December 14, 2006
There's another cat in my house...
I was sitting in the kitchen after dinner, watching TV, and I heard a cat fight start in the mudroom.
As I've said before, I don't put up with that shit.What I may have failed to mention is the part about I don't care if it's my cats fighting or not.
I hear a fight, I find it and break it up, period. So, I opened the back door(s) and this gray cat comes flying in.
Shot me a glance as it sped by, like "Thanks, man!"... zoom. S/he ran into the living room.
Kinda made a circuit or two around the top perimeter of the room, then landed behind the tiny, fake "cat" Christmas tree. Noooot a happy cat, by any means. Just a tad bit wigged right the fuck out, right about now. Just think about it from the cats point of veiw... escapes one cat by running into a house fulla cats? Oh yeah.
Fah-reekin' out, here....
*lol* Poor thing... After coupla hours, I saw her/him and talked to her/him and s/he meowed back several times.
Eventually, I was able to pet him or her and didn't draw back a bloody stump, so that was encouraging. But... I've lost him or her again. Not behind that tree anymore. Not clinging to trunk of the real one either. I checked. So. Merry Christmas, I guess.
For the cat, if no one else. I mean, I really don't need another cat in here.
On the other hand, at this point, what's one more? Jeezus... *siiigh* Oh well.
Whatever. If the cat indicates it wants out, I'll let it out.
If not... welcome to the family. Now, off to scare the crap out of him or her.
I need to clean again and that'll involve the shop vac which is always a treat for the cats... I can just imagine what this new one's gonna think...
A trial by fire.
Welcome to my world, cat. (Now for some odd reason, I hear Eddie Arnold singing in my head... Did he, by chance, have a song called "Welcome to My World" or something?) (Which, in turn, just reminded me that I wanna get Eddie Money's first two albums in CD form offa Amazon soon.) *coupla minutes later*
(spent thinking about Eddie Money) God, he's gorgeous.
Used to be a cop.
Whole family is cops.
Real name is Eddie Mahoney.
I love him.
Always have, always will. I remember going to a Phillies game with my Dad once when Eddie was gonna sing at some point.
I wanted to make a huge poster with my phone number on it so Eddie would see it and, of course, call me. We'd meet, he'd love me and we'd get married and have horses and sing together. BUT... Dad nixed the whole idea on the grounds that, if I did that, every nutjob in Philly would be calling and Eddie wouldn't be any of them. Damn it. It coulda happened...
Clint Black called me once.
I taped the phone message onto another cassette and I still have it. "Hi, ****. This is Clint Black callin'. I gotcher letter and I was wonderin'... ummm... how you got this address. Ya see, we try to have all the mail sent though the fan club and if this address is public knowledge, we have a problem, kinda, ya know what I mean... Anyway, I was jes' wonderin' and maybe I'll see ya sometime when I play Philly. Bye now." Scared the ever-lovin' HELL outta me to hear that. Probably almost as much as getting my letter at his home address did him. Especially since I'd attached one of the green postal "sign this to prove you got this letter" things. But, that's a story for another time.
I've got shit to do here.
But but, ya see now how it IS conceivable that Eddie mighta called and I'd be married to a gorgeous rock star right now, right? Good.
Posted by: Stevie at 04:15 AM | Comments (18) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
December 11, 2006
I know everybody hates France...
Sam Kinison.
Rob.
Howard Stern.
Just everybody hates France for various and sundry reasons.
Consequently, so do I.
And, I even have a good reason... because I remember them not letting our guys fly over their stupid country enroute to bombing the tits offa some other place.
(I hate politics and all that that implies, so I don't know specifics, just that France sucks...)
you go, France. Tell you what.
If I can find the webpage for that organization, I will put it in my sidebar. ANYTHING that helps men escape the traps set for them by avaricious women and being butt-fucked by the courts needs to be supported, protected and enlarged in scope until there's not one single man left getting screwed by a life-long, dollar-by-dollar death sentence meted out by useless, hopeless, brainless, soul-less, lazy, litter-havin' cum dumpsters whose "profession" is trapping men, and their wallets, by getting pregnant. Then there are the guys who aren't even RELATED to the stupid kids who STILL get stuck paying for them... Don't even get me started.... Suffice it to say that anything that counter-screws women who're trying to screw men is more than just "all right" with me. It's KARMA and I love it! PAFE... remember those letters, guys.
They could save your money AND your life.
Posted by: Stevie at 05:22 PM | Comments (13) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Still ain't done the tree yet...
My latest "official reason" is that I'm letting the branches relax.
What I'm actually doing is sleeping, getting up, doing friggin' LAUNDRY still, baking cookies and takin' care of Gut Rumbles.And, taping "American Graffiti" and "The Goodbye Girl" just because they were both on TCM (no commercials, cuss words left intact).
"Weekend at Bernie's" is on now... I just got done Gut Rumbles and I'm about to go start another batch of cookies.
First ones I made were Sr.'s "special dark" tollhouse.
Now, I'm gonna go make two more batches of them with regular, though tiny, chocolate chips.
One batch'll have walnuts, the other won't.
Then, eventually, I'll be making Peanut Butter and Oatmeal Raisin again, too. If I get tired of cookies, I can always do the damned tree, I suppose....
Get tired of the tree, go do cookies, too... And, about the tree?
Yeah.
I don't think I'm gonna take off all those lights.
I'm just gonna add the new ones.
Sr.'s had it lit tonight and it looks okay.
It's not like it's gonna be in a competition anyway.
At this point, after several days with boxes of balls all over the floor, I just want it DONE. (And, Mad Wm., the categories of balls are as follows:
Tiny
Small
Medium
Big
HUGE
And, that's not including "specialty balls" like brass or donkey or whathaveyou... *grin*) WatB's is gonna be going off soon.
When it does, I'm gonna run "The Stepford Wives" in the kitchen and NatLamp's "Christmas Vacation" here, in the living room. That way, when I'm being Suzy Homemaker out in the kitchen, I'll have the appropriate movie on and same for in here, when I'm wrestling with this tree. And, speaking of "The Stepford Wives"... maybe if I mention this, it'll stop happening.
I hope so, 'cause it never fails to squick me out a little... Every time I push a grocery cart through the Giant, all I can picture in my head is the end of that movie.
And, if I'm stoned with the headphones on, it only adds to the illusion.
I get to thinking about if all the women in there were "Stepford-ized", then I invariably notice a few who look like they have been and ew. There.
Now that I've said it, maybe it'll leave me be. And, Bernie's done, so... so am I. Back later. Peace, y'all...
Posted by: Stevie at 01:37 AM | Comments (11) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
December 09, 2006
I'm back again...
It's only 20 after 9, both guys went to bed and I've made a start.
When they went out to tie those two cows, I went upstairs and straightened up the bathroom, cleaned those two catboxes, scrubbed the tub and filled it with hot water and that blue bath stuff and waited.Meanwhile, I'd done a load of laundry which was also waiting.
When I heard them come in, I threw the clothes in the dryer and started it so it'd warm the room for when Sr. got in the tub.
He came up, got in the tub, soaked a bit and is now in bed watching TV. Meanwhile, Jr.'d already fallen asleep down here, so before he got in bed, Sr. came and got him to go up stairs to bed for a change. So, here it is, not even 9:30 yet and I've got kind of of start.
Need another ephedrine, though... Also need a list. So,
here it is...
vacuum bathroom
sort balls
take lights off tree
put lights back on tree CORRECTLY (whatever that is)
hang balls
tinsel
candy canes
other shit
stack empty boxes inside each other and stuff behind couch
straighten again
figure out a better place for chair ("middle of floor" sucks)
bake cookies if not dead yet Man, these two kittens are gonna be pissed when I get all these boxes picked up.
Not only are they diving in and out of 'em, they're also using them like a maze to race through.
They still aren't messing with the tree, nor have any of the cats bothered the boxes of balls sittin' on the floor and they've been out there since last night. Okay.
Just took the second ephedrine.
Gonna roll one, power-smoke it, and see what happens. And my eyelid is twitching again.... Back later.
Posted by: Stevie at 09:46 PM | Comments (11) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
It's "later", right?
Tape #3 is in and they'd BEST quit repeating the same six episodes now.
I don't mind having dupe tapes of the same episodes, but it'd better not be just these few all weekend...
George bought a new one.
George has yet to install the new one.
Today was the last day of hunting season (thankgodfinally) and so now "we" need lights in the "ppol room" again SO jr. and Roger decided to give it a go not having clue one what the hell they were doing SO, Sr. stopped them, told them to undo what they'd wired, tape the ends and George will hook it up tomorrow.
Or Monday.
And, turn the circuit breaker back on, guys... So, they did. And now, they're alllll off feeding the horses. Sr. plans on coming home, eating something, soaking in the tub and going to bed.
Hope Jr. also has something to do besides sit here in the middle of what I'll be trying to do.
Not that he's not cool to hang with, but... you know.
That whole "don't need an audience" thing when I'm cleaning... Ephedrine is starting to work.
I can tell because I'm typing almost as fast as I think and not making many typos.
Now, if it would just kill the munchies... Let's see here...
I guess I oughta go clean out the tub and straighten up the bathroom.
Make the bed and get the bedroom done.
That way, when Sr. is ready, he can just go do whatever he wants for however long he wants.
Once he's up there, doin' his thaaaang, I'll start trying to make a dent down here. Shit.
I just remembered he has to go back out and tie two cows in two hours.
*siiigh* This's gon' be a loooooong night.
Posted by: Stevie at 06:14 PM | Comments (9) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Have I mentioned that I don't really feel like messin' with this stupid tree? Or, does the fact that I've done nothing but walk past it all day say it well enough, d'ya think?
I mean, it's not like I haven't done anything today...
I did go to Wally-world and Giant.
And, I did get a shower and wash my hair.
And, I am about to stick my third blank tape in for the "That Girl" marathon.
I hate when I get like this. The mountain of shit that needs to be done is so big that my body just says "fuckit" and I come up with endless "reasons" not to even start.
I can always find something else to do "first". Make a pot of coffee, go to the bathroom, smoke a little sump'in sump'in, feed that animal, pick the eye-boogers offa that one, brush my hair, read that post, check my email, see if FARK has any new posts... it's ENDLESS. Like right now... I need to change tapes, either after this episode or the next one.
And, GOD FORBID, I get "distracted" by something like, oh say CLEANING, and forget to do that.
That'd mess up my TG marathon, know what I'm sayin'?
Can't have that... So, it's one more cigarette, one more cuppa coffee, one more bowl while I wait. Okay.
I just checked the tape and it looks like it can take another TWO episodes, so I'm gonna hafta do something here.... can't just sit here for another hour, doin' nuthin'.
(Well, I could, but I made Sr. and Jr. wipe off alla the Christmas balls last night, so I believe if I don't get 'em hung on the tree soon, they just may end up as the world's shiniest and most delicate suppositories.) And, just by the way... who's been dressing me lately?!!? Right now, I'm wearing a big black sweater, my blue plaid flannel jammy bottoms and black clogs.
wtf? I swear, if I make a fashion statement, it's "Kill me now. PLEASE." Thanks, Dad.
*snerk*
Ah well, if I have to get more and more like either of my parents every day, I'm glad it's Dad. And, gee... now that I think about it, my house looks like the inside of Dad's car, pretty much, so there's the answer to that.
Cool. Now, how would he go about getting this shit done?
Hmmmm...
I don't know. All I do know is that me waitin' for Sr. to do it would be a longer haul than waitin' for ME to do it, so that won't work. Maybe I can use "George'll be back tomorrow, it'd be nice if I were done by then at least". That's almost as effective as "Comp'ny comin'!!!"
If I know people are gonna be here, I go into Defcon5 House Cleaning Mode.
(And, my eternal admiration to whomever knows where that "Comp'ny comin'!" quote comes from because it'll mean you have excellent taste in movies.) *coupla minutes later* Well, okay.
This is "interesting".
(not) Jr. and his buddy Roger are re-wiring the lights in the "pool room" (which used to be called the "summer kitchen" until Jr. bought a slightly-smaller-than-regulation pool table from Roger and parked it in there, so now it's the pool room...). In doing the re-wiring, they've blown a circuit breaker, so I have no lights in the front room or kitchen, thereby limiting where I can get anything done to this room, the living room, WHERE THE CURSED TREE IS! BUT!
I hafta go to the bathroom now.
And, I just got another cuppa coffee (hence my knowing about the electric).
And, I can take my coffee, smokes, tin can with other smokes and alla that shit to the bathroom and my brush is in there, too, so there's 90% of my "other shit to do list". Only difference this time is that I'm about to swallow my first "pseudo-ephedrine" pill.
And, when this one tries to make me tired, I'm gonna take another one.
THEN, I'll be flying long and hard enough to get this crap done. Meaning that I'll probably be up all night, hustlin' around, gettin' all this shit done. That's cool too, though.
That way, Sr. goes to bed with the house lookin' like an "after the tornado trailer park" and wakes up to "Did we move while I was alseep, this place looks GOOD!", which is always fun. Just wish just ONCE that I could be the one to go to sleep and wake up to the clean house.
Just to see how it feels from that side, ya know? *minute later* Okay.
Just checked the tape again and there's enough room for one more episode, so...
I'mina go to the bathroom while it's taping, then switch tapes and get started.
I hope.
Maybe I oughta make a list again...
if I have enough PAPER. Back later.
Posted by: Stevie at 05:33 PM | Comments (8) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
T-minus about 20 minutes and counting...
In about 20 minutes and for the next 48 hours, the TV in the living room will be "on duty" and off-limits.
Meaning, I'll be taping the "That Girl" marathon, every single episode of it, on TVLand.
(make it stooooop) I'm lookin' at Victor French in a PINK long john suit.
And, oh God killmenow, it's being narrated by a very young "Half-Pint", the sound of whose voice makes me wanna hurl.
And, those stupid Christmas songs they keep playing over the scenes...
Stop. It. Now. Oh, thank You, Lord...
A fuckin' Nordic Track commercial... Man...
There's another 15 minutes of this shit left to
The episode was something about Laura, that retard, trading her horse away for a goddamned stove.
I said, outloud in front of Mom (oops), "God, you are such a stupid, buck-toothed bitch, Laura" when I realized what she'd done.
Mom whips out with both my first and middle names, sounding all shocked.
I looked at her and said, "Well, she IS stupid... (as if this is what she's shocked about) I'd NEVER trade Diablo away for anything."
She just told me to watch my mouth. Then, there was the time when she told me what those French words in that disco song.... gim'me a minute... see if I can remember the title... Lady Marmalade.
Yep.
That's it.
Anyway, she told me what the French meant and I said, "Oh! I'd always wondered what the hell that meant."
I was aboooout 14, I think.
Oops, again.
*giggle* I remember the first time I cussed in front of Dad, too. We were trying to get kittens outta the lilac and chysanthimum bushes behind the house in Mannington at night and I got poked in the eye by a branch.
I hollered, "Damn it!" and slapped my hand over my eye.
Dad only said my first name, and when I told him why I'd said it, he let it slide. Toldja's he was cool... (If this fuckin' Little House/Christmas carols being sung by opera assholes SHIT doesn't end soon, I am gonna hang myself, I swear...)
(It's as if it just has to get increasingly more annoying, the closer to the end it gets. I'm fully expecting to see Charles in tears before it's over.)
(IF I don't gouge out my eyes first...) *coupla minutes later* Okay, now they're just trying to piss me off, showing that fluffy white shit that I hate whose name shall never cross my lips deep enough that Charles had to go out the second floor window to get to the damned barn. Ew.
Now he and "Ma" are suckin' face and that goddamned "music" is gettin' louder... Oh, thank God.
It's going off.
I made it.
I didn't go into a sugar-induced coma. I swear to God, after I get "That Girl" going in here, I need to take "Full Metal Jacket" or "Helter Skelter" out to the kitchen and watch one or the other to get my mojo restored after that.
Might need a shower too.
I feel... shuddery, like when I see a pile of maggots. Fuck, I hate maggots.
*full body spasm*
gah Okay, anyway...
Gonna start my first tape.
Sometime in the next coupla hours, I'll be going to Wally-world and one of the reasons is to get more blank tapes.
Need to "do" the tree, the dishes, the cat boxes, the vacuuming and whatthehellever else needs doin'. Back some time... Peace
Posted by: Stevie at 06:06 AM | Comments (9) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
God, my body is weird...
Or, maybe it's my body's clock, whatever...
Fucked up, whatever it is.
First off, what was I doin' asleep?
Then, why do I hafta wake up and cough for a half hour, have a headache and feel like I was gettin' whacked by large men with axe handles?
What's that for? Gotta pee, gotta cough, the two don't mix well. Ever try "internalizing" a cough (much like when ya don't wanna lose the hit of "other" smoke) and running up a flight of stairs cross-legged at the same time?
It's fun, lem'me tell ya.
Add to that about a half dozen cats who simply MUST run up the stairs with me every. single. time. I go up there and the one cat who INSISTS on throwing herself down on her side and being "cute" in doorways and established paths, and it makes for some pretty intense shit sometimes. I don't need a headache and my body to be all crippled up, stupid couch... Plus, there's this huge mess in the middle of my living room, still. Whatever happened to those "faries" who used to show up while people were asleep and give 'em a hand, help 'em get caught up and shit like that?
What?
They get "unionized" and don't work anymore or something? And, as if I don't have enough to do, in about three minutes, I hafta start my daily morning ritual of being the alarm clock Sr. can't ignore. "DUDE."
"Hey."
"Hey! Dude! It's almost 4:30am..." (Him): "Muzwump, fragazzle, snerk." "Uh-huh. C'mon, now. Get up." (Him): "Cazzosheen frack." "Riiiight." Every day.
Every day I gotta go through this. Then, it's not unheard of for him to come down stairs and assault the shit out of a paper bag.
And cuss and pout and be all puffy-eyed and pissy. Ever see a kid doing something they don't wanna do and doing it all slingy and bitchy and snarly and you just KNOW they're thinking, "Fine. I'll do this thing you want me to do and WHEN I DIE FROM IT, you'll feel bad THEN, damn it..."?
Well, at 41 years of age, that's him. This is why, when asked if I have kids, I've taken to saying, "Well, I have a 41 year old at the house..." Speaking of whom, I have to go get him up now.
Again.
*sigh* Oh well.
At least my body has loosened up some and my headache got "caffeined" away. Now, if I could just "Jeannie-blink" this tree and house done...
Posted by: Stevie at 04:21 AM | Comments (10) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
December 08, 2006
26 years ago today...
Yes, imagine...
Posted by: Stevie at 04:40 PM | Comments (8) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Lord...
There was a lot of shit up there.
Now, it's all in the hallway outside the bathroom.
Nownow, all I hafta do is drag it all down here and sort through it.
Then, he suggested something which I'd already done, days ago.
So...
*grin* Okay.
Back to the seven hundred, ninty-two trips up and down the stairs...
that I don't feel like makin'.
Guess I oughta get back to that.
Guess I also oughta take off my boots now.
It's such a sexy look, this.
My flannel jammies and my Bender (John Bender, Breakfast Club, don't make me post a picture of Judd Nelson, 'cause I won't be able to stop with just one) boots... The only way this could be worse is if I were wearing shorts, which does NOT happen, not even in the summer.
Jeans (or sweats) and boots (or slip on shoes).
If I can't ride in it, I don't wear it unless I'm forced to.
And then, I ain't happy. Anyway, in this ensemble, I remind me of Dad.
Him, running all the way out to the mailbox at the house in Mannington in tighty-whities and lower-shin-high boots.
Or, worse, those zip-up-the-side, short, Beatle boots.
And, him with his long hair and beard and moustach.
He looked like a deranged Santa Claus on vacation or something. Then, there was the whole "running into town in cut off DuPont pants, boots, with the added attraction of dirt on kneecaps from having been working in garden" look, which I have yet to adopt, thank Gawd. I just go everywhere covered in cat hair. Okay, so how did I get from Christmas decorations to my Dad in his shorts/boots combo?
Jeezus... (smoke s'more.)
(i intend to, thanks.) Any-fuckin'-way...
Did I have a point this time?
'Cause, if I did, I can't remember it. I got the shit outta the attic, I still hafta hoof it all down here and mere minutes after I turned on my radio, I find out Jr. won't be here tonight, whoo-ho. I think that's it. Except, I'm dressed weird.
Which I attribute to being related to my Dad.
Which is where I got so off track the first time, so THIS time, I'mina go before I confuse myself again. *coupla minutes later*
Oh, wow.
It's Friday.
I thought, for some reason, that it was Thursday. Well, now it makes sense that George left.
It wasn't early.
I was late.
Gotcha. And now, I really hafta go and get Moesha the fuck off my TV. *full body shudder*
Posted by: Stevie at 04:10 PM | Comments (8) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Another list...
of shit I need to get done.
First, I hafta go up in the attic and see what other tree decorations may be up there.Then, come down here and get a shower, wash my hair, and go to Wally-world and Giant.
Need to make lists for that. Gotta watch what I'm doing with money right now...
And, since I can go to both stores 24/7, no huge rush on that. Meanwhile, I also need to pull all the friggin' lights back offa the tree.
We've got three different kinds on it. First Sr. and Jr. stuck on the "extra" string we had of the big, colored ones they used on the house.
(They did this after I went to bed...) I come down, see what they did, then dig out 5 strings of lights I had, two of which are different from the other three and stuck alla them on.
Stuck alla them on AFTER I centered and secured the tree with twine to a hook I had to put in the wall... After that, I went back to bed.
(It was about 4:30am...) I come back down a while ago and now, Sr. and Jr. have added garland.
That, huge, ropey, sparkley shit?
That goes on last?
Yeah.
That stuff.
*rolling eyes and laughing* I have now decided to take everything back off the stupid tree and just start over.
After I ascertain what the hell I have and what else I need from Wally world. Then, I get to put all the shit on the tree because, and I quote Sr., "You'll do a muuuuch better job than we can..."
Which is his way of getting out of this chore.
Gracefully, he thinks.
Stupid I must be, he thinks too, apparently.
(Yoda, I am, suddenly. wtf?) Anyway, suffice it to say, I saw right through that crap, but let it slide right on by.
Tell ya what, though... he keeps that up, I'm gonna wear my barn boots in here. Shit'll be gittin' deep. Back to my list... I also hafta vacuum.
I don't know what the hell happened to the front room floor, but the living room looks like there was a ritual disembowelment done to a Douglas Fir in here.
There are branches on the floor, a stump-like chunk of trunk from off the bottom of the tree, boxes of tree shit from outta the attic (but not all of them) sittin' around, tinsel on the floor already and other detritus that's probably some kind of violation of the health code or another. There's also a sink fulla dishes. And, dinner at some point... *sigh* Attic first, though.
And, there's no lights up there, so I need to get the hell up there NOW, while it's still light out.
It being cloudy is gonna make it hard enough to see as it is... Oh and George went to Jersey.
I knew he was going this weekend, but I thought it was gonna be tomorrow.
Now, if Jr. could just make himself the slightest bit scarce...
*grin* Peace
Posted by: Stevie at 02:48 PM | Comments (15) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
December 07, 2006
For a day that started with a dentist visit, this one's turning out pretty cool...
Dentist's office went okay.
Gross, but okay.
Once he got the form outta my mouth, I said, "Dude. Uck. I think caulk would taste better'n that stuff." He giggled.
He left the room.
He came back with, I SWEAR TO GOD, a tiny caulk gun with more gook in it and did an outside impression of my bite to line shit up right.
Whatever that thing is called in the dental world, it worked EXACTLY like a caulk gun. And, this was all after what I saw when I first walked in... A small can of butane fuel and a burner of some kind. Had me wonderin' just what in thee HELL was gonna go on today, fer Chris'sakes.
Ya know? Turns out that was to heat and shape the impression tray. Thank Gawd. Anyway, I get done there (next step is he calls me when the partial is in) and come home.
Get outta street clothes, into flannel jammies. George comes home fulla piss and vinegar, apparently, because he hollers to me in the bathroom to hurry up and get changed back into street clothes and we'll go get a tree. Okay. So, we did.
A huge fat Douglas Fir.
$25.00. We've got it all trimmed, branches wise, and stuck in the tree-stand.
We're not gonna untie it til Sr. is here to see it unfold.
Meanwhile, George is leading him to believe it's a short, skinny little thing. Tell ya what...
When that cord gets cut, it's gonna spring open like Clark Griswold's tree did. Gonna be cool to see the look on Sr.'s face when it does, too.... Also, early this morning, because he wears so many layers of clothes, Sr. managed to make the zipper on his new coveralls split open.
When I saw that zipper, I saw red.
Not at him, at the damned zipper, after what the last pair put me through. He said it was his fault because of all the clothes, but still... After the dentist's office, I did indeed remember to go get horse feed.
And, while I was at Agway, I noticed a sale.
A sale on Carhartt coats. *grin* I got him a $99, blanket lined, "ranch coat" style Carhartt coat for $70.
Got him the corresponding hood for $20. I figured if he has a good, warm coat, he won't need 100 lbs. of clothes under his bibs.
Plus, I was gonna get him this for Christmas anyway, so what's the point in makin' 'im freeze his boys for another eighteen days?
It's finally decided to go on and get cold.
So, now he's ready for it.
In fact, he called me after he'd gone back out after lunch wearing the new coat and said it was almost too warm... Better too warm and you can take something off than too cold and yer wearin' so much shit you can't bend yer arms. Now, if he'd just get done out there and come in here so we can cut this tree open.... Peace
Posted by: Stevie at 05:43 PM | Comments (12) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Gittin' ready to go to the (damned) dentist again...
I've been to the dentist's office more times in the past two weeks than I have the prior two DECADES, I swear.
This time is supposed to be easy, though.Just need a new impression of my bottom teeth.
I'm not sure what the one before the cleaning was for, but, now "we" need another one for "after". Whatever. S'long as it's the bottom teeth, I should be okay.
It's the top ones that start the gag fests.
That goo touching the back of the roof of my mouth...
*shudder*
Gah...
I don't even wanna think about it. Instead, I think I'll think about the fact that this is the last step before the payoff with this shit.
After this visit, the next one will be to get the partial. Tell you what...
The most fun part about that is gonna be after I leave the office.
I just know I'm gonna spend the first two weeks going to all the usual places grinning ear-to-ear just so everybody sees TEETH again, even if they never saw me like I am right now. Then, what I'd love to do, is hibernate all winter and emerge in the Spring in my 29's.
*rolls eyes* I can get Ephedra online... Anyway...
before I forget again... My hair seems to have greatly slowed it's shedding.
And, for as much as I seemed to be losing there for a while, it's not noticably thinner or anything.
It's still a fistful when I gather it in one hand.
And, I'm pretty sure it'll still be hotter'n hell in the summer. Keepin' me pretty warm, now, too... Now, I have another question and if I've asked this before, forgive and tell me again... Can a person be all fucked up by, say, grief, and not really realize it? Like, not notice it themselves?
Or, can a person go around thinking they're juuuust fine and yet be all stressed out without knowing it?
And, can A. cause B.?
And and, if the person doesn't "know" it's happening, is that better than if they did realize it by feeling every second of it? I don't have time right this second to go into this too much, nor to address the answer to my last question, thank you Viz... *grin* But, I wonder about the stress/grief thing and I got whatcha meant, Viz, but applying it to Eric is gonna be tricky for several reasons.
It's simple, yeah, but in a lotta ways, mostly because of that abusive BC in Jersey, he's really complicated about this kinda stuff.
Takes everything... boundries, mere suggestions, hints, and generalities... personally.
Which makes it really dicey for a brutally honest, no bullshit (well, a little maybe, but not in important stuff) person like me to communicate effectively. I have to really pick and choose words and think before I speak, which is an excercise in futility unto itself especially if I'm pissed, and by the time I get the soft, watered-down version said, it means nothing to anyone, it's so ball-less, including me.
Plus, it takes me six times longer to articulate feelings through all that... crap. Well anyway...
I gotta go get dressed.
I have to go to Agway for horse feed after the dentist's office.
Hope I remember that.
Back soon. Peace
Posted by: Stevie at 11:47 AM | Comments (10) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
December 06, 2006
I made it... no "dry socket"!
And, the soreness from being stuck is fading quite nicely, too.
I didn't eat yesterday before I went in.And, I did what I had to do *grin* to relax.
Consequently, by the time I got home from there, and the Giant afterward, I was hungry.
Thank Gawd I had mashed potatos in the fridge. After I got the shit from Giant put away, I went and laid down, to sleep off the time I wasn't supposed to be smoking. Got up around 1:30am, or so.
Came on down here.
Jr. was asleep, all contorted in my chair with a cat sleeping on him.
I mostly just farted around on here. Then, Eric came down.
(After I went up there and got him up because he ignored the alarm clock AGAIN...)
Anyway, he's fine, at first.
Then, a few minutes later, I hear him muttering and struggling with something in the kitchen and sounding pissed, which instantly pisses me off. I don't know why, but it does sometimes... I say outloud, "What the FUCK?" and get up and go out to the kitchen.
He's got the paper bag with the donuts in it and two of the boxes of donuts are sitting on the counter, but he wanted the third one which was not coming out easily, nor was the lid cooperating, so, as I walk into the kitchen, he loses it and rips the bag in half and gets his damned donuts. Jesus. I looked at him, and always helpful, say, "Well, that's real nice. Rip the bag up. The cats coulda played with that, ya know and I did just get done picking up alla the shit off this floor not five minutes ago..." (Which, by the way, was the truth. I had just picked up the bags from the grocery store from earlier.)
Then, I picked up the paper bag, crumpled it up, stuck in an empty cat food bag serving as a trashbag and came back in here.
I grabbed my shit and went past him, up the stairs and into the bathroom for a while.
Read some Stephen King, laughed out loud at a coupla his turns-of-phrase(s?) and, eventually, I came back down here. Eric was outside and George was awake.
George was on the computer, so I think that's when I went back to bed.
Laid there a while, watching TV and reading, then woke up around 12:30, I think. When I came down this time, Sr. was in for lunch.
Jr., too, I think, but I didn't see him.
I go into the kitchen and somebody (maybe somebody who constantly leaves cabinets and drawers open?) has left the stupid pantry door open
(can ya tell I like this bull?)
Totally pissed. This, and the fact that he's got pizza in the microwave, brings Sr. out to see what the problem is, which I "related" to him.
And, by "related" I mean told him in a voice that said, "We both know I didn't leave this door open and that you and Jr. are the only two here right now, so YOU CAUSED THIS!", which he knows anyway, but still.
Ya know?
So, I mop up the cat pee and wipe off the bag and throw it into the pantry and slam the door closed.
"Closed" being the operative idea in that little demonstration (which, by the way, I am certain sailed right over his head because of the anger, but fuck it. It still felt good to do). Shortly after that, I again retreated to the bathroom and Stephen King and read and smoked and felt better and came back down eventually and...
here I am. I think it worked this time.
This time when I came down, there were no disasters waitin' for me.
I was able to come down, get a cuppa coffee and get to this point without anything bad occuring.
And, since it does seemed to have worked this time, I think I'll go ice that cake I made yesterday early in the morning and maybe bake some cookies. I did, after all, get special dark chocolate chips especially for him.
Oughta use 'em before he finds 'em and eats 'em plain, I suppose.
Plus, I have to admit that the "fry his brains" aspect of making special tollhouse cookies just for him after the two fucked up encounters we've had today is making me giggle. Poor fucker won't know what to make of it...
*lol* One question, though... I kept thinking earlier that I need to stop letting his moods affect mine.
But, if I do that, isn't that building walls or cutting connections?
I mean, the only people whose moods don't have an affect on me are the people I could give a shit less about.
Yes, 99% of the entire population of the planet... I don't know 'em, I don't care about 'em, and they have no affect on me. For him not to have an affect on me... how does that happen, if not by me regarding him like I do everybody else, pretty much?
I don't wanna do that... Floor's yours, y'all...
I'll be back.
Posted by: Stevie at 04:25 PM | Comments (11) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
December 05, 2006
Well, I'm alive....
Not too happy about that little factoid right this second, but I'll be fine... eventually.
The worst part is actually the friggin' gauze.I hate havin' shit in my mouth. Hell, I've never even done a spitball because the idea of chewin' on paper, then having to touch spitty paper, makes me wanna puke, ya know?
So, you can imagine how gaggy it is havin' this material in my mouth.
Plus, it feel like half my face has morphed into the Godfather. And, between the extraction and the cleaning, the extraction was the "easy" part. That little sucky thing that gets rid of excess spit also draws a lot of air which is cold and does NOT feel good in a mouth fulla fucked up toofuses.
They're fine now.
They were fine as soon as he got that sucky thing outta there. And... remember I said this guy is good? And, that if anybody was gonna stick me I wanted it to be him? Well, I was right.
On both counts. This guy made me LAUGH while he was stickin' me. I din't feel nuttin'.
Not even the proverbial "pinch". Hope I still don't feel anything once I can feel my TONGUE again. Yeah, half my tongue's still numb, as is my jaw.
This shit puts a whole new spin on drinking coffee.
Especially out of what amounts to an "adult sippy cup". Makes smoking, which I'm not supposed to be doing, lotsa fun, too.... Who the fuck arranged that shit, by the way?
How the fuck're ya not supposed to smoke after that kinda shit is done to ya?
TRAUMATIZE ya, then tell ya ya can't have a smoke.
Right.
Good luck with that one, Sparky. And, once again... God Bless Def Leppard.
This time I had the headphones on and the volume MAXED.
It really did help. Okay.
I got the gauze out.
Shit.
Shoulda left it in.
I also have a cigarette lit.
*sigh*
One second...
Gonna stick another piece of gauze in there til I finish this cigarette.... Uck.
Nasty feelin' shit.
But, Brian said "If yer gonna smoke (knowing the entire time that I AM gonna), at least put gauze in there and DON'T CHAIN SMOKE for the first 12 hours, okay?" Y'okay, Doc. Wow... I'm actually starting to be able to feel my lips again.
Cool.
(I hope.) I think I'm gonna go lay down for a while.
Try sleeping as many of these 12 hours away as I can. I'll be back later. Peace, y'all....
Posted by: Stevie at 06:20 PM | Comments (10) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Further proof of just how fucked up I am...
I just used about a half a dozen "emoticons" *rolling eyes at the pretense* in a 15 minute IM session.
Pretty fucked up, huh? Well, that's not the really fucked up part. The really fucked up part is that, once again, I was, for all intents and purposes, talkin' to myself. So, basically, I used six exaggerated facial expressions and laughed out loud a coupla times in a converstion where I was not only the only one talking, I was the only one PRESENT.(Yes, it was another attempt to be on the computer at the same time as my Canadian Godsend. How very "been through this with me before" of you to know this.) And, ya wanna know what's borderline sad? I do the same shit, have eighteen minute conversations with myself to him, when I get his voicemail. Just once, I'd like to be a fly on the wall one night, when Paul gets home from work and sees there's a message from me on his phone.
To see, first, his facial expression when he realizes it's me and has a "bad acid" flashback to the numerous other times he's had to stand and listen to me ramble on forEVER about whatever it is I'm calling him for, and then his physical, full-body reaction to the further realization that he's probably in store for another drenching of diarrhea of the mouth from me about something that will, in all probability, turn out to be no big deal anyway, because there hasn't been one single thing yet EVER that he hasn't been able to handle from me. My version of this pr-oh-cess involves wailing, the gnashing of teeth, and bodily gyrations depicting pain, then culminates with him weeping into a pillow. Then, sometime later, during the third, or fourth maybe, of my calls back to continue the (damned) message (cause I wasn't DONE YET when his voicemail was), I see Paul sitting on the floor by the phone, splay-legged, back against the wall, slugging from one of those gallon jugs of Jack while my message plays on and on and on and on and never does seem to get to the fuckin' POINT.
Then, he does the Archie Bunker "suicide by gunshot during one of Edith's stories" pantomime... Long about this time, my mind gets distracted... by something shiny and sparkley, no doubt... and we go think about that for a while. Poor Paul. I love him half to death. He puts up with me so gracefully.... he's such a love to know.... (thank you, Rob *grin*) I just wish I could my shit together well enough to BE HERE THE SAME TIME HE IS JUST ONCE!! (/Sam Kinison) Okay.
*squares shoulders and shakes hair out of eyes* I'm gonna go bake now.
Myself, as well as a cake and two kindsa cookies.
*grin* Peace
Posted by: Stevie at 02:08 AM | Comments (11) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
December 04, 2006
Ya know... I rarely ever call Paul at work, but...
I just did.
For me to do that means that something is going on, good or bad, that just can't wait.
(No, not Jennifer. They're the initials of where Paul works.) And, I just did that.
I think it was the third time I've done that... This time, it was about Gut Rumbles.
Now, ya KNOW this is an "emergency", right?
Something being wrong with Gut Rumbles?
Ohhellyeah, it's a "Call Paul at work, I need him NOW!" deal... I can't get... and just now, as I start this sentence, it's resolved itself, proving once again that all ya need to do is tell Paul and shit fixes itself... I couldn't get shit to post over there.
Clicking "save" got me the arrow/hour glass combo, yeah, but it did nothing after that.
It just sat there, not moving. So, I shut down completely on my end and tried again and again... nothing. I called Paul and thirty seconds later, it does it.
It posts the post. Well, good. I still got to talk to Paul for four and half minutes (my phone times calls) and Gut Rumbles is fine, it seems. Hope Paul still calls when he gets home from work.
It's been a loooooooooooooooooooooong time since we've sat around bullshittin' and cracking each other up. "Rustle." That, friends and neighbors, is the punchline to a joke he told me once, about four years ago and it STILL makes me slither bonelessly outta this chair, gasping for air, I laugh so hard when I say, hear or even think about it. The man is nuts.
But, in a good way, like me.
(Aw, shaddap... I am too "not dangerous" unless the situation warrants it. Or, I just feel like it. Liiiike, if something or somebody fucks with Gut Rumbles or Rob... You know.)
(I need a custom T-shirt, made to read "Don't start with Rob. You know how I get.") Anyway...
In other news...
My appointment at the dentists office for Wednesday has been cancelled.
They left me a voicemail earlier today.
The reason it's been cancelled is because they want me there TOMORROW (gak!), instead. Whenever... I'm just praying that Brian's novocaine needle has a smaller bore than a tailpipe.
(manIhatethisshit)
Let's just "git 'er done". And, ya know... I kinda wonder about dentists, in general. What would make a person want a career where the only guarantee is that you'll be hated, feared, bitten, have to deal with copious amounts of spit and bad breath and alla that shit? Are teeth themselves truly that fascinating?
Is it the money?
Are they all closet sadists?
What would make them WANT this for a life? I mean, there is the attraction of being a necessary evil in KID'S lives, but not even THAT is enough of a draw for me.
(Mind-movie Alert... I see me in a dentist's white coat, with the face mask and a whimpering child in the chair. "Yes, that's right, you little wiseass who can't listen or behave. I'm here to do unspeakable things to your teeth, to make you feel pain, bleed and possibly see smoke. And, ya wanna know the best part for ME? It's that if you don't sit still and LET me torture you, your parents will bust YOUR ass! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! I ain't no fuckin' ELF.") Yeah.
I've got a reeeeeally healthy outlook on dentists, don't I?
Thanks, Doctor Elmer. Hope yer roasting on a spit in HELL, you nasty old fuck. *coupla minutes later*
Good God.
I just heard the most fucked up thing... A&E is gonna be running "The Sopranos". The SOPRANOS on "regular", "network" TV. This oughta be cute. Can't be sayin' "fuck" at ALL on A&E, let alone every nine seconds as they are wont to do on The Sopranos. So, I guess it'll be "The Sanitized to Death Sopranos". Somehow, the idea of big, gorgeous, totally SEXY with all that power and ability to make assholes regret being assholes then disappear... that that menacing 'ol mo-fackie, James Gandolfini, will be overdubbed into saying "Gee Willickers" or "Oh, poop" or "I'll chew yer *insert cutsey alternative cuss word* FACE OFF, you piece of... what? Cake? Pie?"... it just makes me groan.
Actually, it also makes me wince, make a face, and feel slightly ill, too. How the FUCK are they gonna air The Sopranos without fuckin' it all up? Hell, even HBO fucked it up.
HBO got me so pissed the fuck off when The Sopranos was on there, I wanted to beat somebody half to death.
(Not all the way to death, no. I wanted them left alive and in great pain for what they were doin'.)
Move it here, move it there, never show it the same time twice, take off six years between seasons... fuck that shit. I did love James, though.
His wife needs to sit down and just STFU and let that man be the man he is. I'd love it.
I'd be maintaining, and adding to, his "kill list".
I'd clean his guns, before AND after.
I'd be even more "business-like" than he is. He'd LOVE me as his wife.
He'd be wantin' a vacation from "business" with ME as his partner, lem'me tell ya. Meanwhile, I couldn't even FIND the damned Sopranos on HB-fuckin'-O, so I got pissed and CANCELLED HBO and told them exactly why. Now, it's about to be chopped to pieces more effectively than a hot car in a chopshop, no doubt, and "cleaned up" *gag, wretch* to be shown on A&E. God help us all.
*rolling eyes* Aaaaanyway....
I do believe I hear "the library" callin' my name, so I'm gonna go.
Back later and no, I didn't make cookies yet.
I fell asleep, finally.
Maybe later today I'll be baking.
Makin' chicken for dinner, so how hard could it be to switch to cookies after that?
(And, in spite of a spate of requests, no, tonight's chicken dinner will NOT be my two roosters...) Peace
Posted by: Stevie at 05:16 PM | Comments (8) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Guess what, y'all?
I'm still awake.
I'm either about to eat a piece of toast and go to sleep for a while, or bake cookies til Sr. comes in for breakfast.And food.
*grin* Not only am I still awake, I got my shower.
Not only did I wash my hair, I "highlighted" it, too. Now, it's very soft and "floaty".
When I walk, it wafts in the breeze. Hmmm... maybe I'll have oatmeal... maple and brown sugar oatmeal and toast.
Eat that, go on upstairs, get nekkid, get into the warm water bed and pretend to either read or comprehend TV for the thirty seconds I'm conscious.
I already told Eric to wake me up when he comes in if I'm asleep.
If the wicked grin I got in response to that is any clue, I'd say this'll be one time when I actually like waking up.
A lot. Anyway...
Starving.
Oatmeal.
Toast.
Lay aching body down in warm bed. *aaaahhhhh* Feels good just thinkin' about it. Back later. Peace
Posted by: Stevie at 05:08 AM | Comments (8) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
December 03, 2006
Progress report...
Not only are all the critter cages clean and rebedded and ready, I figured out what to do for Donnie and her eggs.
I took an old Harley boot box of mine and cut the top off.I turned the top around, so the eagle is facing in and duct taped all the flaps together.
Made a damned fine nest box.
I put fresh hay in it, her eggs, and all of her soft feathers she'd lined her original nest with. She seems to like it. And, I have all but three cat boxes done and the last load of laundry is in the dryer.
However, until I get these things all the way done, I'm not crossin' 'em off the list yet. Oh yeah, I also made a rabbit-water-bottle-wire-thing-that-holds-it
upright-so-the-rabbit-can-drink-from-it out of a coat hanger.
So, basically, not only am I cleaning, I'm fabricating things like rabbit water-supply equipment and duck houses. And, I just found out via radio that dinner is on me tonight. Eggs, bacon and potatos it is, then. And, Sr. brought in thee most Charlie Brown lookin' Christmas tree I've seen since the Peanut's special. The poor thing is only about three feet tall, fake and FLAT.
Sumbitch ain't even a foot wide, in any direction.
*shaking head* I have no idea what he's planning on doing with that... thing, but, I hope he doesn't plan on decorating it.
Ya know what happened to the other one like this one when they hung one ornament on it.
It keeled over.
So would this one. Okay.
Gotta go cut up the taters and get 'em in the oven. Back later if I'm still alive... Peace
Posted by: Stevie at 04:45 PM | Comments (9) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Who does this remind you of?
Stood there boldly
Sweatin' in the sun
Felt like a million
Felt like number one
The height of summer
I'd never felt that strong
Like a rock I was eighteen
Didn't have a care
Working for peanuts
Not a dime to spare
But I was lean and
Solid everywhere
Like a rock My hands were steady
My eyes were clear and bright
My walk had purpose
My steps were quick and light
And I held firmly
To what I felt was right
Like a rock Like a rock, I was strong as I could be
Like a rock, nothin' ever got to me
Like a rock, I was something to see
Like a rock And I stood arrow straight
Unencumbered by the weight
Of all these hustlers and their schemes
I stood proud, I stood tall
High above it all
I still believed in my dreams Twenty years now
Where'd they go?
Twenty years
I don't know
Sit and I wonder sometimes
Where they've gone And sometimes late at night
When I'm bathed in the firelight
The moon comes callin' a ghostly white
And I recall
Recall Like a rock. standin' arrow straight
Like a rock, chargin' from the gate
Like a rock, carryin' the weight
Like a rock Lihe a rock, the sun upon my skin
Like a rock, hard against the wind
Like a rock, I see myself again
Like a rock
I know that.
Maybe not the last few years, but... before. I could see it in him still.
I probably always will see him that way.
It's who he was, in his mind.
It's who he still was, even though he couldn't see that anymore. Man...
Posted by: Stevie at 11:54 AM | Comments (9) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
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