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caughtintheXfire

September 24, 2006

Hey. Ya know what...

"Lifetime Real Women"?

Go fuck yerselves.

You wanna try to screw ME by fuckin' up "Blind Faith" (the movie based on the book by Lying Asshole McGinness) and showing it in TWO PARTS on CONSECUTIVE NIGHTS and NOT EVEN SAYIN' YOU WERE AIRING IT IN THE FIRST PLACE, thereby gettin' me all happy, happy, joy, joy just long enough to locate an empty enough tape, get it in the VCR and be WAITING for the movie to start, only to discover it's PART TWO?

Like I said... fuuuuck YOU.

I just bought it offa Amazon dot com, so y'all can shove your copy up yo' shit chute and never air it again as far as I'm concerned, ya fucknuggets.

Oh... and if you DO ever air it again, have (at LEAST) the sense God gave a friggin' cigarette filter and show the whole got-damned four hours IN A ROW ON THE SAME DAMNED NIGHT.

M'kay?
Assholes?

Gooood.

Bye.
(jerks...)

Posted by: Stevie at 04:28 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

September 23, 2006

Oh, whut a day and the fucker ain't over yet...

I've been awake since sometime yesterday.
I don't even remember since what time.

All I had planned for the day was to get to the bank.
Get a shower and do today what I was prevented from doing yesterday in a timely manner by circumstances beyond my control... which really pissed me off.
(If I don't get the checks deposited by 3pm on Friday, they don't clear til TUESDAY, instead of Saturday sometime and yesterday they weren't even OUT anywhere near in time for me to make it in time and I know why and it was STUPID and... it's over with now.)

Anyway, shower, bank... that was all that was in my mind.

I'm upstairs this morning, in the bathroom naked, getting ready to get into the shower when I hear Tyler barking his miniscule brain out.

My first thought was that it was that fuckhead Jose and I wasn't gonna answer it.

Then, Ty started again and I said, "Fuck", ripped out the ponytail, threw on jeans and a shirt and came down... to the Bosses head sticking in the door into the (then) horrifying house.

He was bringing us a box o'beef and his house was FUCKED up.
(Told ya's...)
(Well, fucked up for HIM to ever see, anyway...)

I was mortified.

Then, to make it even better, HE STEPPED IN!!!!

If ever the ground was gonna open up and swallow me up, then woulda been the time.

Here's ninty-'leven cats, needing-to-be-changed catboxes, grocery bags all over the table, shit sittin' around, just general chaos.

He's studiously ignoring the situation he's standing in, pretty much, but...
He tells me to stuff as much beef in the freezer as I can and he'll be back in a few minutes, he's running down to the other house he rents out (to what has to be the King of White Trash with all the shit, cars, appliances and whatnot he's got scattered around the yard down there) down on the corner and he'll be back to pick up what I can't fit in the freezer.

I said, "Oh yeah, I know that house. It's the one with the yard that strongly resembles the inside of this house right now... okay. See ya in a minute..."

That got me a grin.
(Thank you, God...)

He goes, I stuff and when he got back, I told him, "Look, it looks like you're working today, SO, I'm gonna work too and before you get done and go home today, I'll have this place the way it USUALLY is and I'll come getcha and you can see it, okay?"

"Oookay", he says, nodding his head and looking very interested (and a tad skepticle, I must admit. I just took that as the challenge... *grin*)

So, off he goes and I start back upstairs to the shower and there's Eric, just waking up and heading down.

I told him the Boss had been by with the beef and had, in fact, been in the house and was coming back later to see what it's s'posed to look like and... Eric fuckin' lost it.

"Oh great! He saw it like this?!!? Well, you may as well start packin', 'cause I'm fired and we're gonna be kicked outta here because of these stupid cats!!"

Do I even need to try to describe my reaction to that?

Let me just say, that I "went the fuck off" and made his goin' the fuck off look like pouting.

I was so fuckin' pissed the fuck off, I skipped the shower (ew) and just went to the goddamned bank and when I got home, he and George went to a car show down the road for a few hours.
Thank God.

Once they left, some "high gear" I wasn't aware I possesed kicked in and I busted ASS and had all but the floors done by the time they got back.

I got the floors done well before the Boss got done his stuff and when he came back and saw the house, he LOVED it.

Said more'n once, "Well, this looks LOTS better" and was smiling to beat the band.

THEN, he said, "So... you guys are lookin' into buying a (small) freezer? Where ya thinkin' of puttin' it?", looking around the front room.

So, I go through the whole explanation about George seeing small chest freezers at Home Depot or someplace pretty cheap and the guys were thinking of putting it in the back porch/mudroom, but I hafta clean it out/up first.

So, then, the Boss says, "Well, okay. That's a good place for it. Let me know when you get it cleaned up out there and we'll getcha's a freezer, then the next time a cow breaks her leg, I'll just stuff her in there for ya's."

(Found out later the beef we got today was a broken-legged cow out in the barm yesterday... Talk about the ultimate recycling program. And, FARM FRESH beef... *giggle*)

So, basically, it went from "We are DEAD" to he's buying us a freezer.

Guess I got the house clean enough, huh?

Then, when Geroge and Eric first got home, Eric comes right up to me and apologized for going off and meant it and gave me the best hug I've had in a loooong-assed time.

THEN, he and George go tearing off again and go buy me a new recliner at a yard sale down the road for $10.

It's blue, a rocker, reclines all the way out flat and doesn't need to be cleaned with Resolve.

Cool.

NOW, they're out by the garage building THREE of those huge clothes shelves I mentioned before.
One for our room, one for George, one for Jr.

And, the only thing I have left to do downstairs is wipe down the microwave and coffee pot.
(And, make a meatloaf for dinner, go grocery shooping and put that shit away, then downstairs is DONE.)

Upstairs, the laundry needs to be done, so the bathroom looks like a coupla closets puked on the floor, but, other than that....

I'm actually almost done here, finally.

WAY later tonight, after they've all gone to bed and provided I don't just pass out in a heap my own self, I'll be going back and checking the previous posts about this "spring cleaning in the fall" project and see if I've forgotten anything.

Hope I haven't.

It'd be nice to be done.

Then, I could fuck off in peace.
No little voice in my head naggin' me about it anymore.
Or, big external voices, either.

And now, I hafta race like a piss horse, I need another cuppa coffee (IV, please) and I need to get the wash started.
And, make a meatloaf.
And...

*sigh*

Back later.

Peace, peeps.
*snerk*

Posted by: Stevie at 05:17 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

Rick Springfield is speaking to me today....

What Kind of Fool am I?

I wonder who she's seein' tonight
Is she really goin' out with him?
He's not her type
And doin' all the things she used to do to me
Well, I'd say somethin' to her
But I get so jealous
When I think of her lovin' somebody else
And I can't think why we ever let go
I must have been crazy!

Tell me what kind of fool am I
To just let go
To just let go like that
What kind of fool am I
To lose you

She was cold sometimes
But she made me feel alive
She was such a spoiled baby
But baby, she could love
And she loved me like nobody ever will again
I thought we'd be together
When the world ran down
When the curtain fell and the lights came up
But the gods or whatever make the world go 'round
Shuffled when they should have cut

Tell me what kind of fool am I
To just let go
To just let go like that
What kind of fool am I
To lose you

Did it come too easy to the two of us?
Did we go too wrong to ever make it right?
Were we too busy checkin' out the left hand
That we didn't see the right, and

Tell me what kind of fool am I
To just let go
To just let go like that
What kind of fool am I

Oh baby, please, oh baby, please come back
I meant to say in time
Baby we could work it out
But I never meant to say goodbye
Tell me what kind of fool am I
What kind of fool am I
What kind of fool am I
To lose you

Human Touch

Everybody's talking to computers, they're all
dancing to a drum machine
I know I'm living on the outside
Scared of getting caught between
I'm so cool and calculated alone in the modern
world -- uh huh

But Sally has a hard time holding back
The alley to her heart is a beaten track
She's got the love monkey riding on her back
You want love I got it, come on girl

We all need the human touch
We all need the human touch
I need it the human touch
We all need the human touch
We all need it and I need it to

You know I got my walls Sally calls them prison cells
Sometimes I need protection, I've got the chains
I've got the warning bells
I sit so snug and isolated alone in the modern world -- uh huh

But Sally has a hard time holding back
The alley to her heart is a beaten track
She's never out of love, yeah she's got the knack
You've got love I want it, come on girl

We all need the human touch
We all need the human touch
I need it the human touch
We all need the human touch
We all need it and I need it to

Human Touch
Human Touch
Human Touch
Human Touch

I'm so scared and isolated alone in the modern world

We all need
We all need the human touch
We all need the human touch
We all need the human touch
I need it the human touch
We all need the human touch
I need it the human touch
We all need it and I need it to

Human Touch

Human Touch
Human Touch
Human Touch
Human Touch

I've Done Everything for You

This one way love affair ain't fair
It ain't no affair to me
It's all give and take and you just take
I can't take it you see
Well I'm giving up on love this time
Me and my friends we'll do just fine

I've done everything for you
You've done nothing for me
I've done everything for you
You've done nothing for me

You said
Someday I'd have a whole lot of money
I'd me a millionaire
But when that didn't happen overnight
I found out how much you really cared
Well all you want is a whole lot of money
All the rest is just jiving, honey

I've done everything for you
You've done nothing for me
I've done everything for you
You've done nothing for me

When I first met you
You didn't know how to love a man
All those things about making love
You didn't understand
But now you know about everything
I'm turning you in for memories

I've done everything for you
You've done nothing for me
I've done everything for you
You've done nothing for me

I'm going out on the town tonight
And get as wild as I can be
I'm gonna find out what it's really like
To be loose high and free
Well I don't care what the people say
I'm taking my mind I'm changing to stay

I've done everything for you
You've done nothing for me
I've done everything for you
You've done nothing for me

You've done nothing for me
You've done nothing
You've done nothing
You've done nothing for me

Living in Oz

Ever since I was a kid
I remember having dreams of grandeur
I was gonna be someone
I know what I want

Everybody played second best
And I held you back
Just like all the rest
I think I got what I want

Everybody's got to fight their demons
And you know I had to fight mine too
It took a lot out of me
It took a lot out of you

To be living in oz living in oz
Sometimes the dream can wake you
Living in oz living in oz
Sometimes the dream can shock you too

All the money that I spend on you
Doesn't mean a thing
If love's not true
Baby please I'll get what you want

Can't you tell you and me ain't lost
I know what I did
I know what it cost
Now I'm yours and I've got what you want

All the fightin' will have been for nothin'
If in the end I can't have you
I'll throw it all away if that's what you want me to do

Living in oz living in oz
Sometimes the dream can wake you
Living in oz living in oz
Sometimes the dream can shake you too

Funny how desire can burn you up inside
And makes you commit emotional suicide
Everybody's got the desire to leave their mark
Some just do it over a trail of broken hearts

All the people that protect and serve
Would disappear if the well dried up
I'm thirsty for affection
Let me drink from your loving cup

Living in oz living in oz
Sometimes the dream can shock you
Living in oz living in oz
Sometimes the dream can rock you
Living in oz living in oz
Sometimes the dream can shake you
Living in oz living in oz
Sometimes the dream can wake you too

Rock of Life

I feel the big beat, the Rock of Life
Big beat talk to me
Waking up blind with the house on fire

Well I pick up my guitar (I tune up)
I look in the mirror
It's like a stranger in my hand (the baby is crying)
There comes a time when the boy must leave (get up)
And the man has to enter
For the soul to understand (all of the changes)
As if it ain't hard enough this life I'm living in
I was caught with my guard down
When the world came knocking

I feel the big beat, the Rock of Life
Big beat talk to me
I feel the back beat, the Rock of Life
Waking up blind with the house on fire

Is it something in my head (look up)
Or the time of a season
Or the little boy in my hands (must be a reason)
Yeah, there's new meaning in my life (a shake-up)
But there's pain and confusion
And I'm trying to understand (all of the changes)
I've been cut so deep but I can't make it bleed
I was caught with my head in the sand
When the world came knocking

I feel the big beat, the Rock of Life
Big beat talk to me
I feel the back beat, the Rock of Life
Waking up blind with the house on fire

It ain't no prefect life (by far)
This one I'm living in
And I was caught with my guard down
When the world came knocking

I feel the big beat, the Rock of Life
Big beat talk to me
I feel the back beat, the Rock of Life
Waking up blind with the house on fire

(With this one, there IS no such thing as "too loud"...)

And, if you've noticed any kinda "theme" here, thank you.
At least now I know I am talkin' and not a fuckin' Basenji.

Posted by: Stevie at 11:13 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

Hmmm....

I knew it'd been a while, but... daaaamn.

My little terrorist buddy hasn't been around lately.
Not even a SIGN, except a hair-trigger temper, snipin' at assholes, threatening Jose's life again and general all around merriment with my general attitude.

Ankles have barely swollen at all.
No cramps.
No... "traces", like when it's coming.
Nuthin'.

Except the murderous attitude.

I just looked back through August and I was last bitching about it being here around the 2nd.

I don't miss it and I could NOT possibly care less about it's absence, except to note it.
Only thing?
Wherever it's gone, it needs to get it's ass BACK HERE and get this shitty fuckin' attitude it left behind and take it with it.

The other night (after the thought had already run though my mind), Jr. asked me if I thought that maybe me being sick in August was "the change".

Don't know.
Good question.
Hope so.

Fucked up part?
I have no one to ask.

My mom croaked before she hit menopause.
George's mother, you could never tell the difference.
Eric's mom, I think he mighta been gone by the time it happened to her. At least, he's never mentioned it.
I have no females around here (or me) to ask, either.

Best I have is Edith Bunker and all I remember from her going through it is ya only have 30 seconds to get it over with and the men stuck dealing with it need meds.

I suppose I could look it up.
Or ask Paul. (His Dad was a doctor. He knows shit.)

Then again, the only thing I even care about is attending to this attitude problem I have.
I either need to beat the holy dogfuck outta somebody or.... something else.
I just don't know WHAT else.

My "friend" not showing up for 6 weeks?
GREAT!
It never showing up again?
WONDERFUL!
Being pissed off the rest of forever?
Not s'much.

(Holy shit. I just looked at the TV in time to see Carlton and Will get shot at on Fresh Prince... think I've seen parts of this one before, but I can't remember who gets hit and I've never actually seen the shooting before. Wow.)

Anyway.

What's been going on lately with "things" (meaning me) is:

I started kicking ass on this house.
Got a LOT done.
Before I got done (about 5 days ago or so), I sorta petered out.
Just slowed down and stopped.
Felt like shit again a bit.
My stomach hurt like there was a red brick sitting in it with it's jagged edges pressing into the lining of it.
Wasn't hungry for three days.
That's when I noticed that just one ankle was slightly swollen.
House begins regressing to it's "much lived in (by FARM ANIMALS!)" state.
Coupla nights ago, I sat here wrapped in a blanket, watching Hysteria (Def Leppard story) again, playing solitaire and could NOT stop the tears.
Not like I was upset about anything or crying on purpose.
Just steady leakin'.
For no known reason.
Last coupla days have been constantly on the verge of beating the ever-lovin' HELL out of anybody or anyTHING.
Been throwing shit... books, scissors, whatever.
I'll be doin' fine. I move something outta my way. It gets BACK in my way. I pick it up and sling it somewhere.

I'm just glad the guys and the cats have enough sense to MOVE and STAY moved.

I've been driving even MYSELF nuts sniping at assholes on TV.
Newcasters, sitcom people, the fuckin' ASSHOLES in commercials... nobody is safe AND, the sad part is, while it IS helping to let the pressure off some, it's not one TENTH what wants to come out.

I hate this.

I have hated it every single time it's happened and this time it's the worst it's ever been.

Did you guys know that Velociman has quit blogging too?

First Rob dies.
And two of my cats.
And, I know another one is going to. Vet says he has a year, maybe two.
I say he has about a month.
Then, I'm sick for three fuckin' weeks.
Rob's still dead.
Then, shit starts coming up, like having to go to Jersey soon to take care of "Jr. turning 18" shit (child support shit) and him getting his license and killing himself in what used to be MY Firebird.
And, all the beaurocratic bullshit that's gonna hafta be gone through for Sr. to get his license back. (He's been eligible for over a year, we just haven't been able to do it yet.)
My tooth gets looser every day. Soon, there'll be nothing left I can eat. (Good. I'll lose the rest of the weight.)
Rob's still dead.
Kim quits.
I feel like shit again for DAYS.
I become enraged over ABSOLUTELY NOTHING and...
here we are.

And, I need to start over on the house and Rob's still dead and now Kim's gone.
(I know I just said that. It bears repeating.)

But, Paul's back.
Mostly.
That's like the ray of sunshine coming through the eye of a hurricane.

The hurricane being inside of me, my head, my emotions and soul.

Right this minute, I'm actually rather calm.

I'm occasionally hitting the last bowl of weed and resin I have til I go back to Bucks.
If I even do.

Then, George came down here around 1:30 (am) because he needed his sinus meds and I talked to him for a while.

Found myself taking several deeeeeep breaths, starting when I started hitting the horticultural supplies.

I just hope the explusion of "it" is for real.
I don't wanna go to sleep and wake up to it all all over again.

I also hope there's something OTC or diet-wise I can do about this, if it happens again.

And, before I'm totally out of "help" (weed), I'm gonna go see how far I can get on this house again.
Hopefully, all the way to "done" this time.

I'll letcha's know.

Peace, y'all.

Posted by: Stevie at 03:15 AM | Comments (8938) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

September 19, 2006

Yeah, I'm still alive...

And, no, I'm still not done with this house yet.

Missed yet another call from Glen, damn it.
'Course, it may be easier to actually GET his calls if I weren't totally ass-backward in my current sleep patterns.
Go to bed sometime after it's light out, usually between 6 and 8am and get up in the afternoon... this shit's gotta stop.
Or, at least go back to the way it usedta be.

Before, I was only off by a coupla hours. I'd go to bed at 3 or so in the morning and get up while it was STILL "morning", before noon.

Now?
Jeez.
I've gone from half-hamster to about 9/10ths hamster.

As far as the house goes, I've got most of the major shit done.
The devil sure as hell IS in the endless goddamned details.
And, it's getting to where the details and extra crap are taking so long, the "done" part of this odessey is becoming "undone".
So, now, I'm combining the "power-cleaning" with normal maintenence and it's just making this take longer.
But...
the "normal maintenence" is easier.
And, the changes are being well-received and it looks GREAT.

Oh, and whoever it was who designed and added to Windows the "solitaire" game is FROM HELL!
What the fuck is it about that damned game that is soooo addictive?
Jesus.
You get started with that shit and the next thing ya know, it's next week already.
I always tell myself I'll just play til I win one, then, I win ninety-two and hafta do it again.
That's one of the myriad reasons I've been staying away from this stupid computer lately.

That, no Rob, no Paul.... no interest.

Well... actually, I do have interest, but every time I sit here, I think about those two, get deflated and feeling lost and either turn to solitaire or walk away.

And, I did call one of them at work today.
Says to leave a detailed message and he'll call back.
Fine.
Ya want details?
I gave him details....

"Well, you have my name, number and URL. Not enough detail, apparently, soooo....
I don't feel too well again, but I'll live this time. My tooth is looser than my mom was. I haven't gotten laid in about a month or so, but then too, the last time I did, I wound up sick for three weeks, sooo... I ain't pushing on that one. The only thing I ate yesterday was an apple. I have too many cats. I think I'm getting PMS. Let's see... how much more "detail" do you need to call me back? I can keep going, ya know... Can you just me back, please? 'Cause, if you don't, I will call YOU back. Okay? Bye."

And, that was on his voicemail.

And, I'm about six seconds from calling again.

Man, if it wasn't 3am in Bahrain right now, I'd be returning a call or two my own self.

So, anyway....

It's 7pm.
George is working late.
Eric is at a meeting with the Boss.
Jr. is outside, trying to maim himself on the quad.

Me?
Sitting here, feeling half sick and knowing I have shit to do, including going to the stupid store.
Not fun.

Also, the ramifications of something I read earlier are hitting me and pissing me off.
And grossing me right out.
Makes sense though.
Dovetails EXACTLY with what he said about it.
I'm stuck between laughing my ass off at his version of events and barfing because of the details.

Wanna know what the hell I'm talking about?
Ask me.

Meanwhile, some people need to watch how they word shit and need even MORE to watch who they're blaming for shit.

We do NOT wanna go there.

BELIEVE ME.

*coupla minutes later*

OH, HOT-DAMN!!! HE IS ALIVE!!!!!

I finally found Paul!
At work.
*cheesy grin*
Caught him just before he was leaving for the day, thank God.
Seems the Canadian phone company needs a charge of dy-no-mite* up it's ass.
Dude moved WEEKS ago and they're STILL fuckin' him around about getting his phone service transferred and ON.
That explains a lot.
(*Sorry. Watching TVLand and "Good Times" was just on a while ago.)

And, the one detail I shoulda left him, I didn't... my cell number.
(We'll just set aside the fact that I KNOW his number by heart and the whole "Oh, here we go again with me knowing Eric's SS# and him not knowing mine YET and God help me if I ever disappear because this nut ain't gonna be able to tell the cops nuttin', probably including what I look like... Men..." *sigh* thing.)
All his contact info for people is in his computer, WHICH he can't use yet THANKS TO CANADA'S CRAPPY PHONE COMPANY.

Hey, Canadian phone company... Put down da frickin' BEER and get Paul hooked up, wouldja's?
Don't make me come up there.
Y'all don't want THAT.

But, oh goodgotdamn, do I feel better for having heard Paul's voice in my ear....
*deeeeeep breath*
Whatta relief.

Okay... now I'm gonna go do something constructive.
I hope.

I really do need to get this "spring cleaning in the fall" shit done.
All I want is to be finished.
I have this vision of what it's gonna look like when I am finally done.
Clean, newly arranged, dimly lit, with candles burning and peaceful.

When I get it to that point, I think I wanna go soak in the tub.
This'll be in the wee hours of whatever day's morning I ever do get done.

Then, I need to do these nailtips and then, when I have my world as "right" as I can, I'm gonna go forth and find gainful employment.
And, I don't know if I even wanna go back to work on the horsefarm.
It's kinda pissing me off now, that the whole time I've been paying Bo off and NEEDED to be working for Mr Boss, I haven't been.
I'm leaning toward "too late now" and wanting to be indoors for the winter.
I about froze my ass off last year.
And, just what the heck kinda dumbassed shit is it to lay a person off, buy 'em a horse, then expect 'em to be able to pay him off quickly when you know you laid 'em off?

I mean, I'm goofy, yeah, but even I'm not that "mentally lax".

I don't know.... maybe I'll go back there, maybe I won't.
We'll see.

Meanwhile, I'm outta here.
I hafta go do my "happy dance" that Paul IS still alive.

Peace

Posted by: Stevie at 06:57 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

September 16, 2006

Still at it...

Yep.
Still cleaning.

Not in a frenzy, by any means, mind you.
Just slowly but surely.
(Stop calling me Shirley).

Seems the more I do, the more I find needs to be done.

The way it stands as of this minute:

The living room...
Mostly done.
One chair cleaned and JEEZUS, does Resolve work WONDERS.
Still need to do mine.
Gonna do the couch, now, too.
Need to clean one miniblind (thanks, cats!).
Also need to put back the crap I'm having to wash, like couch pillows, blankets and other "cover/doiley" type things.
And, I wanna rearrange the top of the entertainment center. Gotta lot of stuff up there, including the hamster house and it needs to be straightened around (again... thanks, cats!).

Dining room...
Almost completely done.
Needs the vacuum run again, as does everywhere else, but I expected that.

Bathroom... (saving the kitchen for last 'cause I still don't wanna hafta think about it yet)
Need to finish the wash, and by the way...
are you ever, really, FINISHED the laundry?
*snort*
Shit piles up faster'n any 6 people could get it "done".
Ancient chinese secret, my ass.
Anyway, only other thing the bathroom needs is to be vacuumed again.
Oh, and the magazines rotated. (I'll explain this in the EP...)

Bedrooms...
Jr's... "done" as far as I'm concerned.
Carpet is clean and how he keeps or has the room is on him. I don't interfere.

Ours... oh, please.
In cleaning out the closets, I "rediscovered" many boxes of books.
They, along with other various and sundry items, were put in our room to be sorted out and put away again.
Then, there's the whole "clothes" issue... and here come the first of the pinprick bleeds in my brain.
Okay... this house is great and I love living here, buuuut... um... did there used to be a shortage on electrical outlets and closet-building materials or something?
'Cause, this house could use LOTS more of both.
Hence, we don't have a lotta room for our "lotta" clothes.
So, I need to figure out what to do with all the ones in our room and in George's room.
See, there's an unused twin bed in George's room and I used to put all the clean clothes on it, in piles.
That room was, at the time, the "dressing room", as it were.
Then, Jr. moved in and that room was pressed into service as a bedroom again.
NOW, I need to put our clothes in our room for many reasons, not the least of which is that it's dark in there when Eric would need the clothes because he gets up way before George does.
Another reason is that Eric sleeps nekkid and walking into another guy's bedroom nekkid squicks him out.
So, I need to get the clothes and the nekkid Eric in the same room.
And, once I do that, the third and final bedroom (George's) will also be done.

Now... George says he's gonna build us an open-faced, "bookshelf" kinda deal to put the clothes in.
But, I don't know how long that's gonna take and I need to figure out something else to do with them in the meantime.

Okay... kitchen...
What I need to do out there is easier said (or typed) than done, so this isn't gonna look like such of a much, but, doing it is gonna be a bear.
The biggest thing that needs to be done is also the thing that needs to be done last... the floor.
To get to the floor, I need to take all the portable shit outta there.
Even some "not so portable" shit, like the HUGE table.
Then, I need to do the rest of the cleaning crap, like dishes, wiping down, cleaning the fridge, stove and microwave and alla that.
I also have two really cool ideas that I wrote down, thank God, because I can only remember one of them right now.
Has to do with "fixing" the retarded excuse for a silverware drawer we have out there.
Maybe I'll explain that in the EP, too...
Then, after I get eeeeverything else done, I have to vacuum, then mop the floor, two corners of which need to be hand-scrubbed (thank you, cats, yet again).
Then, I get to put everything back.

Once I get to this point, if I haven't discovered another 97 things that need doin', I'll run the vacuum throughout the whole house, light some candles and revel in it.

And, woe be unto he who fucks it up first.

A house looking "lived in" is one thing.
"Lived in" by three Oscar Madisons and only one Felix Ungar (with boobs) is another.

On to the explanations in the EP, then back to it, I guess.

Peace

Posted by: Stevie at 08:29 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

September 15, 2006

Somebody 'splain this to me, please?

(This post is Ann Rule's fault. I was just in the bathroom reading one of her books and something she said tripped my trigger and made me remember that I just don't get this. "This" being what I'm about to ask about...)

Okay.

I know what the Army, Navy, Air Force and Marines all are.

Let's simplify this and just say that the Army takes care of the ground, the Navy is in the water, the Air Force is in the sky and the Marines?
Well, they do it ALL.
*waves at brother*

So, what are/is the Merchant Marines and what do they do?
Are they MARINE Marines or do they go around power-shopping on ships as a career?
(I figure if they're any kinda "Marines" they do whatever they do BIG and "power"ful...)

And, are they "related" to the regular?... other?... REAL Marines?

Also, isn't the Coast Guard kinda redundant?
I mean, we have the NAVY, fer Christ's sake.
What more could we possibly need (in the water, relax Normie-kins, my Marine brother), with their SEALs and such?
*waves at Glen*

Is it that the Navy is underwater and the Coast Guard floats around on top?

WHO ARE ALL THESE PEOPLE?!
(And, my God, didn't I have to resist the urge to add "in my head" to the end of that question...)

And, if the Merchant Marines turn out to be another branch of military service, as the Coast Guard is to be, why do we always just say, "Army, Navy, Air Force and Marines" when referring to the Armed Forces, instead of including the MM and CG?

And and (finally getting to what it was that Ann said that prompted this), what are longshoremen?
Are there shortshoremen, too?

Theoretically, I suppose there could be short longshoremen, but... could there also be long shortshoremen?
(And, wouldn't they be fun to "date"?)

And, speaking of ships, as I was a minute ago... how did guys who load and unload ships come to be called "stevedores"?
Who came up with that?
And, how?
Was there nothing less mysterious they coulda been named?
I mean, there is nothing about that word that gives clue ONE as to what it is they do.

That's like me calling myself a frapadaggit, or some damned thing, to say I work on a farm.

Has nothing to do with anything about a farm, does it?

Well, neither does "stevedore" when to comes to what they do.

So, whazzup with all this shit?

Anyone?

Bueller?

Posted by: Stevie at 12:13 AM | Comments (30) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

September 14, 2006

The hostage has been returned, finally...

Just got back from returning the Rug Doctor.
All the carpets are now clean.

So, let the spontaneous shedding of every hair on every cat in here begin.
Along with the two weeks of steady rain to insure that every granule of dirt on the entire farm can be tracked back in here.
Not to mention the palsey I expect the guys to commence with any time now, spilling liquids of various colors into those "iiiinteresting" patterns (that we just spent three days getting rid of) all over every floor surface in this house again.
(And, it prolly wouldn'ta took three days in the first place, had I used the thing on the first night AT ALL and not had to do 90% of it myself... along with everything else.)

Speaking of everything else that I still hafta do, here's a short list right off the toppa my head...

One of the first things I "get" to do is the most recently created "project".
When I got back from returning the Doctor, I asked the two Eric's if they could carry the large-assed, heavy tape cabinet back into the living room so I wouldn't hafta remove the 300 hundred tapes inside it to move it myself.

As they go to get it, Sr. is telling Jr., "Now remember... this is an old TV cabinet or something and it has no back, so we need to keep it tilted forward so the tapes don't fall out." (They'd secured the doors on the front so the tapes wouldn't push them open and fall out.)

They get in position, grab, lift... and spill about 40 tapes out the back.

"Shit", they say in unison and begin to go toward the living room with it anyway.

They get to the doorway and in trying to fit the cabinet, as well as their hands, through the door, spill another sixty or so tapes on the floor.

They finally get it in, set down, in position and turn and look back at all the tapes.

"Well hell fellas", I say, "I coulda done that", already laughing because of the endless sound of tapes cascading all over the floor.

They cracked up too, then wisely decided to go to bed lest I find anything else for them to do... like "put da fuckin' tapes back in there".

(More "help"? After that? Pft. I swear, sometimes I think they do that kinda shit on purpose, just to get outta being tapped for similar "chores". I don't mean this time, though. I'm talkin' about when they vacuum for ya and somehow there's twice as much shit on the floor when they're done as there was when they started. Or when you can tell whatcha had for dinner last night after they do the dishes. And, by "they", I mean men in general, not these three because they don't hafta do this kinda crap very often. But, when they do... they find the most CREATIVE ways to screw it up... man. *shaking head*)

Anyhoo, after I get done picking up a half ton of tapes, there's still:

Putting the furniture back in the dining room.
More laundry than we even have the clothes to create it with.
Once the kitchen is cleared out (that's where all the shit from the dining room still is), I hafta pretty much dismantle the whole kitchen and clean it as well as the rest of the place has been cleaned.
This includes, but is not limited to;
doing dishes
getting everything humanly possible off the floor and scrubbing it
cleaning out the frige
scrubbing the inside of the microwave
putting everything back where it belongs, and
wiping down every flat surface there is out there, which are considerable in number (which I might oughta do before I do the floor, huh?)

Then, there's the "upstairs" shit, which involves such horrors as cleaning out closets, going through years of accumulated SHIT and getting rid of that which we don't use, wear or even remember that we own.
(Some of this shit, some of the boxes, we haven't seen since we moved in here and shoved them into closets. It is my considered opinion that if we haven't missed this shit for a year, we don't need it, so buh-bye.)

There are two bedrooms and the bathroom to do this in.

Then, there's the attic, which if I think about, my brain will explode, so just use your best Stephen King imagination as far as that goes.

Only cool thing about that is that this is the first attic I've ever lived with.
It'll be the first time I ever clean out an attic.
I hear it's LOADS of fun.
Like childbirth.

Oh and I had a cool, yet odd, experience at the Giant this time, too.

I'm standing in the express lane. (I had to grab a coupla things when I returned the Rug Doctor...)
Anyway, there's this guy a head of me with just one item.
I glanced at the box in his hand, then did a double-take when my brain informed me that what my eyes had seen written on the box was "Butt Paste".

Da fuck is "butt paste"?

My double-take morphed into me resembling the RCA Victor dog lookin' at this box, complete with the head tilt and quizzical expression.

I looked up from his box... into his eyes.

He's lookin' at me, lookin' so closely at his box.

("Ummm... hi there, fella...")

Soon as I realize I'm busted, my "helpful" mouth takes off like a shot...

"Oh, hi... don't mind me. It's just that I've never heard of that stuff before and... *looks again*... oh!, it's for a baby..."

(Him) "Well, whadya think it was for?", he asks, almost looking scared of what I might say next.

"I thought at first it was like... a guy tool or something."

(Him) "A what?"

"You know, like putty or caulk. I mean, "butt paste"? Sounds like something a guy would use... kinda. And, I have heard caulk called that (pointing to the box) before..."

Once he realizes what I'm driving at, he cracks up and I then tell him if that stuff doesn't get the job done to go to the CVS and get Balmex and we kept bullshittin' while we waited (and waited and WAITED) for the crackbaby ahead of us to get the fark outta the way... bitch took forever.

Then, he turns to me again, extends his hand and says, "By the way, my name's ROB and I'm glad to meetcha."

I shook his hand, told him my name and expressed like sentiments.
As I did that, my brain said, "Okay. A new Rob. Uh-huh, okay..."

Now, I have NEVER had anybody, any customer, introduce themselves to me at the Giant.
Or any other grocery store I can think of offhand.
PLUS, I didn't wanna hafta be the one to return the Rug Doctor in the first place.
I tried to get George to do it so I could keep cleaning and not hafta get dressed and alla that shit.

I even got "demonstritively annoyed" (i.e.: slammed a coupla doors) when it was "settled" that I was gonna hafta be the one to do it.

Then, by the time I get checked out, I'm glad I went, because a guy named Rob made himself known to me.

Granted, it was after I was eyeballin' his butt paste, but still...

(By the way, do any of y'all know anybody else who'd hafta write a sentence like that last one?
Or is it just me?)

Aaand, on that note, I'm outta here.

Gawd Almighty DAMN, I still have so much left to do....
Pray for me, if yer of a mind to...

Peace

Posted by: Stevie at 10:28 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

Now what?

Living room is done.

Now, I'm havin' a cawfee break and waiting for people to get up and outta here so I can lug this machine up stairs and do three of the four rooms up there... after I get this kinda put back together down here.
If I don't at least get the cat boxes back down, all nice and clean, my nice and clean carpets won't be for long.

(The only room I don't need to do up there is our bedroom.
The only place it needs that machine run is behind and under the headboard of the waterbed where it won't fit, so peese on it.)

While I drink my coffee, allow me to present you with yet another typical "why me, Lord?" moment, complete with a "what do I do now?" inquiry.

Coupla days ago, my DirecTV in the living room started screwin' up.
Kept going off.
The other two were working just fine, but... "Mine is not to wonder why. Mine is but to fix or throw a fit."

It kept saying "searching for satellite signal" with a number after it and I already know the drill when this shit starts.

First, go see if it's raining or might rain anytime in the next two days.
If there's a cloud on the horizon, chances are that's what's wrong.
Shit.
If there's a cloud as far away as Minnesota, that very well could be what's doing it. Who am I kiddin', here?

If not, you start the reset shit.
Unplug it.
Wait 30 seconds.
Plug it back in.

And, nuthin'.

Try again.

Nuthin'.

Unplug it AND pull the card.

Plug it back in, insert card and tah-dah, it works.

For 10 minutes.

Go through the whole thing another 27 times and finally concede defeat and call in.

The very nice lady I was talking to decided my receiver wasn't reading the card anymore and shipped me a new one.
Free.
I didn't even know they did this.

Now, here's the "typical Stevie's luck" part...

Yesterday, on one of my many trips into the living room, I noticed the TV had healed itself, apparently, because it was working fine and I hadn't touched it and sure as SHIT none of the guys did...

Whatever.
Cool.

Hope it keeps doing that til the new one gets here, right?

Well, the new one got here about 45 minutes later.

I toss the box (gently) on top of the entertainment center and go on cleaning.

Later, as I'm shop-vaccing the living room, Eric says I keep making the TV go off and on.

Who am I now?
Jeannie?

I push the shop-vac into the satellite cable, which JUST HAPPENS to have a connector thingy in it.
As I do that, *blink*, *blink*, goes the TV.

Eric grabs the connector thing and... it's LOOSE.

So, he "fixed" it and now I have the new receiver from them too and what do I do now?

My first (and only, so far) thought is to just ship the new one back, unopened.

Bet I'd be the first person in the history of DirecTV to do that...
Or, one of the veeeery few who would.

One of my basic philosophies is, "If it ain't broke, don't fix it."
And, since I know what was wrong with the receiver/TV/cord and it's tight now, that means it ain't broke, so I don't need to fix it.
Plus, I hate fuckin' with alla those contemptible wires-n-shit.

HOWEVER, I also have the kinda luck where the instant the FedEx truck pulls away with the new receiver to send it back, the old one will burst into flame.
Or explode.
Or some other stupid shit.

Believe me.

I've been through this kind thing many more times before than I care to even think about.

So.

Suggestions?

Posted by: Stevie at 03:36 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

So, how y'all doin'?

I'm still at it.

Got the dining room carpet done.
Did that whole deal by myself, too.
Moved the shit out, cleaned the room, vinegar rinsed then shampooed the carpet... took me about two and a half hours to get it done.

When I rent these things, what I do (specifically because I have cats) is go over the carpets first with a combination of hot water and vinegar.
White vinegar neutralizes "pet odors".
Also makes it so they don't keep "missing" (much like men do, but way worse) and creating the "odors/stains" in the first place.

After the vinegar rinse, I go on and use the Rug Doctor shampoo shit and do it again.

They say to go a foot a second.

I do a foot in about three.
I go a little slower so it "git's 'er done".

Besides the dining room, half the living room is done, too.

Eric did that, then went to bed.

I'm doing the other half in a minute. Or thirty. Or sixty.

Then, I'm gonna take a whack at cleaning these two recliners we have... or "mine", anyway.

Eric likes the smaller, nicer lookin' one.
So, when I used to sit in the livingroom watching TV (as opposed to spilling my guts here), I had the bigger one.
Cool.

Then, along came abooout, what?... oh, I don't know, let's just say "cats in the high double digits, all told" over the years I've had this chair.

And, a few of them have done unspeakable things to it.

It's so fuckin' ugly now, I keep it, and Eric's chair, draped with matching blue throws.
(Which are currently halfway up the stairs where I slung 'em to be washed eventually, thus exposing my nekkid chair in all it's "MY EYES!!!"-edness.)
('Cause that's what you shriek when you see it uncovered. Much like my... oh, never mind.)

This washing of the throws/finishing the laundry thing is, of course, after I drive to the same damned grocery store I've been to approximately 92 times in the last three days. The grocery store that seems to erase my memory every time, as far as me being able to remember gotverdamen (my version of German... I can say it, but not spell it.) laundry soap.

And, Coffeemate.
Please, God, don't let me forget the You-damned Coffeemate, necessitating yet another trek to the Giant, okay? Please?

You wanna know how much I go to the Giant?
In their "point" thing, I am currently eligible to get 20% off my "next checkout".
I have over 600 points.

And, their "points for gas" thing? Where they take 10 cents off every gallon for every hundred points you have?
Well, let's just say I'm aiming for enough points to make that first number in the price a 1.

Hell, if it went on long enough, I'd get it all the way down to "free", I bet.

Anyway, looks like I'm headed back to the store sooner or later.

Good thing I like driving my car....

And, after almost exactly a year, I have finally found the coolest radio station around here.

It's 96.1 WSOX.
Their website called them an "oldies" station, but, as much as I LOVE the songs they play, I beg to differ with that "oldies" shit.
And, seeing as to how I'm getting kinda tired of correcting today's teeny-boppers and teenagers on this issue, lem'me explain this, hopefully once and for all.

When discussing genres of music, there are really only two that matter enough to be so adamant about.

They are "oldies" and "classic rock".

These are both kickass forms of music, but they are not the same, not interchangable... they are seperate and distinct from each other.

OLDIES are songs from the 50's and 60's.
The soundtrack of American Graffiti is a prime example.

CLASSIC ROCK is comprised of some of the best music ever created. It's mostly from the 70's. Bands like Skynyrd, Molly Hatchet, Led Zepplin, Floyd, of course... those kind of guys. It's hard-driving, make-yer-heart-pound, gotta-crank-it UP auditory ambrosia. (And yeah, the band Ambrosia can be included... along with Nazareth and the Stones and AC/DC... oh, stop me, somebody. This could take all night.)

Classic rock is NOT from the 50's or 60's.
(Though, there are some covers of oldies that qualify as "classic".)
It is NOT to be called "oldies" EVER.

Okay people?
Especially you young ones?
Ya got it?

It's so simple...

If it has a sixteen minute guitar or drum solo in it at any point that is so friggin' awesome it gives ya a panty-puddle, that's classic rock.

If it makes you picture poodles skirts and saddle shoes, it's "oldies"
(And, if you don't know what poodle skirts and saddle shoes are, bite me. "Kay?)

And, now that I've explained this for what MUST be the thirteen millionth time, the next time some little peckerweed hears Skynyrd rippin' through "Gim'me Three Steps", or Grand Funk doing "Closer to Home", or "Comfortably Numb" playing in my presence and refers to it as "oldies", even if he's saying, "I love the "oldies"...", I reserve the right to not be held responsible for anything I might do, up to and including tying the little shit to a chair and making him listen to opera really loud til he gets it RIGHT.

Okay, now back to this radio station... it is the best station I've listened to in years.

I've been listening to 'em since this morning.
After JCS, I switched to the radio and this was the station it was tuned to.
I don't know who put it there.
Wasn't me.
Til now, I listened to 98.5 and that wasn't very often.
They aren't that great. Too many annoying local commercials and they play the same songs every day at nearly the same time every day.
It gets old... quick.

Anyway, since I turned the radio on, this station has not played one single song all day that's made me go "ugh, change it".

The Hustle
Spirit in the Sky
Suger, Sugar
The Bee Gee's disco stuff
Barry White
The Eagles, Hotel California and others
JIMMY BUFFET, even (and oh yeah I did holler, "Here ya go, Rob!" when I heard the first few notes of ~~Marijuanaville~~ "Margeritaville"...)

They've got an EXCELLENT playlist/library, but... um... Barry White and the Eagles and quite a bit of the other stuff they play isn't... "oldies".

It's classic.
It's from the 70's.
Or, more to the point, it's from when I was a kid and what I listened to as a kid is NOTNOTNOT, now or eeeeever, "oldies".

What I listened to as a kid that was "the oldies" for me (for the rest of forever) were Motown, Buddy Holly, Ritchie and the Big Booper too... basically, again, the soundtrack to American Graffiti. Or La Bamba. Whatever.

Summer in the City
Cherry Hill Park
Do You Believe in Magic
Build Me Up, Buttercup
etc.

That stuff was called "the oldies" even back then.
And, that's what the oldies still are today... Motown, et al.

But, this radio station is so close to perfect, I'll let it slide THIS ONCE.
Only these people are exempt from my campaign to make understood (to the nth degree) the difference between the two.

And, right now, they're playing "If you want it, here it is".
You know...

"If you want it, here it is.
But, you'd better hurry 'cause it's goin' fast..."

I haven't heard some of the songs I've heard today for years.

Like THIS ONE... now it's "You're my Soul and Inspiration" by The Righteous Brothers.
*swoon*

Maaaan...

*fanning self rapidly for the duration of this song*

Well.
Thanks guys.
Now I don't know if I wanna finish the carpets or go get laid...

Ah, now it's Bowie...
"Ch-ch-ch-changes", so cleaning it is.
Can't leave the area with Bowie on.

Besides, this living room carpet looks so nice again... I wanna finish it.
Then do those chairs.
Then, put all the displaced shit back, but maybe not in exactly the same places. (I've already started that... I've switched a few things around so far. Looks really cool, much better.)

Then, there's the rest of the... kitchen.
*giggle*

For as much as I got done in there earlier, there's still a lot more that needs to be done.

Okay... now here we go, a perfect example of what's NOT an oldie that this station is now playing... "Witchy Woman", by the Eagles.

"Witchy Woman" is so not from the 50's or 60's.
Therefore, it does not qualify as an oldie, and I don't care if the program director IS still in diapers, he's so young, and thinks it does.

Still... great to hear it.

Oh fer Christ's sake...
The DJ was just saying what is coming up next, after these commercials, and he named a coupla good ones, then said, "And, one song the NFL has banned... Or, not "banned", but have asked the stadiums and people not to use anymore... Gary Glitter."

Hey now... I know what song they mean and that song ain't got shit to do with the mess Giltter is in, so, wtf?

Hah.
And, here it is...

Pardon me while I chair-dance for a few...

This song reminds me of another one I love... that Cherokee song... "Cherokee people, Cherokee pride. So proud to live, so proud to die..."

That one, yeah.

Another one I miss and don't even know how much til I hear it again.

Oh, "The Joker".
Cool.
(What's a "pompadus"? As in: "of love"?)

Alright...
before I sit here all friggin' night, listing every song I like that they play (which is just about all of 'em), I'm going back to the cleaning before I stiffen up like a dick fulla Viagra.

Peace

*clicks "save" with "Just an Old-Fashioned Love Song" playing now in the background*

Posted by: Stevie at 12:02 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

September 13, 2006

Allow me a touch of "drama" for a minute...

Yeah, I'm cleaning.

I'm also listening to (try singing with) Jesus Christ Superstar again.
(I know I listen to it a lot. Some of it just gives me goosebumps on my arms and legs, I like it so much.)

Anyway, I'm listening and, as usual, I hear bits of lyrics that could easily apply to Rob.
Maybe someday I'll say which ones.

Meanwhile, I have this, from JCS, to try to illuminate my struggle with all of this.
Like I intimated, it may be a bit more than I really need in totality, and not every word fits perfectly but... it'll work.
Overall, it captures the essence rather well.

And, please excuse the religious overtones, my "St. Rob" complex notwithstanding...

I Don't Know How to Love Him

I don't know how to love him,
What to do, how to move him.
I've been changed, yes, really changed.
In these past few days when I've seen myself
I seem like someone else.
I don't know how to take this
I don't see why he moves me.
He's a man, he's just a man.
And I've had so many men before
In very many ways:
He's just one more
Should I bring him down? Should I scream and shout?
Should I speak of love - let my feelings out?
I never thought I'd come to this -
What's it all about?
Don't you think it's rather funny
I should be in this position?
I'm the one who's always been
So calm, so cool, no lover's fool
Running every show
He scares me so.
I never thought I'd come to this -
What's it all about?

Yet, if he said he loved me
I'd be lost, I'd be frightened.
I couldn't cope, just couldn't cope.
I'd turn my head, I'd back away,
I wouldn't want to know -
He scares me so.
I want him so.
I love him so.

Now, like I said, not every word fits perfectly.
Not every one of her/my questions requires an answer... "Should I bring him down?", for instance.
That answer is "no".

Then, up to, "I'd turn my head, I'd back away, I wouldn't want to know", it's fine.

But, about that... I'd never turn my back on Rob.
I know that.

And, the only other line I want to qualify or correct is "I want him so."
Only thing I wanted about Rob was for him to be happy and to always be around somewhere in my life.

I can rightfully be "accused" of having many strong feelings for Rob, ranging from pride to respect to love, but it was never about trying possess him or being "in love" with him or wanting to get naked.

Except for those coupla things, that song puts into rather eloquent words where I am right now.

I really don't know "how" to love Rob.

Like my hero?
Like a flawed man with many demons?
From a distance that I still haven't gained?
All up close and emotionally, the way I always have?

The only way I am sure of how to love Rob is "a lot" and as one of the most positively influential people in my life.

But...
Willy's got me thinking.

And, instead of concentrating on that part of Rob's heart that I know so well, I'm trying to pull back and see more of who he was.

Maybe I can see some of that other side.
If I look carefully enough...

I'm trying.
(Trying to figure this out and clean my house and not wig out in the process(es).)

Posted by: Stevie at 07:09 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

Yeah, I know...

I said I wasn't gonna post anymore til I'm done.

BUT...
I've had a strong indication of how this is all gonna go, this cleaning, this time.

I go out into the kitchen and finish off the dishes.
I look around, trying to decide how best to begin this process whereby everything I need to do, to move and put back all slides around and blends well, like a ballet almost, or one of those small, plastic kids toys with all the numbers and they're outta sequence and you have to slide them up and down or back and forth to get them in numerical order.
Remember that precursor to the Rubik's cube?

Anyway, I decide to start with the top of the refrigerator.
(Don't ask.)

I pull a chair over, step up onto it and as I straighten, I begin to hear this noise, this whipwhipwhip near my head.

I ducked so quickly, I'm surprised I didn't keep going through the wooden chair seat and looked up... right at the whizzing ceiling fan.

I came within about three inches of standing up right into it.

And, what would have made it even more "interesting" is the fact that I have my hair in a huge ponytail, right on top of my head.
(Yes, I do look vaguely like a Pomeranian...)

Since I nearly either scalped or decapitated myself, I have a.) made some good progress... toward getting started. (Well, what would you call cleaning the top of the stupid refrigerator in order to eventually shampoo carpets?) and, b.) spend a considerable amount of that time wondering just what woulda happened had I stood up right into the blades of that fan.
I've got the ponytail goin' on.
It was on the fastest speed.
And, I was standing on a chair.

Would it hitting me have just destroyed the fan or would it have sent me cartwheeling in midair across the kitchen to end up slamming into cabinets and finishing the trip in a broken heap on the floor?
Or both?

Or, might it have just tried to rip my hair off?

All I do know is that the instant I heard the noise of blades whippin' by, my EMT brain screamed "DUCK!!! Tiny(?) chopper landing!!!" Followed immediately by "What the hell? Tiny chopper?"

That's when I looked up and saw what it really was.

Want a better idea of how fast and hard I ducked?

I remember my ponytail hangin' in midair for an instant and I felt it when it caught up and landed on my head.

That's how "instantly alert" I got.

Then, I nearly pissed myself laughing.

Tiny chopper.
Indeed.

Posted by: Stevie at 03:33 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

Yet another comment that morphed into a post...

Okay.
What this is, or was, was a reply to Willy's last comment under "Well, good...".
I explain how this came to be a post (besides "diarrhea of the keyboard", a thing for which Stephen King is also well known) IN the post, toward the end.

Yeah... I know what you're sayin', Willy.
My view of Rob is very limited in it's scope, but all encompassing in it's generosity.
Sometimes, I think I may be the one person who saw only what Rob wanted us to see and who was content with that, thus never probed or questioned or found out "the rest of the story".
(Paul Harvey I ain't... *grin*)
Not to mention, how would I have gotten to the other side of the story?
Asked Jennifer?
Pft.
(*laughing out loud at the idea*... "So, Jennifer, are you REALLY the heartless, soulless, freshly-risen-from-hell demon that Rob said you are?"
Yeah. That'd work.)
Besides, to be honest, even if she did speak her piece, after this long of having been Rob's cheerleader, I'd probably dismiss all she said he did and be able to find reasonable reasons why he'd have done whatever.
Sadly, after the life I've lived and the "relationships" I've had with both men and women, her only chance would have been to have spoken up in tandem with him at the time he was saying it all.
For her to do so now would smack of disparaging a man who can no longer defend himself... has no opportunity to. She had four years, at least, to present her side of things in fairness. She was alive all that time and could have defended herself if she chose to.
(Against what Rob said, not to me or anybody else...)
Maybe if I were to be subjected to enough "Rob could be a shit sometimes" stories, it'd change my view of him, but... I don't know that I'd be able to stand to hear it.
Especially now.
On the other hand, another part of me almost wishes I did have a coupla "Rob was mean to me" incidents because maybe then it wouldn't be so hard. Maybe then I'd be able to get a little distance from this.
That he was nothing but good to me, while wonderful in most respects, it is what limits my view of him to "all good".
(To the point of being annoying, I'm sure... *smile*)
Hell.
Ya know how some people say that every human being has at least a kernel of "good" in 'em?
Maybe that's what I am... the keeper of that kernel of Rob's and nothing but that kernel.
Underneath "it all" (which can be represented by TONS of other people who knew him), he had a core of pure, unadulterated "good" in him.
That has a LOT to do with the way he was raised, the kind of man he was taught to be.
In the tapestry of Rob's life, all those people who knew both sides of Rob will be most of the weaved together strands that make up the picture of who he was.
And, within that picture, there needs to be a few strands of gold, almost, weaved in to represent that core of good in him.
That's me, I guess.
I may only have experienced one facet of Rob, but I know it well.
Maybe I'm just here to balance out somebody who didn't like him at all... who knows nothing of the good in him, someone who wants people to remember only the bad about him.
I don't know.
But, it is occuring to me that, in knowing only that one aspect of Rob, I missed out on a whole buncha chapters of the man.
Some that again showed his heart in all it's glory, some with stories about him just being the good man he was and not the hero I have him being in my life, and others that tell that "rest of the story".
And, I'd be sad about that, about not having known him longer or better, if what I do know of him wasn't so incredible.
He wanted us to see him in the best light.
I know that.
And, I do see him that way.
Partly my fault because that's all I wanna see and partly his for that being all he wanted us to see.
For the record, I'd not have loved him less if he had told both sides of the stories.
Probably more, for being so fearless and forthcoming.
(Also for the record, Rob's not the only one I heard of Jennifer's evil from. In fact, of all the people I've heard speak of her, not one had much good to say.)
And, as for finding someone or something to blame... *siiiigh*
I kinda already know I'm never gonna find that, which means I have to find some other way to get that rage against the injustice of it all out of me.
Hopefully in some good, constructive, healthy way.
Writing it out here, at Xfire, is one way.
Talking calmly to you is another... and, while I'm on this subject, thank you for the way you "handle" me with this. You allow me to become calmer and make it so I can think about this more clearly.
*coupla minutes later, time spent re-reading this and thinking*
I do know that Rob was a shit to some people.
I know of things he said about a coupla people that they don't know (females) and yeah, he could be mean... (yet funny, at the same time. S'long as it wasn't YOU (me) he said that stuff about, anyway... I laughed when I read it.)
BUT... in my mind, they brought it on themselves by presuming to know what he needed and wanted and that it was them.
Anybody who can read what's written on the page in front of them (as opposed to "between the lines", which I know some people can't do fer shit *waves*) would know that Rob loved only Jennifer, wanted only Jennifer and wasn't getting her.
And, a quick check in the mirror, confirming that these chicks were, in fact, NOT Jennifer coulda saved several people, not the least Rob, a lot of misery.
(See? He was "mean" to a coupla females, but he was forced to be... that's the way my mind works when it comes to Rob. And, this theory is even TRUE, in at least one case. Which makes it a lot easier to "accept" that it was true in ALL cases, even if it wasn't.)
After all he'd been through, in my mind he deserved nothing but the best of everything.
Would that be any different for me if I were shown that he brought most of it on himself through his alcohol addiction?
I honestly don't know.
I'd probably wanna get to what it was that "made" him drink and fix it for him.
Again, leaving him blameless, of course.
(God. I really do need to get my head reworked about this, don't I?)
(Well, that's what I'm tryin' to do here...)
So.
I know he was a "regular guy".
A normal man who occasionally did mean things, bad things, stupid things and who was human.
I also know he was an amazing man, able to withstand that which would have killed a lesser man YEARS before it got Rob.
I know he is a hero in some respects and to a coupla people besides myself.
I know he was a heel in other respects and to lots more people than just "a few".
I'm aware of the mortal human being Rob was in my head.
I know it intellectually.
What my heart knows is ENTIRELY different from that.
In my heart, I know all, and only, the good in him.
How do I reconcile the two?
What do I do with the rage when all the expletives I can muster and writing doesn't help?
How do I get him offa this pedestal that he probably enjoyed to some degree, but wasn't too comfortable being on in the first place?
This pedestal I probably shouldn't have shoved him up onto in the first place...
(I'm guilty of doing the same thing to my Dad for a lotta years, too. Til someone said to me, "Allow him to get off your goddamned pedestal and be a human being, willya, fer Christ's sake?", which I then did, finally.)
How do ya do this when it seems like you've lost such a large chunk of "(pure) good" outta your life that you almost don't believe anything will ever be good again?
This is nuts.
It's like I almost need to know the bad parts... the not-so-hot things, to be able to really deal with this.
To be able to put him in the PROPER perspective.
Yet, I don't want to have to hear those things...
What do I do?
How do I do this?
I'm open to suggestion, here...
(And, since I'm about to change this from a comment into a post, let me reiterate that... suggestions, not trolls seeing an opening and using it to slam me for everything that's "wrong" with me. Corrective critisism is one thing, suggestions about how to deal with this, same thing... being a dick and saying "grow up and get over it, bitch", not s'much and will be treated accordingly. 'Kay? Good.)
(And, what that means for the "hint-impared" is that I'm completely not interested in hearing from anybody who was being an asshole in Rob's comments that last day nor anyone with whom I have a "tempestuous relationship". No jb, no "Tessa", none of those dickweeds. They have NOTHING to offer that I'm even REMOTELY interested in hearing. This, I already know.)
Well, Willy, this started out as a reply to your last comment, then about halfway along, I realized that this is too much to throw all on you, alone, so I made it into a post.
And, in just a coupla days, you've helped me get from being enraged (again) and wanting to kill the whole universe, to realizing a few things and outright askin' for help.
You're a(nother) good man.
Thank you.

Posted by: Stevie at 12:34 AM | Comments (2020) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

September 12, 2006

See? I'm not the only one who thinks pigeons are cool (and useful)...

According to Snapple (George just showed me a Snapple cap), the US Coast Guard has trained pigeons to spot people lost at sea.

So, you assholes who shoot 'em just for shits-n-giggles...
CUT IT OUT.

Then, George tells me he read under another cap that the world speed record for a BICYCLE is 154 MPH.
Now, what I wanna know is, first, what kinda nutjob is gonna ride a bike at that speed and what'd that thing have, jet engines attached to it?

Can you imagine wrecking at that speed?
The record was set in '96 and had that dude fallen, he'd STILL be tumblin'.
Jeezus.

Apparently, Snapple has a site chock fulla trivia like this.

Just what I needed... a distraction from alla this cleaning and shampooing of carpets I'm s'posed to be doing.

Thanks, George!
(And, really, it could work in my favor. Seems to me if people are gonna tell ya shit like this when yer supposed to be doing heavy-duty cleaning, then the LEAST they can do is help ya with it once they get up from their nap and you manage to extricate yerself from the pooter. Right?
*whispers*.. Back me up, y'all...)

Posted by: Stevie at 03:34 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

Well, Dax, you ain't alone anymore...

Ya know how you get a picture in your head based on people's description of things?

And how, sometimes, those pictures are so unique you never seem to forget 'em?

Well, a few years ago, somehow, Dax Montana gave me the mental image of himself, in camo-footie pj's, sitting on the throne.
Now, I don't know if his kickass hat and shades were part of his original description that led to this image for me, but they're part of it now.

And, for all these (few) years, Dax has occupied one of my mental scrapbooks alllll his own.

Til now.

'Cause, thanks to Mad Wm. (again) Dax now has company in this most unique and special of my mental scrapbooks.

In a comment (that I knew would be forthcoming on my last post), he mentioned his... get ready now... his "squirrels wearing boxing gloves" pj bottoms.

HOW CUTE IS THAT???

And, yes, he DID answer my burning question in the last post (it's all about gettin' nekkid, or trying to) but that's secondary to my NEW mental-picture-of-this-that'll-stay-with-me-the-rest-of-my-life.

Thank you, Darlin'!

I expect this will help me through some rather crappy times (like right now- that kitten I was trying to bottle feed and save has died *pout*) and make me laugh out loud at totally inappropriate times, much like Dax has done many times in the past.

You two rock... totally.

Posted by: Stevie at 03:06 PM | Comments (8) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

And, now for something completely different (in the form of a question)...

I was just in the library.
Sittin' there, trying to read (amongst other things), while one of the dopey young cats I have was sitting in what I called "the hammock" created by my sweats across my thighs.
Since he kept distracting me from my book by being a claw-infested clown, I starting thinking.
(And, if yer sayin' "Uh-oh" right about now, good on ya.)

What occured to me was that a man wouldn't be going through that shit.
That's because they shove their pants to the floor when they're "reading", as opposed to females (or me, at least) who only push their pants down to mid-thigh or thereabout (and, when wearing sweats (or a long enough night gown), creating the area in which a cat, or two if they're small enough, can fit).

What I wanna know is why?

Why do men do that?

Is there some dangerous possibility that if they don't all but take their pants completely off and leave 'em across the room they may inadvertantly "soil" them somehow that I'm not aware of?

Does this come from potty-training, where maybe "Mom" shoved his pants down all the way to the floor to get 'em outta the way while they learn to aim whilst peeing and then it just carried over?

And... public restrooms... don't they realize that by letting their pants puddle on the floor at their feet they may be in "puddles" of something else? Anything else? Even just dirt offa the previous guys shoes, let alone any bio-hazardous material?

I mean, c'mon... it's a well known fact that the reason you hafta wipe off the outside front of the toilet bowl and wash the rugs around it and mop the floor is because guys can't seem to help but dribble pee everywhere.
(And, yes, I do realize that most men will deny they do that, but when was the last time THEY cleaned that area? And, you know even if they did clean the bathroom, they'd still feign ignorance of it all. "Musta been the dog...")

So, what's the deal widdis?

Why do men do that?

And, maybe more importantly, why do I think of this shit?!!?

Posted by: Stevie at 02:10 PM | Comments (9) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

Well, good...

After I get a post finished, especially one the subject of which is pissin' me off, very often, I feel better.
Most especially if I, or someone else, makes me laugh at something I said or the way I said it.

Perfect example of that happened earlier, in fact.
I was pissed at that asshole, Jose, then Mad Wm.'s comment made me laugh.
Broke the tension.

Other times, the release is delayed for whatever reason.
Usually because I feel something way too strongly to "feel better" about it without a little time.
Time to vent, time to mull over what's left after I rage... if anything.

It seems like since I read "pulmonary embolism", my head has decided (on it's own, mind you) that since it seems like I don't need to be pissed off about how he left, I am instead focusing on another "issue"... (no secret what that is, is there?)

I vented two posts ago (I think) about what's pissing me off now.

That helped.
Gave me room to think.

Then, Jose gave me another reason to rage and expend some more of it, so, in a fucked up way, good on him. (Unless I get my hands on him, that is... dork.)

Then too, it being September 11th and seeing again in technicolor the horror of that day...
That both helped me gain a modicum of perspective and, at the same time, added to the ease with which I launched into that rage this time.

Still, as I moved through this day, getting past Jose, getting a shower, washing my hair, getting my car's registration renewed, having to drive to Hanover and pay attention to traffic to get that done, talking to other people, seeing huge flags at half-mast, hitting the grocery store on the way home, having dinner... I hear me thinking this other shit over, underneath all the surface crap.

I wondered, as I drove down the road, if I'm misdirecting the anger portion of the grief.
I assume the anger is supposed to be directed at he who has gone.
He who has left us (me) behind.
We (me) who have been "abandoned", as it were.

I mean, that kinda makes sense.

Or, I supposed you could get pissed at God, an excerise in futility if I've ever experienced one.
Ya think God gives a rounded-off rat turd if I, or you, or anybody else gets pissed at Him?
I don't.
I think He just raises one eyebrow atcha, sighs, rolls His eyes and goes on to other things.

(I also think He shoots me a half-hidden bird, but that's beside the point...)

Anyway, I started wondering if the anger is misdirected again.

It may well be.

Sad part is, if I'm supposed to get angry at Rob, I'm fucked.

I'm not mad at him.
I'm mad FOR him, but not at him.

And, I know me.
I'm never gonna be mad at Rob.

How could I be? For what?

For having survived so much?
For having produced such a gift as Gut Rumbles?
For being a beacon to me when my life was at it's darkest?
For being a shit-stirrin' little booger?
For being hardheaded?
For dying loving a "woman" without a vestige of humanity in her soul?
(That'd be Jennifer, people...)

No.

I can't be pissed at him for any of that.
Not even for dying like he did.

All of that was just Rob being who he was.

And, I love who he... was (is).

So, no.
Ain't gonna do it.
Don't know how to do it.
Don't wanna learn, either.

I don't want to be like the jackals and concentrate on his bad points and find things to be pissed off at him for and badmouth him about (much like yer basic TROLL does) and overlook, purposely or not, all the fine and wonderful things about the man.
And they were legion.

To me, anyway.

We never had a cross word between us.
We never fucked it up by involving sex.

I accepted him exactly how he was and he accepted me.
100%.
From the start.
Never ONCE tried to change me.
Yet, he ended up having a more profound impact on me and my life than just about anybody else I've ever known.

Do you know how many people have ever done that for me?
Well, I could count 'em on one hand.
With, possibly, a finger left over.
(Wanna guess which one? *grin*)

Anyhoo, I'm "underneath" thinking about this shit and I did kinda figure out that I'm gonna hafta find a way to let this go.
IF I can and IF it's not "letting Rob down" to do so.
If it's not "caving" and seeming to condone the overkill tactics of trolls and that which may even have POSSIBILY added to Rob's pain.

That's where I got stuck.

I felt last time I backed off like I was letting him down worse than he ever did himself.
Turned out not to be true... so far.
In fact, far from regretting it, I'm glad I backed off when I did last time.
SO FAR.

(And, yes, truth be told, I am waiting for the day I will regret it (temporarily) and I believe it's just a matter of time til I do. Hope I'm wrong again.)

Again... ANYWAY...
need to let this go, canNOT do things I perceive as "letting Rob down".
STUCK.
Between hell and my head.

Then, as if he were an emmissary of Rob's, sent by Rob or God, along comes Willy.
"Gotta let it go", he said.

One of Rob's best friends...

Well, goddamn.
If he doesn't think I'd be letting Rob down, and I know he doesn't, then maybe my head is right.
(Whatta concept.)

I need to let this go.

May I be perfectly honest here?
(Especially since I don't know how to be any other way unto my own detriment?)

It'd be a LOT easier to let it go if I could know that they who went above and beyond the call of "every day, normal raggin' on Rob", the ones who dared him, called him a liar (and what is "drama queen" except a two-word, ten-lettered way of saying "liar"?), the ones who cheered on his self-destructiveness if there was to be any... if I could know that those select people were being haunted every day, unable to sleep, eat or stand themselves, if I could know that their every waking moment was utter HELL, that what they said to him was writ large upon every surface they laid their eyes on, maybe then I could quit worrying about it.

Vindictive bitch, aren't I?

I wish I could forget the last thing that Rob ever wrote.
I wish I could forget how completely pissed off he was and at whom.
I wish I could forget the hate, especially the dishonest hate masquerading as love and friendship, that was displayed in his comments.

I haven't looked at them or that update in WEEKS.
Months, even.
And, of those two triggers, the last one I did anything with was the update, which someone had asked to see so I sent it to 'em, but I didn't re-read it.

Don't need to.

The reason I won't ever be able to forget the last thing Rob wrote is because it was smokin' with rage and pain.

And, Gut Rumbles started out his refuge, his outlet, his note in a bottle cast into the sea.

It saved him.

Then, it became an outlet for people to hurt him.

Then, it was piled on when it was needed the least.

I wasn't the only one trying to make the idiots stop that day.
Even Rob told 'em to piss off.

But, they wouldn't stop.

Some of those people were like predators high on the scent of fresh blood.
They weren't gonna quit til they'd gotten him.
That was obvious.
And, those are the people I want so badly to see in the position, the circumstances, the agony that Rob was in.
That they enjoyed seeing him in and adding to.

Heard a quote tonight from Osama Bin Laden.

He said that his people love death and the US loves life and that's the difference between us, why we can never reconcile or come to any "agreements".

Terrorists love death.

Those "people" in his comments were clamoring for Rob's.

I don't see a difference between the two groups.
Sorry.
(About as sorry as Bluto after he smashed that folkie's guitar...)

BUT.... ah, the inevitable "but"...

My hand to God, I hear Paul's voice in my head, getting louder on every repitition....
"This is NOT YOUR PROBLEM to fix. Yo have other things that are your's to own, to deal with, to HANDLE. This is not one of them. Let. it. go. You'll never be able change or even affect all those people. (Ed. note: Paul's too classy NOT to call 'em "people", hence my not hearing them called "assholes" in his voice...) The only one you can change is YOU. So, ya wanna keep swingin' haymakers at the world at large or do ya wanna give it up and do what ya can to and for yourself?"

So, yeah, Willy... I know you're right.
Thanks for confirming that I was, too.
And, thank you for getting me "unstuck" from between hell and my head this time.

I know I hafta let this go.
I just don't know how to.

I'm still trying to figure out how to get through each day, when each day brings the pain back, all shiny and brand new when I re-realize he's gone.

It just can't be for real.
And, if it is, then something or somebody needs to PAY for this theft.
(And, I'm picturing me levelling a BARN, board by board, with my Pusser Club. Not that a barn had a nickle in this, but retribution on that scale is what my heart is screaming for...)
If I could just punch the Universe in the throat for this...

I feel like the world's largest spring, completely compressed, with alla that energy that's gonna hafta be expended some day...

I just wish/hope that when I do release this shit it would just be a soundbarrier-breaking "boing-ing" noise and a buncha bouncing up and down, but somehow I doubt it's gonna be that simple.

This kinda shit is hard enough when there's somebody to blame and punish and ya can't make 'em pay... (Calvin, Jimmy (the assmunch I nearly shot) and a coupla others...)
It's even worse when there's no one specific to blame.
And, hurt back. Make pay. Take it out on.
Ya know?

I've swallowed and eaten a LOT of bullshit in my life.
I had a LOT to "let go" and accept.

But, that a guy like Rob can die and no one has to pay is almost more than I can choke down.

Hope I can.

And now, to try to work off some of this unspent energy, to try to do something constructive with it, I am going to go clean this house, vacuum like a madbitch, then clean the carpets with a Rug Doctor, which I rented at the "sale price" of 11 bucks earlier from the Giant (grocery store) when I was on my way home from Hanover and I'd first realized I am gonna hafta let this go.

Two o'clock in the morning now.
I'll be shampooing rugs by 5, at the latest.

And, as weird as this is, it's better than burning down the WORLD in retribution for Rob.

Okay.
I'll make a concerted effort to remember that.
Hope y'all do, too because a.) I may need to be reminded of this and b.) y'all already think I'm Felix Unger with boobs.

Peace

Posted by: Stevie at 02:08 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

September 11, 2006

Posted by: Stevie at 12:07 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

Dear piece of shit who "works" here,

First off, fuck you.
Second, ya touch my front door again, let alone stand there beating on it and I will christen my Pusser club across your face and head numerous times.
Third, fuck you again, asshole.

See, you peter-puffin' jerkoff, here's how it is and how it's gonna be.

How it is, is you're a flaming asshole.
You think you're so fuckin' smart, so cool, so Buster Badass when you're out there in the parlor disrespecting Eric, calling HIM lazy, telling him "No" you ain't gonna do that whatever it is (try: YOUR FUCKING JOB, YOU MAGGOT) and there's your whole history of fuckin' ME around with your "tomorrow" shit and your having kept MY money for how fuckin' long? before you finally decided to finish whatcha started.

You think I've forgotten that shit, you heroin-dealin' DOUCHEBAG?
(And, no, that was NOT what he had my money for, get fuckin' real, dipshit.)
You do that like you handle WEED (yes, this was what he had my cash for) and somebody is gonna cut your throat (which would save me the trouble of trying to get you fired or deported, you little fucknugget).

Oh and you can thank your "buddy" (the other guy of the same ethnicity who also works here) for the fact that I now know of your "enterprises".
He also wants to beat you bloody and he's going around telling anybody who'll listen allll about what you do, what you deal and how he's gonna kill ya.

I hope he does.
That, or the fuckin' stupid INS does it's goddamned job and sends you back to the shithole from whence you slithered, you no-green-card-havin', illegal pile of wormshit.

Ya know, asshole, there IS a State copshop not a mile from here.
Wanna meet some troopers?
I'll arrange that for ya, no problem.

Just so much as LOOK at me again.
Breathe.
Make the wrong move.
Go on, I dare ya.

I have a LOT of unspent rage in me.
Probably about 63 years worth.
Odd, when I'm only 43, huh?
Well, lem'me s'plain it to you Mr. Retardo...

In my entire LIFE, I have yet to ever give somebody back exactly what they deserve for what they've done.
To me, my life, someone I love or all of the above.
This dates back to when I was nine and shoulda found a way to kill an asshole named Calvin that my mom nearly killed my Dad over.
Includes the time I shoulda shot that jerkoff ex-boyfriend of mine when he and MY MOTHER were leaving together to go live in Florida.
(Only reason I didn't- I had the pistol aimed at his chest, thumb on the hammer- was because I didn't know where it was I'd chased him to (a different county) and I wasn't sure how to get the hell outta there.)
It also includes about twenty years worth of rage that has been injected into my life since the end of June.

So, 63 years worth of unspent rage.

You SURE you wanna fuck with me, my house or anybody who lives in it?
Ya POSITIVE?

You need to think on this some more.
A LOT more.

Because, you push me too far (and you're on the edge of the precipice already) and I will do whatever I have to to END you here.
Permanantly.
AND... you won't have gotten SHIT on what Jr. "owes" you for those shit speakers you sold him.

I want you to take alllll this time you're gonna have WAITING FOR YOUR MONEY and reflect back on how fuckin' funny you thought you were when you kept my $50 for all those weeks, dickin' me around every fuckin' day, you shit.

Then, think about all the times you've given Eric, who is your BOSS, shit.
Said no, called him lazy and alla that shit.

Think about it.
Revel in it.
DROWN in it.

Because, see, I am not, I am NO WHERE NEAR as nice as the big Boss.

I'm not gonna take your shit.
And, unlike the boss, I don't give a flying fuck one way or the other about you.
Also, I am not impressed by ANYTHING you've done.
Plus... I don't like you.
At all.
So...
g'head.
Give me an excuse.
Unsnap the leash I have on right now which is all that kept me from takin' your empty head off earlier this morning when you couldn't take a hint and kept pounding on the door and yelling.
I'll give you something to REALLY yell about.
(And, that will be- besides immense pain- getting your ass throughly thrashed by a GIRL.)

You do one single thing except sit there with your big mouth SHUT, hands folded in lap and WAIT for your money like a good little substandard human and I will NOT think once, let alone twice, about doing what I hafta do to make you see "reason".

Yes, I'll try "reason" with you, then I'll make you an offer you won't be able to refuse... because you won't have any choice.

Bring it on, you sawed-off midget motherfucker.

Bring it on and be ready to have whatever may be left boxed up and sent back to Mexico.
Just let your "mom" (or whomever it was that laid the reptile egg you hatched from) know ahead of time, so she won't see the tiny box and think it's a ring or something.

Fuck you and fuck off, Jose.
You are expendable.

And, you reeeeeally don't wanna make me PROVE that... do you?

Posted by: Stevie at 12:02 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

September 10, 2006

Well damn, Rob...

Heard from Sam earlier.
Asked her if it was okay to "mention" what she told me here and she said "g'head"...

Since she initially wrote, I've been sitting here, pretty much stunned (and HUGELY relieved) by what she said.

According to the preliminary autopsy report, it seems that Rob died of a pulmonary embolism.

So, basically, I lost one of the most important people I've ever known to thee most macabre, grisly, horrific coincidence I've ever HEARD OF.

He said what he said in his update, then it happened alright.

Just not quite the way he predicted.

I told Sam in my response that I can remember saying to someone, Cat I think, that if it did turn out to be "natural causes", I wondered what the hell Rob would say when he found out...

"I'm WHAT? Wait one got-damned minute here... I just said on my blog that I wanted to... that I wanted out and I'M OUT? Due to a WHAT?? Yer kiddin' me... Jeebus."

I feel like a Rock 'em, Sock 'em robot who just got it's head punched off.

I mean, I still can't even begin to believe he's really gone.
Now, to have to believe this...

I do, though.
Unless the toxicology reports say different, I can believe "pulmonary embolism".

Pulmonary embolisms can come from leg veins, deep leg veins, and he'd been complaining of leg pain, especially when he was trying to sleep, remember?
And, pulmonary embolisms can be a "complication", as it were, of cancer.
Everything I've read about PE's dovetails with shit Rob was dealing with.

But, for him to have reached the point he did, said what he did, then for it to happen to him like this...
That's just harsh.

Hell, him dying at ALL is BEYOND "harsh"....

This borders on frickin' ridiculous, ya know?

And, let me run this shit by ya's...

First, we have Stevie Ray Vaughan.
Cross addicted to alcohol and coke.
He beats his addictions, finds new clarity in his music and direction in his life, starts to get his life together and then, he gets flown into a goddamned ski mountain by a numbfuck, stupid pilot and dies from a severed aorta.

Next up, we have Rob.
Prostate cancer.
Beats it.
Dead dick, gets a bionic one.
Has a problem with alcohol.
Goes through rehab.
Is beating it.
Has beaten all manner of other life-threatening shit, including being married to Satan in drag.
He's getting his shit in one sock and... gone.

Both of these guys... the INSTANT they start getting their lives together (again), they're both stolen from us by some other stupid shit nobody was even worrying about, shit beyond any control.

Now, I ask you... is that remotely fair?
NO.
Is it a "pattern", an inevitability, a thing that simply MUST happen to people like them, people who've beaten the odds time and again only to DIE once they REALLY start gettin' it right?
Seems to be...

Which is my BIGGEST reason for not really sweating getting my shit all "correct".

I know that the very second I finally "get it", a fuckin' tour bus is gonna run my ass over if it has to come into this house to do it.

Or a goddamned piano is gonna fall on me out of a clear, blue sky.

Ya know what I'm sayin'?

Well, Rob was pretty unbelievable, incredible and unique.
So, I suppose this "fits" his legacy.
Legendary tales aren't meant to be ended anti-climactically, boringly.
Heros don't die sitting in rocking chairs very often.
They always have to be taken in a "blaze of glory", unusual kinda way.

And, for Rob's body to have quit on him exactly when it did, after he said what he did... well... that's Rob, I guess.

At least it wasn't HIM who quit.
He didn't give up.
He wasn't "driven" to it.

It just goddamn happened.

On one hand, it doesn't matter, it doesn't make him any less gone, but...
On the other hand, it does somehow make something that'll NEVER be "okay" a little better.

And, yeah... I am glad I backed off when I did.

I'd rather be glad I was wrong about how he died than be gut-shot at how wrong I mighta been if I'd have let this rule me, let it all come roaring outta me, let it run full-tilt-boogie til I'd ruined myself and... anyone else.

And, no (on the other hand), I'm not backing offa being totally pissed, disgusted and appalled at what was said to Rob in his comments that last day.

A lot of that shit shoulda NEVER, EVER been said to him, I don't give a fuck what "reasons" people thought they had at the time, either.

Rob was NOT the kinda man that shit shoulda been said to.
He wasn't ever gonna "learn" from that crap.

What he would have done was felt he had to prove "them" wrong by doing exactly the opposite of what they hoped to get him to do, just because he was who and how he was.

Trying to coerce, cajole, tell, demand, expect or get Rob to do things by taunting him, betraying his confidence, being asinine, "calling him out" and alla that shit... it never woulda worked.
And, anybody who can comprehend what they read coulda, shoulda known THAT.

So... what was said to Rob that last day- and I have no idea if he even SAW all of it or not- that, I do NOT forgive.
Never will.
It was unnecessary and cruel.
It was pure, unmitigated BULLSHIT.
And, I guaran-damn-tee ya it didn't do him one single bit of good if he did see it.
And, he did see some of it, because he answered it.
And... he was NOT happy about it.

He wasn't happy and I'm still not.

And, now I'm left to wonder...

Would it have made any difference to those prick bastards in his comments if they'd have known it really WAS his last day?
'Cause, if it would have, then those people shoulda kept their stupid fuckin' mouths SHUT in the first place.

If ya woulda kept your mouth shut if you'd have known, then ya shoulda kept your mouth shut 'cause ya DIDN'T know, ya know?
That horseshit must not have needed to be said at all, IF you'd have not said it had you known.

If you love someone, or even think you do, you DON'T do that to 'em.
You don't go to them and say, "Aw... are you a mass of open wounds? Here, lem'me dump some salt, some vinegar and rubbing alcohol all over you then top it off with some hot sauce with my words. Ya pussy."

That's not love.
That's not respect.
That's not even being a friend.

That's not being ANYTHING that Rob needed or deserved.

That's just being a prick.

And, that was most decidely NOT what the man needed, then or ever.

And, no, I'm not singling any one person out here.
There was a whole HERD of assholes in his comments that day.

I felt like a fireman pissin' on a forest fire, trying to get them to stop.
Not that it woulda done any good, I know now, but still...

Rob's last hours were filled with more pain and more anger and more strife than he needed.
Unnecessarily, too.

How I wish I could kid myself that he spent that day writing Gut Rumbles, watching Gunsmoke and eating his boiled peanuts IN PEACE, then slipped away like he did, rather than hafta know for the rest of my life that he was not only in physical pain, but also pissed, hurt, fucked with and tormented to the end of his life like he was.

All part of the legend?

Yeah.

I suppose it is.
Then again, every hero needs his detractors, his anti-fans who want to hurt a man like Rob and bring him as low as they are.

Well, Rob had THAT.
In SPADES.

It's just a damned shame his last day couldn't have been one of peace, contentment and not such a shitty day for a change.

He shoulda went to Cat's and never even looked at Gut Rumbles.
Spent the day building that chicken coop for Cat, who might then still have his poor chickens, and then Rob wouldn't have had to spend his last day pissed off and hurt by people who shoulda known better.

Anyway... before I go gettin' all bent outta shape again, I'm outta here.
Gotta go get the Erics up. (There are two of them now...)

A pulmonary embolism.
After that update.

Just damn.

Posted by: Stevie at 03:11 AM | Comments (721) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

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