September 03, 2005

Now... where was I?

Oh yeah.
TC was a shit.
(Big news.)

Once I got away from him and got here and got it outta me, I had a rather (rather? Try "wholly"...) uncharacteristic response to his bullshit.

I had asked the waitress who got me started with alla this "colors" crap what kind of lipstick she uses.
Mind you, I don't, never have and thought I never would wear lipstick. The tinted Chapsticks are about as far as I go with that shit.
Real lipstick always looks and tastes like shit. It's too heavy and unnatural and I understand that it has a propensity to get on your teeth, ew.

Found out she uses lipGLOSS too and where she gets it.

Same place I get everything hair related. Cool. I have a card for that place.

So, I go to get JUST LIPGLOSS (sigh) and see these hair-things that another chick that I work with sometimes has a few of and got one for myself.

It's a huge curly "ponytail". It secures to your own ponytail with a huge-assed clip.

I love this thing.
And, so do the prep guys, several of the waitresses and Eric.

I've been called "Farrah" by four different people (altho, the first time, it was all my own hair that prompted the remark, however the same person said it again about the "ponytail" last night *grin*) and got a "beautiful" from the second cook-guy last night.

I also got two lipglosses.
Two shades of pink.

*rolling eyes heavenward, as if to ellicit a response to the question...*

WHO DA FUCK AM I THESE DAYS?

I also redid my nails and without benefit of Sally Hansen's system, which I've been using forever. They quit making the nail repair kits. Can't find 'em around here, anyway.
It was freaking me out. I had no idea how else to do this shit and they were needing to be re-done badly. (Adding to my stress-factor, btw, when dealing with TC, no doubt. My fingers were hurting by then...)

Wanna guess where I found the answer?

Yes.
The same beauty supply place.

Jesus.
I'm in there more often than the fuckin' grocery store anymore.
Me.
Miss I-wanna-be-a-guy.
It's wiggin' me OUT, I tell ya.

Anyway, the system I got there is a VAST improvement over Sally's, so my nails came out GREAT and it was tons easier.

So, I get bitched out and the next day I work, I come back with excellent looong nails, a huge gorgeous hair style and truly colored lips.

Take that, TC.
I think.

Hell, I really don't have a clue as to why I'm doing alla this shit these days.
I really don't.

Part of me is fine with it, like "whatever, man...".
Then, there's the part of me that's almost appalled by it all, which wars with the part of me who actually, secretly, likes this shit.

Christ, I'm triplets.
That's a sure sign of Armegeddon....

Wanna know how far it's gone already?
When I got home from work Thursday night, I needed to run to the store.
Before I did that, I actually re-curled my bangs and re-set the ponytail and frickin' PRIMPED (*shudder*) to go to the fuckin' grocery store.

I caught me doing that just as I was spritzin' the hair spray.
"Da fuck are you doin', you dork? Yer goin' to _______'_, not a beauty contest. Re-curling hair, fixing makeup, Jeezus...."

Thank Gawd I was braless under my work shirt.
That, coupled with the black sweatpants I threw on and the fact that I just threw my lace-up boots on without tying them, made me feel more myself.

Myself from the neck down, that is.

Felt like I had Zsa Zsa Garbor's head, or something.
Fuckin' freaky, man...

Now, before I forget yet again, let me settle an age-old arguement between the sexes.
It's at work this revelation came to me and has been repeated to me more times than I care to (goddamned have to) deal with.

Men....

From this day forth unto forever, you are ALL hereby allowed, nay URGED, to ignore women and their bullshit about pissing on toilet seats.
Where women get the chutzpa to bitch about y'all is beyond me, seeing as to how every fuckin' time I go to pee at work, I need at least half a roll of paper to wipe the goddamned seat after some disgusting BITCH has pissed all over it.
In fact, guys, could ya's all please purposely start pissing around the entire circumfrence of every toilet seat you happen upon?
Please?
For me?

I'd appreciate knowing that karma is in full effect each time I'm forced to clean up some skanks bio-hazardous remnants.

Thank you ver' much.

Okay.
I feel better now.

Next thing is:
I'm going back by the horse place again. I've been by a coupla times and haven't seen the horses yet. Either way, whether I see them or not, I think, this time, I'm gonna actually stop and ask about 'em.

If they're gone, I'm going back to the show barn Brandy came from.

Every single day, the longer this phase of my life goes on- the harder it gets, the more worn down I get- the worse missing Storm becomes.
Yes, I needed him before, in the first place, but I need him even more now.
Him or another as like him as I can find.
I need my buddy back.
Now.

*coupla minutes later*

Is that everything?
I think so.
I don't feel as bunged up as I did, but I also feel like I'm forgetting some-lil-thang...

Oh well.
If I am, I'll be back sooner than later, is all.

Pray for me with this horse thing, could ya?
That's one's too big. That one I need help with.

Thanks and...

Peace

Posted by: Stevie at 03:06 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

August 30, 2005

Son of a bitch...

I knew he was gonna get me.

I had the wrong day, yeah, but I had the time pretty close.

Oh well. At least now I know what that "sexy" shit was about.

Yes, I'm talkin' about TC.
Apparently, when he mentioned "sexy" last Friday, he was referring to the fact that I don't make myself sound like a goddamned wrestler over the PA system.

Using the adjective "sexy" was Numbnut's way of "telling me to speak up".

Oh.

Silly fuckin' ME for not gettin' that.

Obscure much, ASSWIPE?

I found this out yesterday (Monday) after he gave me shit for not talking loud enough and as much as threatened to fire me for it.
Dick.

Thanks to PMS, I friggin' LOST IT when he mouthed off at me.
Wound up pacing in the basement, smoking a cigarette, crying and talking outloud to myself because of him.

Went to Sweetie, too, oh yes I fuckin' did.

In fact, that was when I melted down.
Had noooo idea I was going to, either, til I did.
Damn his soul.
(TC's, of course...)

After telling Sweetie that TC had "just threatened to fire me", I'm not too sure of what I was sayin', but I heard Sweetie saying, "Aw, no. Don't cry. Are ya fired? No. Don't worry about it. You just do need to speak up a little, is all... Will you stop crying? Geez. G'wan, go smoke a cigarette and don't worry about it. Really. You're fine."

That's when I headed downstairs.

Lord God ALMIGHTY, I wanted to lay him out verbally, that turd.
I didn't even care if he, or anybody else, heard me talking down there.
Everything I was saying is true.
And, if I thought for one second this asshole has the capacity to handle it, I'd say it all to his face, but he truly cannot handle the truth.

I truly cannot handle his lack of credibility when he's bitching at me.

Maybe I do need to SCREAM at him. Fine.
BUT... where he gets this "I'm getting tired of telling you this shit every day..." and horseshit like that, I do NOT know.

Number one, he doesn't even SEE me every day.
So, he does NOT tell me ANYTHING every day.

Two, I live my entire professional life endeavoring to not make it so he HAS to say anything to me every day.

And, he doesn't.

So, when he gets all fuckin' stupid and starts with the "every day" shit, then ups it to "... and if you can't speak up, you don't have to work here.", I. just. go. BERZERK!!!!!

One of these days... I swear....

I was mentally fucked after that.
Not long after, I asked Sweetie how much we charge for a "side of monkey dish".
He just kinda looked at me, then I heard what I'd said.
"Aw, shit. I mean, what do we charge for a monkey dish of cole slaw? *giggle*"
He told me the price, then bopped me on the head with the menu, giggling himself.

A side of monkey dish.
Hokay.

*jeezus*

Warn't much better after that, even after I talked to Sweetie again, after Mr. Personality had gone (the FUCK) home.

Hell, I still ain't right behind that shit.
Threaten my fuckin' JOB?
DO WHAT?
BECAUSA WHAT?
Oh, fuck you, man.

It's goddamn 12:27 am right now and I've already made a whole batch of chocolate cookies with white chips and I'm about to make a batch of the opposite, or "regular" Tollhouse.

I oughta be in bed.
However, thanks to that nimrod, here I am.
Awake.
Baking what amounts to a third ass cheek, if I eat halfa this shit, and I'm still kinda pissed.

Even though, in my second talk with Sweetie about him, Sweetie confirmed all that I had been thinking about why TC is like he is. Sweetie nearly quoted me to myself in fact.
The part about how it had better be the most important thing because it's his whole life...

He's not an owner and I think, after today, even if he did "fire" me, it'd be rescinded by any of the three owners, unless, of course, TC was 100% correct and I had done something completely outrageous, which I ain't gonna do.
Not even beating the snot outta that stupid chick.

I am, however, going to "handle" her myself.
I talked to Sweetie about her too, a little.
He likes her, unfortunately.
So far, anyway.

So, being stuck with her on nights isn't an "if". It's a "when".
And, when it happens and she starts her shit like I already know she's gonna, I will tell her EXPLICITLY what the deal is.
There will be no questions.
There will be no test.
Get it wrong, she's fucked.

I'll decide what that means when I need to.
Deciding now would be beyond "overboard/not fair" to her, because she'd be paying for my PMS and TCS, which is "Terrorist Cook Shit".
Let's just let her pay her own debts.
Meantime, I'm back to "never been in a fight, can never BE in fught, 'cause I'd literally KILL the asshole I was beating on, because all the rage I've felt my whole life over everything 2 bazillion other people have done would all come pounding out."
God help me.

Anyway... oughta get back to the cookies.

And, just in case having said this 42 million times already hasn't been enough...

I'D RATHER HAVE TO SHAVE EVERY MONTH (OR DAY) THAN PUT WITH THIS SHIT ANYMORE, EVER AGAIN.
(Meaning PMS and it's attendant BULLSHIT.)

Besides which, if I was a GUY, TC would be nicer.
LIFE would be nicer, except I'd still hafta dick around with fuckin' women.

Or, I could be like TC, alone, bitter and mean.
Which is kinda the result of PMS anyway, so why NOT?
Why not go on and make me a guy?

I hate every thing "feminine".

Including pansy-assed bullies who can't be nice, lest they spontaneously combust or whatever it is he tells himself so he can STAND himself, which I don't see how he can anyway.

Maybe he can't.
Maybe that has to do with his attitude too.

If so, it's a self-fulfilling prophecy kinda thing, a cyclic hunk of bullshit behavior that's gonna eventually suck him the rest of the way down his life's toilet.
While I stand there (finger on the little silver handle) and watch.

Fire THIS, motherfucker. (And yeah, ya'll know I'm doing the single finger sal-lute...)

Peace
(as in if ya's have any to spare, can ya shoosh it on over this way, please? thanks...)

Posted by: Stevie at 01:17 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

August 28, 2005

Y'all ain't gonna believe this shit...

Hell, I can barely believe it myself.

That chick is severely twisted.
The rap-bitch from work?
Yeah, her.

I was stuck with her stupid ass Friday night, as I was pissing and moaning about before.
I was correct to piss and moan about it, too.
BEFORE MIDNIGHT, cuntbag played that song.
By the third or fourth time, the other waitress were rejecting it themselves and I was just totally ignoring RB (rapbitch).

Okay... in the interest of keeping this straight in my own mind, let me run it down, thang by thang...
'Cause, see, otherwise, I'd not remember this shit because it falls under the catagory of "dramaqueen horseshit-delete immediately" in my head. However, this time, I just feel like it'd be best to keep it straight somewhere, so "here" it is and then I can forget it, thus not waste braincells I have too few of to begin with.
See?
*crosses eyes*

Anyway... I get there and there she is.
*sigh*

Like I said, before freakin' midnight, she starts. I heard her and one of the other chicks discussing the candy M&M's and thought to myself, "Girl, if you get her started on that..."
Sure enough, it did.
Thing is, RB tried to get the other chick to play it.

As the other chick was slowly heading in that direction (toward the juke), I called out to her, "Just remember.... when you're on Action, I'm behind you..." while I made a slingshot motion, with a grin on my face.

She stopped.

RB then passed her, grabbing the dollar and did her dirty deed her own self.

THEN, she LEFT THE AREA AND WENT OUT TO SMOKE A BUTT!!!
She plays this shit, then leaves.
Tell ya anything?

Anyway...

That was pretty much it for her to begin with... far as I was concerned, she's just shit now.

She kept trying to get me to talk to her. Suckin' up like a pro.
Wasn't working for her, though.
I don't think she's cute, after all.

She sat at a little booth near the register where me and the other waitress she'd tried to get to do her dirty work were standing. She calls my name and motions me over.
I don't even acknowledge her, except to say to the girl next to me, "Oh, fuck that. Look... is there any question in your mind that I hate rap? (She shakes her head, "no") Okay then, it stands to reason, does it not, then, that that jerk over there also knows I hate rap, right? Right. Therefore, it is clear to me that there is nothing, no words, I can say that are going to make my point any clearer than it already is, so, like I said... fuck that bullshit."

The chick next to me said, "Well, you make a good point", then started laughing.

I said, "Thank you." and left it at that.

Now, if only RB woulda done the same... bitch.

This was when her ass-kissing campaign swung into action.
*yawn*

THEN, she had the fuckin' BALLS to go by me and REACH OUT AND GRAB MY ARM, GIVE IT A BRIEF SQUEEZE and, Thank God, go on her way.
*shudder, gag, convulsion*

SHE TOUCHED ME!!!! EW EW EWEWEW!!!!

Why, God, WHY?

She goes out of her way to pretty much make me hate her then touches me.

I don't get it.
At ALL.

Normally, with people I like, I'm a very huggy, touchy kinda person. Hugs are great to begin with. Add to that the fact that I've spent my life around horses, whom it's best to touch and keep in direct contact with pretty much, lest they get scared and kick ya or something, and I touch people a LOT. When I hafta squeeze by people I work with, some of the customers, even, I'll put my hand on 'em lightly and either just let them know I'm there, going by, or slide my hand across 'em as I go, depending on who it is and how tight the situation I'm trying to squeeze through is.
I've never ONCE touched that chick, lemme tell ya. Ick.

Being touched by her was the pure and total opposite of the best it's ever been doing that to other people.

Oh, and that made it worse, not better, with me for that clueless dickhead, by the way.
She'll see... reeeeal soon, too.

I spent a little time yesterday, after I got up, seriously trying to figure her shit out. I mean, it a way, it's almost like the BC, in that that one knows she's evil, doesn't care and in fact, uses it with a glad heart to manipulate her way through life.

Then, there are people who're kinda like that, except it's more instinctual, less a conscious choice to be that way, like they haven't learned any better yet, not that that changes or lessens the degree of an ass-ache they are to be around.

This assmunch fucktard falls somewhere in between, or so I concluded before I got to work last night... and heard the rest of it.

Jesus.

I seem to have a fullout fuckin' stalker.

You would not believe the machinations she went through to try to work last night.

Now, she left Saturday morning around 2/2:30am, which was fine, as she's about fuckin' useless as a waitress anyway. She had about 5 checks by the time she left. The other two girls had small piles of them. (As people end shifts, and at major shift changes, we reunite the dupes and "originals" and put them away together for the bosses. What they do with them, I have no clue, nor do I care.)
Anyway, those checks prove she did jackshit all night.
In fact, she even left tables sitting for half of forever more than once and this one table had to ask me for everything, as in "Can we have some coffee now, please?", after they'd been there the first fifteen minutes.
After the second fifteen, they asked if they could please order now and I about had a stroke with the bitch. Those two guys ended up picking up two females outta smoking and leaving with them, so they wound up happy, no thanks to her.
Hell, man, after she fucked up that table six ways from Sunday, the other chick (who didn't play that fuckin' song) picked them up outta pity for them and that's when RB decided to leave, Halle-fuckin'-luja.

So, she leaves and the older of the two who're still there says to me, "It's just me and her, now."
To which I replied, "Honey, it's BEEN only you two ALL NIGHT."

That made us both laugh, but it was TRUE.

Well, apparently, RB had to work yesterday during the day. Musta been early, too, considering what time she left her HUGE LIE on Lil Girl's voice mail....

From what Sweetie's sister said, RB had been there, bugging Sweetie all day about working last night. She kept asking him if he wanted her to call Lil Girl and make sure she was coming in.
He said no, because he already knew she'd be in.

Well.
She called her anyway.
Called her, lied and said that Sweetie had asked her to call and make sure and for Lil Girl to call "us" back and let "us" know.

BUST-TED!!!

When I found out that Sweetie had specifically told RB NOT to call LG, I let LG in on the info.
She actually, finally, got pissed, good for her. (This (finally), after RB fucked up what coulda been a sweet lil situation for LG with one of the young guys who waiters with LG and had asked for her number. RB finds out, adds her two cents worth of evil jealousy and surprise (not) LG hasn't yet heard from that guy... cunt.) (RB, not the guy...)

When she comes in Monday to get paid, LG's gonna have a lil talk with Sweetie about this shit, and let him hear the voice mail, too.

And, this finishes this cuntbag (RB) with me.
I don't suffer fools well to begin with.
I suffer liars not a whit.
Not.
One.
Whit.

She's fucked, she's dead, she may as well MOVE now.
She's on my very short list of those who must be dealt with NOW.
In other words... if she's not fired after lying to and about Sweetie, I will make it one of my many subversive plots to make her so fuckin' crazy, she quits.

I've never done this before, myself, but I've been victim to it a time or two.
*giggle*
Besides, I have not been working with, observing, and ultimately SURVIVING with TC for the last nine or so months for nuttin'.

I've learned.
I've learned plenty.

*weg*

Bring it on, Chick.
Hell, I've fought worse monsters than YOU before. Worse ones than you on here, even.
You'll notice that I'm not only still standing tall, I'm not even remotely impressed.
With them, or YOU, girly.

Then, apparently to cement her place on my "so fuckin' retarded they need to just DIE" list, she got an older lady waitress bitched out in between lying to LG, and bugging Sweetie about working the night shift, because one of her tables had the BALLS to ask RB for extra napkins or some such rot.

After letting her own tables rot in hell the night before, she goes to Sweetie and complains when ONE table that's not her's asks her for something.

Wow.

That was when the shit passed "hate" in me and went into the "dead zone".
As in, she may as well go on and be dead.
She no longer exists to me, except for what I may have to do in interacting with her on a purely professional level and, believe me, THAT'S gonna kept to a bare minimum, lest she make me go full out mental and literally hit her.

I've never done that before either, but... there IS a first time for damned near everything.
And, I can soooo see it, in this case.... *bites back teeth... HARD*

If you took every single personality disorder, idiosyncrasy, foible, mental problem and just general "brainless bitch" aspect of every woman I've ever learned to detest women from and lumped them all together, you'd have HALF of this psycho bitch, ya know?

On toppa which, she refuses to say her last name because she says it's "sexual". And, it begins with "T".
So does her real first name.
In fact, her real first name is the same name as the one in this movie. (I don't wanna say it myself here, because then I can't use alla this wonderful material AT WORK (evil giggles), lest someone get stoned or something and start googling the shit, ya know?)
Anyway, that first name and a sexual word that also begins with "T"....

Oh, the fun this has already been.
Oh, the fun and oh, the humanity, with my pissed off, already bent anyway, brain...
*gleeful (and utterly eeeevil) giggles*

She wants to play, fine.
Her game, my rules.

She will go down.
And... it's her own fault for starting with me.

Posted by: Stevie at 04:02 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

August 26, 2005

Of course it is.

This fits.
Perfectly.

I wish I could take that picture to work with me tonight.

Goddamn "Lil Girl" called off and now I'm stuck with an ASSHOLE taking her place.
Last time I had to work with the bitch that's working tonight, she thought it'd be funny to repeatedly play some rap song on the jukebox by some white fuckhead, M&M, or what-the-hell-ever he calls himself.
Don't know and don't care.
All I know is that I'm ALLERGIC to rap.

It makes me break out in FISTS.

I hate IT, I hate rappers, I hate assholes who play it, I REALLY hate muthafuckers who force it on ya out of their gangsta-mobiles.

I wish there'd be a huge rap war and they'd all kill each other and the next time I see or hear of some moron even thinking about suggesting that Micky Dolenz was "the first rapper", they die. (Some utter horseshit I saw somewhere on here yesterday. What a fuckin' INSULT to Micky...)

If there's any way to get me to give back my Friday/Saturday nights, it's gonna be to "make me put up with this asshole too often".

She had me so pissed...
I kept rejecting the shit and she kept playing it, so I finally just turned the fuckin' thing down all the way and made sure it stayed that way.

And, the next time I see "Lil Girl"... ugh.
She better be next to dead now, or she will be then.
Call off and stick me with this cuntbag, will she?
And, no, she is NOT sick.
She (LG) has another job, bartending at a nasty-assed titty bar down the road from the restaurant.

The "strippers" come in after they get done making people barf "dancing" and have breakfast.
And...
I truly wish I was just being mean or exaggerating, but, alas, I'm not.

These are the sorriest-lookin' buncha hootchies you ever saw.

Fat, apathetic, limp hair, dead eyed... ick.

Not ONE of them is remotely cute.

Anyway, Dipshit works there days and was supposed to work for one of the regular night chicks tonight, but, noooooooo. Can't do it all, can ya, Dipshit?
And, I also know she makes more there than at the restaurant, but still....

DON'T DO THAT.
DON'T BE STICKIN' ME WITH THAT FRICKIN' BITCH.

So, yeah... I'm kinda pissed.
Kinda tired, too.

AND, George just called by radio.
He and the (expletives deleted) KID will be here in a coupla hours.

*siiiigh*

Well, good.

Whatever.

Guess that means I oughta go pick and clean and wash and put away.... as opposed to going to sleep for a while, LIKE I WUZ GUNNA.

Fuck me runnin', ya know?

(Well, ya better know, 'cuz about the only way anybody is gonna get a chance to fuck me in any way shape or form, good OR bad, is gonna be ON THE RUN, obviously...)

Oh, and just by the way...
I'm actually ready for the bitch's bullshit at work tonight.
Bought myself a six pack of Double-A batt'ries for my Walkman and I'm taking that and damned near every CD I own with me.
She starts her shit tonight, I'm gonna take that Walkman and those batt'ries and...

KNOCK HER ASS OUT WIDDEM!!!!!!

Posted by: Stevie at 07:31 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

August 25, 2005

TC's done lost it.

Gone 'round the bend, flipped his wig... lost it.

On a daily basis, he says shit to us that is just unbelievable.

Today, though, he topped himself.

Today, it was me he deigned to speak to and what he said....

Dear Gawd.

I'm still shakin' my head and he said it around, what? 1:00pm, maybe?

I had called in an order. I went back to pick it up and started to call it again. (We hafta call it both times, ordering and picking up.) (That way, see, we get two chances to say it wrong, thus TC gets two chances to chew our asses...)

Anyway, I go to call it... start naming food and TC interrupts me to say, "Aww, quit tryin' to sound all sexy. Just pick up."

I said, and I quote, "Wha? Wha? What? Are you high? Got'ny left, 'cause I'd like to try that stuff, man. Are ya kidding? Sexy? What?"

He said nothing further... then.
Just grinned.

I wandered off, completely brain-drained by that. All I could say was, "Do WHAT?"

Trying to be sexy?
Me?

At HIM?

Oh, puh-leeze.

What da fuck... where did he get that from?
Jeezus.

The fucked up part is that I could feel my face get hot (red) when he said it and it kept doing it.

THEN, I hadda go back there and, from about 20 feet away, I can hear him say, "Here comes Sexy Tone..."

I stopped. Looked back over my shoulder. Nope. Nobody back there.
So, again...
Wha?

Me?

WHY????

What am I doing?
I'm just talkin'....

I don't even know HOW to "try" to be sexy.
Seems to me that "women" who TRY to be sexy just look like stupid whores, for the most part. Therefore, and because I didn't have female friends growing up to learn from, I never did learn that game.

(The only exception to that... the only time I ever even "try" to be sexy is when I'm singing Barry White.
And, I assure you... I was neither singing nor speaking in a Barry voice when I called that order.
EITHER TIME!)

I don't go 'round trying to be anything, let alone sexy, fer cripes sake.

I'm just me.
Good or bad.

Or "sexy"...
*eye roll*

Man.

What has gotten into this dipstick?

Sweetie was actually hosting today, for a change.
He noticed me looking kinda "vacant" and lost and I'm pretty sure he noticed the third time I went up to that one table, AGAIN without the damned decaf, so he asked me what was wrong...

"Oh nuthin'. TC just used the word "sexy" in conjunction with me and made me forget everything, is all... Who're you, by the way?" (Just kidding about that last part....)

He cracked up and said, "Oh no. You just be sexy for ME.", whatever in God's name that meant.
I think it means I work with a buncha nutjobs, myself...

The meanest cook IN THE UNIVERSE said "sexy".
To ME.

*somebody hold me... I'm skeert*

I just wish I knew why... besides, of course, for the mind-melting aspects, which I'm sure he was counting on/hoping for, which he got. In spades.

One thing besides cooking he's good at and that's devastating you with a single sentence.
Usually, it's done outta sheer meanness, though.
I dunno what da hell this was.

That dipstick.

And, I've gotta work with him again in the morning.
Then, again on Monday, then Tuesday, then Thursday, then Friday... ad infinitum.

Bet it doesn't take him til the end of tomorrow to have me wantin' to kill 'im again.

Sexy.
Oookay.
What eeeever you say, TC.
As usual.

(Well, he's ALWAYS right every other gotdamned time. Just ask him. I never get to argue at any other time, so why try now? *big, toothy grin*)

Sexy...

God help me.

Posted by: Stevie at 11:39 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

August 24, 2005

Hey, Foreigner....

Lem'me tell ya what love is.

Sometime during the night, our coffeepot died.
MF'in piece of shit that it was.
Black & Decker sucks.

Anyway, I needed to be up a little early, because I had the first school tour/hayride to drive this morning and I wanted to wash my hair first.

Well, Eric comes in and, boy, does he get my attention with the statement, "The coffeepot seems to be dead."

'Es-SCUSE ME?
NO COFFEE????

grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr*big inhale*grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr FUCK!!!!!

I so did not need need this shit, maaan.

Needless to say, I was in a state of high-pissoff. (Well, not technically "high", not then. Let's just say "totally and completely consumed by a rage blacker than midnight in Persia", okay?)

I got up, came out here nekkid, poked the buttons a few times, shot it the bird and stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door.

I swear, I wanted to bite the tub or something.
I was pissed.

I stood there a second, then remembered the Diet Dew. Thank GAWD for the Diet Dew.
And... that horticultural equivalent of Valium.

Both were of invaluable assisstance to me in my time of insanity.

I got a shower and while washing my hair, entertained thoughts of having that useless piece of shit Black & Decker coffeepot squashed by the tracs of the Hugh loader.
Then...
I heard the big bass'tid running.

Well, I stepped out of the shower, hair fulla soap and grabbed the radio and asked Eric to install that piece of shit in front of or behind the loader, then, after it's been transmorgified by Hugh, to please bring me the shattered remains, that I may piss upon them.

He thought I was kidding.

No matter.
Either the loader will be mobile again today, or else me and that no good piece of shit, along with my Pusser club, will be taking a little walk, down to the trash pile.
I feel like a game of "coffeepot baseball" might just satisfy my sense of justice.

Fucker.
Leave me with no coffee....

Anyway, after I came and got two Dew's, Eric went back outside. I'd said to him "Get that hunka shit outta here, okay?" He said, "Okay", then stuck it in the trash can in the kitchen.
Now, I know he meant well, but the kitchen trash can is NOT "outta here", it's IN here, hence it's not being called the "outside" trash can. Get me?

I glanced over and saw that motherfucker sitting there and... I don't even know what to call it.
Snapped, I guess.

I strode to the bathroom, snatched up a shortie nightie and threw it on. Stormed back to the kitchen, snatched up the coffee maker part and went outside.

Now, the most amazing part to me isn't that I freaked. It's that I went outside and sidearmed that fuckin' thing over the picnic table, in the general direction of the copcar and right smack into the tree trunk I was aiming for.

I saw that I'd done that, but was so completely pissed that it didn't help much.

I came back in, saw the stupid basket sitting here and threw that in the yard, too.

Didn't throw the pot. Don't feel like fuckin' with broken glass.
I was enraged, not retarded.

After alla that is when I finally got into the shower.

I get out and, as I'm upside down, drying my hair, Eric pops in and says "Hi".

I asked if he'd gotten the fucker squashed, but he didn't, so... coffeepot baseball it is then.

So, I go back to drying the hair and he wanders off, back to the kitchen.

That's where the definition of love comes in.

He went out into the yard and retrieved the basket, took the coffee pot and somehow, without a coffeemaker, manually if you will, made me a pot of coffee.

I don't know how he did it, but it involved him on his knees, in front of the sink and dribbling the water into the basket two cups at a time.

It was even HOT.

I saw that and all I could do was grin at him.
Well, I giggled a little, too, but, y'all know what I mean.

Just wow.

Meantime, after I'd finished drying my hair, before I saw what he was doing, I heard this voice... suppose it was God, but it sounded like Tommy Chong, in Up in Smoke, when Cheech is freaking after smoking the first bomber doobage. He's trying to calm Cheech down and finally yells, "CHILL OUT, MAAAN!!!!!"

That's what I heard.
Then, also in Tommy's voice, I hear, "See how many quarters ya have, man. Bet ya have enough..."

So, I did and I do.

Then, after I discover I can go get another stupid coffeepot and Eric has somehow made a pot of hot coffee appear, off I go on the first hayride of the season.

It was GREAT.
It was also a double.
Nothing like jumping in with both feet, hey?

In fact, is was so awesomely cool, after I got done with the kids, I unhooked the wagons and went out again, by myself, joyriding on an Oliver.
If, indeed, it can be called joyriding, seeing as how I was going at a speed apace with a horse walking.
Headphones on, The Wall playing, baked, cuppa coffee by my foot... it was awesome.

Closest I've come to riding Storm since I lost him.

Speaking of which...

I've come to a coupla decisions.
First of which is, I've gotta get another horse.
One with four sound legs and a dick this time.
No more mares, no more "special cases".
This shit is getting ridiculous now.

Brandy and Action are treated the same, fed the same except she gets a little more of everything 'cause she's bigger, everything is equal for these two, yet, while Action is a fat little thing, she looks like we've been starving/abusing/trying to kill her.

Even so and even though I don't want to even ride her anymore when she's healthy again because her gaits are so horrible, I don't want to just dump her anywhere.
I want to get her back to where she was, then see if her old Mom wants her back, or the farm she came from, if not, then I'll call the guy who took Jessie.

Meantime, I just really need another horse I can really connect with. I do like Brandy, but I feel like I could be a fence post, far as she's concerned. That's not doing me, or her, a bit of good, either.

My heart is still broken over Storm, in spite of her, so she's not the right one, I know it.
Besides, she needs somebody with money... lotsa money, I think.

As for me, she's retired; disposition pending.

And, I may know where a horse is already.
It's one I looked at before.
The guy did say for me to stop back by in a few months and see what's what, so I think I'm gonna.
At least, I'm gonna drive by and see if the horses are still there.

I'm searchin'....
I'm searchin' every wee-eee-eecha way.
I'm searchin'..."

Off to obtain a coffeemaker.
And, cruise by the horse place.

Back soon.

Peace

Posted by: Stevie at 03:16 PM | Comments (14) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

August 23, 2005

Okay, now it's 7:30....

And, all I can say is this:

Screw me and that boring crap I wrote earlier.

Cruise on over to Gut Rumbles and just read starting with "Training" and as far as "Lightening".
Read the comments, too.

Now, that is some good shit.

I went up from "Lightening" to "Training" and from laughing so hard I had tears running to a hair-on-my-arms-standing AWE, complete with a standing ovation, at Dan.

Posted by: Stevie at 07:35 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

I just dribbled coffee all over my book and my leg and...

started laughing.
And, for the record, the coffee dribbled outta the cup, not my mouth.
Anyway, my response was to crack up.
I now know, one way or the other, it's gonna be one of "those" days.

S'okay, though.
Either way.
Leo is off, so I'm safe.

Yes, the Terrorist Cook is off, but then, so is Sweetie, damn it.

He's (Sweetie has) been cooking the last three or so weeks, while people go on vacation. In his hosting place, he keeps sticking this young, nice, really pretty DIPSHIT who, compared to Sweetie, SUCKS at hosting. She triple seats ya, never tells you you've been sat, shit like that. She's a nice girl, but DAMN.
Besides, when Sweetie is out there, I know I don't hafta sweat nuttin', except serving my tables. I make money, I'm totally relaxed, it's just cool as hell when he's running shit.

Yesterday, after nearly three weeks of "Cher, circa 1975" (my name for the hostess chick), I told Sweetie point blank, "I am either gonna kill myself or beat the hell outta somebody else if you don't come back soon, Dude..."

His eyes got all big and he said, "Why? Wassa matter?"

"Nothing against Cher over there, but, maaan, it just sucks without you out there, ya know? She's a nice kid, but, compared to you, she sucks at hosting. I just can't stand much more..." I giggle/pretend cried to him.

He smiled at the real meaning of what I was saying and told me to just hang on, he'd be back soon. The last bastard person is almost done his vacation.

And, speaking of bastards.... as of now, Leo's name may at times also be "TC", as in Terrorist Cook, which I mentioned earlier.

For this story, he is TC.

There's this one other waitress... I'll call her B. That has absolutely nothing to do with her real name, but it has a connection in my head, so it'll be easy to use.

So, B, on her way out the door yesterday, passes me at the smoking area and asked me if I'd heard the latest about TC, who had sunk to an all time low.

Now, B is nice enough, but we're not that close that she volunteers information to me about personal shit, so this musta been bugging her pretty badly...

(Also, not that I wanna make an issue of it, but it is central to this story that you know that she is a big woman. Tall, as well as wide and it drove me nuts when customers thought I was her. I have, in fact, lost weight and that was one of my (unspoken) reasons...)

Anyway, Saturday morning, TC got pissed at her for something- I don't even know what and it matters not anyway- and he called her a fat pig.
To her face.
In front of other people.

That prick.
How fuckin' DARE he?
Jesus.

She said she got so pissed, she cried.
She also said that she now knows she's gotta find another job.
She's been there for a few years, too....

Jesus.

After she left, I was thinking about that some.
I knew from the instant she said it, that if TC ever says anything like that to me, there will not BE enough people there to pull me back through the service window and stop me from walking across the fuckin' grill to kill him, so it kinda unsettled me.
That, and that she'd gone put of her way to make me aware of it.

Nobody else had even mentioned it at that point, so I didn't know what to make of that part.

Then, someone else did ask me if I'd heard about it and also if Sweetie knew about it....
Got me to thinkin'...

Maybe she told me because she hopes it may get passed along....

So, I debated with myself for a while.

I do NOT want/need to get any shit started between me and TC, BUT...
if he goes "unreported" for this, very much like a rapist, it'd be partly my fault for letting it go when, not if, the next woman gets (verbally) raped, kinda.
I also kept thinking of Nazi's and how "they're not here for ME, so I don't care" and where that led... so I did talk to Sweetie.

He was there Saturday, but he'd also "hollered at" (his words) B and he thought he'd been the one who made her cry. He even apologized to her, he said. I told him no, it wasn't him, it was TC and what he'd said. Then, I asked him, "What the hell do I do if he does that to me? I am losing weight, yeah, but that'd be a real sore spot for me right now, still... Do I just call him "bald" back?"

Sweetie grabbed my hand and busted up laughing and said, "Well, yeah. Call him bald. It IS true..."

So, now Sweetie knows.
He knows it wasn't him who made her cry and what it was that did make her cry and....
I doubt anything will be done to/about TC.

Which leads to my next question to Sweetie, the first moment I get where we're both not running around like beheaded chickens...

"Why is that? Whom, exactly, in the scheme of ownership or whathaveyou, is TC, anyway? Why is he allowed to verbally abuse us on a daily basis to begin with, let alone be personally insulting in public like that?"

This I must understand.
It may save a life if I do.

Meantime, it's 6:30am.
I can either end this now, toddle off, and slowly, in a relaxed manner, get ready for work, or I can blather on with suppositions and "solutions" (such as making TC apologize to her as publicly and loudly as he insulted her and having to hug each one of us every day for two reasons... it'd drive him absolutley bonkers and if there was ever ANYBODY in need of hugs, it's TC, the prick...) and then try to get ready in less than a half hour.

Think I'mina shaddap.

Nobody has been able to figure TC out in the 26(!!!!) years he's been there.
I'm gonna do it in less than a year (so far)?
Damn right I am.

I already understand the genesis of his underlying and very much personally denied RAGE and why he makes such a HUGE deal outta every-damned-thing. It has a LOT to do with those 26 years and his life outside of there, what very little there is of that.

Put it this way... Everything had damned well BETTER be a big goddamned deal because it's his WHOLE LIFE, except for his two dogs and that is truly sad if you think about it.
Also, he'd not only deny that if confronted with it, he'd kill ME for knowing it.

But...
I do.

Peace

Posted by: Stevie at 06:57 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

August 21, 2005

With one sentence...

He gives me the gift of never ending giggles.

"I almost snatched my Roscoe off."

Priceless, man... priceless.

Posted by: Stevie at 05:36 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

August 19, 2005

Alrighty then...

I finally get to answer Mikey and I get one of those mailer daemons, or whatever, that it can't (be bothered to) send it.
So fine.
I'll just post it and ping him and you can bite me, Yahoo, okay?
Works for me.
Dipshits.

Now keep in mind, this is an email response to his comment, so it may not make a load o'sense unless you know what he said. That'd be under my "lightening" thing.

On the other hand, my special brand of insanity does stand well on it's own, so...

Anyway... Mikey, here 'tis.

*lol*

I expected them to pull that kinda crap and, sure
'nuff... wrong one the first time.
But...
oddly enough, when I called to ask about returning
that one and getting the RIGHT one, they said "Oh
sure. Fine. You can do that."
I was expecting to hafta jump thru hoops to be allowed
to do that.

Then, when I got there, I got Eric to stand in the
return line while I went and found a guy with a brain
who gave me the right one.
We had that puppy up and going within about 20 minutes
of getting it home, unlike the first one.

Yayyyy!!!
(And, if yer visualizing me in a helmet while I yell
that, yer right... *giggle* Just be glad I didn't pee
in the pool, ya know?)
(And, Dear Gawd, do I hope you know Crank Yankers. If
not, I have just convinced you that I am indeed
totally insane, I'm sure.)

As for you being Uber-Dad, 'scuse me while I be not a
bit surprised.

From the first time I saw ya, I could see the kind of
heart you have shining around you like a aura. It's
all over your face, shines in your eyes, lives in your
smile...
And, that's "just" in a photo.
Makes me think I'd maybe need sunglasses to look at ya
in person, it's so strong.

*smile that dissolves into giggles upon remembering
your slogan for them*

"You've got questions. We've got blank stares."

*now lol again*

See how utterly cool you are?

*hugs on ya*
me

Posted by: Stevie at 02:50 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

August 17, 2005

*muttering*... Fuckin' lightening... stupid Best Buy employees... retarded modem piece of shit...

Well Friggin' HI.

I'm back and boy, what a pain right in the ass it was gettin' here, too.
*rolls eyes whilst heaving a disgusted sigh*

The next person who articulates a fondness for lightening in front of me (ERIC or anybody else) gets it- right in the throat.

Fuck lightening.
It's not pretty.
It's pretty DANGEROUS.
It's pretty DESTRUCTIVE.
It's pretty SCARY.
It's pretty fucked up, is what it is.

It also fried a bucncha shit around this farm the other night.

I got it in through the phone line.
Other things got it through electric lines.
I was lucky.
*rolling eyes AGAIN*

How the hell I consider two trips to Best Buy and over 24 hours with no pooter "lucky" is almost beyond me, but... I was.

So... the other night... when was that? Uummm... two nights ago?... hmmmm...
I think it was Sunday night.
Anyway, I'm sittin' here, putzin' around and along comes a storm. I ignore it, at first, because I hate it when shit (people, animlas or things) tries to intimidate me. I don't back down. I may not escalate the situation, but, I also don't back down a single step.
Pushing me is like trying to push an elephant.
As in, "Yeah. Good luck with that, Buddy. You better find another way to get whatcha want, 'cause you ain't gettin' shit this way..."
I mean, Jesus Christ, even that brainless schmuck from Jersey (Wally, my old boss) figured out that much. He even said once, "Hell, even I know if ya want something from her, the way to do it is by being nice, ddduuuuhhhhh... *droool*... I PEED IN THE POOL YAAAAYYYY!!!!!"
ell, okay.
Maybe he never said that last part, but that was probably just because he hadn't thought of it yet.

Anyway, ya want something from me, best to be nice.
Don't be all loud and demanding.
Lightening! Ya hearin' me, up there, ya useless shit?
I hope so.

Still, in spite of alla that, I was still in the process of shutting down this slow-assed fuckin' thing when BOOM!!!
And, actually, I heard the sizzle before I heard/saw the strike. The instant before...
But, hit it did.
Hadda be something right in the driveway, too.
It fried my modem through the phone lines, but never even made the TV blink, shut off the lights for a few, but they came right back on, as did the TV and this machine. However....

"Cannot detect a dial tone."

Shit.

So, off to Best Buy we go.
And, I told Eric right from the getgo, "Let's just go in, get the modem and get the hell home and get it installed. You do remember what a clusterfuck it was last time, right?"

He said he did.
He said "okay" about just getting the shit and leaving.
Pfft.
While I was dealing with the retarded third-world six year old dressed like an employee they have wandering the floor in there, Eric sneaks off to check out the place. After being given the entirely WRONG modem for this thing (obviously, as you'll see), I hadda go find Ricky-tick.
He was in the DVD's.
Damn it.

I tried.
I reeeeally tried not to look.
But, I couldn't he'p it.
I saw so many movies....
I bought so many movies...
Well, only two.
And a CD.
Damn it.

*lmao*

I got The Birdcage and Carrie, two movies I have on (a hundred years old) VHS and the soundtrack of American Graffiti, which I've beeen looking for for FOUR YEARS. I had it when I worked for the moron in Jersey and my tape broke, so I've been looking for it ever since.

FOUND IT!!!!!

Yeah.
I found it.
And The Birdcage.
And Carrie.
*siiigh*

Still can't find the fuckin' (original) Stepford Wives, though... and Best Buy, those geniuses, had the new (horrible, icky) version of it in COMEDY.
That's not a COMEDY.
It's a HORROR film, you dickweeds.
Even the new one oughta be in "horror", because it's got Nicole Kidman in it.
Ew.

Anyway, I come home more broke than I planned, with the WRONG GODDAMNED MODEM, thank you, sales-thing from hell.

Spent half the night fuckin' with it and (just) short of murder, went to bed.
*gritting teeth and growling*

Eric tried his ass off the next day, yesterday, while I was at work, trying to make it work.
Hell, he even stuck the old one back in, in case there had been a "miracle healing", or something.
Nada.

So, off we go again to Best Buy, again with my admonishment to just get the damned modem and go.
Which, we did.
In fact, we not only didn't spend any more than we had to, we walked out of there with $3 more.
Yeah, the correct one was cheaper, too.

Any-ol'-way, we got 'er done and I'm back.
How many of ya's din't even know I was gone?
*giggle*

Gotta run.
People comin' over and stuff.
Back later.

Peace

Posted by: Stevie at 02:24 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

August 14, 2005

Okay, this is do-able....

Oh man.
I don't know about this.
I turned on the radio for some good ol' rock and roll and WOGL finished the last 90 seconds of one song, then started some stupid religious horseshit, so I reached up and switched to CD and just let play whatever it stopped on.

It stopped on that Chicago CD.

I don't know about this.

So far, so good, though...

Eh.
I'll let it run til I can't take anymore or something, if it even does me that way.
We'll see...

Meantime, I just got done my first full week.
Not bad.
Was about falling asleep with my head propped on my hand, sitting at the counter on Friday night, though.
Last night was easier.

Now, if I can just get the house COMPLETELY clean.
Haven't been able to pull that one off all week.
Damn it.

Okay.
That's enough of Chicago.
Not that it's getting to me, it's just that I need to be energized, not put to sleep.
Pushed "skip disc" and it loaded the next one and it's THE DOORS!!!!
Yeah, Bay-by...
Mr. Mojo Risin' can always generate a panty-puddle.
(Well, he could if I wore 'em, but y'all know what I mean.... *grin* Scary, ain't it?)
Muuuch better.
Yeah, Jim.
You Light my Fire, alright.
The Lizard King
Erotic Politician
Those leathers... that face, that hair.
That voice.
Man.

*about an hour later*

First, the leathers...

Yeah, I know his face is all squinched up, but, screw that. Look at his "PANTS".
*whew*

Now, since he is also gorgeous...

Have mercy.

Well... tell ya what.
After alla this, I kinda don't even remember what my point even was, so, I guess I'll just hafta try that post again later, when it comes back to me.

Meantime, I just started The Doors over again and I think I'm gonna turn it up and clean.

Fer Chris'sakes, Jim is really gettin' to me for some reason.
I mean, I've always known, thought, felt, whatever, that he was and still is the sexiest, most whiskey-voiced, soul-speaking hunka manhood God ever saw fit to create and all, but damn man.
Looking at him while listening to him sing is....
Pretty intense.
Then again... so is he.

Just damn.

Posted by: Stevie at 07:14 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

1 Ruh roh...

Darlin' it looks like you forgot to turn off the centering for everything after the photos.

You're whole blog, including sidebar done got centred too!

Posted by: Light and Dark at August 15, 2005 08:39 PM (I58Kg)

2 Panty puddle? ROFLMAO!
The shit you come up with just cracks me up! I'm going to have to remember that one!

Posted by: Maeve at August 17, 2005 01:18 AM (6E1RR)

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August 10, 2005

Oh, fear not... I'm still me and yesterday was "Tourettes Tuesday" at work...

*lmao*

I don't know what it was yesterday, but I swear... I swore more than I have in my whole life put together.
There were f-bombs flying left and right and I swear, I coulda gladly bit somebody's face straight off ("throat out" was my other fantasy) and spit it at 'em and...
got no idea why.

I wasn't even pissed... that I know of. Wasn't mad at anybody, not sick (no moreso than usual, anyway), not tired (again- that I know of), not having my period, though maybe it was some kinda post-terrorist visit shit, I dunno.
All I know is I spent a large portion of the day chewin' my back teeth and acting totally schizo... muttering under my breath and just wanting to act out every method of flippin' people off that there is every single time I turned or walked away from a table, then, the instant I faced one or walked to it, I was all smiley and sweet and... then, as I walked away again, mutter, mutter, fuck, shit, piss, mutter, mutter....

I wove a tapestry of profanity that, to this second, is still hanging over Willow Grove NAS and the surrounding area.

Hell, I was shootin' the bird at the calculator, straws, the soup heater-thing, loaves of bread, cans of whipped cream... any and all inanimate objects yesterday were shown the bird and I don't mean the car.

By about noon, I was just going with the "Tourettes Tuesday" angle and people were giving me a wide berth, yet also still watching 'cause it was funny.
And, as bad as I may have been there, being annoyed, flippin' shit off, when I got home.... oh, gawd.... I completely freaked out and screamed at.... the toilet.

Yeah.
I know...
Shut up.... (Jason. I always picture, as I confess my insanity, a friend of mine from Jersey, Jason, sitting there reading this and shaking his head, thinking I'm still as gonzo as I was when he met me, but, really, I'm not. I'm WORSE NOW!!!!! *lmao* He doesn't get it and never has. He thinks I'm fuckin' nuts, but for real. If only he knew...)
*lmao again*

Lookit man... I had to go to the bathroom and, frankly, I'm friggin' SICK of having to play "Josephine the fuckin' Plumber" every nine seconds with that... that... THING.
I mean, this is not a new thing for me.
My toilet is utterly retarded.
It's been documented to death, has it not?
My toilet would make a great stump or something, because flushing... one of it's main functions (allegedly)... is the one thing it just cannot seem to bring itself to do with any consistancy whatsoever.
Sumbitch.
Nothing I'd rather do than spend time plunging a toilet BEFORE I even get to use the damned thing.

'Course, it's not hard to do... just annoying.

I simply take the unexpended energy built up from having to clench my ass cheeks and channel it down my arms, into the plunger and voila!...
Instant room made for a whole new toilet by virtue of the fact that I just shoved this one down through the floor and under the house by jamming a plunger into it in an arc that starts somewhere behind my head.
Fuckin' thing.
You'd think it'd learn, but noooooooo.
Gotsta fuck with me every. single. tiiiiime.

Or maybe alla this could be avoided if the what must be an ELEPHANT would learn to flush the damned thing... and I mean really FLUSH it, as in... push the little handle, stand there, watch, don't release the handle til it swallows or re-flush a few times til it swallows or whatever it takes, but the bullshit of merely pushing the little silver handle then leaving, as IF this thing could handle the rest of the procedure on it's own?... no. Can't do that, it don't work that way.
Should, yes.
Does, NO.

And, no, there is no rhyme or reason that I can ascertain why it flushes "right" sometimes but not others (except to fuck with me).

It's just one of those great, aggravating mysteries of my life...
I have a toilet that would make a great can opener for as well as it behaves like a toilet, a can opener that would make a great hammer for all the trouble it has piercing a can and a hammer that makes a GREAT attitude adjuster.

See?
I DO have all the tools I need to live a "successful" life (whatever THAT means), it's just that they're all disguised as something else.

But...

Fuck it. (fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckiT)
It just makes it more "interesting", right?
*teeth gritting grin*

"People wanna ask me, Hankette, whyyy do ya drink?
Why do you roll smoke?
Why must you liiive out the songs that he wrote...
Stop and think it ovah.
Put yerself in my unique position.
If I get stoned and beat the holy hell out of the toilet,
It's because it deserrrrves it...."

I made up a song at work, too...

"I left my braaaain inside my bathroom...."
(Sung to the tune of "I left my heart in San Fransico..." and every bit as badly as that "Dora" chick in that Partridge Family episode where Keith doesn't hear how abominably she sings 'cause she's cute.)

That came up after about the third time the head cook today (one of the owners, not the King of Weiner World) asked me, "Where you at today? You still on the farm?!?"
Aw, shut up, ya know?
Just because I can't get one damned thing to come out right, doesn't mean I need YOU triggering Elton John singing "Should have stayed on the farm, should have listened to my old man, you know you can't hold me forever, I didn't sign up with you, I'm not a present for your friends to open, this chick's too young to be singin' the bluuuuue-ue-ues, ah, ah, ah, ah, ahhhhhhggggrrrrrr!!!!!!!", on a looped tape in my head.

Know what I mean, there, Other Boss?

Swear ta GAWD, I'm gonna start taking "special" brownies to work with me.
See if I don't.
*giggle, snork*

That's all I need... to become Rev. Jim Ignatowski at work...
*lmao at the idea*
Hell, I doubt anybody'd be too surprised if I did. I'm not that far from it, now...
some days.

My "other" favorite boss asked me once, months ago, "Are cigarettes ALL you smoke?", to which I answered, grinning, "While I'm HERE, yeah. Why? Can we "fix" that or something? Maybe set up a little area downstairs, near the ice machine?", then we both fell out, laughing, thank God.
He's a used to be stoner himself.
Total Metallica fan, loves Pink Floyd, hell, he even named his dog Floyd.
He is so cool, that one is.
Besides, the non-stoners are the minority at this place.
And, the one dickhead who NEEDS to get stoned (and LAID, we all believe) is one of the few who don't indulge.
Idiot.
I've said it before and I'm sayin' it again...
One of these days, I'm gonna knock him on his ass, sit on his chest and shotgun a whole joint right in his face. Then, I'm gonna duct tape headphones to his head, cue up some SRV and stick his uptight ass up on a horse, tell him to quit crying and screaming like a little girl, and SHOW him how to relax before somebody kills his ass.
This putz has been quoting as saying, "I exude perfection and expect it in others.", which explains a LOT.
*rolls eyes*
Whatta moron.

"Exude perfection..."

Honestly.
This mutherfucker needs meds worse than I do.
At least I don't think I'm Jesus Christ.
(I already know I'm "Goddamn it", anyway...)

So, yeah...
I'm still me and my life is still the amalgamation of insanity, inconsistancy and idiots that it usually is.
I'm just getting better at handling it.
Sometimes.
Like yesterday morning's post.
"Course, that was before I went to work...

Which, if ya think about it, also explains a lot...
I see me as a misogynistic misanthrope, right?
I mean, I like animals more than most people and women in particular bring out the worst in me, so what do I do?
Get a job dealing with the public while working in a building fulla females.

*sigh*

Think about that for a minute.
Then, revisit the whole "get stoned and beat the holy hell outta the toilet because it deserves it" deal and just see if it doesn't make a little more sense (or any at all).
I dare ya...
*giggle*

Well... the sun's about to come up and I hafta go get Eric up, too.
May just take a wander out in the woods, too.
Either that, or go back to sleep for a while longer.
My stupid arm woke me up about two hours ago and I'm still a little... fuzzy-headed.
By way of explanation of that... remember when I whacked my elbow all those months ago at work? Know how my fingers have been numb/tingly ever since?
Well, the lastest developement is occasional PAIN. I don't know why, or what triggers it, but, sometimes, a lot of times, while I'm sleeping, something happens and it HURTS like I've slept on it wrong for about a month. Hurts like a bitch, feels like it's in a coma, it's so "asleep" and like, if I were to shake it around, to "wake it up", it'd feel better, but that doesn't help. It just hurts til it doesn't anymore, then it does again later on.
Some moves I make with my hand also kinda hurt. Feels almost crampy or like something inside my hand clicks when I do certain things that I never know what they're gonna be til I do them and feel it.

I'm starting to get tired of this, now, by the way.
*rolls eyes*
Just for the record and all...

Meantime...
Things to see, people to do, arm to whip around...

Peace y'all.

Posted by: Stevie at 04:59 AM | Comments (7) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

1 Hey Stevie don't be so hard on yourself! I've had days where I've just been pissed at nothing and no one in particular. Hell my kids say I invent my own language at those times that is made up of lots of rude language, mutters, moans, and howls of frustration. It happens and you get through it somehow.

So far as the elbow I'd have it looked at as maybe there is something there causing a pinching of the nerve which is never good as nerves don't heal well if they are contricted for too long. Worth a shot especially if it is waking you up from pain.

Hang in there!

dee

Posted by: dee at August 10, 2005 02:34 PM (sZnML)

2 AVI to DVDAVI to DVD ConverterConvert AVI to DVD

Posted by: helen at May 21, 2009 01:25 AM (gxuBX)

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August 09, 2005

Still laughing at this one....

Thanks, Cat....

Posted by: Stevie at 06:14 PM | Comments (8) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

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Here we go...

Ya ready for this?
Hope I am...

I got my Fridays back.
Starting this week, even.

I'm still flippin' out over it and I've been to sleep once already since I found out.

Sweetie told me yesterday, near the end of my shift.
All I remember saying is, "Ooooh, I wanna kiss ya on the forehead so bad right now... consider it done!" (He was sitting at the counter and I was behind it when he told me, so it coulda been done... *giggle*)
I made both of us giggle with that... so spontaneous.
I still ain't got that "think before ya speak" shit anywhere near down pat, obviously....
For the most part, I'm glad of that, too. I may not be very "pc", but I am honest and if "brutal" is used to describe how honest, so much the better.
*weg*

Got my Fridays back and we got our new shirts yesterday, too.

Gray polo shirts with the name of the place on the top left side.
They're nice, but, more importantly... THEY'RE NOT WHITE, THUS NOT UGLY!!!!!!
Gonna miss the tie, but, it's worth it.

Yeah man...
Got the news and the shirts right before I got off yesterday.
Bought a "celebratory dinner" from Wawa and came home, said "Hi" to my (personal) Sweetie, ate half of a half of a sub, then passed out.
Just got up, too... somewhere in the vicinity of 2:30 or so.... I dunno for sure.

Well, one thing is for sure... now that I actually DO have Fridays back, I'm gonna hafta to cut the shit with what I do with my time off.
No more fuckin' around, now.
Like yesterday... *grin*
Rob "saved" me from alla that for the last time.
I was supposed to be cleaning, doing wash, getting ready for the week.
Instead, I screwed around and did jackshit til after midnight, then I wound up being up all night again, thus the coming home and falling asleep with my face in a sub.
No more of that.
I can't risk fuckin' this up like that anymore.
I have a "thing" to do and I mostly just know how NOT to do it and that's one of the ways....
Ya know?

I know, too, that most people do this the "other" way.
They learn how to manage time and finances and shit while they're young. They work their asses off, THEN get to fuck off with spare time and shit.
Not me, though.
Oh, no.
I fucked off all this time and NOW, I hafta figure out alla this "adult" shit.
*rolls eyes at self*

Oh well.
These things can be done.

Hope they can be done in a hurry, too, 'cause the hayrides are coming up next....
(*whew*)

Oh my Gawd...
Know what I just realized?
I have the BC to thank for this...
I'm finally starting to pull my head outta my ass and be an adult and all, and I probably wouldn't be, if she hadn't done all the shit she's done "to" us, or tried to, so, basically, her machinations are doing me more good than pretty much anything else has in my life, as far as "growing me up", as it were.

Could someone tell her that, please?
It would not only take the fun out of it ("it" meaning "being alive" and the shit she tries to do) for her, I do believe it'd kill her outright to realize all this....
*lmao*

You go, Bitch.
(And, I do mean both of us... me and her.)

Keep pushing.
Keep making me become a better person.
Not only do I get to do this for Eric and myself, I get to do it directly because of what a shitstain YOU are, so, keep on keepin' on.
By the time yer dead, I'll be in excellent shape for the first time in my life.
So... thank you, cuntface.
Your evil really is a part of God's plan.

Oh man. This bitch would spontaneously combust, if she ever knew this.

PLEASE SOMEBODY... TELL HER!!!!!!!

Oh yes.
I am enjoying this, immensely.
Why?
*cocked eyebrow*

*several minutes later*

Gawd.
I feel like I've been being taken up and up and up the highest roller coaster tracks, ever.
Sometime in the next day or two, the downhill starts.
Not "downhill" as in "bad", or leading into Hell or depression, which are really the same thing, but down hill, as in the next step in the ride.
These last few weeks/months/years/my whole life have sure as hell been an uphill struggle, no?
Sure they have.
Well, now comes the next part.
That first huge downward swoop.
The part where, if you USE the momentum, you can more easily crest the next hill and go on.

Yes, George Michael Dolenz, I do remember what you said.
Hell, man...
I'm livin' it.

Wow, what a ride this is being...
Best part?
Eric is the car I'm riding in.
(Yeah, I know. He's MUCH rather it be "riding on", but... lol...)

Which reminds me....
Sometimes, it seems like eeeeverybody's name is Eric.
There's mine, of course, his kid, SWG Eric, there's even an Eric in the cartoon "Daria". Seems like every time me and my Eric watch a movie, or TV, there's some guy, usually some kinda sex-a-holic too, named Eric.
I'm always going, "See? There's another one..." to him, right?
(Right.)
Well, here's proof, via Catfish, titled "Charades"...

*laugh/choking my ass off*

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

Peace, y'all....

Posted by: Stevie at 03:49 AM | Comments (6) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

1 Dear Whoever-you-are.

Ok, give her back, or I go to the cops! There's a little too much 'good news' in this forgery to fool Simple Simon. Stevie is either funny or pissed. This everything-is-working crap
will land you in jail when the Blog Police find you. You have two hours to turn yourself in, or get ready for a several month diet of bread and water! Not to mention the certainty of becoming someone's bitch, you bastard....

Posted by: haveayen at August 10, 2005 12:13 AM (VPYMW)

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August 06, 2005

Why is it, lately, everything I say is gonna happen, happens the opposite of what I said?

Criminy.

The car is here and the kids aren't.

Vic runs well.
I'm gonna keep driving the Bird a little longer, anyway.
I think.

Anything else backwards?
Oh.
Yeah.
I still need to get the house clean.
*rolls eyes*

The reason it's still not done is because the car is here.
That's also why I was late to work last night.
I knew I was gonna be at 9:30, so I called and told 'em and my favorite boss man, the one I work with every day (the one who took over hosting when that bitchy little woman left), I think I've called him Sweetie on here before, anyway... he was cooking for yet another cook on vacation, or maybe the same guy the King of Weinie World was workin' for Tuesday... any-friggin'-way, HE was cooking when I did finally get there and he so didn't even give a shit that I was late or anything...
See why I call him Sweetie?
Like he said when I called off when Storm died... "You never call off or anything, so don't even worry about it..."

He's a good guy to work for.
A really good guy, though.
Not like that last asshole I thought was cool, who kinda was, but ultimately wasn't.

????

Okay, back to the point, as if I had one.

Vic's here, and it took til 10:30 to get him here, mostly because of waiting til dark and having to fuck with batt'ries and jumper cables and shit...

V-8, overhead cam (whatever), airbags (and no, not just when I'm sitting it in, smartass), tilt steering, cruise control, excellent stereo, nice interior, bucket seats, "challenging" rear doors (oh, most definitely a cop car at some point), hell, it's even got (hugely embarassing) red flashers in the trunk screwed to the lid, so when ya open it... boing, boing, boing, boing... ugh. They gotta go.
So do the decals and all the dust-n-dirt.
Oh and it needs the driverside window put back into it's track, but the air works, so.... Found that out when I also found out the controls work. It goes up and down just fine, but ya hafta hold it from the outside to get it seat right, but it does.
125,000 miles.
1995.
Nice body.
No cancer spots or anything.
Oh, and I could do surgery inside this thing with all the interior lighting it's got.
Goddamn.
Turn 'em all on at once and you could get "bulb"burnt.

It's even got those two pushbar things on the front bumper.

When my headlights swept over it on my way to work last night, I said outloud to myself, "Oh Jesus. There's a copcar in my yard."
There is, too.

*shaking head*
Talk about "have some irony"...
Goodgodfuckall.

Ya know?

Okay, on to the rest of it...
In order to be legal with this car, I need $250 to start.
That renews my reg, pays a fee or two, I think, and starts my own insurance.

After that, I have, I think, 10 days to get it inspected.
Then, I have to pay for whatever repairs they deem necessary to pass the thing.
The inspection is gonna be damned near $100, itself, let alone whatever repairs.

So, what I'm gonna do, is break it all down into component parts and do it in steps and keep driving Chris whilst I do it.
First, I'll have til the beginning of September to get the insurance money.
Then, I have til the end of September to do the reg.
Then, I have til the end of October for the inspection on the Bird.
So, by that time, I'll have a renewed reg, insurance going and only hafta come up with the money for the inspection and repairs, but I'll let the Bird go and switch to Vic then.
Also by then, I'll have had my Fridays back for a while and the agri-tainment shit, too, so it ought not be too hard, I hope.

Easier than coming up with it all right now, that much I know for sure.

'Bout the only other thing I know for sure is that ya do too have an accent.
Yuh-huh.
Shur'nuff do too.
In fact, you even said "Ey?" at the end of a sentence the other night.
That was so completely cool (and Canadian), I forget what the sentence itself was, but it was something affirmative or positive and you said then, "... ey?"

*grin*

So cool.

Ey?

*gigglin' my ass off, now*

Anyhoo...
Off to go... play at cleaning the house while ignoring the copcar in my yard.

Peace, y'all...

Posted by: Stevie at 04:31 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

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August 05, 2005

Good grief, people...

Is it a requirement that to work for a township, any township, you MUST be a brain-dead dickweed, or something?

Sheesh, these people....

So.
First, they filled out the title paperwork, BEFORE the guy who bought the car got there, consequently, they filled it out WRONG.
THEN, they can't change it. (Sounds familiar, don't it?)
So, the dude who originally bought it had to sign for it and all that shit and now we hafta wait for him to get the title in the mail, then sign it over to me.

*crossing eyes*

Meantime, sixty-seven other unrelated things went wrong for the guy in the space of about a half an hour, so now he's entirely too busy to go get the danged thing, PLUS he's either gonna hafta let us drive it illegally to here or bring it on a rollback, the idea of either of which gives him heartburn, so I don't know when it's getting here yet.

Sometime in the next day or so, I suppose.
Long as it's while George is here to check it out for me, I don't care.
Just gives me more time to spend with Chris, anyway.

Whatdahellever, ya know?

Meanwhile, I've got a house to tweak, things to see and people to do, so I guess I oughta go get to it.

*still sitting here several minutes later, watching the cursor blink*

*ssiiiiighhhh*

Yeah.
Guess I OUGHTA get to it, she says, trying again....
(Aw, bite me, ya naggin' bitch.)

Aaaand,
I'm outta here.

Peace

Posted by: Stevie at 02:48 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

1 *still sitting here several minutes later, watching the cursor blink*

LMAO!!

Posted by: Mad Mikey at August 05, 2005 08:11 PM (y6dNe)

2 I do that a lot.
'Specially when Pink Floyd is playin'.

*weg*

Posted by: Stevie at August 06, 2005 04:38 PM (dVFw/)

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Mornin'...

Or, uuuuh...
"Afternoon"....

Aw hell,

Good daylight, y'all.

I just woke up.
Again...

I was so bushed when I got home from work yesterday (after having been awake Pink Floyd-ing and Chicago-ing all night, thus being awake for 30-some hours), that I went to the bathroom and right to bed.

(Thankin' God, that I did that in the right order, too, lemme tell ya....)

I woke up around 11pm, came out here and was immediately pissed off by the comp-u-tater again, so rather than even start to futz with it yet AGAIN, I called Paul.

Wanna know something?
HE is the "Magic Man", with the magic hands that Heart sings about. I know Ann and Nancy think that song is about some other guy and sex and all, but, it's not.
It's about Paul and his remote fixing of this thing.

Couldn't get Adaware or Spybot S & D to update, then my AVG, or AGV, whichever, wouldn't update either, THEN "Yahoo cannot be found, yadda, yadda", so it's off to Canada we go, me, my (Nextel) phone and this stupid computer.

Not only is it a learning experience, watching Paul do things by remote, it was even cooler this time, cuz I got to bullshit with him while he did it all. And, I love his accent.
His voice, even more, but I digress....
(Often.)

Once he got my pooter's head out of it's ass yet again, I had a coupla things to do to it, then I went back to bed around 5am.

Eric just came and got me to tell me that we're going to get the Crown Vic shortly.
It's being transferred straight into my name, insteada the guy's who bought it and we're bringing him home today.

Wow.

Good timing, too.
One of the "vets" I want to check him out is gonna be here tonight and I can call the other one, he's local.

In the meantime, I can wash it, clean it and start "customizing" it, as removing the decals and adding my Viet Nam POW stuff.
goober voiceAnd, I'm gonna pet him and stroke him and keep him in my pocket forever, til I squish him to death...
Or something.
Reminded myself of Lenny there for a second...

Anyway....

He's comin' today.

Ya know, on some level, it's been occuring to me lately every time I drive the Bird, that these days of drving the Bird are gonna end soon. Any ride may or could be the last one... for now.
But, on another level, due to whom is involved in this whole thing, I also believed it may not work out or something else would go wrong, so I didn't really believe me when I told me that shit about driving the Bird.

Now, though....
Man.

First Storm, now Chris.
And, they were the two best things about me.

Shit.
(Yeah, I'm getting teary-eyed, but I'm also grinning at my own foolishness...)

I may not have taken a step "up", as it were, in the horse thing, but, if God likes me, even a little bit and I believe He does, then I will have taken a HUGE step up in the ve-HICKLE thing, ya know?
Ya think?
I hope...

Well, either way... things change and I hate change. Even if it ends up being for the good, change makes me very unsettled, til IT is settled.

On toppa alla this, The Rock is, as I type, working his last shift at the restaurant.
Guy's been there since he was 11 years old, too.
Him being gone is gonna be weird, at best.
Downright shitty, though, for a coupla of the girls who've worked with him all along...

Anyhooo....
Gotta go.
We're going to get Vic.
Guess that's his name....
For now, anyway.
Unless he, too, turns out to be possessed....
Then he could be Chris the second.
Or something.
But, for now, it's Vic.
And, now...
we gotta go get 'im.
So...

Talk to ya's later.

Peace

Posted by: Stevie at 12:54 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

1 **Ahem**

For the last time...

I DO NOT HAVE AN ACCENT!!!!!

There, I feel much better.

Glad we got ya fixed up. It's actually a nice little machine ya got there, it just needs to be read the riot act once in a while. You're doing a great job learning to take care of it.

Have fun wit'cher weekend. No killing kids, 'kay?

Paul

Posted by: Light & Dark at August 05, 2005 08:03 PM (I58Kg)

2 No accent.
Oh.
Okaaaay.

*slithers outta chair, laughing*

Posted by: Stevie at August 06, 2005 04:40 PM (dVFw/)

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August 04, 2005

Now it's...

11:30pm, with The Wall playing nice and loud, Comfortably Numb is going 'round for the second time (yes, there will be a third and maybe even a fourth, fifth and sixth. I love how my voice blends with this guy's. Man.) and I've got patchouli burning.

All I need to do now is switch All in the Family for Up in Smoke to be playing on the muted TV to complete the "atmosphere"
Maybe turn off a few more lights and light a candle or two, too.

Yeah, I've gotta work in the morning, but, fuck it, ya know?

Some nights the beer just goes down so beautifully, tastes so damned good (and I'm not a big beer drinker either) and that's what this is like with Comfortably Numb right now.
I feel like I'm gorging myself on this because I didn't even realize I was hungry, let alone so starved for it.
(just started it over again...)

GodDAMN, this song is incredible.
So's the whole CD, but, this song....

I really should do it karaoke some day.

What I should really do is duct tape the speakers to my head and jack it all the way up.

Oooh, the idea of doing that made me take a big, deep, cleansing breath.

God, thank you that I get to live (one of) my life (lives) in this time of such soul healing music.
I get to be here, if I hafta be here anyway, when there's Pink Floyd, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Led Zepplin, Molly Hatchet, The Doors, Barry White, Chicago, Bread, Stevie Ray, The Who, BOC, Bad Company, Clapton, Bowie... even Roger Miller.

If it wasn't for all of this healing energy, this soul restoring vehicle in which to explore the depths of my mind, soul and self and feel so completely safe and comfortable in knowing it's gonna bring me out the other side safely, I seriously doubt I'd be alive still.
It's never let me down.

It's taken me to places I didn't know existed except for the howling pain. Took me to them, led me around in them, showed me they were all beatable (eventually) and brought me back out in one piece, usually.
Maybe tearstained and a little shaky, but safe and (mostly) sane.

I can remember once when I was a teenager, in my room, blasting Queen, "Under Pressure", and it made my Dad take notice. I remember him going out of his way to ask me if I was okay and really meaning it, concerned because of what the song says.
He was so loving and right to be concerned...
But, I was okay.
Mostly.

(Okay. I've played Numb two more times. On to The Show Must Go On, another simply beautiful song, lyrics notwithstanding, though even they speak to me.)

Okay.
My plan here is to clean, do wash, do dishes, make this place as near to perfect as I can in the next 5 or so hours.
Then, go to work, hit the store on the way home, get something decent for dinner, cook it, then probably pass out, though I need to go use the shit I bought earlier today on the horses.
Shit like hoof strengthener, fly spray and arthritis/ligament shit.

Actually, I can do that part after day breaks.
That'd be better for them and me.

Oh and the duck I mentioned before?
Wanna guess what I named him?

*Jeopardy theme*

No.
Not Donald.

Donny.

Yes, as in Osmond.

Donny Duck.

He's doing really good, too. He's eating both the bread I gave him and the duck feed and he swims around in his little Tupperware container and does the duck thing where they stretch up and flap their wings and wiggle everything. Only he's only got two tiny little yellow flappy things, not even wings yet, so it's even cuter.

Just what I need.
*rolling eyes*
This makes the second "duck in an aquarium" I've had in my life.

I suppose next I'll be installing a(n) (o)possum behind the toilet.

Somehow, I don't think Eric would be as cool as Dad was about that.
If you take the fact that Dad doesn't scream like a girl and run at the sight of a snake and that he merely shrugged at and said "Hi" to the first "possum behind the toilet" I had and extropolate from that to Eric freaks over snakes, I can see him running straight through the closed bathroom door, leaving a perfect template of himself behind in whatever might remain of the door, should a possum turn up behind his toilet.

Guess I oughta take a pass on that then.
Or put a note on the door if one does find me.

Oh man.
Here comes Hey You.
Again.
Another good song, but... wha?

Oh, that's why.
This whole CD started over.
Duuuh....

Guess you can tell that Pink Floyd and patchouli ain't all that's goin' on here, huh?
*giggle with a *ding* as the halo appears*

Well, anyway...

I suppose I oughta get started.
Plus, Numb is playing again (deep contented breath) and after it's done, I wanna catch it and trade for Dark Side for a while.

Oh and yeah... y'all have got to see this.
It's my new desktop background.

Peace

Posted by: Stevie at 12:34 AM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

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August 03, 2005

There's nothing like...

A really big, really cold wine glass fulla Tequila Rose when accompanied by Barry White and what amounts to a hero.

Simply amazing.

Especially that last bit of "Love Serenade" and the beginning bit of "Never, Never Gonna Give You Up".
*goosebumps and a delicious shiver*

Ain't never gonna be another one.
Not another Eric or Barry.

Thank you God that I've got 'em both.

Now, to get them in the same room....
*grin*

Posted by: Stevie at 09:47 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

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