March 13, 2005

The stark differences between a Mama and a mother******...

It's not that I have a "hate" goin' on here against my own mom or anything... no more than usual, anyway... but I couldn't help it when I read Rob's post about some of the things about his Mama that made her who she was...
Just about every thing his Mama did, mine either refused to do or had maybe never heard of, thought of or even considered doing.

Point by point, it goes kinda like this:

My mom did NOT cook. My Dad did all that and washed the dishes. He was, and still is, a great cook. Hell, I'm still trying to get anything I make to come out as good as his does.

If my mom's thumb was ever green, it was from a colored pencil or something. That woman didn't mess around in dirt. My mom made Felix Unger look like Oscar Madison when it came to "cleaning". Psycho.... (My hand to God, she used to accuse me of becoming hungry "just after I've (she'd) cleaned the kitchen" ON PURPOSE, just to mess it up...)

The only thing my mom ever "had" for Thanksgiving was the correct time to show up at HER Mom's house for dinner. No, she didn't cook on special occasions, either. And, when her Mom died, so did the "family"... dinners and all.

In the way that Rob's Mama was a sweet, wonderful woman unless ya pissed her off, my mom was a psychotic bitch every danged day. Where Rob's Mama had the occasional Tazmanian Devil Day, my mom had the occasion "safe to talk to her" day. And, I'll bet my soul that Rob's Mama had more of those Taz days than my mom ever had "good" ones. And, honestly (Dad), when it comes to Kim and me, the same holds true. I can count on one hand and have fingers left over, the number of times Kim has been truly nice to me and meant it. And, I'm not pissed right now... just stating facts.

My mom hated kids, especially me, and I never did see or hear of any kids who just had to be around her, either.

My mom wasn't completely stupid, but she also wasn't the multi-talented woman Rob's Mama was. Or, if she was, I never saw it. My mom didn't make anything, except "people uncomfortable" and my Dad end up in a hospital for half of forever.
Well, she also "made" me madder'n hell and "made" me into the woman-detesting nitwit I am today, but other than that... she didn't make anything good.
(Truth be told, she just "made" me laugh, too... what a wank she was...)
Oh, and she couldn't sing to save her life. Thank God (and I do) that I've got my voice from my Dad. Hell, I'm still waiting to hear us do Waylon together. Dad sounds like him anyway and I can when I want to.... And, yeah, I've always been crazy, too.

I really don't remember my mom smiling a lot either. Stands to reason, I suppose. She was miserable in her head, in her life, just everywhere. Bitching and complaining is what I remember most. (About me, mostly, too...)

Looks-wise, mom was no "hottie", no Ann Margret. Put it this way... Ya wanna make me hate you and piss me off forever, tell me I look like her. I will hurt you. I look like my DAD and if I could grow a beard to look MORE like him, I would.

She did alright with crossword puzzles, but Dad and I do 'em in ink.

I don't recall her playing cards or any games, except with my boyfriends. Dad, however, will kick yer ass playing poker and make ya laugh yer ass off the whole time. He is GOOD.

My mom, as I explained yesterday, embraced DEATH. She allowed herself to go on with the heart attack for EIGHT HOURS before she said anything to anybody. She wanted out and she got out.
Whatever.
I didn't have any heart-to-hearts with her, but she was aware that I was the one who said "GO!" to the doctors and said yes to her being flown to Temple.
Then, she died.

And, yeah, mine's gone from this earth, too, but the shit she did to me lives on... and on and on. Of course, it's got a LOT of help from Kim and the fact that since she's been in Dad's life, I haven't been allowed to be, but I'm still his first kid, his ONLY daughter and nothing will ever change that, no matter how much Kim wishes something would. If she'd only get it through her head that I am NOT my mom, I didn't even LIKE my mom... but, I think it's too late for all that now, anyway. I'll never have back even one day of the 20 plus years she's kept me away from him.

Hell man, I am so much NOT a part of Dad's family anymore that I don't even see me going to Jersey THEN... when this day that Rob is struggling through right now happens to me... you know... losing a parent you love? Yeah, that. I don't think I'll be there for that. I haven't belonged for so long now, what would be the point?

Dad knows I love him and always have and ONLY have loved him. He was my life and that got taken away from me so long ago that I'm gettin' almost used to it by now... except for how much it still hurts and how angry I can still get at Kim for it sometimes.
I've been mourning a kind of death for 20-some years already. I'll be damned if I'll go through the real thing in front of her.

Losing my Dad's Dad, my Pop-pop, was almost more than I can handle, even to this day. If I don't just drop dead myself when I get the call about Dad, it'll only be because of Eric and the only other person I'll care to see, speak to or even look at will be my brother, Norman the 3rd. Him, I'm sure of. I know he loves me as much as I do him... just like Dad. I don't know that about anybody else... except Eric.

Here's an odd little similarity, yet another in the mile long list of similarities between my mom and Kim...
When my Pop-pop died, I was PISSED at my mom (again) for being such an asshole about Dad's parents. She spent every freakin' day of her life going to HER parent's house, but we could NEVER go to Pop-pop's house, because Vivian didn't get along too well with Dad's Mom. Consequently, I missed out on more days than I care to really think about that I coulda been with Pop-pop.

Kim's done the same thing EXACTLY. Except... this was my DAD!!!, and not "just" my Grandpop. Hardly seems possible, but it IS waaaay worse. Or, will be.

Missed out on my Pop-pop because of mom, have missed out on 20-some years of my Dad because of Kim. (Do I even have to mention all the time I've also lost with my brother? Put that at about 99.999% of his time on Earth so far, and you'll be pretty close.)

Now, I didn't beat my mom's ass at Pop-pop's funeral because I was too busy being nearly insane with grief, but I'd MAKE time for Kim if I was there, so, again, I won't be.
I can't be.
I'm already "there" anyway, and have been for years.

This blog and calling my Dad at work are the only two ways I have to talk to him.
You'll notice you've never seen Kim around here.
S'okay. Typical. And, I'm just glad I've got Dad coming here. Even if he was the only one who EVER came here, I'd keep writing.
When it's all ya have... you don't let it go.
Although, sometimes, when something is all you have, it CAN be wrested away from you and kept from you the rest of your life.
This I know.

Nobody tore apart Rob and his Mama's lives intertwinings. And, look at how much this is hurting him still.
How much does it suck that I know it could be ever so much worse? How much harder would this be for him if he'd loved his Mama all those years, yet was kept from her by some stupid shit... ANY stupid shit?
That I don't know yet, but I'm certain to find out.
Thanks, Kim.
*rolls eyes*

So nice to finally know that the reason I got put through hell by my mom was so I'd be able to survive WORSE hell later in my life.
It's alllll clear to me now.
Jeezus.
*giggling right now, believe it or not*

God, sometimes I wanna kick her ass off. Off her body, off the planet... just OFF. Ya know?

Anyway...
Gotta go.
Company just showed up.

Dad, I love you even though I haven't been allowed to do it in person for so long I almost don't remember how anymore.
Never forget that, okay?

Posted by: Stevie at 09:08 AM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

March 12, 2005

For Rob....

Via "my other Eric"...

Some Stevie, from Stevie.

Thank you again, Eric.
You are awesome.

Posted by: Stevie at 03:57 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

Too much shit in my head...

First thing was, I was surprised to see it's been, like, 4 days since I posted.
Then, I hadda waste an hour of my life deleting spam and I still have 14 IP's to ban.
I'm seriously thinking of raisng hell with the Blacklist, I'm so sick of this spam shit.
But, if ya ban all the spam keywords, ya also ban half the English language.
I know that, but I'm caring less and less.

Then, I popped over to Rob's less than an hour after he posted that his Mama died this morning.
5:00am, in her sleep.

Well, that just stopped me for a while.

I came back a little while ago and was still all bunged up, not sure what to say first, so I made myself laugh out loud with the post under this one.
And yes, I still think it's funny... "Judge not lest ye be shot..."
Love it.

Anyway... I have this one thing I wanna do and I don't know how, so I asked my "SRV songs in a blogpost" source for some help. If he figures out a way to do it, I'll letcha's know.
Meanwhile....

I really don't know what I wish more... that I had an inkling, even, of what losing, let alone having, a real Mama-type mother is or that I could give Rob some of my "Oh big fuckin' deal" thing I felt about it when my own Mom died.

I was relieved.

And, no, she wasn't terminally ill or anything.
She died quite suddenly and unexpectedly, actually.

She'd just been such a shitty mother, I was like "Oh frickin' well. Peace at last..."
For ME, not her.

I, seriously, to this day, am glad she didn't get to meet Eric. That's the ONLY way I have to know she'd not "put the moves" on him, like she did with about 5 of my other boyfriends. Hell, man... she moved to Florida with one of them and, after it fell apart and she'd moved back home, she decided to go visit the asshole and stopped in North Carolina on her way to Florida to fuck my then current boyfriend at Ft. Bragg, where he was in the 82nd Airborne Division.

How could I not be glad to be rid of THAT kinda heartless, stupid shit?

Pfft.

After spending YEARS of my life begging God to make her head just explode into flames, it was left to ME to decide what to do in Christiana Hospital when it came down to the wire...

I can remember (waaay more than) one specific incident of wanting her to die.
I forget what thing she'd done that time, but Dad was screaming at her for it and she was blaming me, as usual, and I was looking at myself in the dresser mirror, tears streaming, choking, about 6 years old and screaming at God to kill her NOW!!! I hated her so much right then....

I also hated her when she beat my dogs. I hated her when she hurt Dad, which was a LOT. I hated her when Dad ended up in the hospital for what to me STILL seems like at least a year.
I hated her a LOT.
She fostered that feeling with an ease that was almost awesome.
It was as if she stayed up nights, thinking of ways to hurt me and Dad.

Breathing sufficed, Vivian!
Thank you for stopping doing that....
*rolls eyes*

But, it occurs to me now, that to be able to give Rob some of my marked indifference to the loss of a mother, I'd have to also give him a shitty, painful and BAD childhood. It takes YEARS to get to the point I was at when she died.
Or, thought I was at...
Wouldn't wanna do that to the guy.

When she (Vivian) died, I was the only one at the hospital. I wasn't with her, in the room, or anything, but I was the only one there and as such, the one they asked "Whatta ya wanna do?" when they had a heart available.

See, Mom was a nurse. (I hate nurses. Know-it-all bitches...) Both her parents had died of massive heart attacks in their 60's. She fuckin' well knew the signs and the family history, yet she LET HERSELF DIE. She felt the first pains at work, at about 1pm. She finished work, came home, puked, sweated, got chilled, felt pain... the whole nine. She also neglected to mention any of this til her husband was leaving for work at 9pm.
He told her either she was going to the hospital or he was going to work, pick one.
So, to the hospital she went.

Meantime, I was working for the local cops. I used to get paid to tell cops where to go... my way of saying I was a dispatcher.
I'd just gotten to work and was putting my shit down when the phone rang. I grabbed it and didn't even recognize Bob's voice. (Bob was her husband.) The man asked to speak to my Sergeant.
Charlie (my Sgt.) got off the phone and the look he gave me... I knew something was up.
I don't remember what he said, I only know he got the message that my mom was in the hospital having a heart attack across.

I knew then that she was as good as dead.
In fact, I said that very thing to my then current boyfriend when I went home to get him to go to the hospital.
I remember a Led Zepplin song was playing... that "You don't have to go" one. It mostly says that, even though ya hurt me, you don't have to go...
How appropriate.

Anyway, we get to the hospital and they can't handle all that she needs. She coded 11 times there.
They shipped her to Christiana, a hospital in Delaware, where they do this kinda shit really, really well.

They stablized her and kept her alive long enough to find a donor heart.

What happened was this: Bob came to me the next day in Christiana and said he was gonna run home real quick, get a shower, make a few calls and take care of some shit. He'd be back in about an hour or so.
I said "Okay".

Not 10 minutes after he left, Dr. Blasetto came to me and said this: "We have a heart for your Mom. She'll have to be choppered to Temple for the surgery. What do you want us to do?"

Before my brain had time to even register this info, my mouth blurted out, "You do whatcha hafto to save my mom, Dude." (I was 26, gimme a break, okay?)

I was... floored, by that. I think I literally bugged my eyeballs out enough to actually SEE my lips to see if they were the ones saying what I was hearing.
After all those years of wishing her dead, I said WHAT?
wow.

She coded for the 13th and final time a half hour after they found the heart, even before they could arrange to move her.

The three things that I remember most vividly about her funeral were, 1.) It was my 27th birthday. Happy Birthday, me. 2.) I told my cops (she was "funeral-ed" in the town where I dispatched) that if any of the vile hags from the nursing home where she worked and they'd stressed her into this heart attack showed up, I'd be under arrest for aggravated assault, so if they saw any of 'em to get 'em the fuck outta here and 3.) One of my favorite-est cops went in, came back out and said to me, "Man. You look just like yer Mom..." To which I replied, "I look like a 43 year old dead woman? Thanks, Dude. You can type yer own gawddamned reports from now on, ya Palooka."
I love Chuck...

Anyway, it seems the only way to avoid the pain of a parental death is to have a parent who shoulda been sterilized at birth.
Not good.

On the other hand, had I had a mom who'd been worth the powder to blow her to hell, it'd have killed me to lose her and plant her ass on my birthday, I think.
I don't know, I just think it.
Makes sense, doesn't it?

It's the same deal with having/not having kids. I don't have kids. Yayyyy me. I miss out on endless bullshit, not having kids. I love that tremendously, too. But, on the other hand, I do wonder sometimes what good things I've missed by not having kids, too.
All in all, it doesn't seem worth it, to me. The aggravation, the pain and what kids DO sometimes... yer just better off without them. Or, I am, anyway.
(If I did have a kid who pulled half the shit I see kids pulling on their parents, I'd be in jail, again, for murder.)
Hell, I knew I didn't wanna have kids when I was a kid. Let alone when I saw the death in my best friends mom's eyes when he was killed in a drunk driving accident and no he wasn't driving.
It's not worth it.

"The Dance" says it all....

"Could have missed the pain, but then I'd have had to miss the dance..."

Believe me, there's still been pleeenty of "dancing" in my life, even without kids or a good mom.

Still, I wish I could make Rob hurt less, somehow.
The best and really, ONLY, thing I can come up with is to hook him up somehow with SRV's "Riviera Paradise".
Stevie said playing that song was like praying with his guitar and I think Rob would like it.
It's a very healing kinda song. You can't hear it and not feel love and warmth and Stevie's soul.
Rob needs that now.
Hell, we ALL need it sometime.
Maybe just me more often than some others...
*wry grin*

Anyhoo.... if ya don't wanna feel bad when yer mom dies, have a bad mom, not a real Mama, I guess.
That's about all I can come up with for advice as to how to not hurt.
Sucks, don't it?

And, for the record, I don't think having a shitty mom to be able to not hurt when she dies is worth it, either.
It's just the cards I had and I've played 'em the best way I know to.

I'm glad Rob had a so much better hand than I did.
Believe it or not, if this were a card game, he'd be the winner right now.

After having said THAT, I'd like to publically thank my mom (not "mommy", not "Mama", not even a capital "M") for twisting my mind so badly that that last sentnce makes sense to me, if no one else.

Godspeed, Elva L. Smith. You were a really good Mama and you've left behind for now a really good man in your son.
There's lots of us who love him, who see the good you instilled in him and we'll do the best we can by him now, for you.
Rest in Peace.
And, I hope, if there is a next time, I have a real Mama like you.

Posted by: Stevie at 12:11 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

Geez, whatta shame...

That THIS didn't happen in Salem County.

About 5 times a week.

Starting in the Family Court section.
And, ending in the Persecutor's Office.

Buncha man-hating and lying assholes.
"Respect"ively, even. (Which is also ironic, as I have none of THAT for any of THEM.)

Karma, baby.
I loooove karma.

"Judge not lest ye be SHOT".

rotflmfao
I love it.

Posted by: Stevie at 10:04 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

March 07, 2005

My God...

I barely believe this shit...

Yesterday, after that inbred dickhead barged in here, I flipped OUT. I was going to change the lock on the front door, because I had no idea where in this house the key might be.
Not a clue.

While I was looking for it, I found a St. Anthony's medal. I looked him up to see what he's the Patron Saint of and it's finding lost things.

Okay.
Cool.

I asked about my mind, a tape I can't ssem to find and my patience and oh, yeah... be cool if I could find that stupid key, too, Dude.

Well.
Guess what I just found?

Yeah MAN, the key!!!

When that thing slid into the lock and turned the bolt, I got goosebumps.

I'm still kinda numb.

Wow.
Ya know?

Gotta go get a copy or two made, now.

Thank you, St. Anthony.
You too, God.

Too cool.

Posted by: Stevie at 06:21 PM | Comments (7) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

Dear Goddamned Schoolbus...

(Those of you with kids who may be in one of these freakin' things may wanna skip this....)

Fuck you.
Fuck you veeeery much for your concerted efforts to make me miss the post office.

In spite of the fact that I actually managed to leave work six minutes early AND that the friggin' post office would actually be open til 4:30pm, you, ya fuck, still made it necessary for me to SPEED and SQUEAL TIRES-N-SHIT.

I hate you.

And, just what in thee HELL ails those crack-brained little bastids inside ya that ya hafta stop IN FRONT OF EVERY GODAMNED HOUSE ONE BY ONE? Can't those crippled pricks walk 14 feet? Can't they be dropped off all at once, at some central location?
Like, off the top of a bridge?

Tell ya what. Dipshits wanna have kids, those dipshits oughta hafta drive their asses to school and pick 'em up. There are already 92 million idiots on the road, making a trip to the corner store a half-day proposition. What's a few more fuckin' breeders? Why, just because some bonehead wants to propagate this awful species, should I be forced to take 20 minutes to go a mile?
HMMMMM???

Ya want a kid, drive 'em yerself.
Fuck this bullshit of inconveniencing the entire motoring public, ESPECIALLY ME, DAMN IT.

I don't even have kids and I've come up with two alternatives to BUSSES, one of which I've mentioned.... If every single parent of every single ankle-biter on those busses did the school driving, they'd all only turn into their own driveways and there'd be no more of this stop-n-go and fuckin' stop again shit.

My other idea is to just have the frickin' kids LIVE AT THE SCHOOL. Bet parents would even like that one. Or homeschool EVERYBODY.
Whatever in God's greatness it takes to rid the roads of the scourge known as "school busses".

Oh, and by the way, ya fatassed, lumbering, traffic holdin'-up turdburgler....
I made it.
In fact, I was enroute home (with no fuckin' bus in front of me) six minutes before the post office closed, so bite me.

Here's wishing you didn't exist,
me
(and my 'Bird... car and finger.)

Posted by: Stevie at 05:33 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

March 06, 2005

Well, this is pretty cool...

See how ya do.

And, I'm not (too) ashamed to say I got 6 out of 11.
I would, however, be mortified to reveal which ones I got wrong.
Especially that one... smartasses.

Anyway, give it a try.
It is interesting.

Posted by: Stevie at 02:50 PM | Comments (9) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

Here we go...

For all the concern I've had lately about the things I say sometimes, this is maybe gonna seem a bit odd, but, rest assured... I don't give a flying fuck at a rat's asshole if the jerkoff I'm about to go off on sees this.
In fact, I HOPE HE DOES!!!!

I also hope he has the ability to READ IT!
Which, considering the level of stupidity this asshole aspires to, I seriously doubt.

So, if ya wanna witness the evisceration of a total fuckhole, grab yerself a beer and some smokes, dig out that old roll of plastic from the Gallahger live shows to shield you from the potential spittle shower (I am PISSED) and step onto the back porch wit' me....

Posted by: Stevie at 02:26 PM | Comments (7) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

Know what I'm finding to be really good for PMS?

Going off in the rants and raves section of Craig's List.
Of course, with brain dead idiots over there who say shit like "Hi, Hitler" insteada "Heil", it's pretty easy pickin's, PMS or not.

Then too, I have been more responsive to the "lost people"'s posts. For the most part, I really do try to pass on Stevie Ray's message of love to people who've been hurt.

But.. I mean, c'MON.
Hi Hitler?
I had to.
I just HAD to be a condescending, righteously annoyed and CORRECT lil bitch that time.

God, it was FUN.

There's a CL for just about any city you can think of, is seems. There's a ton of things it's good for, not the least of which is witnessing exactly how stoopid some people can be.

Another thing to check for in your area is Freecycle.
This thing is cool on so many levels...
Everything is free, first off. Second, it's a good way to help people and get rid of stuff you don't need or never use at the same time. People even post curbside sightings of things people are getting rid of that look interesting.

Just please keep in mind, if you use Freecycle, find a place to meet people to exchange shit someplace in the middle. Don't go to people's houses and don't have a buncha people knowing where you live. Be safe.

I've never heard of anything happening to anyone who went to someone's house to pick up, but I did read of one person who was later robbed by someone who came to do the picking up.

It's a pretty good thing, Freecycle is. Just be careful, is all.

Anyhoo... I gotta go get cat food. The looks I'm gettin' are becoming scary. 40-some eyeballs, all saying, "Ma. FOOD. NOW." It's not like they don't have dry food available, it's just that they think they've waited long enough for the canned, now, thankyouverymuchferaskin'.

Plus, I'm hoping the cold air will wake my brain up some. Maybe if I play some music instead of re-running "Daria" for the 27th time this week, that'd also help.

Heeey, yeahhh. I've got a Rick Springfield CD I haven't listened to for a while.
Man, I LOVE "Rock of Life".
That song makes respecting Rick easy to do, I'm tellin' ya. Plus, he is gorgeous.

Have mercy...

Okay.
That's it.
Now I've gotta hear that, at least once, before I leave.
Maybe twice.
But... no more than 5 times.
I swear.
*ding*
(halo appears)

Peace

Posted by: Stevie at 03:20 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

March 05, 2005

Dawgs can be so cool...

God knows I love my cats but, I swear... the dogs are literally helping me clean.

Twice in about 24 hours, a rather large butter dish fulla cat food got dumped into the hallway. There's this "window" between the living room and the upstairs, as it were, and I feed one of the cats on the sill. It's almost a foot wide.
Anyway, two times I've filled her dry food tub and twice it's gotten knocked offa the sill. Cat food every-damned-where.

*siiigh*

The idea of pluggin' up the vacuum sucking it up that way or picking it up by hand makes me tired before I start, so I figured out a different solution.

I let the dogs in.

Now, not only will the cat food get gone, I probably won't have to clean the catboxes either... these nastly lil' will-eat-anything boogers....

I got all my kisses when they first came in.
We're on a handshake only basis from this point on, though.

Dear Lord... I just almost needed 911. Three of 'em just pinned me in this chair, tilted it back and molested me.
*pttthhhbbbb*
dog hair....

Well, that was fun.
Almost NOT...

Conservative guess: Between the four dogs, there's about 200 pounds of puupy goin' on. On ME.
And, every danged one of them is CONVINCED beyond all reason that they're lap dogs.
A dog you cannot see around is NOT a lap dog, I don't care WHAT they say.
A dog that makes it harder to breathe than a two-sizes too small pair of jeans is NOT a lap dog, no matter how got-damned cute they are.
A dog who weighs more than you (okay... almost as much. Piss off.) is NOT a lap dog, either.
But...
YOU try telling them that.
Breathlessly.
As they breathe that foul doggy breath all over yer face.
G'head.
See how far you get.

I just play dead and after a while, they all find something else to get into.

Ziggy says "Hi y'all!" and ya better listen, too, cause he weighs over 100 lbs himself.
I swear to God, you could eat dinner offa his back. There's room for a plate and a drink, at least.

jeezus they're back on me....

*coupla minutes later*
Now, just Daisy won't go 'way.
Silly little thing. I don't know what happened to her, but a few days ago, something was wrong.
She'd been quiet for a looong time and I finally realized I hadn't heard her barking incessantly for a while, so I looked out the back door. Took a head count, kinda.

The other three were already bouncing around all over the place, so I called her. Nuttin'. Called again. Still nuttin'.
I hollered her name and she came out from either under or behind the oil tank, walking real slow.

The other three dogs ran up to her and she kinda fell into a sitting position. Then, she had a hard time regaining her legs to stand.
WTF?

I threw on a pair of boots that didn't exactly match the flannel granny gown I was wearing, but what the hell, went out there, scooped her up and brought her in.
I felt everywhere, down both hind legs, across the pelvis, moved limbs, palpated, massaged and felt for heat or swelling. Nada.
No obvious injuries of any kind.

I left her in all day and by that night, she was fine again.

Now, she's back to her old self, drving us all deaf, yapping her hairy ass off.

Okay.
I think "Operation Clean Up the Cat Food Both New and Used" is about over.
It's about time to put ever'body back out, feed up, water them good and git to finishing cleaning.

Talk atcha's later...
Peace

P.S.
I'm still waaaiting.

Posted by: Stevie at 11:27 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

I think I forgot to mention this...

Last time I washed my car (a week or whenever ago) something occured to me. I was thinking about the car and how much I'm (basically) in love with the damned thing and how could that be when I pretty much hate the color white on things like cars, walls and clothes and it hit me...

This guy is why.

Oh. My. Gawd... was I in love with HIM when I was a kid.
And, my Firebird looks a lot like the Mach 5. I mean, they're both white, with that sexy hood thing they've got going on and they both have the ability to fly when asked to.
I just wish I had Speed's steering wheel and all it's amenities.
Now, that'd be beyond cool.

Also, didja ever notice how much like pee oh are en that cartoon sounds? It really does, especially when Speed and Trixie are together, talking. They do more "ooh-ing" and "aah-ing" and giggling and moaning than actual speaking and the music helps not at all....

Anyway...
That's how it is that I love my car, even though it's not deep, deep black. With gold striping.
Or candy apple red.
Or that nine-mile deep blue I've seen.

Nope. I'm juuuust fine with Speed Racer/Mach 5 white.
So far....

Posted by: Stevie at 08:56 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

Okay, forget "kill me now" this time. I'm gunna off myself, now...

Martha Fuckin' Stewart has STREET CRED?

AAAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!
*having a fit to rival the one Archie had when he saw the picture of his niece and Lionel sitting together, with Lionel's arm around said niece*

Posted by: Stevie at 07:28 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

Acidman,

I've not been saying anything much lately over at Gut Rumbles. The posts about your Mama.... I just didn't know what to say, because I never did get along too well with my own mom. She was, basically, nuts.

But, today, I went and read this.
Now I know just what to say to you... I'm crying for you and your Mama in a way I never did when my own mom died in 1990.

I feel it this time.
It honestly hurts to think of the loss. Yours, hers... ugh. It's endless....

I can tell you one other thing too.... You've gotta know that, just by the way you told her those things and the fact the you shared it with us, she raised you as right as need be.

You're a good man.
I've known that all along.
That's one of the many reasons I didn't let one of the nurses you "bedded" run me off, acting like a rabid dog like she did.
That's why I don't get all stupidly offended at some of the things you say... about cats, especially. *grin thru tears*
That's why, no matter what, who, when or how I will love you til about 10 years after I'm dead.

You are a good man.
Your Mama did that.

Please, if there's anything I can do, just let me know.
If I could, I'd take on the pain you feel, to lessen it for you.
If I could, I'd infuse some of my.... "lack of emotional response to my own mother's death" (for lack of a better way of saying it) into you, so it wouldn't hurt so damned much.

What I can do is love you, cry for you and your Mama, learn a thing or two from alla this and, if God ever gives me a chance, beat the dogshit outta that "Beth" asshole for ya.

I love you Rob, and I'm so very sorry for what you're going through.
Anything. Ask me for anything that I can do to help you. Just let me know what that could be and it's as good as done.

Now...
Beth, you useless waste of sperm, air and skin....

Ooh, yer so fuckin' brave, leaving anonymous comments all over Rob's blog. I remember when your diseased ass first showed up over there.
You're consistant, I'll give ya that. You've been an incredible asshole from day one.
Congratulations, jerkoff.

Why don't you bring your stupid bullshit on over here, where there's someone who's not so distracted and being brought so low by GRIEF, someone who'll find you and take your stupid ass apart, wormturd by wormturd, til there's nothing left?
C'mon, Bigmouth Pussy Who Hides Behind Fake Email Addies... Bring it on.
Come here to ME.

Rob hasn't got the time for trifilin' SHIT like you.
I do.

C'mon.
Let's "play", ya cunt.

I'm WAITING!!!!!!

Posted by: Stevie at 01:29 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

March 02, 2005

A few of the odder search phrases....

football pictuters- Call me juvenile, but saying that outloud just makes me laugh.

i'm like...freakin out!- Been there, done that, AM the poster-child.

bugs bunny orange monster- Oh yeah. Ain't that a good one? "Monsters are such iiiiinterestin' people..."

men are more forthright and straightforward when communicating- Really. WHICH men? And, communicating with whom, and in what manner? I mean, sure, a man fartin' on another man says something that both men understand intrinsically, but that's not the same as holding an informative and intelligent conversation, now is it? Please elaborate. A lot.

rob reiner underwear- All right, now... look. I know I talk about a ton of weird shit that nobody else would even think of, but I also know I have not ever mentioned Rob Reiner's underwear. Til now, thanks.

i've gotta pee...- I can relate.

updates buschkoetter- I frickin' wish. Man. Last I heard, they're divorced and Darrell has a listed phone number which I haven't got the nerve to look up OR use. Can ya just imagine? "Hi, Darrell. How ya doin', Dude? I about fell in love with you when I saw the documentary and now days, I still wonder how ya are, whatcher up to and shit. Don't mind me, calling in the middle of your life just to, basically, nibshit. Yeah, I'm nuts, but "nice" nuts, not "dangerous" nuts.... blah, blah, blah..." Uh-huh. I know me. I'd do that and it'd go over about as well as an audible fart in a Cat'lic church.
Next...

good points of leg hold traps- Only one I can think of is them clamped onto the testicles of any asshole who'd use 'em.

Questions?

Posted by: Stevie at 10:22 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

Wow...

As usual, three or so years late, I just hafta tell ya's, if ya get a chance, to watch "The Pennsylvania Coal Miners' Story".
As I was running (yes, literally running) past the rack of tapes at the store last night, I saw it sitting there. As I ran back past it, I snagged it on the fly and just watched it.
It's really good.
Sat here with my eyes brimming the whole time.

I truly do not know what it is with me, but when I watch this kinda stuff, I can feel it like it's Eric who's trapped or hurt or whatever. If there's a guy in some kinda life-threatening trouble, I'm in tears, feeling like it could be Eric.

I mean, ya know what OSHA really stands for don'tcha's?
In the case of the pinhead who owns this farm and the WHOLE reason OSHA was probably started in the first place, it's: Oh Shit, He's Active.
If Bill's in action, people end up in traction.
(Hey, that rhymes.)
So, maybe it isn't all just my head, huh?

In the meantime, hangin' out on YIM, I got to talk to Jack and Tony. Sounds like the cast of "The Odd Couple", doesn't it?
Well, we were.
All three of us, at one point or another, were "odd couples", which is probably why it all worked out "so well"... *giggle*

Oh hell. Better clarify what I meant by "all three of us were". Me with each of them at some point.
They're both "ex"-es.
Not those two together...

Think that was dumb?
Wanna know how retarded I really can be?
Yeah. Like ya's need more proof, right?

Well, yesterday, I got all tangled up in my duster and wound up with my elbow stuck in the inside top of the sleeve hole. I'd describe how I did that... IF I KNEW.

And, before that?
Jeezus.
I was warming up a bottle of clear nail polish. It goes on easier that way.
Well, I'm not stupid enough to try warming it in the microwave or anything, so I stick in in the fork of my thigh, then sit up straight for a while so it gets warm faster.
However....
It's always best to be SURE the cap is on tight.
'Cause, if it isn't, you may find yourself in the bathroom, being disgusted and having to use nail polish remover on yer crotchital area. What fuckin' FUN.

I highly reccommend the "non-acetone" type for this endeavour, by the way.

I "highly" do a lot of shit, actually.

Think that could be the problem?
Hmmmmm....

Posted by: Stevie at 04:05 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

One, two, three, four, five....

Five times in 60 seconds I gotta putcher ass back on the floor til ya finally get it, huh?
Yer gettin' better, Cat.
*shakes head*

Better than sinkin' the claws into my thigh then CHINNIN' ON UP, I must say.
Still...
Cut.
It.
Out.

Lemme 'lone and let me concentrate. Ain't easy to type and sing with Stevie, ya know.

"What about the neighbors?
What they gonna say?
Better stop, Little Sister,
gettin' carried away.
Hey, hey, hey,
Look at Little Sister...."

"Ain't gone-n-give up on love.
Love ain't gone-n-give up on meeeeee...
Every tear that I've cried
Only washed away the fear inside.
Ain't gone-n-give up on love...."

Man.
What have I been DOING that I've not played Stevie for so long?
Am I stupid?
Shure as hell am....

I sat here, two nights ago and sang damned near every song of his I have.
Out of all the people I sing with, his is the easiest voice for mine to become.
I love it.

Do it enough, I can keep it up by myself, too.
That's when I get... how do I put it? I get.... gone, is the best way to say it. Either ya understand that, or ya don't and I don't think I can describe it any better.
I'm just gone.... so's the world.
All there is, is Stevie.
Both of us.
It's awesome.

So is he.

Anyway....
Still ain't found nor heard from Paul. Called twice. Next time, I suppose I oughta leave a message... *giggle*

I've also had another thought about getting bitten on the ass by anything I've said....
First off, most of the vitriolic, hateful shit is pretty old by now. (So am I, by the way... *shudder*) Second, I can already deal with the idea of explaining it, if need be, and making the person in question (or do the questioning..) understand that, yes, I most certainly DID feel that way and isn't it a GOOD thing I don't now? kinda thing.... See how I've changed-type of deal....
With work, I haven't said enough to really worry about. Drafted what I was worried about....
With the other dude... I'll just make him aware of the fact that all I did was type, when what I wanted at times was wholesale destruction and make him GLAD I wrote insteada HIT.
Know what I mean?

That's about all that was concerning me. I mean, I've gone on about a million different people, but what? Drew Carey is gonna read me and not like that I love him? John Cusack gonna give me hell for the Joey Coyle references? I doubt it.

Is Bret Hart ever gonna read me or use my cell number or is he gonna run the fuck off and marry some Italian bitch?!??! AAAARRRRGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

Oops.
Sorry.
Got a little off the point there, didn't I?

"Tell me, Pretty Baby
if you gonna try.
If you'll stay, Baby
Hang on, Baby, til the day I die.
Yes it's true.
I love you.
I don't care
Whatchoo do.
Honey, I'll
be your love.
You'll be mine.
You'll be mine..."

Thank you Stevie.
That in no way is directed to Bret, by the way.
Just a timing thing....
*ahem*

Back to the point (as if I even HAD one)...

I'm slowly getting my arm back.
I can straighten it reeeeal slow, now.
I spent all day at work yesterday squishin' the muscles. Bicep and forearm, forearm and bicep.
Now my left arm is tired.

I also fed the fng last night. ("fgn"- fuckin' new guy. I remember Nam. *wry grin* We call all the new hires here that, til they last a week.)
He's actually really sweet. He's older than I expected. Maybe even a little older than me. From Poland. Been in the US for four years. He and the other guy who works here came over for chicken potpie, which I swear I fucked up this time.

I use cream of chicken, chicken gravy and chicken bullion as well as real chicken and the "noodles". (How many times can YOU use the word "chicken" in one sentence?) Makes for a full pot. So, last night, I removed two big cans of water to make room.
Well.
Apparently, the dumplings, noodles or whatever the hell ya call 'em don't absorb thick, gravy-like liquid as well as they do water.
My bad.
Eric loved it. He likes 'em thick anyway.
HEY.
Is THAT why he "likes" me so much?
*raised eyebrow*
Anyway, he liked it, they both liked it (the fng and the fog- fuckin' old guy) and I also made 'em mashed potatoes and corn muffins. Whomp biscuits. The kind ya "whomp" on the counter to open.
And, Lord, don't I hate opening them damned things. I don't mind whackin' 'em on the counter... it's when they explode in my hand that I have the heart attack.
The corn ones don't do that, Bless their lil hearts.
And, spare mine....

Eric helped me get the house into "semi" people readiness. Gave me a good running start on it is what he really did. And, since my arm has decided to start cooperating again, I think that's what I'mina do. Finally and for real.

Clean. This. House.
Completely.

Hell, it IS March 2nd. SPRING cleaning time.
Long as I don't look out a window, I can believe that.
The hyacinths I'm getting again help too.
Damn, they smell so gooood.
Thank you and God Bless you too, Canada.
Now...
What the HELL'D ya's do wit' PAUL????

*several minutes later*

Whew. I just "previewed" and fixed alla this. I also stuck Waylon in for that job.
Now, I hafta pee like a race horse, I need coffee and Waylon's makin' me wanna dance..... Or maybe that's having to pee so bad.
Hmmm....
I swear, I oughta just pee in a coffee cup and save myself all the "middleman" shit.

Gotta go... (gotta go, gotta go, gotta go right now....)

Peace, y'all.....
(Or maybe "pees"?)

Posted by: Stevie at 12:38 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

February 27, 2005

Is Nancy Sinatra dead or something?

Every single search today is for her spread in Playboy.
I don't even LIKE her.
The point of THAT particular post was DOROTHY STRATTEN, people.
DOROTHY STRATTEN.
Not Nancy.

Biiiig difference.
Learn it.

Posted by: Stevie at 11:32 AM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

Okay, this is stupid, but it's also buggin' my brain...

I have a buncha tapes of Nick@Nite. So, I see a lot of shows like All in the Family, Roseanne, Cheers... all the old GOOD shit, right?

Well, there's this one episode of Cheers where there is such a HUGE mistake I can't believe I've never heard of it before.

There's one episode where Sam is trying to get into Rebecca's pants... again. (Yes, I know. There are MANY episodes like that. Stick with me here...)
This time, he's trying to figure out her musical trigger. Calls her Mom, finds out that she positively melts when she hears "You've Lost That Lovin' Feeling" by The Righteous Bros.

So, he gets a tape of A song, plays it and she resists long enough to get Sam outta her office, then lays a liplock on Norm that nearly kills him.

Only problem?
The song Sam plays for her, that gets her into such a tizzy ISN'T the right one.
The one he plays for her, the one that she freaks out on Norm because of, is "Unchained Melody" (Percy Sledge), not "You've Lost That Lovin' Feeling".

Idiots.

Whew. Thanks.
I feel lots better now that I've got THAT out.
(Best to NOT mess with ME when it comes to 60's & 70's songs, don'tcha know.)

Posted by: Stevie at 11:23 AM | Comments (9) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

I made it.

I rode it.
Didn't break a nail.
Didn't get bucked off.

Hell, I even "spurred" the booger in the spins.

I did okay for a fat old fart who hasn't done it for 15 or so years.
But, Gawd, it was HARD.
I'll admit that.
But, I did it.
And...
I'm gonna do it again.
Many times.

All I can really say is that I musta been a tough little bitch when I was younger.
Daaaamn.

Pft. The true "toughness test" is about to commence right here in this house.
That list of 14 things I wanna do?
Yeah.
THAT'S gonna be what kills me.

Posted by: Stevie at 09:54 AM | Comments (7) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

February 26, 2005

Well, hell... I don't see this anywhere on my list...

But, apparently, it's what I'm fixin' to do.

"It" being drive a half hour to ride a bull. A mechanical bull, of course.

I was in Walgreens, getting the shit I need to do the shit on my list and beep, beep goes the DirectConnect. It's Eric, saying ever'body is goin' to this bar and do we wanna?

I stooped to grab a large tube of "Pain Bust-R II" for my elbow and said, "Sure. What da hell."

So, here we're about to go.

Got the "Urban Cowboy" playing while we get ready.

God, help me.
Thanks,
me

Back later.
Hope I can still type-n-shit.

Peace

Posted by: Stevie at 07:40 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

1 Remember: mechanical bulls like it when you feed them nuts & bolts...

Posted by: Mad Mikey at February 26, 2005 07:58 PM (X5IOb)

2 Yeahahahhhhhhhhhh!

Posted by: Bob at February 27, 2005 10:11 AM (OeJ1X)

3 Ah. See, that's what happens when you read them in reverse chronological order.

Posted by: Mad William Flint at February 28, 2005 08:03 PM (14L/a)

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