June 17, 2006
Yep. Definitely better...
Since the guys all left, here's what's happened...
Got a comment from Chablis that made me take a deeeep, cleansing breath.Thank you for that.
Then, I got an email from a guy who said he likes my blog, writing, world view and sense of humor.
I was floored by that...
He said he's been reading since the dogs were in George's room because they got out.
I'm rackin' my brain, trying to remember that, then, a little later, it occurs to me... that had to have happened back in Bucks, 'cause it hasn't since we've been here, so it was a while ago.
Then, it also occurs to me... he's been reading me this long and he decides to email me today?
Oh, I see the hand of God all over that.
And him.
So, thank you for that. Then, I went down and sprayed the horses.
And, gave 'em carrots.
And, got slobbered on, horse-kissed, nibbled and followed around while I wandered the field, looking for Bo's halter.
I should NEVER skip a day going down there.
Not just because of the fly spray, either.
Bo is a healer, better than any of those shysters on TV. Then, I came home, feeling ever s'much better and talked to the guys by radio, found out when they'd be back and started dinner. I even made handcut french fries.
And, chicken, mac & cheese and peas are in the works. AND, I've got the Flintstones on DVD playing. So, yeah... I do feel better. Now for a cuppa coffee. *deeeeep breath* Thank you, you guys.... I'll be back later.
Got chicken cookin'-n-chit. Peace
Posted by: Stevie at 08:05 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Well, damn... how cool is this?
I suddenly have the house to myself for a while.
REALLY to myself, without chance of any "sneak attacks" or interruptions or anybody coming in in the middle of anything. Think I may just run around nekkid, singing the Vonage song for a bit.... George was going to go somewhere south of here, Maryland or WV, for cigarettes.He'd just left, when Eric and Jr and Tiger all came in and Eric asked his standard, "George sleepin?" and when I told him no and where he was going, he radio-ed George and asked if he'd gotten too far yet and could he and the boys go too? So, he came back and got 'em. YAY!!!! So, suddenly... I've got the house to myself for I don't know how long, exactly, but AT ALL is the point.
Too cool.
Nice surprise. And, before I forget again... I started at Acidman's, went to someone else's blog and found this chick.
(Someday, I've reeeally gotta start paying attention to the "chain" that takes me places. Then, I'd be able to give everybody the credit due...) From when I found her yesterday, til "Ode to Billy Joe" came on (and even WHILE it was on, maybe that's why the point eluded me), I sat here, reading her site.
It was her dog stories that got me, but the rest of her stuff is just as good.
Give her a peek if you've got plenty of time and like hotdog dogs. (Daschunds)
She IS funny. Anyway... time to get something done.
Now, whether it's gonna be running around nekkid woo-hoo-ing or something productive remains to be seen. (Or not, if I go with option #1...) Peace
Posted by: Stevie at 05:40 PM | Comments (0) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Maintaining and maybe... getting better...
I really don't want to end up where I was before... sixty-five feet under a layer of depression and pure shit.
And, if I'm lucky, I won't.
But, I won't not go there on my own.
That much, I know.
In fact, getting up in the morning and going to bed at night is backwards to my true nature, but I can do it, if I have to.
So, I suppose the fact that I stayed up last night and watched "Ode to Billy Joe" (first time I've ever seen it and I don't get it) and didn't go to bed til it was light out ought not bother me. And, it doesn't, but.... Not wanting to even get up once I wake up...
Not keeping up with the house...
Not feeling like cooking...
Not even going to see Bo.... All that does bother me.
And, all that being the truth is what's scaring me, now. When I woke up today, I felt defeated simply because I was still alive again.
*sigh* Then, I come down here and... cool.
Nobody's in here.
Then, I sit down here at the pooter and... even cooler.
A note from Glen.
Then, I lose it anyway and talked to George, once he showed up, about Bo and getting him paid off before Mrs Boss takes him. I now know that will be done.
Bo will be paid off one way or another.
I will not lose him.
Thank George. Then, I wrote back to Glen and THIS TIME, I know not to wait with bated breath to hear back from him.
He is thee s-lo-w-e-s-t person when it comes to emailing and shit...
Then again, he is kinda busy, what with his job and all. He's in Bahrain now.
For a year.
Maybe now he'll have more freedom and be more relaxed about how he reacts when we talk.
He was scared that he was being too happy about it in front of the wrong people. y'okay Then, after talking to George and writing back to Glen, I sat here and read about Ruby Ridge again while I had a coupla hotdogs. Compared to what Randy Weaver got put through, my problems ain't shit. Besides the fact that there are kids in my house, my only "problem" is 2200 dollars.
That's not insurmountable. Not easy, either. But... do-able. And, if I can get it through my head that Bo ain't goin' anywhere, then my "problem" drops to 900 dollars. That's about how much I'll need to get the dental work done.
But... that's just cosmetic/vanity shit (except for the "being able to bite through food easily again, someday" part), in my opinion. In other words... my dental problems make me feel like shit, but, since it's just me, I don't care.
I mean, I do, but... then again, who gives a fuck, ya know? As long as they keep making superglue and polygrip, I'll survive. The house ain't so bad.,
Just needs it's regular maintenence.
I can do that. Then, there's dinner for five people.
I can do that, too. And, God knows, I've got all the time in the world now to hang with Bo... now that I don't hafta be scared to love him more every time I see him lest he be taken away by an angry 1300-dollar-deprived redheaded woman. So, intellectually, I know that the shit driving me bugfuck right now isn't permanant. The house will get done.
Dinner will get done.
Kids will go (tf) home.
Horse will stay.
Teeth will live, and...
Glen isn't gone again. I think, in light of all this and the fact that I still feel kinda blah, that maybe I'm getting PMS-y.
That would explain the rage from yesterday, though I will say, PMS or not, that Larry Shrock is a fuckin' jerkoff. A beagle murdering asshole. It would also explain the tears.
It would also explain the "my head feels like it weighs two tons and is pulling me down" shit. But, the cool thing is, even PMS isn't permanant.
(So, guys... any chick who blames her shit on PMS 365 days a year is lying. Take note of that.) And, I've been thinking, quite a lot, about that job...
Before she hired me, Lisa (is her name) said that, even though she wasn't worried about it, her husband insisted that she get references on me.
Mr & Mrs Boss never did answer the phone any of the times she called them, so I gave her Eric's bosses number and he gave me a glowing reccomendation. (Oh dear Lord... the little guy just came in here with the world's tiniest baby mouse in his hand. Said he "found" it out in the feed room. I proclaimed it adorable, thanked him for showing me, then told him it's really important that he try to find the tunnel or nest it came from and put it back so it's mom can take care of it, 'cause there's nothing we can do for one so tiny. I told him that, if it was out by itself, it's mom may have moved it out because it's sick or something, but, in case he just got lost, he needs to get the poor thing as close to "home" as he can so it has the best chance to live. And, now I'm dissolving into tears again because I can't help a tiny, hairless baby mouse... it's so tiny and cute and defenseless... God. I don't need to know these things...) Where was I and please forgive any typos, 'cause my vision is now doubling on me... Yes, Eric's boss.
Got the job, then lost it.
Was given a buncha mumbled half-excuses about why. I think it mighta been her husband again. When I got there Thursday, I was still literally shaking because of the reason the kids were coming.
It was obvious as hell that something was wrong and when she asked, I told her the truth.
If she then told him, I can see him saying to get me gone from there asap.
Especailly after he insisted on a reference. So, maybe that's what it was. Bit in the butt by the truth.
Again.
*siiigh* Whatever. So, where am I at, here? Unemployed for now... again.
This can be dealt with and will be.
House needs to be tweaked...
Will be done.
Dinner...
Can do.
Horse...
Safe.
Teeth...
Fuck it.
Kids...
Not mine, not staying forever.
Glen...
Back again.
PMS...
Sucks a wad. So, overall, I think I'll live.
Maybe I'll even want to again soon. Meanwhile, I guess I oughta go defrost something for dinner.
Then, tweak the house.
Then, survive til evrybody goes the hell to bed.
Then, maybe I'll bake a cake or something. Oh and, Chablis... what you said in your comment about the job post is exactly what I said to Lisa when she told me her (crappy) news.
And, I mightily refrained from saying it thusly: "Well, God doesn't SLAM A DOOR IN YER FACE, that he doesn't open a window somewhere", even though I really wanted to.
So, yeah... thank you for saying that.
I was hoping I had the right idea...
*smile* Peace, y'all...
Posted by: Stevie at 04:56 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
June 16, 2006
Since I have so much time now (well... I was off today anyway, but I'm still pissed)...
and this kinda shit pisses me off even more, I feel a strong desire to help make the dog-murderer's life as hellacious as possible.
Seems there's a dickheaded, pansy-assed, dog-murdering douchebag named Larry Shrock who lives in Columbia City, Indiana.He not only murdered a beagle, the pussy wanna-hide-what-he-did motherfucker also burned the body of his victim in an incinerator. I sincerely hope something equally as horrific happens to him and several members of his inbred family. After about six seconds of "research", I found this and this. Wonder what else about this lowlife, murdering SCUM is just sitting on the Web, waiting to be disseminated?
I also wonder how often losers like this asshole and his ilk would pull this kinda shit if they knew they would be publically ridiculed and demonized for what they do... if they had to pay a hefty, humiliating personal price for what they do. So, let's find out, shall we? I'm not gonna give this motherfucker one days peace, not for a loooong time. I'm gonna make his name, LARRY SHROCK and "dog murderer" synonymous and, hopefully, the top result on a search for his name. Because you just KNOW that when he was sighting in on that poor damned dog he was thinking to himself, "Who's gonna stop me? Who's gonna do anything about it... especially after I bring a (goddamned, fuckin') KID into it?" Well, ME, for one, Asshole.
Kids don't impress me in the SLIGHTEST.
And, are you implying that a beagle scared your chickenshit grandchild, yet having a dog-murdering bastard FUCK for a grandfather is okay with said grandchild? What a fetid crock of shit. Let's take a look at a few of the things said in the article....
Liiike... This fuckhead called the cops AFTER he murdered the dog and the Castles confronted him, the pussy.
If he has the ability to call the cops AT ALL, he shoulda called 'em in the first fuckin' place. This is also not the first dog this sick fuck has killed.
Only this time, he had to add the Hitlerian twist of incinerating the body. So, he's getting more "into" it and more twisted about it each time he does it. I shudder to think what he might do next. Then, there's the added highlight of his not having mentioned any dead rabbits or scared (fuckin') kids in the police report.
He only dreamed up that angle after the Castles put up their sign about him. Smells like BULLSHIT to me. How, by the way, does a MAYBE foot high beagle "threaten" rabbits in a fuckin' HUTCH, which, if it's any kinda decent rabbit hutch should be about three or four feet up off the ground?
Dog have STILTS, did it? Or, did the dog maybe have INSTINCTS that caused it to be attracted to rabbits? Hmmm... beagle... rabbits.
Sounds familiar to ME. And, before anybody gives me grief about Mrs. Castle continuing to let her dogs out after this pus-dripping ASSHOLE stopped by her house to "warn" her...
Dogs hafta pee.
Dogs hafta go out. And, if this dickless wonder could stop by there to "warn" (read: THREATEN) her about it, he surely could have driven there AGAIN with the offending dog in his car and said, "Lookit. I've caught yer dog on my property again and here's what I'm gonna do... I'm taking him to either a shelter or a copshop and you can explain to them how I came to be in possession of your dog and go from there." Man, there are so many other things this animal-killing prick could have done... I don't necessarily agree with letting your animals just RUN, without knowing where they are, country-living or not, especially when you know you've got an insane asshole for a neighbor, but to KILL the animal... no fuckin' way. NOT EVER. Not when there are so many untested alternatives. And, ya know what else?
I have in mind another loser fuckhole, who I think I saw in Rob's comments, going on (and on, oh STFU already, you psycho prick) about how he murders other people's pets who happen to wander into his yard and he throws the bodies somewhere...
He killed a cat, I think it was, because the cat sharpened it's claws on his house, he said. Oh, spare me. What the truth is, is that he killed a cat, actually several (he was bragging about it) because it gave him a woody, just like the rest of the losers do.
It made him feel powerful and in control, ways it's OBVIOUS his life doesn't make him feel otherwise.
I didn't care to remember his name, as worms don't usually have names and I thought, felt and knew he was a sick, twisted fuck and that to give him any attention at all only would have invited more of his sick bullshit philosophy about the subject. But, these people DO exist.
They hurt animals because they can't hurt PEOPLE.
They ENJOY doing this.
They find it FUN to do.
They will even swerve to purposely run over animals along the road.
And, sometimes, they do "graduate" from defenseless animals to people.
Kids (that everybody except me loves so much), old people, spouses... they don't give a fuck about anyone's life except their own. But, when these sick fucks ARE caught and made to pay, say by lethal injection, there they are, blubbering about how "unfair" it is and how "innocent" they are til the chemicals thankfully shut them the fuck up. This LARRY SHROCK DOG MURDERER needs to pay for what he did. He says he and his wife are in fear for their lives. Good. I sincerely hope to GOD that they find themselves lookin' down the barrel of a rifle or shotgun or whatever, pissin' down their legs for doing what comes so naturally to them, just like that poor dumb dog, Jake, did. Killing people who kill animals for spurious reasons is only thinning the herd.
Thinning it of lowlife, scum-suckin' assholes we don't need anyway.
And, it could very well be saving some other poor animals or kids from being in contact with those who mean them harm.
Like this dick... LARRY SHROCK DOG MURDERER. And, how much ya wanna bet this fuckwad raises those "bunnies" (which until this shit went down were probably referred to as "those fuckin' rabbits") to eat, anyway, which is a clear indication of where his mind is in the first place? Lord God Almighty, I do hate people who do this kinda shit. All it really is is the ultimate abuse.
And the people who do it, defend it and encourage it are every bit as much "abusers" as the jerkoffs who do it. If you're so fuckin' mentally lame, brainless and gutless that you can't find non-lethal ways of handling yer shit, you need to be locked up.
Or medicated.
Or both.
Or, really, you should have the same thing done to you that you find so much fun to do to others. Fair's fair. If you want to dish it out, you need to make damned sure you can take it. And, if you have thoughts about ever doing this shit to MY animals, you'd better have a plane ticket to a foreign country in your pocket, because otherwise, YOU WILL PAY TIL YOU HAVE NOTHING LEFT BUT SUICIDE.
I'll see to that, believe me. So, to recap because I really need to go to the bank here soon... LARRY SHROCK IS A GUTLESS, DOG MURDERING DOUCHEBAG.
LARRY SHROCK IS A GUTLESS, DOG MURDERING DOUCHEBAG.
LARRY SHROCK IS A GUTLESS, DOG MURDERING DOUCHEBAG. Any questions?
Posted by: Stevie at 12:26 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
June 15, 2006
*disgusted sigh*
How often do ya suppose I use "I don't believe this shit" as a post title?
How many times have I done it this year so far, d'ya think?
I know I just used it the other day.
And, I coulda used it again now.
Great with the care of the cats.
Really gooood with the dogs. She said it's her, not me.
That she's probably gonna regret this.
That I can use her for a reference and that we "fit", have a lot in common, she loves me as a person, but...
That no-good, fuckin' "but". That word which often follows an apology, sincere or not, and precedes horse hockey in staggering amounts, usually. I really thought she was gonna cry. I did, after I got home. But, nobody here gave me any shit about it and George, whose wallet I'mina land on again, was really sweet about it.
I thought he was gonna hate me.
Nope. See how cool he is? In fact, they're still waiting for the materials for that roofing job, so I still have that, with him, coming up. Still... what the fuck?
Why does this shit keep happening to me? Not that I can't handle it... one way or another.
I'm just honestly curious... what the fuck, why me?
(And, yeah, I know that whole "why NOT you" shit, so... don't, okay? Thanks.) I mean, it's not like I lost a "real", high-falutin' kinda job, I know that.
And, I only worked there a week.
But, I'm about to cry again, because... I'm really gonna miss the dogs.
And the cats.
And the horses. The last two animal-related jobs that I've had and that I've loved, I've lost. And, I ain't been "allowed" to know REALLY why. I know what I've been told...
I was told I'd be back at the horse farm as soon as their money shit cleared up.
And, I was told "it's me, not you" (THEE worst break-up line EVER) this time. Well, I ain't back at the horse farm.
Of course, I don't know what's up with their money shit, either.
And, this "not you, me" shit doesn't feel right to me, for some reason. All I wanna do is pay off the horse and get my teeth fixed.
Less than three grand.
How fuckin' HARD does this hafta be, for fuck's sake? Got-damned VERY, I guess. Twenty-two hundred dollars.
I know people who make that in a friggin' week.
I also know people who BLOW more than that in a week. Twenty-two hundred bucks would mean the WORLD to me. I'm more than willing to work for it, too.
All I need is to be allowed to do so. Anybody need a car waxed or anything?
Anybody wanna be a philanthropist for a minute?
Anybody else wonder how I keep gettin' flattened by the eight ball I can't even see on the table?
Cripe, man. Oh great.
I've got Roseanne on in the background, here.
It's the episode where she needs a job after quitting Wellman's Plastics and she goes for this office job.
She gets hired, then it comes out before she leaves but after she's called and told Dan she got hired, that she can't run a computer.
Dan, thinking she got the job, gets all their friends together for a surprise party for her when she gets home and then, when she gets home, she hasta tell him she didn't get it, after all. Crystal comes up to thank her for being the inspiration for her to quit Wellman's too and nearly starts to cry.
Roseanne gives her a hug and asks her if she's gonna be okay and she says, "Yeah. I'm fine. But, what's wrong with you that nobody will hire you?" and Roseanne shoves her back and give her this look... Well, that's what I want to know, too.
But, it is nice to know I'm not the only one, ya know? Well, I guess I oughta put the link to the local paper back in my toolbar.
Looks like I'm gonna be needin' it again.
Posted by: Stevie at 10:47 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
And, I'm Acidman again....
First in a Munu blog outta California, now in a non-Munu blog outta Brooklyn.
Yep.Just went to leave a comment at Mad Wm.'s blog and had to do the double-click thing again, as his comments "forgot me" (as my own are wont to do) and when I did that (double-clicked on the blanks), it comes out with "Acidman" and his new email address. Again... it's not that I mind in the least bit being mistaken for the Acidic One, but... I just wanna know how it's doing this.
Posted by: Stevie at 12:11 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
One time. Once!!!
I asked what durka durka mohammad jihad means and now, today, it's fully 90% of what's in my Site Meter.
This is like the "what do crickets eat" debacle.Again, ONCE, a loooong time ago, I mentioned crickets being in my comments, because there sure weren't any people.
This was AT LEAST two years ago.
Since then, I've become the defacto expert on cricket diets.
(Not that I have clue ONE what the little fuckers eat, it's just that everybody comes here to discuss it now... *rolls eyes*) And now, because I mentioned once that I have NO IDEA what that durka durka thing means, everybody and their brother's girlfriend's ugly cousin keep coming here in search of the meaning. Well, lem'me he'p ya's out here... I GOT NO FUCKIN' IDEA WHAT IT MEANS!!!!
Okay? Nobody ever answered me. 'Course, at the time I mentioned it, I didn't really care what it meant.
It's just what got stuck in my head after Eric radio-ed me to tell me what had happened to Mad Mikey a few months back. After I got done talkin' to Eric, I went back to work and that phrase was all I could think of and yeah, I did get to wondering what it meant. Said as much in a post, too. Never got an answer, which I fully understand and didn't even care about, as Mikey was the issue, not what that phrase means. I've idly wondered about it, the 7,492 times it's appeared in my Site Meter since then, but today...
Good Gawd. Today, it's EVERYWHERE in there. So, before I make up my own meaning for it, something along the lines of "QUIT BUGGIN' ME ABOUT IT, I DON'T KNOW!!!", can somebody please clue me and the rest of the planet in to what it means, please? Maybe it means crickets eat terrorists.
That'd be cool.
Posted by: Stevie at 12:00 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
June 14, 2006
Wanna know what the difference is between a "bridge" and a "partial"?
About $1500.
Jesus. So yeah, I'm finally starting to make some calls about this dental work I need done. And, I wouldn't be yet if the only clip on my partial hadn'ta snapped off the other day.But, with that clip gone and the veeeeery loose tooth next to it, this shit is getting ridiculous now.
I not only hafta use "old people stuff" (Polygrip-ugh) to keep the stupid partial in my mouth and be able to eat effectively, I've also taken to supergluing the veeeeeery loose tooth to the firmly anchored tooth next to it. Yes.
I am carrying on the time-honored, Andy-Harris-approved method of DIY dentistry.
(I learned about the whole "partial/superglue" thing from him and I figured if he was okay gluing his partial, I'd be okay gluing a tooth.) Fuckin' superglue.
In my MOUTH. No, not ON it, ya wiseasses. Actually, I'm getting to be quite the artiste with this shit.
I'm all about controlling it.
How much, where it goes, ridding myself of the excess, yadda yadda. And, I'm even getting used to the disgusting taste/texture of that other shit. If ya wanna know what it's like, imagine removing several teeth from your mouth, all in a connected row.
Take a cat turd, a minty cat turd, and put it on the underside of said teeth, then squish it onto your gum. Nice, huh? And, do that, mind you, whilst worrying the entire time that you've superglued Mr. Loose Tooth correctly so it all not only fits, but holds for more than an hour, cause ya don't wanna hafta be doin' this shit every ten fuckin' minutes, believe me. Meanwhile, we've got my dental phobia over in the corner laughing it's ass off over these exploits.
Fuckin' Dr. Elmer.
I hope he's in HELL. Anyway, I'm getting good at this, like I said. Most days, I only need to go through this shit two or three times.
I do it right before I go to bed so I can sleep without worrying about swallowing anything, should this shit shake loose in the middle of the night.
I also hafta do it either before or after eating, most times. How that loose tooth is even staying in there is beyond me (besides the superglue, that is).
I fully it expect it to jump ship any day now. Hence, the calling of dentists. The first one I called, the one who has an ad showing chickens sitting in a waiting room (cute), I had the wrong terminology happening. I was calling my "device" a "bridge". My bad. When that nice lady told me it'd be about $800 a tooth for a four tooth bridge, I nearly shit. So, I called the next one. This lady got me on the right page as to what the damned thing is called (which brought the price down to a still scary but emminantly more do-able $900), was appropriately horrified about the superglue, very sympathetic to my outright terror about this whole deal and, after I mentioned about 3700 circumstances under which gassing me would be appropriate (including, but not limited to speaking to the dentist), she mentioned another "method" they employ to "calm scared patients". Vicoden. Cool.
I c'n do dat. THEN, she said I could bring somebody into the room with me if I want. IF I WANT??? Fuck YEAH, I want...
(So, Dad. Busy?) God he'p me, ya know? On toppa which I have two chir'runs in my house.
One 17, one about 8 or so, I don't know.
Fun.
Not.
(Under any circumstances, let alone for this insane reason.) I mean, they're pretty good kids (one of whom seriously needs some "making WISE choices" lessons) and they do know not to insert themselves in my ass, but still... having two more people in the house of any age has it's drawbacks.
Not the least of which is the added expense, especially when I've got this dental shit about to go down.
(I'm not gonna do jackshit til the tooth falls the fuck out. That'll cut down on alotta the expense, I think. Spare me the diagnostics and restoration horseshit and just make it that much easier to get on with the fix. Know what I mean?) Anyway... I already know what's gonna happen next, probably in the next 7 seconds. My period, watch.
*siiiigh* Well, anyway....
I hafta race like a piss horse and I need a cuppa coffee and to get a grocery list together.
And, yeah, superglue'll be on it.
I'm thinking that one of those little plastic tips it comes with will make my DIY dentistry a little easier. Pray for me again, please....
I'mina need all the help I can get, financially as well as "otherwise". Peace
Posted by: Stevie at 04:41 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Okay.
Paul, yer gonna love this shit...
Ya know how we have my Mozilla set up so that if my info to post a comment isn't "remembered" all I hafta do is double-click on the blanks and it fills it in for me (except the URL)? Well... I was just over ta Mad Mikey's place and hadda do the double-click thing to fill in my info, right?(Right.) Only thing is... insteada my name and email address, it stuck "Acidman" in for my name and his new email address in for mine. That's a first. And, my hand to GAWD, I ain't touched nona that shit.
I didn't change nuttin'.
So...
what's up (widdat), Doc?
Posted by: Stevie at 02:00 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Well, they're here...
Got here about midnight.
To hear Jr tell it, all this amounts to is a buncha shit.Something about him hanging around with some retarded bitch for three days, during which time she said something to him about her trying to leave that gang and he had no idea. Then, there's some shit about a third person who's connected to this skank somehow who wants to beat Jr's ass over said skank. Whatever. The way the (hostage) exchange went down, I'm sure we're safe. There's another issue involved about him having his cell phone on him 24/7, but I'll get into that after I get some sleep.
In about two hours or so. Got the house clean.
"Someone-seeing-it-for-the-first-time" clean, too.
'Caaause, this is the first time Jr's seeing it. Also, in response to my "gorgeous guys" post, I got two utterly adorable pictures emailed to me. One from the guy whose picture I ain't allowed to post.
Maaaan... you should see his dimples!
Gol-DAMN, man...
He's got such a sweet face... The other one was from Curmudgeon. He's adorable too, honestly.
The picture he sent was kinda small, but, here it is (he's got 8,942 pictures posted on his site (the link called "My Site" at the site the link I just made sends ya to...) and some of them are of him, so I think this is okay to do...
*crosses fingers*
Cute, ain't he? Now, about the Van Zant Brothers...
I don't have a problem with the song itself.
The sentiment of it is lovely.
What I do have a mAAAAjor problem with is that what's left of the best ROCK AND ROLL band is now going "cuntry".
That is just so wrong. It's like Ozzy doing opera.
Like AC/DC doing nursery school songs.
Like Led Zepplin doing rap. It's just not done.
It's not natural.
It's against everything good and holy left on this fucked up planet. Shit like this just makes it worse. Goddamned Lynyrd Skynyrd doing country... gim'me a break, okay? Let some whiny country tool do the song. Let's have the VZ Bros. get back to their roots, to what matters, to what is real and vital to every noble heart there is.... good old, kick-ass and take no names ROCK AND ROLL. That's all I'm sayin'...
See? And, Paul...
I went to the Trend Micro site and acted like I'd never done it before and loaded it in Moz.
It worked.
Took over 5 hours to complete, but it did pick up something.
I nuked it, whatever it was.
Then I ran alla the other shit, then shut it down while I got a shower and shit.
Just turned it back on to write this post.
So, yeah, I gotcher message but it was about 2am my time and yeah, it would be nice to talk about this stupid shit going on, but... between running all that shit on here and cleaning the shit outta the house, then not getting the message til what I thought might be too late, I decided I'll live til tomorrow, or later today... whatever. Now what I've gotta do is run to the store, come home, make egg sald and go the fuck to bed. My eyeballs feel like they're fulla sand.
Thank God I'm off today. With alla this shit going on and all there is left to do about the bedroom situation, I feel like I've been hit by a truck.
Not to mention I've been up since yesterday morning again...
*siiigh* Okay.
Off to the stupid store. Talk to ya's later and Maeve, thank you for the input.
I can see where that's something to be aware of.
And, about us working as a team... I'm trying to get Him Sr. to understand that... Men.
Honest ta God...
*shaking head and slightly rolled eyes* Anyway... Peace, y'all...
Posted by: Stevie at 04:26 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
June 13, 2006
I do not believe this shit...
I've got about an hour before I leave for work and I have some other shit I need to get done before then, so this is gonna be fast... maybe have a coupla typos even...
Eric just came in here.He had a look on his face very similar to the one he was wearin' the day he came and told me Storm died. My stomach instantly started to knot up. He says he heard from George. My first thought is, "He's dead!, then it hits me he can't be calling if he's dead. Stomach still tightens another notch. Eric says George heard from the BC back in Jersey. *crank goes my stomach* He's taken loooong pauses between each sentence, I suppose to try to choose his words carefully given what he was going to tell me, the poor kid, but every second seemed like a goddamned day between those halting sentences. About a nanosecond after his second statement, I freaked. "Hurry up and tell me!! What??? You're making me wanna barf here..." "Oh, sorry... nonono... it's just that..." And, he then proceeds to tell me that she wants us to take both boys for God knows how long because Jr's been fucking around with some cuntbag who used to date a gang member. Said gang member is pissed off about this and threats of pontenially deadly violence have been made. By a member of one of the two most notorious gangs in the country and it's the one we all have coursing through our veins, if ya get my meaning. Fuck what? Oh, Christ on a stick... Yeah.
I need this shit. After having talked to George and the local copshop back there, then Eric... They're coming.
With lotsa conditions and advance planning on how the exchange from her to George is gonna go down.
It includes video taped monitors that watch the parking lot of where he's gonna make her meet him.
It's also not in the same county as she lives. It's does not include, I'm sad to say 'cause I thought of it and the depths of my wickedness surprises and delights me, George picking up the boys only after Cuntface has initiated a divorce FOR REAL and having the child support stopped voluntarily. Ain't I a bitch?
I love it.
Glad to know I do have it in me when it's warranted, even if it does literally take me about an hour to think of it. I am scared out of my fuckin' mind.
My hands are still shaking as is my gut. I have to go to work and try to remember what the fuck I'm doing.
Then, I hafta come home and re-arrange two entire bedrooms.
But, right now, I need to go get a shower. If I can remember where the fuckin' bathroom is.... I'm so scared, I'm numb. I'll be back sometime later tonight, no doubt.
I'm off tomorrow and I'll need to get this out after it starts to happen. Pray for me, please...
Peace
Posted by: Stevie at 01:37 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
June 12, 2006
WHIRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.....
What's that?
Ronnie Van Zant, spinnin' in his grave. Wanna know why? Because of The Van Zant Brothers. The Van Zant Brothers who've sold out and gone cuntry. Ya know, I was grossed out enough when Jeff Foxworthy had friggin' rappers on Blue Collar TV.But this...
THIS is beyond horrifiying. It wasn't bad enough when half of the baddest-assed band EVER had to die in a plane crash, oh nooooo.
NOW, the remaining band members have lost their fuckin' MINDS and ripped whatever balls they had left off and went cuntry and no, that is NOT a typo.
(Wasn't the first time, either...) It's hard enough to deal with when ya feel old because the shit blaring outta every car window is nothing but hellacious noise trying to pass for music. But, to be let down like this by your personal heros, when the bands that got you through puberty, high school and life itself do something like this... it's time to die.
Before it gets any worse, if that's even possible. Yo, Foxworthy...
First, friggin' rappers.
Now this horseshit.
What's next?
You gonna announce that Larry and Ron are married to each other or something?
You sick bastid. Okay then.
I'm gonna go either barf or cry. Van Zants in cuntry music...
That's gotta be one of the signs of Armageddon.
Posted by: Stevie at 10:27 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
June 11, 2006
Since my current DIY "project" is now boring me...
and, besides, I'm gettin' fuckin' SICK of crawling around on the floor with a trouble light looking for a half inch piece of wire bent kinda like a cursive small "n", with a 45 degree angle bend in it, making it about a quarter inch in size, that I really need because it's a part of my three tooth bridge which broke off today, WHICH I had at first then, suddenly, I didn't anymore when I went to fix it (naturally) and because I don't want to give Libby the wrong, or incomplete, idea of what (or whom) I think is gorgeous and shit...
*pant, pant*
I've decided it's time to go on and post more pictures of gorgeous guys like I said I was gonna a post ago.
It'll give my got-damned knees a rest too... been crawling around on the floor for more hours than I care to realize. *coupla minutes later*
Okay.
I hear Paul in my head, whispering that I oughta put most, if not all, of these pictures in the EP, especially since I'm thinking of so many...
Not sure why, exactly, he says to do this, but... I trust 'im. And, since I do have the option of having one out here, I know JUST which one to start with. So, here we go...
(And I say "incongruous" because not many of these guys look like each other.)
So, use your imaginations here... He's got dark hair, beard and moustache. In the picture, he's smiling so big, his eyes are all wide open and happy and his face is gorgeous with the big grin and he's been carving pumpkins and is hoisting one's cap in the air. He knows who he is, too.
And, if he EVER lets me, I'll post his picture.
Numerous times. Okay, let's all head out to the porch with our beers and smokes for the rest of this presentation, shall we?
Posted by: Stevie at 08:16 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
June 10, 2006
I don't know jackshit about this guy, but...
I fell in love the first time I ever saw him.
I think it mighta been an episode of "I Love the 70's"... Anyway...
He's dropdead GORGEOUS and I loooove the guy.
However, after having finally seen an episode of "Supergroup", I'm starting to wonder if he ain't just a little goofy. In an utterly lovable and adorable way, of course. I swear to God, this dude is manic. But, fuckin' HOT. *gets up, mumbling to self "need to post more pictures of gorgeous guys"*
Posted by: Stevie at 01:02 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
I made it...
Somehow, I survived.
Of course, having to survive my own stupid "schedule" isn't anything new.
It's just that each time I push it just a bit further and live, it's surprises me.
About 36 hours, give or take. And, this time, it wasn't just "being awake alternating cleaning and sitting around".
Oh no.
This time it was "being awake cleaning, then working a double-shift-day at a new job, plus taking care of our horses". I suppose everybody wants to know why I do this. I wanna know how. I think the "why" of it has something to do with my (hopefully) irrational fear of pulling a "Vivian/Elvis/Andy/Jesus" thing and dying too soon.
I think I wanna have every minute I can, lest I drop dead any time soon. I'm just not sure how I do it. I know how I don't do it... with any chemicals, short of coffee and smokes.
Maybe the occasional diet rootbeer.
Other than that though... no idea
And, Eric coments on it constantly. AND and... it's just because I want to.
Can ya even imagine what I do if I felt it was necessary, like to have to, for some reason?
I could probably pull a week, if it was a bad enough reason.
But, let's not eeeeeven go there, shall we NOT? Anyway...
In the days (and days) worth of time I was awake this time, I again cleaned the house.
Half to death.
Mine or it's, I'm not sure, but... I won again.
House is clean and has stayed that way for over 24 hours so far this time. My biggest goal is for people NOT to know just how many cats I have the instant they walk in the door.
I don't care how many they can see, either. It's how many they can smell that I wanna control.
And, I do. I've heard "Wow! Yo have a lot of cats!", usually said in amazement many, many times and never ONCE have I heard, or seen the look that says, "That explains it."
"It" being an overpowering smell. Of course, being on a farm, there's only so much you can do about animal-oriented smells, anyway, unless you wanna be a total control freak/bitch about it and be all militant about "dirt" (read: cow shit) coming into your house and then, by being that way, make a stupid building (the house) more important than the people who live in it.
Especially the one who makes it possible to even have the house.
(In my case, that'd be Eric.) And, there are women who do that.
Farm wives, especially. Their man works his ass off all day long.
Sweatin', getting shit on, pissed on and abused by bovines, getting dirty, greasy and just icked up by the work.
Then, he gets his day done and what does he come home to? A militant bitch who makes him strip off "outside" the main house, whisk his clothes into the hamper and shower before he's even allowed to sit the hell down and breathe.
All in the name of living in what amounts to a museum. That's bullshit.
And, I think it's based in the woman's not feeling powerful enough in her own life, not "in control" enough of her own shit, that she feels a need to control that as opposed to her cleanliness obssession or her own silly-assed self. Me?
I'm not like that.
I mean, yeah, I like a clean house, but... it's not how I define myself.
I'd rather have a cat-picked old couch and be comfortable in my house than have a four thousand dollar leather couch nobody is allowed to breathe on, let alone touch, ya know? When Eric gets done work, he kicks his boots off outside (his own choice, which I've told him a trillion times he doesn't hafta do), comes into the living room and collapses, cow poop and all, into his lounge chair and relaxes. IF any cow poopage gets on his chair, or any place else it doesn't really need to be, they make stuff to clean it up with, not the least of which is a thing called "a vacuum".
It's not hard.
It's not worth hectoring a man into insanity over. The way I see it, if God gives you back your man after a day of work, if he's not out drinking and carousing, if "home" is where he wants to be... let him be "home" and be himself and relax. Instead of tearing him a new one because he dared to walk on, thus track up, your oh so friggin' important "clean floor" thereby telling him the stupid FLOOR is more important than HE is, a woman oughta use that energy to get him something to eat. He has, after all, just spent all day busting his ass for you to have that floor to be so obssessed with in the first place. My disgust with this "female thing" is at it's zenith with the ones who don't even have a job and still pull this shit. If it's all you have to do, you need to look at a guy running around making messes as "job security". And, if you do have a job and still have the lion's share of "house shit" to do, why can't you just do it, the job and the house shit, and shut up, knowing that not only are you pulling your weight, but if you need to, telling yourself that, secretly, you are "superior" (which is what most females seem to be so consumed with) because you do do both WITHOUT BITCHING? Heh.
Probably just answered my own question.
The key to that is not bitching about it, just doing it. Very few women can do that.
The "not bitching about it" part.
That's probably why they don't it, huh? Anyway... My thoughts are all over the place this morning.
Not stressed, just trying to correlate things...
About "appearances" masking the truth and how that seems more to be a more prevalent thing in Jersey than it does here.
About how, even though things "look" good to the general public, the life being experienced is still horrible.
About how, when I drive around, around here in Gettysburg, seeing the houses and farms and vehicles and people make me feel like a kid again, like I'm back to being around 10 or 12 years old, not beat half to shit by life yet as opposed to what the environment in Jersey makes me think of, which is, "Yeah. Looks nice out here, but what if there's a woman getting her ass beat every night inside that "beautiful" house? Or a kid being molested? Or a guy being destroyed by some BC?" I know people who are utterly miserable in the life they're living, but who are able, or maybe feel constrained, to continuing to live that life because of "appearances".
They strive to make their lives look perfect and what do they really have? Not much, I think. I, on the other hand, look like a human tornado/mess/psychiatrists dream on the "outside".
The "outside" upon which "appearances" are based.
BUT, once you get in, once you get past that part, you find a pretty grounded person. At least NOW ya do.
More and moreso every day. I never have been one to put much stock in how things look.
I wanna see how they ARE.
If they're real, good.
If it's all bullshit, bye. Maybe that's why, or another reason why, I have such a hard time relating to women in general. They think, act and are one way... that way... and, I'm not. I dunno.
There's so much to this.
I can't even touch on in all now because I really do need to start getting ready for work.
(Which means: put on sweats, a T-shirt and my boots and get a cuppa coffee ready to take with me, period. No makeup, no hair hell, nona that crap... *grin*) All I know for sure is the longer I'm here, the more open I become, the more I like it.
I get snatches of this feeling... I feel "new" again for a minute here or there, like a kid, like someone who hasn't had their innocence sullied... a person for whom a sunny Saturday morning to spend with her horse is IT.
Cartoons and the smell of Play-Doh.
A brand new "64" box of Crayolas with new Bugs Bunny coloring books.
My Dad right in there watching Jeopardy and cooking dinner.
Sittin' in Pop-pop's lap, drinking his coffee, watching the Road Runner and Wile E. go at it for an hour.... Gettysburg seems to be giving me that back.
Or, at least reminding me that it ever existed. And, most important... It's making me feel like it IS possible to feel that way again, to have that back.
And, best of all... from my own life.
Not from sources that invariably, inevitably ARE going to be taken away, removed or stolen. And, even if I never do figure this all out, I do appreciate thinking about it and getting to feel it at all, already. So...
Thanks, God.
I'm tryin'. Peace, y'all...
Posted by: Stevie at 06:04 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
June 08, 2006
It's a stiff! Bereft of life, it rests in peace! (Well, maybe not that last part s'much...)
Early Wednesday morning in St. Peters, Missouri, life imitated Monty Python, fuck "art".
Remember the Parrot Sketch? Well, here's the Missouri version.Posted by: Stevie at 11:40 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
This began life as a comment and then...
my heart took over my hands, grabbed the bit in it's teeth and ran with it.
If there was gonna be a title to this, I think I'd want to call it:(And, I'd call it that because it's about him, primarily, but it's also to him because I want to know that I know these things, just for whatever comfort he gets from knowing that somebody knows.) The first two sentences are purely "comment".
After the third sentence is when I kinda quit thinking and just started feeling it.
And, away we go.... ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Nah... not her that time.
That was because of Jennifer screwing him out of visitation. Ya know what occured to me... If someone really likes, cares about, admires, respects or wants to know someone better, what better way than to read their archives, right?
(In this world, anyway...) Now, granted, Rob's archives were MIA for a while, but I have them ALL in my blogroll and have for months AND said so in Rob's comments way back when I found 'em. I've also read them.
(Actually, I read them looong before they disappeared, a coupla times, even...
Then, once I caught up, I kept up after that.) And, it strikes me that, as you read them, if you pay attention and care enough to want to really comprehend what you're reading, Rob pretty much TELLS you how do well being around him. He has damned near written a handbook.
All but written the "rules".
And, he doesn't have many of them, but the ones he does care enough about to articulate are ones he not only lives by, but holds to, to the core of his being, or (more to the point for some) to the very depths of his heart.
And, if you want to entertain a hope in hell of ever getting there yourself, it would behoove yer ass to follow those few, yet revered, rules.
(Much like the one in the previous post that he "alerted us" to 2 years ago...) He doesn't just "want" them to be followed, he needs them to be followed, IF you really want to be around him, for him to feel comfortable enough to trust you and want to be around you.
And, that, not yourself, should be your first priority. And, I for one, don't think that's too much to ask in the first place, let alone after the many ways- banal or arcane, heartbreaking or mundane- Rob has been screwed over by people who profess to "love" him and in fact, probably didn't even really know him. I think the one thing that fouls people up the most, including the average "archive peruser", is that they have their own agenda or preconcieved idea of who Rob is or are looking for certain things in what he says that coincide with what they need from him.
Whatever that may be. They convince themselves, by not fully concentrating on what Rob is actually saying in what he writes or has written, that he is exactly as they imagine and that either he can "fix" their lives or they can "fix" his. Some people, when faced with such bald, relentless truth, can't comprehend it and think there's something more, something else not being said, to it.
That's where their "fantasy" comes into play.
Then, when that turns out not to be the truth, they get mean or flake off. You have to see ROB in what he writes.
Not just whatever it is you WANT to see. If you can't care enough about him to do this, what should be so very basic, natural and automatic thing for him, then how is he ever supposed to believe you can do anything else, anything more intimate? If you can't see him and accept him and love him in his public mode, there's no way he can trust you with his private heart, now is there? None that I know of. And, I've seen very few people over the years who can even manage to handle his public mode, let alone any with the cognizance and compassion, the fortitude or foresight to be able to be trusted with his heart. But, I also have to say that the few who do find Rob appealing and who do, at least, care enough about him to be able to handle his public mode are the ones who stick.
They are the few who can truly be trusted not to hurt him.
And that would be purely because they're the few who don't have an agenda or preconceived notion of who he is, those who do love the man for being EXACTLY who he is, warts and all and who want their relationship to/with him, whatever it may be, to continue.
(And, is that not the very definition of a friend? Hmmmm...) It's like they say... You really do only need one hand to be able to count up true and lasting friends. As sad as that may be in and of itself, there is something even sadder... The ones who don't or can't make it that far who then feel compelled to turn vicious and want to hurt him.
But, thank God, there's not a whole lotta those types around either. Most of them are either medicated or locked up somewhere, I suppose.
Or should be. The rest, I guess, just recognize that it won't work, that they can't come to terms with "Rob's Rules" and just fade away.
The thing that seperates them from the real losers is that those people do no harm.
They just leave. And, to me, they're much more respectable and trustworthy than those who lash out.
At least those people can accept the truth when they see it.
They may not be able to handle it, but at least they don't feel a need to destroy it before they go. Anyway... if you want to know Rob better than most, it's easy.
Just see him in what he writes, not what you want to see. How hard is that? (Answering my own question...)
Apparently, "very"...
*wry grin* P.S.
In case your wondering how I chose this post of his to track this back to, it's because, in it, he's says he's "one in a wall" and the truth is... he's one in a million.
(Which, coincidentally, is another one of those things that lotsa people have a hard time handling about him...)
Posted by: Stevie at 02:15 PM | Comments (0) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
June 07, 2006
Here's something timely I found just noodling around on here...
Yes, veeeery timely.
Especially if you happen to notice the date, should you care to click the link and see who said this:
I'm not a big anti-sin guy. In fact, I had some of the best times in my life doing "sinful" things. But there is one sin that a person should commit under no circumstances whatsoever. That is is betrayal of trust. People who behave that way don't do it just occassionally. That's the way they operate their entire lives. I don't know what it's like to grow up without a conscience.Wanna know who said it?
(My emphasis.)
Click this.
(And, don't forget to take a peek at the date.)
Posted by: Stevie at 02:47 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Dear Lord, I humbly ask that you forgive me for this, but... I have to show y'all somethin'...
And I copy and paste...
(Web-ese for "quote"...)
I've said it before and I'll say again. If I'm talking about you, I'll use your name. I'm not one of those subtle people who make posts just so someone else will read them and think it's about them. You people that think my posts are about YOU or someone YOU think need to get a fucking life.Oookaaaay. Then, four paragraphs, less than 20 sentences or about a minute later, we see this:
You people who continue to obsess about this shit (and you know who you are, do I really need to mention your name?) need to get on with your life.
Contradict your own self within the same soliloquy much?
(And, oh please do check out the dictionary definition of "soliloquy". It's pricelessly perfect.)
Posted by: Stevie at 11:52 AM | Comments (0) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
A duck question...
Yes, that says "duck".
(Duck. God, that's a weird word... duck. Seems German to me, for some reason.)
JUST one.
(One duck, not one question. I never have just one question.) Thought it was a boy, named it Donny, for Donny Osmand not Donald Duck.
Then, "Donny" started laying eggs.
(Edit.... That's actually the duck's whole name, "Donny-for-Donny-Osmond-not-Donald-Duck" (and boy, do you need to be careful typing the word "duck" with the "u" so close to the "i"), because I have to explain it every time I tell somebody her name.) She's still doing it, BUT.... this time, she's built a nest and gets all quack-y and headbob-y when you go near her, yet still likes to be petted, the weirdo. Now, I don't care what that stupid red rooster of mine, Cogburn, thinks he was doing, I know that egg Donny is sitting on isn't fertilized.
But, she seems to think it is. Before, when she laid eggs, I'd get rid of them sooner than later by cleaning her cage and she never seemed to care or notice, one way or the other. But, with the nest and the behavior this time.... what do I do?
Clean the cage as usual, discarding the egg or let her sit there for the rest of her life, waiting for this egg to hatch when it's never going to (which, by the way, strikes me as a really mean thing to do, but then again, so does taking away an egg she seems so attached to)? I put her out in the yard yesterday or the day before for the whole day and she seemed kinda pissed at going out, but she did get in her pool and do her bathing thing and she settled right back down on her nest when she did come back in, but... I know a duck or goose wouldn't leave a nest unattended all day in the "wild", so I feel hinky about doing it to her now. I don't want to distress the poor, sweet thing. Bad enough I'm pissing off the parrot. I put that yak-fest big mouth (beak?) outside on the porch a few days ago.
The weather has been warm enough and breezy enough and not too cold at night for him to be out there. We can still hear him in here, but now, at least we can carry on a conversation. Anyway, ScreechyBoy screeches quite a lot.
Moreso when he needs something or sees me. I go outside a few minutes ago to get my Wipe sprayer (the spray I use on the horses to keep flies off) to refill it, preperatory to going and spraying the horses in a few minutes, and I hafta go right by
I notice his seeds are low, so I go get him fresh ones right away. I give 'em to 'im and he makes a bold attempt to get onto my arm and come out, which I can't let him do because a.) he's outside and I can't have him flying away and b.) there are no less than three Tom-cats at my feet. After I get him to give up the idea of getting out, I go get the spray bottle. As I'm coming back, he's still bitchin' and as I get close, he starts flinging all the seeds outta the bowl, right at me. So, I think he's pissed at me.
And, I don't need a depressed duck. So, how do I handle this "egg deal"?
Posted by: Stevie at 11:02 AM | Comments (9) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
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