February 17, 2006
Oh man, oh wow... holy cow...
Just got home from work and checked my email, like I do every day and today....
holy shit...
I seriously can't think straight. So much so, that I nearly forgot to put my Swedish meatballs in the microwave and, believe me, I am starving, too...
I musta wandered around the kitchen a good three or four minutes before I remembered what the hell I went out there for. *lmao* Wow!!!!
I got an email from Darrel!!! *huge-assed grin* This is so cool.... And, in case yer wondering what the other two coolest emails would be...
Either of the two Mikes.
Mad Mikey or Brooklyn Mikey.
Hearing from either of those guys would also make me bounce in my chair endlessly, just like this has. Wow.
Man.
Darrel... *whew* Ooh, and guess what else?
Again... damned near forgot, but, remember Sunday, when I couldn't get the car outta the driveway, thus missed a day of work? It ain't missing on my check. Can ya believe that?
My Bosses are the coolest people. Ya know... Mr. Boss goes out to Oaklahoma a lot. Oklahoma is kinda near Nebraska, isn't it?
Closer than Gettysburg is, at any rate...
Hmmm...
(Look out. I'm thinking. That usually leads to trouble... *giggle*) *coupla minutes later* I don't know who invented Swedish meatballs, but whomever it was oughta be sainted for it.
Got-DAMN, these things are GOOD....
Makes me wanna send the Chef at Stouffer's a dozen roses.
At least. *nother coupla minutes later* I can't find out who it is. I looked.
BUT, I did leave a comment at Stouffer's. com to the effect that if I ever had to choose a last meal, these'd be it.
I highly recommend them. Okay, so back to the point of the post now... Darrel Buschkoetter wrote to me!!!! AAAAAGGGGHHHHH!!!!
Posted by: Stevie at 12:32 PM | Comments (7) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
February 15, 2006
Hey Dad...
Uuuuh... You might wanna considering MOVING!!!!
Didja fuckin' SEE who yer new police chief is? They replaced Cossy with THIS dork?Don't they know who he IS?
Don't they know who his DAD is?!!? Jesus fuckin' CHRIST!
As if I needed any more proof of exactly how fucked up Salem County is (which, by the way, I DIDN'T!!!), here it is. And MACK!! You asshole....
You thought I was retarded when I worked out at the Comm Center?
Holy shit, Dude... My head was all fucked up because my stupid mom had just died and I was fallin' in love with Jack.
Da fucks your excuse?
Did the citizens of Carney's Point piss you off?
You tryin' to pull a "Kenny James" and stick 'em with another one, like James did with this dingleberry's Dad before he got voted out?
Don't you know, don't you REMEMBER what he DID? I'm not saying this is the exact same guy, but he IS a "Jr." and I do believe that's for a REASON!!! I used to dispatch "Eddie".
I remember what he did.
Bet his wife does, too.
I know that Washington chick does, she who smeared a used pizza plate all over the copcar windows because she got pissed at him.
Among other things... I mean, Eddie's a nicer guy than his Dad and all (or was when he was in his early 20's), but... Jeezus. Doesn't the name Carlo mean anything to you?
Apparently NOT, or you'd have chosen someone, ANYONE, else.... After the shit Senior has pulled throughout his career, I just cannot believe you guys reward it like this... Have you never heard about the apple not falling far from the tree?
Ah, but none of it matters, none of it serves as a warning, y'all just give this guy the post with no thought to the past or to the guy you just insulted the FUCK out of by telling the world he could EVER be replaced by a guy like this.
(I, personally, want to apologize to you for this, Cos. You were a wonderful Sargeant to dispatch for and I would have LOVED to have worked for ya when you were Cheif...) And, you people thought I was stupid...
Heh. "Credibility" just died.
It was murdered by this shit. Well hell, fellas... if I were to move back (not in this fuckin' lifetime EVER, by the way), I guess you'd appoint ME Queen of the County or something then, right?
Be right in line with this insanity. Why don'tcha ask Ed why he left the NJSP?
Or better yet... ask one of the guys who're still a Statie? Or find that Washington chick and ask HER who y'all just made Chief?
Or talk to Carlo's relatives and see what they think of whatcha did. Fishsticks, anyone?
I know where you can get a freezerful...
Or a load of plywood, if memory serves, which mine does MUCH better'n YOURS, apparently... Ho-lee shiT.
Just wow. What happened to all the other guys in that PD?
Weigle, Di Pietro, Di Teodoro, the others... what? They all gone? Wouldn't surprise me with this kind of administrative idiocy...
None of them coulda had this job?
Are ya fuckin' kiddin' me? Hell, Weigle's been with the department since the first day he was a cop.
Di Pietro woulda made a better Chief and the Di Teodoros have a history of being CPPD officers...
But, that doesn't matter?
Ya gave it to the son of the most corrupt police chief in the history of the county? Jesus wept. And, I'm laughing my ass off atcha's all.
What a buncha morons. And, you mothafuckers thought I was the stupid one....
*lmfao* Well, I may not be Einstein with tits, but I'm not THAT goddamned stupid. You just killed Carney's Point.
You killed "credibility".
And, I'll bet ya just also killed a lot of the other guy's integrity, motivation and giving a shit. Damn, Mack...
How stupid ARE you? Much moreso than I, methinks.
Hell, meKNOWS. Daaaamn. Well, have fun you people.
You might as well party your asses off on your way to policing HELL.
It's gonna be fun, especially from this distance, to watch you all go down the hard way.
And, it IS gonna happen. "Instant karma's gonna get you.
Gonna knock ya right in the head..." Yeah, it is.
And, the best/stupidest part is... you done did it to yerselves. "Those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it."
Truer words were never spoken, written or even thought of. And, y'all thought I was the fucked up one...
*slithers outta chair, laughing*
Posted by: Stevie at 05:43 AM | Comments (6) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
February 14, 2006
Posted by: Stevie at 05:14 PM | Comments (10) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Awake.
Shake dreams from your hair
My pretty child, my sweet one.
Choose the day and choose the sign of your day
The day's divinity
First thing you see.
Couples naked race down by it's quiet side
And we laugh like soft, mad children
Snug in the wooly cotton brains of infancy
The music and voices are all around us. Choose they croon the Ancient Ones
The time has come again
Choose now, they croon
Beneath the moon
Beside an ancient lake Enter again the sweet forest
Enter the hot dream
Come with us
Everything is broken up and dances. Indians scattered on dawn's highway, bleeding.
Ghosts crowd the young child's fragile eggshell mind. We have assembled inside this ancient and insane theater to propagate our lust for life and flee the swarm of wisdom's restraints. The barns are stormed, the windows kept.
And only one of all the rest to dance and save us from the divine mockery of words.
Music inflames temperment. Oh, great Creater of being, grant us one more hour to perform our art and to perfect our lies.
We need great, golden copulations. When the true King's murderers are allowed to roam free
A thousand magicians arise in the land. Where are the feasts we are promised?
Posted by: Stevie at 12:38 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
February 13, 2006
Question...
I fuckin' would... this shit has gone on long enough. And, I'm GONNA unless either HE makes contact or someone gives me an ironclad, totally PERFECT goddamned reason not to, so... What would YOU do?Posted by: Stevie at 01:50 PM | Comments (11) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
February 12, 2006
Got a minute?
Want to make a Marine's day?
Well, here ya go: UFCUSMC at Yahoo dot com. I want y'all to be able to write to Norm, but I don't wanna be responsible for him getting spammed to death, hence the way I wrote that, ya know? Don't worry about the fact that ya don't know 'im.Doesn't matter.
Just let him know how ya found about him and that'll be enough. He's my brother.
Please send him a note.
In fact, send him as many notes as you want. I don't know how often he'll be able to write back, but, you know how it is over there.
He's in Iraq.
He's a machine gun/door guy.
Like, he sits in the door of the vehicle with a machine gun, protecting or covering the guys when they go out to pick up... non-living other guys.
(I refuse to say dee-ee-ay-dee and the word "Marine" in the same sentence. Just can't do it.)
But, he's on that detail.
AND, he wants to be a cop when he gets back. Geez, Norm.
Have much of a death wish, do ya? ANYway...
drop him a line, if yer of a mind.
He'd appreciate it and so would my Dad and me. If ya wanna know who Norm is, go here.
It's an old site of his that he and his friend McKenna had, before McKenna died.
Yeah.
Young guy and all.
Not sure what happened there.
Only that it had something to do with McKenna and a gun.
Never did find out if it was an accident or not.
I assume it was an accident.
Still, it sucks either way, poor kid. There are pictures there.
This is one of Norm.
Looks just like Dad at that age.
If he's lucky, he'll look like Dad his whole life.
Dad's cute, too.
Kinda looks like Rob Reiner. But, aaanyway...
once again, it's UFCUSMA at Yahoo dot com. His snail mail, for those of you who'd rather write by hand or send care packages, is: LCpl Norman W. Vanaman III
1st MLG HQ CO PRP
Unit 42175
FPO AP 96426-2175 Anything you wanna do would be wonderful. And, if I find out or hear of any anti-military dickwads fuckin' with him because of this, I WILL hunt you down and make you kill yourself. Slowly and horribly. Other than that, write away.
And, thank you.
Posted by: Stevie at 10:28 AM | Comments (7) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Glenn Davis...
Glenn Davis, where are you?
The one I'm lookin' for came to Woodstown High School from one of the Cherry Hill high schools, West, I think. He took Vocational Agriculture with me and played football for the Woodstown High School Wolverines. He was sweet, adorable and live in Pole Tavern. His Dad either worked for or owned a carpet cleaning company. We graduated with the Woodstown High School Class of 1981. Last I knew Glenn was headed to San Diego to become a Navy SEAL. Him being a SEAL is somewhat akin to me being a NUN! He was so sweet, so gentle, such a darlin' ol' Teddybear... I can't see him being a rough, tough, able-to-kill-with his-little-finger SEAL, but... whatta I know? My best memory of him is us, sitting on the hood of his car in his driveway, talking.He was leaned up against his windshield and I was leaned up against him.
God, he was comfortable to be around (and lean on). Nothing "major" ever happened between us, but I love(d) him all the same.
He was one of my best friends and I want to find him, badly.
I miss him all to hell and gone, ya know? I also remember being out in the woods, getting wood for their fireplace with him and his Dad.
And, his smiling face in Ag class.
And, him coming to my Mom's in Carney's Point before going to San Diego.
And, him saying he'd met a girl.
I wonder if they're still together?
I hope so.
Glenn is one of those guys that ya just want to see happy, that ya wanna know somebody is lovin' the hell out of.
He was so amazing, so sweet... Glenn... google yerself, wouldja?
Google yerself, see this and "testify".
Leave a comment. To do that, click on the word "testify" under this post and fill in the blanks.
OR, my email address is superimposed on my picture up in the righthand corner of my main page. Use it. Please.
If you find this post when it's "old", there'll be three things in blue letters at the top of the page. The title of the last post, the word "main" and the title of the next post. Click on "main" and it'll take ya to the main page. You'll know you're there when you see Stevie Ray Vaughan and "CaughtintheXfire" in big red letters across the top. And, my picture with my email address, of course. I miss you and I wanna know how ya are. Where ya are. And, I want you to know I've not forgotten you.
And, that I still love ya.
Lots. Glenn Davis, Glenn Davis, Glenn Davis.
Woodstown High School
Wolverines
Navy SEAL
Pole Tavern
Cherry Hill West Okay, God.
You take it from here, okay?
Help him find me or vice versa. Now... I'll be posting this from time to time, just so it'll get crawled and, hopefully, become the top search for his name, so if ya see the name GLENN DAVIS as the title, you'll know you can skip it, unless, of course, ya wanna read the same thing over and over, or you're GLENN DAVIS!!!!! and then, please, fer the love of all that is holy (and my sanity) leave a comment. Or, if you know him, TELL HIM!!!! Okay?
Show him this, please. Glenn Davis, Glenn Davis, Glenn Davis. Lord, I hope this works.
Posted by: Stevie at 09:54 AM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Well, it's not like I don't have shit I need to get done...
I guess this is "some day", huh?
That fabled day when I do alla the shit that I've been putting off.
Liiike... the animal cages (the rabbit, the duck amd the two roosters), an intense cleaning of the rest of the house, maybe some creative cooking, playin' with the new kittens Lamar gave me last night... well, okay. Maybe I haven't been putting off that last one, she only had 'em last night, but... there's the rest of the list.
(Hell, if the last part of the last sentence didn't getcha, nothing else I write will, right? "Y'all'll"? Jeez...) I almost feel like this is a school day that I got to have off because of this stupid white shit, except for the fact that I didn't get paid to go to school, thus didn't lose money because of being off.
I keep going, "Yay!... shit..." Anyhoo... I guess I'll do my two posts and go clean something.
There's also a buncha goofy search terms in my Site Meter. They're a post in and of themselves, naturally. Plus, I'm starving.
I don't usually get too hungry when I'm working, til later, but, this being off shit has me all off kilter.
Hell, I don't even want my daily "grilled cheese and chicken noodle soup".
I don't know what it is lately with that, but, man. I'm a cheese eatin' fool these days.
And, I don't even really like cheese all that much. Unless I'm starving, I'll pick it offa subs and shit. Don't like it on a salad, either.
But, grilled cheese after forkin' horseshit?
Oh hell yeah. God, I'm weird.
Yeah.
Like that's news...
Posted by: Stevie at 09:16 AM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Dear snow...
Fuck you, I hate you and now... ya owe me money.
You wrecked my record, ya stupid buncha white, useless, fluffy shit. 63 days, damn it. Six-ty three days without a day off and YOU hadda come along and fuck that up for me.Well... thanks a load (of SALT) and YOU OWE ME TODAYS PAY!!!! Go to hell. Go straight to hell, do not pass go, do not collect jackshit.
In fact, go to hell and MELT. I hate you. Sincerely,
me P.S. My Crown Vic is a complete pussy.
The goddamned Jack Russell, with his little two inch long legs, negotiates better in this shit than Vic does.
Vic can't even get his lame ass outta the farkin' garage! (Mostly thanks to the township plow, but still...)
How utterly pathetic.
I'm so embarassed for him.... Gawd.
Posted by: Stevie at 08:28 AM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
February 09, 2006
My bet is on "no"...
And, that's because horses, like cats, are a "girl thing" for the most part.
However... I must hedge this with the caveat that you do love Westerns, so maybe ya don't dislike horses like ya do cats.John Wayne and all that, ya know... Anyway, my "theory" is that ya don't like cats because they're a "feminine" kinda thing, much like horses, and with what you've been put through by
Then, one day, my stupid, yet intuitive Mommie Dearest says to me, "I'll bet you're talking more to me than her..." I didn't say much back to her about that...
Because I WAS!!!! Sometimes it's easier, or better maybe, to take out hostilities on secondary subjects rather than the actual "bad guy". And, nine times outta ten, the "subject" we choose to be mean to is highly representative of the actual asshole we hate.
Like with my stupid mother and her cat, whom I really did like.
Bea was cool.
My mom sucked. I think it's wimmen you're really pissed at, not cats, and...
I don't blame ya one stinkin' bit. Look at it this way...
If you got one free pass to reeeeally hurt, or kill, one living thing with no penalties, no repercussions (ie: not hurting Quinton), no bad karma and with nothing being fundamentally changed by it, who would ya go after? A cat or Jennifer? Now... for the rest of you wondering what the hell this is about, click the link, read the comments too and the reason I did this was to get my "theory" set down BEFORE I get his answer (if indeed I do get one *grin*), lest anyone think I'd be tailoring my response to that by what his answer is. And Rob?
Never forget that I do love ya.
Ver' much.
I'm just sayin' is all...
Posted by: Stevie at 12:07 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
February 08, 2006
God, I am soooo bitchy today...
and I don't really know why.
It's not PMS.
It'd BETTER NOT be PMS. That shit just ended not to long ago. Not time for that yet, though ya couldn't tell it from lookin' at me right now.
Pft.
AS USUAL, I get no response.
EVERYBODY ELSE on the fuckin' planet he hears, but not my ass.
He either doesn't hear the radio ONLY when it's me calling or he blows me off with "I'll call ya back in a minute", which he never does.
I motherfuckin' HATE that. Then, I get to work and just got more and more pissed off with each stall I got to that was just destroyed with hay flung hither and yon. I fuckin' HATE HAY.
Shit oughta be processed into cubes. No loose hay allowed EVER.
Fuckin' stupid hay wastin' horses.
They drag it all outta the rack, dribble it every-fuckin'-where, then do the fuckin' Watusi or some damned thing, just to make sure it's as mixed into the sawdust and shit as equine-ly fuckin' possible because that's just soooooooo much fuckin' FUN to hafta fuck with endlessly.
Fuckin' punkasses. Then, I finally get done with that shit and go to the feed store and the people store... grocery store, shut up. Can I DO this with no fucknoodles?
Oh HELL (fuckin') NO.
I hafta have some stupid old crock cunt standing on her fuckin' brakes all the way into the parking lot.
Y'okay, bitch. Let's do a half a fuckin' mile an hour here. I'VE GOT ALL GODDAMNED DAY!!!!!
Then, the fuckhead STOPS and just sits there, pickin' her nose or some fuckin' thing.
Which is fine, considering SHE'S THE ONLY PERSON ON THE FUCKIN' PLANET AND NOBODY ELSE NEEDS TO MOVE!!!!
Fuckin' old whore.
MOVE, YOU FUCKIN' CRACKHEAD!!!!!! God, I hate humans.... Then, I get home and STILL these useless fuckin' cats have cleaned NOTHING in here.
Bitches. This house looks like a goddamned tornado went through, liked it, and stayed a while. And, guess who gets to clean it all by herSELF?!!? Yeah, me... Miss Bitchypants. And, I swear to fuckin' GOD, if April doesn't shut the fuck UP RIGHT NOW, I am gonna go kick her ass so hard it comes out her big, fat, gum-flappin', barkin' MOUTH!
Yappin'-at-nothing BITCH. The longer this day goes on, the more reasons I'm being given to praise GOD that DucT tape was invented. I could use that stuff in ever so many ways. Tape that yappin' bitches face shut.
Tape a goddamned sluicefork to those hay-wastin' punks front hooves and let THEM clean that shit up a day or two and see how THEY like it.
Of course, I am gonna go right behind 'em and fuck it all up again, too.
Make it look like they never cleaned up a single piece of hay or turd, just like they do to me.
Fuckers.
I could tape a few cats outside, the males... the ones who wanna pull rape tactics on the girls, piss all over the fuckin' place and make messes.
I can see it now.
Buncha Tom's taped to the side of the house in a crucifiction pose.
I could tape Eric's radio to his fuckin' head so he'd HEAR THE FUCKIN' THING. Believe me, I could go through about 99 rolls of DucT tape right now and still need another one. AAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!! *coupla seconds later* Deeeep breaths.
Pull it in, Chick, pull it in.
Throw something through a window, then do that Fonzie-stopping-freaking-out manuver he does... Times like this I wish I knew karate or jujitsu or something mean and martial-artsy so I could beat the shit outta the world and look cool doing it and not even be breathin' hard when I'm done, ya know?
(Yo, GOD. Can I be Billy Jack next time 'round, PLEASE? Thanks.) Fuckin' God, man.
Where is alla this pissed off-ness coming from? There is nothing bad going on.
In fact, my one cat who has been injured (by I don't know what) is doing muuuch better.
Everybody is alive... so far.
I've got nothing "pending" that I hate... except tomorrow back in those hay-fucked-up stalls. (And by the way... less weight, more reps is working out really well. My arms feel much better. So much better, in fact, I have the strength left to beat the snot outta whoMever needs it.)
I don't know what the fuck ails me right now, but, if anybody needs anybody else's ass kicked, won'tcha please call me and let me do it, pleeeeease?
I promise, ya won't recoginze them when I'm done.
Unless, of course, you're a DNA expert, 'cause all that'll be left of them is a blood splotch on the ground, I swear. Jeezus. Can ya even imagine what's gonna happen if somebody really does do something REAL to piss me off?
Scary thought, man, scary thought. Not to eeeeven mention, I have about 39 other things, pleasant things even, to write about, but I'm so hopped up right now, I can't even think of 'em...
All I can do is type "fuckin'" faster than any other word in the English language and keep scrubbing my hands up and down my face, but... not at the same time.
Unless I do each thing with just one hand...
Cool part is, either thing with either hand.
I'm ambidextriously enraged.
And I don't know why.
And that blows. ANYway...
I'm gonna go.... clean or destroy something.
I hope it's "clean", but... ya never know, do ya?
Ya start out with the best of intentions, then some piddlin' ass stupid shit just haaaaas to happen, like air touching me, and I hafta stop what I'm trying to do to have a lil freak out for a while.
And, you do know of course, that the highway to hell is paved with good intentions? Well folks, I'm on the Teflon Turnpike on that count, lem'me tell ya's. I intend NOT to be a spastic fucknozzle and lookit me. Where the hell are the Morphine pills when ya need 'em? *clicks "save" whilst repeatedly banging head on desk*
Posted by: Stevie at 02:35 PM | Comments (7) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
February 06, 2006
Wanna hear something really cool?
Only way this could be any better is if it were the man himself...Posted by: Stevie at 02:21 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
not even realizing how much u do actually know him, hehe. i dont know too much about his extended family and he and i actually managed to lose touch..for an entire year in fact..until litterally the night before he left this time. and then i did a search for adrienne. i dont kno why, maybe procrastination trying to push back sleep so i dont have to face a crappy day tomorrow..and u were the only site that popped up again. at first i wasnt even sure u meant the same norm despite the 3rd-ness and the mention of marines and kim and all. i didnt read through everything so sorry once again for telling u things that u may already know (*its 4am, i really am tired beyond reason 
*) but im sure he'd love any letters, u know how he gets bored so easily. not that iraq is a land of diversions..but just in case u didnt have his address yet its ~
Rick Allen, the one-armed drummer from Def Leppard, is pretty awesome, almost a hero to me, but...
He's about to become my greatest inspiration soon...
...WHEN MY ARMS GO ON AND FALL THE FUCK OFF!!!!! Baldheaded Jesus Godamnned Almighty CHRIST, but they hurt like holy old HELL. I think I reeeeeally do need to rethink my lifelong philosophy of "fuck makin' two trips".
Been like this since I was a kid. I can even remember my Grandmom Hughes saying to me one time, "Why do you think you have to carry alla that at once? Why don't you set some of it down and come back for it? Be easier to carry that way..." To which I replied, "'Cause then I'd hafta make two trips..." as if that were the worst thing imaginable.
Which it is.
Or usedta be.
That's gettin' aced out by "potential armlessness" these days. It truly does hurt too much most of the time to be able to brush my hair without sounding like the dialog from a porno when it gets hot-n-heavy. "Oooh, ahh, ugh, *whiiine*, *squeal*, ohohohoh, owowowow.... aaaahhhhh", that last part being when I put my arms back down.... I have GOT to figure out how to do this shit better.
Bossman seems to advocate not filling the shit bucket so full.
Been sayin' that the whole time I've been there. At first, I wanted it to hurt. To me, that means muscles are being used. Maybe they ain't likin' it so much, but they're working, which will hopefully lead to them needing fuel which they can then burn fat to get, etc. etc....
I load that stupid thing all the way to the top.
Not so bad when there's hay in it, but when it's pure shit... oh ma gawd. I know about "lift with yer legs" and shit.
I do that.
In fact, here lately, I've been using my knee to help heft the bucket up to the edge of the spreader.
My arms are NOT getting better at this.
Well, maybe they are, because I can feel new strength when I do "light" shit or normal stuff, but they're not getting better at not hurting like HELL every day.
And night.
Can't fall asleep sometimes, they ache so bad. Now, I know with guys who lift it's not all about "how much weight it is".
It also has to do with reps.
Well, I've been thinkin' I have both.
Weight and reps.
Maybe I need less weight and more reps? Hell, I feel like I oughta already be lookin' like a bulldog or Popeye with my arms all bowed out from my sides from muscle.
Like I'd hafta go sideways through a doorway....
I feel like I oughta look like that, they hurt so bad.
But, I don't look like that, I look like a crippled up old woman who can't brush her hair without help anymore. I think what I wanna know is this: If I keep this up the way I've been doing it, will my arms someday STFU and get with the program and this'll actually become easier OR am I gonna destroy my shoulders if I keep pushin' so hard?
See, I've got this friend, Jason, who is a drummer, a flooring installation expert, a carpenter-type and a contractor, so he does a lotta "arm use" shit.
Coupla years ago, he started to say how bad his shoulders/arms hurt him when he finished something, whether it was hanging sheetrock or drumming a gig.
HE ended up having to have surgery.
Rotator cuff, I think....
Anyway, I ain't havin' no gotdamned surgery.
I'm also not gonna give in, unless somebody tells me I have to or else... (or else my arms WILL fall off or something). Will my arms/shoulders get used to this, or do I really need to back off the weight of the loads? I don't suppose making 'em lighter, thus having to make *gulp* two trips, will be all bad... maybe I'll walk off my ass faster makin' two trips.... ya think? Also had another "ideer"... I could always glue my brush to the wall at the correct height and brush my hair that way, by crouching next to it and standing up into it over and over... kinda like a cat with one of those self-groomer things ya stick on the wall, only me going UP insteada back and forth like they do.
Cute, eh? Sooo....
what do I do?
(Besides whine a lot about how bad my arms hurt, I mean...)
Posted by: Stevie at 01:40 PM | Comments (8) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
February 05, 2006
yesssssss.....
Posted by: Stevie at 10:54 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
February 04, 2006
Just damn...
Posted by: Stevie at 08:12 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Wanna see a truly ignorant troll?
The kind of asshole who needs to be killed s-l-o-w-l-y and by hand?
Go here.See the tribute, then read the comments and tell me what CM needs... These two guys, among many others, died for this piece of shit's right to BE a piece of shit.
How poetic.... (/sarcasm) Ya know...
Camp David is not far from here and you can tell when Shrub is there because of the fighter jets flying around.
Maybe next time he's there, I oughta take a little ride.
Go see him.
And kick him harder than I've ever kicked anything, right in the kneecap, once for every guy who has died under his watch.
With the steel-toed boots, of course. Then, maybe grind some salt into whatever's left of his legs... Dipshit. Rest in Peace guys.
Posted by: Stevie at 01:42 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
February 03, 2006
John Douglas Miller from Norfolk, Virginia...
Are you "my" Johnny?
I saw ya in my Site Meter and I just have to ask...
If it is you, do me a huuuuge favor.
Click on the word "testify" under this post and say something.... anything, ya know?
Just let me know... especially if it's you, Babe. And, if you're not "my" Johnny... thanks every bit as much, because I clicked on the archived post you found and just got to revisit one of my best posts. It's about Mike. I wrote it waaaay back in May 2004. Had "Live Rust" blasting in the background when I wrote it and it can still take me right back to those days. Not that "these days" aren't almost as good, but... with life having stripped my innocence and my head being too aware of the avarice that powers most people's lives and all that kinda crap, it'll probably never be EXACTLY the same. But, I swear... standing in the sunshine at the horse farm today, with Cal saddled, waiting for Mrs. Boss to come to the barn, looking at all the horses around me.... I could feel it, almost completely. That feeling I used to live in when I was a kid and it was a warm Spring day and all in the world I had to do was ride.
Didn't hafta worry about bills, health shit, house cleaning, grocery shopping, dying alone.... none of that. I could just wake up in my bed, in my house, with my Dad right in the next room and Diablo right out in the pasture. I was whole and complete in a way I wish I had been more aware of at the time. It felt so safe, so... real. So good. There are times when I'd trade the rest of my life for one more day with things being like that again. No matter where I went or what I did, I knew Dad was "there" somewhere. If he wasn't in the kitchen window when I rode back into the yard, maybe he'd be out back in his garden or in the livingroom or even at work, but always "there". Okay. What the hell.
What's with the leaky face all of a sudden? I'm not sad, not really.
But, ya couldn't tell that by lookin' at me right now.
Tears are rollin' faster than rain right now and I don't know why. Maybe I miss Mike.
Maybe I miss Johnny.
Maybe I miss Dad.
Maybe I'm just nuts.
I don't know. All I do know is that it's nearly midnight and I just woke up a little while ago.
I didn't sleep at all last night.
I cleaned the house instead.
Guess I was a little keyed up about "riding for them", like an audition. Which, by the way, I passed with flying colors.
Especially since Calvin, the little turd, decided to give me some shit. Just enough to prove to 'em that, yes I can handle a horse, quite easily in fact.
Besides, Cal... you call that "bucking"?
Please, Dude.
That was more like "crow-hopping 'cause you were trying to get out of cantering".
I do know the difference, ya putz. Anyway... if you are the John Miller I hope ya are, let me know. And... how is it again that you make yourself the first result for a particular search? I've done it before, kinda by accident, with that dorkus I used to work for in Jersey.
But, that was so long ago I don't remember how it happened (or why I wanted it to happen, for that matter...) Anyhoo... I want to be the first result for the name Glenn Davis. He's one of my best friends from high school and last I knew, he was, of all things, a Navy Seal.
He was such a sweet, gentle guy I can't imagine him being able to kill with a look (like I heard SEALs can do).
*grin* Here's what I know: Glenn Davis
Transferred to Woodstown High School from one of the Cherry Hill high schools... can't remember it if was East or West.
He was in Ag with me.
Lived in Pole Tavern.
Played football.
His Dad either worked for or owned a rug cleaning company.
Last place I know he was is San Diego. He was going there for the SEAL training and this was at least 16 years ago.
I loved 'im to death. So.
What do I do with alla this? How do I make it so I come up at all, if not first, with any of these words or combos thereof? I want to find Glenn.
He's one of those rather unique pieces of my past... one that has no hurt attached to it.
Posted by: Stevie at 01:34 AM | Comments (6) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
February 02, 2006
In other news...
My lil friend went away.
I get to keep Tyler, the Jack Russell I've been taking care of. And... I'm being "promoted" at work. I've been working there since December 9th, without a day off.Haven't really needed one.
Tell me, how does one "need" a day off from 3 to 4 hours of work, anyway?
I'd be surprised, I'm sure. Anyhoo... tomorrow, I ride for them.
Mrs. Boss came up to me when I was just about done Wednesday and asked me if I wanna ride Calvin, so she can see me ride.
"Sure, that'll work." I think this may lead into me "working" horses for 'em.
And, by working, I mean, basically, "riding" them.
For this, I'll be getting paid.
Gawd... And, to put a fine point on it, I'm not getting paid just to ride "horses".
Noooo.
I'll be getting paid to ride World Champion caliber show horses for them to keep practiced and up to snuff.
'Round and 'round, either on the track or in the indoor arena.
Walk, jog, canter, reverse, lead changes... maybe even a little reining.
That I'll need practice for. My goal is to show for them.
That would be... man.
Incredible, awesome, unreal... but I know I could do it and win.
Just need some fine tuning, same as the horses. Anyway... alla that shit that was making me crazy last week is "solved".
Even Mikey is doing better. Now, if I could just find Mad William....
Posted by: Stevie at 12:34 AM | Comments (7) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
February 01, 2006
So, where were you with this contemptible tripe last week?
Last week, when I was having such a shitty week...
Where were you then, with alla this disrespect and messing with someone I care about?
Ya worm.
Last week, this week... whenever. You mess with Darrel, you'd be better off messin' with ME.
And, that's any time. I don't know if you're a man or a woman, but if you ARE a man, you need to turn your balls in and get your uterus, you're such a bitch. A man hater. A femi-nazi, even, the way you try to do Darrel. As soon as someone starts running men down, I think "woman". I also start to have what amounts to an allergic reaction, as I break out in fists.
Yes, I immediately side with the guy, til it's proven to my satisfaction that I'm wrong to do so.
Very rarely does that happen, lem'me tell ya.
And, that's just men in general. You start running down a man I know is a real man, a man I halfway know from seeing such an intimate documentary of his life, a man I like a helluvalot and you're asking for trouble. So, you asked for it, you got it.
Idiot. Not to mention, buuut... Not sure what this means or says about me, nor do I give a shit, but I've had Helter Skelter on non-stop for about three days so far.
I don't know how, though. I stuck the DVD in sometime Sunday, I think, and it's just been playing over and over and over since.
I didn't ask it to, it just is.
Even more bizarre, I also have the VHS tape playing in here as I type, so I can hear it better. (Note: Just got changed, by Eric, to The Stand... 6:20pm)
I have yet to see the whole thing from beginning to end since Sunday. I think I might be waiting til I do to turn it off, I dunno.
Meanwhile, since I don't know how it's doing it, I kinda feel like it's the "free porn" thing from Friends, when Joey and Chandler get the free porn and never shut it off. SO... that may have a lil something to do with my attitude with this douchebag. Just thought I'd mention it...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Now, what we have here is one of my favorite kinda cowards.
Those are the kind who comment on old posts, make all kindsa asinine statements and don't even say who they are. This "person" seems to have taken exception to the fact that I am totally behind Darrel Buschkoetter all the way.
Doesn't seem to care for the idea that I believe in Darrel and want nothing but all the good things life has to offer for him. Well, I take exception to that. So, here we go...
Excuse me....No.
but Darrel needed a big kick in the ass!Excuse ME. You need to step down... NOW.
Darrel needed support, love, strength, backup and a real partner. Not more abuse.
Apparently, you didn't comprehend what you saw, if you even watched TFW, because, if you had actually SEEN anything in it, you'd know that Darrel did get the equivalent of kicks in the ass from his Dad every day, in every way.
He got talked down in town by people like YOU, he got lied about, lied to, used and hurt badly.
And, Juanita's family? Oh don't even get me started. Talk about kicks in the ass... her and her sister, sitting under that tree, running Darrel down and laughing at him... sending cards to her and the kids leaving his name off... her Mom putting him down with every word... My God, "person". A real kick in the ass probably would have been a relief to Darrel.
Of course, it would take real balls to kick the man in person, which absolutely none of these people had, nor do you, obviously.
He spent valuable time at his daddy's farm (when he needed to be working on his own farm), while Juanita had to beg for loans because they were knee-deep in debt! Hell, she didn't have the money to take their child to the doctor, or anything else for that matter.Again... did you not hear ONE WORD Darrel said when he and Juanita had this discussion, when she accused him of wasting time at his Dad's? She was fulla
Not that she, or you, care about that.
Leroy couldn't pay Darrel a compliment, ya think he'd part with cash? Besides which, he couldn't have afforded Darrel, even if he had tried to pay him.
Not only is Darrel damned good at what he does, he did it for Leroy outta LOVE, trying to have some kinda connection to that man, as well as for his future.
As for Juanita "begging for loans"... Um, when did that happen? I heard people OFFER her money to take the kid to the doctor. I heard her say her mother-in-law paid it, not that she had to ask her to. I also heard her say she hated to say anything to her family, because they'd "just send money and it's nice to know they care aboutcha that much, but..."
So, if she didn't have the money for certain shit, it was her own fault. She could've gotten it, especially for something like a sick kid.
But, it was obvious as hell that playing the martyr was what she chose to do instead.
Oh, and Darrel DID work his own farm, every night when he got home from WORK!
He put himself first by refusing to consider anything other than the farm.Well, Jesus! Somebody needed to do it! She sure as fuck didn't. My hand to GOD, all she talks about is MONEY. Hell, I don't have any either, but I don't let it rule my life, fer fuck's sake.
I get JOBS, where I make more'n 4 cents an hour in a situation I can never hope to achieve that makes me resent my husband, unlike some people... Juanita.
The ONLY way she put Darrel first was in the "blame" line.
She blamed him for everything.
Her quitting school.
Her not being able to get back to school.
Their financial situation.
Her increasing coldness toward him.
Her stress.
Everything....
I can easily see at least two reasons why it's totally proper and makes sense that Darrel would "put himself first", as you put it.
1.) I too would rather spent the night in a combine than listen to somebody whine and bitch and blame me for everything all night long.
2.) Losing that farm would kill him. Period.
Understanding that simple, yet mutli-layed, many faceted concept makes the difference between a good farm wife and a bad, BAD one (doesn't it, Maryanne?).
There's a saying that Harley riders use... "If I have to explain it, you wouldn't understand it anyway."
Same here.
It's no more wrong for Darrel to be that way than it is for her not to be. It was just wrong of her to lead him on like she did, run him down like she did and hurt him like she did.
I don't blame her if she left him.Neither do I.
Why would I blame her for giving him one of the greatest gifts a man can get?
PEACE.
Honestly, whether even he knows it or not yet, this is going to turn out to be one of the top ten best things that's ever happened to him.
When the next one happens... when he finally finds "her", the woman who'll love him to pieces BECAUSE he's who he is and how he is, when he finally finds out what really being loved is about, he'll understand it then.
I just hope it happens for him SOON. Breaks my heart to think of him all alone, with no one's arms to come home to. That sweet little face of his BEGS to be kissed upon multiple times at once. Every time, too, damn it. (*grin*)
Who'd want a guaranteed life of misery?Well, Juanita springs to mind, with her attitude about what "happiness" is, for one.
And, Darrel sure as hell doesn't deserve that.
In fact, a life with Darrel would be a joy, to see a man so thoroughly love what he does, to help him realize his dream, to make him happy, spoil his ass rotten... yeah, man. That'd be cool... will be a blast for the right woman, too.
Bravo for her if she left his ass.Yep.
Posted by mk at February 1, 2006 03:29 PM
I'll give ya that one, too, 'cause as long as she was around, Darrel wouldn't have ever been open to the right woman. So, what?
Are you related to her or something?
Posted by: Stevie at 07:08 PM | Comments (10) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
No wonder my frickin' shoulders hurt...
I got curious 'bout something today.
Sometimes that leads to trouble.
Like now... At the horse farm, we have a New Holland 520 manure spreader.
It's a big ol' thing and I got to wondering how much it holds, weight-wise.
(This looks kinda short and thank Gawd mine doesn't have any of that white shit on it...)
Most days, on the "gets emptied today" days, it's full to the top of the sides, not just to the flared part.
Other days, it's heaped (and godalmightyDAMN, is that hard to do sometimes, heft a full bucket o'shit, wet sawdust and gicked up hay what amounts to "over yer head"... Try that a few times and see if brushing your hair ain't more effort (and pain) than it's worth...) ANYway... New Holland 520, filled every two days... how much horseshit am I totin' around here? Seems to be about 3 tons a day.
Yeah.
6000 pounds a day. Of horseshit. A day. I don't think I really needed to know that. First, I tried looking on here for the weight capcity of the thing.
Well... they ain't made 'em since 1990, so, it seem nobody knows anymore, not even New Holland North America, where I called.
Best I can find is "217 bushel capacity". Okay.
Fine. So.
How many pounds in a bushel? Pffffffffffft. Seems that that depends on what's in yer bushel.
Soy beans have one weight, corn another, oats another... it goes on but never does say what horseshit, wet sawdust and gicked up hay weighs. Salesman at my local NH dealer thinks that my loads weigh less than grain, so we went with 50 pounds per "horseshit, wet sawdust and gicked up hay bushel". Then, Mr. Salesguy comes out with, "Says here the load capacity is (something like) 170 cubic feet loaded level. If ya heap it, it goes up to 260 cubic feet, so you're doubling the capacity. Now, how many pounds or bushels there are in a cubic foot, I have no idea... You figure that out..."
And, I jump in with, "I figure that out, I want my four F's from high school algebra changed..." Jeezus. So any-friggin'-I-hate-math-way... They say it holds 217 bushels.
Gotta believe they mean loaded level. Grain bushels weigh in the vicinity of 60 pounds.
My crap allegedly weighs less.
(Still grain, just "used"...)
So, we'll go with the 50 pound bushels. 217 times 50 is 10,850 pounds.
So, call it 11 thousand, because I hate fractions even more than "regular" math, m'kay? Thanks. So, 11, 000 pounds is "full".
Which means that 5500 pounds is half, which is "a day".
Which is a mere 500 pounds less than 3 tons.
Which if ya go by what we call full is probably 500 pounds more than they mean, so we're back to a full 3 tons. Of horseshit. A day. No wonder my shoulders hurt.
Posted by: Stevie at 03:30 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
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