: Stevie at 12:32 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
THIS SUCKS!
I can't get to my blog. Early Friday morning, this computer lost it's mind again. Eric, of all people, sat down here and messed with the stupid thing for....a loooong time. He had to use the Compaq discs that erase everything, then put it back, the new modem disc and the Earthlink disc...AGAIN. How this thing is still in one piece is beyond me. I would've resorted to 'hammer therapy' after so long. I still may. He finally had enough yesterday afternoon...right when I started my VHS tapes project...this involved reviewing, marking and rewinding approximately 350 tapes. About 10 tapes into it, Eric started yelling "SWEETIE!" every seven seconds. I wound up on the phone with Earthlink myself. Their tech-dude decided there is/was something wrong with their disc, so he ordered us another one. Then, I got off the phone with him, re-ran the old one and it worked. Of course. Eric got all excited and kept asking "How'd you DO that?". I told him it was like he had been struggling with a tight lid on a jar of pickles and all I did was schwing the lid the rest of the way off.
So, Eric got the computer the rest of the day yesterday. George got all he could take after Eric passed out. I was still in VHS hell. Very early this morning, around 5:00am, I finally got done personally handling every single stupid tape I own, nobody was awake to be on the computer, so I got on.
And, discovered someone ATE Blogger. Can't get on, can't get on, can't get on. Bite me, Bitch, I'm goin' to bed.
I'm back now.
Getting to Blogger was a complete pain right in the ass. But, I did it. Got to Blogger support page, to Blogger home page, to here, the edit/post page. My page? Hah! No CaughtintheXfire in a new window...or anywhere else. I've tried off Bloviating Inanities-can't get to my blog, or Mookies or Alices. No Blogspot blogs show up. All I get is "Page cannot be displayed". FEH!!!
So, anybody have any idea what the hell is going on? If ya do, or if ya have any clues as to how to make my page exist again, could ya please E-mail me? It's srv200163 at Yahoo dot com. Please? Thank you.....(sighs with tears forming in her eyes.) I FEEL LIKE AN ORPHAN OVAH HERE!!!! HEY-ELP, HEY-ELP...Damn-sel in distress!!
Posted by: Stevie at 12:21 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
September 04, 2003
Which way did it go, George?
I still can't figure out why I don't have those 'new window' boxes at the bottom and I've read all the crap that's on here about Windows and IE. When I click 'view blog in new window', it gives me a new window, but not like it used to. I used to be able to go to the bottom and close stuff. Now the only way I see to do it is to click the 'x' in the upper right corner. Can ya still do linking like that? Anyone? Bueller?
Posted by: Stevie at 04:33 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Well, okay then...
I still don't have all the shit straight with this computer. It still freezes up (Thank you Bill Gates, ya big freakin' homo) and sometimes Earthlink forgets where I am and won't recognize my 'location', but I did manage to prune the blogroll and re-link RJ. The blogs not on the roll anymore are now in my 'favorites'. I may put 'em back, I may not. Who cares? I fixed some links, too.
Now all I've gotta do is figure out linking from here (which may actually work now that I'm using a computer from this millenium), figure out why I don't get all those cool little, easy to close boxes on the next-to-the-last-line (above the "Start" button line) like I used to, do a Geocities page for extra stuff Blogsplat won't let ya do and catch up...with y'all and myself.
Oh...and I gotta go pee first. LOL
(Yeah, I'm still fried. Being bent-headed does have it's advantages...)
Posted by: Stevie at 03:01 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
September 03, 2003
I'm back, I'm back, I'm back!!!!
First, the cat died...then the old computer had a nervous breakdown and the hard drive died, then it took for-freakin'-EVER to get this computer and get the #$%^#@!! thing to go on line. But...I DID IT!!!
I'M BACK!!!!!
I've missed EVERYBODY soooo bad... I hope everybody is still doing good and that everybody is still here. I'll find out, I guess. If I don't hang myself after I check the site meter...which I haven't done yet. Which I wiil right after I go visit everybody!
Thank you, God.....now, can ya do anything with this headache?
Posted by: Stevie at 10:52 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
August 23, 2003
Oh. My. God.
I just checked out the site meter. Someone got here searching for the lobster couple. ?!?!? The only lobster couple I know of is Ross and Rachael from 'Friends'.
Then, someone came here from usmc.mil. I gotta MARINE readin' this! And, it can't be my brother, because he's home. So, "Hi, Sir/guy", whichever you are. ('Sir' would be for an officer, I guess and 'guy' for a not-an-officer Marine.) (Watch-it'll turn out to be a female...who'll be none to pleased to have been called either thing.)
Posted by: Stevie at 01:56 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Sometimes you feel like a nut...
In response to a psychiatric examination, in which he was found to be a passive-aggressive paranoid personality with schizophrenic tendencies, Charles Manson replied: "Sure, I'm paranoid. I've had reason to be ever since I can remember. And now, I have to be, just to stay alive. As for schizophrenia, take anybody off the street and put them in the middle of a prison and you'll see all kinds of split personalities. I've got a thousand faces, so that makes me five hundred schizophrenics."
That last sentence....it made me laugh the other day. I knew what he meant. This was smack in the middle of all the shit I was dealing with in the previous post. Which, I haven't covered completely, yet. I just substituted 'my life' for 'prison' in the sentence before the last one and it made sense.
As far as I know...only I could find humor in a quote from Manson.
This does, however, remind me of a joke. What do ya get when you cut 500 bras in half? 1000 beanies with chin straps.
Posted by: Stevie at 01:10 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Yes, I'm still alive...
Which is more than I can say for one of my cats..damn it. Briefly...on the 19th, Dale went downhill again. Fast. He left me on the evening of the 20th. I spent every minute with him I could. He died in my arms. I died on the spot.
Late on the 21st, I decided to get back online....and couldn't. Verizon had been here, installing a new phone line for the new hire. They killed everybody else's service at the same time. Oooh, cool- multitasking. I called them yesterday and they FINALLY fixed it today. So, I've got a ton of catching up to do and some stuff to write about.
Before I wander off into the reading room, I do want to say a coupla things...
Thank you all for the comments I got while I was....so ceremoniously 'unplugged'. That was the best part about finally getting back here.
Dad isn't mad about anything. He was just runnin' over more chickens...oops, I mean not paying attention. Normal Norman...two words I NEVER thought I'd find a way to use together in a sentence. My brother is graduated from bootcamp and home...YEA! And, I've had to take Eric to the Doctor, twice so far, for an ear infection. Sigh. I also got crapped on, verbally, by some dillhole Dad works with.
So...plenty to say....later, that is.
I'll be back...
Posted by: Stevie at 12:39 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
August 18, 2003
Thank you, RJ
You were the first to save me from being forced to bore boxes of macaroni and cheese to tears.
The one thing that made me laugh the most is that it was all email. Not one lil 'ol comment. (sigh)
Oh, well....
Can't have everything....where would I put it? (And, y'all can keep your smart suggestions to yo'selves....lol)
Posted by: Stevie at 07:14 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
August 17, 2003
If it's after 2:00pm EST
Or if you'd like the last (next) post to make sense, ya might want to scroll down to the post titled "Look out" and start from there. Then read the next one called "ello, 'ello,'ello." That's some background. The last one "But wait...there's more" ends with a question. (Which, if no one answers, I'll just assume Dad is right, I'm shit and I'll just talk to boxes of macaroni and cheese from now on...)
On the other hand, if you've been catching this as it was posted-or worse, came into it in the middle somewhere-let me know how many aspirin you're gonna require.
Posted by: Stevie at 01:48 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
But, wait....there's more
During these last 22 years, the thought has crossed my mind several times (roughly at the speed of light, mind you) that DAD IS LETTING THIS HAPPEN. Kim wouldn't be able to do the things she did, treat me the way she did, if Dad would make her stop. But, I always found a way to put the blame back on her. Usually along the lines of "She is an evil bitch, controlled by Satan himself and she is FORCING Dad to let me drift off into the void." Sometimes I'd ask Dad "What IS IT about her? How can you stand her attitude?" And, he'd tell me "Oh, she's cute. (he thinks...remember now, in my opinion, Ann Margret is the standard that I can't even live up to) She's funny, smart, likes sex..." And... "She does NOT hate you. She's very concerned about you. She wants you to be doing good." Right. That's why she backed off enough for me to stay close to Dad. That's why she has never once called, written or tried to talk to me about this crap. That's why I am where I am in my head right now. And, in my Dad's life. And, my brother's. Which brings me to what's making me go through all this now...
My brother is graduating Marine boot camp here soon. Or maybe he already has. It's sometime in the middle of August. (Ain't it nice I know so much?) At any rate, when he went in, my Dad gave me his address down there. Now, I haven't been allowed to be very much a part of Norman's life ever. In his whole life, if I've spent the equivalent of a month with him, I'd be surprised. That was NOT-NOT, Dad...do ya hear? NOT-my choice. In spite of this, Norman and I get along great and I know we love each other. WE will be fine. Some fuckin' day when I can develope a solid relationship with him outside of that particular 'family' unit. (Read: When what he does is HIS and not Kim's business and choice.) However, because of that, I haven't written to him. Also, because of that, I didn't go to his "going in the Marines" party. I figured I wouldn't be missed and I knew I was welcome to stay home, anyway, so I did.
Now, a bit of background, in-the-meantime-type information...I moved to Pa. in April, 2002. My Dad did not once come here, having been asked to 2000 times, until I had been here over a year. In addition, since then, I have emailed him twice, with "ACK! What the hell do ya do now?" situations involving Eric Jr., which I've recounted here. The first one was when he shaved his head. I'm STILL waiting for ANY answer AT ALL from Dad about that. Let alone whatever the second one was. Nothing. De nada. BUT-ah, the inevitable 'but'-the couple of times I talked to him after Norman went to bootcamp and before Eric Jr. lost his mind as well as his hair, Dad has asked me "Write to Norman yet?" "DAMN. I keep forgetting about that. Geez, Dad, I never got to see him anyway, so for me, nothing's changed. I keep fuckin' forgetting he's in there..." It may be stupid, but, I swear, it's the truth. I DO keep forgetting.
Well, it's slowly dawned on me (no pun intended) that Dad must be pissed at me for not writing to Norman. Could that be why I've gotten no response, not even an email? He and Kim, together and seperately, can run all over the continental U.S. for any reason at all. But, he can't come here. The one time he finally did, he said he'd come back. We'd go do karaoke. He'd bring Kim. (I was so fuckin' happy he finally came here, he could've said he was coming back with Eric's ex and I'd have said "Great.") Ummm....I don't see him. I haven't seen him recently, either. Sooo.
After allowing me to be excluded from his family for (say it with me...22 years...very good), not staying Dad/daughter, not coming to even see where I live for over a year, not calling, not responding to email...he's gonna get pissed at me like this for not writing to Norman? Jesus H. Baldheaded Christ. If bootcamp is anything like "Full Metal Jacket", I'm sure Norman didn't miss letters from me. And, Dad and Kim will be or already have gone to Norman's graduation IN SOUTH CAROLINA. Which, the last time I saw a map, is further away from where they live than I am. I know...graduating from the Marines is important. So important, in fact, I didn't even get asked if I'd want to go. Yawn...no surprise there.
Now, IF Dad is mad me for not writing to Norman, to the extent that he can't even answer an email, I must have some kinda problem here. With myself and the way I see people, that is. I know I did for a while when it came to Eric Sr. (And Jr. Who am I trying to kid?) I fully realize, too, that my Dad is not the most observant person on the planet. When I lived in Jersey, and would pass him on the road, I'd be hangin' out the frickin' window, waving both arms and he'd just drive on by, never seeing a thing. Duh. He runs over things a lot, too. He swears he does not, but, yes, he does. He used to run over a chicken every time we'd go to his parent's house. There was a little farm at the beginning of their dirt road and some poor, stupid chicken would be crossing the road and we could never find out why because Dad would run them over.
Anyway....
This has all led me to do some thinking. After all the shit I've been through over the last years (fuck that number), he'd better NOT be pissed at me. So, if he is, then he's...what? Say it, girl... He's....wrong. Eeep. Dad? Wrong?
Yep.
I think.
I don't know for sure. Standing here with my forehead glued to this particular tree, it's rather difficult to see the forrest, ya now? But, if he is pissed and if he is wrong about this, then he could have been wrong in the way he handled the whole thing with me in regard to Kim. Or handled the whole thing with HER in regard to me. Whatever. What a can of worms this leads to. For instance, he always stressed "Job first, personal life, having a boyfriend-all that shit-comes AFTER the job." I never did get that. And, look at us now. He's worked for Uncle Dupy (DuPont) my entire life. He retired from there when Dow-Merck bought it and started working for them He lives in a house that looks like it belongs on Coloumbo-one of the huge places he always was, cracking boiled eggs and asking "Just one more question, Ma'am." Yet, his relationship with his firstborn is nearly non-existant. I, on the other hand, am as broke as hell (I find it amusing to say that I'm so broke I can't even pay attention. I find it amusing to SAY this, not BE it, by the way) yet, I have the best relationship I ever even seen, let alone been a part of, with Eric.
So, who's right, here?
Even if he's not pissed, even if this is just typical Norman-not-paying-attention-stuff, at what point, or better yet-how- do I get to get past this?
I'm sick of going through this shit every few months. It'll build up and build up, til I can't take it anymore and I call Dad and vent and we talk and it all stays the same. Except when it gets worse and I start feeling like if I don't matter to my own Dad, who could I matter to? and shit like that. Or now, went it's weighin' on me AGAIN and this time, I don't even wanna call Dad 'cause he's just gonna frickin' ask me if I wrote to Norman yet, AGAIN. Gawd.
I'm also sick to DEATH of knowing what the problem is (half the solution MY ASS) and never knowing what to do ABOUT or WITH it. (That last remark in parenthesis-People are always sayin' "Knowing there is a problem is half the battle." Horseshit. I know there's a problem and most of what it is. What I do NOT know is what to do with or about it...damn it.)
So......do any of you? I'd love to hear ANYTHING you think about this. Even if ya think I'm just nuts. (Yeah...now tell me something I DON'T know. Like why.)
Posted by: Stevie at 01:37 PM | Comments (7) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
'ello, 'ello, 'ello
Did ya miss me?
While I was in there, reading Helter Skelter (yes, AGAIN), another part of my mind was remembering all things that were Dad.
(BTW, that sentence alone leads me to believe that a psychoanaylist would have a field day with my head...strange shit in there, man...lol)
My very first memory of anything ever is my Dad. I don't know how many months old I was, but it happened in the house they lived in when they were first married and living in Woodstown. (We moved to Alloway when I was just under a year old I've been told.) Dad was sitting in his white vinyl/plastic/leather-whatever-lounge chair eating dinner and I was in my highchair next to him in the living room. He was watching T.V. and feeding me bites off his plate. I distinctly remember him giving me big, soft, warm, delicious lima beans. I still love them. (And him-no matter how annoyed I may get...)
Then I have just TONS of memories of him when I was a small kid-before kindergarten. I remember he used to be able to kick a ball sooo high up in the air, God coulda caught it if He'd wanted to. It looked like a pencil point, it was so small all the way up there. And, he'd pick me up in his big, strong hands and spin me around at arms length, going up and down, as well as around so my hair would waft up and down EVERY SINGLE TIME I ASKED HIM TO. I loved that.
I remember he and mommiedearest would go over to Dad's brother's house (Uncle Jim, the bible thumpin', in-your-face one-Dad was the cool one with his wire framed glasses, long-ish hair and beard) and they'd all play cards and talk til midnight or so. We kids-me and my cousins-would be up in their rooms, fuckin' around and eventually fall asleep somewhere...Then I'd wake up a little and realize that I was in my favorite place in the world to be...Dad's arms. He'd be holding me, asleep with my head on his shoulder, while he yakked at Uncle Jim and Aunt Elizabeth on their front porch for another hour or so. I would feel, more than hear, his voice and the rumble always made me feel safe and would lull me back to sleep. I remember going squirrel hunting with him once. It was cold, so he gave me his scarf. I wrapped up in it and fell asleep. I don't remember whether or not he got any squirrels that time, but I do remember just BEING WITH DAD. I remember holding his hand while we walked from home to "uptown" (about a half a mile or so) for the Alloway Halloween Parade. I remember him taking me trick-or-treating. Swimming at the lake. Fishing at the spillway. Crabbing down in Canton. I remember every Christmas morning until I was about 14 or 15, Dad waking me up at 3:00 or 3:30am. At first it was because Santa Claus had just left. After that, it was just what we did. We'd all open our presents and stuff, then we'd get into the (freezing ass COLD) VW Bug and go to Mom-Mom and Pop-pop's house. Mom's Mom and Dad. The five of us would open presents, drink coffee (yes, me too. I've been drinking coffee my whole life. Seriously. My mom used to give it to me, lukewarm, in my bottle...) and eventually, I'd fall asleep and someone would take me upstairs and deposit my sleeping butt in Mom-mom's bed. I'd wake up later to the sound of voices coming through the heater grate. I'd hear Uncle Donny's bass rumble, his wife's lilting murmurs, other voices...I'd smell the coffee and head back down there to see those people and my cousins and get some more of Pop-pop's coffee. (I'd keep 'sipping' his, 'til he'd get me my own cup...*grinning*) Throughout the rest of the morning, other relatives would show up until the house was full. Then we'd have a big afternoon dinner and open all those presents. Eventually, Mom, Dad and I would go to Dad's parents house. God, I loved that place. There'd be a whole shitload of other Aunts, Uncles and cousins over there. And, best of all, Pop-pop was there! God, give me strength, how I loved my Dad's Dad. When he died....man. Let me just put it this way: To this day, whenever I hear "Amazing Grace" I wind up on my knees in tears. I'm still not over Pop-pop dying.
(10 minutes later...)
I remember the two of them, Dad and his Dad, watching the Phillies play on T.V. They'd put a towel or two over key windows to block glare, pop some popcorn and sit there together watching the Phillies (probably lose). Sooner or later, one or both of them would light up a Swisher Sweet cigar. Aaahhh...I love the smell of them, too. (I kept the stub of the one Dad had the one time he's been here...) I remember a lot of laughter and love when I think about those times in my life.
Dad was (I think he still is) a member of the Moose. He used to take me there sometimes when I was a kid. That place was sooo cool. It had a tiny bar with a T.V. and a bartender who loved to give me Cokes and peanuts. There was also a huge, beautiful pool table that I was allowed to play on. (I knew to be careful without even being told.) Before we'd leave, I'd get Dad to pick me up so I could pet the stuffed moose head on the wall. God, I wanted that thing. I also remember Dad letting me cruch CrackerJacks right into his ear when we were there. I got to be "Miss Moose 1969" in a parade in Woodstown because of all that. Pretty cool. Except for the hairsprayed-beyond-all-reason helmet-headed hairdo my mom did on me. (BTW, home perms shoulda been against the law...)
It's Dad I remember going to Cowtown with. That's a huge indoor/outdoor flea market in Salem County. He'd always get those to-die-for roasted peanuts on our way to the livestock auction barn. Dad wasn't there to buy animals, he just took me so I could see 'em all. He'd always buy me a .45 or two of Donny Osmond or Michael Jackson-back when he used to be a black kid. (I shouldn't pick on Mike. I loved him then, I bought "Thriller" and I still think he's got talent. But, I just mostly feel sorry for the poor little confused dude these days...)
While Dad was in the Army, he was stationed in Germany. He and mom used to go there for vacation every 4 or 5 years. I got to go the last time. It is BEAUTIFUL. Nowdays, when I watch "The Sound of Music", it takes me straight back there and I wind up in tears every time Capt. Von Trapp sings "Edleweiss". I can hear Dad singing it.
I remember one time, when I was about 9 or so, going to Mom's parent's house with Dad. We went past this garage called "Garton's" and I said to Dad "Dad, did you know that Gartons spelled backwards is snotrag?" He almost drove off the road laughing.
I remember being in the showring on my horse, walking, trotting and cantering past my Dad in the front row...shelling lima beans while he watched. I remember finding all kinds of bizarre aquatic-animal-life parts (fish, a snapping turtle or two, the occaisional eel and once even octopus) parts waaaay out back in the yard, left for whatever wanted a free, exotic dinner.
Dad was always the one I talked to about EVERYTHING. Guys, boobs (or the lack thereof), losing my virginity (after the boobage had indeed arrived just like he said it would), getting arrested (!),...I mean everything. He taught me to drive. Let me drive the VW around the horse pasture endlessly, then down the road after I got my license. One time, after spending untold hours driving around the horse pasture, I announced to him that I had finally put two whole miles on the VW out there. He asked me how I knew that. And, I told him I'd been keeping an eye on the odometer and it had finally moved the second number from the right, up two. He said, dryly, "That's 20 miles, not two. There is no tenths measurement on that one." Oh. Okay.
Then there was the time, while I was in high school, that I spent 7 hours and 59 minutes on the phone with my boyfriend. Who was in the Army. In the 82nd Airborne Division in North Carolina. All Dad said when he got the phone bill was "Well, fer Chrissake. Why didn't you just stay on the phone one more minute and make it an even eight hours?"
Dad didn't kill me when I totalled his Ford pickup at the unheard-of speed of 15 miles an hour. That's right Fifteen miles an hour...if that. He even let me drive home from the dentist's office the same day. With him in the car!
I have a couple or few more memories of Dad that aren't as fun, but still huge. Like the day my mom announced her intention to get a divorce when I was nine. She had a habit of telling me ALL the time, "Either go in your room, or go outside." Well, this particular day she yelled my name and I said "Yeah, I know. Either in my room or outside. I'm going outside." She said "No, come here." Then, with no preamble, she said "Your father and I are getting divorced." Boom. Just like that. I didn't know whether to cry or puke. Or both. I just kept running from the bathroom to Dad. Later that night, after she had gone with her stupid boyfriend, Dad was talking to the asshole on the phone. Just as I was getting ready to go to my friends house to spend the night, Dad fell off the chair he was sitting on and hit the floor, having a convulsion. I FREAKED. Thank God Himself that my Aunt Carol and Uncle Pat lived upstairs. I got them, they got an ambulance and away Dad went to the hospital. I spent the next few weeks?....months?.....forevers?...being shuttled around to various relatives until Dad got out of the hospital and mom managed to yank her head out of her ass for a few more years.
I was always terrified that something was going to happen to him-especially when they went to Germany-and I'd be stuck with her.
Dad was always one of my best friends when I was growing up. I wish he woud be again, while I finish. Yeah, he was one of my closet confidants, most fun people to hang with, my best parent. He was a lotta things to me. He still is. He always HAS been. The only thing he hasn't been to me, for the last 22 years, is accessable. Or close, any more.
And, there is no other way to put this: That changed when Kim came along. So, if it changed when she came along, another way to see it is that it changed BECAUSE OF her...understand? So, I blamed her and myself, sometimes, that I lost Dad. And, believe me...I did LOSE him. I don't know where the guy is who was my Dad, but I do know this really funny, cool old dude in New Jersey named Norman, whom, if I can get him on the phone at work, is pretty cool to talk to once in a while. Ain't that just GREAT?
Right.
Posted by: Stevie at 11:23 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Look out...
I have all kinds of random shit in my head-none of it great, none of it horrifying...but, it's gotta go, nonetheless. I'm tired of it.
First things first...No matter who else could care less that I'm alive, who wishes I weren't or who wants to help me get that way....I know my animals love me. And, to be honest, I value their opinions more than I do most peoples. Hell, they are nicer about things, they don't judge or misjudge, they form their own decisions-in a more intelligent way than do most people I've dealt with in person in my life. (Which is a real long way of saying that what I'm saying is NOT about you guys...there IS one blog-type thing in my mind, but it's about two female bloggers and a kid. Or, actually a better way to put it is a blogger and TWO children. More about that later...maybe. It's juvenile and stupid and I really don't care about it except for the "Now.....theres your karma..ha ha with an eye roll" thing I feel. WHATEVER... back to the point...) My animals don't use other people's inaccurate, malformed, uninformed, biased, jealous, juvenile and purely self-ego-inflating opinions to form their own. They use their own minds and experience with me to decide whether or not I'm worthy. And, to them...I am. Even after I've fed everyone. Even when I feel like a loaded and cocked pistol just waiting to go off. Even when I look like hell. Even when I feel like hell. Even if I don't keep up with the house. Even if I do. No matter WHAT.....they still love me (or at least they act like it...which is a lot more than I can say for some people I know.) I believe that's called 'unconditional love'. Right? The kind you're supposed to find with certain people...like parents. Yeah....
Ah, parents. The wunnerful people who bring you here. Then drive you up the fuckin' wall for about 18-20 years, then one runs off with your boyfriend and the other one marries some chick who's the same age as you. (I guess I should be grateful they at least fucked up correctly-mom ran off with the boyfriend and Dad married the chick..it coulda been worse....but ya gotta really want to believe that.) I have believed that....for a long time. I don't anymore and I'm sick of excusing outrageous behavior that way. It's easy to blame my mom for everything. She was the one who was so obvious about being NUTS. But, I've finally realized my Dad ain't the 'hero' I had to believe he was. Hell, I've probably known for a while. Again, it was easier to blame the chick-Kim, for that because she was the one who was so obvious in her dislike of me. I used to just get pissed at her and blow it off as not having anything to do with my Dad. NEVER BLAME THE PERFECT ONE. Horse hockey. The simple truth is that when Dad married Kim I could have (actually SHOULD have) DIED and it would have just been perfect for them. At least they would have had one less thing to have argued about.
The thing is (and this just makes me nauseous) I can actually, intellectually understand my mom and Kim's problem. It is, was and probably always would have been the same thing with both of them. Their age. And, their heads. Both of them were too young to handle me at their respective times. My mother was 17 when she got married, then pregnant (and believe me, I've done the math...I was lookin' for a reasonable reason why Dad would have married her. That wasn't it...he's just NUTS!). She had no idea where babies even came out...and I don't think she was any happier after she found out. She should NOT have been married to anybody, NOT been allowed to have kids (yet-if ever) and she sure as HELL should not have been allowed to perpetrate her insanity for as long as she did. (NORMAN!)
Thanks to my mother, I now do not trust women, do not have or ever want kids and am still sitting here at the age of 40 feeling like an orphan. That's because when I figured out (by the time I was about 4 years old) that mom was a fruit loop, I put all my heart into my Dad. Only to have it thrown away when Kim came along. Another (fuckin') Gemini who was pregnant (not by Dad) and too young and insecure to deal with anything extra. Like a lover who might just marry and thus LEGITIMIZE her's daughter.
Can't let anything or anyONE fuck up that chance...can we? Hell no! So, she over-acted and cutsied her way into Dad's life and muscled me out. Permanantly. Completely. With malice aforethought and overkill. Acrimony. Broken hearts, hurt feelings, exclusion, shitty attitudes and the like. BUT-who cares? She saved her own ass and her stupid baby's. She did it. SHE'S safe now. Who CARES what it cost to get there? Not her. Or my Dad. He did really like (love-gag!) her and he wasn't going to just leave her poor little put-upon, picked on, fucked-with-by-her-family ass sitting there after he too had slept with her. "I'm going to be DIFFERENT. I'm not going to be like everybody else and just leave. Her family doesn't believe that I'm getting divorced anyway and that I'd marry her. Well, I'll show them...and myself that I am too a GOOD GUY." Uh-huh. Okay, Dad. MOM was the asshole who couldn't face responsibility and having a family, right? SHE was the one who had little or no regard for how her actions impacted me, right? SHE'S the one who threw me (and everything else) away by moving to Florida with JIMMY MILLER, right? SHE didn't ever want me in the first place and you were all I had, right DAD? GOD DAMN RIGHT!!! You WERE all I had. Wanna know what it was that I had, Dad?
I had your shirts to fall asleep with so I'd feel like you were there while you were workin' shift work at the plant. I had the occaisional times alone with you to just BE. I had fun with you and hell with her. I had my Dad and some insane banshee in my life. I had you and I had HELL. Then, I didn't even have you anymore. I had one wish...that mom would go the fuck away somewhere, or drop dead-I wasn't picky-and I wished I could have been raised by you alone. All I ever wanted was to be "you, Jr." I wanted to be as much like you as humanly possible. I totally resented the fact that I was the same sex as the lunatic. I FUCKIN' WELL KNEW THAT IF I HAD BEEN A BOY, I'D HAVE MATTERED MORE. Well, maybe it would have been easier for you to keep her off my back if I had been a son, but daughters need their Daddies more than boys do. More emotionally, I mean. We ( us girls) are practically in love with our Daddies and we use you (dolts) to try to figure out what kind of guy to wind up with. At least, that's the way it is when you've got a Daddy worth wanting to be around. Like you were. (Like you still are-to Norman the Third and Kim's daughter.) BUT, damn it, Dad...what about me? And, I mean 'what about me since day ONE when you met Kim?' Fuck that. I damn well do mean "What about me now, too?" You're not dead. Neither am I-unfortunely for you and several other people who spring to mind. Believe me, I'd rather be dead than spend one more minute trying to figure out what happened to my excuse for a life. And, how to change it. I can't fuckin' change it, can I? NO. I'll forever be the person who was birthed and 'raised' by two goofballs. Mom was a mean, dangerous, hurtful bitch-goofball, but, you're a goofball, too. You're just nicer and funny (sometimes) about it. Mom did not love me. You did. DID. Did ya catch that? DID. I used to know it. I used to FEEL it. I don't anymore and haven't for about...oh...22 YEARS. Oh, I think you still had love for me in your heart and room for me in your life when you first met Kim, but it lessened more and more every time her and I scrapped. With Kim's heartfelt and thoroughly enthusiastic approval. And, once she ran me completely outta the house and your day-to-day life, then got pregnant with Norman, we ALL woulda been better off if I had just had the courtesy to cease to exist, huh? And, except for wishing I was him, no I'm not bitter at, to or about Norman the third. He's a great guy. For what the fuck I've been allowed to know of him. You keep telling me time and again how alike we are. Well, if we're so ALIKE, why don't I rate as worthy of spending any time with by you? You admitted to me once, when you were tired and sipping brandy, that Kim never did want me around so I wouldn't be a bad influence on "her" kids. You deny that all to hell and gone NOW, but you did tell me that. I was relieved to finally be told the TRUTH, remember? No, of course ya don't, because you never said that. Bullshit. Dad....WHY DID YOU LET HER DO THAT? Who's god-damned fault was it that I was so...rough, or not finished, or crazy? Who had me? Who raised me? Who made me that way? You and mommie dearest, that's who. Jesus, man, mom never taught me anything I needed to know. I didn't even get the "pre-feminist bullshit" method of being a homemaker lessons from her. Let alone anything about how to be 'feminist-like' and figure out how to do it alone. All she taught me was that kids suck and never have any. Never anything about being a (fuckin') female, how to sew, cook, clean, be a smart girlfriend (as in 'not getting used like a tissue-snotted on , then thrown away') or a good wife. These days, I just do the opposite of what I watched her do. You made yourself scarce-between shift work and the Moose, the Eagles , hunting trips to Pa...shit like that. I didn't blame you then for escaping. I just wished you had taken me with you. But, the fact remains...Mom was not just dropping the ball, but throwing it away and becoming more disgusted every time it bounced back and you didn't pick it up, either. Then, when Kim showed up with her (brass) balls, you flattened mine. You decided that since I was 18, I was ready. You ACTUALLY expect me to believe that you, the lab technician, Jeopardy board answering, crossword puzzle in INK doing, intelligent person that you are-YOU-couldn't tell the difference between a marriage and an escape? You tell me "Well, you and Charlie were getting married. I thought everything was fine." Right. You also tell me how much like mommiedearest I have been, then you allow me to be forced into a position, by your insecure girlfriend, to start out my life making the exact same mistake mom did when you two got married. It's no secret that she did it to get away from Pop-pop. I did it to get away from KIM. You want me to believe you didn't know that? Well, I don't. You can, if it makes it bearable for you to think about...or if it justifies for you what has been my life...but, I'm about facing shit right now. I hate, more than you'll ever understand, to admit it, but Dad- ya fucked up. Which I can easily forgive-to a point. Everybody makes mistakes...ya don't get to know it's a mistake until it's too late, usually and all that sorta shit. Fine. But, what about NOW?
NOW, a.k.a. 'Part Two' will resume momentarily. Or, maybe, next week. (It'll be in a mnute...relax.) I've gotta do a coupla things that require leaving the computer, but...I WILL BE BACK. (Any kind of heavy-Godfather-type music could be inserted here...)
(Truth? I gotta go to the bathroom and I don't want Blogsplat to breakfast on any one huge post...)
Posted by: Stevie at 07:57 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
August 16, 2003
About Bush....and Vince McMahon
I don't know what it is about these two people. But...EEERRRGGGHHH. Just thinking about how to word this is annoying. Because of them.
Earlier, I let go about Bush and 9/11. It was in my "What am I?" post. (BTW, I am actually an existential, disenfranchised Libertarian, according to a trusted source.) In fact, Tiger said he agreed with me about everything, except the 'Bush-bashing'. Now, I can hardly deny that I bashed Bush..."mealy-mouth maggot" is not a compliment, after all. I commented on Tig's comment to that effect and I just want to clear it up here...'cause I feel bad about bashing a Texan. Kinda.
What I said in my comment was: I love Texas. I'd move there if I could. They say every rule has an exception, right? Well, let's say the rule is that 'Texas is perfect'. And, Bush is the exception that proves the rule.
Now, for the 'clearing up' part...I don't know why but Bush and that ugly, monkey-faced, walks like he's got a corn cob crammed up his ass, Bret Hart stabbin' in the back, jerk-off Vince McMahon just make me ill. (And, no..I do not watch wrestling. I caught Bret's story on A&E "Wrestling with Shadows". And, I fell deeply in lust. That dude is AWESOME. *wipes chin*) As soon as I even see Bush or McMahon, I just get instantly pissed. Then, as they draw a breath to speak, I leave the room. If I don't, I end up screaming at the T.V. like a friggin' lunatic. It's a damn good thing I don't have ready access to a pistol at those times, or I'd be Elvis, Jr., shooting their faces offa my T.V. I believe that this has something to do with the kind of people they are. Bush is a politician...in other words- a lying sack of shit, sooner or later. Not one of those asswits do I trust as far as I could fling a handful of feathers. And Vince? Well, if ya know what he did to Bret, ya know he's a piece of sub-human shit that should be dragged off to a slow, lingering, horrible, public death. If it's any consolation to Texans everywhere, I do detest McMahon more than Bush. With Bush, you combine being a politician with looking like he fell offa the cover of Mad magazine and I just have to shudder and say "Thanks, but NO."
So, there ya have it. Don't exactly know why...just is.
Posted by: Stevie at 12:59 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
1000
Well, damn. I got my 1000th hit tonight at 9:28pm...someone from adelphia.net. Whomever you are, thank you!
Mookie was #999amd #1001...
Thanks to everybody who got me here- links from Kevin, Ted, Dax, Rob, Mookie, Tiger, Sage One...and anyone else who did it. I swear, when I get linking down pat, all of you are going to get gratuitously linked ta death! Then, thanks to the "unknown" people who read me, too. And, I also want to thank Stevie Brock for all the Popdex hits I get from people looking for him. Apparently, he's the 2003 version of Donny Osmond or something. To be honest, I always thought Tony DeFranco was waaay cuter. "Heatbeat, it's a love beat and when we meet, it's a good sensation...listen to my heart pound, listen to my love sounds....feelin's gettin' stronger (feel it, feel it), can't hold back any longer 'cuz a heatbeat it's a love beat...". I used to know every word on the whole album.
ANYWAY...
Thank you all for gettin' me over a thousand and I'm really sorry I got that song stuck in your heads. (And-in my own...)
Posted by: Stevie at 12:27 AM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
August 15, 2003
Bear with me here, folks
This post is to explain the next five posts and the one after them. What you'll be reading are my questions from Tiger. The reasons that they are in five seperate posts is in the sixth one. Notice, now, I did the questions in reverse order so at least they'd be right...you'll see what I mean. Read. Enjoy.
Tig, Honey, you do ask some interesting questions...
Posted by: Stevie at 12:32 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
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