February 19, 2007
Y'okay then...
Since the last post, two more things have happened that're making me clench my jaw... HARD.
The first one was some jerkoff in front of the house.Apparently, if you don't start a dump truck for a week and it's freezin' fuckin' cold outside for that week, when you DO start said truck, it smokes worse than a fuckin' chimney fire.
So, OF COURSE, you should park the goddamned thing RIGHT IN FRONT OF SOMEBODY'S FRONT DOOR and let it smoke enough that it can't even been seen 15 feet away. ASSHOLE.
Hope ya fuckin' choke to death on the fumes, whoever ya are.
DIAF, fuckwit. The second thing, I did to myself and I'm going to handle it thusly... Dear God/Paul, Yes, I do know that I friggin' ASKED FOR THIS by shootin' off my mouth in Rob's comments the other day about being able to deal with Munu going straight to hell again, IF I know that Gut Rumbles in being moved before me. Well.
GUESS WHAT? I sincerely hope to HELL Gut Rumbles IS being moved as I type and that I can then be moved POST HASTE because, apparently, Munu is too lame to stop spam these days.
Ever since I said that, I have been getting FLOODED with spam that I hafta remove one piece at a time because the lame-assed version of MT that I'm currently STUCK WITH doesn't have the capacity to let you pull up all your comments and just click two dozen spam comments and remove them all at once. PleasepleasePLEASE, can we get Gut Rumbles moved, then me, BEFORE I have a fuckin' stroke from trying not to bitch about this? Thank you Lord/Paul. I am packed and BEYOND ready to go. Okay? Amen.
Posted by: Stevie at 09:13 AM | Comments (7) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
I've been awake about an hour and already, I've had enough of this day...
Christ sakes, man.
Maybe, if I'm lucky, all this shit hittin' me in the face first thing is just "getting it over with".I'd hate like hell to think it's just the beginning... First, I get woken up by that mo-fackin', got-damned alarm clock.
Bad enough.
THEN, he lays back down.
WHY?
So the damned thing can go off again?
I hate that.
TO THE CORE OF MY SOUL, I hate that. People.
If you have to get up to an alarm clock and the other person in the bed doesn't, it is the HEIGHT of ignorance, stupidity, and beggin' to have yer balls bitten off to engage in endless rounds of "snooze button relay".
In fact, if yer so damned deaf that your stupid alarm wakes up the other person, you're pretty much risking an ass beating to even lay back down the first time.
I mean, shit... since the other person is awake anyway, why don'tcha just cut the shit, tap 'em on the shoulder and say outright, "Hey. Just wanted to make sure you understand... I know I just woke you up for no reason whatsoever and I know you know that I'm aware of that. AND, I so do not care, that I am now gonna lay here til the fuckin' thing goes off again and again and again. THEN, I'm gonna act all "whipped dog" when it pisses you off. 'Kay?" Sure.
Fine.
Prepare to have a shitty day, then. Dork. Then, I stagger on down here only to find empty soda cases scattered hither and yon because ME CLEANING THIS HOUSE MATTERS TO NO ONE BUT ME APPARENTLY. Sonsabitches. I mean, yeah, I DO understand how frickin' hard it is to squash a flimsy piece of cardboard and stuff it into one the 8 million trash cans around here.
Not.
I do that very thing 82 times a WEEK.
And, I'm a GIRL.
So, why can't bull-riding, cow-rasslin' MEN do that? Must be the same physical/mental handicap that prevents them from lowering that 2 ton toilet seat WHICH they have no problem lifting.
What, does the goddamned thing gain weight while it's in the upright position? And, I'm guessing there must be a BUICK attached to the chain mechanism inside the tank because half the damned time it doesn't get flushed, either. Handle too hard to push or something? If y'all can flush it when ya shit, you can damned well flush it when you piss. Or, am I fuckin' nutser than I know? And, don't hand me that "If it's yellow, let it mellow" crap either. If I wanted yellow bowl water, I'd add food coloring or something. We have animals around here who, in spite of having 69 sources of drinking water, simply INSIST on a shot of toilet water every now and again.
That is WHY I don't have colored water in there. Blue would be pretty, yeah, but it'd also poison the animals and I ain't havin' THAT.
I'd also prefer they not drink piss-water.
Not to mention, it's just LAME not to flush a friggin' toilet after you use it. This ain't WAL-MART!!!! What's next? Writing on the walls with SHIT? Anyway... I wake up pissed because of the alarm clock and the laying back down crap.
Then, the stupid soda cases everywhere.
Then, Buford annoyed me because I called him to come downstairs, outta the bathroom, where he was barking at "his" cat.
(He has this one cat who just loves playing with him. He barks and flings his big, goofy head around and the cat plays percussion on his skull with sheathed-claws paws. They both seem to really enjoy this, but it can get noisy, hence the "Git down here and hush!" this morning.)
I call him, he looks at me and I see him decide to ignore me and return to the bark-fest.
SO, I snagged his ass up and pretty much drug his dumb ass down here. Like he gave a crap.
I felt like shit for hollering at him, he didn't even seem to notice.
*sigh* So, I take my cup of last night's nuked coffee on into the living room (while I'm waiting for the current pot to get done) and sit down here. Mr. Computer decided that today would be a good day to fuck with me. NOT. I flipped out, kicked the shit out of it and then wound up having to yank the stupid cover off the tower, remove approximately nine pounds of hair and dust, push on this, wiggle that, reconnect everything and finally, it moves with the speed of a glacier again as opposed to the speed of government, which doesn't move AT ALL, and I am able to take care of Gut Rumbles and then come here to piss and moan, which, if you know anything about wimmen, you know is the whole reason we have two sets of lips to begin with.
Right? I HATE dialup.
Even more than "snooze button relay". I'm also not particularly fond of duck shit on my clean floor OR snooze button relay dipshits taking the friggin' coffee before the pot has finished making, but...
if I let everything get to me this morning, I WILL wind up being an item on the noon news. "Several people beaten to death with bare hands in Gettysburg. Film at noon." Alla this on top of the Boss saw Buford yesterday for the first time.
Didn't seem pissed, according to what I heard, didn't say to get rid of him, which is good because, as of about four days ago, the "original owner" already wasn't getting him back, but still... I'm kinda holding my breath, waiting to see if he says anything to anybody about him today.
If not, all is well.
If he does, the dog still ain't goin' anywhere, but things could get ugly. I hate this kinda shit, too.
Just about as much as being stuck with damned dial-up.
And, the dumbassed duck geysering shit outta the cage onto the floor.
And, people waking me for no reason, then stealing the coffee before it's done, after having left TRASH all over the house in the form of empty soda cases. Not to mention, used dishes all over this computer desk... but, I ain't mentioning that. So, that was the first hour or so of my day.
Lovely, eh? But, I feel better now.
Less like kickin' ass.
Pretty much.
HOWEVER... if I were the world at large today, I'd leave me alone, if I weren't going to be helpful in some manner or another.
Know what I'm sayin'? I need to go to Giant, too.
We're out of their soda (hence the empty cases).
Also need chips and some "pot roast" things for the pork loin thing I'm gonna make today (which, yes, Dad, I realize was somebody's pig at some point, but, like I said, I didn't know the pig, so I'm okay with this, as opposed to EARL raising rabbits solely to MURDER them).
(Or hunting.)
(Or any other form of cruelty to animals.)
(And, yes, I do know I'm a mental case about this whole issue.)
(And, yes, I am currently laughing so hard I can barely type.) My whole point about going to the store is the idea that just came to me, since I've gotten alla this crap outta my head... When I go to the store for our shit, I'm also gonna buy the Boss a few bags of Dum-dums.
Yeah, lollypops.
He's 70 years old and completely loses his shit over these silly things.
I'll get him them, present them to him, and myself at the same time, giving him the opportuinity to discuss Buford with me, personally, instead of me having to rely on secondhand information from people to retarded to ask follow up questions of any kind.
Like... the guys. Then, if there IS a problem with Buf being here, we'll get it solved now instead of me having to worry about it. Which, I doubt there will be, but I wanna KNOW. And, these guys?
They NEVER ask any kinda follow up questions no matter how bizarre the story they heard is. For instance... Sr. told me a few weeks ago that his Boss told him that my old Boss from the horse farm is dying.
"Of what?" "Cancer." "WHAT? What kind? How bad is he? Is he getting treated? Is he already screwed? Is he okay for now?" The answer to which was "I dunno" to each question. So, why tell me this shit if ya don't KNOW ANYTHING, ya dipshit? Yesterday, Sr. does it again.
Tells me that the Boss was talking to him about one of his buddies around here who people kinda shy away from because they don't "get" him. They don't "get" him because he eats WORMS. In front of people. Yes.
Worms.
Bait.
Not sushi. "WHY does he do THAT?" "I dunno." *bang*
(That was my head on the desk.) How do you NOT ask follow up questions on a story like THAT, fer fucks sake? So, I'm supposed to be able to relax and not worry about Buford with dingleberries like THIS "handling" the conversations?
No fuckin' way.
Not this kid. Sr. also seems to enjoy telling me shit that I just do NOT need to know. Like, the guy down the road, Tony, the big basstid I yelled at for spotlighting the horse pasture a coupla months ago, the dude who is SO HUGE he coulda pounded me into the driveway of the State Police barracks (I did tell this story when it happened, didn't I?), he had goats.
I saw them a few times as I rode past his house.
I love goats.
So, Tony has a few.
He doesn't anymore.
That's because some ASSHOLE let his dogs get loose and they came to Tony's and killed all his goats.
So, Tony shot the dogs and the owner paid him for the goats and it's all over with.
It also happened a coupla months ago. Sr. told me this a week ago. WHY, I ask you WHY did he hafta do that? This is NOT something I needed to know.
Ya know? 'Tard tells me full stories of crap I don't need to know and then can't ask follow up questions about stuff like my old Boss dying.
(I don't think he's dead yet. I need to git my ass over there, by the way.) Meanwhile.... We went to a church dinner with the Boss the other night.
He's a Mennonite and the church he goes to has lots of dinners and activities that they do and the Boss gives us tickets to this stuff quite often. The first time we went there, I was talking to the Pastor and he asked how I liked it there.
I said, "Well, the fact the this place didn't burst into flame when I walked in is encouraging."
Thank God he laughed along with me, though I felt rather alone in the "turing bright red" category. You'd think I'd be more careful the next time, right? Well, you'd be wrong. We're sitting there the other night, me, Sr., Jr., George and another family we just met.
Father, mother and kid. We're talking about random crap and Sr. brings up the fact that Mr. Hess' farm is called So-Jo, pronounced "soho". Now, I know Mr. Hess' first name is John, but... it wasn't being said "So-Joe", so I asked ,"Well, who's the "Ho"?" In a church, I asked this.
In front of people I'd just met.
Without even knowing ahead of time that I was gonna ask it.
It just came out. So, basically, what I said was, "So, who's the ho?... Oh, Gawd..." as I slid under the table and everybody else laughed. I redeemed myself later, though. Mr. Hess was working the kitchen that night and he'd worn two shirts.
The first time we all looked at him, he had on a blue shirt.
The next time, he'd taken off that one and was in his T-shirt.
The lady sitting with us asked about that and I said, "Yeah. That's him. I think he just took off a shirt."
Then, Sr. pipes in with, "Yeah, it's probably hot in there, so he just stripped off his outside shirt."
I then leaned over to him and said, sotto voce, but loud enough to be heard on purpose, "Okay now. There's a joke in there somewhere about the "ho" thing and him stripping, but I'mina just let it go."
To which Sr. replied, "Thank GOD.", while, again, everybody laughed. So, see?
I fixed it. You can dress me up, make me wear my teeth, but you can't take me anywhere. Or, at least not anywhere a governor between the brain and mouth is required. BUT... at least my conversations don't require follow up questions. CPR for those who hear it, I suppose, but no questions.
*huge, cheesy grin* Last thing...
I called my dad at work yesterday to find out how to cook pork loin.
Or, more specifically... "Boneless Pork Loin Fillet", which seems kinda redundant to me, "fillet" meaning "boneless" and all but, anyway...
I wound up talking to him for 121 minutes and some odd seconds, about all kindsa shit (such as my psychosis about animals, among other things).
(Hence the "somebody's pig" thing earlier...) It was great.
I miss you, Dad, like a sonofagotdamnedbitch (which, I am the daughter of one of those [mom], but you know what I mean) and I love you so much, I wish I got to see you more often than once a frickin' year. And now, I am going to "library" for a few, then off to Giant to get lollypops with which to bribe the Boss into not noticing Buford.
Much.
And, minding him being here even less.
I hope. Peace
Posted by: Stevie at 05:46 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
February 17, 2007
Guess what?
With the exception of one load of wash, I am finally done cleaning the house "this time".
'Bout damned time. What's it been, three weeks I've been trying to get to this point? Woe be unto the first one to fuck it up.Posted by: Stevie at 02:11 PM | Comments (9) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
I am such a fuckin' 'tard...
On the 14th, as I was cruisin' Rob's archives for a V-day post, it occured to me that his birthday was coming up.
So, when I saw the post I wanted to use for that, I made note of it's location and the pertinent date.
Right in front of my face.
In black.
Where I'd see it. Fat lot of good that did.... Damn it. I would, at this time, like to offer my sincere apologies to Rob, his family, anybody I may have let down or pissed off with my 20 hour oversight.
It will NOT happen again.
(God, I feel like shit...)
Posted by: Stevie at 04:29 AM | Comments (10) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
February 15, 2007
Okay then... s'cool.
What? Oh... nuthin'.I'm alright
Nobody worry 'bout me
Why you got to gimme a fight?
Can't you just let it be? I'm alright
Don't nobody worry 'bout me
You got to gimme a fight
Why don't you just let me be Do what you like,
Doing it nat'rally
But if it's too easy
They're gonna disagree It's your life
And isn't it a mystery
If it's nobody's bus'ness
It's everybody's game Gotta catch you later
No, no, cannonball it right away Some cinderella kid Get it up and get you a job
(dip dip dip dip dip dip dip dip) I'm alright
Nobody worry 'bout me
Why you got to gimme a fight?
Can't you just let it be? I'm alright
Don't nobody worry 'bout me
You got to gimme a fight
Why don't you just let me be Who do you want?
Who you be today?
And who is it really
Makin' up your mind? You wanna listen to the man?
Pay attention to the magistrate
And while i got you in the mood
Listen to your Own heart beatin'
Own heart beatin'
Own heart beatin'
Own heart beatin' Don't it get you movin' Mmmmm-man It make me feel good (wow, cinderella kid) Then give it up and give it the job (dip dip dip dip dip dip dip dip)
(boom, boom, boom, boom) I'm alright
Nobody worry 'bout me
Why you got to gimme a fight?
Can't you just let it be? I'm alright
Don't nobody worry 'bout me
You got to gimme a fight
Why don't you just let me be I'm alright
Nobody worry 'bout me
Why you got to gimme a fight?
Can't you just let it be? I'm alright
I'm alright
Just let me be
Posted by: Stevie at 01:16 PM | Comments (8) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
"He was, after all, rather irreverent, sentimental, arrogant, kind, outspoken, gifted, driven, troubled, and brilliant."
He just did it again.
Rob has enabled me to "meet" yet another person I can't believe I got to "talk" to. A guy named John who went to school with Lewis Grizzard... He commented under "We all do, Darlin'..." and I answered him as best I could. I just got to talk to a guy who was friends with Lewis By-God Grizzard. Holy shee-IT.Again. Thank you, Rob.
What a unique and perfectly suited gift this one was.
Posted by: Stevie at 12:11 PM | Comments (9) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
A first...
Posted by: Stevie at 10:59 AM | Comments (8) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Holy shit.
The heater's back on.
What'd that take?29 seconds?
Posted by: Stevie at 08:00 AM | Comments (6) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Awriiight...
Da "Heater Guys" are here already.
So, unless they're gonna hafta replace the whole damned heater or something (a thing not out of the realm of possibility in my life, mind you) we oughta be thawing out soon. Also, if ya ever wanna occupy a puppy for a while, make yerself some instant oatmeal.Don't use quiiite enough milk, leaving it kinda thick and sticky.
Use a Tupperware bowl that's about 5 or 6 inches deep and about as big around as a CD. After you're full, give the bowl to said puppy. He will then spend the next several hours with his head in it, scooting it around the house, while he tries like hell to get all the leftover oatmeal off the sides of the bowl and down his neck. It's cute and gives him something to do besides bark/yodel at the cats continually. And, here's another puppy tip that just came to mind... Never, but NEVER, give a puppy bologna.
I do not know what kinda infernal process it goes through in their guts, but I can tell you with all confidence that you will NEVER smell anything quite as pungent, ripe, and gag-a-maggoting as a puppy bologna fart. Ever.
Posted by: Stevie at 07:59 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
"Death" comes in threes, right?
I sure hope so, 'cause if so, this should be the end of the deaths of heat-producing things around here....
First, the dryer.Then, the hot water heater.
And now... the heater heater. *disgusted sigh* Got up a little while ago, came down here and... huh. Cold.
Go check the thermostat... ambient temp around 50 degrees, thermostat set at around 70 degrees. Dis not good. *later on...* Sr. gets up and comes down.
I rat out heater.
He goes down and gives it look... Nada. He says it's not getting any electric. (Well, duh. I kinda figured that out when it didn't come on, seeing as how we put fuel in it yesterday...) He turns on the oven and goes out to work. I sit here with freezing fingertips and nose and wait for George to wake up.
Maybe he has some kinda insider mojo and can make it work. Let us pray.... If not, the Boss'll hafta call a service-type dude and pay him probably exorbitant amounts money to fix it. Or... I could just go find a barrel and start a fire in the middle of the front room... Meanwhile, I suppose I can keep warm through activity... liiike, finishing cleaning.
And, if I get too cold, I can stay warm in the bathroom by doing the stupid laundry and letting the dryer keep me warm.
And, if Mr. Heater wants to keep being a petulant ASS, I can also lug a TV, a DVD player, and the COFFEEPOT into the bathroom and just set up camp in there for however long this takes. I've only been waiting for a reason to do that, anyway.
Posted by: Stevie at 04:55 AM | Comments (9) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
February 14, 2007
It just popped into my head...
So, here it is.
Do believe that, once I clean my way outta the livingroom, I'm gonna give my Beatles 1 CD a whirl...When I find myself in times of trouble
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
And in my hour of darkness
She is standing right in front of me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
Let it be, let it be.
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be. And when the broken hearted people
Living in the world agree,
There will be an answer, let it be.
For though they may be parted there is
Still a chance that they will see
There will be an answer, let it be.
Let it be, let it be. Yeah
There will be an answer, let it be. And when the night is cloudy,
There is still a light that shines on me,
Shine on until tomorrow, let it be.
I wake up to the sound of music
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
Let it be, let it be.
There will be an answer, let it be.
Let it be, let it be,
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be
Posted by: Stevie at 11:41 AM | Comments (11) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Everybody needs a hero...
And, I just found a new one in "The Best of Craig's List"...
Vasectomy: $400.I love this! Not only did this guy blow her lying ass outta the water, he screwed her one more time before he did it. And, THAT is the most PERFECT KARMA for a cuntbag lying whore that I've ever heard of. BRA-VO!!!!! I truly hope this is the beginning of a trend....
Speechless look on her face: priceless.
Date: 2007-02-06, 2:24PM PST
I'll try to sum up a funny story that happened a few years ago: I got a vasectomy. I met a girl soon afterwards. She was nice and attractive but with a selfish streak that raised a big red flag. She was 32 at the time and I could practically HEAR her biological clock ticking. Regardless, she was a good lay, easy on the eyes, and reasonably good company. I did NOT tell her about my vasectomy and I always used a condom with her to protect against STDs. She assumed, obviously, that the condom was only used for birth control. Silly girl. We date for a few months. I never made any move towards commitment but she brought it up ocassionally. For me, this was a casual but pleasant relationship. For her - as I was to find out - it was part of life-changing series of events that she was planning very carefully. Four months into dating, I get the "I'm pregnant" talk. She's going on and on about how the condom must have broke and now we really need to think about getting married "for the baby". She's positively giddy. She has a baby in her and she thinks she's gonna have a good meal ticket (me) to go along with her new 7lb annuity. At this point, I'm just as giddy. I get to pull the reverse "oops" on her. I figured that she slept with some bad boy and got knocked up. Good thing I was using condoms! Better still that I have a serious mistrust of women who can't think beyond their own uteri. So I wait a couple of days to "think about all this." I meet her again. I say I don't want kids and that she should have an abortion. I know where this is going and sure enough it goes there. She goes completely batshit insane on me. There were the usual insults about my manhood. There were threats of legal action. It was all very ugly and I was loving every minute of it. Well, I let her stew for a few days. She leaves me nasty messages on my phone. She sends awful emails. I'm laughing hysterically. It was time to drop the hammer. While she was stewing I was busy. First I get a notarized copy from the urologist who performed the vasectomy. Next I get a notarized copy of the TWO test results indicating a "negative test result for sperm" to show I'm sterile and shooting blanks. Finally, I get a letter from a shark attorney stating he has seen the other documents and is prepared to litigate against this woman if she continues to communicate with me in such an unpleasant manner. Also, the letter states that we will insist on DNA testing to show that the baby is not mine. I'm ready. I meet with this woman at her place. I bring flowers and a small bit of jewelry to show I am willing to reconcile and assume my responsibilities as a new father. I also have stuck in my pocket the documents I have prepared. She's all giddy again. Her plan is going perfectly - or so she thinks. We talk about our future. We have some pretty good sex. Then, as I am about to walk out the door, I ask her the $64,000 question. "Are you sure that this baby is mine?" Well, she goes batshit insane again. Hell, she ought to. Her plan could completely unravel if there is ANY question about my paternity. Oh, she's really screaming now. How dare I question her morals. Do I think she's a slut. I'm just trying to weasel out of my responsibilities... blah, blah, blah, yadda, yadda, yadda. I'm not really mad. I'm kind of embarrassed for her. But since she won't shut up and the neighbors can hear all of this, I ask her to step back inside and sit down. She sits on the sofa and calms down a bit. She is glaring at me with all the moral self-righteousness that only a woman can muster up. She thinks she has me trapped. She is 100% convinced her plan has worked. Oh, the tangled web of lies and deceit she has wrought around herself and I am about to hack through them with a few pieces of paper. I reach into my pocket slowly. I extract the three pieces of paper and unfold them slowly and deliberately. I tell her simply, "You're screwed". Her look doesn't change. There is no way she can fathom what I have prepared. I continue. "I am sterile" Her look changes just a bit. Something is beginning to sink in. Naturally, she reverts to women's logic. "You're full of shit. You're trapped and you know it." I hold up the letter and the test results. "Three months before we met, I had a vasectomy. Here is a notarized letter from him stating what I had done. Here are two test results showing that I tested negative for the presence of sperm. Blanks. I am shooting blanks. That baby inside you is simply not mine." This woman is not to be swayed by logic and clear documentation. "Bullshit, those are fakes." I was ready for that. "No, they are real. This last piece of paper is from my attorney. It's a simple letter to you that states if you pursue any kind of legal action against me for child support that I will insist on a DNA test to prove paternity, that is, to prove that your baby is not mine." I give the woman all the documents. She reads them slowly, deliberately. With each passing second she can feel in her soul that she has made a very bad mistake. With denial swept away, she started to cry. It's a small cry at first. Then it becomes deeper and more painful. By the time she gets to the letter from the lawyer she is sobbing. I had no sympathy for her. I turned and walked out the door. Even after I closed the door I could still hear her sobbing. Epilogue - I never heard directly from this woman again. I did hear through my friends that she did indeed have the baby. I also heard that the real father was some guy in a band she had met. I assumed that after 30, women stopped going after musicians, bikers, criminals, and thugs. Silly me for thinking the best of American women. The Moral of the Story - Get a vasectomy but keep it a secret.
Posted by: Stevie at 07:40 AM | Comments (15) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
February 13, 2007
This is gonna be another one...
of those posts that may or may not get posted.
I'll hafta take a shot at it and see if what I wanna say comes out right.
I think. What this is is veeeeeery long. And, unless you're one of the group o fpeople it starts out directed to or the one person it ends up being directed to, you may find it rather longer-winded than usual and sort of boring, maybe.
I don't know... What it also is is the purging of six months or more of keeping my mouth shut. Also, it seems to kind of seg from one topic to the next without much rhyme or reason, unless you've read the post that prompted it and that it "follows" or answers, in a manner of speaking. So, if ya wanna skip this one, I understand completely and if my longer posts are bad enough in and of themselves, this one may cause my more casual readers to do themselves bodily harm before it's over. That said, if you DO wanna read it and then tell me where or if I went wrong, or said something not-well-enough, or whatever, feel free.
Though that may be hard to do because I've not discussed some of it here for a looong time and some other of it not at all. Still, I always welcome other perspectives... Anyway, I have to now risk my ass driving to Wally-world.
Each of us wants something from there. Jr- ammo for his pellet whatever.
Sr- a DVD of some goofy movie they all watched on TV last night.
Me- a new DECENT keyboard.
George- who knows? I'm sure he'll think of something. Then I still need to clean this house and possibly move to an undisclosed location IF this is taken entirely the wrong way by this one person.
(Which, hopefully it won't be anyway, and especially not after the email I'm about to send to that person...) So, on that note, I'm outta here. Peace (please)
Posted by: Stevie at 06:03 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Quick note...
Today's update at Gut Rumbles is courtesy of Sam herself!
Like I said in my comment to her... I made it so that her post appears as the 13th and I'll either do the daily update waaaaay later today, or just do it after midnight tonight, leaving Sam's post to be the update for today. Meanwhile, I'm fine and there's not been a peep *knocks on skull in leiu of wood* from that asshole in Jersey.And, thank you Cindy, for letting me know that you pay attention to these kinda things (from your comment the other day). I truly do appreciate it.
Makes me feel much less "alone".
And safer.
*hugs ya* Now... anybody wanna goddamned GUESS what I'm about to make a half-assed attempt at yet AGAIN?
*siiiiigh*
Posted by: Stevie at 03:32 AM | Comments (6) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
February 12, 2007
Storm'sa comin'!!
Allegedly.
We're supposed to get around six inches or so, topped with sleet. Whom thinks of this shit? I've already started my "be ready for it and it won't happen" campaign for this one by going grocery shopping. Got more shit than I could even fit back in the cart after it was bagged.They're having a "buy one get one free" sale on so much stuff....
I got twenty bucks worth of pork loin for ten.
Now, all I need to do is figger out how to cook it.
Don't think I've made this before, or, if I have, I don't remember it. I got a buncha meat, including pork chops, and dog, cat and Tyler food, all the guy's sodas, shit to make homemade tacos... it was a large load of crap. $78 bucks. Bread, milk, butter... just all kindsa shit... $78. Then, as I was walking past my (stupid) bank, the teller person I don't trust worth a damn said, "Whadya do? Buy out the whole store?", with a (pseudo) smile... I held up the two bags that wouldn't fit, gestured toward the full cart and said, "Can ya believe all this stuff for $78? This place is GREAT!", then waved and kept on truckin'. Got back, put most of the shit away, had to remove the ham from the fridge to make room, so I cut off most of the meat and made Buford the happiest puppy you've ever seen by giving him his first ever ham bone. He LOVED it. Now, what I'm HOPING to do is clean. the. HOUSE. I'm gonna throw together a roast in the crockpot and cee-ell-ee-ay-en, damn it. I'm hoping that by the time the guys get in tonight, I'll have the house done and filled with the scent of roast AND that I'll be asleep. This, of course, is if the Bossman gets the heating element for the hot water heater quick enough. It's seemed lately like we've been running out of hot water quicker than normal.
But, I wasn't sure if it was the hot water heater or me doing warm water loads of wash and dishes and shit anywhere near the time a shower would be run and run outta hot water. I know what it is NOW. Last night I went to do some dishes and there was no hot at all.
I go down into the basement and checked the breaker box.
Yep.
Big one, popped.
I reset it, it trips again.
I reset it and... it works. For a while. Around 5am, I'm sittin' here, talkin' to George and all of a sudden, the lights all get brighter for a second and, at the same time, there's this HUGE electrical arcing noise under the living room. Now, ya know how they say that the sound of a round being chambered, especially in the dark, will freeze yer blood? So does that electrical noise, to me. That noise is NEVER a harbinger of good things. To me, it's the sound of lightening striking a telephone pole RIGHT in the backyard of our house when I was a kid.
The dude we bought it from had been a ham radio operator and so there was a pole about three feet from the house.
I was sitting next to the picture window which was next to the pole when it got struck. Scared da fuck outta me. Then, I not only heard it another time, I SAW it and that time, it was a dude hitting a pole about twenty feet past his own house, in his car, speeding, then dying. I have several of the "Faces of Death" vids and, if you've ever seen them, you KNOW what that noise is then.
It's COOL, is what it is... or the result of it, anyway.
But, it's still also blood curdling. So, hearing it this morning in my own house pretty much melted all my legs muscles for a bit.
Then, had me shaking like a palsey victim for another while longer. Turns out the bottom heating element took a shit. So, I told Dan, who told his Dad, who told Jr. to tell me he'd get one today and fix it. Yay. Now... kinda need to know... "about when, do ya think?", 'cause it's kinda hard/gross to do dishes with no hot water. I get a timeline from him about that and then I can figure out how to get the other shit done and by when so I can be all the way done by the time I wanna be.
See? Meanwhile, I've gotta go offload some coffee and get started on... something. Back later. Peace *Update fourteen and a half seconds later... No sooner did I click "save", than did Sr. come in the door with the heating element.
He's installing it now.
So....
barring any more huge arcing noises, accompanied by a scream, I oughta be back in business real soon.
Posted by: Stevie at 11:38 AM | Comments (7) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
February 11, 2007
Weird thing number four...
I ain't done SHIT for the last few days, except sleep, mostly.
Today, I finally leave the house, go the same place two times, the second time with every intention of committing what amounts to theft, then told the guy I was doing it. Then, I did it. Now, I have a puppy in my house.'Cause, I NEED another critter in here, don'tcha know. What happened was, the guy down the road whom Jr. is friends with came here this morning looking for him.
He wasn't here.
He'd gone to another buddies house last night, solely to get trashed, and was still there.
He didn't have his radio on, soooo me and Sr. took a ride over there to make sure he was alive and suggest he turn on said radio and let him know the guy down the road was lookin' for him. While Sr. was doin' alla that, I was falling in love with a puppy who was running around the yard with about four inches of what used to be his tie-out line on his collar, being underweight, adorable and, for the most part, neglected as hell. As we drove away, I told Sr. I felt like I was making a HUGE mistake, leaving that dog there. He wasn't the dude-who-lives-there's dog.
The dude who lives there was puppy-sitting him (and not very well, I must add) for yet another dipshit who'd broken up with his g/f and is currently staying some stupid place they don't allow pets. No dog house, questionable food, no supervision, nobody to play with or get loved on by....
Pissed me RIGHT off. This poor animal was being made to sleep OUTSIDE, UNDER A PICKUP, with NOTHING on concrete alllll because two asshole humans can't get their shit in one sock. Fuckheads. We got home, I saw that goddamned Pedigree commercial again, lost my shit, grabbed my keys and went back over there. The puppy was AGAIN out in the middle of the fuckin' road, so I opened my car door and in he jumped and in he STAYED.
Right in front of the dude who lives there. I had a little "discussion" with the puppy-sitter, basically telling him I'm takin' the damned dog til his owner gets his shit together (which I doubt will EVER happen), the dude who lives there is fine with that (he works here and he IS a nice guy, just a shitty puppy-sitter, apparently) and now, BUFORD (as I call him) is here, fed, warm, playing his ASS off with Ty and the cats and Sr. and Jr. And, just this MINUTE, that damned commercial was on again and this time when I got teary-eyed, it's because I was actually able to do something about one of those kinda dogs.
I just happened to snag this one before he ended up behind bars... wire... whatever. So yeah.
I commit my first theft ever right in front of the guy I was thievin' from, work it out so it's cool, and bring home yet another critter. Ya know that puppy in the cartoon who keeps sneakin' up on the cat, barking wildly into the cat's ear, making the cat launch straight up in the air and cling to the ceiling? That's who this puppy is. Only waaaaay bigger. As in: Horsedog puppy. He's rusty-brown with white big-assed feet, a half white nose and a lotta black from his eyes down his nose, kinda like a mask. He's got a wonderful, silly personality.
He's not mean to the cats, either.
Just seems to enjoy the hell outta barkin' at 'em. That, and scarfin' Dorito chips from Sr., biting on my hair, jumping up into everybody's lap by turns, ram-assin' around with Tyler and just being warm and fed and played with. The last time I "took care of a dog for a while for his owner" was abooout four years ago and I still have that dog. I'm just sayin'...
Posted by: Stevie at 05:09 PM | Comments (24) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
February 07, 2007
Tag. I'm it...
Is this a bad time?
Nah. In fact, as I was getting your comment email about this, I was also on the phone, telling Giant I wasn't gonna make my 24-hour deadline with this machine and that I'd just bring it back tomorrow and pay the $20.I'm so tired, I don't care. Then, I see this and figure, "Cool..." and hafta actually stop and think which would be better... to do it now or go to sleep and do it later... I'm leaning toward "now".
Tired as I am, I might forget "later". So, lem'me see... I once drove an International Eagle tractor trailer between Mobile and Montgomery, Alabama* at 70+mph, with about 6 or 7 other trucks behind me.
(*I was heading north or east, whichever, going from Texas to Jersey.)
The reason I did this was because I'd gone to Texas with a guy I was living with on a quick turnaround run while I waited for my new 911 job to start.
We were delivering baskets, or some such shit and were supposed to bring back a load of spinach.
Well...
the stupid spinach got rained on or some damned thing and they couldn't pick it for a while, so we got delayed in our return.
A lot.
So much so, that we got desperate enough to find another driver who was going to Jersey to get me back there. Yeah.
I got into some random Marine dude's truck and not only left the state of Texas and my (also Marine) boyfriend behind, I drove the guy's truck for a few hours so he could sleep. The best part?
We traded seats at 70mph, going down the road.
Didn't even swerve. Now, before you think I'm 100 percent completely insane (as opposed to the mere 99.999 percent that I am)... I did talk to my Dad about this before I did it.
He had the guy's name and company name and truck number and alla that shit.
Also, the guy, his name was Danny, had been a Marine, as had my boyfriend and they just did what Marines do for each other and I kinda knew it'd be okay myself. And, it was.
He did the Marines proud.
And, I did my boyfriend's industry proud.
Drove that large-and-in-charge ve-hickle right on down the road just like I knew what I was doin'.
That was fun. What else?
Hmmmm.... Clint Black called me at home once.
Got my answering machine.
This was back in the days of actual answering machines with casette tapes, so I took the tape and made a copy of it.
Still have it, somewhere. What else? What?
Ya wanna know why he called? Well, it's been about 20 years.
I think I'm safe now... I used to work at a copshop.
A copshop with a DMV computer. On long midnights, it wasn't uncommon to pass the time looking up people's info.
Nothing major, just driving record, tickets, address... shit like that.
We all looked up Elvis (dead 20 years by then), plate numbers we saw on Cops, our friends, ourselves... they even had a few "test entries" for Fred Flintstone, Wile E. Coyote... So, one night, I decided to look up Clint.
(This was before he married Lisa Hartman and I gave up on him.) There was this one particular result that seemed like a possible, so I made note of it. Months later, I hear it's gonna be Clint's birthday and I remember I have that address. So... I wrote to it.
Not only that, I sent it with one of those big green cards on it that ya hafta sign when you get it.
Included in my letter was my phone number. A week or so later, I get home from work and my then-boyfriend (not the trucker) says, "You've got a message." and points at the machine. I said I'd get it in a minute and he said he thought I'd wanna get it now, 'cause it's CLINT BLACK. "'Scuse me?" "It is. Listen to it." So, I did and it was. He was just wonderin' where I'd gotten his HOME ADDRESS. Oh shit. He wasn't pissed, thank God, just rawther "concerned".
Can't say I blame him.
Not that I'm dangerous (much), but... I could see immediately just how deep a Grand Canyon of shit it was I was suspended over. I went immediately to my Lt. (whom I'd known all my life and, outside of work, still called "Uncle) and told him what I'd done. After he stopped banging his head on his desk, he suggested I figure out a way to handle this QUICKLY and MYSELF, lest it go any further and the deparment get invovled.
Or the Feds.
Or PRISON. *gulp* I wrote Clint another letter.
Said, "Oh, Jesus. I didn't really think it was you. See, I work at a police department and I have really long nails. One night, I was doing a DL lookup by number and got the number wrong, but it came back to a Clint Black. Being a fan, I thought that was cute, so I made note of it. Then, when I heard you had a birthday coming up, I decided to just write and see what happened. I never expected and this I apologize for alarming you and blah, blah, blah." Musta worked.
He never did call me again and then he married what's-'er-face shortly after. Okay... what else? Ah... another celebrity story... I used to love Dwight Yoakam.
And, the word "love" does not even come close, okay?
From the first time I ever saw him til around 2000, I bought every freakin' thing the guy put out.
Albums, videos, T-shirts... you name it, I owned it.
I even saw him perform twice.
It was the second time that killed it for me with him.
It was the first time that it got interesting.... He was playing some tiny outdoor venue, a bar I believe, way down by the shore.
I got off from work (at the first copshop I worked for) and got to the place about... 12 hours early. Dwight wasn't even there yet. But, I was.
Had my ass sittin' up against a tree in the driveway, just waitin' to see his bus pull in. At the time, he only had the first two albums out... Guitars and Hillbilly Deluxe.
I had 'em both and I had 'em both with me for him to sign, if I could finagle that. So, he shows up, I spend the next few hours staring at his bus and taking about 3700 pictures of it. He comes out, gets under the tent, and does his show.
I'm right in front, again with the 3700 pictures, and waving two albums at him like he's on fire and I'm trying to wave/blow him out. I know he saw me.
I saw him seein' me. He gets done and, as he's winding up, I'm slipping "backstage", to stand by the little steps he was gonna hafta come down to escape to his bus. While he's still fuckin' around doin' something on stage, I start talking to a bouncer/body guard type who looked remarkably like my Dad. A few minutes later, Dwight comes flying down the stairs, yelling that somebody pulled a gun on him. Apprently, I was the first to come to several "security-type"'s minds, because they came-a lookin'. They found me before I even knew what the fuck was goin' on and when they came up to me, the bouncer I'd been talking to interposed himself between me and them and was saying, "Nope. Wrong. Not her, guys. She's been right here, talkin' to me for the last ten minutes." They took off elsewhere after that. I stayed there, kept blabbing to the bouncer, and Brantley Kerns, Dwight's most excellent fiddle player, started by.
He saw my albums and stopped.
Asked me if I wanted him to get them signed.
I stuttered, "Sure!" at him and he took them onto the bus.
Brings 'em back, asks if I wanna see the bus.
I was floored, but, in light of the fact that if I had gotten on that bus a CROWBAR wouldn't have gotten me off of it, I declined and gave 'im a big 'ol kiss on his slightly whiskery cheek, got a picture taken with him and still love him to this day.
Dwight, on the other hand, can kiss my right ass cheek.
"Too fragile", my achin' ASS.
He just wanted to pork a commie's neice.
Then, he sued Pete Anderson...
Dwight's a douchebag. Anyway.... That's half of it. I know I need another three things. but, my eyeballs are so sandpapery that I do believe they're making the insides of my eyelids bleeds, or are about to. I'll get the other three done when I get up. And, I have four people to tag with this, so far... Mad Wm.
Paul
Viz
BlogDog
and... there is one other person who comes to mind.
I bet she'd have good ones, too.
But... I ain't sure how it'd be taken, coming from me, and I'm too tired to try puzzling out how to phrase it, so heck widdit. That's still four out of six.
So, later on, I need to finish my other three, think of two more people and do the comments thing... (tell 'em they've been tagged in their comments). 'Course, one of my people doesn't have comments, but, I do and yer welcome to use 'em, Viz. Okay, before I fall asleep on the keyboard and wake up with the alphabet superimposed on my face, I'm outta here. Back later. Peace
Posted by: Stevie at 10:58 AM | Comments (29) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
This is gonna end up costing me another twenty bucks, I just know it...
Yesterday morning at approximately 10:30am, I rented a Rug Doctor.
Brought it home, drug it in here and parked it in the middle of the front room floor with every intention of cleaning that carpet.And, I am gonna.
Just might not be before 10:30am today, is all. By the time I get the stupid floor cleaned of all the miscellaneous crappola that's currently covering it, and places made inside of already packed pantries for some of the crappola (like the dog and cat food bags), and then get the animal cages cleaned and rebedded, then run the shopvac, then get around to finally being able to clean the damned carpet, it's gonna be noon.
(And, by "noon", I mean at noon next Thursday, at the rate I'm going...)
(No. Not tomorrow. Next Thursday.)
(If I could be done by noon this Thursday, I'd be... pleasantly surprised, at this point.) Then there's the kitchen floor... Lem'me put it this way about that... Kill.
me.
now. I wish they had some kinda scrubby-pad/Vinyl Doctor machine.
That ran on electric, as opposed to elbow grease. 'Cause, that's what the floor needs.
Either a machine of some kind or me... me, crawling around on my hands and knees, muscling alla that gick off of it. And, after it's scrubbed?
Needs a firehose worth of a vinegar rinse and not just to get a step ahead of the cats, but to get about a MILE in front of the cats and preclude them (TOM!) from disregarding the kitty facilities any longer. After that, I'm thinking a good mopping with the good smelling blue shit that's under the sink. Then, a liberal spraying of that pet stain/odor eliminator shit. By the time that dries, maybe it'll be safe to put the stupid throw rugs down again.
Gets kinda old having to wash them every other day.
I don't know what Tom's problem is... except that he's living up to the bonehead I named him after admirably.
That Tom pretty much pissed all over everybody in that kitchen and most of those who had to approach it for whatever reason, so... this cat pissin' in this kitchen almost makes sense.
Still.
I wish he'd cut it out.
I'm hoping that doing alla that shit to the floor will remove any traces of prior bad decisions on his part and he won't be so inclined to keep doing it.
If not, then he's just a putz, I suppose. Anyway...
I've gotta go clean out under the bottom shelf in the pantry so I have a place to put the bags of dog and cat food and cat litter that I don't need quite yet. I don't know what the hell it is I have under there now but, whatever it is, I haven't touched it for a year and a half, so it's outta here. Get that done and the bags of food put away, then I can do the cages, change the catboxes, clean up the mess from that, vacuum, then use the Rug Doctor a coupla times, hit the two or three specific spots in the living room I wanna hit with that thing while I've got it and then start on the kitchen floor. The good news is that I finally conquered the wash.
Also, I made a huge-assed ham for dinner last night, so I don't hafta worry about cooking today.
And, all the dishes are done, too. I seem to be doing this whole thing differently than the way I usually do.
Usually, I just power my way straight through the whole thing in one big push no matter how many hours it takes. This time, I'm doing it in stages.
And, every stage I reach, I continue to keep up with while I beat the next thing.
Like, I got the living room completely done, except for vacuuming.
Then, I started on the metric ton of dishes.
By the time I got them all done, the living room was needing to be tweaked again.
Then, there were a few more dishes.
Tweaked the living room, knocked out the few dishes and started on the wash. Now, I've still got the living room "newly done", the dishes are still caught up with, the laundry has been beaten back to "less than a load" in the hamper and I'm about to start alla this new shit.
While still keeping up with all the "done" shit. And... I keep going to bed all the time. Well, not "all the time", but, like every day, instead of staying up for multiple days, getting it done like I usually do. I hope this change isn't permanant.
Getting all the way done is taking entirely too long doing it this way. Oh, and yeah... since the parlor died and now the shit from Kentucky isn't gonna work to fix it and it's gonna be about a month of this "takes three times longer to do" milking, I seem to have inherited the horses, too. *sam elliot look* That's fine.
As long as it's understood that this in NO WAY makes getting the house done any more expedient, it's all good.
Let me get whined at about how long this is taking, however, and somebody is gonna bleed. Aaaaaand, it just occured to me... maybe this is why I keep having to go to sleep?
This excercise-like shit I'm doing in addition to everything else?
Yeah.
Maybe that has something to do with it.
Ya think? Anyway...
anybody needs me for anything, I'll be crawling around on one of several floors for one (or more) of several reasons for a while. *rolls eyes and heaves a sigh*
Posted by: Stevie at 07:39 AM | Comments (711) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
February 04, 2007
Again with the idiotic sounding headlines...
Only, this time, it's not as head-smackin'-ly outrageous because this one is outta the local paper for Salem County.
Brain-murdering, soul-killing stupidity outta that area just isn't much of a surprise anymore. But, this whole concept is...Check out this headline (and, no, I ain't gonna RTFA*. That might make it seem like I give a shit, which, beyond pointing out the utter absurdity of the headline, I don't).
•Childhood drinking coalition seeks new, active membersI can just see every kid in Salem County morphing into Arnold Horshak, waving both arms above their heads, shrieking, "Oooh, ooh, Mistah Kotta, Mistah Kotta!!", wanting to sign up for this one. Hey, asshole-who-"edits"(and I use that word lightly)-the-Sunbeam...
You might look into the use of the prefix "anti". Unless of course, there now IS a coalition in Salem County to advocate drinking throughout childhood, which, while advisable if you're stuck trying to grow up anywhere in the Garbage State, is hardly the kinda thing most places would even admit to, let alone trumpet in a newspaper headline. All things considered, New Jersey needs to be drug off and shot.
Could be done just on prinicple, just for shits-n-giggles or simply "because".
Whatever trips yer trigger, s'long as it gets done. (*FARK-ism, meaning "Read The Fuckin' Article"...)
Posted by: Stevie at 02:37 PM | Comments (7) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
February 03, 2007
Yahoo news strikes again...
Yahoo's headlines are beginning to be almost as funny as the ones on FARK.
About the only difference I see in 'em is that Yahoo's must be purely unintentional, because, after all, Yahoo is serious news. Right?(I have yet to decide whether this makes them funnier than FARK or just really frightening.) They've been making me roll my eyes, smack myself on the forehead hard enough to leave a mark, and groan outloud lately. Just like FARK. And, this one made me laugh right out loud with the responses it triggered in my head, again... just like FARK. This one is straight-up copied and pasted, lest I lose one single letter of it's inherant comic potential.
• Bush puts 'ic' back in 'Democrat Party'
my.
gawd. Where to start, where to start...
Okay, in the interest of time (I am finally cleaning the house), I'll limit myself to the first two things that sa-lammed into my brain upon reading that. #1. Not fer nuthin', buuuut... Bush has been responsible for putting the "ic" into many things during this tour of duty in hell we're being subjected to, commonly referred to as "his term in office".
Just looking at him, even before he opens his mouth and proceeds to mangle the English language badly enough to make Donny the Waterhead sound like a Rhodes scholar, makes me say "ic(k)" ever' single time. And, #2, he must suck at putting the "ic" into the "Democrat party" as badly as he does at running things around here, because they failed to use the "ic" he's putting into it in their own farkin' HEADLINE. Now, I ask you...
Whom writes this shit?
Posted by: Stevie at 11:27 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
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